Date: 2020-02-06 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Fiction; Role Playing Games
Description: Well, he’s the last elf standing. It’s confusing not being human anymore. But being the only living member of the Biscuit’s Union has its benefits. No need to take on shifts baking cookies, for one. No one telling Clyde what to do. No one... You have been offered a quest by the Biscuit’s Union: Rebuild the Guild Reform the guild by having at least eight (8) members in good standing by the end of one (1) week. Reward for success: survival of the guild, unknown, XP Penalty for failure (or refusal): the death of the guild Yes/No Okay then. So in order for any of the work Clyde’s put in to matter,
Rights: Copyright 2020 Eric Ugland. All rights reserved.

SKULL AND THRONES

ERIC UGLAND

Air Quotes Publishing, Inc.

Air Quotes Publishing, Inc.

Copyright © 2020 Eric Ugland

Cover by Sarah Anderson/No Synonym

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of Fiction. Of Fantasy. All of the characters in this novel and series are fictional and any resemblance to people living, dead, or undead is purely coincidental and surprising. Mentions of places are incidental, accidental, and mostly mental. The magic and spells have been researched in absolutely no way whatsoever, and any ill-effects after you attempt to cast them are completely on you. Any science is likely wrong considering the laws of physics are different in places with magic, you dig?

Also, nothing to see here.

ALSO BY ERIC UGLAND

The Good Guys - Epic LitRPG/GameLit

One More Last Time

Heir Today Pawn Tomorrow

Dungeon Mauling

Four: The Loot

Dukes and Ladders

Roseland - Private Investigator Mysteries

Volume One

Volume Two

Volume Three

For my staunchest proofreaders,

Thank you, Ma Rents and Pa Rents.

I, quite literally, could not do this without you.

CHAPTER ONE

I was in a room. There was wood paneling on all the walls, and the stone floor had a drain in the middle.

As soon as I came into being, I felt a horrific pain in my back, and my health bar started draining.

“Paid a lot for this pleasure,” Insidious said. He was the first member of the Iron Silents I’d ever spoken to, and I remember thinking then, as I did now, that his name was stupid. “Hope you’ve got a lot of respawns. I need to get my money’s worth.”

And he stabbed me again and again until, once more, I died.

CHAPTER TWO

Waaah-waaah. You have died.

Kicked the bucket. Shuffled off the ol’ mortal coil. You have been weighed and measured and found wanting. But, good news! You have at least one respawn left. Maybe you’ve got more. Who knows?

Would you like to respawn?

YES/NO

I hung in the blackness once more and considered my fate. It was not a good fate, at present. Still, I had few options left to me: not respawn or spawn. Was not spawning suicide? I had to spawn in. I picked yes.

CHAPTER THREE

I came into being, and immediately, pain.

"Oh man," the guy said, "this feels so good. Killing you is awesome."

He slammed the knife into my back over and over again. Pain blossomed everywhere. Then I heard a crack, and felt nothing. Then, blackness.

CHAPTER FOUR

Waaah-waaah. You have died.

Kicked the bucket. Shuffled off the ol’ mortal coil. You have been weighed and measured and found wanting. But, good news! You have at least one respawn left. Maybe you’ve got more. Who knows?

Would you like to respawn?

YES/NO

I wanted to scream in rage, but also in frustration. Even though I knew the pain wasn't real, I still felt it. I still remembered it. Was this part of the world, or part of the universe? Why was I given the opportunity to respawn when the general public wasn't? It hardly seemed fair.

Still, only the one option. But I hesitated because I needed to think, and my ability to think was rather limited once I got back to the world of Vuldranni. As soon as I had a knife in my back or through my neck, nothing could possibly exist besides the pain. But here in the blackness, there was relatively limitless time to strategize—

ALERT: you are running out of respawn time. Your form may be taken over by an alternate entity if you do not respawn soon.

Well, shit.

There goes that idea.

Respawn it was.

CHAPTER FIVE

I popped into being, and got killed again.

Waaah-waaah. You have died.

Kicked the bucket. Shuffled off the ol’ mortal coil. You have been weighed and measured and found wanting. But, good news! You have at least one respawn left. Maybe you’ve got more. Who knows?

Would you like to respawn?

YES/NO

Rinse and repeat.

Waaah-waaah. You have died.

Kicked the bucket. Shuffled off the ol’ mortal coil. You have been weighed and measured and found wanting. But, good news! You have at least one respawn left. Maybe you’ve got more. Who knows?

Would you like to respawn?

YES/NO

Over and over again.

Waaah-waaah. You have died.

Kicked the bucket. Shuffled off the ol’ mortal coil. You have been weighed and measured and found wanting. But, good news! You have at least one respawn left. Maybe you’ve got more. Who knows?

Would you like to respawn?

YES/NO

Waaah-waaah. You have died.

Kicked the bucket. Shuffled off the ol’ mortal coil. You have been weighed and measured and found wanting. But, good news! You have at least one respawn left. Maybe you’ve got more. Who knows?

Would you like to respawn?

YES/NO

Waaah-waaah. You have died.

Kicked the bucket. Shuffled off the ol’ mortal coil. You have been weighed and measured and found wanting. But, good news! You have at least one respawn left. Maybe you’ve got more. Who knows?

Would you like to respawn?

YES/NO

I lost count of how many times I died, and I started to look forward to the moments in blackness. I even pushed it longer and longer, seeing if maybe I'd reach the point where I wouldn't be allowed to respawn.

It’s not like I wanted to remain dead, I wanted to respawn, but the pain and experience of dying was horrific. Obviously, there was something intensely visceral about feeling the blade cut through my skin, rub on my bones, puncture organs. Every time, Insidious would change his attack just slightly, so I could never be prepared. He’d stab me in the lower back one time, the upper back the next. Once, he just grabbed my forehead and slit my throat.

Every time I snapped back into reality, I’d try to enact a plan, but I was never able to act fast enough.

After what felt like forever, I realized my killer was getting tired. His breathing got heavier, and his stabs were more shallow. Which really just meant that it took longer for him to kill me. How wonderful for me.

As I hung in the darkness once more, I just couldn't do it. I wanted to let go, to not have to drop back into reality and die all over again. I waited, not clicking the button.

I hated myself for that, hated that I was giving up. It wasn't something I'd done before, for better or worse. Mostly worse. I'd always been the guy who just keep pushing the boulder up the hill, because fuck you. I decide when I'm done. And I'd never decided to be done.

Why now, then? I asked myself.

I watched the warning come up, and thought about ignoring it.

A small text banner popped up.

Maybe… one more time?

That was new. And it was just the kick in the pants I needed.

It made me want to go in one more time. Because as long as I had one more respawn, I had a chance, however remote, to make the Iron Silents pay for what they'd done. I would go in again, and this time, I was going to jump first thing. I thought about jumping over and over again, and then I selected Yes.

CHAPTER SIX

I popped into reality, and immediately dove forward. There wasn't much thought in my head about it — my movement was purely instinctual.

The asshole behind me swung his dagger, and it sunk into the wood paneling with a heavy thunk.

That was all I needed.

I cast Shadowstep.

Sure, there was a chance I’d be attacked by creatures from the shadow realm. But that was a whole hell of a lot better than being stuck in the kill loop.

The color left the room, and time began to slow waaay down. I took a look around, and got a good view of Insidious. A handsome, if slightly generic dude who was looking rather the worse for wear. Worn out.

The room we were in was utilitarian, in an “I really love torture” kind of way. A small wooden table had an impressive array of weapons on it: a dagger, an axe, some bare blades of different shapes, something that looked like a wire with razor blades on it. There was one door out, and no windows. A rack stretched out (ha) along one wall, and an iron maiden stood menacingly in the corner. Its doors hung open, and the spikes looked particularly horrible inside. There was a high ceiling above large beam rafters.

I reached over, slipped out of the shadow realm, and snatched a dagger from the table. Then I lunged forward and slammed the dagger into the asshole in front of me.

His eyes went wide.

"How—“ he started,  but then he sliced back at me. I jumped out of the way, leaving my blade buried in his back.

He lunged forward, leading with his dagger.

I smacked his hand across, and then punched him in the face.

He stumbled a little, so I kicked him in the balls. He bent forward, and I grabbed at the hilt sticking out of his back.

As I wrenched the dagger free, I took the opportunity to knee the dude in the face.

He took a few fumbling steps back.

I slashed the dagger across the man, cutting through his loose silk shirt and opening up his torso.

The guy made a guttural cry, but tried to lunge once again.

I just stepped out of the way and gave Insidious a helping hand, shoving him faster along his path into the open iron maiden. He met the maiden with his face, making a horrible noise.

He stood up quickly and looked at me, blood pouring from his ruined face. His eyes, miraculously, were fine.

I grabbed both doors of the maiden, getting right up in his space.

"This isn't over," I said. Then I slammed the doors shut and pulled the iron lock down tight.

Screams and howls came out of the iron maiden. Then came blood — first a little, and then a giant gush.

I took a few steps back from the man in the maiden, getting my back against the wall. Then I snatched a few more blades from the table and stood at the ready. My heart hammered away, and sweat poured off me. I watched as my opponent bled out.

GG! You’ve killed a Human (lvl 30 Assassin).

You’ve earned 5500 XP! You’ve gained 586 respawns. What a mighty hero you are.

Whoa. That was something I hadn't expected. But it must be why the Iron Silents were so focused on killing other, uh, players. You got respawns and a heck of a lot of XP.

I waited in the corner for a second before realizing Insidious was about to respawn. It would be much smarter to move while he was dead and couldn’t see where I’d gone. So I corner-jumped up the wall, grabbed onto the rafter, and pulled myself up. I crouched in the shadows under the ceiling, blades in hands, ready to drop and kill at the first sign of movement.

It never came.

I don’t know how long I stayed crouching up there, but it was long enough for my heart rate to come back down and for the sweat on my face to dry. With nothing making itself apparent, I did my best to just listen to the world around me.

The wooden structure made some creaks and pops. There were no other noises — certainly not the sound of someone moving around. My guess was that it was night. And cooling off. I waited a little longer, just to make sure there wasn't anyone being sneaky.

Nothing.

I dropped to the ground and opened the maiden. Insidious’ corpse fell to the wooden floor with a gooey thud. I did a quick search of the body, holding back some vomit.

Four rings, a chain, a talisman, a bracelet, and a heavy pouch full of gold. These guys were certainly into their jewelry. It was probably magical stuff, but it hadn't done much to protect him from me. I tore the man's shirt apart and made a pouch out of the scrap that wasn't soaked in blood. All the valuables went inside there. Next, I grabbed the sword, sheath, and belt my victim had tossed over the table of torture implements, and that went on my waist. I pulled the sword out, noted the delicate white-silver color of the metal and gave it a little swish.

Unidentified Longsword

Item Type: Rare

Item Class: One-handed Melee, Two-handed Melee

Material: ???

Damage: ???

Durability: ???

Weight: 4.8 lbs

Requirements: ???

Description: ???

I hoped it wasn’t a cursed sword, since I’d already started using it. A weapon was a weapon, and I needed something a little more substantial than a dagger.

I headed over to the door, leaned my ear against it for a moment, and listened.

Nothing.

I pushed the door open a smidge, then peeked through.

Completely devoid of life.

The room was quite a bit nicer than my little kill box. It had carpets spread out on the floor, and furniture that looked to be focused on comfort rather than torture. There were even a few paintings on the wall, and a shelf lined with books.

I took a few steps into the room and looked around.

Oddly, still no windows. There were two more doors, other than the one I’d come out of. I looked into the nearest and found an open room, about fifteen by fifteen feet. Symbols and circles were carved into the floor. There were lit candles all over the place, but I noticed that despite lots of wax spilled around the room, none of the carvings were blocked in the slightest. It had to be a summoning circle.

I walked around, looking closely at the carvings, doing my best to memorize them. Then, because the Iron Silents were evil bastards, I took the dagger I’d stolen from them and made a few minor alterations to the symbols and the circles.

Back into the main room to take a peek at the bookshelf. Lots of books on summoning. Not necessarily spell books — more like on the theory of it all. Bestiaries. Lists of devils, demons, and other entities.

The only remaining door opened onto a staircase that led up.

I wasn’t ready to leave yet, because these were the kinds of assholes who almost certainly had secret doors. I ripped a ribbon out of one of the books, and tied it around one of the rings I'd snatched off my opponent. Before more magic, though, I sat down in one of the comfy chairs, and I centered myself. I pulled all my mana together and moved it around my body. The mana channels were still there. Still open, for the most part. There was just a little burning as I cleared them up. A bit of a side-effect from being killed and reborn, I suppose. Then I cast Detect Secret Doors.

The ring shot out towards the bookcase. I kept pushing mana into it and walked closer to the shelf. It pointed me towards a red book on the top shelf. I pulled at it, and heard a click. The whole shelf swung towards me a little. I pulled it out from the wall, revealing a little room completely lined with shelves. They held a bunch of pouches and bags, plus countless books piled high. I walked over to one of the pouches, opened it up, and peeked inside.

Nothing. But there had to be something about the bag — otherwise, why would they've gone through the trouble of hiding it away? I pulled out the various crap from my starting knapsack and tossed it onto the floor, stuffing my poor knapsack full of the pouches until no more would fit. Then, I shoved some books in.

It wasn't pretty, and it didn't really look like it would hold. But then I had a thought, a remembrance of my very first day in Vuldranni, all those days ago. I’d made some bank selling all the new player kits Etta had on her, when she’d been stuck in her own kill cycle. All my bodies had to be around somewhere.

I went back into the kill room and poked around some more. I didn’t even need my magic to find the next secret door. Well, it was more of a trapdoor, but still. All it took to open it was to move the chair a little out of the way.

I saw a pile of, um, me down at the bottom of a pit. The pit itself was circular, like a really wide well, maybe twenty feet or so down. The sides were brick, and I couldn’t see a bottom through all my corpses.

And, sure enough, each body had a knapsack. And each knapsack would be packed full of all the basic gear. It was telling that the Iron Silents were making enough money that they didn’t seem to be concerned with looting corpses. Plenty of gold in those spell books.

I jumped down into the pit of me, and did my utmost to ignore the feeling of sinking into corpses. Of my own corpses. But I managed to find a few knapsacks that were’t overly bloodstained or slashed, and pulled them through the bodies to the surface of the corpse-pile. Then, I started into the grim business of pulling the books out of each pack I could reach until I just couldn’t handle the surreality of it all. Climbing up and out turned to be easier than I’d expected, because there was a small ladder along one side.

After some quick repacking, I got the Iron Silents’ secret room collection of crap into four knapsacks. I was about to go up the stairs when I heard footsteps thundering down. I looked at the secret room, thinking maybe that was a good spot, then at the rafters. But I knew there was only one place to hide that I could reach in time and be completely invisible.

In a giant pile of me.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I closed the bookshelf and sprinted for the kill room, sliding across the blood-slicked wood. I grabbed the trapdoor and pulled it shut over me before dropping a few feet, letting the bodies break my fall.

I just lay there, doing my best corpse impression. Then I remembered my knapsacks, and tucked them around me, trying to make it all look natural.

The door crashed in. People ran across the floor, their boots making an incredible racket.

I squinted through the floorboards, trying to get a view of who was there. Three men. Humans, by the look of it. They had large swords out, either hand-and-a-halfs or claymores. Or something else in that family. Regardless, they were completely inappropriate for fighting in the tight quarters of this place.

The group spread out, swords still drawn, and swept the room. One of them shot an orb of light up into the rafters. Good thing I hadn’t taken that hiding spot.

“He’s not here,” one of them called out.

“Of course he’s not here,” one of the others snapped back. “Who’d be dumb enough to stick around?”

I shrugged. Didn’t think it was that dumb.

“I want to know how he did it,” Voice Three said.

“He shoved me into the damn Iron Maiden you insisted we needed,” Voice One said. “And he shut me inside. You know how much that hurts?”

“It’s not to be used,” Voice Three replied. “it’s for intimidation purposes.”

“We’re killing people, not intimidating them.”

“The place was supposed to be multi-purpose.”

“No more iron maidens.”

“Maybe you just need to stay out of the decorations.”

“Shut up, the two of you,” Voice Two said. Given how quickly the others quieted down, it became pretty clear that Voice Two was the man in charge. “How did he break the cycle?”

“A spell,” Insidious said. “He cast something and disappeared, then reappeared behind me. Stabbed me from behind, then shoved me in the—”

“But teleportation isn’t possible here,” Voice Two said.

“I know that’s what we were told, but I also know what I saw. And I know what happened to me.”

“I don’t think you do,” Voice Two said. “I think you were slacking off, didn’t kill him fast enough, and he got the drop on you.”

“That’s not what happened,” Insidious said. “Not at all.”

“It’s a pretty major fuck-up,” Two said.

“Likely comes with a penalty, eh, Arthur?”

“Oh, I think so.”

“Guys, come on.”

“You know the bylaws,” Two said. “You signed the bylaws, right Insidious?”

“Sure, but—”

“Then take your punishment like a man.”

“Guys—”

“You close to leveling?” Two asked.

“No,” Insidious said.

“Not asking you,” Two snapped.

“Yeah, I’m pretty close,” Three said.

“Then you take him,” Two replied. “And Insidious, because I’m feeling generous, I’m only penalizing you at orange. Make it quick, Palax.”

Someone pulled the trapdoor open. I could see Insidious standing with his back to me.

"Turn around," Three, or Palax I suppose, said. "Easier that way."

"I know what to expect — I can take it," Insidious replied.

"Get this shit over with already," Two said.

"Take it easy, Arthur," Palax yelled. "I don't particularly like doing this, and—“

I heard a shink sort of noise. A red line appeared in Insidious' neck. His head tipped over and thumped onto the floor, then rolled into the pit. It smacked into a body right next to me. I got a nice close up view of his eyes, still open and looking around. It was unnerving, and it took a lot of willpower to not flinch away.

"We need to clean this place out," Arthur said, shoving the body into the pit.

It hit one of my corpses, and sent a spray of blood across the brick walls. His heart must have still been pumping out the arteries.

"Hatchett knows where this place is," Arthur continued, shutting the trap door. "So we can’t use it any more."

"He's not going to do anything to us," Palax replied.

"Maybe he will, maybe he won't."

Arthur was half right. I was going to ruin them.

"But we have rules for a reason," Arthur continued. "We destroy hideouts when they are discovered. Always."

"I like this one."

"It's just like all the others."

"But I like the neighborhood."

"Are you going to help me with the summon or keep complaining about having to move like a whiny baby?”

"You're a whiny baby.”

Spoiler: they're both just assholes.

"Your jokes suck," Arthur replied.

"What about the storeroom?" Palax asked.

"Summon first, set the molromon to task, and then we clear the storeroom out. I want to get going. We have a meeting with Steef at dawn. Passing over the stock. I want to get paid."

“It’s payday?"

"Guild payday. You get gold after we count and cut. So can we get this shit started?"

"Bah."

The two asshats walked into the summoning room and started their ritual. I wasn't sure what was about to happen, but I was pretty certain it was going to be unpleasant. Partially because I'd ruined their summoning circle, and partially because whatever they were pulling into this world was going to clean house. Or at least would be capable of cleaning house. It didn't seem wise to be sitting in a pit of fresh meat right when some monstrous demon came ripping through a portal into this realm.

I pushed through the bodies over to Insidious, and rolled him again. He had a pouch and two rings. I shoved the loot into one of my knapsacks and then continued to crawl over to the ladder. Then, up and out into the kill room.

I heard chanting coming from the other room. It was building to a crescendo.

Smashing! You’ve learned a new language, Abyssal.

Naturally. Demon-summoning assholes.

I climbed up the wall and pulled myself into the rafters, tucking into the darkness and remaining as still as possible.

There was a pulse of red light from the summoning room, followed quickly by the sound of something being torn apart. I imagined it was the sound of reality ripping. More poetic that way, whatever the actual case may be.

"You will consume the corpses in the other room," Arthur boomed out in what I assumed he assumed was his most commanding tone, "and then destroy this building. Then, you will remove yourself back to your native plane."

Whatever had been summoned started chuckling. It sounded ominous as hell. Which, you know, it might have actually been from hell, so, there you go. It sounded as it should.

"I think not," the summoned thing said in Abyssal.

"I command you, creature," Arthur shouted. "You will obey me or I will leave you trapped in this circle forever."

More laughter, followed by a loud crack. Then I watched Palax crash through the wall beneath me.

"How—“ Arthur started, but the fight was on.

Palax was surprisingly fast getting to his feet. He charged right through the hole in the wall and got back in the game.

I know I probably should have remained where I was, but my curiosity was too much. So I crawled along the beam until I was at the wall, and peeked through the slight gap to see what was going on on the other side.

A red-skinned, heavily muscled creature stood in the ruins of the wall between the main room and the summoning room. The thing looked exactly like what I thought of when I pictured a demon. Or a devil. Horns, wings, claws, split hooves, the whole nine. Its horns came right up to the ceiling, close enough that it'd leave grooves in the wood if he wasn't hunching slightly. The dude had a big mouth, but it wasn’t actually able to contain his thick yellow teeth that almost seemed to be stuck in random places. They looked like they were teeming with disease. It glared around with red eyes that had vertical pupils.

The two Iron Silents had their short swords out, and stood on either side of the creature.

Putting out just the bare amount of mana, I shot an identification spell towards the demon-devil thing.

Molromon

Lvl 41 Demon

The molromon stretched its claws out, some drool coming out of its toothy maw as it smiled.

Arthur lunged forward and dug his sword into the creature's thigh.

The demon just smiled wider. He grabbed Arthur with one arm. I thought I was about to see the dude get crushed, which in all honesty I was looking forward to, but then Palax hacked at the molromon with his sword.

A light glowed out of the sword as it swung through the air, and it sliced deep into the molromon's other arm.

The molromon roared. He backhanded Palax, but dropped Arthur in the process. Palax hit hard enough to break through the wooden wall, revealing a stone wall behind it.

Arthur pulled a dagger out. He jumped up and plunged it into the creature's heavily muscled neck.

The creature turned its head so fast it looked like a blur. Then he bit all the way around Arthur's shoulder.

Arthur screamed, but somehow held on to the demon. The molromon reached across his body to grab Arthur, and ripped him off like the man was tough beef jerky. Arthur managed to keep hold of his dagger, and cut a deep and jagged wound across the molromon, but since he was missing a solid chunk of his torso, I watched him die on the floor.

Palax was still trying to get to his feet.

Thick blood came out of the molromon in a wave. The fiend growled, and looked down at Palax.

Palax got to his knees and swung the sword out low, cutting deep into the demon's leg. Not all the way through, but enough that the molromon stumbled.

"Hah!" Palax hollered, dancing back out of the way as the molromon swung his clawed hand out.

The molromon stood up straight, his horns pushing into the ceiling, and took in a great lungful of air. A slip of smoke came out of a nostril, and the creature smiled. He leaned forward and seemed to projectile-vomit out fire. It was almost liquid, and stuck to everything it hit.

Palax managed to avoid the infernal napalm, but he also didn't have many avenues of attack left open to get to the demon.

Meanwhile, Mr. Molromon was reveling in the fire. Though it was difficult to see through the flames, it looked like its red skin was knitting back together. It did not seem like a great idea to give the dude enough time to get back to full health.

I took a moment to take stock. This could very well end up with me dying again, and I wasn't super keen on that. Especially since I didn't want to respawn into a blazing inferno and die again.

There were a few things I could do. Shadowstep was out, since there really wasn't even a single shadow to step into. But there were plenty of spells I had that didn't require shadows. And one that required dead bodies. Which I had plenty of.

I calmed myself down as best I could and harnessed my magic. I focused, and cast ReAnimate on Arthur's corpse.

The molromon's head looked around sharply, like he'd just caught a whiff of a gold-medal fart. But he didn't look in my direction.

Palax had pulled a wand from somewhere. I watched as he shot a great stream of water out, engulfing the room at an incredible pace. The fire didn't stand much of a chance against the magical deluge. All that was left was an awful lot of smoke and steam. The molromon seemed surprised to see his inferno disappear, and Palax took advantage of its distraction. He lunged forward and plunged his blade deep into the creature's muscled stomach before ripping the sword to the side. Ribbons of intestines spilled out all across the floor.

It looked like a mortal blow. The demon roared in pain, so loud that the walls vibrated.

Palax smiled, and then caught sight of his buddy. Arthur was slowly getting to his feet, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was missing a significant portion of his torso. Or that he’d been on fire.

Naturally, the demon took advantage of Palax's distraction. He brought his giant mouth down over Palax's head and took a bite.

Arthur seemed to be waiting for something. And sitting there on the rafter beam, I realized I could feel something more than I'd be able to in the past. There was an additional presence off to the side of my brain. Arthur. Or, at least, the reanimated version of Arthur. It was like an empty vessel waiting for a command.

So I told him.

"Kill the demon," I commanded into the new space.

There was an imperceptible nod. Arthur snatched the sword from Palax's dead hand, and started wailing on the demon, straight-up hack and slash.

That was my cue to drop down to the ground. Arthur was keeping the demon busy, but not because he was succeeding in killing it. Sure, the molromon had cuts all over the place, but he was also literally tearing Arthur into pieces, as if he wanted to make sure I couldn't do any more reanimating.

"Oh," I said, "that's cute."

Then I reanimated the rest of me. At least as many of me as I could before I ran out of mana.

I heard a wet smack against the wall, and turned to see the remnants of Arthur's steaming torso slide down the wood.

I turned back to face the demon and pulled my own sword out. Well, more precisely, I pulled out the sword I'd liberated from Insidious.

The molromon wasn't looking great, but I’ll admit I was scared. Even with all his wounds, he was still ten feet tall and full of muscle. And teeth.

He looked down at himself, and then at me. He chuckled, and then lunged for me.

But before he could get to me, he got hit by a wave of reanimated corpses. A horde of me slammed into him with the fury only the undead can muster. Magic and rage fueled their bodies far more than my meagre strength did, and they crashed upon the demon with a flurry of hits, tears, and bites.

The demon's red eyes grew wide in surprise. He tried to back-peddle to get more room to fight. But my horde wasn't about to let him go. I saw one of the corpses crawl inside the demon, pushing and tearing at its entrails until they were, um, extrails.

Just as I started to worry about having enough mana to finish the fight, the demon collapsed to the ground with a whump.

GG! You’ve killed a Molromon (lvl 41 Demon).

You’ve earned 5000 XP! What a mighty hero you are.

He was dead.

And interesting to note that when my undead did the killing, I got the credit. That could be useful.

I was super tempted to check on my animation abilities, to see if I'd be able to reanimate the molromon's demonic flesh. But I needed to get out of the Iron Silents' hole and back to my people. Preferably after a quick stop at the old Biscuit's Union building to retrieve all my things from the secret safe in the office.

Cleaning up the demon was quick work — one of the few benefits to having exotic butchering skills. I lopped off his horns, and pried out his claws and teeth. Then, because I had such a great view of his insides, I could see that some of his organs were glowing. So out they came. I wrapped them in cloth from my, uh, well, from one of my selves. Who I sent back into the pit with the orders to make sure nothing in the pit was identifiable as human. I figured someone would eventually find this hidey-hole, and it'd probably be better if it wasn’t stuffed with a bunch of the same dead person. Better still would have been burning the place down, but I'd just killed my fire source.

I quickly went over Arthur’s and Palax’s corpses and made sure I took everything they had worth taking. Both swords, their daggers, a handful of rings, four chains of varying thickness, what had to be a magical bag of holding of some variety, and a minor fortune in gold and platinum.

Then it was onward and upward. I ran up the stairs until I came to a ladder and a trapdoor.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I came out in a small open area with manicured lawns and flowers planted in color-coordinated beds. The moons above shone a beautiful light, making it immediately clear I was in a park. Or a garden. The trapdoor was hidden in a group of bushes. It was very well done.

I pushed through the bushes and pulled my hood up over my head as far as it would go. I wanted to disappear into the darkness as much as possible. I had a fair amount of wealth on me, and I needed to get it back to my place safely. Or any place safely.

It took a few minutes to find my way out of the park, which really only happened because I stumbled onto a pathway that led to a massive wrought-iron archway. And then, well, I was in a neighborhood I didn’t recognize. The area seemed predicated on providing as much greenspace as possible. The streets were wide and flat, and I saw gardens, parks, and greenhouses everywhere. Trees loomed up and over the roads, creating leafy tunnels in every direction. Some quaint-looking buildings sat tucked behind the trees.

As I walked down larger and larger streets, it became clear the focus of this district was on commercial growing. I didn't have the sort of botanical knowledge to identify what was being grown, but I could make a few educated guesses. Mostly food, probably.

Finally, I found a divided road, which meant it was an avenue. I knew it'd lead to one of the two major roads in the city, and from there, I could find my way anywhere. I continued to keep my head down, hoping that, with a ratty cloak and four bags weighing me down, I looked like a guy who was down on his luck. And hopefully not an elf. Currently the prime suspect in the death of the Emperor was an elf — wrongly accused, I might add — so I knew it was a potential issue.

There were definitely more guards on the road, and not all of them were wearing the city uniform. I’d seen enough vigilante groups in Glaton for that to make me nervous. On the other hand, it was possible that private guards were hired to keep the greenhouses safe. Minor problem with greenhouses, not exactly easily defensible. I’d heard something about throwing stones.

I got a lot of hard stares as I walked, but no one said anything. The increased guard presence was unnerving, but it also seemed to be keeping monsters off the streets, so my walk felt somewhere in the neighborhood of safe. When I reached the Via Principalis, there were just City Guard everywhere — I couldn't walk more than ten feet without stumbling into one.

Having the increased guard presence gave me the relative security to finally sort through all the notifications I’d received. Dying a bunch of times in a row tended to create a bit of a backlog of notifications.

Death.

Death.

Death.

Lots of deaths. And after each death, I got notifications about the guild.

Congratulations, sort of. You are the last remaining member of the Biscuit’s Union. Therefore, you are the de facto leader of the Biscuit’s Union. You have unlocked the following abilities: Invite and initiate members. Change roles. Change names. Change dues. Change abilities. Change bonuses. Remaining Guild points to spend: 0

After a few of those, I got a new notification alongside the congratulatory notice.

Warning: a guild is not one person. A guild is a collection of individuals working together for a common purpose. Unless you are able to bring a group together, the guild will cease to exist. You have one (1) week to retain your guild by gaining at least eight (8) members.

One week wasn’t much time. I didn’t want to lose the guild, and not just because I wanted the various benefits it offered. I also liked the idea of being part of an organization like that. And more importantly, I liked being in charge of an organization like that. Maybe it sounds a bit narcissistic, but I wanted to dictate the manner in which the Biscuit’s Union operated. And if I lost the guild, I’d have to start all over again at the bottom of some other group. At that point, maybe it would be better to just abandon Glaton and find a new place to play.

You have been offered a quest by the Biscuit’s Union:

Rebuild the Guild

Reform the guild by having at least eight (8) members in good standing by the end of one (1) week.

Reward for success: survival of the guild, unknown, XP

Penalty for failure (or refusal): the death of the guild

Yes/No

There was no choice in the matter, really. I had to accept. A quick check on the quest page, and I saw that there were still seven days remaining. Nice that the game didn’t start counting until I’d read the notice.

Eight members. From the wording, it didn’t sound like I counted. I needed eight new members in good standing.

I knew I’d ask Matthew. Titus. Godfrey. The three who got me in the most trouble, naturally. Nadya would probably be great, but given her pedigree, I wasn’t sure she’d be willing to go through with it. Shae. That was five. Leofing might. He was a paladin, but I didn’t remember anything about joining the guild in the first place that denoted a Choice. Or anything saying that it had to be a guild focused on thievery or rogue-related activities. It could use a paladin. That made six. Careena. She’d maybe join. How awesome would it be to have a witch on board? Someone who could do magic — you know, besides me — could really push the guild in new ways. One more. I felt like I was forgetting someone.

I snapped my fingers. The dude who lived in the second-floor apartment below Nadya’s pet mimic and my training room. The arena fighter, Lothar. He’d definitely be down for helping me. Probably.

So I’d be fine. Provided I could convince all the people I thought of as friends to join. The only real trouble that might arise would be if everyone wanted something to join. Like a quest. If I had to complete eight quests in one week… then this would be near impossible.

CHAPTER NINE

By the time I got to the arena square, I expected to see light on the horizon. I thought it had to be dawn by that point, yet it was still dark. Very dark. The moons had slipped behind heavy clouds, and it felt like rain was in the forecast. Or rather, rain was the forecast.

I had no idea how much time I'd lost while I was in the kill loop, which was definitely disorienting. I walked along the outside edge of the square, keeping in the darkness as much as possible. There were plenty of guards in the open area, most of whom just stood around looking menacing. They weren’t patrolling so much as hanging out.

When I got to the Biscuit’s Union building, I took a moment to peek inside. I caught sight of people inside as they moved past the windows on the first floor and above. They had lights. Not magical lights so much as glowstones in lantern housings. It wasn’t clear who the people were, or what they were searching for. But whatever their reason for being in the building, they saw no need for secrecy. They were very much moving about in the open. I crouched down low and moved along the front of the building, doing my best to stay below the windows looking into the cafe. The front door to the place was wide open. I slipped inside.

I heard voices in the kitchen. Two men, but only just audible. I couldn't make out any specific words. I needed to get into the office, and that meant going through the kitchen.

I'd taken enough stupid chances lately, so I wasn't about to crawl across the kitchen trying to avoid the men who were obviously in there. So I went back outside, walked along the square until I found an alley, and then slipped into the dark.

I stepped over a few piles of garbage, then backtracked and hid my bags underneath it. They were too clunky for what I was about to do: go climbing.

Buildings in a medieval city are easy to climb, especially in this fantastical one. Plenty of handholds from bricks that were a bit too big for the spot they were filling. Lots of windows with ledges. I basically flew up the side of the building, getting to the top in no time, and without even breathing hard. The roof was tiled, and steeper than I expected, but there were also plenty of spots to get a foothold and push against. I ran across the rooftops, jumping from building to building until I got to the flat Biscuit’s Union. I leapt onto it, landing as quietly as I could in a perfect superhero tripod. The hole in the window had yet to be fixed, so I dropped down it and into the meeting hall.

Everything looked the same as I'd left it.

I darted to the secret door, carefully closed it behind me, and crept down the stairs.

At the bottom, I stopped and put my ear to the door.

All quiet.

I pushed the door open just a smidge and peeked out.

Someone had cleaned up the office. It had been returned to its general order, though the artwork hadn’t been hung back up. The paintings were just leaning against a wall.

I pushed the desk out of the way and got down to business: opening the safe.

Voices echoed through the hall — the two men were coming.

I paused for a heartbeat. It was risky to keep working on the safe when they could walk in on me at any moment, but I decided to keep going. I didn't want to have to do this nonsense again. I doubted the men were Iron Silents, or anyone else out to get me, for that matter. If that were the case, they'd be sneaking around like me, not wandering around talking to each other. There wasn't anything I could do to be faster about the safe though. I needed to get the lock around to the appropriate numbers, wrench the handle up, and open the heavy door. Then, out came all the stuff inside. I slid all of the various bags under the couch, then pushed the desk back in place without bothering to close the safe. The voices were too close.

As the doorknob starting turning, I jumped across the room and slid to a stop behind the couch, laying down along the floor.

The door opened, and two men walked inside. They had on nice boots, the kind where a cobbler had taken the time to make the boots individual for each foot. A right and a left boot. It was odd to think of that as a mark of wealth, but in ye olden days I was living in, boots were made unifoot. One gent had brownish leather boots, and the other had on dark blue. They walked into the room, each with a glowstone lantern, and set their lights on the desk.

"Still," Brown Boots said, "this is an enormous opportunity."

"It just seems risky," Blue Boots replied. "This is not an area where we have extensive expertise."

"What, business?"

"Manufacturing."

"They are cookies. How difficult could it possibly be?"

"It is not that baking is an overwhelming challenge, Barnaby. It is the scale of the operation. It is needing to operate a commercial kitchen at a continuous rate, providing a perpetually identical product."

“Cookies."

"You think there is no reason for their success? These are not just cookies any more than we are just magicians. This brand represents the pinnacle of sweet crunchy treats in the Empire. And though we may have rights to the building and the business, I think it a far better idea for us to simply sell it all rather than attempt to run it."

"Running it gives us greater financial freedom."

"Not true. It ties our capital up, not just our fiscal capital, but also our social capital. We must fill these jobs in some capacity."

"Surely, my dear Erasmus, you of all my peers, would be able to think of an alternative to traditional staffing."

"I would not feel comfortable selling food made by summoned beings, no matter from what plane they might hail."

"I was thinking of something closer to home."

"Even we would be wise to mind the laws on necromancy."

"No one needs to know."

"Just a closed bakery somehow churning out cookies with no one working here?"

"We just smile and nod. No one will look askance at a group of Mancers making magic happen."

"No one will likely eat foodstuffs made through magic, Barnaby. This is a foolish endeavor to continue—“

"Allow me my flights of fancy, Erasmus. It could work."

"But it will not.”

I sighed softly, already tired of listening to the two old men argue about running what was rightly my business. I wasn't too clear on the legal situation I was in, vis-a-vis the properties I owned. I assumed I still owned them as my death was, well, not exactly permanent. But given that these dudes were probably somehow involved in killing me, it’d be a bit troublesome to step forward right now and claim the building. Did I want to deal with trying to take on the entire Imperial Academy of Mancers and Magic? I mean, obviously I'd need to get revenge of some kind, but—

You have been offered a quest by the Biscuit’s Union:

Revenge is a Dish Best Served With Cookies

Determine why the Imperial Academy of Mancers and Magic was involved with the destruction of the guild, and make them pay. Bonus rewards if you are able to involve cookies.

Reward for success: Guild Points

Bonus: Unknown, but probably tasty

Penalty for failure (or refusal): loss of guild standing

Yes/No

Great. I needed to stop thinking about things to do. It only seemed to delight the gameworld and force me to have to follow through with things.

But I said yes. There didn’t seem to be a time limit involved, and I wanted to get to the bottom of the Imperial Academy of Mancers and Magic anyway. Having to do it with cookies only made my choices more creative. Maybe this one would be fun.

The conversation between the two men continued on in its mind-numbing fashion, with what seemed like every possible argument over the financial implications of running a cookie company with magic exhausted. I quietly gathered up my things and crawled across the floor until I reached the secret door behind the bookshelf.

I looked over my shoulder to check out Blue Boots and Brown Boots. They both wore robes and had long flowy white hair. Each had on more jewelry than anyone I'd yet seen in Glaton. Blue Boots was leaning against the desk while Brown Boots peered at the artwork. They were looking the other way, so I took the chance. I opened the bookcase and stepped inside, closing the secret door behind me.

There was a very slight click as the latch fell into place, and I froze.

The talking on the other side didn't stop.

The two just continued to ramble on about the economics of cookies. I couldn't believe these men were in charge of much of anything. I just sighed and trudged up the stairs. I pulled myself back up on the roof, climbed over to the next building's roof, and made my way back down to the small refuse pile in the alley. I kicked the garbage away, took out my four knapsacks, and began walking home just as the rain started. It was a thankfully anticlimactic end to the evening.

CHAPTER TEN

There was a palpable sense of unease in the city as I walked through it. Something bad was lurking. The roving mobs of malcontents had disappeared in the time I’d been gone, however long that might’ve been. But I’d spent enough time fiddling around at night to realize there were far more homes with their lights on than normal. People were awake, and that meant they had to be doing something. What it might be, well, I had no real idea. There was the chance they were just having midnight snacks. The lot of them. But it seemed likely there were heavy conversations going on. Questions regarding the strength of the country and what might be coming the following day. Who would be in charge and what that might mean for the regular people.

Old Town was calmer than most places, as usual. But I saw more than one family moving back and forth through their homes, packing. I wondered how many people were planning to leave the city. I had no idea about mobility in Glaton, how easy it’d be to move and find a new job somewhere else. And I also had no idea what the history around regime changes was. I shook my head, and focused on walking. On hiding in the shadows.

I was just a stinky guy with a bunch of stuff walking down the street.

Just as I reached the square where my little home was, I stopped. I stepped deeper into the shadows, and looked across the open space. I thought back to Etta, the girl I’d met on my first day in Glaton. How she’d been in this exact same situation, and hadn’t dared return home to her building. She’d been so against the idea that she gave me the building just so I’d get a few things out of it for her. Which seemed as crazy then as it did now.

But there was also the chance I was the stupid one, and I was about to walk into an ambush. I didn’t see anyone around — it looked empty. The whole square was deserted. I waited a few minutes there, just watching. Nothing.

I needed to get back inside, to get all the loot I had safely ensconced in my apartment. I’d figure out exactly what I had a later date.

Slowly, I walked out into the square, and just trudged along like I had nothing I wanted to do more than get somewhere dry.

No one bothered me.

I got to the front door of my apartment, but stopped short. Something felt wrong. Not that there was any obvious reason for that feeling, but it just seemed, well, off. So I went along to the next door, pulled a key out of my bag, opened the door to the bakery, and went inside.

I heard voices inside the pantry. There were people in here.

I waited a moment, trying to think of who could be hiding in my bakery, and what I should do. I certainly hadn't let anyone use it, not that I knew of. But I was tired of slinking around. Being killed over and over again makes a man tired. Or an elf. So I pushed the door open and light poured out. A whole bunch of eyes turned my way.

"You stink," Matthew said.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Godfrey, Matthew, Titus, and Leofing were standing around a table. Someone had spread out a map of the city on it.

"What's all this?" I asked. I set my various bags down along the wall and stepped up beside them.

“We were trying to figure out what the hell happened to you," Matthew said.

"Oh, yeah. Well, here I am."

Matthew reached out, grabbed my arm, and gave it a squeeze.

"You smell terrible," he said. "Did you, uh, are you—“

"Are you trying to ask if I'm a zombie?"

"Something like that."

"Nope. Just, uh, had a bit of an incident."

"You mean the Ring of Fire?"

“Sadly that was just the first of the incidents tonight.”

“How'd you get out of that?"

"I'm not exactly sure," I said. I trusted these guys, but I wasn't ready for it to get out that I could respawn.

"I heard it's a guaranteed death," Godfrey said.

"What is the Ring of Fire?" Leofing asked.

"You know how Glaton feels about magic," Matthew said.

Leofing nodded.

“The Ring of Fire is a punishment for someone caught with particularly bad magics," Matthew said. “A group of Mancers gets together and casts a spell that kills everything inside.”

“Oh, is that all?” Leofing asked.

“That’s the quick and dirty explanation. How it actually happens is a Ministry secret, but it’s believed that the fire only burns living things, so the building and everything the building holds is untouched.”

“That could make it very useful in sieges,” Leofing mused. “Renders castles useless.”

“As far as I know, a building of the Biscuit’s Unions size is the limit to the spell.”

“Hrm,” Leofing said. “Small castles then.”

“The Ring of Fire is infamous in these parts,” Matthew said.

“Largely because everyone knows it’s not limited to illegal magic users anymore,” Godfrey replied.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Up until recently, the Ring of Fire was almost never used. And now it’s been, I mean, what, four times this year alone?”

“He makes five,” Matthew said, pointing at me.

“The thing is,” Godfrey continued, “politics has found its way into the Imperial Academy of Mancers and Magic. Those in charge are more than happy to engage in business activities and do whatever you want in exchange for money or power.”

“Interesting you say that,” I replied, tapping the map in the Arena district, “because I went back to the Biscuit’s Union tonight, and did a little peeking around. There were two mancers inside having a really boring chat about running the Biscuit’s Union. About the financial freedom they’d gain if they had a business to run.”

“Seems like it might be getting worse, then.”

“So where did you go?” Matthew asked.

My mind spun as I tried to figure out a good story that wasn’t a complete and utter lie. Something that wouldn’t alienate my allies, but also wouldn’t out me as being not from their world.

“The Iron Silents were involved in this. They must have kidnapped me somehow,” I said. “Maybe they thought I had information they wanted, because they started working me over, torture-style, but I escaped.”

“So why do you smell like death and smoke?”

“They thought I was dead, and threw me in a pit of bodies. Then they tried to set me on fire. Death and smoke.”

“They think you’re dead?”

“No. I made a bit of a mess of things on my way out, so they’ll probably come after me pretty hard.”

“That could make things difficult for us.”

“Can’t say I’m happy about how things are progressing either. Things have been a bit shit since the Emperor died.”

“We need to be proactive about this,” Matthew said.

“About the Emperor?” I asked.

“We have a unique set of skills in this room, and a unique view on the Empire. I believe we can make a difference, that we can help steer the Empire in the right direction.”

“Matthew for Emperor,” Godfrey said.

Matthew frowned, but everyone else smiled.

“This is not a joking matter,” Matthew said.

“It’s just a bit outlandish,” I interjected. “What do you want us to do?" I failed to hold back a yawn, and I realized that I was absolutely wrecked. I needed sleep.

“This is not just some quick conversation to have over breakfast,” Matthew replied.

“Hey,” I said, “I’ve got an idea. I need to rebuild my guild. It’s a quest. And it’s a bit of a pain in the butt because I’ve only got a week to do it. But one of the things we could do, you know, as a guild, is make getting the right person on the throne part of our reason for being. You know? And, therefore, I’d like it if you’d all join up.”

There was definitely an awkward pause there. I thought there would at least be, you know, a modicum of discussion, or some vague sense of how I’d just had a grand idea.

But I was basically just met with silence.

“Okay, well,” I said, “you guys hold onto your answers, because whatever it is we’re doing, I need to get some sleep first."

I clapped Matthew on the shoulder, grabbed all my bags and loot, and headed out back to the courtyard so I could get to my apartment.

CHAPTER TWELVE

My apartment was empty.

No monsters, nor kobolds, nor beautiful young girls who'd sworn their loyalty to me through dubious dress-fetching quests.

I pulled open some floorboards, undid traps, and secreted my things away in the kitchen. Then I took a shower and hopped into bed. My last act of the evening was to pull up my character sheet and do a little investigation. I needed to see if there was a penalty for dying.

Clyde Hatchett - Lvl 9 Rogue

Traits

Race: Elf of the Sun and Moon

Height: 6’2”

Weight: 195 lbs

Eye Color: Green

Hair Color: Blonde

Renown: Unknown

Statistics

HP: 220

STAM: 539

MP: 436

Armor: None

Active Effects: None

XP: 28500

Attributes

Strength: 21

Agility: 27

Dexterity: 39

Constitution: 30

Wisdom: 12

Intelligence: 39

Charisma: 20

Luck: 29

Skills

Lockpicking (LVL 15)

Silent Movement (LVL 25)

Eavesdropping (LVL 18)

Pickpocketing (LVL 24)

Stealth (LVL 95)

Parkour (LVL 15)

Meditation (LVL 1)

Archery (LVL 8)

Dodge (LVL 21)

Hauling (LVL 1)

Butcher (Invertebrates) (LVL 18)

Butcher (Exotic) (LVL 18)

Harvesting (Animal) (LVL 18)

Brain Stomping (LVL 1)

Animal Handling (LVL 3)

Fashion Master (LVL 1)

Lying to Yourself (LVL 1)

Monster Handling (LVL 1)

Swords (LVL 36)

Shields (LVL 35)

Heavy Armor (LVL 20)

Formation Fighting (LVL 13)

Traps (LVL 39)

Silent Landing (LVL 3)

Walking (LVL 1)

Baking (LVL 38)

Not Quite Golf (LVL 1)

Skull Crushing (LVL 1)

Mace (LVL 8)

Humanoid Anatomy (LVL 95)

Necromancy (LVL 55)

Religion (LVL 10)

Economics (LVL 5)

Backstab (LVL 24)

Abilities

One of These Things is Enough Like the Other

Undead Control

Undead Mastery

Disease Immunity (Undead)

Feats

None

Boons

None

Indicium

Biscuits Union Guild Leader

Imperial Mark of Honor

Titles

None

Relationships

None

Languages

Imperial Common

Plains Tauren

Mahrduhmese

Carchedonian

Sea Elven

Ancient Elven

Archaic Dwarven

Modern Dwarven

Infernal

Celestial

Common Orc

Mountain Orc

Narbendian

Gnomish

Primordial Terran

Pirate Pidgin

Carnish

Common Kobold

Ancient Kobold

Ancient Draconic

Abyssal

Spells

Lifeform Identification (Lvl 1)

Basic Object Identification (Lvl 1)

Minor Illusion (Lvl 1)

Summon Familiar (Lvl 1)

Shadow Step (Lvl 1)

Minor Heal Self (Lvl 3)

Stamina Regeneration (Lvl 5)

Zeddington’s Infinite Key (Lvl 1)

Silent Image (Lvl 1)

Detect Secret Doors (Lvl 1)

Satisfaction (Lvl 1)

Summon Outsider Guardian

Lesser Drain

Raise Dead (Lvl 28)

Animate Skeleton (Lvl 38)

Animate Flesh (Lvl 41)

Stitch Flesh and Bone (Lvl 25)

ReAnimate (Lvl 44)

Disrupt Life (Lvl 29)

Vicious Wrench (Lvl 45)

Heal Undead (Lvl 38)

Hold Monster (Lvl 44)

Hold Humanoid (Lvl 23)

Banish Undead (Lvl 10)

True Vision of Shadows (Lvl 1)

Vaux’s Brilliance (Lvl 1)

Mage Hand (Lvl 1)

It wasn’t really obvious at first. Hell, it was barely obvious at all, but I remembered having more XP. I’d gained a ton from killing Insidious and the demon, oddly more from killing Insidious. But subtracting that left me at 18,000. And I know I had more than that prior to my first death. If I had to guess, and I did, I was guessing I lost all the XP I’d gained between levels.

I fell asleep faster than I thought possible, sinking immediately into a blackness that was only barely removed from the deaths I'd experienced.

I woke up in the morning. As you do. But it looked like mid-morning, which was a tad surprising. I’d never slept that long in the world of Vuldranni. I hoped it wasn't a new normal for me — I appreciated the advantage of only needing a bit of sleep every other night.

Outside, the rain still fell. Not ridiculously hard, but to the level where I wouldn't have left my apartment back in my old world. Here, though, there were things that had to be done.

Out of bed, I showered again, still trying to get that gnarsty demon stench off. Then I went downstairs, feeling a giant empty pit in the spot where my stomach should have been. I knew it was likely just hyperbole, but I felt hungrier then I had ever been before, though I couldn't find a specific reason for it. I felt like I could eat a horse, and given some of the proclivities I'd witnessed in Glaton, I was reasonably sure there was a restaurant willing to cater to such an appetite. Instead, though, I sauntered into the Heavy Purse and took my familiar seat at the bar.

"Morning," the bartender's wife Penelope said.

"Morning."

"Needing breakfast?"

"That'd be amazing,” I said.

She gave me a smile and disappeared into the kitchen.

Somehow, knowing food was on the way made it easier for me to actually settle my stomach down and look around the tavern. It wasn't packed like it had been when the Iron Silents had foolishly tried to corner the food market. But those days of heavy traffic had added plenty of loyal customers to the mix, so on this gloomy morning the place was reasonably full. And, in its own way, happy. A big fire crackled in the fireplace at the far end of the bar, and most of the customers were gathered around it.

"Heavy breakfast for one," Penelope said, sliding a plate covered in a thick slab of ham and fried potatoes. She put a mug of something steaming next to the plate.

"Thank you," I said.

She gave me a nod, and then turned her attention back to paying customers.

The food was delicious and the drink was bitter, but filling. Not quite coffee, not quite tea, not really something I could place. Something native to Vuldranni I’d yet encountered.

As soon as I finished, just as I was about to push back from the bar and get started with my day, someone sat down next to me.

"Morning there," the woman said. “Are you the owner of this place?”

"Only the building. The barkeep is—“

"Landlord's who I'm looking for," she interrupted. "I hear you might be buying buildings — that right? Paying coin for them?"

"It's something I did once,” I said. “But—“

“My building is just next door to this one. On the other side, and it’s much better than that stupid building you bought with the bakery and the like. You’ve likely discovered the issues in the basement by now, and maybe you’ve heard the rumors about what went on down there. Well, I will tell you that there is nothing untoward about our building. It is quite wonderful, so if you’d just—“

I held up my hand, and she stopped. She took a big breath and smiled.

“Never heard rumors,” I said, “and saw no issues in the basement.”

“Oh, really? You’re new, I take it.”

“To the neighborhood? Yeah, a bit.”

“They probably didn’t want to scare you off.”

“I’m hard to scare.”

She leaned in conspiratorially, and motioned for me to do the same. As soon as I did, she leaned back out and looked around to see if anyone was eavesdropping. I’m sure there were, but she didn’t seem to find anyone, so back into our conspiratorial huddle she came.

“I have it on very good authority that that man used his building to house a cult. A cult devoted to bringing about the end of the world. And down in the basement, that’s where—“

“Where the sacrifices took place?”

“No, oh no. Gods no. Nothing like that. Not in this neighborhood. That’s where he and his followers stored all their preserves. But they didn’t know how to preserve things properly, and there was a mass explosion of jams, jellies, and potted meats. From what I was told, that’s why he moved. Because of all the creatures attracted to such an odiferous mess. You haven’t smelled anything?”

“Truth be told, I haven’t spent that much time in there, but I’ll take a look at the lower levels.”

“What you should do is come look at my building and see what you’re missing out on.”

“I appreciate the hard pitch, but tell me this: why are you selling?”

She leaned back on the bar, and took a hard look at me.

“I’m making an assumption about you,” she finally said. “A young man such as yourself who purchases a few buildings in a city, you have no plans to leave, right?”

“Not for a while, no.”

“You’re young. A hustler who seems to have surrounded himself with high-level, high-power people. Which means you’re smart. So I don’t think I’ll surprise you if I tell you this business with the Emperor is bad.”

“You’re leaving.”

“Yes. Or trying to. But our money is our building, and so—“

“You can’t leave unless you sell.”

“Right. And if we stay, well, I don’t want to stay.”

“You really think it’s going to get that bad?”

“It will be bad enough. Lots of powerful people will be competing for that throne, and no one is going to give even the slightest of shits for those of us at the bottom. There will be armies. Maybe even armies laying siege to Glaton, who will take our things and even us to make up for feeling like they’ve gotten less gold than they feel they deserve. It’s not something I wish to experience. So, if there’s a way to sell the building, I’m selling.”

I waved Titus over.

“Morning Jaclyn,” Titus said with a nod.

“Titus,” she replied.

“You met the neighbor,” Titus said.

“She wants to sell.”

“You should take her up on the offer.”

Simple. Easy. Take her up on the offer. Immediately, I suspected Titus had set this up. It made sense, he knew people in the neighborhood and the last time he got me to buy a building things certainly wound up working fantastically for him. There was the question of coin. Did I have enough to cover another building? Sure, I didn’t know, exactly, the price, but it would likely be around the cost of the other building. Because of how things wound up with the Biscuits Union, I had access to their bank accounts and technically I owned all their properties about town. Was there a downside? Besides spending money, not really. Having more property meant having more people around. More experts who could teach me how to be a better, well, whatever I was becoming. And if I could continue to gain property, maybe I could even get the whole block, and then I’d be able to make a fortress of my own. That might be a decent long-term goal. And downside could possibly be attention. A young elf scooping up property in OldTown might attract eyes on me I didn’t want. One building would have been negligible because it’d been given to me. Two might have been a fluke. But three was someone actively expanding. Attention and coin vs friends and fortress. I mean, having a fortress is just too cool an idea.

Fortress wins.

“Can you two haggle out the price?” I asked. “I’ll have to, I guess, see someone about some coin.”

Jaclyn smiled, then turned her attention to Titus. Titus just smiled.

I went up to my room and locked the door behind me. Just for added security. I did the thing with the thing and pulled the whatsit and flipped the other thing so that all the traps were off and I could get to my hidey spots without getting a poisoned dagger in my back.

Carefully, I dragged everything out, and set all the various bags on the counter. There was a lot of crap to go through. A bunch of rings. Quite a bit of paperwork. Including deeds to multiple properties across town. And bank accounts that came with passphrases and numbers. Where clearly no one was going to care that it was me coming to get money put there by the Biscuit’s Union. Beautiful.

I put some of the rings in a pouch, and pulled out one of the larger bank slips. Then I reversed the steps so all my crap was safely tucked away once again. I had some stops to make.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

My first stop wasn’t the bank. And I wasn’t on guild-rebuilding business either. I needed to know just how much danger I was in, so the most important thing for me to figure out was who’d set the Ring of Fire and gotten the Imperial Academy of Mancers and Magic involved.

But as soon as I got close to Careena’s shop, I knew something was wrong. The broken windows and smoke curling out of the building were pretty clear indications shit had gone down.

No one was around the building, so I just stepped through the spot where there had once been a window and pushed through the smoldering curtains. Her shop area was torn apart. All her secret compartments, at least the ones I’d been privy to, had been opened and ransacked. Not a single book of the hundreds she’d had remained.

The smell of the place was overwhelming, a hideous mixture of smoke and toxic chemicals. There were definitely way more colors of smoke than I'd ever seen before. Wisps of bright pink and iridescent blue, and a bizarre greenish-purple hybrid. But despite the smell, it didn't seem like the smoke had any effect on me, so I went deeper in, heading up the stairs to Careena's living quarters.

It was basically the same as downstairs: trashed. But as I looked around, I realized it wasn’t quite to the same level as below. This looked more like the work of someone who'd left quickly and less like a looter's creation. The little table had been pushed to the side of the kitchen, all the cupboards were open, and one door was hanging off a single hinge. A trapdoor had been torn out of the floorboards. There was a nice little iron lockbox still in place, but it was empty.

I went up to the third floor, where her bedroom was. The building was rather small, all things considered, and it had a bizarre vertical layout. The bedroom had two broken windows looking out across the street at the walls of the giant graveyard. Rain was coming in, and the floor was slick with water. The bed had been broken in two, and the mattress lay on the other side of the room in a pile of damp feathers.

There was no indication of what'd happened to Careena. In part it looked like she might have just left on her own, which I hoped was the case. There was no blood, no burnt body, no signs of struggle. So it could be that the destruction on the first floor had been fueled by rage at missing out on her.

But then I found a note.

"Look in the Shadows"

Well, obviously that was for me. But maybe the people who ransacked Careena's house had seen that, and looked in the shadows for something, not realizing there was a different set of shadows to look for.

I cast shadowstep and slipped into the other realm.

On the wall opposite the window, there was another message for me, one devoid of any trickery. Just an obvious note from Careena. I knew it was for me because it began with her pet name for me.

“You dumb son of a troll. You did this to me. I can't say I blame you because I was your teacher, and I did not do the job I said I would. Obviously. I have my doubts you will even read this; it's likely you’re dead. Necromancy is not well liked by many outside our profession, understood by even fewer within it. You would do well to rid yourself of those spells, you witless knob. But, if you are alive, and are reading this, you should leave Glaton. You have some skill with magic, and your ability to hold and cast such large spells at such a low level is impressive. If you focus on magic, you might truly be a force in your later levels. But I have failed you as a mentor, and thus I have failed to repay the favor to Matthew. Therefore, if you are alive, and you aren't leaving Glaton, which you should, then look for a person named The Faden. They will be able to guide you better than I did. I am leaving to the north — do not try to follow, you would not be welcome where I am going. To the east would be your best bet. Good luck. Get smarter.”

"What a warm and gracious woman to have as a mentor,” I said to the wall. I shook my head as I popped out of the shadow realm. I righted a chair that still had three legs and sat down, staring out into the glum weather.

To start things off, I could no longer depend on Careena to be a part of the guild. There was no way that could happen. Even if I did know where she was going, I’d have to catch up to her and get her back to Glaton, and there wasn’t enough time left for something like that.

But on the other hand, Careena made some interesting points. I could consider leaving. It didn't necessarily make a ton of sense to stay in Glaton. I had no real loyalty to the place. Plus I had some skill, so I could likely survive in the wilds. Or hop on a caravan. Maybe even go north. See that Emerald Sea place. Or I could go to Carchedon, and get that blood debt thing fulfilled. See about living a life there.

Although, that meant dealing with slavery.

So Carchedon was out. But this was a big world — I remembered my flyover at the beginning, seeing an entire planet filled with landmasses and oceans. There had to be other great places to visit, other countries I could live in. I kind of liked my life in Glaton, but it couldn't possibly be the best place for me to live.

And if I did have so much skill with magic, and I did want to pursue it, obviously Glaton wasn't a great place to live considering its people thought magic was horrific. Which then begged the second question: did I want to bother with magic? It was certainly cool. But I’d come into this world thinking I was going to be a thief. Granted, when I had come to that conclusion, I'd been thinking I was just playing a game. Just making a character of sorts. And now I was in this world, living this life. As a thief, more or less.

Not that engaging in magic would make it impossible for me to remain a sneaky steal-y sort. But if magic here was like magic in all the various games and books I'd read in the Old World, then I would need to put a lot more of my focus on learning and practicing the arcane arts. And then what?

There were so many questions and just no answers. And no way to get answers. I couldn’t think of anyone to turn to who had real knowledge of the world outside the Empire. Maybe there were elf-havens. Cities built into trees. Maybe there were beautiful islands, and I could live the pirate life.

And yet, I'd started a life here. I had friends, people who cared for me. And they felt like a sort of family. When I considered leaving them, well, it felt wrong. I didn't want to leave. I was starting to learn the city, and I thought, maybe, I might be able to make a legitimate difference in the Empire. Maybe I could even make the Empire a better place. Maybe I could make it the best place.

I looked out the window. It was still pouring down rain. The wall that locked in the undead of the Shade was massive and imposing. I couldn't imagine waking up to that depressing view day after day. Said something about Careena.

I wasn't going to leave. Not yet, at least. There was still the guild. I still had a chance to make that happen, and if I could, then I’d be a part of something. A part of something that I could guide and control.

I stood up, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. My guild could make Glaton a better place. To root out corruption and to kick some of the assholes off their high horses. I wasn't going to be a nice guy about it either. I had a lot of nasty little tricks up my sleeve now, and I wouldn’t be shy about using them.

“Time to be a bad guy,” I said to no one in particular.

Saying it out loud made me feel cheesy about the whole thing. It wasn't exactly badass to say I'm a bad guy. Whatever. I had too much to do to stand around thinking about how to sound badass.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I pulled my hood up over my head as I left Careena’s apartment, making sure my ears were covered. I thought about finding a barber, that maybe my hair was getting a bit unkempt, but as I ran my hand through my hair, I realized that I was freshly born. Or reborn. So my hair was about as close to perfect as it could be. My face was smooth too, with nary a hair on it. Except, you know, eyebrows. So it was straight to the bank.

As I walked, I was sure someone was following me. I just couldn’t shake the feeling. It must have had something to do with seeing Careena’s shop and home torn apart. So even though I had zero evidence, I still stopped at every single large window I came across, just so I could get a good look at who was behind me as I made my way along the avenue towards the Golden Square. Which was actually a rectangle.

The bank in question was The Crimson Trust. The building was massive, with a large staircase leading to a huge door, flanked by soaring columns on either side. Armed figures stood out front, doing a very good job at looking menacing. They had big weapons and a whole lot of attitude. They glared at me as I walked up the stairs. I imagined what they saw, and I didn’t blame them for glaring. I was pretty bedraggled. I had on basic gear again — I had a number of bonus sets in my closet — and not a lot else.

Once inside, I left a wet pathway on the marble floor of the building. And because it was that sort of a place, a nice-looking young man got straight to work drying my drippings as I dripped them.

"Help you?" a young woman asked, stepping in front of me.

"Hopefully," I said.

"If you are here for alms, you'll have to go around—“

"Not today, thanks. I have an account here."

"Oh? Please step over here."

She directed me to a carpeted area on the side of the lobby, where there was a bit more privacy.

"Number?" she asked.

I told her the number, and then the passphrase.

"A moment, sir," she said, pulling a small journal from a pocket in her dress. She wrote the number down, and the passphrase. She repeated them back to me, and I confirmed she’d gotten them right.

Then we stood there. Her journal out. Me dripping on the carpet.

"The weather is unpleasant," she said, eyeing me.

"Yeah," I said. "Must be nice to have a job indoors."

“There are some benefits, yes." She smiled. She had a nice smile. Her brown hair framed a face that still had plenty of babyfat on it, despite the woman's obvious maturity. She was probably well into her twenties, but still had big ol' cheeks. And big brown eyes. “You work outside?”

I nodded, wondering what I should tell her. Pit worker just didn’t seem like it would—

“Are you a guard?” She asked.

“No,” I replied. “I, uh, sometimes I am a pit worker.”

“Oh,” she said. I don’t think she meant to, but she took a step away from me. “That is a hard job — at least I’ve heard.”

“There are moments where it’s, uh, a bit of a challenge, yes.”

Something caught her attention on the journal, and an eyebrow raised. Then she realized what she was doing, and, reassuming her business-like demeanor, she nodded at me.

“Your account has been verified. How might we help you today?”

“I’m buying a building,” I said, “and it is my first time doing something like this. So do I, I mean, I imagine it’s probably a lot of coinage.”

"It could be, yes. I don't know which building you are buying, nor the price, but if it is a smaller amount, you could convert the coinage into platinum. Or there are higher denomination coins, but I would have to look into our stock."

"There are higher denomination coins?"

"Yes, though understand they are rarely seen outside the realm of real estate. More often you'll see people using letters of credit."

"That's probably what I need. How do I get one of those?"

"You simply ask, and we write one out for you."

"And they can come here and get gold?"

"Yes. Or they may set up an account here with the credit."

"Is there, I mean, let's say I was going on a trip. Is there another branch of this bank somewhere?"

"Of course. We have branches all over the Empire, and in several other countries."

“Oh that’s cool. What other countries?"

"Did no one tell you this when you opened the account?"

"Uh, no."

She frowned, but shrugged. “Well, there's obviously Mahrduhm and Carchedon. One in Kalmar, the Skaar Protectorate, Walbecken, The Kingdom of Two, The United Seven, and even one in Chimor."

"Do you think you've got branches in every country?"

"No," she said with a smile. "Not sure that's possible. We are one of the larger banks, but the world is impossibly vast.”

I was so curious, and I really wanted to ask her more. And yet, it didn't seem like a good idea to illuminate my ignorance too much.

"Is it possible to take a blank letter of credit?" I asked.

"No," she said, with a slight smile. "The letter is written in code, so we would need to do it here."

"Got it," I said. "I'll be back in a little while then."

"Please ask for me," she said. ”Eldora O’Callaghan at your service."

"Thank you, Eldora," I said. "I will."

I turned and left without saying my name. I had the feeling she was expecting it, but I didn't want to chance my name not matching what was on the account.

I walked back through the rain to the tavern, where Titus and Jaclyn were sitting and chatting amicably.

"I take it things have been worked out?" I asked.

"A fair price has been set," Titus said, and then he told me the number.

I smiled and nodded.

"I'm assuming you don't want that much coinage," I replied. "I can get you a letter of credit. Might be easier to travel with. Easier to hide. I don’t know where you're going, but—“

"South," she said. "I've got family in Wistenberg. And I'm sure we can find a branch of your bank along the way."

"One more walk in the rain then," I said. "Be back in, well, a while. Stupid bank isn't close."

"Apologies for that," she said.

"Just the way of the world," I said.

“You need to get a carriage or something," Titus said.

“We have a carriage. It’s just busted up and made for—“ I stopped talking, realizing that Jaclyn was right there, and I might not want to say that we’d commandeered a slaver’s carriage for our own use. “I thought one of you was supposed to be fixing it up for us. But maybe once I stop buying buildings, we can get some horses. Not like gold grows on trees."

"I've heard there is a land far to the northeast where that actually is the case," Jaclyn said.

I started to laugh at her dumb joke, but this was a world of magic, dragons, and trolls. The impossible was merely implausible here. So instead, I just shrugged and smiled.

"Until I get one of those trees then," I said. "I'll just have to walk."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Back into the rain.

This rather mundane activity, which absorbed my morning, was an indicator of just one reason life moved at a different pace in Vuldranni. Or at least Glaton. It was harder to get things done because there was no instant communication, and little transportation faster than walking. At least there were paired journals — that made a few things easier to deal with.

I got back to the bank and requested a letter of credit in the amount Titus had negotiated for. I got smiles from Eldora. Was she making eyes at me? Maybe, but I had no idea how one did the whole flirting thing here. It didn't seem like the lobby of a bank was a good place to learn.

I didn't go back to Jaclyn right away. I decided the better idea would be to stop in and speak with Matthew, since I probably should have spoken with him before I agreed to purchase the building. Not because I needed his permission, but I did value his opinion. And anyway, if I was going to stay ahead of the Iron Silents, I needed his help.

I sighed, really getting tired of the weather. And tired of walking. It was so inefficient. Not that I had a car back in the old world, but I had the subway, which is leagues better than a car. I could have hailed a carriage, but I was already soaked and disgusting, so it didn't make much sense. Better to just save that gold in case I needed to buy another damn building.

I chided myself. I needed to stop complaining — I’d likely end up with even more quests to fulfill. The only reason I was feeling so bad was because of the weather. And the repeated deaths. Dying so often had to be bad for the psyche. I found, however, that killing my killer did make me feel better. Especially because I'd managed to kill my killer twice. Sure, I had a whole hell of a lot more to do before we were anywhere close to equal, but I was on the path towards right and proper revenge. Thinking about that made me feel pretty good.

Eventually, when my cloak had finally given up and just let all the rain water through, and I was something more akin to a drowned rat than an elf, I got to the pits. After a bit of weaving through wide streets and high walls, I found Matthew's current work locale. I pushed through the gates and walked into the pit-zone. Matthew was standing on the edge of the pit, looking down. To me, at least, that meant Nadya and Godfrey were in the pit.

"Anything vile and dangerous inside?" I asked.

Matthew glanced over his shoulder, and gave me a slight smile.

"Seems like something vile and dangerous just got here," he said.

"Good nickname."

"Does't quite roll off the tongue."

“A work in progress."

"Coming back to work?"

“Thinking about it."

"What is it you really want?"

"Two things. Well, one thing. And one thing to tell you."

“Let’s start with what you want to tell me.”

“I’m buying another building."

"Why do you have so much gold? Or is that a question you don't want asked?”

"Biscuit’s Union money," I said. "I'm the last living member, so, well, it's all mine now."

"Interesting thing, that."

"Unexpected for sure."

“So what are your plans?”

“Partially I’m trying to spend the money before the guild collapses, because I’m not sure what happens to it then.”

“Seems wise. Where is this new place?”

“The building next door to the tavern. Uh, you know, the other way from the bakery building.“

“Do you want to take over the entire block?"

“Maybe, I don’t know— there could be some tactical advantages that way. ”

“Make your own fortress?”

“We could. In a fashion.”

Matthew wiped at the water on his face, and flicked drops off to the side.

"What's the thing you want from me?" he asked.

"You want to skip off the building discussion?"

"I want to know what you want."

"I want a spy network."

"A spy network? What country do you want to—“

"That's not what I'm trying to do,” I said. "I want to know about what's going on in the city. I want to find those Iron Silents asshats and tail them so I know where they're hiding and what they're doing. I want information at my fingertips. More or less.“

"Not a spy network."

"You want to have an argument about semantics?"

"Never."

"Great, so can you help me set that up?"

"You want me to run a spy network for you?"

"I thought I didn’t want a spy network."

He shrugged.

"Yes," I said. "And you can call it whatever you want."

"I'm not in that life anymore.”

“I hear you saying that, but it just seems like, maybe, you'd be willing to make an exception."

"Not for you. Or anyone."

"I feel like there's a but coming."

“It’s not a but. But, this is a dangerous time we are entering into, and you are a unique individual. I've been thinking quite a bit about you, and how you play into my life. What you might be capable of doing. I wonder if you and I were fated to meet."

"I did some thinking in that general field as well. It’s been an odd morning."

"Do you ever have normal mornings?"

"Not lately. This morning was, uh, well, Careena left Glaton."

"You think it's because of you?"

“That was pretty, uh, her note was reasonably specific."

"Well that’s a shame.”

"She gave me a name to continue my magical studies. Said that would complete her favor to you. And that she failed me."

"What's the name?"

"The Faden."

"Means nothing to me."

"Another reason for the spy network that's not a spy network."

"To find your magical mentor?"

“I mean, my rogue mentor is currently a bit preoccupied with politics. Besides, do you want me slinging spells at random while I try to—“

"Living next door to you is starting to feel a little less than ideal."

"Can't beat the rent."

"Depends what nonsense you're summoning. I don't enjoy beating down demons at three in the morning."

“That might not be my fault."

"Might."

"I managed to kill a demon today already. Or last night."

“Really?”

“A molromon."

"There's likely something along the lines of a story there. Did the Guard step in and help you?"

"No, but maybe two other people were involved and maybe died before I came along and did the last bit of stabby-stabby."

"That I would believe." Matthew looked back into the pit.

"Anything special in there?" I asked.

" Mostly just muck and shit," he replied. "If I do this, create this spy network of yours, you have to help me as well. It's a two-way street."

“You’re about to ask me if you can join the guild, right?“

“Let me finish what I was saying before you go about being right about things. You're the last living member of the Biscuit’s Union, and all their things are yours. That makes you the leader of the guild."

“Right, and—“

“What was it I said about letting me finish?"

I didn't say anything, but I definitely made a rather exaggerated 'go ahead' signal for him.

"You need to bring some new members into your guild. Right? But if you do that, you better make it our guild. Change the name, make it something new. Make it about something greater than just gold and power. You do that, and I’d likely consider joining. If I’m part of a new guild that isn’t all thievery and rogue’s work, that'll do to make it different enough that my old friends and enemies won’t come knocking on my door."

“I had some ideas about—“

“I’m not done. I need you to work with Godfrey and me to guide Glaton to a new and better Emperor. Or if we can't find someone better, get whatever disaster is going to be in power into the throne quickly. The longer we're in this leaderless limbo, the worse off this country is going to be."

"Are you—“

"You convince some of the others to join us, or join you, and I’ll join. I'll run the spy network you want, and I'll even go so far as to tell you the actual name it should be called."

"How kind of you."

"You want my help or you want to go back to cleaning mud out of pits?"

"I mean, I want your help and I'm willing to clean mud out of pits. Not sure they're mutually exclusive."

"You do this, you do it right. Which means you're going to be too busy to come down here and slum it up. Guild masters are busy people.“

I walked over and looked into the pit. Given the weather, there was an entirely new version of miserable in there. Buckets of rain pounding down on mud and monster shit. Nadya wore a really wide brimmed hat, while Godfrey seemed to rely on sheer rage to keep him dry.

“I can do that,“ I said.

“Good,” Matthew said. “You might need to get into some of the weeds of managing the guild, but I'd think there's an option somewhere for that."

“Are you going to freak if I do strange things like ask Boris to join?"

“The kobold? No. But I’d probably caution you."

"Then I'll do it."

"You doing it is the easy part. Getting others on board is going to be your challenge."

“But all you need is for me to get the others to join and you’ll join?”

“That’s one part. The other is more complicated. Are you ready to pay attention?”

“I’ve been listening to you. I am paying attention.”

“Fine. Here we go: One, you go to Valamir, and you find evidence he is behind his brother’s murder. Two, you change the name of the guild. Three, you make sure the guild is not just about thieving shit and hurting others for profit. Four, you said eight people need to join. I won’t join until at least seven others have.”

Rebuild the Guild II - Matthew Gallifrey

Matthew will join if you change the name of the guild, find evidence Valamir participated in the murder of his brother, revise the guild’s mission to aim it towards bettering Glaton, and have at least seven other members in good standing.

Reward for success: survival of the guild, unknown

Penalty for failure (or refusal): potentially the death of the guild

Yes/No

I accepted the quest, swallowing the rising panic I felt about being able to pull this off.

"Okay,” I said, “I got the quest. I'm going to go buy a building. You know some other people who need a place to live?"

"Probably.”

I clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm excited about this. It's going to be big."

"It's going to be a shitshow."

"Sure, but what a shitshow."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Once again, I walked. All the way across the city. Well, technically, from the Pits to Old Town wasn't even half the city, but it seemed like a lot. After all the walking back and forth throughout the day, it was nearing mid-afternoon by the time I sealed the deal with Jaclyn.

I handed over the credit letter, and she handed over the deed. It was quick and clean and nothing at all out of the ordinary. She thanked me profusely, assuring me that I’d given her family the opportunity to escape before the whole city went to the hells. I tried to smile at that, but it kind of meant she was leaving me to the hells. I waited until she’d left the tavern before I turned to Titus.

“Did we overpay?” I asked.

“I didn’t pay nothing,” he replied, “so pretty sure I came out fine on that deal.”

“Me?”

“Sadly, you made out like a bandit.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“I liked Jaclyn — she was a good neighbor. But you made out so well because she’s so afraid.”

“Does she have cause?”

“Dunno. Not yet. All that she fears may well come to pass. Or not. Depends on those who are jockeying for power. But I won’t say I’m not worried.”

“Does she have young kids?”

“There’s that problem, too. Just because the Emperor’s dead doesn’t mean kids will stop disappearing. Between you and me, if’n I wasn’t living here, in these buildings, I’d be looking to open up a tavern elsewhere. Glaton is in a bad spot.”

“I was talking to Matthew,” I started, but Titus held up his hand.

“If this is a Matthew sort of conversation, maybe we save it until we’re taking a tour of your new building.”

I shrugged. “Works for me.”

He called out to his wife. “Taking the kid over to the new building.”

She looked up from a book briefly, then waved at him.

“Boss says I’m good to go,” Titus said with a smile.

Building number three, was not as big as building number two, nor as small as building number one. Like my other two properties, building three had a commercial space on the main floor. This one was unoccupied as well, but was outfitted for a basic shop of some kind. Judging from the shield hanging out front, it had once sold books.

“A bookstore?” I asked.

“General goods, but also a few books.”

“When did it dry up?”

“When you bought it.”

“That was what she did?”

“She and her husband. They ran a general store, and rented out some of the units upstairs.”

“Oh. So they were ready to go?”

“They’d already moved out, if that’s what you mean.”

“And the rest of their tenants?”

“Out too.”

“That fast?”

“Some people have longer memories. Or they believe the stories about the last time there was a war of succession.”

“What happened then?”

“The country fell apart for a few years, and the city became a war zone.”

“That sounds like fun.”

He gave me a smile, then unlocked the door.

“Don’t those belong to me?” I asked, pointing at the keys.

“Yeah— I figured I’d hold on to them for now.”

“Why? You got plans for the place already?”

“I had a few thoughts, just in case you didn’t.”

“Do tell.”

He smiled, and then ushered me inside the building I now owned.

The shop was commensurate with all the other shops I’d been to in Glaton. There was a small area for the customers to enter and stand around, and then a wide counter. Behind the counter were all the goods and a spot for the shopkeep to stand and dole them out. It made theft much harder, considering that the customer didn’t get hands on the goods until such time as they’d already paid for them.

Naturally, we just hopped the counter.

Jaclyn had left all the shelves behind, both the ones in the center of the space, and all the ones along the walls. There was even a bit of sellable product remaining. Only the stuff that wasn’t worth enough to bring with them, like rotting vegetables, torn apparel, and cracked jars and vessels, remained. I spotted some heavy ropes and chains in the far corner, but that seemed like the only thing of actual value.

“Think, if you will,” Titus said, strutting around like a showman, “where this wall touches.”

He rested his hand on the wall that bordered his tavern.

“Uh, your place?” I asked.

“Correct,” he said. “Your building and my tavern. A tavern that rarely has enough room to adequately hold all those who wish to be patrons.”

“I have a bad feeling about what you’re about to say.”

“If we blow out this wall right here,” he said, a smile blossoming across his face, “we can extend the bar just a bit, and have more seating all through here. We’ll have to figure out what to do with the fireplace, but I do know a guy. Plus, we can put up a wall here and BOOM! we have a big enough kitchen to serve real food. Hire some real chefs, and we’ll have a proper restaurant. That’s where the big money is—“

“I thought bars made the money and restaurants flopped.”

“Maybe. But we’ve always got people asking for more food.”

“Because they’re drunk.”

“They won’t be sober in the restaurant.”

“Did you convince Jaclyn to talk to me?”

“I’d never.”

“You most certainly would.”

“Maybe. But I swear it was only a happy coincidence on this particular occasion. I’ve only been thinking about expansion since you put the idea in my head. My plan was to go up instead of going out, take over the second-floor apartment, but this way would be much better. Multilevel bars are notoriously difficult to run. We could even make this into an inn. Or a hotel, and have all those floors above be our rooms and—“

“That seems a bit ambitious.”

“Ambitious, sure. But ambitious can be extremely lucrative.”

“Lucrative is not necessarily the goal here. I’m looking at a few different things.”

“You mean whatever it was Matthew and you spoke about.”

“Yeah. He wants me, uh, well, I mean, I want to as well — it’s not like he’s leading the charge here, I am. But I’m, uh. Man, I’m doing a shit job of explaining it.”

Titus leaned against the counter and gave me a grin.

“I’m a bartender,” he said, “pretty sure I’ve heard worse. Take a second and start again.”

I did as he asked.

“You know I’m, uh well—“

“Comfortable walking on the opposite side of the law?”

“Sure. And that I’m part of the—“

“Biscuit’s Union.”

“You want to finish this for me?”

“Happy to. You mentioned this morning that you needed to rebuild your guild, which I assume means that you’re the last one left. And you said you’ve got but a week to do it. As you’re the last member, that would by default make you in charge, which is likely where you got the coin for this particular acquisition. Which doesn’t really concern me — I don’t care where you get your coin as long as it’s not out of my pocket. Or Matthew’s really. Now, if you’ve been talking to Matthew about things, I’m assuming he’s got you convinced that you can have some sort of sway on who becomes the next Emperor. And if he has you coming here to talk to me, even if you’re thinking it’s your own idea, it’s probably influenced by him. And that tells me you’re about to ask me to join your little guild again. Maybe rename it, get rid of the stigma attached to the BU, what with them being all killed, minus you. Which is another story for another time, my friend. But am I right?”

He’d managed to say virtually all of that in a single breath, and I had to take a second to actually unpack it all.

“I think you just said you think I’m here to ask you to join a guild that used to be the Biscuit’s Union, but will now be something else,” I said. “Right?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to be telling me if what I said was correct.”

“I am asking you to join my guild, which will be renamed. Yes.”

“For what purpose?”

“What do you mean?”

“What’s the goal of your guild? Why does it exist?”

“Matthew seemed to think it was for protection.”

“Okay, but why do you want it to exist?”

“Partly for protection,” I said, “but also because I think we can make the world a better place.”

“Where does money fit in, lad?”

“Makes the world go round, doesn’t it?”

“That it does. The thing is, I’m not willing to forgo gold in order to make the world a better place. My family comes first, and I’m not about to drop them into the Pits.”

“Please tell me that’s some sort of saying.”

“You’ve never heard it?”

“No. Must be a Glaton sort of a thing.”

“Only place I know of with pits, so might be. Means I don’t want to be so poor I’m sending my children to work in the Pits.”

“It’s not that bad of a job.”

“Were you a child working there?”

“No— yeah, I get what you mean.”

“I want my children to go to school. To get into one of the academies, and not have to slog away for the rest of their lives.”

“Maybe keep the tavern going in the family?”

“If the gods bless me, and you keep buying up buildings, maybe.”

“I’m not particularly altruistic myself. And I’m not keen to work in the pits either. I mean, I don’t mind working in the pits, but I also don’t want your kids to work in the pits.”

“Or yours, I’d assume.”

“Let’s not get my imaginary kids in the mix quite yet. I want to get some gold and take down some rich assholes. In doing so, we’ll have made the world a bit better. That’s what I want. I’m also pretty damn keen on keeping the people I like safe.”

“Oh, so you like me and mine? I feel so warm and cuddly inside.”

“You want me to start charging you rent?’

“Not in the slightest. Now, is my getting the expansion going to be contingent on me joining your little club?”

“No. But I haven’t agreed that the expansion is happening yet.”

“And what would you be thinking of doing with this place?”

“Maybe a second tavern. A little competition?”

The color drained from his face.

“I’m kidding, gods.”

“You give me the expansion, then I’m in.”

Rebuild the Guild III - Titus Calpernus

Allow Titus to expand the Heavy Purse into the new building.

Reward for success: survival of the guild, unknown

Penalty for failure (or refusal): potential death of the guild

Yes/No

I accepted the quest.

“You can have the expansion,” I said.

“Why thank you,” he said with a smile.

Congratulations! You’ve completed a QUEST!

Rebuild the Guild III - Titus Calpernus

You allowed Titus to expand the Heavy Purse into the new building.

Reward for Success: A new member in good standing for your guild.

Best quest ever.

“Just for the record,” I said, “I’d have done your expansion even if you hadn’t joined.”

“And that’s why we love you — you’re just a big softie under all that itchy clothing. Now, you want to see the rest of the place?”

The building had five floors above ground and three below. A basement, a sub-basement, and a sub-sub-basement. But it lacked a mystery monster in any of the subfloors, and I felt it was really the worse for that. The floors above the commercial space were divided into two apartments per floor, except the top floor, which had one big place with three bedrooms. All the rest were two-bedroom jobbies. There was an empty aerie on the roof that looked like it had held a ton of birds at one point.

Behind the building was a small two-story carriage house and stable, roughly on par with the one behind the bakery. But there was no room for turning wagons around, nor any major deliveries. The stable still held quite a bit of hay, but all the animals were gone, as was the wagon or carriage. The walls that contained the carriage yard of building three abutted that of building two, which I now saw was the reason there wasn’t a back door or carriage spot for building one. But considering all the property was mine now, there could be some consolidation of buildings and the like in the back. I sighed, standing at a window looking out at the alley region in the back. This was starting to seem like real work. And I still had to go convince a paladin to join a thieves’ guild.

"You know where Leofing might be?" I asked.

"Likely the tavern," Titus said, "taking up the best spot next to the fire and telling stories to anyone near enough to listen. But if you go in there still looking like a drowned gremlin, the wife'll toss you out."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I was more than a little irritated that I needed to change, because I knew I’d inevitably have to go outside and get soaked all over again. Still, one thing I didn’t have at the moment was a surplus of time, so I needed to talk to Leofing. I went over to building number one, up the stairs, and traded out my drenched cloak and clothes for a new dry set. Then, down into the tavern.

Sure enough, Leofing was at the table near the fireplace with a large plate of food in front of him. The massive blonde paladin twirled his mustache around a finger as he looked out the window, maybe pondering the weather. Or his decision to remain in Glaton and hang out with me.

"What's going on?” I asked, pulling a Riker to sit down in front of him. "You look like you’re having deep thoughts."

"The weather is remarkably unpleasant here," he replied. "And I'm told to expect it to get worse. Supposedly, summer is nice, if brief, and winter is long, cold, and horribly wet. As such I am having a moment of irritation with my mistress."

"Your goddess?"

"Indeed," he said with a nod.

"You're irritated with her because of the weather?"

"Yes."

"Does she control the weather?"

"Not that I know of. Maybe moderate changes, localized alterations, but probably not on a global scale. Although, perhaps, well, if we are talking in a purely theoretical concept, sure, she could control the weather. But I would never bother her with such a trivial matter."

"You'd just be irritated at her."

"I am irritated I am forced to live here, and that she has guided my hand thusly."

"You aren't forced to live here—“

"I have been tasked with keeping you safe," he said firmly. “It is not something I take lightly, nor something I would ignore.”

“So you need me to move?”

He chuckled. “No.”

“Hey, do you want to join a guild?”

"The guild you belong to?"

"It's more the guild I seem to be running now."

"Ah, you're moving up in the world."

"Not through any actions of my own. At least, not yet."

"What is this guild devoted to?"

“Well, a big part of it is devoted to making the world a better place. I figured that might entice you."

“That does, to a degree. But the goddess of life is not necessarily concerned with making the world better. She is about celebrating life and fighting that which seeks to take life unjustly.”

“Like the undead."

“Any creature that seeks to kill for the sake of killing is an enemy. Those who kill for a reason, sustenance or defense, justice or, well, some reasons I may have forgotten, but those are not the enemies of life. The undead tend to hate life, and do little but fight to end it.”

“So would it bother you if I used, uh, magic to, um—“

"If you practiced necromancy?"

"Yes."

He took his first bite of food and chewed it languidly before looking back at me to answer. "Me? Not especially. I find it a bit gross, truth be told. But I can understand, to an extent, why one might wish to engage in something like that. Especially if one were gifted in that field, or had some other reason for pursuing that magic."

"Okay, but what about your goddess?"

"Why would she care about necromancy?"

"Because she’s the goddess of life?"

"Ah, but necromancy takes from the dead, not the living. Or if does take from the living, it does so in the way that all monsters and predators do. If she started being angry about that… It would be more precise to say she hates the undead, but not those who create the undead. Unless, of course, you managed to discover some means to make the undead out of the living instead of the dead, but I feel that might change the very basis behind what it is you are doing. If you want to see a god who hates undeath, you must instead look to the god of death. He hates necromancy because it steals from him. My problem is more one of aesthetics and control. I have never known a necromancer able to fully control all that he tries to bring forth. The bigger question might be asking yourself how you feel about the undead. How you feel about coopting the flesh of a creature and enslaving it for your own purposes after it has died a rightful death.”

“These are all questions I’ve been thinking a lot about. The morality of magic is—”

“A mess.”

“Yes.”

“There is a freedom in pledging service to a god. Certain moral decisions are made for you. But my goddess must trust in you to some extent, and she was not aware of you until after you gained your necromantic powers. There is more to her than either of us know.”

“That makes me feel a little better about asking you to join me. Us."

"I think joining is good. I think what you are trying to do might be good. And maybe you need someone to remind you which way leads you towards good." Then he held up a finger. "She seems to like you. So perhaps she is willing to allow a certain flexibility in the matter."

I was about to reply with something glib about being liked by a goddess, but then I stopped. It was just so odd to live in a world where gods were not just invested in the affairs of mortals, but were also prone to liking things and being fallible just as humans were. If a god could like someone, it was entirely possibly a god could dislike someone. Or hate someone. If that was the case, what would happen? Could the god just snap their heavenly fingers and the object of their ire would keel over dead? Seemed within the realms of possibility.

Maybe it'd be better for me to get away from Leofing and his goddess before she decided she liked me more. Or I did something to make her dislike me. Being cursed with a bevy of necromantic spells while the goddess of life was paying attention felt like a recipe for disaster.

"She would like to meet you,” Leofing said suddenly.

"I didn't realize you were praying to her."

"I wasn't."

"So she was just listening?"

"The goddess may be anywhere and everywhere. Her powers are immense. She is a god, after all.”

"You think she watches you go to the bathroom?"

"I had yet to consider it."

“But now you are, aren't you?"

“Yes, but I can't say it bothers me overly much. More I feel some sadness at what she might have to witness.”

"So, what’s it gonna be? Will you join us?”

“Our fates our intertwined, Clyde Hatchett. But for me to join, you will have to gain the permission of my holy mistress.”

He grabbed my hand in a crushing grip, and gave me a big ol' smile.

You have been offered a quest:

Rebuild the Guild IV - Leofing

Leofing requires you to meet with his mistress, the goddess of Life Mokoš and gain her permission.

Reward for success: Leofing will join your guild.

Penalty for failure (or refusal): potential death of your guild

Yes/No

“Good luck,” he said. “Meeting a god is not an everyday occurrence. Enjoy it, but remember to be respectful.”

He turned back to looking out the window, absently drinking from his mug of ale. It was a pretty clear indicator we were done talking. I accepted the quest, and immediately wondered how I was to go about scheduling a meeting with the goddess of life.

I decided the best way to exit wasn't to walk out the front door of the tavern. It was probably better for me to be a bit sneaky. So I headed into the back room, the storage area, and smacked right into Shae and her shadow, Boris.

Boris gave a little shriek and darted behind a crate, while Shae crashed into the ground.

“Whoa, sorry," I said, reaching out to help her up.

"No," she said, blushing a little. "I was just looking for you."

"Oh, well, hi."

“Where have you been? Are you okay?”

“It’s complicated, and, uh, it’s complicated.”

"Are you busy?"

"Uh, maybe? I’m trying to, I mean, there’s just—“ I couldn’t help but be tongue tied around Shae. It was mainly when she was staring straight at me — her big blue eyes made me weak in the knees. I was fighting it, but there was something undeniably attractive about her. This might be the spot I mention my loins, except I don’t want to. “I need to recruit members to my guild and I’ve only got a few days to do it.”

“Are you going to ask me?” Shae asked.

“I was, yeah.”

“I’ll join if you help Boris,” she said, then looked around her. "Where is Boris?"

"Hiding over there. What's wrong with Boris?"

"It's not Boris so much as some of Boris', uh, people."

"The other kobolds."

"Yes."

"What's up with them?'"

"Boris says they're in trouble."

"Boris," I called out, "what's going on with your kobold buddies?"

A little snout poked out between some barrels stacked nearly directly above me.

"Buddies means friends, yes?” Boris asked.

I rolled my eyes. "Yes," I said. "But in this case, I mean it in a more general way. What is going on with the kobolds that you know?”

He looked at me, and finally crawled out from behind the barrels so he could sit on the edge of the crate.

"Not sure there is time for this," he finally said. "I know many kobolds."

I looked over at Shae and gave her my best I'm-so-done-with-this face.

"He told me his friends are being hunted in the sewers," Shae said.

"Yes," Boris added, "some of my friends are. Also, some kobolds who are not my friends. And at least two who I would not mind if they perished.”

“They are all being hunted?" I asked.

Boris nodded his head.

"Not that I don't believe you," I said, "but where are you getting this information?"

Boris pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, and handed it to me.

On it was scrawled a simple phrase:

"Being hunted in sewers."

"Okay, how does this work?" I asked. “Is this, like, a paired page?"

Boris nodded. "Tear out two pages from a paired book, have paired pages. Easier. Good for emergencies."

I paused to admire the brilliance of that. It might be worth investing in a few of these paired journals just so I could pass out pages to people. It'd be like texting.

"Do you know where they are now?" I asked.

"Sewers," Boris replied.

“Right, anything slightly more precise?"

"B-10."

“What is that, like a map coordinate? Do you have a map of the sewers?"

He nodded, then tapped his head. "Here," he said.

“Right. One more question," I said, thinking about my initial experiences with Boris. “You specifically joined up with me because you said those other kobolds would have left you behind to slow the ooze so they could get away. Why do you want to help them now?”

He looked at me, then looked over at Shae. She nodded at him.

"I watch you, how you deal with others. You help. I am wanting to help and maybe they will want to help."

I raised an eyebrow toward Shae. "What've you been telling him?"

"I told him what you've done for all of us here. Are you going to help with this or not?" Shae asked. "I'm pretty sure time is limited with this. And, you know, the guild.“

You have been offered a quest:

Rebuild the Guild V - Shae

Shae requests that you assist Boris in saving kobolds from the sewers.

Reward for success: Shae will join your guild.

Penalty for failure (or refusal): Potential Death of your guild

Yes/No

I sighed. “Son of a biscuit eater,” I said. ”I’m in."

I accepted the quest.

Boris smiled and nodded. Then he promptly darted down the stairs into the basement.

"Wait, where's he going?" I asked.

"You'll see if you follow," Shae said. Then she also turned and ran down the stairs to the basement.

Naturally, I had to follow.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The basement was still the basement, full of boxes and supplies. But then I saw that Boris had pushed a crate aside to reveal a small tunnel. Something perfectly kobold-sized linked the basement of my first building to the basement of my second building.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Tunnel," Boris replied, ever helpful.

“I see that. Did you make it?"

"This morning."

He smiled his toothy little grin and darted on through.

I had to crouch to get through, and even then it was tight. Leofing would probably need to crawl. I was kind of excited for the excuse to explore the bakery's basement, where Jaclyn said bizarre cult activities had taken place. But it was virtually empty. Nothing indicated it had been used for anything, let alone bizarre cult activities. There was a bit of a funk to the place, but it was a basement after all, so that made sense.

I didn’t get much time to look around though, since Boris darted through a doorway and down another set of stairs to the sub-basement. As far as I knew, there was no mystery monster in the sub-basement of the bakery, but heading down there reminded me that there was a mystery monster living in my own sub-basement, and that was still something I needed to look into.

The bakery sub-basement was deep. Its ceilings were abnormally high, thirty feet at least. Heavy stones made up the walls, and the floor was hard-packed dirt. It smelled like loam and misery inside.

There was a large door to one side, dividing the sub-basement in two. But instead of heading there, Boris led us to a small arch blocked up with a crudely made wooden door. If the broken barrels nearby were any indication, it had been recently made with elements taken from the back room of the Heavy Purse.

Boris waited at the door, looking back at us impatiently.

"Faster," Boris said.

"Where does that door lead?" I asked.

Boris opened it, and pointed. "There."

"Where's there?" I asked.

"There is there," he said.

I just clenched my teeth and smiled.

Boris smiled back and darted into the darkness beyond.

"Goes to the sewers," Shae said.

"You've been going to the sewers?" I asked.

"Sometimes," Shae said. "Boris knows them really well, and I was intrigued."

"It's dangerous down there," I said.

"Sure, but Boris knows how to avoid the danger."

"Last time he avoided the danger by having a giant slime follow us into the Imperial Palace."

"And you were fine."

"Not everyone was fine in that mess."

Boris stuck his head back into the sub-basement. "Coming?"

Once again, it was a tight fit through the tunnel. But while the door to the tunnel had a certain kindergarten charm to its construction, the tunnel was surprisingly well dug. Or built. Or both. It was winding, and had a slight downward tilt to it.

Following along, we got to another small archway with another crudely-constructed door. The smell was blocked only slightly by the door, so it was immediately evident we were going into the sewers. Despite living in a magical world full of countless sentient beings with their own special abilities, there was still nothing that could disguise the smell of shit.

I pushed into darkvision, and the world switched into hues of high-contrast green. Boris pushed the door open, and sure enough, there was a river of effluence slowly flowing by. Like the other sewers I'd been in, these were arched tunnels with small walkways along either side. There were spots for torches or candles to be set into the walls, making it clear that whomever had designed the whole place intended for workers to come in and make repairs when necessary.

Boris didn't wait for us, or give any unnecessary conversation. He just turned left and marched forward.

"Can you see?" I asked Shae.

She pointed to some weird goggle-like things on her face, something I hadn't seen before.

"We found these in your apartment," she said. "Helps me see in the dark."

She flashed her winning smile at me, and it was enough to make me forget that technically she’d stolen from me. And that she and Boris had been snooping around my place. I should have been mad, but I had a thing to do.

I stood aside to let Shae pass, and took up the rear.

It didn’t take long for me to get lost in the sewers. Everything looked the same, and I couldn't see any sort of signage to indicate when tunnels came to intersections. Which were sadly common. There were small bridges across some of the intersections, allowing the workers, or us interlopers, to get to the other side. Though theoretically, it’d be possible to just follow the flow of poop back to my place. Theoretically.

Like everything with Boris, following him was an exercise in patience. He didn't bother to explain any of his actions. One minute we'd be walking along, quiet but unconcerned, and the next he’d snap his hand out to grab Shae and pull her to the wall with him, pressing up as far against the stone as possible. I’d do the same. No idea why I did the same, but I did. We'd be still for a moment. Then he'd nod, and we'd be moving again. No rhyme or reason. Or none that I could see, at least.

He'd also stop and change direction, leading us back to a previous intersection and then on a different way. Occasionally, he'd pull out the tiny piece of paper and write something on it, wait for a response, and then take us along again.

Of course, some of the stuff we were avoiding was painfully obvious, like the inflow pipes coming from people's homes. Or businesses. Sometimes it was a small pipe sending a steady stream of liquid. Other times, it was a larger thing, nearly tunnel-sized, that had random bursts of, well, more solid stuff coming down. At which point, it would splash into the sludge, leaving a horrible spray that we were eager to avoid. It was remarkably disgusting on so many levels.

One time when Boris pulled back Shae and motioned for me to get back against the wall, he made it very clear we needed to be as still as possible. Then a series of ridges came up from the sludge, followed by a very large head. It was something crocodilian, fifteen to twenty feet long, and as it surfaced, it paused. I could see glossy black eyes scanning around. It drifted in the water, letting the current pull it along, and after a few minutes, it disappeared down another turn in an intersection.

Boris simply shook his head, and we continued on.

Finally, he knelt down and nodded at me.

"We are here," he said.

I didn't bother to ask for clarification, because I knew it would just wind up sounding ridiculous and get me no actual information.

"Around corner," Boris said, pointing towards the nearest intersection.

It was about ten feet ahead us. I stepped around Boris and slid my feet on the brick walkway until I came to the corner. I could hear two people talking. I couldn't make out any specifics though, since there was just enough ambient noise from the sewer and its sewage.

I knelt down and edged along until I could peek around.

A man and a woman stood at relative attention about twenty feet down the path. They had armor on. Nothing crazy, not like full plate or anything, but enough to indicate they were pros. These people were fighters. They had short swords in their hands, ready to go, and small bucklers on their non-weapon hands. So they were ready to fight in the close quarters of the sewers. They stood on either side of an opened door revealing a hole in the sewer wall. The door that looked as if it had been fished out of the passing sewage and repurposed to cover the hole. And having seen kobold tunnels before, I knew that the hole in the side of the sewer was kobold work.

Carefully, I leaned back around to look at Boris.

"Who are those people?" I asked barely above a whisper.

He looked confused, then came over to me to take a peek himself. But I saw zero subtlety in his actions, so I grabbed him and pulled him back onto me.

"Don't just step out there," I hissed.

"Can't tell you who then."

"Are there regular hunters who come down here after you guys?"

"Yes."

"Like professional sewer cleaners?'

"Yes."

"And that's who these guys are?”

"Maybe."

That changed everything. When I agreed to this quest, I’d imagined that the hunters were overzealous asshats who just wanted to muck around with kobolds, chasing them into the sewers. But if these were professional hunters whose job was to clean up kobolds, that meant they actually knew what they were doing. And, likely, had backup. Going in with daggers blazing, figuratively speaking, wasn't going to cut it.

I needed to be smart, and try to rescue the little dragon-like idiots without killing any of the hunters. It’d cause too much attention that I didn’t need.

I peeked out again.

The two were chatting vaguely. From the sound, and they way they stood, it seemed like the woman was irritated the man wasn't talking to her very much. And the man was spending more time looking at his sword than at the woman. They were relaxed.

"You stay here," I whispered to Shae. "And keep Boris with you."

"What are you doing?" Shae whispered back.

“Getting this nonsense started.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I stood up, pulled my cloak back, and slid my daggers into their sheaths. Then I just strolled around the corner, doing my best to look unassuming.

Somehow I managed to get halfway over to the two before they noticed me. The man already had his sword up, so he took a step back and turned to face me.

"Hey," he said, not quite shouting, but with force.

Given what I'd seen of the sewers, I guessed no one was keen on making too much of a ruckus. You could never tell what attention would bring you.

"Hey," I said, matching his volume and pretending to be surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"What are we doing here? What are you doing here?"

"I’m on official business."

The man looked back at the woman, confused. She shrugged. But his sword point dropped a bit.

"What official business?" he asked.

"You tell me what you're doing here," I said, trying to inject as much snootiness into it as possible. "I've already said too much."

"We're cleaning out a pack of nasties," the woman offered up, gesturing to the hole next to her.

"A pack of nasties?" I replied. "That sounds ridiculous."

"Kobolds," the man said.

"You're hunting kobolds?" I asked.

"Yes,” the man said. “We found out there's a pack of them down here."

"You see one," the woman said, "means there's a hundred more lurking around. Doing nasty things."

“What kind of nasty things?”

"They eat children."

The man looked over his shoulder at the woman. "They don't eat children."

"Sure they do," the woman snapped back. "Where do you think all the children are going? Kobold bellies."

"That's absurd," the man replied. “There's not enough missing children to feed these kobolds. They'd be going hungry."

"Did they look well-nourished?"

"What in the hells does a well-nourished kobold look like?" the man asked, getting louder.

“Probably like a fat dragon!” The woman countered, her voice raising to match, and best his.

“You have no idea what the hells you are talking about,” the man said. His voice echoed off the tunnel, and I found myself torn. On the one hand, it might be just as well to let the two of them fight. On the other hand, their shouting might attract something worse than two loud humans. “You’re only here because your mother is—“

“Don’t you dare talk about my mother—“

“Why? Are you going to tell her I said something about her so she can get me a worse job than cleaning out the poop tubes?”

“My mother says I can do this job!”

“I’ve seen no evidence of that whatsoever.”

“I did the clean up with the—“

“That’s a clean up! You don’t even know—“

I felt something yanking on my pant leg. I had to check myself so I didn’t just turn around and start stabbing indiscriminately. It was just the little kobold Boris, who, frankly, did look malnourished. The arguing continued on in the background.

“Bad things coming,” he whispered.

“How do you know?” I asked

“Dangersense. Things coming down that tunnel. Loud idiots are loud.”

Just then, I realized the arguing had stopped.

I looked up to see both sets of human eyes on me.

“Were you just talking to a kobold?” The man asked.

“Can they even talk?” I replied.

The sword started to come back up.

I gave my best smile. “I’ve got one trapped,” I said. “We’re testing to see if they make adequate guides down here. My assistant has control of him.”

“Assistant?” The man asked, sword tip lowering down.

“Of course. You think I came down here on my own? I have this kobold guide, which is only experimental, and an assistant. Assistant?”

Shae poked her head around the corner and looked at the three of us.

“You called?” Shae asked.

She pushed Boris, who was looking suitably cowed, in front of her.

“Finally found a use for these things, eh?” The guy said, stepping around me to get a closer look at Boris.

I wasn’t really keen on letting that happen, because I didn’t trust Boris to keep calm when a man with a sword came close to him. So I let my foot go a little further out than it should, and I tripped the man.

His eyes went wide as he dropped his sword and his arms pinwheeled, trying to regain balance. Which I think he might have, but Shae made a beautiful play to save him, and kind of shoved him into the poo-river by ‘accident.’ His partner rushed to the river to help him. I wasn’t even subtle this time — I just grabbed her by the shoulders and hurled her in after her buddy.

There was a splash as the man came to the surface, but the current swept him away.

“Not the most delicate of actions,” I said, “but thanks for coming through with the, uh, charade.”

“My pleasure, boss.”

“And Boris, I know you guys don’t eat children.”

“Sometimes eat eggs,” Boris said. “Like children.”

He did have a point, I supposed.

I went through the kobold hole, and before I could get my bearings, someone shoved me further inside.

“Wait up,” I hissed.

“Can’t,” came Shae’s hasty reply.

I motored through the cramped tunnel until I got to the first open room. It was a small circular space, but with enough height that I could stand up. My head didn’t quite touch the ceiling, but if I went on my tiptoes, I’d get brained. The space, as a whole, was maybe ten feet around, and had four more exits to pick from. Shae bumped into me, and I stepped further in.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “Boris said something was coming.”

“What something?”

“You really think he gave me specifics?”

“I can dream.”

“Something dangerous. Set off his sense.”

Boris was there a second later, and a quick peek back the way we’d come revealed he had sealed the tunnel with the door.

“Which way do we go?” I asked.

Boris sniffed at the ground, then put his hand on the walls and felt.

“Hunters down here,” he pointed down the first tunnel on the left. “And here.” The third tunnel.

“Okay, and the kobolds?” I asked.

He swept his hand around to indicate all of them.

"Lovely."

"We go here," Boris said, pointing to the fourth tunnel.

I glanced at the four tunnels. I wasn't sure I wanted to ignore the hunters — there might be something gained by seeing what the humans were up to — but I was hoping Boris knew something, or had some actual plan beyond just leading me places.

"Four it is," I said, and crawled down the tunnel as quickly as I could go.

The tunnels would have been a nightmare for anyone with even a hint of claustrophobia. Even for someone without it, the feeling of the walls brushing against my shoulders caused a healthy dose of panic.

We went around a tight corner and I bonked my head against a door. I rocked back on my heels and I rubbed my head. Then I felt around for a latch before I finally managed to open the door.

It led to another circular room, this one larger. There were no other exits though, just the one I'd come through. It was higher than the first, maybe twelve feet or so. There was an acrid odor thanks to all the detritus and gack on the floor — which became even more disgusting when I realized I should’ve been nose-blind to shit-smell by now.

We were at the kobolds’ garbage dump. Which was weird — they lived next to the damn sewer, where all the trash in the city was thrown. Why bother with a separate garbage dump?

Being that the kobolds were basically digging out their chambers from solid stone, there'd been little ornamentation anywhere prior to this room. But in the dump, there was an interesting bit of decoration on the wall. The stone seemed to change color ever so much. Naturally, because it was so out of place, something bothered me about the decor. Nothing the kobolds had done so far had been with aesthetics in mind. Everything had been utilitarian to a ridiculous degree. I couldn't quite reach the color shift, but moving around through the garbage, I managed to find something that was semi-solid to stand on. From my new perspective, I saw there was more than just a shift of stone. There was some missing space there.

I jumped up to get my hand to touch the rough-hewn rock. Sure enough, right at the color change, there was enough of a lip that I got a grip. I slammed my other hand onto the ledge and pulled myself up.

When my head cleared the edge, I saw a ton of tiny eyes peering back at me.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Let me just admit it right here: baby kobolds are cute. They have massive heads, big expressive eyes, and tiny little bodies. And they all stared at me with open and absolute terror, like I was about to eat them.

They made no noise. They just stared and shook slightly. By a quick count, there were fifty of them. I looked along the wall, and saw that the, well, hatchery for a lack of a better word, went about ten feet back and was about three feet tall, and went all around the circular room. Which meant there were likely more baby kobolds tucked in the other side.

“What’s up there?” Shae asked.

I dropped to the ground.

“Babies,” I said.

“Kobold babies?”

“Yes. You thought human—“

“I didn’t know.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Hey,” she said, “I lived a sheltered life. I don’t know about these things. That woman could have been telling the truth.”

“Fair. I’m sorry.”

I looked back at the tunnel, not really enjoying the prospect of more crawling.

“Boris,” I said, “why are there babies in the dump?"

"Humans stay out."

He made a good point. The smell was eye-wateringly bad, and from a cursory glance, there was nothing of value in the pit.

"So how do we get the babies out?" I asked.

"Bolt hole is in floor," Boris said, pointing to the exact most vile spot in the room. "You bring other kobolds in here. We will escape out this way."

"Do I want to know where that leads?"

"I am not you, cannot tell."

"Are you staying here?"

"No," Boris said. "I go with you. Shae stay with babies. Keep them calm."

"I'm doing what now?" Shae asked, eyes wide.

"Don't worry," I said, "it's all part of the plan."

I boosted Shae up, and she crawled in among the babies. Almost immediately I heard cooing sounds from her.

Boris grabbed my pants and tugged my belt.

"We move faster," he said. "Go."

So I went. Sadly, that meant crouch-running back through the tunnel towards the first branch point. I heard footsteps coming from somewhere. But because we were in a series of stone tunnels, there was no way to determine where the sound was coming from. It was just an avalanche of echoes. So I stopped short at the tunnel entrance and peeked around the edge.

I saw a burly human was dragging something in a net, something that was struggling. He slammed the net, and the thing, into the open area, and then turned and went back up the other way. I saw an opportunity, so I darted out, and snatched the net. A quick peek confirmed there was a kobold inside. Its eyes went wide with fear, and I saw it had a bunch of small cuts and swelling lumps over its body.

I dragged it back into the tunnel, going about halfway down to the dump-nursery before I stopped. Boris looked at me, and I pointed at the struggling kobold.

"Get him out," I hissed.

Boris pulled a small blade out and went to work on the net.

I went back to my position, and waited.

No one was coming.

"Go into first tunnel there," Boris said.

"Didn't the hunters go down that way?”

"Maybe."

He was insistent, though, and shoved me.

I ran across the open space, sliding to a stop in the first tunnel and turning around so I could see if anyone was coming.

Boris ran right into me and knocked me over.

We were a right stealthy pair.

"Sorry," he said.

I just shoved him off, rolled over, and continued crawling. It was a very, very long tunnel. The thing just went on and on. And on. Finally, we made it to the next room, and I got my first real glimpse into the daily life of a kobold. They seemed to be some sort of mixture of hoarders and inventors. Or engineers.

The room wasn't overly large, another mostly round space that was about twenty feet in diameter and ten feet high. There were no exits from the room, and the walls were liberally covered with things. Crude shelves made out of pieces of wood that looked to be held together with sheer force of will. There were vast piles of things, but all sorted. And mostly clean. Bits of wood, huge mounds of string and ripped cloth. Buckets with nails. One of bent nails, one of straight-ish nails, one of rusty nails, even one bucket of what I swear was just rust. There were hooks in the ceiling, with hanging baskets full of more crap. Bits of metal, bits of leather. I could barely make out a clear space in the center of the room, near a little work bench, so I walked there.

Boris nimbly stepped between the crap, and pulled on the side of a tottering shelf filled with broken weapons and tools. I jumped back, worried it was going to fall on me, but the thing swung out neatly on a hinge that had been cleverly tucked out of sight, about a foot above the junk. The shelf revealed another tunnel. My kobold buddy looked inside for a minute, then shook his head, and closed the shelf. He hopped onto me, then pushed off to a large barrel filled with staves of soggy wood. He pushed some cloth out of the way. Another tunnel.

"This one," Boris said, and he slipped behind the cloth and disappeared.

I shook my head. This was a maze and a half.

We went through the dark tunnel at a quick pace — I was growing accustomed to crawl-running. About fifty feet before we got to the end, Boris held up a claw to stop me. He didn’t take his eyes off the end. After a little feeling about, he found the latch he was looking for. He pulled the latch open, and very slowly pushed, revealing another room. This one was a bedroom. Only discernible from the first room because there were some bedrolls in a pile near something that I assumed was a heat source of some kind. There were more finished projects in here, as well as projects that were still in the midst of being built, devices that had to have some sort of purpose. But what those might be, I didn't know.

Boris crept into the room, and I followed. Voices came from the single visible entrance, humans talking about something. The problem, however, was the acoustics in the burrow. Or warren. Or home. Whatever you want to call the kobold collection of living spaces, the acoustics were terrible. It was likely only because the hunters were so busy talking to themselves that they didn't hear the clatter Boris made trying to be sneaky. Or so I thought. Someone definitely heard us, and footsteps started coming our way.

I was about to say something, but Boris promptly opened up another secret door, just to the right of the main entrance. It revealed another tunnel. Shorter, though, because I could see the other end. He darted inside, and I followed, pulling the dilapidated attempt at a bookshelf closed behind me.

We waited inside, and I held my breath. There was the tiniest little hole in the secret-bookshelf door, and if I put my eye right up to it, I got a decent view of the room.

A hunter came in, and looked around. A burly sort of a guy with enough scruff that he looked in dire need for a shave. And a haircut, for that matter. He had some wicked scars on his face that put him in the realm of hideous, but also kind of cool in that partially destroyed sort of way. He had a long cudgel in one hand, something that looked to be a brutally heavy hunk of iron with a fat lump of another metal at one end. He used the cudgel to push stuff out of the way, knocking over a basket full of nuts that clattered across the hewn stone floor.

He bent to pick up a handful of the nuts. He sniffed, then made a disgusted noise, and threw the handful against the wall.

One more cursory look, and he went back down the tunnel the other way.

"Which way?" I whispered to Boris. I turned and saw that he'd already scampered to the other end and was peeking out.

By the time I made it over to him, Boris had decided that whatever he'd been looking at wasn't worth looking at any longer, so he pushed past me to go back into the room we'd just come from. He hesitated at the bookshelf-door, then very carefully stepped out into the sleeping quarters.

I followed, wishing I had a better idea of this place. I made a vow that if I ever participated in another kobold rescue mission, I would have a map of the damn place before I stepped foot inside.

And speaking of feet, there was the new obstacle of the loose nuts all over the floor. Which my buddy Boris promptly stepped on, and face-planted.

He jumped back up immediately, and rushed across to the other side. His efforts to move quickly sent the nuts shooting across the room in a staccato cacophony, but the little dude ignored the noise. He climbed a crate, pulled a fabric covering to the side, and jumped inside another damn hidden tunnel. I had to follow, or be lost. As I slipped into the hole, I heard the hunters coming.

"I knew I heard something," one of them said.

I crawled through the tunnel as fast as possible, not waiting to see what might happen with the hunters.

Ahead, Boris was— Boris was with two other kobolds, arguing in what I could only assume was kobold sign language.

I didn't bother to stop. I knew the hunters would start searching for secret tunnels, and it wasn't hard to imagine them pushing aside the tapestry on the wall first thing. I barreled in between the kobolds and pushed open the door on the other end, rolling out of the tunnel before I even had a good chance to look at the room.

The new room was another sleeping setup, almost a carbon copy of the last one. There was an equal amount of stuff, with just some minor variations.

For a second, the three kobolds just looked at me. Then Boris jumped out and gestured to the two others.

They jumped out as well, and we shut the shelf over the tunnel.

This room had two exits, both leading to tunnels that curved enough I couldn't see the ends.

"Where to?" I asked Boris.

He held up a claw to me, and conferred with the other two. One of the two went over to the tapestry hanging on the wall — a tapestry that was remarkably similar to the last one — and he pulled it to the side to reveal another tunnel. This was getting ridiculous.

There were several kobolds inside. Boris hopped up and gestured for me to follow.

I did, and we settled the tapestry nicely again.

"Some kobolds captured," Boris said. "In main room now. Or sewer tunnel. Rest in here."

I looked at the gathered kobolds and did a quick count. Twelve, plus Boris made thirteen.

"Then on to the main room," I said.

Boris nodded and scampered off. Followed by a dozen kobolds, leaving me in the rear. Which, to be fair, was probably best because they could actually move through the secret tunnels, whereas I was feeling the pain from working my way through there.

Getting to the main room required a long long run-crawl through the secret tunnel, then crossing another room before entering another secret tunnel. Then there was a short regular visible passage that showed the way to the main room. Which was not the very first room of the place. Looking through the tunnel, I could see a heap of nets and cages holding kobolds. Eight of them. They looked resigned and dejected.

All thirteen of my kobold buddies were out with me for a second, and then they hopped into a different secret tunnel.

"You get them," Boris said. "We wait here. Then get back to nursery."

"By nursery, do you mean dump?"

"Both. Yes."

I shook my head, not thrilled about being the one who had to do all the work. But honestly, I would probably do better on my own than trying to delegate to a bunch of kobolds.

I headed down the tunnel, careful not to make noise, and paused at the entrance to the main room.

The place was big. Fifty feet plus across, with a domed ceiling at least twenty feet above. There were even bunches of weak glowstones hanging in baskets. None of the stones had enough magic in them to put out visible light by themselves, but the groups of them worked well enough. Tables and chairs were scattered around, but they mostly looked like they were about to fall apart. I counted six archways leading to normal hallways. Down one of them, I could hear the sound of hunters tearing apart a room. In between the archways, the walls were lined with workbenches. They held a whole bunch of tools, an alarming amount of gack, and a few finished elements. It wasn't clear if there was any sort of ownership to the worktables, or if any of the projects being done on them had any focus. It was both interesting and confusing. What were the little dragon guys doing?

A large crash followed by excited shouting rocked me back to the present. The hunters had found the secret tunnels.

Time to motor. I had eight kobolds to rescue.

I grabbed the first netted kobold. The creature's eyes went wide as I pulled it along the tunnel back to our staging room. Once there, I turned right back around, leaving the others to actually release the little dude.

It was tiring. Despite their small stature, kobolds are actually pretty heavy. But little by little, I managed to haul them all back. And only one of the kobolds bit me.

I smacked it on its snout, and it whined back at me.

Whenever I was in the main room, I could hear the hunters crashing through tunnels, pulling everything apart as they looked for more tunnels. This was definitely going to wind up being a super close call.

When I got the last one into our staging room, all twenty of the other kobolds descended on the trapped one and ripped it free. Then, twenty-one kobolds looked at me. I recognized a few of them, the white feathery ones who I’d assumed were older, from the last time I’d dealt with these guys. I gave a nod of acknowledgment to them, but they didn’t reciprocate.

"Don't suppose you've got a secret tunnel to the nursery, do you?" I asked.

Twenty-one heads shook in almost perfect unison. It was creepy.

“So we have to go back the way I came?" I asked. "Big main room to sewer connection to nursery?"

The kobolds looked at each other. No one offered up any answers.

It took a remarkable amount of restraint not to punt one of them. They were easily the most annoying creatures I'd dealt with in all of Vuldranni.

They ran around me like a school of minnows around a barracuda. I had no choice but to follow.

We got into the room just as the group of hunters stumbled in as well. Everyone skidded to a stop. The kobolds stared at the hunters, and the hunters stared at me.

I just smiled.

Then I cast minor illusion behind the hunters, making it seem like a giant slime was crawling through the tunnel.

“Uh, behind you,” I said.

But the kobolds saw it first. And naturally, they all started running.

When the hunters looked over their shoulders and saw the slime, some screamed, and all of them ran. Right towards us.

Which meant I started running in that direction too. It was a little odd to be running right next to a sewer hunter in stinky leather armor. He gave me a look, trying to figure out what I was doing down there. I just shrugged.

We all charged down the tunnel, heading back towards the sewers.

At the junction to the sewers, I screamed out in Kobold, “LEFT!”

Whether there’s an inborn trait for kobolds to obey orders, I don’t know. But they all made a tight left turn and barreled down the hall towards the nursery.

The hunters went straight out into the sewers. But I knew the illusion wasn’t going to fool them for long.

“Boris,” I said in Kobold, “we need to get out the bolt-hole as soon as possible.”

Boris nodded. He skidded in the trash before going down on all fours. Then he dug through everything like a dog on meth.

“Get the babies down here,” I said.

Shae popped up and started handing the wee ones down to me. They were snuggly balls of warmth, their big heads and big eyes tugging on heartstrings I wasn’t even aware I had. I passed the babies on to the other kobolds, and pretty soon, we were ready to go.

Or so I thought. We all had armfuls of babies, and there were still more.

“Your cloak,” Shae said. “Give it to me, and then, uh, switch with me.”

“Switch what?” I asked, unlacing the cloak and tossing it up to her.

“You pass the kids down, and I’ll carry them.”

“In my cloak?”

“Yes,” she said, throwing the cloak right back at me.

I left it on the ground, hopped up on the chair, and pulled myself into the hidden nursery.

There were ten little guys left.

Shae hopped over the edge and lowered herself down, saying a quick hello to all the kobolds surrounding her.

I could hear the hunters yelling at each other at the other end of the hall, trying to drum up courage between the group.

Quickly, but gently, I passed the remaining kobold babies over the edge to Shae, who created something along the lines of a baby-sling with my cloak.

With the last one over the edge, a particularly vibrant green fellow with a ridge of soft spines down his back and tail, I hopped over.

I felt pressure on my back, and heard one of the kobolds say, “Latch.”

Tiny claws grabbed onto me. Not painful, but tight.

I looked over my shoulder and down a bit, and saw one of the babies hanging onto my shirt. Before I could say anything to stop them, the kobolds latched babies all over me. And Shae. Which I might have gotten truly angry at, except for the fact that each of the 21 kobolds also had one baby latched onto them. One left, the vibrant green fellow. I just picked him up and carried him like a football.

“Ready,” Boris said.

Several of the kobolds got in a circle.

“Lift,” Boris said.

They lifted what was, in essence, a camouflaged manhole cover, revealing a hole cut into the ground. A harsh cold air blew out of the dark hole, and I was hit with a wave of what I could only adequately describe as pure terror. But it passed after I took a few breaths.

“What is this short cut?” I whispered.

“Not short cut,” Boris replied in a hushed tone. “Escape.”

“Or death,” the older kobold said. “Most likely death for all.”

“Great escape plan, Boris,” I said.

He smiled. “Thank you.”

And he disappeared into the darkness below.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

It took a moment to really grasp the change in environment when we went through the hole, going from fetid, humid, rank sewers into a dry, semi-frozen darkened tunnel. It wasn't as small as the secret tunnels between the kobold rooms, so I could actually walk without much trouble. At least I would have been able to walk easily, if it weren’t for all the kobold babies attached to me. They were sweltering, like having little heaters all over my body. I basically steamed my way along.

The tunnel looked enough like the rest of the kobold quarters above that it made sense it was also something kobold-made. Boris led the way, with Shae, me, and the older kobolds in the middle of the pack. The kobolds at the rear stayed back to make sure the trash pit looked properly like a trash pit before dropping down themselves. All done so the hunters wouldn’t suspect anything. They’d probably find the nursery and tear it apart in search of secret doors, but I doubted they’d think to look under the trash.

The tunnel went along angling down at a slightly uncomfortable angle. There was a much subtler scent in the air. Actually it could very well have been something seriously potent, and it was just taking my nose a little time to recover after the onslaught in the sewers. We continued on, lower and lower, until all the kobolds stopped and knelt down.

“What?” I asked.

An old kobold at my right grabbed my hand, and when I looked over at him, he simply shook his head. Then he yanked at my arm until I knelt next to him.

Shae, likewise, got pulled into a kneeling position.

Boris made his way back along the line of kobolds until he was next to me.

“Come,” he said. “You must see.”

I wanted to ask a lot a lot of questions, but I knew Boris would only answer me literally. Instead of following my curiosity, I just followed him.

The other kobolds remained quiet. Whatever we were about to witness seriously scared them.

Ahead, I could see a slight glow. Blue.

The tunnel had reached the point where it came out of a wall, and, splayed out in front of me, was a massive city. A massive ruined city, to be sure, but a city nonetheless.

I stared at it, my mind struggling to process what exactly I was looking over, because it just didn’t make sense. The kobold tunnel came out onto a walkway, high above the city itself. The bottom, at least as far as I could see, had to be at least a hundred feet below. It had been built into the rock and earth, as well as built on top of it. Wide streets cut through city blocks. Well, where the streets cut through the remains of city blocks. Many walls had fallen down. There were scattered piles of rock all over the place. Some were natural-looking, but in other spots, it seemed like someone had purposefully stacked stones. There was an odd blue glow about the place, but I couldn’t see any direct sources of the light. It was like the light was coming from behind the buildings. Or the rocks. Or anything. Everything.

“What is this place?” I asked.

Boris shrugged, then said, “Ruins.”

“Have you explored them?”

He shook his head.

“Any reason why not?” I asked.

“Things in there.”

“Things, huh? I’m assuming that’s the extent of your knowledge.”

Boris nodded. “This way, but be very quiet. And low.”

“Low? What the—“

“Below railing,” he said, pointing at the railing along the walkway below us. “They see well. No want them see us. Will end bad. For all.”

Boris went first, climbing down carefully. The two babies latched onto his back had somehow managed to fall asleep during all this, and were completely at ease with the situation. I noticed that my own group had done the same. Interesting evolutionary choice.

I was next, dropping the six feet from the hole in the wall down to the walkway. I had to avoid the broken stone left over from the kobolds’ incursion, but it wasn’t too hard.

As soon as my feet were planted on the walkway, I was moving, following Boris. I had to crouch-walk to stay below the balustrade, but that gave me a chance to see some of the workmanship of the ruins. It was expertly done, but there was a decided lack of artisanship. Stonework around Glaton almost always had at least a little flourish on it, and often had unbelievably intricate carvings. Here, though, things had a more utilitarian flare.

A roar echoed from below. I couldn't help myself — I had to peek over.

I edged up, and as soon as my eyes had sight of the ruined cityscape below, I stopped moving completely.

There were forms down there. If they were human, they were seriously deformed. They were crouching, with massive hunchbacks that raised up, almost like a buffalo’s. They had large heads that seemed to come out of their torso, sans neck. Their arms were long and muscular, but besides that, they looked like maybe they’d all decided, as a group, that leg day just didn't need to be a thing any more. They wore very basic clothing, something between loincloths and togas, that was a pale gray that contrasted intensely with their very dark skin. Or fur. It wasn't super clear from this distance.

I watched the group move through the ruins and did my best to count them. Forty-three. They looked remarkably similar in size and appearance, almost like I was watching a retro video game where there was only a single model for each npc. They roared, all at once. Just letting out a barbaric yawp as they moved along.

A second roar answered them, and the first group stopped, pulling weapons out from somewhere. All a sudden they were ready to fight. I saw a wide variety of weapons, but it looked like they were using all of them as clubs. It made me wonder if there was treasure down there. I mean, it seemed likely. The ruins had to be hiding something, but I'd never heard about the ruins from anyone on the surface. Maybe they were an unknown.

Down the street about a block and a half from my first group, another group of the creatures came strolling, swaggering almost. They formed up, clubs held high. The only difference I saw between the two groups was in the color of their clothing. One group was light gray, the other was darker. Which, in the blue light, could mean it was a darker gray, but it could just as easily be a red. I liked to think it was red.

The light gray group yelled at the red group, and the red group yelled right back.

It was like watching the paleo version of the Jets and the Sharks meeting. I expected Stone-Age dancing to start any second. I had to stop myself from snapping along.

But instead, the two groups got very quiet. It made me nervous.

I couldn't see who moved first, but the two groups charged, almost as one. Their blood-curdling screams echoed throughout the massive cavern. Then they crashed into each other with a remarkable crescendo of flesh and bone, and the melee was on. It was a terrible and savage display of violence.

A pebble hit me, making me duck back down below the balustrade to look around.

Shae glared at me from the far end of the walkway. Everyone else stood on the other side with her. They'd all moved along, leaving me to my trance.

I'd been a fool, but the curiosity — I mean, really it just about always got the better of me.

Boris resumed the lead, and we moved quickly up a stairway, down a corridor, through a big open room with what I guessed was a dried-out fountain in the middle, and finally got to a massive balcony looking over the broken city below. We came through one entrance to the balcony, and on the opposite wall was another hole, clearly something the kobolds had made.

As a group, we moved silently across the balcony and went through the somewhat onerous process of boosting kobolds into the hole. First the adults, and then the babies, who were then re-latched onto their mounts, and finally the sling full of babies went up to Shae. I went up last, stealing one more look through the cavern just in time to see the end of the fight between the reds and the grays. The reds were victorious, and the grays retreated quickly. I thought I was about to watch the reds give chase to beat down their fleeing opponents, but, instead, the reds set upon the dead and injured with equal gusto. From beatdown to buffet in two seconds flat.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

After a quick trip through more kobold-dug tunnels, we came to the next kobold hide-out. Something that seemed quite a bit older and more run-down, like it had been abandoned. There were definitely small creatures hiding in the piles of trash that had been left behind, and they scurried when they heard us. The kobolds didn’t stop or really even pause as we made our way through what had to have been, at one point, a kobold home.

Instead, we just walked back out into the sewers again, moving along the brick walkways in single file. Once again, we would pause whenever Boris paused, and no one bothered to ask why. Mostly, I didn’t think there was a reason for the pausing. But he claimed to have dangersense, so presumably that was providing him the ability to tell us when we needed to stop. Stranger things were possible.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, we left the sewers and returned to the basement of the bakery. As soon as all of the kobolds were inside, Boris closed the makeshift door.

Everyone stopped, and looked at me.

“What?” I asked.

“Where we go?” Boris asked.

“Uh,” I stalled, then looked over at Shae.

She just smiled at me.

“You’ve got plenty of room here,” she said.

“In the basement?” I asked.

“You’re as bad as them,” she said with a laugh, her eyes twinkling.

It was annoying how pretty she always was. Even covered in actual shit, and layered in baby kobolds, she was gorgeous. I didn’t want to be in the position of liking anyone. But I liked her.

“Fine,” I said to Shae. Then I turned and glared at Boris and the rest of the kobolds. “No more holes unless I say it’s okay, got it?”

Heads nodded.

“I don’t know how you want to split things up,” I said, “but the building on the other side of the Heavy Purse is ours now too. Shae is in charge.”

Heads turned to Shae, and I got my notification.

Congratulations! You’ve completed a QUEST!

Rebuild the Guild V - Shae

You assisted Boris in saving kobolds from the sewer.

Reward for success: Shae will join your guild.

“Now can someone get these babies off me?” I asked.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The first stop for me was a shower, but I took the convoluted hidden path to get there — I went through the Heavy Purse’s basement, found the secret ladder hidden among the barrels, and climbed until I got to my apartment.

I stripped off my clothes and hopped into the shower. The water was hot and clean and delicious. I stood there, just luxuriating for a few minutes before I got deep into the scrubbing. Then I was merciless, scraping my skin with rough washcloths and using more soap than I’d ever used here in Glaton. I felt disgusting in a horribly new way, so I wanted that sewer off me. I let my mind go, letting it drift into any place it liked. At first, that was just enjoying the feeling of the water, but then it went down into the ruins.

What were they? How did they get there? Was it a city that had sunk beneath the ground? Did people in Glaton know there were ruins beneath them? Would they care even if they did? What about the cannibals who lived down there? Were they some other sentient race, or just mutant humans? How long had they been there? Obviously, I couldn't help but compare them to Morlocks from The Time Machine — they had the same the characteristics as the underground troglodytes springing from HG Wells' fevered brain. So were they troglodytes? That could certainly be true. Troglodytes were a thing in games I'd played in the old world, and considering the crossover between there and here, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that I'd just seen Vuldranni troglodytes infesting ruins below me. I felt decent about that bit of logic, so I got out of the shower and grabbed a towel.

Stepping back into my giant studio apartment, I went and looked at my collection of clothes. Frankly, it was embarrassing. Not that I needed to look amazing, or even have a whole bunch of fancy clothes — it just seemed like I shouldn't exclusively wear the noobie threads I'd looted off of my own corpses. Sets a weird precedent, you know? I decided that instead of doing some training, like I’d planned, I’d take some things over to Gideon to sell, and maybe buy some clothes while I was at it.

Since the noobie threads were all I had at the moment, I pulled the starter gear on, ignoring the smell of recent death on them. Why had I even bothered to take a shower if I was going to smell like that? I tore the clothes off and tossed them to the floor in frustration. Then for good measure, I ripped the drawers out of the dresser and upended them. Great. Now I was left with with a pile of clothes on the floor. And a naked me.

I looked around the apartment. I hadn't done much to it since taking ownership. And by much, I mean next to nothing besides replacing some things that had been broken. Etta’s old projects were still cluttering up the workbenches along the walls. Nothing there for me to wear, though.

There was one last thing I could wear. It would be a bit ostentatious and a little ridiculous, but I could deck myself out in the nobleman's threads I picked up for the ball. But would that make me more visible to Tollendahl? Was it possible that someone would recognize me?

I figured I had little real choice in the matter, and since I was going straight to Gideon's to sell some things, it probably wouldn't be a big deal. I pulled the fancy clothes on, but they were quite a bit tighter than I remembered. I'd put on weight. Or muscle. Let’s say it was just muscle. Then I went around and gathered up all the things I had to sell, which meant covering myself, mostly, in various bags, pouches, and knapsacks.

I looked ridiculous.

But I smelled decent.

People didn't seem to care. At least, I didn't see anyone looking at me more than what felt normal. It was dark out, but dawn wasn't too far off. Workers were heading to their jobs, guards were patrolling. It was cold, with a heavy fog sitting low over the city. Definitely felt like something nasty was about to happen.

Regardless, Gideon's store was open. As always. And it was warm inside. A small iron stove tucked behind the big man sent out waves of heat. Gideon looked better than he had the last time I’d seen him. Still weird and inhuman, sure. But his color and verve had returned. Giving me the Summon Outsider Guardian spell really had done a number on him. Even though he kind of skeeved me out, I was happy to see him recovered.

"Good morning," Gideon said. "We welcome you."

I put my coin on the counter, and held my hands out. He grasped my hands with his, and I felt a pulse of warmth through my body.

An eyebrow shot up on Gideon's face, but he didn't say anything to me.

"Evergreen, how may we help you today?"

"I'm here to sell some things.”

He nodded and spread his hands wide, indicating that he was ready for me to put my wares down on the counter.

I took the first bag, and I dumped it out. It was full of the books from my starting gear.

"We remember these," he said, "you have found more?"

"I, uh, yeah. I mean, I had these already. Just, uh, making room in my inventory."

He nodded as if he bought my lie, but in Gideon’s line of business, I was sure he knew it wasn’t true.

"Our price has not changed," he said. "Will you want this in credit?"

"I may be needing coin soon, but for now, credit."

He nodded, and gestured. The cloaked figures swarmed out from behind him and pulled the books off the counter. Then, quick as can be, the books were deposited in containers.

Next up, the rings. I had eight that I'd snagged from the Iron Silents.

"Might need a little identification on these," I said. "And these."

Out came the five chains, the talisman, three bracelets, three swords, nine pouches, and the thing I thought was a bag of holding, the one I'd taken off of Arthur.

Gideon looked over the treasures I’d spread out. Though it was really slight, I felt the tingle of magic as Gideon cast his identification spell over and over.

No reaction from the man, though, until he finished.

"Are you selling these?" he asked.

"Maybe," I said, looking over what I had.

Thankfully, all the rings were magical, so I hadn't wasted money on identifying somebody’s accessories. There was water-breathing, which I kept, darkvision, which I sold, a ring of grip that supposedly made you a better climber, which I kept, and then a few rings of protection. Those I put in the sell pile.

Three of the chains were just decorative, so those went over to sell. One warded against fiends, demons, and devils. I kept it, but it was so gaudy I was tempted to sell it off. I didn’t want to look like a d-bag.

One bracelet was pretty and gold.

One bracelet was very tempting:

The Bracelet of Ambidexterity

Item Type: Rare

Item Class: Accessory

Material: Gold, Tungsten

Durability: Good

Weight: .3 pounds

Requirements: n/a

Description: A bracelet made of hands alternating gold and tungsten, the Bracelet of Ambidexterity allows the wearer to use their non-dominant hand as well as their dominant hand.

Having an extra hand that was just as good with a sword as the main hand could be a huge advantage. It could really change the tempo and tenor of fights. And yet, I could see it becoming dangerous, if you were foolish enough to become dependent on the magic for your fighting style. If I lost it, I’d be screwed. I put it in the sell pile. I didn’t want to become dependent on a magic item for anything. Especially with all the problems I had coming my way from the Iron Silents.

The final bracelet looked good at first, but its magical use fell apart under scrutiny.

The Bracelet of Hardening

Item Type: Rare

Item Class: Accessory

Material: Tungsten

Durability: Good

Weight: .3 pounds

Requirements: n/a

Description: A simple tungsten band, the bracelet of hardening causes all worn armor to harden significantly.

Making armor harder was a good thing, right? Hardened leather would be better at stopping certain weapons, but it would also restrict movement. And harder metal armor meant more brittle armor. Or armor that didn’t dent to absorb a blow. That could be painful. I tossed the bracelet in the sell pile.

The talisman was probably my favorite item in the haul.

The Talisman of the Rogue

Item Type: Rare

Item Class: Accessory

Material: Iron

Durability: Good

Weight: .1 pounds

Requirements: n/a

Description: A small medallion with a carved face covered by a mask. It suppresses your character sheet, and allows certain changes to be made, protecting your personal information from any of those who seek it.

It was a small medallion, barely the size of dime, and I could probably wear it on any part of my body, somewhere simple to hide its use. Incredibly useful for a man like me, especially in hiding my growing list of illegal spells.

The pouches were an interesting surprise. All magic and all able to hold much more than they should. Which meant I needed to see what was in them.

"Mind if I open these up here?" I asked.

"You may," he said.

"Any idea on how to do that?"

A creepy smile spread across Gideon’s face, and he reached his overly large hand out. One long finger dropped down to tap on the pouch.

"Empty," he said.

The drawstrings of the bag untied themselves, and then the opening of the pouch just, well, spread open. Coins shot up and out, stacking up in nice, neat piles all around the pouch. It just kept coming and coming and coming.

"One thousand gold," Gideon said, with a slight bow of his head.

"Shit, man," I replied, "you count quickly."

"It is the limit of this sack."

"Ah," I said. "So the rest will likely be coin? Can it store other things?"

"They are useful for small objects, mostly coins. Some use them to sort their coins — you can pour various coins inside, and then all you have to do is check the bag to see exactly what you might have."

I emptied the bags one at a time. It turned out to be all coinage: three with gold, two with silver, one with platinum. A veritable fortune.

There was a single book, a basic-looking journal. I peeked inside, and immediately knew it was something worth keeping. It looked a whole lot like a transaction book, but one that had been written in a code. If I could crack it, I’d know how the Iron Silents were earning money. Interrupting their gold supply would certainly be a good way to cut the feet out from under them. Besides, I didn’t think Gideon would be keen on buying the book.

The next pouch had coins, but not of the monetary variety. More along the lines of medallions. But as soon as the first one hit Gideon’s counter, he hissed, rearing away from them as if they could hurt him.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, also taking a step back from the counter, just in case.

“They are summoning tokens,” he said under his breath. “Meant to ease the spells used to bring entities to this plane. And judging by the symbols on them, they are for horrible creatures.”

“Ah. Bad news, then?”

“Yes. Very.”

“Don’t suppose you want to buy them?”

“I would prefer they were destroyed.”

“Is this a, uh, you know, do I need to pay for their destruction?”

“If you will allow, we will destroy them for you,” he said. Then softly added, “at a small cost.”

I’d avoided getting into the summoning game, but that was before I got all the necromantic powers. Maybe now it would be a more viable strategy to world domination. Or you know, not dying.

“Destroy them, please,” I said. “And, you know, deduct the fees from my credit.”

“As you wish,” Gideon said.

The last pouch was disgusting. Ears of all varieties and sizes. One of the Iron Silents assholes was a sick dude.

“Maybe destroy these as well,” I said.

Gideon just nodded his head slightly.

The three swords I’d snagged were magic, naturally. I was beginning to see a theme. But only one really caught my eye, a Vorpal Blade. I wondered if it went snicker-snack when I swung it around...

Vorpal Blade

Item Type: Rare

Item Class: One-handed Melee, Two-handed Melee

Material: Blessed Steel

Damage: 50-120 (Slashing)

Durability: 20/20

Weight: 4.8 lbs

Requirements: Str 8

Description: A straight bladed sword having a cruciform hilt with a grip for one or two handed use. Its blade is enchanted to ease the act of beheading your opponent.

I needed a sword, so I decided I’d keep it. At least, for the moment.

Then there was the large bag, the one Arthur had been carrying with him.

The Bag of Stasis

Item Type: Mythic

Item Class: Inventory

Material: Infernal Leather

Durability: Good

Weight: 3 pounds

Requirements: n/a

Description: A bag which allows access to an interdimensional space where time does not seem to pass, or, at the least, passes so slowly it does not appear to pass. Items stored in the bag do not seem to age or deteriorate.

I reached out to touch it and empty it, but Gideon’s hand blocked me.

“This one you may not open here,” he said. “There is no way to tell what is inside. Given the other items you have brought today, we must insist you either agree to sell this item to us, and we will accept the danger, or you take it with you and explore its contents outside of this store.”

I frowned, thinking.

“This keeps something alive?” I asked.

“It would, yes,” he replied. “At least for a length of time.”

“What kind of length of time?”

“That is dependent on the magic of the bag. And how many occupants are in it.”

I nodded, and then took the bag back. I tied it around my torso so it hung down on the opposite side from my sword, about the same level.

“A wise choice,” Gideon said with another nod.

The smaller figures swarmed out from behind Gideon to collect everything in the sell pile.

“The coinage,” he said.

“I’ll keep these,” I said, scooping the gold in one and the platinum in a second.

“The rest will be added to your account. Would you like to keep the pouches?”

“It seems like you’d really like to buy them?”

“They are immensely useful,” Gideon said, “yet more common than you might imagine. We will give you a fair price.”

“As always. You can have all but the two I’m keeping.”

He nodded once.

“Now,” I said, “I need a wardrobe, Gideon.”

Gideon nodded once, and a figure ran to the back of the store. It whipped a hunk of canvas off of something tall and rectangular. It was, in fact, a wardrobe.

“Mahogany,” he said. “Mancer-carved from a single piece from the Emerald Sea. Exquisite quality—“

I held up my hand as the little cloaked dude began his Vanna White routine, showing off the amenities of the admittedly nice bit of furniture.

“I meant clothes. I need clothes.”

Gideon coughed, and then did the slightest of waves with his hand. The figure in back went about covering the wardrobe back up, noticeably disappointed he didn’t get to do his thing.

Every trip to Gideon’s was stranger than the last.

“We have some items of clothing, a variety of styles from across the world. But perhaps it might be better to seek a tailor for something as this?”

“Yeah, that’s a good point. How about a singular outfit? Maybe some leather armor, a cloak, pants, boots, that sort of a thing.”

Gideon leaned over the counter and looked at my feet.

“We will offer you some choices.”

The figures swarmed, pulling open chests and crates and ripping clothes out. They were put in front of me on the counter, shirts above pants above socks or tights. Cloaks off to the side.

“We will offer armor after you select clothing,” Gideon said.

I just picked the nicest of the most average looking garments. Then, without asking any permission, I disrobed right there in the store, and put my new threads on. I took a dark green cloak, something that was nearly black. It was made of thick leather that had been oiled heavily to give it added protection from the elements. It had a nice big hood to keep my face hidden. Hats were certainly popular around the city as well, but I hadn’t gone down that route yet. I’d stick to hoods for the time being.

“For armor,” Gideon said as his nameless featureless underlings cleared the counter, “are you looking for something magical or mystical?”

“I mean, depends if it fits in my budget,” I said. “I’m not looking for magic necessarily.”

“We have something new,” Gideon said. “Different.”

“Sure,” I said, “let me see it.”

With a gesture, the creatures put a set of black leather armor on the counter. It was different, all right. I did a quick check of the armor.

Highwayman’s Leathers

Item Type: Rare

Item Class: Light

Material: DireBat leather

Armor: +22

Durability: Good

Weight: 13 pounds

Requirements: n/a

Description: Made from tough, flexible leather, the armor is dark as the night. It offers significant bonuses to stealth and hiding, as well as minor bonuses to recognition.

Seemed like it was going to be expensive. But I hadn’t spent much money on me yet, and maybe it was time for a little self-care. I pulled the armor over my head. It fit well. I did a little moving around to confirm it didn’t pinch or hold me back in any way. I especially liked that the armor had a high collar that, when straightened out, covered my face right up to my eyes. It was a bit like a built-in facemask. Which, I suppose, matched being named the Highwayman's Armor. At any point, I could flip the collar up and be disguised. Perfect.

"I'll take it," I said.

Gideon nodded. "We will deduct the cost from your credit."

I didn't want to know how much it was. I was just happy to afford it.

With new threads, magical coin pouches around my waist and a new sword sheathed on my hip, I was ready to go.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I left Gideon’s shop feeling like I’d made out well for the first time since I’d met him. My clothes fit nicely, and helped me blend in with Glaton. I liked that the black leather armor was subtle, especially under the leather cloak. And in the rain, everyone was pretty much darting about under hoods or hats, avoiding the downpour as much as possible. Sure, I maybe looked a bit more severe than the average citizen, but I felt like that gave me the right vibe. Like I wasn't someone to be trifled with. Though the types of people who say things like "trifle with" are usually edgelord douchebags people would rather just avoid than trifle with. I wondered if there was a Glatonese equivalent to edgelord? I mean, it was pretty obvious that the Iron Silents fit that particular stereotype, so I'm assuming people would probably have a few choice phrases for those asshats.

Being that it was dawn, I hoofed it west to the Heavy Purse to get some breakfast and chat with Matthew.

I found him sitting at the end of bar, surrounded by empty stools. He was not a morning person.

I plopped onto the stool next to him.

He looked over at me.

"Busy night?" he asked.

"Not uneventful," I replied. “You?”

“Busy with the kids. Somehow they manage to be sleepy and cuddly all day, then rouse themselves for fun and games right when it’s time to actually sleep.”

“So now you’re just trying to pull yourself together before another fun day at the pit?”

“Lately, the pit has been the fun. So what kept you busy?”

“Kobolds,” I said.

"How many?"

"More than I thought."

"That's pretty much always the case with them."

"What's the, uh, status of kobolds?"

"In what capacity?"

"I mean, I had to save them from hunters who were going after them in the sewers, hence why they're here."

"When you say here—“

“I think they’re mainly going to live in the basement here, but I told Shae she could set them up in the apartments next door if she thought they needed the extra room.“

"The new building."

"That's the one."

“Why not the basement there?”

“I imagine they will,” I replied. “They’ve already got a tunnel between here and the bakery building.”

“You’ll find they do that. Big fans of tunnels. Not so much keeping things like structural integrity intact.”

“So we need to make regular inspections?”

“Definitely. As to the legality of our new little friends, my best answer is I don't know. Kobolds exist in a grey area. Certain groups in the Empire resist becoming standard members of society, and kobolds are one of them. They do their own thing regardless of what is, well, proper? Accepted? And they maintain their own nations, which have done battle with the Empire in the past. They haven't necessarily taken territory, but, by the same token, the Empire has yet to fully conquer them. This makes it difficult to trust them in the same way as elves, dwarves, humans, or races who've assimilated into society.”

"So I should probably talk to someone about the actual legal standing of the kobolds living with us."

"Probably a good idea. You can go to the Ministry of the Interior and ask there.”

“Just wander into the building? Find someone—”

“You go to the freaking information desk and tell someone you have a question about the legality of kobolds. They’ll guide you to an expert.”

“You can do that?”

“Do you know how many laws are on the books here? Neither do I. Neither does most anyone. So there’s an information desk at the Ministry of the Interior, and there are people paid to answer questions for you. Service of the Empire, paid for by your taxes. Now, how's that guild of yours coming.”

“It’s coming along swimmingly.”

"You ready to act on what I want?”

“I said I was, didn’t I?”

“You know what it entails?”

I nodded.

Titus chose that moment to slide over over and put a plate of breakfast in front of me.

"Good morning," Titus said.

"He's in," I said, still talking to Matthew.

"I'm in what?" Titus asked.

“His guild," Matthew said.

"Oh, right," Titus said with a smile, leaning on the back of the bar. "I am."

"Your wife know about this?" Matthew asked.

"Sure."

"So that's a no."

"Not yet."

"She's going to be mad."

"Maybe, but I'm doing it for her. We're going to expand The Heavy Purse into the space next door."

"Yeah about that — do you know who's going to be living above you?"

"I didn't know that'd been decided."

"Kobolds."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Kobolds."

"Hey," I said, "let's ease up on the kobold hate."

"It's not hate," Titus said. “It's, I mean, Boris has been fine. But, and correct me if I’m wrong, we’re talking about more than just Boris. I seem to notice the s on the end of kobold and that means—"

“More than just Boris, yes.”

"They're just such an unknown," Matthew said. "That's the issue."

“There’s quite a bit about dealing with kobolds that’s difficult,” Titus said.

“I’m not talking random nonsense species-hate either,” Matthew said, “I’ve certainly run more than one of them."

"Like in a race?"

“No, dimwit, like getting information. They are remarkably good at sneaking in and out of places everyone else thinks are totally secure. But they also have a bad tendency to improvise and panic."

“Boris is definitely quick to freak out.“

"They exist in a perpetual state of fear. And usually hunger. I don't want you to think I hate kobolds, because I don't. I am just aware of the challenges that come with dealing with them. Their society has different morals, goals. It’s a different lifestyle, really.”

"Okay," I said, “but this seems pretty perfect. I need a spy network, and now we have a bunch of sneaky kobolds at the ready. Do you think you can run these new ones? "

"Maybe if I choose to join your criminal enterprise, I can look into it."

“Maybe?” I asked. “What the hell is this maybe crap? You said—“

“I gave you a list of things to do for me to consider it,” Matthew countered.

"You're undecided?" Titus asked.

"I am, as you should have been," Matthew replied.

"Bah, to be honest, I'm a little tired of this whole being on the straight and narrow thing." He leaned forward and continued in a whisper, "I'm not sure I’m cut out to be a civilian. I miss the backroom deals and the pizzazz of knowing a secret, you know? And with everything happening with the Emperor, it is not the time to be on the sidelines. Time to get back in the game. And you need to come too, Matthew."

"I need to know what this young elf is actually going to do with himself. And with us. Tying—“

"Tying? We're already tied to him."

"I'm right here," I said. ”I can, I mean, you can just talk to me."

"Meh," Titus said, "talking around you is better."

Matthew just grunted his agreement.

"The kid has been okay so far," Titus continued.

"He has, for the most part," Matthew replied. “But this guild thing—“

“The guild thing is happening,” I said. “Okay? And you’re going to join because I’m going to do all the random crap you came up with.”

“It’s not random crap,” Matthew countered. “These are the elements that need to happen so I know there’s more than just you wanting to run something. More than you wanting to be at the top of an organization. I want to know why we’re joining forces, okay?”

“Then agree to join, not just think about it.”

Matthew just glared at me in response. Then he looked over at Titus.

“This might be a moment for a private conversation between old friends, Clyde,” Matthew said.

“Fine. Sure. Whatever,” I said. “I need to talk to the government to get some clarity on our new neighbors."

“The kobolds," Matthew said.

Titus nodded.

“Did you think he meant Viggo?"

Titus shrugged. "Might be worth investigating."

"Who's Viggo?" I asked.

“I thought you were leaving,” Matthew said.

This time, I ignored him.

"Guy who likes to think he runs Old Town,” Titus said.

"Does he?" I asked.

"Depends who you ask and who you are."

"Well that's a remarkably unhelpful answer."

"He owns an impressive amount of the property in Old Town, and he tends to get his nose into other people's business more often than not."

“So he's going to be upset I bought these three buildings?"

"Curious, sure. Upset? Maybe."

"Would he be willing to sell me some of his buildings?”

"You want to buy more?"

"I mean, Matthew already said it: it might make sense to own this whole block."

Titus's smile grew, and he shook his head. "Kid's got plans."

“Plans are one thing,” Matthew said. “Results are another.” Matthew turned his gaze on Titus. "You know what Viggo has around here?"

"He's got a few of the buildings on the block, for sure. I know he's got the three on the far side, along Chiswell."

"The haberdasher?"

Titus nodded. "That's one of his. And I think one facing Milton."

"So four on this block alone?" I asked.

"He's ruthless."

"How did I snag these two then?"

"Because I brought them to you," Titus said. "I didn't feel like having that scum sucker for a landlord."

"Are there others who might want to sell?"

"Right now? Probably. I don't know about on this block, but certainly in this neighborhood. More will be ready to go if the throne stays empty.”

"Or if the fight for it heats up," Matthew added. Then he spooned the last bit of his breakfast into his mouth, and stood up. "Go and get your kobold talk out of the way. Once you get that done and you want to talk more, you know where I'll be."

"Any chance you can get started on that whole finding out who the Iron Silents are and where they like to hole up?"

"Not until I'm an official member of your guild," he said.

“What about the Faden?” I asked.

“What’s the Faden?” Titus asked.

“Someone who can teach me about magic,” I replied.

“I think I might know a guy,” Titus said, “might know a guy who knows someone like that.”

“Can you—-“

“Let me make sure I can deliver before I promise to deliver,” Titus said.

“You should be making him deliver first,” Matthew said. “Before you lean out into the world.”

Then he walked out of the Heavy Purse.

“What crawled up his ass?” I asked.

“Likely the same thing I’m hiding from," Titus countered. He'd grabbed an apple from somewhere, and was cutting slices off with his dagger before crunching on them. “His wife.”

Fantastic.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

There was something inherently unnerving about heading into the belly of the beast. Especially with a beast as massive and bizarre as the Bureaucracy of the Empire. I actually felt a bit apprehensive as I walked down the street. Or avenue. The admin buildings for the Empire were tucked below the Palace, and to the west of the Senate on the other side of the Via Praetorius. Prior to setting off, I’d made sure to set up the little talisman of character sheet blocking, making sure my character sheet would read as dull as the one Faulkner book I tried to power though. Then I wrapped it around my ankle, and hid it in my boot. No reason to wear magic jewelry on your neck if you can hide it. At least, that was my thought.

It was the middle of the day at that point. The sun still wasn’t shining, but the rain had stopped for a few minutes. It was a gross day, and I wasn’t looking forward to fall or winter if this was the end of summer. It was already remarkably cold and wet. The people out on the streets seemed to be feeling like their city — gloomy and grumpy. And also wet. I walked close to the buildings, feeling a little safer having a wall next to me. I knew it was only a matter of time before the Iron Silents came for me: they knew where I lived, and they knew what I looked like. And they tended to hold grudges. They would come again. Hell, I figured they were already watching my building. Which meant they were probably somewhere nearby. Following me and trying to find an open moment to swoop in and attack.

And naturally, because I made that assumption, it was quickly proved incorrect.

Just as I made my way across the Via Principalis, the major east-west avenue, I realized there was someone walking quite close next to me. Someone wearing all black. With lots of leather.

And that someone was smiling a familiar smile.

Arthur, the leader of the Iron Silents, pulled a walking stick from somewhere and gave it a little twirl.

“I am oh so curious,” he said, completely conversational, “about how you did what it is that you did.”

“Trade secrets, I’m afraid,” I replied, trying to sound like I was completely at ease, even though I was doing my best to find a good exit strategy. “Maybe you tell me how you do that special thing with respawn points, and I’ll give you a hint.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” he said. “Though you’re not really in a position to make demands or requests of us.”

“Are you here to ask for your things back?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Some of the others might. They are quite upset with you. You did quite a smashing job embarrassing them. And tearing down what I thought was one of our better hideouts. That did sting a little. You’ll probably pay for that in some capacity. But you got your loot fair within the boundaries of the game.”

I gave the man a little nod for that touch of something that might be considered fairness. Still seemed pretty messed up, the whole business.

“You have some real talent, Hatchett,” Arthur said. “I am honestly impressed. At first, I only offered you a place within our ranks because of your, well, heritage. Hometown pride and all that. But I would be remiss to think you’re not one of the better rogues in the city. Though you seem in dire need of our assistance vis-a-vis leveling, eh?”

"I think I'm doing fine," I said.

"What level are you?"

“Fifteen,” I lied.

"You know I know that's not true," he said with a wry smile. “I know that’s what you set the talisman up to read, which, more power to you. People have this thing here about being below level ten. It’s like you’re deficient in some regard. Especially someone who looks as old as you. It’ll be a pity party wherever you go. But it’s me here, Hatchett. There's no need to fib about your level. I know too much. I've killed you before. Even if you've gone up in level since then, which I doubt you have considering how recently you’ve perished, I can pierce your little protection any time I want, and I can see that you’re still stuck at level nine.”

I stopped moving, and turned to face Arthur. Some people balked at our sudden halt, but then just streamed around us.

"You guys've done the research on respawns, at least more than anyone else here. What's the penalty when you die?"

"You haven't checked?"

"I want to confirm."

"I suppose sharing a little information is fine. You lose all XP past the last level mark."

"That's it?"

"And you lose a respawn."

"Is there a way to see how many respawns you have?"

"No. Well, sort of. Say I kill you, I receive half your remaining respawns."

"Is there any benefit to taking someone's last respawn? For the true death?"

"Yes."

"Which is?"

"Trade secret."

"I suppose that's fair," I said, and I continued walking.

"A secret I would be happy to share should you join us."

"I just don't see how joining you could be a wise move."

"Care to share your thinking on that?"

"Simple," I said. “We have different morals. You guys seem to be happy being as evil as you want to be, and—”

"You're some goody-two-shoes?"

"I wouldn't say that's the case. But I don't agree with what you do."

"We play the game."

"It's not a game--"

"Of course it is, you stupid noob. It's all a game. And we've got cheat codes we can use to win. If you want to be, I don't know, a plebe, fine. Do it. But not in our city. Or our country once we take that too."

"Is this the you're-either-with-us-or-against-us speech?"

"It’s the last chance you've got to join us before we destroy you."

"I don't think you can."

"You're wrong."

"Maybe, but at least I'm not one of you asshats."

"You should be polite to your betters."

"I am."

He stopped walking, I think to make some face at me or something. It wasn't really in his idiom to just let me walk away without some sort of grandiose gesture or empty threat. But I didn't stop. I just kept going, and for some reason, that stumped him enough that he didn't know what to do. Which meant he had to scurry to catch up to me.

"Then it's war you want," he said.

"Pretty sure you declared war already," I said, "when you had me killed, what, twenty times? More?"

He smiled at that. ”Oh, that was nothing. That was just us saying hello."

It was the perfect time for me to pull a little trick Landon Marks from middle school pulled on me. Take a half step with the far foot, then shoot the near foot out sideways to kick Arthur's foot so it collided with the back of his calf. He stumbled, and I gave him a hard shove.

He fell into the street. I hauled back like I was given the chance to make the winning kick in the insert-your-championship-game-of-choice-here, and I smashed his face in with my boot.

"Oh," I said. “Then hello."

Then I kept walking. I had better things to do.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Based on what Matthew told me, I headed to the Ministry of the Interior which, apparently, was the place you went to ask questions about things. The building was massive, as tended to be the case for the buildings in the Empire. Massive stairs leading up to big doors, but small windows.

There were Legion guards out front, which made me curious why the Legion didn't just act as guards for the city as well. They looked bored, but ready. While there wasn't a line of people waiting to go in, there was a steady flow in and out the doors, making this look like one of the busier imperial buildings in the area. Since I had no idea what else to do, I just walked inside, hoping there’d be an information desk.

There was, in fact, an information desk. However, it was behind the medieval fantasy equivalent of the metal detector. There were some very bored-looking men and women in robes sitting at small stands. In front of them were lines of people, the public. The public would present a wrist, hand palm up, and the robed employee would rest a finger, or two, on the wrist. Then, they'd wave the member of the public inside.

I wanted to take a beat and get an idea of what was actually going on, but because this was a busy building, I was more or less pushed into one of the lines by people coming up behind me.

Person after person went through, until it was my turn. I proffered my hand, and the man in the robe put his fingers on me. I felt a pulse of warmth go through my body. The man just looked at the next person, and I stepped on through. I was in. It wasn't clear what the guy was looking for, but he didn't find it in me. Granted, I had the talisman to hide some of the nastier things about me, so it was somewhat pointless to think about what he'd been looking for when I was busy hiding everything about myself.

Whatever. On the other side of the security checkpoint, there was a long desk manned by twenty or so individuals of various race and creed. Large arches at the other end of the hall led to the rest of the building. Looking through the arch on the left, I could see stairs going up and down, though virtually no one headed down. Some of the people at the information desk were busy, but most were just sitting there, smiling and people watching.

I walked up to a minotaur, because why the hell not?

The minotaur smiled at me, and I noticed a small name plate sitting on the desk. Dina.

"Hello Dina," I said.

"May I help you?" Dina replied, her voice both higher and sweeter than I'd expected.

"I have something of an odd question, and I was told you might be able to give me an answer."

"That is certainly what we strive for. What's your question?"

"What is the legal status of kobolds?"

She blinked a few times, then opened her mouth, then shut it and looked down at the desk. She pulled out a large book, and was about to open it when she just shook her head, and slipped the book back out of sight.

"I'm afraid you might need to speak to a specialist about that," she said.

"Is that, um—“

She smiled again. "Not to worry. There is someone in the building who can answer your question, I'm sure. It's just not me."

I was about to thank her, but she stood up and walked away to speak with an older gent at the side. The two had a hushed conversation for a minute, and then the minotaur, Dina, nodded to the man. And then she was back in front of me, taking her seat on the stool. She grabbed a small card, like a business card, but blank, and she had a pen out.

“Can you read?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

She smiled, and scribbled something on the card.

"Here," she said, handing me the card. "You'll want to speak with Dunt Pomeroy. He's on floor four, east wing, room forty-one. You'll take the stairs over there to the fourth floor, turn left, follow that hall around until you find room forty-one. Okay?"

"Yeah," I said. "Sure."

"Have a nice day!" she said.

I took the card, and bemusedly walked towards the arch. It was such a mundane activity that I could have had back in the old world. I'm pretty sure I did something like that during my one semester at college. Go to talk to a professor, but first have to get through the department secretary.

The stairs were mostly empty past the second floor, and I was literally the only person on them at the fourth. Looking over the railing, I could see another two floors above me. The hallway on the fourth floor extended a long way, and it was all hardwood. Most likely hardwood. I really don't know that much about wood, and I didn't really want to cast a spell inside a government building and bring the world down on me just so I could properly identify what I was walking on. Thoughts like that made it crystal clear I needed a deeper knowledge of how magic worked in this world. There were doors on either side of the hall with small number plates at roughly eye level on the wall. Office forty-one was right there, but there was no name anywhere on it.

I just knocked.

"Uh, enter?" a voice said with a mixture of surprise and confusion.

I opened the door and stepped inside a larger room than I'd anticipated. It had windows that looked out onto the street in front of the ministry building, where the populace was currently being washed away by a ridiculous downpour. A large desk took up a chunk of the left side of the room, and opposite the desk was a fireplace, a chair, and a couch. A bit like a sitting area, but without a coffee table. Bookshelves lined all the walls without windows, and there was an open area near the windows with a podium-style bookstand. A man stood there with a massive tome open before him, resting on the stand. He was a very large guy, and his clothes were tight, uncomfortably so. Kind of like he’d gained weight recently. But the clothes were nice silks of vibrant colors. Plus shoes that matched his feet.

He had a delicate tea cup in one pudgy hand, and I could see that the fingers of his other hand were stained with dark ink. He had a ruddy complexion, and long grey hair pulled back into a simple braid. Small glasses rested on his rather bulbous nose.

"Dunt Pomeroy?" I asked.

"Yes?" he replied. "That is, I mean to say, who are you?"

"Clyde Hatchett."

"Ah, is this, are you someone, have we met?"

"No."

"Oh, well, come in. Not that I wouldn't ask you in if we had met, but just, I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"A bit."

"And yet you're still outside. Are we, or rather, is there something we have to discuss?"

"I have a question, one I was told you'd be able to answer for me."

He gestured for me to enter, unwittingly using his tea cup and sloshing some of the tea across the book he was reading.

"Bother," he said, whipping a handkerchief out of his sleeve and trying to mop up the mess. It didn't seem to be going the way he hoped, because he just laid the handkerchief in the book, then slammed it and turned to me with a smile. "Perhaps the couch."

This is gonna be a weird one, I thought.

I sat down on the couch, and at first Dunt seemed like he was going to sit next to me, on the couch, but at the last minute, he changed course, and plopped into the chair, which creaked in protest.

"The question?" he asked. "I'm quite intrigued."

"It's, uh, about kobolds."

"Even better."

"I wanted to know their legal status."

"Where? Oh, likely here. Dunt being a dunce. Why else would you be here if not to ask questions about the Empire. But kobolds and legality. It is a question. The short answer is, well, there is no real short answer I'm afraid. Historically, of course, kobolds have been both allies and enemies of the Empire, but for the life of me, I cannot recall a time in which they were citizens. At least, not full citizens."

"That doesn't seem right."

"Rightness and policy are only rarely bedfellows, young elf. There was a time when elves were considered automatic enemies of the Empire. Though that's really only something I get to say because of a technicality. It was prior to the Empire existing as an empire. At that point in time, and mind you, the sources I've got for this are antiquated by any stretch of the imagination, but in that time, there were seemingly endless attacks via the elves from the west, and several cases when those who joined the city turned traitor. Minotaurs were unwelcome until four hundred years ago."

"Is there a list of races that aren't allowed to be citizens?"

"It's not that they aren't allowed to become citizens. It's that there's a process to become a citizen, and so far, no kobolds have submitted to the process."

“Okay well, I mean, can they be hunted?"

"Mister Hatchett — you don't have a title do you? Because I don't mean to imply something by not using it and simply going with mister or are you also unmarried?"

"I'm not married, but—“

"Master Hatchett, then. Perhaps it is best if we started in a simpler vein of explanation, because I fear you aren't getting what it is I am saying."

"I guess not."

"There is the law, yes? The Empire has mandated certain things are legal and illegal, and that individuals are afforded a certain amount of protection because they are within the boundaries of the law. Correct?"

"Sure."

"And you know of the phrase outlaw, yes?"

"Yeah, definitely."

"Popular term for criminal, but a bit inaccurate when used in that manner. An outlaw is someone who is not protected by the law. Which means they are neither protected by or punished by the law. It is in this space where kobolds live. At present and speaking in a more abstract sense, of course."

"Of course. I think."

"So if someone were to hunt a kobold, which I wouldn't advise, since from what I’ve heard there are few benefits. Unless it is one of those mountain varieties, in which case, it might be of value."

"I don't want to hunt them. I'm sort of, I mean—“

Dunt held up his hand, "No need to tell me specifics."

"More that I saw some being hunted in the sewers and I was curious about that."

"That's another issue entirely," Dunt said, leaning back in his chair. "There are additional laws regarding who is allowed in the sewers, which is basically no one save those cleared as workers. So even if there were a group of humans living in the sewers, it would likely be permissible for said humans to be hunted. Though perhaps hunted is not the right term in that case, perhaps it would be better to say that it would be permissible for the humans to be evicted with force.”

“Huh.”

"And there is the issue of kobolds and their, well, shall we call it tinkering? Most municipalities have specific laws regarding kobolds in civic buildings. They tend to alter the engineering to suit their curiosities, and you can imagine the effect that would have upon the city at large. Aquifers collapsing, sewers overflowing. I dare say I have yet to hear of kobolds improving things so much as putting holes in them."

“Interesting. So are you, I mean, is this your whole job? You sit here and wait to answer questions?"

He chuckled. “Oh, if it were only so simple. No, my dear elf. I am a researcher and professor at the Enderun. Part of my job here requires open office hours to assist inquisitive citizens."

"So then you research while you're here?"

"I tend to read, yes."

"What's your field of study?"

"History as a primary and general field."

"Oh, excellent. That's cool."

"I appreciate the, uh, support. And the question. Something I haven't heard before. I'm very intrigued where you might be taking this, but, no specifics."

"Do you want to know?"

"It would be improper for me to ask."

"I don’t mind telling you. I’ve got a few kobolds living in one of my buildings, and I was just, you know, wondering what could happen to them if they stayed there. And what could happen to me.”

"Ah, fascinating. Perhaps, if you don't mind, I might like to visit your abode, see these kobolds and how they live in an urban environment."

"Yeah, sure. It's in Old Town."

"Oh? I do so love the quaintness there."

"Do you live there?"

"Sadly, no, I live closer to the Enderun."

"You mentioned that — what is the Enderun?"

"Are you a citizen of the Empire?"

"Yes."

"And you don't know the Enderun?"

"I come from a very small village that was really insular and myopic."

"It would seem so."

"It's more a hamlet than a village."

"Ah. The Enderun is one of the Imperial Academies. I only say that to be polite — most of us know it's really the only Imperial Academy."

'What are the others? Just out of curiosity.”

"The Imperial Ministry of Magic has their mancer school and the Legion runs their Military Academy. But the true scholars are all within the bounds of the Enderun."

"Sounds like an interesting place. I take it it’s nearby?"

"My dear elf, you are already standing within it."

"This building?"

"In a sense. The third floor and above of this building holds offices, but the main campus is to the north just a block. It’s quite nice — I’d argue it’s one of the most beautiful spots in the city — but I am more than a little biased.”

“I take it you studied there?”

“One can argue I still do,” he said with a wink.

“The kobolds live next door to the Heavy Purse.”

“Is that a tavern?”

“It is, in Old Town.”

“What a lovely sounding place. You’re a tavern keeper then?”

“I, uh, no.”

“I do apologize for the intrusion, it’s just that I’ve a colleague who is incredibly interested in Choices and the effects of Choice on lifestyle and career. Very cutting- edge research. Seems that his passion for the topic has spilled over onto me.”

“I’m, uh, I mean—“

“Strictly confidential in here,” he said, suddenly coming forward in his chair, keenly interested in what I might say.

I liked the guy, and wanted to tell him the truth. Well, some of the truth.

“Rogue,” I said.

“Now isn’t that unique. How did you get into this building?” He asked. “No, don’t tell me. It would only lead to, well, never you mind. If you don’t tell me, I can’t know and I can’t tell. Important thing, that.”

“I guess it is something of a trade secret.”

“Was your town a place of rogues? Is that, I mean, I just would not expect to see a rogue from such a rural locale. But listen to me talk, it’s like as if I knew something on the subject when clearly it’s only a passing interest for me—“

I held up my hand to try and get him to stop talking.

“Quick question,” I said, “if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not! That’s practically my entire purpose for being here.”

“Your friend. The one who’s studying Choices. Is he the only one looking into the game? Uh, I mean, those aspects of the world?”

“The game? I don’t follow.”

“It’s uh, not important, but I meant, you know, our skills being, uh, you know, like numerical. Is anyone studying that?”

“Well, as I said, my colleague is engaged in studying Choices. I would imagine he’d transfer his own interest across to other areas of, how to term it, the character sheet, if it appeared there was research to be done there. And I know there are certainly those in the other Academies who are interested in abilities, skills, and indicium, understanding the manner in which they manifest, attempting to catalogue which ones exist. But if there is a definitive study of that side of life, I would imagine it is probably something the Empire would keep secret. So, if we follow that idea, even if I did know about it, I probably wouldn't be able to tell you, random citizen Clyde Hatchett, about it. Which means there probably is something the Empire has done, but I don’t know about it, and they have yet to stop my friend. So. Yes. Or no. I’ve forgotten what we were discussing.”

“You’ve been a fantastic help today,” I said, getting up from the couch.

“Oh, my dear elf, it truly was my pleasure. The last question I had to answer was bout why the Death Gate is called the Death Gate, and I’ve answered that one enough I feel it would be a better use of my time to write up a pamphlet and leave copies of it downstairs.”

“People really come up here to ask that, huh?” I asked, all of a sudden desperate to find out the answer.

“Sadly, yes. Now, I will endeavor to make it down to that Purse place of yours—“

“The Heavy Purse.”

“Right, that’s the one. Otherwise, have the loveliest of times with your outlaw kobolds.”

“Ah, quick addendum: how might I get them registered as citizens?“

“A quick trip to the immigration and naturalization department would clear that up. Though I do wonder what they might think if you showed up with a pack of kobolds.”

“I’ll let you know when we’re heading over.“

“I might actually show up to watch that.”

Dunt walked me to the door with a smile on his face, and we clasped wrists.

It was a really pleasant interaction.

Which was why it was such a downer to walk out of his office and get arrested.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

I have no idea how they knew where I was or what I was doing. But I tromped down the stairs, going from the fourth floor past the third floor, and suddenly there were men with robes on either side of me. And men in armor with spears behind me. Then two armed and armored women came around the landing in front of me. I was surrounded.

Having little recourse, I stopped.

“Clyde Hatchett,” the robed man to my left said, “You are to come with us.”

“I’d really rather not,” I said.

A bright and sudden pain flared across my back as one of my new guard buddies hit me with his club.

“Grab him,” mister robe said.

The guards got me under my arms and marched me back to the third floor. We went along the hall, our little group of ten, and turned the corner at the far end. There, we went down a different, smaller set of stairs that was completely devoid of people all the way down. We bypassed the ground floor and went down into the sub-basement. From there, we went through a tunnel for far longer than the building could possibly contain, which meant we had to have gone under the street and over to another building.

It made sense the imperial buildings would be connected. Not only from a defense standpoint, but also because of all the crap weather. I thought about saying something, but I remembered my throbbing back and realized keeping my mouth shut was probably the preferred course of action.

Finally, we got to a stone door. One of the robed guys put his hands on the door, and muttered something. I could feel the tingle of magic spread across the door as it swung open. The guards were non-plussed, and just marched me on through. Down another hall, up two flights of stairs, and then I got shoved into a room.

This room was kind of like the low-rent version of Dunt’s office. It had windows on one wall, and held a small table with four uneven legs, one chair that looked like it was made out of splinters, and two chairs that were smooth hard wood.

They knocked me into the splinter chair, but I definitely felt my luck stat acting up as I managed to hit the chair without either breaking it or getting any new additions to my body.

The robed gents took the other two seats, and then everyone else left the room. It became very still in the room, almost like I was wearing noise-canceling headphones.

“Clyde Hatchett,” the first robed guy said, pulling a notebook out of his pocket and setting it on the table. He flipped it open and read over some notes.

The man had a hawk-like nose and thin lips. He had a very long space between nose and lips, so if he ever bothered to grow a mustache, it would be a thing of true magnificence. Especially given how bushy his eyebrows were. His teeth were a bit crooked and his nails looked like they were a chief source of both nutrition and entertainment for the guy.

His buddy was a little more refined, with light hair, a ready smile, and pale blue eyes. He had a sort of relaxed handsomeness to him, which made me both like and hate him immediately.

Hawknose busied himself with his notebook.

Blondie, on the other hand, just looked at me.

No one was eager to speak. I’d seen enough movies and whatnot to know whoever spoke first lost, so I just leaned back in the chair and looked out the two windows behind me.

Still raining.

We were three stories up, and if I leaned back all the way, I could see the street down a pseudo-courtyard. At the far end there was just a small fence, and there were other robed individuals who seemed to be enjoying a traipse in the park, though how they managed to do that without getting wet was, well, maybe they had magic umbrella spells.

Hawknose cleared his throat. I looked back over at him.

“Clyde Hatchett,” he said.

“That’s me,” I replied.

“You have placed us in an interesting predicament.”

“Well that certainly wasn’t my intention."

"Mister Hatchett, I would like to know who you think you are."

"That's a ridiculous question, mister, uh, man. Mister Man."

"Inquisitor Oromak. And it is not an odd question, so much as you are an odd elf."

"Have you met many elves?"

"Yes."

"And you think I'm the odd one out?"

"Yes. Who are you, Mister Hatchett?”

"Just an elf."

"An elf who's deeply engaged in magic."

"Maybe."

"You gain nothing by lying to us, Mister Hatchett," Blondie said. "Rather, it will likely hurt you more."

"You're going to kill me twice?" I asked. "Or should I say, try?"

Inquisitor Oromak's lips thinned out under his hawky nose.

"There is only a single reason for what happened," Oromak said. “You were not in the building."

“Maybe I have special powers you know nothing about."

"That's clearly not the case."

"Or is it?"

"It is not."

"Maybe—“

"Shut up!” Oromak screeched at me. "You will not make a mockery of this inquisition."

"Nope," I said, "you're doing fine on your own."

"That's right."

I think Blondie got the joke, because he turned away to hide his smile.

Oromak's hand shot out. He grabbed onto my forearm, skin on skin contact.

Then he closed his eyes and started muttering. The familiar warm tingle zipped around my body.

His eyes shot open and he glared at me.

"You dare use an illegal magic item within our hallowed halls?" he asked.

"I, uh, yes?"

"Surrender it to us. Now." He held out his hand.

"No," I said, and leaned back out of his reach.

He stood up so quickly, his chair fell back to the floor behind him, and he grabbed my face.

"I will enjoy this."

He muttered a different word, and he kept his eyes focused on mine. Where before it was a slight tingle and a little warmth, now it felt like actual heat. Which continued to grow, focused around the talisman I wore around my ankle. The pain blossomed, but I did my very best to smile at the hawkbilled asshole.

"Seems like I’m enjoying this too," I said through clenched teeth.

Inquisitor Oromak glared and seemed to double down, sending more mana my way. I swear I could hear a sizzle as the talisman got hotter and hotter and hotter.

The thing was, pain just wasn't that big of a deal. On the one hand, I knew I could heal most anything that happened to me — at least, I could at some point in the future, if not right away. Second, the worst thing that could happen to me would be death. And I'd already gone down that trail more times than I could count. So really, why bother letting it get to me?

I smiled as the talisman heated up more and more. It felt like it was burning a hole right through my leg.

It infuriated Oromak. He gritted his teeth, and gripped my face tighter. His own face was starting to get red as he exerted himself, sending what might have been a torrent of mana into me. I couldn’t really tell. It was certainly difficult for him, and while I was sitting there, I couldn't help but wonder if there was a way I could use his touch to send my own magic into him. If, theoretically at least, I could cast drain on him while he was casting his heat-up magic items spell on me. Granted, it would be a bad idea to cast such a spell while in the custody of the Mancers — I didn't actually want to wind up dead, since that'd be a pain in the ass. Especially since I just got a new outfit and it wasn't disgusting yet.

Veins popped out all over him.

Blondie reached over and put his hand on Oromak's arm.

"Calm," Blondie said.

Oromak released my face, and he sank back in his chair, breathing heavy. He looked exhausted.

I took a relaxing breath, and turned my attention to Blondie.

"This happen often?" I asked.

He just shrugged and smiled a little.

Oromak sat there, glaring at me, breathing heavy.  Still.

"Did you run out of mana?" I asked. "Because that seemed, I don't know, quick."

"You will only speak when spoken to!" Oromak said, and he swiped his hand through the air.

There was definitely a tingle of magic, but I doubted it took hold the way he'd wanted it to. Even if he was incredibly powerful, the guy had drained himself.

"Was that supposed to do something?" I asked.

Oromak just glared at me. Again.

Blondie looked over at Oromak, and I think he touched Oromak under the table. No, not like that. At least, I don't think in that way. Whatever the way that Oromak was touched, or not, Blondie passed along some sort of message to the more confrontational of the two. Inquisitor Oromak stood up from the table, glared at me one more time for good measure, and then stalked out of the room, head held high despite his inability to do anything whatsoever.

Blondie sat there, a slight smile on his face.

"You're the good cop then?" I asked.

“Cop?” Blondie replied. "Not sure what you mean there. I'm here for a different reason."

"Which is?"

"You. I'm your suppressor."

"You suppress magic?"

He nodded.

"Seems, uh, you're trained in that I guess?"

He nodded again, smiling. “It requires a fair amount of training."

"Mind if I ask you something?"

"Sure. We've got time."

"How, uh, delicate, or uh, what's the, how much magic can you detect?"

"Almost any, really."

"So, like, a one-mana spell?"

"If there was a one-mana spell, I'd like to think I'd detect it."

"And then stop it?"

"If necessary."

"That seems like a useful skillset."

"It can be."

"Can you stop any spell?"

"Theoretically."

"How? Is it a spell like counter-spell?"

He chuckled. "Afraid that’s something I can't tell you. Considering, you know."

"You're worried if I know how you work, I can circumvent your suppression.”

"I wouldn't say I'm worried. But why take chances?"

"So you're not here to interrogate me?"

"Not my job," he said, leaning back in his chair, looking perfectly relaxed.

There was a light knock on the door, and then it opened. An older man peeked his head in, looked from me to the blond man, and then back. His grey hair went every which way at once, and his glasses were a hair's width from falling off his nose.

"Ah, right room this time," the old man said, coming into the room and making more sounds than I thought possible as he settled his old frame into the chair opposite me. He pulled a small pouch off his robes and set it on the table. Then he got out a notebook, a pot of ink, and a quill. He took his time arranging all the things up to his liking. Then he looked around and smiled. "I've got this now, Derringer."

Derringer nodded once, then stood up and left the room.

"Just the two of us now, eh?" the old man said.

"It would seem like it," I replied.

"The name is Elmer Kisiner. And if I have my information correct, which sadly is not all the time lately, you are Clyde Hatchett. Of the Biscuit's Union. Is that correct?”

"That's me."

"Ah, splendid.” He smiled at me, then reached into the pouch and pulled out a cookie. He set it on the table. And then grabbed another, and bit into it. "That one’s for you."

I looked at the cookie, but I didn't take it..

"It's not poisoned," he said. "Would be so gauche to do that to you."

"I mean, you did try to burn me alive. So, you know, it’s understandable that I’d be wary.”

Elmer held up a finger. “Not me. Perhaps my organization, but just as I don't blame you for the theft of my spellbooks twenty-one years ago because a member of your organization went pilfering, you shouldn't be so quick to blame me."

"I guess. But, I mean, murder?”

"You'll find the law is on our side in this regard."

"Sure, but—“

He waved his hand. "Ignore the cookie then."

The cookie disappeared.

I couldn't help myself. I reached out and tried to touch where the cookie had been. I just felt the rough hewn table top.

"Neat trick," I said.

"You think? I consider it a bit basic. I'm dreadfully out of practice with the basics though. I spend so much time deep in the research of esoteric spells purely for the thrill of discovery. And for pushing the boundaries of knowledge, of course. But I can't, for the life of me, see any practical benefit to what I've been working on. Tough to keep returning to such work day after day."

"Is that why you're down here with me?"

"Oh, partly I suppose." He took another bite of his cookie and leaned back against his chair. "I've got the seniority to do mostly whatever I wish within the ministry, and yet I so rarely exercise that power. Do you think that strange?"

"I don't know."

"Bah, I doubt you know much of bureaucracy. Too young. Though elves do age differently than humans, so your age is a bit, well, much like your character sheet right now — it's hidden."

I just nodded.

He ate his cookie.

I twiddled my thumbs. It was a very exciting moment.

"I do have a few things I'd like to get done today," I said. "If you don't mind."

"I do mind a bit," he replied. "Not me so much as the ministry. They're in a quandary. Of sorts. That's more why I've come down here, as you put it. Because the powers that be are busy trying to decide into which column to sort you. How to make you fit their rulebook."

“But you don't follow rules? You're a troublemaker?"

"A bit," he said with a roguish smile.

Elmer reached into his little pouch and pulled out a full teacup on a saucer. Steam wafted off the surface of the tea. He set the saucer down, and took a sip of his tea. He hissed at the heat.

"Always too hot," he said, wincing. "You want one?"

"Not if it's too hot."

Elmer chuckled. "Good chance it will cool if you give it a moment," he said, and he pulled another saucer and cup out and set it in front of me.

I took a sip, and I winced. It was really hot. But it tasted good. Earthy. I was never much of a tea drinker — I'd always gravitated towards coffee and energy drinks — but this seemed like a happy medium between tea and coffee.

"Is this poisoned?" I asked.

"Sort of thing I would have expected you to ask prior to drinking it," Elmer replied with a smile.

"Not the smartest elf on the shelf," I replied.

Elmer chuckled.

"I suppose it would be prudent to chat a bit about what it is I'm doing here, prior to, you know, the others making their ruling on things and ruining all my fun."

I just looked at him, trying to parse out what it was he was saying, because it was really all coming out a bit gobbledygook to me.

"You survived the Ring of Fire," Elmer said, opening his notebook at the same time as he dipped a quill into his ink pot. "How?"

"Trade secret, I'm afraid," I answered.

"Fair answer. Any chance I could persuade you to let me in on it?"

"Nope.”

"What spells do you have and where did you learn them?"

"Okay, so you're the good cop. Got it."

"Good cop? I'm afraid that's not a term I'm familiar with."

"Don't worry about it."

He scratched at the page, and I could see he’d written down good cop?

"Your spells. Who taught you?"

“I’m mostly self-taught."

He shook his head a little, like a double take. "Self-taught? Really?"

"Mostly."

Sure, that wasn't exactly true, but what's a little lie in the midst of an interrogation?

"I say, that's quite impressive. Especially given the breadth of your spells." He was about to write something down, and then he stopped and smiled at me. "You mean through spell books, eh?"

"That's certainly one way."

"The way, right? For you? You found some spell books in the attic of some house you ransacked, eh? Read them, lucked out and you found your way to magic without sending your brains out through your ears?”

“A little of that.”

“And some other means? A magic item capable of teaching spells? A deal made with a generous higher power? Have you traded your soul for infernal powers?”

“Tempting, but no. If I had a soul, I still have one.”

“Perplexing indeed.”

Elmer made a few notes, and then tapped his nose with a finger as he thought. He left a black smudge of ink.

“Would you prefer if we just cut the theatrics?” He asked.

I tried to get a peek at his notes, but I couldn’t actually make anything out.

“For sure,” I said.

“There is little chance you will get out of this room,” Elmer said. “That is, you won’t get out in the same fashion as you entered.”

“Arrested?”

“No,” he replied with a little chuckle. “You are an illegal magic user. Your life is rather forfeit. It is purely because you have a few interesting spells and real skill that your life has been spared so far. In essence, your sole choice is whether you wish to join us, or die."

"I think I preferred the theatrics," I said.

"I daresay we all do. If you would consider joining the Ministry, I believe I could sway your position to be one that is more, say, elevated than the traditional entrée into the organization."

"What would be the traditional entrée?"

"You join and are given several tests to determine your capabilities and faculties. Then you start your education. Usually two years of basic magic and mysticism. History of the Empire. Reading, writing, mathematics. All the basics."

"And then what?"

"When?"

"After I finish learning things. What then?"

"We never truly finish learning. There are limitless spells to learn and master. Magics we can discover. But when you've finished basic schooling, you are given another examination to determine your aptitude. And that is where you will specialize. When you will earn the title Mancer. And likely when you will get the chance to make your Choice to be a Mancer of some variety."

"What kind of Mancer are you?"

"I am an ArchMancer at this point, dear elfboy. But my speciality in my youth was a focus on water. A HydroMancer.”

"Oh, hey, perfect. I have this water tower on the top of my building, and it seems to provide, like, endless water to the place. How does it do that?"

"The water tower? Is the water crisp and pure?"

"I mean, I think so."

"I would have to see to make a true judgement on things, but I would hazard a guess your building has a portal to the Plane of Water. A bit expensive, but truly the finest source of water one can have."

"You can do that?"

He smiled. "I have done that in the past yes."

"If I came on board, could I do that?"

"We serve the Emperor and the Empire in many ways. WarMancers go out with the Legion. HydroMancers insure clean water supplies exist. Or dry out lumber or pottery. GeoMancers work on civic projects. The list goes on, but ours are lives of service."

"I don't want to sound crass about this whole thing, but I've never really been keen on service. I've already spent a lifetime working to let someone else have a life. I think it's time for me, you know?"

"You would rather choose death?"

“Well, about that. I did some thinking while you were talking. And I don't mean to be rude about that either, but I just wasn't that interested in joining the Ministry. I feel like I already have a handle on what you do and who you guys are. You know?"

"Not really, no."

"You can stop me if I'm wrong anywhere here, but you guys are in charge of keeping illegal magic users, like myself, from using magic, right? And one of the big things you've got, maybe the biggest tool in your arsenal, is that Ring of Fire thing you do. Right?"

"It is among the worst punishments we can muster, yes."

"But it didn't work on me. Which I bet is not common knowledge. Because if people find out there's a way around the Ring of Fire, you just lost one of the main deterrents to illegal magic users. So, you could kill me here. Or, you know, try. But then you have to wonder if I'll slip out of that as well. Which means you probably don't want to try and kill me here. Or even soon. You need to know you'll get the kill for sure, to make sure I die. So I'm going to have to go for option C in my list of choices, which is me leaving. And you guys leave me alone. Because if you do leave me alone, I'll keep it secret that I slipped your ring the first time. If you come after me... well, you should know I’ve left a letter with my guild that details exactly how to avoid your ring."

I stood up.

Elmer didn't move. He just watched me.

I took a step back to the window, and I flipped the latch.

"I urge you to reconsider your path," Elmer said. "If you join my faction, we will shield you from those who wish to abuse your abilities."

"Faction?" I asked. "What faction?"

"Ah, well, to anyone on the outside, I understand the Ministry appears to be a focused unit. But as with any organization with more than one person, there are fractures. Different beliefs for how things should be run and how the powers we wield should be used. I represent a group who seeks to turn magic back into something more free. Where we are servants of the crown, but in time, we might be servants to ourselves. Which sounds much like what you are espousing."

“Yeah but your timeline sucks, though."

"There are challenges. But with a new Emperor to be selected, it is the time for us to make moves."

“Still not interested. I can fare better on my own, I think."

The door opened, and an old woman in a maroon robe stepped inside.

"You have had your chance, Kisiner," she said. "Leave."

Elmer looked at me one more time. ”Think on it, boy. Before it's too late."

"Already too late," I said. "But I appreciate your routine. Ink on the nose was a nice touch."

He smiled, and gave the briefest of nods. Then he scooped up his notebook and walked out of the room, leaving the rest of his things on the table.

The woman scowled as she shut the door.

"You are annoying," she said.

“Hello pot, meet kettle."

"Sit," she said.

"I'd rather not," I replied.

"Sit," she said, but there was something more that came with her voice. I was sitting before I even realized I'd moved.

“Cool trick," I said.

"You have but one chance remaining, insolent cur," she said. "If you join us right now, we will consider your transgressions and punish you lightly. Otherwise, we will be forced to consider you an enemy of the empire, and you will be killed."

"No thanks."

"Then prepare to die."

"Do you think I could take this off first?" I asked, starting to pull at my leather armor. "I just got it today, and it'd really be a shame to ruin it so quickly."

"I almost admire how glib you are in the face of your own mortality."

"Faced it enough times that we're old friends now. And anyway, you're not going to be able to do anything to me."

"You are arrogant, but perhaps," she snapped her fingers, "you see that we have you controlled now."

I felt cold. No, not cold. Empty.

My mana bar blinked a few times, and then disappeared.

“You have no means to avoid death, Mr. Hatchett. We extend a final invitation to you. Join us. Share your secrets. Or perish with them.”

I felt a jolt of fear flash over me. All of my magic had been taken away from me. But then I remembered, vividly, the feeling of having my throat cut, and what it felt like to have my blood flow out of me until my heart had nothing left to pump. This wasn’t anywhere near that bad.

It seemed like I was getting an awful lot of chances. Like, more than seemed rational. My skillset couldn’t be that unique or valuable. I mean, sure, maybe I was unique in my ability to skip out on their Ring of Fire, at least by their accounting. Obviously I knew the truth, that it wasn’t that rare of an ability at all. And it had nothing to do with magic. Nor was it something I could teach. But those were my secrets to keep. Their continued offers to join didn’t make me think they wanted me — it felt more like the one way they knew to control me.

I looked at the woman. Immediately I hated her stupid smug smile. And her.

“I don’t think I will,” I said. “As much as I am interested in magic, you guys suck.”

“Then you will—“

“There is something else,” I said. “And maybe you should consider this as me teaching you a little secret of mine. You seem to think there’s nothing more to what I do than magic. But the truth is, magic is really, at least so far, more a hobby of mine than anything else. There’s a whole lot more than magic.”

She looked confused for a second.

I threw my teacup in her face. She recoiled, her arms up to block the hot water.

Then I flicked the saucer at her, and snatched Elmer’s pouch. The woman shouted something at me — some spell probably — but I flipped the table over and rammed her against the wall with it.

She made a grunt as the air got knocked out of her lungs.

I didn’t wait to see what she’d come up with next. Instead, I took one step to get to the window, kicked it open with the next, and dropped out with a third.

Self-defenestration.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

I didn’t exactly throw myself out the window. I just made a quick exit, grabbed the ledge and then dropped down, floor-by-floor, until I made it to the ground.

The Mancers enjoying their courtyard strolls stopped and looked at me. I saw that each of them had conjured up a different style of rain protection. An invisible force field thingy for one guy, a disc of water for a woman, and something I could only place as a floating cat for the third mancer. The cat didn’t look overly pleased at being used to sop up water. However, no one did anything besides look at me.

I gave my best roguish grin, and sprinted for the exit to the street.

After a quick glance up and down the road, I saw my ticket out. A big wagon full of hay was bouncing down the road, drawn by two giant stallions. A grumpy-looking man hunched over the driving position. Whatever protection he had from the rain had failed and he was soaked. Just the absolute picture of misery.

"Gold for a ride," I shouted, running towards the street.

"You can get on," he replied, "but I ain't stoppin'."

"Works for me."

I tossed a coin his way, but had to sprint to catch the wagon. I got a hand on the back, and flipped myself up and over, falling in the back in a spray of hay.

"You got another gold to keep my mouth shut," the man said, "or should I tell those robed fools—“

"I got your gold, buddy."

"Not your buddy, pal."

I was tempted to respond, because that was such an Earth-like phrase. Was it possible I'd stumbled into the wagon of another, what, traveler? Was there a name for the people like me? But as curious as I was about the guy, I didn't want him to be even a little bit curious about me. Better if he just forgot I was ever there.

I scooted deeper into the hay, hiding myself as best I could. I could see out of the slats in the wagon through the hay, a bit like looking through long hair. And sure enough, there were plenty of robed people wandering around the street, looking for me. I could feel the tingles of magic as they cast spells, but they didn't find me. At least, not as I could tell.

I took a moment to rest in the wagon, not really caring where I was heading. After we'd gone a few blocks, I sat up and pulled out the pouch Elmer had left behind. I knew the guy wasn't the old semi-senile sort who'd do something like forget his magic pouch. He knew I'd take it, which meant, at least to me, that he wanted me to have it. There had to be something in it to either track me or do something to do me. Which meant I really needed to get rid of it, but I was also curious to a fault at times, so I set it in my lap and touched it.

"Empty," I commanded.

"You say something?" the driver called over his shoulder.

"Not me," I lied.

He grunted.

The pouch started emptying. Some cookies, another filled teacup and saucer, a full teapot, and a golden coin with a square hole cut through the middle. I let everything fall into the hay around me. It could have been piles of platinum, but I wasn’t going to keep a single bit of it. It had all the markers of stuff to track me by. Not worth keeping, not if it was going to give the Mancers a way to pinpoint exactly where I was. And perhaps I was being paranoid about the whole thing and it was just magical items I’d stolen free and clear, wasn’t worth the risk. Instead I just rolled to the opposite side, and stood up.

"Making my exit," I called out.

"Not stopping," he replied.

I tossed another coin his way, and then vaulted out of the back of the wagon.

I thought I was being all suave and cool, but then I collided straight into one of the glowstone lampposts. It rang out with a glorious bong, and I heard more than a little laughter coming from the gathered pedestrians. If it wasn't me, and it wasn't for the excruciating pain of it all, I probably would have been laughing too.

As it was, I picked myself up off the street and checked my mana pool. It was filling back up.

I had such a big mana reservoir at this point that it was actually going to take sometime before I was at full. I took a few wobbly steps into an alley, and there, I leaned against the brick wall and I took the time to cast heal self.

Then, back into the rain, and back to walking.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

I got back to the Heavy Purse around mid-afternoon. The rain hadn't let up. Puddles were transitioning into lakes. It wasn't a full-on flood, per se, but a few spots had clogged drains that were causing roads to turn to rivers. It made me wonder what the sewers were like, if the kobold homes would have survived. Hell, if the kobolds themselves would have survived.

The tavern wasn't quite full, but it was on its way there. All the tables were taken, but there were a few empty seats at the bar. I took one at the far end, closest to the door to the storage room, and the secret entrance to my apartment. I wasn't planning on taking that route home, but lately I always needed to have a private chat with someone at some point or another. A plate of food appeared in front of me without me saying or doing anything, followed by a mug of milk.

Penelope was standing there, her hands crossed under her chest as she looked at me.

"Afternoon," I said.

"Oh it is, isn't it," she replied.

I just looked at her, unsure how I was supposed to take that. I mean, I was right — it was the afternoon.

“Is something the matter?" I asked.

"I'm not sure how I feel about you at the moment."

"That's how I feel about myself most days."

"You don't strike me as the type to engage in much self-reflection, Mister Hatchett."

"I have my moments."

"And this happens to be one of those moments?"

"Maybe."

"So who do you think you are today then?"

"I'm still trying to figure that out."

"Might want to figure that out before you pull all of us into your little plans."

"What exactly did your husband tell you?"

"Everything. Titus and I don't keep secrets from each other."

"I didn't think he kept secrets. It’s just that sometimes we have differing opinions on the reality we've experienced, and maybe something got lost in that translation."

"He said we're expanding to next door. Getting a bigger kitchen, a real kitchen, say, and more of a dining room. That the Heavy Purse'll be a real restaurant. Is that the same thing you remember promising him?"

“It is.”

"But that comes with a cost."

"You'd call it a cost?"

“I’d hardly call it free," Penelope quipped. “You’re pulling him back into the game."

I looked at the other customers in the tavern. Apparently, everyone around us had realized I was going to get chewed out before I did, because I was on my own here with Mrs. Titus.

"He seemed to want to come," I said.

"Of course he does," she said. "He's an idiot. Thinks he's more or less immortal, that one. That he can do no wrong. But there's a reason I made him leave in the first place. He has children, Mister Hatchett. Children who need a father."

I almost made the quip that I had a father and he didn't really do me any good, but I stopped myself. It wasn't like that was a universal truth, and it wasn't like I didn't want a father.

"I'm not looking to put him in danger," I said.

"Knowing my husband," she replied, "I doubt it will be up to you."

"Nothing is set in stone, you know. He doesn't have to join."

"Of course he does. This expansion will solidify our children's future with this tavern."

"So what is it you want? The expansion without him joining?"

"No. I want to join."

Rebuild the Guild VI - Penelope Calpernus.

Penelope will join if you allow her and her husband joins.

Reward for success: Penelope will join your guild

Penalty for failure (or refusal): potentially the death of the guild

Yes/No

"Fine with me,” I said, and I accepted the quest. I know it wasn’t really the nicest of things to do, but I needed the numbers and I was running low on time. I’d managed to get two out of the eight so far, and this would make three. I wasn’t going to fight it.

"That's it?" Penelope said.

"Sure."

"You don't want to know what I can do?"

"I trust that you’ll tell me about any unique skillsets you bring to the party. Or, you know, at least you will when the time is right."

"Okay then," she said. "I'm glad we had this talk."

Congratulations! You’ve completed a QUEST!

Rebuild the Guild VI - Penelope Calpernus.

You have allowed Penelope to join your guild, so she will join your guild.

Correction, that’s the best quest ever.

She waited there a moment longer. Then she nodded at me one more time for good measure, and walked away.

I tucked into my meal, ravenously hungry all of a sudden. Likely I'd been hungry the whole time and hadn't realized because it'd been a hectic day.

I made my way through lots of meat, a heaping pile of potatoes, this time boiled and dripping in butter, and some green vegetables that I couldn't place. Something native to Vuldranni that had a distinctive spicy crunch to it. Like always, the food was good. Heavy, but good.

Someone sat down next to me, and snatched a potato off my plate.

I turned to see Nadya pop the potato in her mouth with a mischievous smile.

"Good day?" I asked.

She shrugged. "It's odd to be working there without you," she said.

"I'm trying to get back there. Just—“

"Things to do."

"Yup."

She signaled to Penelope, and Penelope nodded.

“So you’ve asked everyone else. Are you going to ask me?" Nadya said.

"You want to come play?"

She smiled.” I seem to recall I get something. Right?"

“You could just join.”

“But where’s the fun in that?”

“So what’s the thing you want?”

"I want you to come with me to a thing."

"A thing?"

"It's called The Monster's Ball. It's, well, it's somewhere between a symposium and a party. The Enderun is putting it on. Do you know what that is?"

“The Imperial Academy.”

“Yep,” she said. “Sorry, just sometimes it’s surprising what you do and don’t know. Your town, you know.”

“My hamlet. Yeah. Denmark is, uh, hard to figure out.”

“Anyway, The Enderun is throwing it. There will be adventurers there, and some will give speeches about what they've seen and experienced out in the wilds. They bring stuffed examples back. Or live ones. At least, that's what I've been told."

"Is there, I mean, I don’t want to sound weird about this, but why do you want—“

"You may forget because you only see me in this world, but in my other life, I’m the daughter of a royal family, which means there are plenty of suitors lined up to escort me to balls and the like. But I don’t like many of those suitors. Or any of them, really. The man who is pressuring my father to take me to The Monster’s Ball right now is particularly loathsome, who is well-known for his roaming hands. I’d rather not—“

Rebuild the Guild VII - Nadya Glaton

Nadya wishes for you to accompany her to the Monster’s Ball.

Reward for success: Nadya will join the guild

Penalty for failure (or refusal): potentially the death of the guild

Yes/No

“Say no more. I would be happy to escort you to The Monster’s Ball. And you can choose whether to join the guild or not. It doesn’t have to be tied to this.”

I accepted the quest — it was almost as easy as Penelope’s. I mean, it was almost as easy as the quest Penelope gave me. You know….I’m just going to stop.

“Thank you,” she said with a demure and coy smile.

“I don’t want to be indelicate, but talking about the royal family reminded me that I’ve been a bit of an ass and haven’t asked you this: Are you, I mean, are you okay about the Emperor?”

Nadya seemed, well, not taken aback by the question, but a bit surprised. She looked away from me, out at the rest of the bar.

“Sorry,” I said. “I just—“

“It’s fine. I didn’t really, I haven’t taken the time to think about it. About him.”

“Did you know him?”

“Of course. He was like my uncle. He called himself my uncle.”

“But he wasn’t.”

“My father’s father was the Emperor’s actual uncle. Which makes me something along the lines of his second cousin. But it’s all a bit muddled. So yes. I have spent more time with him than I let on to you before. I lied to you. A few times. Because it always felt strange to be a Glaton and I didn’t, I just didn’t want you to think I was a princess.”

“Are you?”

“Technically I’m in line to be a duchess. So, not a princess.”

“Well there you go.”

“I miss him. Or who he was. He spent a lot of time away at war and I don’t really feel he was the same when he came back. He just didn’t seem to be as, well, fun. Or happy.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

“So, you want to tell me where I can get these tickets?"

She smiled at me.

“I already have the tickets, Clyde,” she said.

“Then I will do my best to find nice-looking clothes.”

“Maybe from this style period?” She asked with another smile.

“Hey! My last outfit wasn’t that out of fashion.”

“My grandfather would’ve found it old-fashioned.”

“Sure. I’ll get new threads. When is this ball?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Not exactly a lot of notice,” I said.

She shrugged. “I wasn’t sure what you were up to, and it didn’t seem like I had a way to make sure you’d go with me. Until now.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “Hey, maybe you can help with something I need to do for Matthew. It’s about Valamir.”

“You need to have a chat with Valamir?”

“I don’t know if I’m supposed to be chatting with him, per se.”

“What is it you're up to?” she asked.

"I think, I mean, I think Matthew wants to know what Valamir's angle is. How Valamir intends to take over or what. So he wants me to get in there and take a peek at things, see if I can find proof of what Valamir did so we can, I don't know, bring him down."

"Ah. So more like investigating."

"Better way to put it. Please say you're about to tell me you know a way in?"

"I mean, there are a few ways in. The easiest is just going with me, but that would limit your ability to do much beyond be my guest."

"Yeah. Probably don't want to go that route."

"I doubt he's at the Imperial estate," she said. “He’s maintained his own residence for the last, like, ever. I've only been there when he invited my family for meals. Any holidays would be at the palace, you know?"

"I mean, I can guess what that's like, but knowing? Nope. My family and holidays, we didn't exactly do much celebrating."

"Where is your family?"

"Gone," I said. "And I don't feel bad about it. But can we talk Valamir. Who is he? How do you feel about him?”

“He’s a man who’s consumed by work. And, I guess, narcissism? The family story is that he and his brother loved the same woman, and she chose the brother. So Valamir chose himself.”

“So you don’t know him that well?”

“No,” she replied, but she also looked away. It wasn’t much of a tell, but it made me think there was more to Nadya’s relationship to Valamir than she was telling me.

“Do you happen to know where he lives?”

“He’s got an estate outside the Imperial Palace grounds. Near Tollendahl's. North a ways. If he's in residence, his crest will be flying from the flagpole out front."

“Any chance there’s a family-known secret entrance?"

She smiled, then shook her head. "Pretty sure secret entrances like that are a thing of myth. It wouldn't make it a very secure place."

“Sure, but it would be a lot easier for me to slip in and out."

"Try not to kill anyone when you go," she said softly. "There are good people there."

I nodded. "I try not to kill period."

She winked at me. "Just reminding you."

I looked over my shoulder through the window. It was already dark out. Not actually nighttime, just a heavy cloud cover that wasn’t going to afford us a long and drawn-out sunset. I looked at my plate. I still had some food on it, but I wasn't hungry anymore. I was anxious. I needed to get things knocked out so I could get this guild up and running again, and I wanted to be on the road to, well, whatever it was I was doing.

“I’ll be getting on my way then," I said. "Better get this Valamir business settled.”

"Good luck," she said. She leaned over, hesitated for a half-second, and then kissed me on the cheek and turned away.

That was interesting.

I hopped off the stool, and I started to go. Then I stopped and turned back to Nadya.

"Thank you," I said.

Then I left. And promptly kicked myself. Someone kisses you and you say thank you? What the hell is wrong with me?

CHAPTER THIRTY

So. Much. Rain.

Why were the weather patterns here so garbage? Ugh.

My cloak performed admirably, keeping me mostly dry, but my boots gave up the game. Water squished out between my toes with every step. Gusts of wind blew rain in sideways as I walked along the city streets.

As the darkness came on, the people cleared out. No one wanted to be out on a night like this. It was just me and a few patrols of guards. Even the carriages that normally dotted the streets and avenues had gone in. I couldn't even get a ride.

The guards didn't stop me, but I could feel their eyes on me whenever our paths crossed. The city had settled down after the riots following the Emperor's death, and the guard patrols were half what they were the previous night. Walking north, I wanted to stop at any of the brightly lit pubs I saw. They looked like fun. Like the people inside were among friends and wanted to be there. But I had places to be.

I also had time to think. Ever since I'd come into this new world, I'd been reacting rather than acting. I'd been given a path toward where I was by Etta, when she gave me her building — that set everything else in motion. And ever since I'd really just been stumbling along, without ever thinking long-term.

I wanted to be a rogue, but only because I'd been a thief back in the old world, so it was the logical thing to do. I met some guys who were serious fans of the Emperor and the Empire, so I got pulled into politics. I'd never been political before, so why was I here? Was it really going to affect me? If I was trying to be this person on the other side of the law, what did it matter who was making the law?

Sure, I wanted to topple the evil rich, but how would that stop some other rich asshole from taking over? And even worse: I now owned three buildings and had tenants and people who were beholden to me — how was I any different from a rich asshole?

I just wanted to understand why. Why did I get this second chance, why am I here, why do this or that, why bother with any of this?

Why care about these people? They clearly existed in a different way than me — did that make me better than them? Did it mean I could take advantage of them? Or did it mean I should put myself in danger before them? Did it mean I needed to do for them what they could not?

Ultimately, as I trudged north through the rain, getting into the neighborhoods with the estates and the guards and the walls, I’d boiled it all down to a single question: What did I want?

And I didn't know. I didn't know why I was playing this game, and I wasn't sure how to play it anymore. I couldn’t see a way to beat it.

By the time I got to the house flying the blue flag of Valamir Glaton, I had managed to get myself good and depressed. I stood outside the walls, trying to get a good look at the place. Unlike most posh homes I'd seen, the walls surrounding Valamir's estate were openly built for defense. High stone walls, with no gaps. There weren’t any silly iron bars with gold pointy bits. There was no landscaping on the outside, not a single tree anywhere near the outside of the walls. Even the lampposts were on the opposite side of the street, making any attempt to climb the walls from the outside a real challenge.

I walked all the way around the estate. It took up, in essence, two whole blocks of space. No shared walls with another home. There were two entrances, one on the north side that was very clearly a service entrance, and a much more ornate one on the south side, leading to the front of the main home. I looked through the iron gates blocking the service entrance, and saw multiple buildings inside. The buildings on the inside were more like the rest of the rich homes in the area, pretty to look at, not as great for keeping people like me out. It seemed that Valamir’s primary defense was his walls. Or the people on the inside of the walls. It made me wish I had access to satellite imagery of the area. I always did my pre-planning of home invasions with actual pictures of the places — that way I could see where things like fences, power lines, and buildings were. But here, I had to go in blind. There could be guard shacks right on the other side of the wall. In fact, there had to be guard shacks on the other side of the wall. And knowing what Valamir had been up to, at least in terms of spending Tollendahl's money, there were probably whole barracks inside the estate, filled to the brim with evil mercenaries just chomping at the bit to kill people like me.

The only way in was magic.

I cast shadowstep, and I slipped between the gates that weren't wholly there in the shadow realm. On the other side — well, both other sides, the shadow side and the estate side — I took a beat to look around. In the shadow realm, I was thankfully alone. No creatures were hunting me yet. I think all those deaths had done something good for me: they let me shake my shadow-creature hunters. On the estate front of things, I had been right, at least to a degree. There was a guard shack right next to the service entrance. It was currently filled with four armed and armored individuals, sitting around a lit brazier and warming their hands. It was a stone hut, but it was remarkably simple. It didn't look particularly warm or comfortable, and I was willing to bet the guards had snagged the chairs from somewhere else on the property. There were no guards outside, at least none that I could discern from within the shadow realm. I didn't want to waste the time I had in the shadows, so I sprinted toward the main house.

Valamir’s home wasn't as ostentatious as Tollendahl's. It looked older, like it had been standing there and weathering the world for much longer. It only had three stories, and I could see that the first two floors had very high ceilings, while the last floor was very short. Servants quarters on the top, then. There was a large central section with two wings, which left the house looking like a big ‘H.’ While the outside walls of the estate were definitely built with security in mind, the home was a little more for beauty. There were nice carvings, more than a few columns, and at least a handful of vulgar rain-spouts. I slid to a stop at one of the white stone walls, putting my back against it as I came out of the shadows and back into the real world.

I paused for a second, waiting to see if anyone noticed me, or I'd set off an alarm of some kind.

Stillness reigned over the estate. Nothing but the perpetual downpour.

Normally, I'd have considered wearing black as a bonus for a nighttime infiltration, but all these big nice homes seemed to be built out of gleaming white stone. If I climbed up the building, I'd stick out pretty clearly.

I was inside the rear courtyard of the H, tucked at the corner. I could see the kitchen through a shallow window into the basement. It was a large space that looked like it could hold plenty of cooks and produce a ton of food. At that moment, though, it was the scene for a more intimate dinner. About a dozen men and women were clustered around a table laden with rustic fare — not what I assumed would be Valamir's taste. So it had to be the staff. Oddly good timing in that. With the staff eating dinner, it’d hopefully be easier to nose around the place.

It also meant I needed to get my ass away from the window before someone saw me. So I crawled along the base of the wall until I got to the next window, about thirty feet through muddy grass. I popped up at the window and peeked inside.

A library. Or a sitting room. There was a large fireplace, a lot of shelves filled with monochromatic books, and a few overfilled armchairs.

I pulled myself onto the ledge and tested the window gently.

It slid up.

Unlocked windows are the best. I opened it up, rolled inside, and promptly shut the window.

I knelt behind a chair, taking a moment to see how much of a trail I was leaving behind. It was not subtle. My boots were soaked and covered in mud. And that didn't even take my cloak into account. Water was just streaming off of it. I hated to do it, but I pulled my boots off, and slipped them under the chair. Next went the cloak. I balled it up, and stuck it under the chair as well. The socks also went, because wearing them would just leave wet footprints for anyone to follow. I needed to be discrete while I searched the house for Valamir. Or really, evidence Valamir murdered his brother. I remembered to do up the collar on my highwayman's armor, so it blocked the lower half of my face.

Then, the game was afoot.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

I know people like to think they're being unique with their home designs, but mansions are all basically the same. Unless you're truly out there, there's really a limit to what kind of rooms you can shoehorn into a living space. So Valamir's home wasn't overly different than Tollendahl's.

I started in the west wing of the house, at the northern end. There was a hallway leading down the middle of the wing with rooms coming off it in regular intervals. I moved quickly down the hall, peeking through the key holes to get an idea of what rooms where where. And bless this world for not having moved on to little keys. They still used the old-school style keys where you could actually see through the key hole to the other side. Not great for people who valued privacy, but certainly a lot easier for us sneaky peeping types. That doesn't sound right. I wasn't there just to peep on people, or to peep on people at all. The peeping was more a side-effect… you get what I mean.

There was a room that had a smaller dining table with a scant six chairs around it. Then, there was a room that looked like it might have been a den, or a spot to have a drink before or after dinner. Or whenever. It had spots to sit and a selection of crystal decanters on a trolley. Then, there was the actual dining room that was twice the size of the other rooms, with a long table, long enough that I didn't even bother to count the chairs. It was almost comically big, the kind where if you sat at the head of the table, you wouldn't be able to hear anyone on the other end. I was right above the kitchen, so it made sense that all these rooms there were focused on eating.

When I got to the southern portion of the western wing, I found the entertaining rooms. There was one with a piano in the middle, and stacks of chairs against the wall. Another sitting room, you know, with fireplaces and big stuffed chairs and crystal decanters. I was noticing a theme. And then a massive open room that had what I assumed was an orchestra set-up. A bunch of chairs around a conductor's platform, and a music stand in front of each chair.

I came to my first intersection, the entrance to the house, which was properly grand and posh. Two staircases swept up as a massive glowstone crystal chandelier dropped towards the floor. It was stunning and ridiculous. I couldn’t see any reason for such a grandiose display of wealth.

It was also a seriously wide-open space, and having to go through it made me nervous. I could either head over to the east wing and investigate the rooms there, or go upstairs. I waited by the opening to the entryway, tucked in the tiny sliver of shadow that was there. And I just watched to see what might happen.

The two sets of staircases curved up, one to the east and one to the west, with a seating area set up in between the two. Just as I was thinking about heading out into the open and picking a set of stairs, I heard soft footsteps. Correction, I heard footsteps on a soft surface. Boots on a carpet, I guessed.

A man in armor walked out of the western hallway on the second floor. He wore the blue tabard that marked him as one of Valamir's, but his armor seemed different than what I'd come to recognize in Glaton. The guard made his way to the central point and examined the foyer. Then, he pulled out a small notebook from what looked like a purpose-built pouch on his belt, and made a note in it.

Then he calmly walked through to the hallway on the eastern wing. There was a sort of swagger to him. His gear looked well-maintained, and he seemed remarkably at ease in his armor. And, to an extent, bored.

After a second, though, another guard came from the eastern hallway, and moved to the center. He did the same thing as the first guard, checking around the foyer, making a note in his notebook, and then leaving through the opposite hallway. Two guards that overlapped.

That spelled trouble. There were probably several guards about. But why hadn't I seen any on the ground floor? Just luck? That made zero sense.

I started looking around for a better place to hide, because I heard another set of footsteps coming. I darted back down the hall, and jumped through the first door I got to. The piano room. For lack of a better name. Long drapes flanked the windows, the kind that had enough volume to spread all the way across the room. Probably there for soundproofing, but they were also excellent for hiding wily rogues. Like me.

I slipped behind the drapes, which were blue, naturally, and made sure they covered me in a way that looked natural. Then I double checked to make sure my feet weren't poking out.

The door to the room opened, and someone with hard-soled boots walked inside. Whoever it was walked around the room, and couldn't help but tickle the ivories. The piano sounded a bit out of tune. Then the footsteps got closer. And closer.

Then I saw a woman standing at the window, looking out into the rainy night. You could tell she had been pretty at one point, but a lifetime of service in a military or military adjacent job had left her with some serious scars. Not that she was unattractive, but not too many people can really pull off a slice down the side of their face.

I froze. I wasn't even breathing, just standing there hoping she didn't turn to the left. If she did, there was no way she'd miss me. Any movement of my body would make the drapes move, and if the drapes moved, she'd look left. If I made the slightest noise, she'd look left. I really didn't want to get in a fight with her.

She turned right, and walked back into the room.

A second later, she reappeared, and threw the drape wide open..

The drape on the other side of the window, that is.

"Huh," she said.

She shook her head, and walked away.

I heard the footsteps retreat, and then she left the room.

I didn't want to take chances, not after such a close call, so I just stood there. Still. Trying not to breathe.

I wasn't sure how long I waited. But after I figured there was no chance a guard was willing to wait any longer, I slowly and quietly slipped out from behind the curtain.

The room was empty. I mean, the piano was still there, but nothing else.

It was pure luck I hadn't run into one of the roving guards, and that sort of luck wasn't going to keep going. I needed to find another way around.

I looked out the window, standing exactly where the woman had been. It was difficult to actually look out, being in the bright inside looking at the dark being outside. I was more looking at my own reflection and anything else, and I wished there was a way to turn the lights out. That was something I hadn't expected to deal with: lights always being on. I opened up the window, and looked out. I was facing the wall, and the street beyond. It was a large empty yard spread out in front of me. Landscaped to within an inch if its life, for sure, but no people. And, because of the big ol' wall, there wasn't a danger of being seen from the street.

With a little finagling, I managed to get myself on the outside. I used my foot to close the window just about all the way, just in case I’d need to come back in there. Then I did my best to ignore the rain, and scrambled up the side of the mansion. One thing I'll say for Glatonese architecture, the architectural flourishes are really handy for climbing purposes. There were plenty of handholds, enough that I managed to get to the second floor in half a heartbeat.

I peeked into a window and saw an empty bedroom.

The window was open. People rarely lock their second-floor windows, for obvious reasons. But I wasn't about to not take advantage of that.

The room was dominated by a large four poster bed with drapes tied back. I ducked down and slid under the bed.

It wasn’t long before I heard footsteps around me. Or I thought I did. I had a feeling it was my imagination, but still. Better safe.

I waited under the bed for a few minutes, until I heard the tread of boots on the carpet outside. The guard just kept on going though. So unlike on the first floor, guards didn’t peek into every room up here.

I crawled out from under the bed and knelt down at the door. I watched the guard head down the hall through the keyhole. He made the turn to go to the entry foyer, which meant it was the best time for my exit. I opened the door slowly, hoping it wasn't about to squeak.

The hinges were well-oiled. I appreciated the rich man's well taken care of house. Much easier to sneak around in.

My main goal was to find Valamir's office. I figured that was the best place for me to find some form of evidence. The carpeting up here was deep and soft, and I imagined it had taken someone half-a-lifetime to weave it.

I crept along, peeking through each keyhole.

Bedroom.

Bedroom.

Bedroom.

Bathroom.

Drawing room? Something like that.

Finally, something that looked like it might be an office. Lots of books, a fireplace, and a wide desk with a few stacks of paper on it. Bingo.

I did my best to get a good look inside, but it was impossible to tell if anything was amiss through a keyhole. Still, it was where I needed to go, and I couldn’t hear anything inside.

I pushed at the door.

Locked.

Lovely.

Out came the lock-picks, and I started in. I loved picking locks. It was such a delightful puzzle, and rarely did I feel as accomplished as when I managed to open a stubborn lock.

It popped after a few twists and turns. I opened up the door, pushing it very slowly, doing my impression of an errant gust of wind. Then, keeping low, I crouch-walked into the room. It was bigger than it had seemed, and had a fire roaring in the fireplace. There was a globe over to one side, and a map framed above the fire. Books lined the shelves. There wasn't much furniture in the place — mostly just the huge desk and its chair. There were two chairs in front of the desk, and I had visions of Doctor Weedon's office, where I got yelled at by the impotent, rage-filled vice principal for doing things like climbing on top of lockers in middle school. It just had that vice-principal vibe, you know?

Interestingly, it was one of the few rooms I’d been to in the mansion, hell, the city, that was not lit by glowstones. Some candles sat on the windowsill, and a few more were stuck in an old-fashioned candelabra. Those, paired with the fire, bathed the whole room in a deep amber glow.

A glass of amber liquid sat on the desk, next to a stack of of loose papers. Beyond that, I saw an open notebook with a pen laying across it.

Jackpot.

I darted over to the desk to read over the papers.

The one on top referenced the numbers of soldiers available to certain nobles. House guards, standing armies, mercenaries hired, that sort of thing. It looked like Valamir was in the middle of the pack, and someone, likely Valamir himself, was making notes about the effectiveness and quality of the troops he had managed to get.

The next piece of paper listed off Legions. Where they were, what their strength was at, who was leading it, what their current assignment was. There were also notes on some of the commanders, about where their loyalties might lie. The rest of the papers were focused on the city. There was a crime report, which showed a serious spike in missing children, and a minor rise in missing, um, grownups. There were plenty of murders and thefts, but not much in the way of solved crimes. It made me feel better about being a criminal in Glaton, but on the other hand, I felt worse about being a citizen there.

I read over statistics about other aspects of the city, like how many portals to the plane of water there were in the city, how much food was stored, the number of Mancers who had the ability to conjure food, and the growth rates of the gardens in The Greens. If I had to guess, and I did because no one was telling me, this was all Valamir trying to figure out how long the city could last under a siege. But who would be coming to lay siege to Glaton?

I put the papers back in the manner I’d found them, and turned my attention to the notebook.

It was made of really nice paper, soft and smooth and surprisingly white. It wasn’t a paired journal, since everything was written in the same hand. The handwriting was neat and small, almost like an engineer’s, or an architect’s. And it was all, well, just notes. About what I’d just been reading on the papers.

As I flipped further back, I found notes on who would likely assassinate the Emperor. Who would serve to gain from it, and what Valamir could do to prevent it. There were a ton of notes about a guy named Benedict Coggeshall, about how important it was to provide a safe house for the man. To allow for a happy medium between luxury and security. Valamir seemed to think this Coggeshall dude was instrumental to the Emperor’s survival. Which was a little weird to see, written by Valamir. Why would Valamir care about his brother’s survival? There was something off about everything I was reading. Because, well, Valamir didn’t seem to be angling for his brother’s death at all.

And why was he obsessed with Coggeshall?

Gar. More questions.

I put the notebook back. I wasn’t going to steal anything from the office, not when it would be so easily missed. So next, I pulled out a piece of string and plain gold non-magical ring. I tied the string to the ring, and cast detect secret doors.

Something on the desk lit up, which startled me. I dropped the spell. Whatever it was that lit up on the desk disappeared back into the amber darkness.

I cast the spell again.

The thing on the desk lit up. This time I left the spell going, and moved a small stack of papers out of the way. I found a big ring with an equally oversized stone on it. It looked like the mood ring I’d gotten from a carnival once. And it was glowing a brilliant blue.

Dropping the spell, the ring darkened.

Casting the spell, the ring lit up.

Neat trick. And, since I am a thief after all, that ring went into my pocket.

I replaced the papers back as best I could, and I returned to the spell.

I poured a fair amount of mana into the spell, but nothing happened to the ring or the string, so I admitted defeat. Or, rather, I admitted to myself that not every office in every mansion had a secret door leading to untold treasures. This was just an office.

I was about to start digging through the desk drawers when I felt a slight change in the air pressure. I shot a glance at the door.

Not moving.

So there was another door.

I scanned the room and noticed a portion of the bookshelf behind the desk coming outward. I wasn’t exactly overflowing with options, so I stood up against the bookshelf, behind the spot where the fake door was opening. Well, fake bookshelf. Real door, I suppose.

A man walked out with a single candle held in his hand. He balanced a large pastry in his mouth, and a mug of something steaming in his other hand. He was humming a tune, something an upbeat and with the hint of actual melody. It made sense that a man with two concert halls in his own home would have a penchant for music.

Valamir closed the bookshelf door with his foot, took the two steps to his desk, and carefully sat the mug down. Then the candle. He pulled the pastry from his mouth, and dropped it onto the desk. Finally, he sat down himself. He moved the mug a bit to his left, the pastry went back into his mouth, and he got the candle to the far edge of the desk. He set his notebook in front of himself, and wrote a few test lines with his pen. I suppose making sure the ink hadn’t dried out.

I was standing just two feet behind him, leaning against the bookshelf. Close enough to smell the man.

He smelled nice. Clean, which was probably one of the nicest smells in Glaton. Hygiene was a unique experience in the city, mostly ignored. I definitely had much more of a daily funk about myself, and I actually had my own shower. I did need to find better soap. And a laundromat. Or washerwoman. That was probably a thing here. Just one more basic tenet of life I’d neglected in order to get caught up in politics. I was a fool.

Valamir resumed looking over the figures, mumbling to himself as he read over private army numbers. I saw him doing calculations in his book, estimating troop costs, food and equipment and that sort of thing, over time. He was trying to get an idea of how long people could keep their armies. From the look of things, most of the people he was watching had the coin to go the distance.

"Hrm," he mumbled, "could get nasty. But where is the money coming from?"

I barely stopped myself in time, because I almost answered. Well, not really an answer so much as a smart-ass response.

He flipped through his notebook and stopped at a table of numbers. Leaning forward, I saw he'd borrowed a lot of gold from a wide variety of people. Mostly Tollendahl. And yet, something was off.

"You forgot to carry the one," I said.

"Ah, thanks," he replied, and redid his calculation.

What did I just do?

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

I leaned back.

Valamir sat up straight. Then very slowly, he turned around to look at me.

I smiled.

Which, I realized too late, he couldn't actually see, since my armor covered the lower half of my face.

"Just let me get this out of the way first," I said. “I love what you've done with the house."

"Thank you?" he replied.

"But it's just you here, right? Seems a bit excessive for one guy.”

"There are certain standards one must hold when one is royalty, regardless of my own desires. Who are you?"

"I don't think who I am is as important as what I represent."

"And what is that? Are you here to kill me? Are you under the delusion that you can maintain loyalty to the Emperor even beyond death?"

"No. Not really my style. I'm not an assassin."

“I suppose that much is easily obvious. If you were an assassin, you’d either be the worst in history because you started speaking with me, or you’d have killed me while I didn’t know you were there. Perhaps you seek to rob me? I have little of actual value. If you've been reading over my shoulder, then you know where all my coin has gone lately.”

"You've been borrowing pretty heavily."

"There is reason for that."

"Do you mind if I sit down? This feels awkward."

“You break into my house, and you want to sit down with me?”

“Seems like the polite thing to do.”

“The polite thing to do would be to present your card to one of my secretaries and arrange a meeting on the books.”

“You think any of your secretaries would give me a meeting with you?”

He frowned, then looked me up and down a moment.

“Not likely, no.”

“So you see my conundrum.”

“Then sit,” he replied with a sigh, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk. “Better than me sitting and looking up at you, I suppose.”

I nodded, and walked around the desk before sitting down.

"I'm mostly here for information," I said. "There's a lot I don't know about the situation here, and I prefer knowing things."

"Do know that the slightest rise of my voice will bring guards running, and they will not hesitate to run you through. Or worse.”

“Can I choose or worse?”

“If you are a fool.”

“I broke in here, I can’t be that smart.”

“So you would prefer my guards draw and quarter you?”

"I mean, I think something like that might put a real damper on our burgeoning friendship, but, you know, it is your house."

I spread my hands out and put them flat on his desk, making it quite clear I didn’t have a weapon on me. At present, at least.

He sighed.

“You seek information, then, not to harm me?"

"No harm. At least, not yet. Preferably never — I’m not really in the harm business.“

“What business are you in?”

“I’m thinking of baking.”

“You have a very strange way of going about that.”

“Consider it gathering ingredients.”

“What am I? Flour?”

“Yeast. Feed you and see how you rise.”

“Ha,” he said, barking out a single syllable of laughter. “I appreciate the candor. In that case, because I am feeling generous, or foolish, I'm not sure which, what is it you want to know?"

“First, you should know that I know about you and Tollendahl."

"Congratulations! Nearly everyone does. Barely a secret at this point."

"And I read through your journal."

"This one?" he held up the one on his desk.

I nodded.

"Did you find it interesting?"

"I found it at odds with who you say you are."

He frowned. "Explain."

“Everyone thinks you killed your brother, right? But I think that's a lie you've cultivated."

"People think I killed him?"

“Well, that you had him killed. I don't think anyone actually imagines you were there, pouring poison in his ear in the garden and hoping to, uh, you know whatever."

"Oddly specific."

"I come from a strange, uh, hamlet."

"Your rural accent is apparent."

“Regardless, what's written in your journal does't jive with the whole bad-guy-trying-to-usurp-the-throne thing."

"Oh? Perhaps you’re reading it wrong."

"One, don't think I am. Two, if that's the case, I know some people who are going to really push against you getting the crown."

"That is, without doubt, the dumbest threat I have ever heard. Even if I was the greatest man in the history of the Empire, there would be people pushing hard against me getting the crown."

"Okay, yes, admittedly, that was bad. I just, I mean—“

He held up his hand, and I shut up.

Valamir took a drink from his glass. It must have been something strong, because tears started to form in his eyes.

"I do not understand why you are here," he finally said.

"Look, man, that makes two of us. I'm here because a friend of mine thinks you're a piece of shit who had his brother killed. He wanted me to find evidence of that. But I didn't find anything like that here."

"Perhaps you didn't look in the right place."

"Possible. You want to give me a hint?"

"No."

"Worth a try. But I still don’t think I’d find anything, since I'm starting to think you weren't really in on it."

He took another sip of his drink.

"And what if I wasn't?" he asked. "Would that change anything?"

"I mean, it changes everything. You'd probably have an easier time getting the—“

"Stop with that," he snapped.

"With what?"

"The throne nonsense."

“It’s kind of a big deal," I said.

"It's a foolish thing."

"Sure, but also important?"

"I wouldn't take the throne if it was offered to me," he shouted.

"Mind keeping it down?" I asked. "You know, guards about."

Valamir grunted at me, then stared at his drink. In one quick motion, he upended it and gulped down what remained. Then he stood up and walked over to the fireplace, and stopped in front of a golden tray with a crystal decanter, what looked like a thick bowl of sorts, and several glasses. I heard something clink into his glass. And then another glass. He poured the amber liquid into two glasses, then brought them over to the desk, setting one in front of me. There was an ice cube in it. A big cube, seemed to fill up the bulk of the glass.

"Hey, ice," I said.

He just shook his head, and walked over to the window with his drink.

I took a sip.

It burned, but not in a good way. It was rough. I resisted the urge to cough.

"My brother and I had a—“ he started, then stopped. "Whatever anyone else may think, I loved my brother. And I think he loved me. Something came between us long ago — a girl. A woman, really — but still. We were family.”

He turned back to look at me, then frowned.

"Keep up," he said, pointing to my drink.

I noticed his was half gone, whereas mine was, uh, not.

"Right," I replied, and took another sip.

"I never wanted the crown. Or any of that. I barely wanted this. But that's the thing about royalty, there's never a point where you get asked what you actually want." He finished the drink and walked back to the decanter. He poured another, and while he did so, I emptied mine out into my pouch of holding.

He turned around, I think to say chastise me for not drinking again, but he saw the empty glass, and nodded in appreciation. Then he filled me up with a generous family pour. He set the decanter down on his desk, went back to the window, and stared out into the darkness beyond.

"I wanted to, I don't know what I wanted. To be honest, I suppose. I liked the idea of adventure, but is that because of the stories my father told? Or the stories I heard told around my father? My brother only wanted to be Emperor. As second born, obviously I knew that wasn't going to be my future. I thought I might have a chance to follow my own desires. That lasted until," he sighed. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this. A thief who has come into my home, and you sit here listening to me bare my soul. How has my life come to this?"

"Bad luck?"

"Ha," he barked out, and took another deep pull.

I poured my drink out again. Valamir could get drunk, but I needed to make a clean escape at some point. Probably not a great thing to do inebriated.

"I did not want my brother dead," he suddenly said. "I spent my life trying to keep him alive."

“I don’t want to be that guy,” I started, “except, maybe I am that guy, so I was there the night you told Tollendahl about your plan. That you were ready to depose your brother.”

“You were there? What do you mean?”

“I was in the room. In the office where you agreed to Tollendahl’s demands so he’d fund your coup.”

“How were you—“

“Trade secret. But if you don’t mind, I’d like an explanation.”

“Fine. When my brother married Elise, I was not in the best place. Elise was the woman I had loved with all my heart. She was my entire world, and when she chose my brother over me, I was broken. I felt betrayed. I felt angry. I didn’t trust myself or my family, so I moved to this home, and I stopped visiting the Imperial Palace. I sequestered myself.”

“Is this going to get around to answering my question?”

“It needs some background, thief,” he said. He wasn’t slurring, but there was a certain looseness to both his posture and his words that made me think drunkenness was around the corner. “Everyone thought I hated my brother. And maybe, in a way, I did. But when someone came to me with a plan to take my brother off the throne, I wasn’t tempted for even a second. I met with my brother, in secret, told him who the traitor was, and what the plan would have been. My brother saw the benefit to me being considered his enemy. There is no better or closer ally for a coup than the crown prince. So it was decided I would play that role in public. And in private, really. And it is a role I was forced to play from that day until now. Now when it’s clear no one will believe me.”

“Sounds a bit like something your brother would do.”

“You have some knowledge of the Emperor?”

“I met him once.”

“Oh? Do you make a habit of sneaking into the homes of royalty and making strange conversation with them?”

“No, but that would probably be fun. I went to warn him about you. And Mahrduhm. And now I see why he was unconcerned. Because it was a nonsense thing. And then he died. Right there, in front of me.”

His eyes shrank as he glared at me. “You had been telling the truth up until now, and I was actually starting to value who you might be. But lies are—“

“I’m not lying. I really was there.”

He walked to the fireplace, and snatched a poker. He turned, and had the poker at my throat, ready to drive it home.

“Do not lie to me. Your life is already forfeit—“

I pulled out my arm and flared my indicium.

Valamir grabbed my arm, and pulled it closer to the candlelight so he could see it.

“That’s something only the Emperor could give me, right?” I asked, using my other hand to point to the Imperial Favor mark.

Valamir rubbed his thumb over the lines of the indicium, I suppose on the off chance I’d faked it.

“And how would I know about the, uh, the Coggeshall guy if not for being there?’

Valamir shook his head, “I don’t know.”

“And I was there in the room with you and Tollendahl. I know you’re organizing a tournament for him. An arena tournament. And that you had to get a bunch of the White Hand freed—“

“Enough,” he snapped, and he threw the poker, hard, right through one of the windows.

Wind and rain blew in with a surprising fury. We were tossed into a darkness as all the candles went out at once.

“Perhaps you are who you say you are, and maybe you have done the things you say you’ve done,” Valamir said, his face uncomfortably close to mine. The alcohol on his breath actually burned my eyeballs. “What are you doing here, then?”

“Exactly what I said,” I replied. “I was here to find evidence of your betrayal. And now, I mean, I guess you didn’t do it.”

“I didn’t.”

“Is there proof?”

“How would you like me to prove I didn’t do something?”

“I don’t know. Alibi?”

“What would it matter where I was if someone else did the killing for me?”

“Okay, yeah,” I said, nodding, “once again, I’m, I mean, I’m just really out of my depth here.”

“It would seem so,” Valamir replied. He released me and walked towards the fire. “Tell these friends of yours that I am not the man my brother forced me to play. And I would happily not partake of the throne, though I fear there are few other options available.”

“Isn’t there a princess?”

“For the moment.”

“Well that’s ominous as hell.”

“Not for anything I would be doing. She has gotten it into her head that she needs to join this group of fools. She is willing to give up everything to help them.”

“So she’s in a cult.”

“Not yet, but that is the direction she is heading. I can see what you are about to say, that I should step in, help the girl out. Perhaps. She is my niece, and yet, her actions nor her demeanor are appropriate for the ruler of a nation, let alone an Empire.”

“Hey man, I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t need to. It has been said before, and it will surely be said again.”

“For what it’s worth,” I said, “I really liked your brother. He seemed like a stand-up guy.”

“He was always well-liked. It was a particular strength of his. He got the high charisma stat, I got high wisdom. Sometimes I think about how much easier it would be to be happy if I could have the same stats as him.”

“I mean—“ I stopped myself from finishing the terrible joke about his brother having the stats of a dead man.

He poured another drink for himself, but it seemed like he’d forgotten about me drinking. Which was fine for me.

“There is one thing you can do for me,” he said. “Before you leave out the window that is. I fear the guards will be here any moment.”

“What’s the thing?” I asked, standing and moving to the window, ready to jump just in case.

“I don’t know how much of my family you know of—“

“The Glatons? A bit.”

“There is a girl who I consider my niece. A darling who is precious and intelligent and someone I consider the best among us Glatons. And yet, she has somehow become infatuated with a commoner of ill repute.”

I had a bad feeling where this was going.

“Hey, man,” I said, “I’m no assassin. I already told you that.”

“I am not asking you to kill this commoner. I am asking you to find out more about him. See if you might scare him off. Show my niece the true nature of the commoner she decided she loves.’”

“Loves?”

“I know, it is ridiculous. But if you could do this for me, I would be most grateful.”

You have been offered a quest Valamir:

The Nature of Love

Show Valamir’s ’Niece’, Nadya, the true nature of the commoner she decided she loves.

Reward for success: ???

Penalty for failure (or refusal): ???

Yes/No

I was a bit taken aback by the quest, hence why I didn’t ask for clarifications, nor what the reward might be. And it, more or less, seemed like an easy quest to complete, at least by the parameters as outlined by the game world.

“Sure,” I said. “I think I can do that.”

“Thank you,” he said with a slight bow of his head. He then tossed back the entire glass of fire-water-whiskey-whatever the vile stuff was, and made a strange sort of face in my general direction. “Now, if you don’t mind, I believe I’d like to throw up alone.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Getting out of Valamir’s estate wasn’t super difficult, especially since all the guards were running into the building. I just scooted through the landscaped yard, leaping the occasional hedge, and then climbed right up the wall. I made short work of it because it was so easy to get good purchase on the wall — one of the rare bonuses of having bare feet.

I landed on the sidewalk, right in a puddle. So much for bare-feet bonuses. And of course it was still pouring, making me miss my cloak just as much.

“Well shit,” I said, wiping the rain off my face.

Time to start the long trudge home.

It was a pretty terrible walk, but at least I wasn’t super concerned about monsters anymore. It seemed like they avoided the rain when they could as well. Why would they love being cold and wet just because they were monsters?

I had gone to Valamir’s thinking the man was one of the big bads of the world. That he’d killed his brother to take the throne. Yet all the evidence I found pointed the other way. That Valamir was a devoted brother who’d taken on a terrible role just because it helped him protect his brother a little. Basically, his brother ruined Valamir’s life, and Valamir let him.

Of course, that could all have just been an act. There was no hard evidence. Nothing written by the Emperor’s hand pointing out the deception, clearing Valamir’s name. There was still the money taken from Tollendahl, and the fact that Valamir seemed to be willing to bend over to make Tollendahl’s wishes come true, for the money. And the army he hired. Why would he need mercenaries unless he was preparing for a coup? I wished I had thought of these questions in the moment, when I could’ve actually gotten answers. I always figured out the best things to say when I had no chance to say them. I bet Matthew and Godfrey would’ve been quicker.

It didn’t take long for me to get well and truly soaked. Or to start shivering. I was in a particular brand of misery, and it really made me worry about what winter was going to bring. We were barely out of summer.

“Something for tomorrow,” I said to myself.

“You won’t have a tomorrow,” came a soft and vile voice I recognized immediately.

I looked around for where Insidious was hiding. “Really guys? Can we not tonight? It sucks out.”

I got no reply.

I took a heartbeat to really study where I was: back in Old Town, at a small square with a fountain in the middle. The streets weren’t that big, probably wide enough for a single carriage or wagon at a time. One of the storefronts was probably a greengrocer, judging by the empty crates out front. Likely filled with fruit during the day. There were no lights on in any of the homes there, and no sign of the City Guard having come through recently. Four streets came in at the corners of the square. And the statue in the middle of the fountain was a baby with wings holding a sword aloft. It was certainly a statement piece of sorts, the statement being, at least in my mind, "Why?"

There wasn’t much terrain to worry about, but there also wasn't an easy way to escape. If Insidious was smart — which I don't think he was, but this was pretty obvious — he’d make sure he had backup down every road, so I’d be trapped. No egress. Fight it would be.

Maybe I'd die.

But, you know, that would only be a temporary inconvenience.

The bigger issue was making sure I inflicted pain on my attackers. I wanted any interaction with me to be a horrible experience for them. I slid my sword free from the scabbard and gave it a little twirl. Just a little flourish for good measure.

Finally, Insidious emerged from the shadows, strolling forward with his face obscured by a big hooded black cloak. His fingers were dripping with rings, all of which glowed. I wasn't sure how he'd managed to keep the glowing covered in the darkness, but he had. I'll give it to the man, he cut an imposing figure. Sort of. It was ruined because I knew him and understood he was a useless asshat.

"It's time," Insidious said.

And with that, the other people came to the party. Men and women emerged out of the darkness from every street. A quick count made it eight. Add Insidious, and I had nine opponents.

"Remember," Insidious said, "I will be the one to strike the killing blow. Otherwise, take him down."

No swords came out. No one drew any weapons of any kind. Remember when I said I wasn't nervous? This made me nervous. These weren’t fighters, they were mancers. This was going to be a magic fight. And I wasn't at all prepared.

The only magic fight I'd been in was the Ring of Fire. So less a fight and more a massacre. And I really didn't want a replay of that night. As horrifying as burning to death is in your imagination, actually having it happen is worse.

I took a deep breath and tried to calm my nerves enough to make something along the lines of a plan.

"Okay boys," I said, "let's dance."

Step the first when you're outnumbered: even the odds a little.

Shadowstep.

I darted behind the nearest of the mancers, popped back out, and then swung my sword as hard as I could.

"Shadow movement!" One of the mancers called out. Not the guy I cut — he was busy bleeding out from his neck.

Someone cursed, stopped the spell they were in the middle of, and threw a bright ball up into the air. Then the rest of the mancers did the same. Seven balls of light shot up about thirty feet, and suddenly there wasn't even a hint of shadow left in the square. I did see a way out, and I thought about making a run for it, but then I saw a ball of flame forming around a woman's hand across the square.

She flicked the flame towards me, and I dove out of the way, moving barely fast enough to get out of the fireball's path. The ball smashed against a stone wall, making a sizzling sound as the rainwater turned to steam.

I rolled to my feet, and got up just in time to see a giant pink fist coming for my face. There was no chance to dodge, so I just got my arms up in front of my head to absorb some of the blow. It hit with grim force. There was a bright flash of pink light, and I went flying. My arms ached, and my head was swimming.

"Don't move him—“ someone shouted right before a loud crack rang out.

Lightening shot right through where I'd just been standing. Maybe there was a little advantage in facing opponents not used to working together.

I rolled over and pushed myself upright.

I stumbled a bit, trying to figure out which of the people around me were real, and which ones were just doubles. Yay for potential brain traumas.

The guy I initially attacked was on the ground, not moving. My sword still in his neck.

Quick check of the notifications:

GG! You’ve killed a Human (lvl 15 Mancer).

You’ve earned 500 XP! What a mighty hero you are.

With a flick of my wrist, I cast ReAnimate.

My opponents looked around at one another. When they realized none of them were the target of a spell, they tried to figure out what I'd just done.

The corpse moved just a little bit. But I needed to keep attention from my unwilling ally until it was upright.

I grabbed a knife from my belt and had it flying out in a single motion.

My target, a woman with yellow hair in a tight ponytail, spread her hand out, and something shimmered into existence just as the blade reached her. The shield looked like a translucent jelly, because the knife slowed quickly, and just stuck there. In mid-air.

A whistling noise came from above, and knew it could only be something bad, so I dodged to the side, leaping and sliding across the wet rocks.

A glowing ball of metal crashed into the ground, smashing a hole through the stones.

"Doesn't someone have a hold person spell, dammit?" one of the mancers roared.

"Working—“ called out another man.

"Good idea," I said, and I cast hold humanoid on the person trying to cast, ostensibly, hold person.

The man went rigid, his voice cutting out, and the magic flaring as he lost control of his spell. The mana seemed to burn him as it poured out of his body and swirled around him.

The yelling man’s eyes went wide at his buddy succumbed to the hold spell. I took advantage of his distraction and threw a knife at him.

"Morris!" screamed a redhead.

Morris, my target, got his eyes on the blade just in time to watch it go into his chest.

GG! You’ve killed Morris.

Human (lvl 17 Mancer).

You’ve earned 580 XP! What a mighty hero you are.

Three down, two dead and one held, five to go.

Once again, I had to get back to my feet. But I was down my sword and two of my blades. I had one more dagger on me, and that was the extent of my weapons. Everything else was going to have to either be by fist or spell.

There's something weird about learning spells from draining someone else. You know how to cast the spell, and you have a sense of what will happen, but the actual effect of the spell really only becomes apparent after you’ve cast it. I had a bunch of spells from the corpseking that were total mysteries to me. But the names sounded good. Time to cast—

A fireball hit my side, and licks of flame splashed over my black armor.

Glancing left, I saw another ball of fire coming my way. I jumped backward.

Right into a spear of ice angling up at a diagonal out of a puddle below. It pierced my back, going right through my innards with a fantastic spray of blood, leaving me hanging, somewhat, in the air.

"Got 'em," I heard someone say.

I wrenched my neck around, feeling the rage mounting inside. I extended my arm out, my hand wide like I was grabbing for something, and cast vicious wrench.

The guy stopped talking. His face went white, and he managed to eke out a horrible noise before I closed my fingers into a fist and ripped the femur right out of his leg. It soared across the square in a disgusting display of gore. I grabbed it out of the air and swung it around with enough force to shatter the ice spear beneath me.

I fell to the ground, bleeding heavily. My body trembled, and I immediately started healing myself before either shock or unconsciousness set in.

It was quiet around the square as everyone tried to understand what I'd done.

"What did he just do?" I heard someone ask, confirming my suspicions.

I groaned a bit, feeling my body knit itself back together. Sometimes the healing was almost as bad as the injuries themselves.

The man whose femur I’d wrenched out of his body was on the ground, rolling back and forth in obvious pain.

“What did he do?!” Someone shouted.

I looked around the square. Insidious wasn’t in view, but there were five people standing up and moving slightly, one standing and not moving at all, and two on the ground.

Which meant my new ally was ready to fight.

“Incapacitate them,” I said.

There was a grunt of assent from the reanimated mancer, and he advanced on his former friends. His arms went out straight, and he wrapped his fingers around the neck of the woman next to him. There were some screams of horror. Which was understandable. I didn’t like using the undead — it made me feel gross. But it’s not like they’d left me much choice in the matter.

The horror of the moment meant that no one was watching me. I paused healing myself for a moment, and I cast minor illusion to make an image of myself who got up and ran away.

It was a bit of a Hail Mary, because it’s not like I did anything to hide myself on the ground. But with everything else that had gone on that night, it was enough to throw some bonus confusion into the mix.

“He’s getting away, you fools!” Insidious yelled out.

Which gave me his position.

The other mancers were trying to pull the undead thrall off his former companion, ignoring Insidious. And me.

“You take care of it,” one of the mancers yelled out as flames flared across his hands and he sprayed down both the undead and the living mancer with fire. There was some screaming from the living person, but the thrall really went up in an inferno. A horrible, inhuman shriek came out of him. Which was curious, since his head wasn’t wholly attached, so I wasn’t exactly sure how the air traveled from his lungs— you know what? Probably not a thing to worry about in the moment.

“Wait,” the woman cried out, her voice hoarse from the choking, and her hair, well, gone from the fire, “he’s right there.”

She was angry. And, you know, she had every right to be. Maybe not at me though — I’d just made someone choke her. Her buddy was the one who burned all her hair off.

Her arms went up, and electricity crackled between her hands.

“He’s mine,” she said, somber.

“I will kill him,” Insidious snapped stalking through the group.

“Not done yet,” I said. Despite having to grit my teeth to to get it out through the pain, I thought I sounded pretty badass.

I cast vicious wrench again, at the woman.

Her eyes went wide, then shut, and she started chanting something. The spell was trying to work, but she was trying to block it. I didn’t know that for sure, but that was the feeling that I had. I poured more mana into it, and she gritted her teeth harder.

Insidious stood over me, and he brought his wicked-looking dagger down at my face.

I was about to die. Again.

But then I saw a sword come through Insidious’s chest.

Insidious looked shocked. He dropped his dagger, and it clattered against the cobblestones below.

“Wha—“ Insidious managed before his insides stopped working.

A huge man pushed Insidious off his sword with a hobnailed boot. Then he stood in front of me, glaring at the mancers.

In a spectacular case of bad timing, the man’s entrance into the fight caused the woman to lose grip on her counter-spell, and, therefore, vicious wrench succeeded, and I maybe ripped out her ribcage.

Which I am sure will remain among the most disgusting things I have ever seen.

The ribcage shot through the square, hitting my new best friend in front of me. A bunch of gross internal bits also hit him. And really just spread across everywhere.

For a moment, the woman remained upright, and even had the wherewithal to look down at her torso. Then it seemed like her spine realized it was missing all the stuff that helped it keep her skull up, and she just kind of folded in on herself, crumpling to the ground without a sound save a light squelch.

GG! You’ve killed a Human (lvl 19 Mancer).

You’ve earned 1000 XP! What a mighty hero you are.

One of the mancers threw up.

The others didn’t look much better. Now that the battle had come to a halt, I realized how young my opponents were. They looked to be late teens, at most. I was willing to bet they were students. And I’d just murdered three of them. One of them, I technically murdered twice. Was that four murders then?

I slowly got to my feet.

The remaining mancers stared at me. There were two men, two women. Or, rather, two boys, two girls.

“Run,” the stranger growled at the mancers.

The kids didn’t need to be told twice. They took off sprinting, heading back north towards their school. The brilliant orbs of light they’d thrown out at the start of the fight followed them, which was kind of amusing. But my new friend and I were left in the darkness of Glaton’s night.

I knew it was probably bad form of me, but I felt the need to go over the things Insidious had on him, namely the dagger he was preparing to kill me with. It had to be something special for him to go through all this trouble. It went right into my belt. Then off came the rings, and the chain, and the talisman. I pulled the pouches off his belt, and even snagged the backup dagger he had in his boot.

The big man watched me looting the body for a moment. Then he walked over and started looting the mancers’ corpses.

I took the time to pull Insidious’s cloak off of him, and I found two small books in an inner pocket. Those went into my pouch. I checked over my body. The leather armor had a big burn spot on it, and also I was in need of a hair cut. Or a hair growth tonic.

My savior finished up with his looting, and walked back my way. I finally realized he was a minotaur. For some reason, I hadn’t noticed that aspect of him up until now. Maybe it was because it was dark, or because he towered over me by a solid three feet, but I’d just missed that he had huge horns and a big silver ring through his bull nose. He held out his massive hands, and there were all the things he’d looted from the Mancers.

“Uh,” I started, confused as to what was happening, “you can keep them if you want.”

He just grunted, and dropped everything on the ground in front of me.

Then someone started clapping, and I completely forgot about the small pile of loot.

“Marvelous,” came a melodious voice. Once more, someone walked out of the shadows, still clapping.

“Wait,” “I said, “I know you.”

“I should hope so,” came the reply, “I owe you quite the debt. And it is finally time for me to pay up.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Troels Westergaard looked at me, his pale blue eyes almost reflective in the light.  He looked both happier and healthier than when I’d seen him at Tollendahl’s party. I’d saved his life from an assassin that night, right before I saved Shae and stole a few priceless artifacts. Westergaard said he owed me a blood debt, which was some Carchedonian thing I didn’t get a chance to ask about. But it seemed like tonight might be the night the debt was paid. I really hoped it wasn’t literal.

“Again,” he said, “I am truly impressed at your prowess with magic, Clyde. And these imperial mages — Mancers is such a silly name — you tore them apart. Quite literally.”

“I didn’t really mean to do that,” I said. “It was, I mean—“

“Masterful. Grotesque, but masterful. And necromancy? Fabulous. You are genuinely wasted in the Empire, young elf. I implore you, consider a change of scenery. At my expense. Join me in my homeland, and see what it is you have been missing.”

“That’s very tempting, uh, Lord Westergaard.”

He waved his hand. “Just Troels, please. My title is actually Lord High Crown Prince, but it is so formal for someone who is part of the royal family, as you are now.”

“I think I’m a bit behind on things,” I said.

“Could be that hit you took. Knocked you quite the distance. And then being stabbed with that ice thing. Brutal. And yet you stand. Fantastic. Perhaps you could have a career in the arena. Hrm. Coleridge, my carriage."

The minotaur nodded once, then marched off down one of the streets.

“My apologies for not interceding sooner," Troels said. “We have been waiting for an opportune time to speak with you, and I had a man following you for some time, just to make sure you didn't, you know, have an accident prior to my paying the debt. Little did I know, however, my brother had someone following my man to make sure we did not intercede just in case you had an accident so we would not need to pay the debt. I almost feel I owe you a larger debt because of that."

"Seriously, man, you don't owe me anything."

"Ah, but I do. There is little more serious in Carchedon than the blood debt. And being from the royal family, how would it look were I to ignore such a debt?"

“Who would ever know?“

"But I would know, young elf. I would know. And that would be enough." He gave me a wide smile. It was hard not to like him in that moment.

Immediately, I wondered if he had a skill or ability that made me like him. I was perpetually paranoid in this world, worried about the skills, abilities, or what-have-you that other people had, because I saw what my skills and abilities were doing.

"Carchedon is a beautiful land, full of trees and lakes," he said, putting his arm around me and steering me towards the northernmost street coming into the square. "It has cool weather, abundant food, and the most exquisite architecture. Glaton is not a city to belittle — it has a certain flair to it, to be sure — but our land is safer and we need not hide behind walls and shields all the time."

"I'd be happy to visit," I said, not exactly telling the truth. Despite Troels being a nice guy, there was still something just off about him. And about Carchedon. Just the fact that slavery was still a thing there made me unwilling to even consider actually liking it. And granted, maybe since Troels was the crown prince, he wasn't privy to the dirtier aspects of his country. Maybe he believed everyone had it as good as him. I doubted it, but there was an outside possibility, I supposed.

Two gorgeous black horses pulled a sleek black carriage into the square, and came to a stop next to the prince and me. The Minotaur, Coleridge, stood on the back, and there were two men on the front. A driver and someone I took to be a guard, judging from the armor he wore.

The door to the carriage opened, and a woman stepped out. She wore black leather armor, but she had her hair loose, falling down over the side of her face. Which was a bit odd because the leather armor made me think she was ready for action, but the hair made me think she was ready to be seen.

Troels said nothing to her as he guided me up and into the carriage.

There was a thump as the door shut, and I realized how thickly built the thing was. It was a bit like riding in the medieval equivalent to a tank. A really nice tank, because the inside was all leather and cushions. Including on the floor, walls, and ceiling, not just the seating. Troels sat so he was facing backward, leaving the nicer seat for me. He promptly opened up a small cabinet that wafted out cool fog. He grabbed two covered mugs, and passed one over to me.

"I find the ride dull," he said. "The streets in this city are so, crowded. And so many. This city is just too big for its own good, and I really don't relish how long it takes to get back to my abode."

"We're going to your house?" I asked, sniffing at the mug.

“We are going to the embassy. Which is where I live."

"Are you the ambassador?"

"Sometimes. It largely depends. Right now, of course, there is no one for me to conduct any business with, not in a technical sense. So I'd imagine I'll be going home soon. One reason I wanted to get my debt with you settled. It would be doubly difficult to take care of things were I not around to do it. On the other hand, I might be getting thrown out soon. Tough to tell."

"Why would you get thrown out? Are you, I mean, is this legal?"

"Taking a ride with you? Certainly. But I wouldn't put it past Glaton to put another bizarre law into place. Their legal books take up an entire library. Ridiculous. We have a much freer state in Carchedon."

I wanted to add it was only freer for some, but that didn't seem prudent. I leaned over and looked out the window. We had yet to start moving. The minotaur and the woman were putting the corpses into a bag. Cleaning up. Some of the residents around the square were finally peeking out through their curtained windows. It was strange to think that a magical fight was so ordinary for them that everyone knew to wait for a stretch of silence to peek outside, so they wouldn’t catch an errant blast from a spell. Coleridge tossed the bag onto the roof of the carriage, where it landed with a thump. Then, quite quickly, the carriage began bouncing across the cobblestone streets.

Troels took a deep pull from his mug, and let out a breath of fog afterward. He smiled serenely and leaned back against the cushions. A strand of his long blonde hair fell across his face, and he swept it out of the way.

"No," he continued, "I wouldn't get thrown out for anything involving you. Or really me. But I find it hard to believe my militaristic brother wouldn't take advantage of the current political situation."

“Meaning the lack of Emperor?" I asked.

"Is there another situation worth speaking about?"

I was about to bring up the missing children epidemic, but I didn't suspect Troels cared about that.

"Just clarifying," I said instead.

"I imagine there will be an assault on Skaganum within the month," he said idly, looking out the window as he took another sip of his drink. "I find this constant battle between our nations tiresome, but it is precious to my brother. And your former emperor's brother. Warmongers, the two of them. At least for my brother, it is the only way he feels he will outshine his predecessors. And that can be difficult. I suppose that's one thing I enjoy about not being expected to take the throne. As long as I don't bring ruin on the family, I am free to be as useless as I want."

“Sure,” I said, not fully listening, more interested in my own drink. It had a delicious aroma, but it was really cold. Like so cold I was a little afraid of drinking it. But it didn't seem to bother Troels. So I took a sip.

It was a bizarre experience. Because it felt like, well, I was drinking it, but I didn't actually swallow anything. It felt like all the liquid boiled off into a gas as it hit my mouth, so I got an intense flavor, and then I just breathed out steam. There's no way it worked in the way actual science did.

"This stuff is wild," I said.

"A Carchedonian delicacy," he said.

“How does it work?"

"Property of the dargonberry. A magical little fruit that grows in tiny groves on the leeward slopes of the Bærfjell mountains. Sublime little thing."

"It's delicious, but—“

"Not filling, no. You can drink as much of it as you like; it's really just a refresher for the mouth. Gives you the most delightful breath. Something that doesn't seem thought about here. Sadly. Are you hungry? You've had quite the night."

"I suppose I could eat."

He smiled and nodded, wagging his finger as if he was right about something. Then he took a huge gulp of his magical not-quite-drink, exhaled a big cloud of fog, and slipped his mug back into the cabinet from whence it came. With a slight flourish, he pulled a small notebook and pen out of his vest pocket, and wrote a little note in the book. Then his attention was back on me.

Dutifully, I took another sip of the "drink" and exhaled out the fog. It was a unique experience. Not wholly pleasant, because there was something disconcerting about the process. I passed the mug back, and he slid it into its place. Then Troels leaned back once again, extending his legs out and putting his hands behind his head.

"I loathe spending so many nights out in the darkness here," he said. "There's always something lurking in the shadows. Some vile creature bent on eating you."

“You don’t have to worry about that in Carchedon?" I asked, picking up on the theme of the conversation.

"Not at all. Much safer there."

There was always the outside chance Troels was telling the truth, that Carchedon was legitimately better than Glaton. It didn't seem that realistic, because if there was a way to make a place safer, I'd imagine everyone would go there. More likely he just lived in a palace and never saw monsters in the streets because he was never in the streets.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The trip wasn’t as long as Troels made it out to be, but I felt like I was getting a better sense of the man. Of his skewed perspective on the world.

It was a nice place though. Unlike the Mahrduhm Embassy, Carchedon’s was beautiful. Sure, there were big walls, but inside the walls were lush gardens filled with amazing plants. There were several buildings on the compound. Obviously the largest was the embassy itself, but there were also barracks, carriage houses, two greenhouses, and what looked like a dormitory for the staff. All of it was designed to fit together and compliment everything perfectly, and I had to say that, besides the walls, none of the architecture had the defensive appearance that was so common around Glaton. It was pretty. There were big windows on the ground floors, with no bars on anything. No spikes on the tops of walls, or murder holes to shoot arrows through.

Why weren’t these people worried about getting attacked?

The carriage dropped us off at the rear of the embassy. As we exited, footmen and valets stood ready to wait upon his royal highness. And me, I suppose. Troels handed off his jacket, gloves and hat, and promptly put a new jacket on. He also replaced his shoes, not taking a step inside until he had on clean indoor shoes. I had no such luxury, being that I had no shoes on whatsoever.

Troels looked down at my bare feet.

"Unusual," he said. "Choice or mistake?"

"Bit of both."

"Fetch him some boots," Troels said. Not to anyone in particular — he just said it out loud, expecting it to be taken care of. "Right. Inside."

He marched into the house.

As we moved along, doors swung open before we even got to them, and chairs were pulled out in case we wanted to sit down. We went down three hallways and through two larger rooms before we got to a small dining room that was about the size of my entire apartment. A meal had been laid out on the table — it looked to be roast meat of some kind, as well as some bread. All piping hot. A footman pulled out my seat, and Troels gestured at me graciously.

I sat.

Someone plated a few slices of the steaming bread and more than a few slices of the meat, and set it in front of me. A second plate held some vegetables.

I tucked in, not wanting to offend the host, nor miss a chance to eat. I was starving.

Troels leaned back in his chair. I didn't notice when he'd sat down. He didn't have a plate in front of him.

I stopped eating, and looked around.

There were three men in the room, besides Troels and I. They stood against the walls, but looked ready to jump in if anything was said.

"Is this all for me? I mean, aren't you eating?" I asked.

"Oh, I had dinner some time ago," Troels replied. "You said you were hungry, so..."

"I didn't need all this, though.“

"No bother in the slightest," he cut me off. Of course it wasn't a bother to him. "Privacy please."

The other men left the room.

Troels waited for the door to shut. Then he hopped out of his chair and walked over to the sideboard where all the food had been laid out. He opened up one of the small doors on the front of the sideboard and pulled out two glasses, little things that looked like they were for port. Or tiny people. Gnomes, maybe. He poured a small amount of liquid from a flask in his new indoor coat, then brought both glasses to the table and set them down. Both in front of me.

"A toast?" he asked.

I looked at both glasses, and a glimpse of understanding flashed through me. He put them both in front of me so I could choose my drink before he did. Lessen the suspicion that he might have poisoned one and not the other.

The liquid inside was dark and syrupy. But, you know, when in Rome. Or, in this case, when in an embassy of a country in another country in another world or universe, right?

"A toast," I replied, and picked up a glass.

He grabbed the remaining one and clinked it against mine. Then we both drank down the contents.

It was foul. In taste, texture, and every other quality, it was disgusting. And judging from the face Troels made as he forced it down, he felt similarly.

"Ugh," he said, "it's horrible. Not sure why it's tradition."

"What is it?"

"Llorthgraap."

“Never heard of it.“

"Fermented blood from a llorth."

“Don't think we have those here."

"Consider yourself blessed then. They are disgusting creatures, but prolific breeders. A staple in Carchedon historically. But I am doubly glad we have moved beyond eating them. At least, outside of the occasional traditional meal everyone tries to avoid. But now we have finished that slice of tradition, which means it is time to complete the blood debt between us."

"Sure," I said. "I guess."

"In a normal situation as this, I would simply swear my life to you. You have saved me, which, in turn, means that from that moment on until I perish, is only because of you. So, my life would be forfeit to yours."

"I'm not—“

He held up his hand until I stopped.

"Being who I am, however, it is not possible for me to do as such. Thus, I have brought what I hope you will consider adequate recompense."

I was starting to think I was about to get a title. Or some gold. Maybe some land.

That was not what I got.

He rang a bell.

Where he'd gotten the bell I don’t know, because I didn't even see the thing — I saw him move his hand, and I heard a bell ring.

The door behind him opened, and three individuals walked in, lining up along the table. They stood at attention, looking across the table and out the window, not making eye contact with either Troels or me. The first was a minotaur. While not quite as tall as the one who'd saved my life earlier in the evening, this guy seemed broader. Bigger in all ways but height, actually. He had that similar mean look in his eyes, and his muscles were toned beyond comprehension.

The next was a young woman in leather armor. Human, I think. She had long blonde hair pulled tight. She looked a lot like the gymnasts I used to train with, small but with a lot of muscle.

The last was a man with a drooping mustache wearing a robe. I'd put him in his mid-forties or so, provided, you know, he was human. He might not have been. I could never be sure.

"These three," Troels said, "I offer to you. For my strength, for my spirit, and for my intelligence."

"Man, I'm not—“

"This is not something you can refuse," Troels said, his voice hardening for the first time in our brief, well, it wasn't friendship, but for the first time in our relationship, he seemed serious.

"What do you mean these three, then?" I asked. "Are they, I mean, I know that in Carchedon, that, uh, slavery is— “

"These are not slaves," Troels was quick to say. "Not only is that illegal with the Empire, slaves are not worthy of paying off a blood debt. These are free individuals who are swearing themselves to your service."

"Sounds a bit—“’

"This is not something unknown in the Empire. I believe your term is for it is a hirð."

"Never heard of it."

"It is most certainly a thing, and most would consider it a mark of honor. Much as these three individuals do."

I didn’t know what to say. It felt like I should stand up for human rights, or humanoid rights I suppose. But I was essentially in a foreign country, surrounded by guards and other trained people with weapons — probably not the best idea to make them mad. Only so many bears you can poke and still get away.

"Well," I said, "I am, uh, honored. I think."

That seemed to be among the right things to say because Troels smiled at me.

"I was worried," Troels said. "I am quite the man, and I fear even these three do not fully make up for who I am. But it is as it must be."

There was a polite knock at the door behind me, and a valet walked inside carrying a pair of black boots. He gently set them by my feet, and then backed out of the door.

"And your shoes," Troels exclaimed. "Everything is coming together. Now shall we finish the swearing of loyalties up so we might consider this blood debt repaid?"

"Uh, sure. Let’s get on it,“ I said.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Troels led the four of us through the hallways back to another room that was much more formal. Not quite a throne room, but probably as close to that as you can get within an embassy.

The three knelt in front of me, and Troels stood behind them.

"We gather in repayment of the blood debt of Troels Westergaard," the three said, “Lord High Crown Prince of Carchedon. We swear our lives and loyalty to Clyde Hatchett."

Then there was a bit of an awkward pause. I think they thought I should have had some sort of title. Or the ceremony was built to accommodate for a title. But, well, I didn't have one did I? Just Clyde Hatchett of Old Town, Glaton, owner of some buildings and last living member of the Biscuit's Union. Doesn't exactly roll off the tongue or inspire loyalty, does it?

Then, a notification popped up, one of the pesky ones that can't be minimized. So I had to actually stop what I was doing and read it and address it. I was grateful we were in a safe room, since because we were certainly vulnerable dealing with this stuff.

ATTENTION: The blood debt of Lord High Crown Prince Troels Westergaard is being repaid. Mornax the Destroyer pledges his loyalty and life to you and yours. Klara Therkel pledges her loyalty and life to you and yours. Nox Kvist pledges his loyalty and life to you and yours. Do you accept their pledges and consider this debt repaid?

YES/NO

Well shit. This seemed serious. These people were tying their lives to mine. Like, actually giving their free will over to me. That was intense, and the whole “don’t-worry-this-isn’t-slavery” thing felt a bit semantic.

But at the same time, I had to wonder if my Earth-born sensibilities were at play. If my American concepts of freedom, of life liberty and happiness were interfering here. This was a different world, with different customs, rules, and, damn, even different physics. Maybe having people swear themselves to you for life wasn’t a bad thing. It could certainly be a nice thing. Just from a pragmatic standpoint, it’d be three more people to join the guild. That made Matthew’s impossible quest to keep the guild going almost trivial. Plus the minotaur seemed badass, and I was just curious about minotaurs. I mean, not in that way, an academic curiosity. Perverts.

My brain wasn’t stopping — it was zipping through thoughts at a mile-a-minute and making roughly zero sense. But there were eight eyes staring at me. Waiting for me to make a decision, and I had the implicit feeling they felt this should be an easy one.

I picked yes. Because I'm weak. At least, at times. And in this time, I wasn't sure how to navigate the situation besides taking the easy path. Go with the flow.

A humming started, something I could hear, and then all of a sudden, also something I could feel. My entire body vibrated. A brilliant red light oozed out of the tiled floor. Well, it was bright like a light, but there was also something more solid to it. Like a solid chunk of light. Oozing from the floor. Then it shot up into the room, blossoming out like fireworks, but ones that were still connected. Almost like a tree and its leaves. And I know my metaphors are bouncing all over the damn place, but describing magical effects isn’t easy, okay? The mystical light show settled down until there was a tether between me and the three kneeling individuals.

NOTICE: You have formed the Tjene. A tjene is a fundamental group, and will not be counted against any parties or armies you may join or lead. Your tjener are unable to be released by you, or anyone. They are only released from your service by the end of time.

I blinked a few times, trying to come to terms with what exactly it was that I'd just read. They were mine until the end of time? It was hard to wrap my head around it, and the whole thing really just felt a bit messed up.

And yet, when I came back to myself, the three of them were smiling. They were happy. Like, really happy. They looked like they were about to start high-fiving each other. If, you know, high-fiving was a thing that happened here.

Troels walked over to me and extended his hand out.

I did the same. He pressed a metal ring into my palm, and when he released my grip, I saw something that looked like a bull ring.

Troels nodded towards the big minotaur in front of me.

Perplexed, but still playing along, I held the ring out to the bull man.

A big smile spread across his big face, and he gently took the ring from me. He showed it to the other two, and then lifted it to his nose. He closed his eyes, pushed the ring into his nostrils, and it just sort of popped into place in his septum. There was a flash of red light, and the ring got darker, the silvery sheen of the metal disappearing.

"Thank you," the minotaur said, his voice low, almost like a purr. "I am honored."

Then, to make things even more awkward, he bowed. To me. So low that I could see the top of his head. Which, you know, when we’re talking about someone who could probably stand and dunk at the same time, was a low bow.

Troels clapped his hands.

"I love this ceremony," he said, tucking his little notebook into his pocket. "It is very much like watching a family come together for the first time. And while I hate to bring something together just to shove it out the door, it seems like that will have to be the case."

He put his arm around me and steered me out of the room. He didn't even bother to say anything to the three people behind us, just assuming they would follow. Which, kind of obviously, they did.

"Unless," Troels said softly, speaking just to me, "you've had a change of heart. You could still come with us."

"To Carchedon?" I asked.

"Of course."

"So you're leaving."

"Sadly true. Just found out. My brother has a temper, and someone said something in the halls of the palace alluding to his lack of military prowess. So naturally—“

"Invasion."

"Yes. Right on the nose. Since my dear brother does care for me in some nebulous way, he wants me out of Glaton before everything gets hectic and vengeful. He worries that the lack of an emperor would leave me vulnerable to danger. So, we leave. And you may come with us. You are technically part of the family."

"I am?"

"Not in a legal sort of a way, but I consider you such. Just, you know, ignore my brother. He'll deny it. And deny you. After all, he wanted to have you killed so as not sully the family name by having a blood debt to some commoner in Glaton, that sort of a thing."

"Oh."

He gave me a big smile, like we were just having a locker room chat.

Troels continued to chat as he walked me through the embassy, just blabbing away about everything that came to his mind. It was stream of consciousness drivel, modified ever so slightly to occasionally contain something pertinent. Listening to him was an exercise in both patience and persistence. But before I knew it, he was shoving me out the front door.

Then he paused before shutting the door. "Unless you’d like to come with us," he said.

“I’d love to, but I've got too many things to wrap up here."

"Pity. Perhaps later."

Then Troels Westergaard, Lord High Crown Prince of Carchedon, slammed the door.

I started walking home, trying to come to grips with the three strangers who were now tied to me for eternity. I didn't actually talk to any of them until we'd made it to the central point of the city, where the two big avenues meet. There, I paused.

"Just, uh," I said, looking at my three tjener, "are you, I mean, I'm a bit confused by this whole process."

The minotaur smiled.

The woman tilted her head a bit.

The mustachioed man grinned, then shook his head.

“As a citizen of the Empire, it is natural the concept of the tjene is foreign to you," he replied, his mustache bouncing up and down a little as he spoke. He was a shorter guy, and his salt and pepper hair was trimmed short. “But, you can think of it as a hirð, with a bit of a twist.”

“Let’s pretend I haven’t heard of a hirð, what is it?”

“In the Empire, a hirð is formed when people voluntarily swear to join with another, and to support that person. They swear their lives to that person, and the leader of the hirð is able to make demands of the hirð. They serve him and such. They share in XP and are a bit like a permanent party. Should they choose to leave the hirð, they lose all XP they gained within it.”

“So a Tjene is just the Carchedonian version?”

“It is a part of the Carchedon culture, yes, but there are some specific differences. We cannot leave the Tjene. We serve it for life, and beyond.”

“And beyond? Does that mean—“

“It means, whatever exists past this life, we will be there with you. Like the hirð, those within a Tjene gain XP together. However, you will be responsible for dictating what Choices are made, how points are allocated, and aspects of how we build ourselves. Members of a hirð, as far as I know, have a more independent growth from their leader.”

"And you're okay with all of that?”

"We are honored by it," the man said.

"Okay. I guess that's something that we should, uh, maybe, unpack later?"

"However you feel it should be, my liege."

I shook my head. "Let's, uh, really. We shouldn't, uh, let's not have that going on. It makes me feel a bit uncomfortable."

"Your title shall be whatever you wish it."

This wasn't going to get anywhere with them right now. I watched a section of the guard watch me, and, I suppose, my friends, standing there in the night, the lone solace being that it wasn't raining. Looking at the soldiers registered something in my mind, and I shook my head, not wanting to do what it was I clearly needed to do at the moment: go back to Valamir.

I wasn't keen on the idea, partially because it was all the way back up where we'd just come from, but also because I wasn't exactly sure how I'd go about getting in the building. I was still refilling my mana pool, and I'd been hopping in and out of the shadow realm an awful lot, so I wasn't keen on going back into it. And I had three weirdos following me, trying to call me lord. Or liege. Or whatever.

"Where are we going?" the woman asked.

"Uh, north," I said.

She nodded. That seemed to be enough for her.

"Okay then," I said.

And we were back to walking in awkward silence.

"What are your names again?" I asked.

"I am Mornax,” the minotaur said in his deep bass rumble.

I snapped fingers, remembering what the notification said. “Mornax the Destroyer. Why the, uh, title? What did you destroy?”

“All my opponents.”

“Of course. Fair enough.”

He grunted.

“Klara Therkel,” the woman said. “At your service.”

Her voice made me think she was tough. She sounded angry and ready to kick my ass for bothering her with something as silly as her name. But I had seen her smile. She was more like the cross-fit instructor who everyone thought might be on steroids, but was definitely too afraid to ever say anything along those lines.

“Which leaves—“ I started, but the man piped up before I could finish.

“Nox Kvist,” he said.

“Strength, spirit, and intellect, at least according to the prince,” I said. “Is that, I mean, is this a thing that happens?”

“Do you wish me to instruct you on the intricacies of Carchedonian culture?” Nox asked.

“Maybe,” I said. “But I don’t think now is the best time for that.”

He shrugged. “My time is yours.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“Why should it?”

“Don’t you want to be free?”

“I have traded my freedom to serve you.”

“But you know nothing about me.“

“It affords many great things to those who might not have a life otherwise.”

“So you’re trading your life for someone else's?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“As I have answered before, why should it? I entered into this relationship voluntarily, knowing full well what it would entail. I am happy to have a purpose in life, and a goal.”

“But it’s not your goal. It’s mine.”

“By virtue of being of your tjener, your goals are mine.”

“Yeah. Well, I suppose that makes sense,” I lied. “How about we table this discussion for another day?”

He just nodded, already having internalized my desire to not be called liege or lord.

We resumed our silent march, and I swore I was going to buy a damn carriage. All this walking was getting ridiculous.

Cool Beans! You’ve leveled up the skill Walking. Soon, you may be able to chew gum and walk at the same time. What a time to be alive.

Some times I hated this stupid game.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Valamir’s estate was, in essence the same as when I had left it. Actually, more to the point, it was like how it had been when I had arrived, and before my hurried exit. A quick walk around the outside of the property, and I found the spot where I’d climbed over the wall. Going over there was my best shot at getting to Valamir quickly, and avoiding as many of his guards as possible.

“Are we to make an assault?” Mornax asked.

“No,” I said.

He legitimately looked disappointed.

“In fact,” I continued, “unless any of you are incredibly stealthy, you should be staying here.”

“I can’t let you go in there by yourself,” Mornax said. “You might be injured. Or captured. Or die.”

“Relax, bub. I’ve done this once already tonight. If you want to help, give me a boost over the wall.”

He put his fingers together and leaned his back against the wall. I put my foot in his hands, and then pushed. He didn’t exactly give me a boost so much as throw me over.

I thumped into the wet muddy grass on the other side with a surprisingly loud squelch.

A muffled ‘sorry’ rumbled from the other side of the wall.

I pushed myself out of the mud, and wiped what I could out of my eyes. It was almost shocking how much mud fell back to the ground. Then, I crouch-walked slowly to the side of the building. I looked look up, scanning until I saw the broken window. Then I climbed up the side of the building, and attempted to roll through the window.

What I actually did was roll myself right into a hunk of wood that had been nailed in place to keep the cold out.

There was a dull thunk when my head smacked into the wood. Not my best moment as a thief.

I almost fell off the building, really only holding on by sheer luck. My grip held tight to the sill, for some reason, while the rest of me fell right over.

I hung there for a moment, realizing another stupid error I’d made. I had left muddy streaks from the ground all the way up the side of the building. As soon as the guards noticed them, it was going to be a more active in-and-out job. With my wits back to me, I balanced on the carved outstretched hands of something that looked a bit like a cherub, and got on with my gig.

The window next to me was locked, but it was a simple one, being on the second floor. All it took was a little work with a slim dagger for it to flip over. I pushed the window up, and this time, I actually rolled into Valamir’s office.

Valamir was not in residence. The fire was out, so I imagined he’d gone to bed. I was willing to bet his bedroom was attached to the office in some way, though. It seemed like Valamir was the kind of man to do too much work.

I walked over to the bookshelf, and upon looking at it this time, I saw clearly where the door was. It wasn’t even a secret door — it was more like a door that had been given a second purpose in life. I lifted the latch and edged it open with my toe.

The huge room I was expecting on the other side of the door wasn’t there. It was more the equivalent to a walk-in closet. Like a dressing room. There were clothes of various kinds hung up all around. There was a semi-open armoire, and I could see metal inside. So it was an armor armoire. It probably had some weapons in it as well, but that just didn’t sound quite as nice.

There was a single door on the opposite wall, and it was through there that I found the bedroom.

As befitting royalty, I suppose, it was a massive bedchamber. Positively hugemongous. A fireplace took up almost an entire wall, and a big fire crackled away in it. A large four-post bed was along the opposite wall, and a sitting area was arranged in front of the fire. All the curtains were drawn on the bed, but the deafening snore gave me a pretty good idea the bed was occupied.

I tiptoed across the room and peeked through the curtains.

Valamir was sprawled across the bed, snoring. He looked very much like he was still drunk.

“Valamir,” I whispered.

He grunted, and rolled away from me.

“Wake up,” I whispered again.

He waved me away.

I’m not proud of this, but I leaned over the bed, and slapped him.

Not that hard.

Just enough to make a bit of a noise.

His eyes opened at once, and he fumbled around in his bed until he pulled out a small baggie from under his pillow. He shoved his hand inside and came out with a glowstone, which he held up.

“There has got to be a more efficient means of that,” I said.

“Thief,” he replied, remarkably confused. “Are you returned? Or, did you never leave? Why are you so dirty?”

“Let’s focus on the pertinent questions. Or, rather, the things I think are important. Namely, Carchedon is going to launch an attack on Glaton soon.”

He rubbed his eyes and sat up.

“Where did you get this intelligence?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Why should I believe anything you tell me?”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to tell you — I just said you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Have I not trusted you so far?”

“I’m not sure we’ve had enough of a relationship to inspire trust either way. You just asked me to spy on your niece.”

“And I did not send my guards after you. Nor the City Guard. Nor the Legion. All of which I could do.”

“I mean, you’ve got me there. So, the thing is, I saved the life of someone pretty high up in the royal family of Carchedon. Which meant he owed me, I guess, a blood debt. And he wanted to settle up with me tonight, because he’s leaving like, right now. And he told me—“

“That Carchedon is due to strike Glaton.”

“Yes.”

He threw off the covers. While his top half was naked, his bottom half was covered by shiny silk trousers. He pushed himself out of bed, grabbed a robe off one of his chairs, pulled it on, and tied a quick knot around the front.

“Someone high up in the royal family able to speak to you here means a singular individual. I would prefer you had let Troels Westergaard die—”

“He was there the night you met with Tollendahl. That’s where—”

“Immaterial at present, though I appreciate the trust you show me by mentioning it. Another time, I would like to speak more about that evening. Tonight, well, if the ambassador has actually abandoned the embassy,” Valamir said, all business, “then we will know this attack is going to happen.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I don’t necessarily believe he told you the truth,” Valamir said, walking into his ‘closet’, “regardless of what you believe.”

“Oh. I guess I could see that.”

“And you ought to vacate the premises,” Valamir said. “I must go to the Legion headquarters now — I fear I need to speak with someone about my security.”

“It’s pretty appalling,” I said.

‘“You’re telling me.”

He almost smiled.

"Thief," he said, "perhaps we might need to put together a means of chatting in the future."

"I mean, you could just leave the gaping holes in your security," I replied.

I ran back through the closet, into the office, and jumped out the window.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

The ‘run and jump out the window’ maneuver was definitely a cool move. I did it because I thought Valamir might see it and then be impressed, but landing that is always a big challenge. And in this particular case, I did not rise to that challenge.

I should really just leave running and jumping out of windows to action movies.

I slammed into the ground, sliding across the grass and mud. It hurt a fair amount. But after a quick check of my limbs, I confirmed everything was in working order. Mostly. I limped a bit while I powered my self-healing spell, but by the time I got to the wall, I was feeling mostly okay. Exhausted, for sure. It was a long day, both in terms of the time I last slept, and also in terms of physical exertion. Healing myself more than once in a day took a lot out of me. As did fighting, and casting magic. At the wall, I stopped and looked around one more time, making sure there weren't guards making their rounds about to see me climb out.

I also maybe stopped and rested a moment. Or two. Then I climbed out.

My three people were waiting for me. None of them gave me the nasty look I probably would have given someone so completely covered in mud.

"We need to work on your boosting," I said, patting Mornax on the shoulder. Which basically felt like patting a rock.

He nodded, taking my quip seriously.

"Okay," I said. ”Let's head home."

It wasn’t until we were halfway back to my place that I realized I forgot my boots and cloak. Again.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

For once, nothing out of the ordinary happened on the walk home. It was just a long, awkward walk with relative silence. Nox talking to Klara in hushed tones. It didn’t seem particularly suspicious, like they were trying to keep secrets or plot some sort treachery. I’m sure they were talking about me, maybe about strategies to get their new master, which I horribly was, to be on their side. Something along those lines.

The Heavy Purse was closed, which meant it was empty. The truly inebriated had also stumbled off somewhere else, so it was pretty quiet indeed. I assumed everyone was asleep.

I was going to give the gang a brief rundown, but it felt dangerous to be outside in the dark when it wasn't absolutely necessary. It would be just as useful to give them the lay of the land once we were inside. So I unlocked the door, and ushered everyone into the building. I caught a slice of movement in the sky above, but I wasn't willing to go peek to see what it was. Maybe just a nocturnal pigeon.

We headed up the stairs and into my apartment, which wasn't fully dark or empty. Shae was asleep in the bed, and she’d evidently left some candles burning on the table.

I stopped short. This was about to get extra-special awkward.

Because I stopped short, Nox Kvist stopped short, almost bumping into me. Klara did bump into Nox, which then sent him a bit more into me, and Mornax completed the slapstick routine by knocking the three of us over into a heap on the apartment floor.

Shae sat up, then pulled the blankets up around her.

No one spoke. Shae seemed to be trying to decide whether or not I, and by extension she, was in danger. And the three new friends of mine were essentially going through the same calculations, only about Shae. Collectively, it was a mess.

"Okay," I said, “Now would probably good to get some introductions going."

"Yeah," Shae replied. "Who are they?"

"Who are you?" Klara countered, her hand on her blade.

"She's a friend," I said, putting my hand over Klara's so no one got a surprise stab. "We are all friends here."

With that, everyone chilled out, more or less. My trio was still a bit on edge, but not actively so. A more relaxed edge.

"Shae," I said, "these are new, uh, friends, I guess. Klara, Nox, and Mornax the Destroyer."

"No need to say the ‘the destroyer’ bit every time,” Mornax whispered to me.

"But it's the coolest part of your name," I said.

"Charmed?" Shae asked. "Where did they come from? And what time is it?“

"Carchedon," Nox said, with more than a little pride in his voice.

"Let's tone that down, too," I said. "Not sure your, uh, Carchedon is going to be super that popular in coming weeks. Or, you know, ever." I turned my attention to Shae, and sat down on the end of the bed. "How many apartments did you give the kobolds?"

"Four," she said. "But they're also taking the basement of the bakery."

"So how many does that leave us?"

"Open?"

"Yeah."

"One."

"There were seven apartments there."

“One of Godfrey’s buddies needed a place to live."

"And?"

“And then someone in the neighborhood came by and asked if she could move in because she heard it was safe here."

"And we're a big bunch of softies."

"Seems to be the case."

I thought about all the people and creatures depending on me to keep this place safe. “Hey, any chance you know if Hellion has been fed recently?"

"You'd have to ask Nadya."

"Well, I need blankets for them right now,” I said. “Let's go take a look, shall we?"

"I'm in bed already," Shae replied.

"I meant them. You stay here."

I led everyone down to the training room, but paused at the door.

"There's a mimic inside," I said. “But he's kind of a pet. Just, well, I'm not exactly sure the limit to how much of a pet he is, and how much he’s just refrained from eating us because we've been feeding him. So, let's just, uh, you know—”

"Be careful," Mornax said.

“Exactly.”

I pushed the door opened and looked around. Hellion was not where I’d left him. Instead, he was on the ceiling. And he’d grown. Substantially. He no longer looked like a treasure chest — he more looked like something capable of storing an entire season’s worth of gowns for a royal family who'd been amply blessed with daughters.

"At least he is easy to spot," Nox said.

Hellion's mouth, the lid, sprouted eyes. It took a moment for them all to swivel around and focus on me. Then the lid opened up, or in this case, down, and a big tongue flopped out, a bit like a dog's. Kind of like Hellion was happy to see me.

“Hi there, Hellion," I said. "We're just coming in here to, uh, grab a few blankets. So, no need to, you know, eat us."

The mimic dropped off the ceiling and hit the ground. But not upside down. He somehow seemed to change and reform himself so that his top became his bottom and his bottom became his top, so that when he hit the floor, he was right side up. Totally normal.

Then he just sat there. Like an ordinary, if oversized chest.

"I've got some blankets and stuff over there," I said. “It won’t be the most comfortable sleep, but it's something for tonight. We can work on actually getting, uh, more permanent arrangements for you tomorrow. And Hellion, chests don’t usually hang out on ceilings. Just, you know, pro-tip there.”

Hellion burped.

There were nods in the group. We gathered up blankets from the stack, giving the mimic a wide berth, and then went back up to my apartment. Then, well, we made sleeping spots. I did have Klara take the bed with Shae, though. That just seemed to make the most sense.

I lay there in my dark apartment with four people I barely knew. What the hell had I gotten myself into? The deeper I got into the politics and machinations of Glaton, the less confident I became in my place in the city. What was I even doing here? How could I get enough people in my guild? In time? Should I just forget about the guild and run the bakery? How was I supposed to tell Matthew that Valamir was, maybe, a decent human being?

I rolled around in the pile of blankets, searching for a comfortable position. I felt safe, sure, at least as safe as I'd ever felt in my new world. Finally I managed to find a way to arrange the blankets so that it was like having a pillow. A bit. A few deep breaths, and I just laid there and counted metaphorical sheep.

I'm not exactly sure when I actually fell asleep, but I do know that's when it got weird.

CHAPTER FORTY

Suddenly I was fully awake and standing in a field full of lush, verdant grass that was as long as my legs. It was jolting to be standing up and not how I’d gotten that way. Kind of like a dream, but I knew I wasn’t dreaming because the blades of grass tickled my fingertips.

The sky above was a nearly monochromatic, perfect azure. Beautiful, sure, but odd. Unrealistic. A brilliant sun hung in the sky, but it wasn't overwhelming. I felt like I could stare at it if I wanted without doing any real damage to my eyes. There were very gentle hills on the horizon, but nearly perfectly flat everywhere else.

I knelt down and felt the ground, but it just felt soft. The grass smelled nice, clean and fresh. With just the hint of a breeze coming from the same direction as the sun.

"I have been waiting for you,"  I heard a woman say.

I turned around to see a beautiful woman walking toward me, the grass basically parting for her. Someone I felt like I'd seen before.

She was devastatingly beautiful. Perfection in every fiber of her being, not just symmetry. Nothing was out of place, every aspect of her face and body and hair, it all went together seamlessly. There wasn’t a fleck of dried or dead skin anywhere, and every strand of hair lay exactly where it should be, despite the breeze.

"Have we met?" I asked.

"We have, but in a more informal setting," she replied. "This time, I am here to judge you."

“All right then. Any chance you'd let me, I don’t know, see what you're judging on? Maybe let me prepare for it a little?"

"No. It is better for you to be free from expectations. That is how I will make my best decision on you."

"Yeah, see, I'd rather, you know, not have that be the case. I’d prefer if things were a bit more, uh, in my favor."

She smiled, raised a perfect finger to my imperfect face, and touched me.

"You are a strange one," she said. "But I suppose that is to be expected of those from another world. A world that is so different from our own."

“What do you know about that?"

"It would be more appropriate to say I know of it, not that I know about it."

"Do you know why I'm here?"

Another smile. She smiled a lot. This one was more coy, like she had a secret, and she wanted me to know she had a secret, but was in no way about to tell me.

"I do, but that is something I cannot tell you."

"Okay then," I said. "Is this your, uh, world?"

"This is just a dream you are having," she said. “More or less. It is a point for the two of us to meet and speak without fear of anyone listening in or interrupting us."

"It's beautiful.”

"Thank you. It is a point on Vuldranni — perhaps you can find your way there one day."

"Is it in Glaton?"

"Sadly, no. But it is one of my favorite spots in the world. A slice of perfection in the chaos of life."

"You're the goddess of life, right?"

"I am."

"And you're here because of Leofing?"

"It is more proper to say Leofing is there because of me."

“I would guess that makes you Mokoš, right?”

“Some call me that, yes.”

“Leofing, he calls you that.”

She nodded.

“He's a good guy,” I said.

"He is. But this is a moment for me to judge you, Clyde Hatchett. I will refrain from using your true name, though I do know it. I seek to know if you are, perhaps, a champion I might champion."

"A champion? What do you mean?"

"It is as it sounds."

"It sounds a bit nuts."

"Perhaps. But I find myself in an odd position, because you are not what one might consider a typical champion for me."

"I'm sorry. But to be fair, I didn't ask to be your champion."

"It is rarely something one is able to ask for. Rather, you are sought out."

"And this is you seeking me out? By having me stumble on your paladin?"

"You think you stumbled upon him?"

"Certainly seems that way. I mean, unless you managed to get the Iron Silents to throw me into the graveyard, and then compel me to walk in exactly the right direction to wind up in the spot to save Leofing. Which means you put him--"

Mokoš held up her hand, and I stopped talking. Through no choice of my own, mind you, I just stopped. Like the air feeding my vocal cords just disappeared.

"You risk speaking to a god in this disrespectful tone? You would do well to remember what it is I am capable of."

She glared at me for a moment, and I could feel an overwhelming sense of power behind her eyes. It was a brutal reminder that I had no idea what she was capable of. But, chances were Mokoš could make my life really painful if she so chose.

“My apologies," I said, noting that I could speak normally now.

She smiled again, then looked around.

"It is rare to find one such as you in this world. Someone who has come through without any connections."

"Is it, I mean, do you mind if I ask questions?"

"Feel free. But understand, there are rules even gods must follow, so there will be questions I cannot answer, and questions I will not answer. Did you have a question?"

"What do you mean by connections?"

"Someone who brings you here."

"Like a patron?"

"That could be a word to describe it, yes."

"Etta said something about that."

"Etta? Is that—“

“She’s the first person I met here."

"And she is one from your world?"

“Yeah, I think so. I mean, as far as I know at least."

"Etta," Mokoš said, then repeated it again, "Etta." Almost like she was making sure she would remember the name. And all of a sudden I had a really bad feeling about things, as if maybe I shouldn't given up the name of another Earthling. Still, it was just a name, right?

"Yeah, she, uh, she said something about patrons, and then when I tried to get more out of her, she shut me down. Said that if I didn't know, I didn't need to know. And that there was nothing she could tell me."

"It sounds as if she was talking about something similar, yes. We could call it a patron. There are those like yourself who are brought here to be champions, and they are usually associated with a patron. But you, you seem to have slipped through somehow, with no patron attached. No one to guide you or share in your accomplishments. It is, in fact, a rarity. So rare that it’s something I have never heard of before, though I assume it is possible. Clearly it is possible: you stand before me. But then why did it happen? Who saw you and let you through but did not think to take ownership?'

“Hold up. Ownership—?”

"Not the right word, but I feel it is not worth it to search for the right one. This discussion does take energy from me. I host you in this ethereal state, and must hold the rest of the universe back while we chat. Do not think it is something I take lightly, and please forgive me if I say something out of turn in that regard. I am also unused to speaking with your kind."

"You speak to Leofing, though, right?"

"I speak, and sometimes Leofing listens. It is rare for me to show my form to him. Or to let him speak to me in any sense beyond prayer. Not that I do not value the man, but he is not a champion of mine. He is a servant."

"Seems a bit semantical. You know, the difference."

"And yet there is an awful lot of difference in those two things, yes?”

"I suppose."

"You would do well to do better than supposing, Clyde Hatchett. You traipse about in this world believing you know what is going on, and yet, let me be one to tell you that you are but a toddler who believes he has grasped the meaning of life though he has yet to step out of his nursery.”

“Because I haven’t left Glaton?”

“What are your goals here?”

“Here being Glaton?”

“Answer me.”

“I don’t know.”

“At least there is a measure of honesty and humility in you. Try again.”

“My goals. I mean, I guess I want to make Glaton a better place—“

“Do not think that I cannot merely read your mind should I chose. Understand that this, seeing how you choose to evade my question, is also part of my investigation into you. What are your goals?”

I looked away form her, and I stared out at the grassy plains. It was absolutely beautiful. Just warm enough that the cool breeze was refreshing. The wind blew the grass in waves, almost like standing in a sea of green.

“I thought I wanted to be some badass thief. Or a rogue. It’s what I was back in, I mean, on Earth. Minus the badass. I was a decent thief there, and it was a skill I thought might transfer here. But when I got here, I saw rich assholes who were doing horrible things, and I wanted to take them down. I met people who were hardworking and earnest. I met families who reached out and took me in, and I... I wanted to be more of a good person than I was in the past. But I don’t know how to do that without being on the other side of the law here. And that makes me a bit of a bad guy. This world is so much more violent than where I come from. Death is so much more of an everyday occurrence here, I don’t know how I would exist without causing it, you know? I don’t intend to kill people, or things, but it just seems like that’s the way things work here. And magic, man, I don’t even understand how I got so mired into the weird side of magic. I just thought it would be cool to have a few spells on tap. And now I’m raising the dead and ripping bones out of bodies.”

I grabbed some grass, and rolled it around in my hand. I wished it was the kind of stuff where you could pull the seeds off the end and throw them into the breeze.

“You know what it is?” I said. “I want to be the thing that the rich and powerful are afraid of, the thing that keeps them in line. Because it doesn’t seem like there is that person right now. That’s my goal. Be as bad as I need to be to keep the people at the top in line.”

“An admirable goal,” Mokoš said. “In a sense. You make yourself judge then?”

“Probably executioner too. But not just me. I’ve been trying to find people I trust, people who can guide me. That’s the other side of things. I’m not just doing this on my own, I’m trying to do this with others. Leofing being among them.”

She was quiet, but I could feel her looking at me. Looking over me. Judging what it was she saw, or looking for something deeper. Hard to tell.

“Your reliance on the undead is problematic,” she finally said. “But not a complete deal-breaker."

"I spoke to Leofing about that. I'm not sure if I really understand things, but he said you don't, I mean—”

"It is a rare thing to ask a god to divest her personal feelings on a topic."

"It's just that it seems like the goddess of life would be diametrically opposed to the undead."

"I can see how one might believe that. But were it not for the god of death, perhaps I might be. However, the god of death is diametrically opposed to the undead, and he and I are foes as back as far as the beginning of time. He longs to rid the world of all life, to blanket it in a total void of life. The undead are stealing from him in a way I could never. And perhaps it is vain of me to think this way, but I believe I recognize an element about the world he neglects. That there can be no life without death. It is part of the cycle. I do not mourn because things die, I mourn when they are never given the chance to live."

"Is this the wrong time to ask about reincarnation?"

"Yes. If you are speaking about the manner in which you neglect to fully die, it does bother me to an extent. And it probably is one reason the god of death has never reached his hand out in patronage. But if you are asking if I allow those who live in my world to be reborn or recalled to living? No. But, then again, I am not the only power in this land, so there are those who find other ways around me."

Birds sang in the distance, and insects buzzed down in the grass below. It felt like the world was starting to come back to life after getting used to my presence.

"I will tell Leofing that he should join with your little group," she said, breaking my reverie. "But I fear you and I would make ill-suited allies. At least, we would at present. But I might mention to a few of my peers that there is a champion available. It just wouldn't suit me to divide my time between two champions, would it?"

"I guess not?"

She gave me a half-smile.

"It is not that I have found you wanting, Clyde,” Mokoš said. "I sense your goodness, and your desire to be good. But you hold on to tools that are evil, and I sense you are unwilling to set those aside. Even if someone were willing to provide you alternatives."

"You mean the necromancy?"

“And your drain spell."

"It's pretty bad, huh?"

She just raised an eyebrow at me.

"I give you this, Clyde Hatchett," she said. She reached out and grabbed my hand. There was a great warmth, and then --

Look at that, you’ve learned the spell: Turn Undead

Turn Undead allows you to force undead to move away from you or a target area. At higher spell levels, you will banish or destroy the undead.

"One should not leave meeting a god with nothing to show for it," Mokoš said.

And then, with another coy smile, I was thrown back into sleep.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

It was still dark when I woke, and the room was full of snores. I counted three different ones, which meant that only one person wasn't snoring. I untangled from my little pile of blankets, tiptoed into the bathroom and did a little stretching there, trying to get my body to forgive me for the terrible night. Then I looked in the mirror and realized that I hadn't bothered to clean off when I'd gotten home. It suddenly made sense that Shae had been so worried about my new friends, because I looked horrible. I had layers of blood and mud all over me.

The shower made quick work of the mud and grime, but then I had to do what really irritated me: get out another set of basic clothes, because my new clothes were gnarsty with mud and grime. I needed a wardrobe refresh. I left my muddy gear in a pile, and grabbed a couple of daggers. No need for a full compliment of gear for what I had planned. All set for the day, I snuck out and down the stairs.

As soon as I walked out of the apartment, though, I ran into Mornax. He was sitting on a chair, reading a book, watching the stairs.

He scrambled to his feet.

"Good morning," I said.

"It is," he replied.

"I'm going to get breakfast," I aid.

"I will come with you," he replied.

I just nodded, because I had the feeling that a minotaur usually got to do what a minotaur wanted to do. You know, given that he was probably tipping the scales north of five hundred pounds and had about as much fat as skim milk.

I noticed that Mornax had hooves. But he must have had something strapped to the bottom that muffled his footsteps. Or hoofsteps. I suppose they were still feet. It was certainly a bit of a challenge to understand his anatomy. I had so many questions, but they were questions I was likely never going to ask.

The Heavy Purse wasn’t technically open, but Titus and his family were inside prepping for the day. A little knocking on the window, and I got us in.

Once again, everything stopped when Mornax walked into the room. He had to duck under the doorway, and even then, the back of his impossibly thick neck scraped against the jam. Then he stood in the entryway, assessing the threat of the room. Which, you know, was zero.

“Everything, uh, normal here?” Titus asked.

“New roommate,” I said. “Mornax, Titus. Titus, Mornax.”

Mornax nodded at Titus. Titus just looked over at me with wide eyes.

“Do I want to know?” Titus asked.

“Breakfast first,” I said. “Then questions.”

We sat down at the bar, Mornax barely fitting on the stool.

"Is he," Titus started, "you know, part of the feeding crew?"

“Him and two others," I said.

“That’s becoming quite the crew."

"Tell me about it."

"Is he—“

"He's part of my, uh, tejano?"

"Tjene," Mornax corrected. “Like the Glaton hirð. But different."

"So where are you from?" Titus asked, leaning on the bar.

"Am I allowed to tell him?" Mornax asked me.

"Yes," I said. "Sure. He's from Carchedon. It's a thing that I'll have to tell you all about at some point. For now, though, just I saved a guy’s life, and he was big in Carchedon, and apparently I had to have a blood debt repaid. So now we have him. And two more."

"Three people to repay a blood debt?" Titus asked. "Who was this guy? A prince?"

"Yes," Mornax said.

I just shrugged.

"Two breakfasts coming up," Titus replied, and disappeared into the kitchen.

After a few minutes, the plates appeared in front of us. Titus went back into the kitchen to continue with prep. Looking around, Mornax and I were alone.

I watched him sniff at the food. Then he grabbed his fork, which looked minuscule in his giant hand, and started shoveling the eggs and meat and potatoes into his mouth, nearly indiscriminately. He was done with all the food on his plate before I'd even gotten two bites in. Then he pushed his plate away, and turned around on his stool so he was facing the rest of the bar.

"Are you," I started, trying to think of a way to talk to him, "I mean, have you been here before?"

"Glaton?" he asked. "No."

“So you spent your life in Carchedon?"

"No. My home laid outside Carchedon. To the south. But we lost a war, so shortly after I was born, our lands became Carchedon."

"Do you consider yourself, uh—“

"My nationality is unimportant. I am now of you. If you are Glatonese, I am Glatonese."

"Okay. I mean, I guess that makes things simpler.”

He gave a slight smile, though he didn't take his attention from the bar. I noticed that he was looking out the window at the few pedestrians passing by.

"There is a simplicity to this, yes," he said. "I have but one job to do now. What you tell me."

"Seems limiting."

"Perhaps. I see it as freeing."

"And you're a fighter of some kind?"

"I am. I have trained with many different weapons. Mostly I have trained in close combat versus multiple opponents."

"Why the name?"

"Mornax was my father's father."

"I meant the destroyer part."

"I fought in the arenas of Carchedon. I attempted to fight with the military of Carchedon, but they did not like my birthplace. They worried it would influence me negatively."

"Would it have?"

"I will never know."

"Do you hate them?"

"Carchedonian?”

"Yes."

"I do not hate them," he said slowly, "but I am glad to be away from them. I do not feel Carchedon is a good place."

"You're the first Minotaur I've met," I said, "so, uh, if I do something to offend you, I want you to let me know."

"You will know should I feel rage," he said. "Though now I have the Ring, my chances of turning to the Beast are dramatically lower."

"Turning to the beast? That sounds ominous and like something I should be aware of."

He took a breath, then let it out slowly, like he was trying to decide if this was the right time to have this particular conversation. And the right way to approach it. "Elves have been a people for as long as there has been land to live upon, yes?"

This seemed like a question a normal elf would be able to answer. Hell, it seemed like a question anyone born in Vuldranni could answer. And then there was me.

"Yes?"

"Minotaurs are not this way. Our legends tell us that we are new to this world. That we were not always capable of thought or speech. Of building or loving or being a member of a city. Or anything. According to our lore, there are still those living who knew us only as monsters. Creatures of hate and violence. But something happened — a kindness reached to one of us. Then another. And we were drawn out of living in the bestial rage we had existed under. We were brought into the sunlight of others. But underneath beats the heart of a monster. The Ring is given to those of us who have found purpose, or honor, or a master, and it gives us a greater chance of avoiding the Call of the Beast. Of becoming the monster once again."

"What makes you become a monster?"

He shrugged his massive shoulders. "If it were known, there would be an easy remedy,  yes?"

"I guess that's true."

"It is also why so many of us strive for a service of some kind, that we may be useful to someone in order to earn our Ring."

"Did anyone think of just giving the rings out?"

"It did not work."

“Huh.”

He nodded once, and then returned to staring out the window.

I took another bite of food, chewing it and thinking.

“Do you want to join a guild?" I asked the big man. Um, minotaur.

"If you wish, I will join," he replied.

"Perfect," I said.

I waited for the quest notification.

Nothing.

"Do you need something to join?" I asked. "Like, I mean, is there some, uh, quest I can do for you?"

"No. I will join."

"Hrm."

"Is there a problem?"

"I don't know."

I went into my guild sheet, and I looked at the members. Mornax was there, listed next to Shae, Titus, and his wife. And yet ,when I looked down below at the 'members in good standing' it was only 3.

"Well that sucks,” I said.

“Is there a problem?" Mornax asked.

“It seems like you don't count as a member in good standing."

"Likely because of our unique connection. I won't count against party limits either."

"Ah, so some good and some bad, I suppose."

"It would seem so, yes."

The door to the Heavy Purse slammed inward, and Matthew strode in.

Mornax was up in a flash, and he put himself between me and Matthew.

"What in the hells is this?" Matthew asked, staring at Mornax, then glaring at me.

"New friend," I replied, trying my best to sound bored sitting at the bar.

"Is he a friend?" Mornax asked.

"Pretty much anyone you see coming in here right now is a friend," I replied. "Unless Titus starts screaming at someone, assume friendly."

Mornax nodded, then sat back down on his stool.

"You and I need to have a little chat," Matthew said.

"Damn straight we do," I said, shoveling the last of the food into my mouth. "Basement?"

"Basement."

I walked into the backroom, and Mornax followed right on my heels.

Matthew was following as well, just not quite as closely. It wasn't until we were down in the basement that he cleared his throat.

"What's the deal with the minotaur?" Matthew asked.

"He's part of my Tjene."

"How the hell'd you get one of those?"

“I saved the life of a prince."

“Right,” Matthew said.

"You don't need to stay down here, though, Mornax,” I said. “We’re just going to have a chat."

"You would prefer I post upstairs?"

"In the tavern, sure."

He nodded, and stomped back up the stairs.

"Things are getting interesting with you," Matthew said.

"You're saying that just now?"

"How would you prefer I respond to a giant minotaur warrior guarding you now?"

"How about a congratulations?"

"Sure. Congratulations on having a minotaur with you. It's certainly an accomplishment of a sort."

"Have you worked with them before?"

"I've had interactions. Interesting creatures."

"He’s— “

"I'm happy to talk minotaurs with you in the future, when we're not under the time crunch you seem to have forgotten."

"The guild."

"Aye, that's the one. You remember how much time you've got?"

I checked the quest log quickly.

"Five days left," I said.

"And how's the guild coming?"

“Did you know that my Tjene doesn't count?"

“Makes sense - your hirð wouldn't either. They don't count for anything like that. For good and bad. So who's in so far? And how did it go at Valamir's place? Did you get—“

"First question first," I said. "I've got Shae, I've got Titus and Penelope."

"Three of eight?"

"I've also completed Leofing's quest, so that's four as soon as I talk to him. And Nadya is simple. Six."

"Five."

"Five. Right. I was already counting you."

"Bit early for that. So tell me about Valamir. You found something."

“I did,“ I said. “But I don't think you're going to like it."

"Out with it."

“He’s not the guy who did it.”

Matthew sat down on one of the barrels and tilted his head to the side. Beneath us, the mystery monster moved around and did whatever it did to make noise.

"He didn't do it, eh?” Matthew said.  "Can you break it down for me? Perhaps make it clear to me as if I was a child? Present some evidence that would refute everything I know about the man and his relationship to the former Emperor?"

"Primarily it was talking with him."

"You spoke with Valamir."

"I did."

"The former Emperor’s—“

"I know who Valamir is. And yes, I spoke to him. He came into his office while I was going through his things, and we spoke. And everything I found before he came in also made me think he didn’t do it. Sure, the two of them had a tumultuous relationship, but Valamir still loved his brother, and I think he wanted to protect the crown.”

"That sounds well and good. I guess we should just pack up and name him Emperor, right?'

"That's not what I said, is it? Why are you jumping to conclusions that way?"

"Because you sound like a fool."

"I do? Have you met Valamir? Do you know him or what he's been through?'

"No and no, but I know what I've read. I know the information I've sold in the past, and I know what it said about Valamir then."

"Let me guess: did it say something along the lines of Valamir hates his brother so if you want to commit treason and get the Emperor off the throne, go to Valamir first?'

A slight pause as he looked at me and seemed to think for a minute.

"It's possible that was the rumor around things," Matthew said.

"All of this stems from the Emperor's wife, right? That she chose the Emperor and not Valamir. That was their big break."

"Correct."

"When I spoke to Valamir, he confirmed that. But he also said that the first time someone came to him, Valamir went to his brother and told him about the threat. And then the Emperor ordered Valamir to appear like he was trying to murder his brother, so anyone willing to go through the plan would continue to go to Valamir first. Then Valamir would send a secret message to the Emperor, and then, plan foiled."

Matthew scrunched his face up into the look he got when he was trying to figure something out. He was trying to decide if he wanted to believe me. And I think he did. And yet, I understood, there was a reluctance to let go of a belief that had been incubating so long.

"Do you have any proof of this? Beyond your little conversation?”

"There’s research he's doing — all the information I got from the documents on his desk, it's not about who's going to vote which way or anything like that. Nothing about who might become the next Emperor. It was all about armies. Who has the biggest army, who can afford to pay their army the longest."

"Not exactly evidence either way, there."

"Okay, but if he wanted the throne, now would be the time to work every angle he had to get it. Not this, not trying to weigh what kind of war is going to come to the Empire as it rips itself to pieces."

"You're reading an awful lot into this."

"I just don't think the man is who you think he is, Matthew. I think he's a misunderstood dude who got railroaded into being the bad guy to help his family out. And I've met both men. Sure, not for any real length of time, but they both seemed like they were trapped by their birthplace. Neither one seemed evil — they both seemed trustworthy. And, for what it's worth, Valamir said he doesn't want the throne."

"Of course he'd say that to you—“

"Why? Why would he say anything to an anonymous thief breaking into his home? It's absurd."

“Because he knew you were there to find out what he knew."

"That's ridiculous."

"You have been pulled in by the man. You like him, so you don't want him to be what he really is. And now—“

"I'm not under his sway. I don't like him any more than I like any random dude. I spoke to him twice—“

"Twice?"

"I went back to give him a heads up about Carchedon invading.”

“Well that’s certainly a minor thing. You just figured you'd tell me about that later?"

"Buddy, you've been driving this conversation, not me. I'm still trying to catch up on the first question you asked me, dammit. But yeah, back a while ago, I saved the life of the Carchedonian prince who's the ambassador here—“

"Troels Westergaard?"

"That's the guy. He said he owed me a blood debt—“

"The tjene."

"Yeah. Three people to make up for him not being allowed to become my tjener or whatever because he's royalty. But it had to get done last night, because he's pulling up stakes, because Carchedon is about to attack.”

"And you told Valamir that."

"Yes."

"What did he do?"

"He sent someone to check on the embassy, see if I was telling the truth. And then he headed to the Legion headquarters to get armies moving. Or on alert. Or both. Not exactly sure."

Matthew stroked his chin, and tapped out a rhythm on the barrel.

"Anything else happen last night?"

“I maybe got into a bit of a scuffle with some mancers around the corner from here.”

“Official ones?"

"I think they were students. Hired by an Iron Silents stooge."

"By scuffle, I'm assuming you did a little fisticuffs? Resisted the urge to sling spells about in public?"

"They had the drop on me. So I, maybe, did a bit of magic work."

"But they all lived, right? You didn't anger the Mancers further?"

"That would have been great if I could have pulled it off. I killed a few of them. But the prince was going to take care of things."

"Hope he does. You are making the prospect of this guild a difficult one to stomach."

"But what a ride, right?" I asked with a smile.

The basement monster crashed over something, and Matthew frowned at the floor.

"Shut up down there," he shouted.

Strangely, it did.

Unless, you know, it was just being quiet while it figured out how best to attack from below. Even odds, really.

“I’m not convinced,” Matthew said. “It’s too good an act played for too long not to be real. He’s never slipped up. He’s cut himself off from his family nearly completely, and given up virtually all the niceties of royalty. For what? To give his brother added protection from assassination and treachery?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Seems like it might be worth it to them. The royals, I mean.”

“Find me proof he didn’t do it—“

“How am I supposed to prove a negative?” I snapped. “And we know Valamir didn’t kill the Emperor because I was basically in the room when the Emperor died, okay? Whatever it was that killed him, I saw it. I was there. And you know who wasn’t there? Valamir.”

“That’s not enough, Clyde.”

“Would it be enough if Valamir swore he didn’t want the throne? That he’d turn it down?”

“I don’t know.”

“Look, Matthew, you’re an awesome guy, and I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Really, I do. But if the guild is something you can’t be a part of, then you gotta let me know. Don’t make me run around on impossible quests because you can’t be bothered to tell me the truth of the situation.”

He glared at me.

I didn’t want to keep this conversation going around in circles over and over again. So I stomped up the stairs.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

The tavern was packed. Well, packed considering it still wasn’t quite open. It appeared that if you just took the people who lived in my buildings and were allowed free food, you’d essentially fill the Heavy Purse.

I hung back a minute to check out who was there, and how the groups chose to sit. It was a lot more like a middle school lunchroom than it was like one big happy family. Most everyone seemed suspicious of anyone slightly different from them. Except Leofing. He was just a big smiling bastard over against the fireplace, enjoying the warmth and big mug of whatever it was he happened to be drinking that morning. Godfrey sat at the same table as Leofing, but it seemed like he felt it was the lesser of evils. Mornax stood near the window, looking out. Glaring, really. The other two Carchedonians sat next to each other, leaning their heads close and continuing their quiet conversation from the night before. Lothar Kuthbrook sat in the corner with his son, Sven, and they ate quietly. There was still an air of sadness about the two, though I couldn’t really blame them. Shae sat quietly at the bar, basically at the other end from Nadya. Both either fully involved in their breakfasts, or actively avoiding the crowd that morning.

Titus and Penelope were behind the bar. Titus cleaned glasses and put things in their place for the day, while his wife surveyed the room, seeing if anyone might be needing something.

I realized it was the first time we had everyone together without any outsiders. It might have been a great moment to ask who else would join the guild, and what they needed in order to do it. But everyone was so tense. Suspicious. People were not happy to be forced together. It was not a moment to ask the entire group for favors or supplication.

So I went over to Leofing, and by good fortune and a bit of design, Godfrey. I sat down without waiting for an invitation.

"Morning," I said.

"And a good one at that," Leofing said.

"I spoke with, uh, her."

"I know."

"She had some odd—“

"What you spoke of is between you and her," he said with a slight nod of his head. "There is no need to share its contents here. My mission is unchanged, and I will join you."

Congratulations! You’ve completed a QUEST!

Rebuild the Guild IV - Leofing

You met with Mokoš and she approved of you, even if she did not give you her patronage.

Reward for success: Leofing will join your guild.

I smiled, and we clasped forearms.

"Thank you," I said. “This is great.”

Leofing nodded, and stood up.

“Two things, Clyde,” Leofing said, “I await you telling me when you need my assistance. You need not do everything yourself. Two, it is high time I fix that carriage.”

He nodded once at me, and walked away.

Then I looked over at Godfrey. He looked terrible.

“Is something wrong?" I asked.

Godfrey just stared into his breakfast.

"I have a task I wish to ask your assistance in,” he finally said, “but I fear it is too complicated for this," Godfrey replied.

"Well, at least tell me what it is so we can decide together.”

"My brother."

"You want me to get your brother?"

"He is a Thingman. I believe this is something you know."

“I do.”

"I would like to get him out of that organization. And I would like him to live here, and join our guild."

"That's what you're asking for?"

"Yes."

You have been offered a quest:

Rebuild the Guild VIII - Godfrey Hayles

Godfrey requires you convince his brother to leave the Thingmen and return with you to live and work with Godfrey.

Reward for success: Godfrey will join the guild

Penalty for failure (or refusal): potentially the death of the guild

Yes/No

I read it over, but wasn’t ready to make any decisions yet. “That's either remarkably easy or ridiculously difficult."

"I know."

"Any idea which way he'd go?"

"More to towards the difficult direction, I'm afraid. He is a stubborn man, and he has long been a fan of the Thingmen."

"But you aren't."

"Not this current incarnation of them, no. And with the Emperor gone, the organization is effectively useless. There is nothing remaining for them there. When a new Emperor is crowned, a new group of thingmen will rise up. But these ones are done. It seems, however, they are unwilling to admit it. I fear there is more to the situation than I know. My brother was a loyal sort, always has been, but I didn’t think he would stick around in such a situation like this. That he would willingly stay behind when it was time to go— I just don’t understand. Or why any of them would.”

"That's not good."

"It is worse than you think. There is little goodwill for the Thingmen with the general populace — there are already questions rising about why the Thingmen haven't marshaled themselves out of the palace yet.”

“Is that what normally happens?”

“Bear in mind, emperors aren’t dying on the regular. But usually when the Emperor passes on, the Thingmen march out immediately, wait for a new leader to be nominated, and then offer their services once again. If I remember correctly, it’s seen a bit like a vacation for the men and women, as they have no master for a time.”

“And there’s been no movement?”

“None beyond closing and locking the gates.”

“So you think they’re up to something.”

“It certainly seems like it. Why else would they keep everyone out? Why else would they refuse to leave? Or even come outside to explain the situation?”

“And why do you think your brother would listen to me?"

"I don't know."

"I'm not feeling great about my chances here."

"I'm not either, but I'm out of options. I don’t quite know how you’ll even get in, the place is a fortress meant to be the last line of defense should everything else in Glaton fall. A spot for the Emperor to wait out a siege. And with the gates closed, there is no way in.”

“Okay, so that’s some good news. I mean, have you tried talking to him?"

“I told you, the Thingmen's fort is closed to outsiders."

"So I need to sneak in, meet with your brother, and convince him to come back with me to become a member of a thieves’ guild that isn't a thieves’ guild."

"Something along those lines, yes."

"Sneak into an impenetrable fortress, full of highly trained warriors angry their leader has been assassinated, and who are obviously on edge at the moment."

"That is, in fact, what it is I am asking you to do. But my brother has always been foolish in this regard. Despite what the others have become, he has always been a more pure sort. Quick to follow others, eager to listen to orders, but he is there because of his gifts with animals, not because he is a fighter. Or a murderer. I believe he is a good man in a difficult situation, and I must ask you to see if you might convince him that his time with the Thingmen has come to an end, and he can rejoin his family. Please.”

"I mean, I'm not sure I can refuse you, but I'm also not sure I can actually accomplish this.”

"I ask that you try," he said. “If you try your best, I will join you."

Before my eyes, the notification for the quest changed, altering it to fit what he'd just said.

You have been offered a quest:

Rebuild the Guild VIII - Godfrey Hayles

Godfrey requires you give your best effort to convince his brother to leave the Thingmen and return with you to live and work with Godfrey.

Reward for success: Godfrey will join the guild

Penalty for failure (or refusal): potentially the death of the guild

Yes/No

"I just couldn't live with myself if I let him go," Godfrey said softly. “Not without at least trying. And I worry you are my last attempt at it."

I mean, how could I say no to that? I accepted the quest, and not just because Godfrey had made the change to it. In an ideal situation, I'd get the brother to come back with me, and join the guild, and then I'd get two guild members for the price of a single quest. And that made all the difference in the world. Because then I wouldn't necessarily be beholden to Matthew's insane quest to make the count.

"I've made crazier things happen," I said.

"That you have," Godfrey replied, with just the hint of a smile.

“Now who is this guy, your brother?”

“One of the beastmasters for the Thingmen. And a Thingman himself. You’ll know him when you see him.”

“That’s it?”

“Should be enough. Not sure where he lives in the fortress. But the stables are along the northern wall. Might be a good first place to look.”

“Are you going to give me his name?”

“I didn’t already? Hamilton.”

“Got it,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder. I got up from the table. A quick scan of the room showed that my next target hadn't left. He was still sitting with his son, though they looked like they'd finished their breakfast. I slid in at their table.

"Morning," I said.

"Good morning," Sven said.

I smiled at the little guy, and he smiled back.

“How’s the apartment treating you?” I asked.

“Great,” he replied. “So’s the food.”

"He's eating enough of it," Lothar said, reaching across the table to ruffle his son's hair.

"Got to grow up big to be like you, Da," Sven said.

Lothar's mouth smiled, but a darkness had settled over his eyes.

"You mind if I ask you a little something?" I asked.

Lothar nodded.

"I'm putting together this, uh—“ I started.

"The guild," he interrupted.

“Right — that’s what I wanted to talk to you about."

"You'd like me to join?"

“I would.”

"And I get to ask for something?"

"I mean, I suppose that's how it works. Man, word gets around fast here.“

He nodded.

"I take it you have something in mind," I said.

"Sven," Lothar said, "can you take our dishes to the kitchen?"

"Yep, Da," Sven said, and grabbed up the bowls and mugs.

Lothar waited for Sven to get a little distance from the table before he turned to me.

"I do not want him to follow me into my life," Lothar said. "I want him to be safe, and not have to fight for his supper."

"I mean, I don't have kids, but I think that everyone wants that," I said. "Right? But I'm not sure what I can do—“

"There are Imperial Academies," Lothar interrupted, "and they can teach Sven skills so that he might have a greater career. Perhaps even a professor. I know my son is intelligent, he just needs the opportunity to learn.”

"You want him in the Enderun?"

"Yes. Preferably there."

You have been offered a quest:

Rebuild the Guild IX - Lothar Kuthbrook

Lothar requires you gain admittance for his son to the Enderun Academy

Reward for success: Lothar will join the guild

Penalty for failure (or refusal): potentially the death of the guild

Yes/No

I leaned back into the wooden chair and looked at Lothar. Then I let my gaze go around the room, giving myself just a little more time to think. I needed to work through the possibilities. I knew a guy in the Enderun. I could make a pitch to the professor, see if he was willing to extend a helping hand to an underprivileged kid. I could even offer to make a donation or something. I wondered if the academy accepted donations... Still, at least there was a pathway to success, unlike the other outstanding quests. Except Nadya’s. Her quest was going to be cake. Hopefully literally, and there’d be cake at the ball. But this could also be an easy one. I took it.

"I'm on it," I said. "Hopefully I can have some sort of an answer for you shortly."

He gave me a genuine smile.

"Thank you," he said.

I nodded, and then got up. It was time to start my day.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

My first stop was sooner than expected — I got stopped right outside the Heavy Purse.

Nadya grabbed my shoulder and spun me around to face her.

"You didn't forget, did you?" she asked.

"About tonight?" I replied. "Not in the slightest."

"Don't be late."

"Where is it again?"

"Funny. We're meeting here and going together."

"Got it."

"Be here before sundown."

"I got it."

"And dress nice."

"Of course."

She gave me a smile, and I smiled like an idiot back. Then she went back inside. It was strange to think that she was going to spend her day in the muck of a pit, and I was going to run around Glaton trying to hobnob with important people and buy fancy clothes. It really seemed like it should have been the reverse.

Whatever the case, I decided it was going to be a good day, and that I would start it by having a talk with my favorite Enderun professor. Who also happened to be the only professor I knew, but who’s keeping track?

You’d think a man like me would be able to leave a place when I wanted to. And obviously by man, I mean, elf. But just as Nadya went back inside the Heavy Purse, Nox came waltzing out. He managed to sneak up on me and grab me by the shoulder, spinning me around to face him.

“Yes?” I asked.

“I beg pardon, my, uh, Clyde,” he stalled out, slipping into thought. “Is there a preferred form of address? You aren’t titled as of yet, so—“

“Mister Hatchett?” I suggested. For the briefest of moments, I thought about forcing the man to address me in some ridiculous fashion, but that just seemed needlessly cruel. I already felt weird about having the dude around, maybe this would make it feel a bit more like he was a valet and less a glorified slave.

“You are married?”

“Right, Master Hatchett.”

“Excellent, Master Hatchett. I came to inquire what you would have us do on this day?”

“What would you normally be doing?”

“Whatever has been requested.”

“Uh,” I paused, sounding eloquent as ever. “I don’t know, man. What can you do?”

“You may access my character sheet, I believe. That might give you a better clue as to my abilities, and perhaps you will see some task I am suited for.”

I frowned, but ducked into the menus and whatnot for the game stuff until I got down to Tjene and sure enough, there were three entries. Mornax, Klara, and Nox. I pulled up Nox’s sheet, and took a peek.

Nox Kvist - Lvl 31 Academic

Traits

Race: Human

Height: 5’10”

Weight: 167 lbs

Eye Color: Grey

Hair Color: Black

Attributes

Strength: 10

Agility: 18

Dexterity: 13

Constitution: 18

Wisdom: 31

Intelligence: 51

Charisma: 23

Luck: 19

I stopped at his attributes. I was certainly curious how he’d spent his points, but considering his Choice was researcher, I should have known he’d have put most everything into the two intellectual attributes. He was certainly at a higher level than I’d anticipated, and yet, I couldn’t see a real use for him.

“Do you have things?” I asked. “Clothes and the like?”

“No, Master Hatchett,” he replied.

“You know, strike that, sounds too weird. No Master Hatchett nonsense. I’m not, you know, your master, and it sounds wrong.”

“As you wish.”

“You, I mean, man, I’m just, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind, and I’m not sure what to do here. Where are your belongings?”

“We have none. Our personal belongings, insofar as we had them, we sold. Or carried with us. But as you can see, I have nothing beyond the robes on my back.”

“And I don’t want this to sound the way I know it will, but I’m assuming you don’t have any coin to your name.”

“No.”

“So I need to buy your things for you.”

“Or you may ask us to find a way to finance the things we require. We are not without means.”

“I’m sure. But I don’t need you guys getting arrested right now. That’s more my thing.”

He smiled a little smile, like he understood the joke, but he wasn’t about to do something so gauche as engage in my attempts at humor.

“We are not criminals. Unless, of course—“

“Right, unless I ask you.”

“Correct.”

“Okay, for the moment, you go inside, and talk to Nadya. Nadya is setting up a lab on the fourth floor of the building next door. Get Mornax and Klara to help you and see what you guys can do to get it up and running. And, actually, no, do that, but next you should look at the bakery.”

“The bakery?”

I pointed it out for him.

“That building is mine, and the bakery is sitting empty.”

“I admit, I know nothing about baking.”

“Neither do I. But let’s see what it would take to get it up and running. You can research that, right?”

“Surely. I will pass this on to the others. Help set up a laboratory and start getting the bakery up and running. Correct?”

“Bingo.”

“Bingo?”

“Yeah. Let’s talk slang another day, I’ve got—“

“What kind of laboratory, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Monsters.”

“Oh.”

He had a strange look on his face, and I couldn’t tell if it was apprehension from fear or excitement.

“Maybe focus on the lab,” I said. “We’ll look into the bakery later.”

“Of course.”

I waited outside the Heavy Purse for what seemed like an eternity, but it was probably just two minutes. No one else came out, so I was free to go about my day. Which, sadly, meant another long walk. Although, with weather being slightly nicer than normal, there were plenty of hire-able carriages about, and so I spent more gold than necessary getting up to the Wild World of Bureaucracy.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

A crowd had already formed at the Ministry of the Interior, despite how early it was. All my magic items, save the talisman that hid my character sheet, and weapons, save a few ordinary blades, were still safely stored in my apartment. I got in line for the security screening, but I kept glancing around looking for mancers. And the City Guard. I also kept my ears open for any interesting gossip. People always talk when they’re stuck in slow-moving lines. And on this sunny morning, the security line was going roughly the speed of the TSA in JFK at lunchtime.

“... but they’re not saying how long,” I heard a woman say. “He was supposed to be home for at least two months, and now, who knows?”

“Did he say where they’re going?” her companion asked.

“South. Some fort in the middle of nowhere on the coast, he said,” the first woman replied. “I’m here to look at maps. There must be a map of Legion forts in there somewhere.”

“At least my husband got to tell me where he’s going. I just don’t know why they had to leave so soon.”

“Carchedon,” a man interjected. “The wife is a sergeant. She’s marching her squad south today as well. She said that Carchedon thinks we’re weak without the Emperor, and they’re marching on us. So all the Legions in the capital are being redeployed south. Just in case.”

“All of them?” Woman one asked.

“All but the Death Gate crew.”

“Ugh, that means having to deal with the City Guard again.”

"They're not that bad."

“Anyone with enough coin can buy them off.”

"Myth."

"It's not," woman two piped back in. "I know a guy you can talk to if you'd like to donate to the Guardsman's Retirement Fund and need a problem solved."

"No way is it that simple," woman one said.

"They're underpaid and under-appreciated," the guy said. "And they hate the Legion."

"They hate everything,” Woman two said. "Except gold."

"Sounds like they’re real winners," I added.

The three looked over at me, and nodded. Clearly no one considered it eavesdropping. It was just an entrée into the conversation.

"I'm new to the capital," I said, "but I've heard there's also an army called the Things? Something like that.”

"Oh gods," the first woman said, "I don't know what you plan to do with them, but don't do it."

"Thingmen," woman two said. “The Emperor's personal army."

"Didn't they, I mean," I said, "he's dead, right?"

The man nodded. "Means the Thingmen don't exist right now. So don't have anything to do with them."

"You want to be part of something, or deal with men of honor, you deal with the Legion," woman one said with authority. "Everyone else around here with a sword is suspect. Out for their own gains."

"Or someone else's," woman two added. "Someone else who has money."

"Valamir has his own army in the city," the guy said. "Scuzzbucket has his own brother killed and now has his own army here to protect him while he makes his play for the throne."

I swallowed what I was thinking about saying, and instead, continued to do my best to play dumb about the whole thing.

“Is there another option?” I asked. “I mean, besides Valamir Glaton?”

“Lots,” the guy said.

“My friend at the City Guard,” woman two said, “he says Katja Baeder is making a play for it.”

“Is she the one from—”

And then we went through the door to the building into the lobby, and everyone just went quiet at once, as if there was an unspoken rule that gossip had to stay outside. We stepped quietly to the security checkpoint where, one-by-one, we were examined by the bored mancer, and waved through. On the other side, all traces of familiarity disappeared, and we went our separate ways. Except the two women — they were together from the start, it seemed — and they marched down the hallway, already clear on exactly where they were going.

To be fair, I knew where I was going too. I just wasn’t heading there with quite as much verve. Instead, I moseyed over to the stairs, and then up. And up. And up. I said goodbye to the rest of the public at the second and third floors, and ascended to the final floor on my own.

I knocked on the first door to the right.

The office of one Dunt Pomeroy.

“Uh, enter?” Pomeroy said.

I entered, pushing the door open and giving my best smile.

Pomeroy, however, didn’t look like he was expecting visitors. He looked frazzled. And a bit like shit.

“Professor Pomeroy,” I said.

He looked over at me, and there was a brief flash of recollection in his eyes. He snapped his fingers a few times while he looked me over, then put a finger up. “Kobolds.”

“That’s right,” I said.

He gestured to the seat in front of his desk, then took a moment to make himself a bit more presentable. Which mostly involved trying to get his hair back down from his current I-stuck-my-finger-in-an-electrical-socket look to something more professorial. Or at least something that wasn’t quite as insane. It didn’t work.

“How might I help you today?” Pomeroy asked.

I noticed that his hands were shaking ever so much. Just a little bit of a tremble.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Pardon?”

“Never mind,” I said. “Just, you know, you seem a little distracted.”

“Woefully unprofessional of me, I do apologize. Have you got another kobold-based question? I find that I was quite intrigued by our last discussion, and I did a little digging into some other races. Did you know — I am sorry, you had a question.”

“Yeah. A small one. Maybe. Your academy, how does one gain admittance?”

“Thinking of joining us in the Ivory Tower, are you? I can’t blame you, it is quite the life — if you’ve got the chops. But getting in is an interesting conundrum, because quite a few people would like to attend, and it’s a real challenge deciding who would make a quality pupil. There is, of course, an enrollment period wherein we solicit individuals to apply. But that requires there to be vacancies within the school itself, and that is rather rare—”

“What age range do you guys take?” I asked, trying to keep the older man from disappearing into a rambling rant.

“Oh, quite young to, well, however old you can still learn. Though it is rare for an older student to come on board without a unique skill set we wish to see explored. Or grown. Are you thinking of applying? I can put you on a wait list of sorts—”

He opened a drawer and was rummaging inside.

“Not me. I’m asking for a friend of mine, for his son actually. But, the thing is, I’m guessing there are be other ways to get into the Academy. Right?”

“Other ways? Certainly. You can be part of the Imperial Family. They are given preferential treatment — for obvious reasons.” Then he leaned forward as if about to share a secret, “Certain noble families have been known to make donations in order to secure their brats a place.”

“What kind of donation are we talking?”

“Usually enough to fund a building. Or a new professorship. Fund a tenure track. Or, perhaps, donating a rare artifact. Something worth studying. That sort of a thing. Are you, I mean, I don’t mean to judge based on your appearance, it’s just that you clothing choices are a bit—”

“Basic?”

“I was going to use a different less appealing word, but you do lack a certain style. Or, well, any style at all.”

“I’ve got some laundry to do.”

“I should say you do.”

“Okay, so, artifact. Tons of coin. Get selected in one of the rare open enrollment phases. Is there anything else?”

He leaned back in his chair and tapped at the desk. Then he looked out the window. Something outside caught his attention and Pomeroy stood up very quickly, gluing himself to the window.

“Professor, are you—” I started.

He turned around and seemed surprised I was there.

“Ah, yes, I was saying,” he started, “or, rather, you were asking, something. Admittance. Yes. A professor can, at their discretion, admit a student as their own pupil, up to five concurrent pupils. But—”

He looked out the window again.

“Gods,” he said softly.

“It’s pretty clear something is wrong,” I said. I got up to join him at the window. “What’s going on?”

“No, it’s nothing.”

I could see the courtyard down below. The building was huge, but the middle of it was an open courtyard with some gardens and other open space. Judging from the other windows I could see, it was actually on top of the first floor of the building, which was definitely a modern way to maximize office space and offer a little green space that I wasn’t expecting here.

Most of the people in the area were relaxing in the decent weather, but there was one stern-looking group of men and women in robes being escorted by some armored folk. City Guard, it looked like. But given the robes the people wore, I didn’t think they were mancers. They looked more like, well, judges. Or professors.

“Who’s that?” I asked.

“Those are members of the Enderun Ethics Committee and the head of security for the school. They are heading over to my living quarters, and, well, the rest is a long story, and I’m afraid I will only have time to tell it later today after I have been thrown out of the Enderun.”

“What? Why?”

“As I said, it is a long story, kobold-elf-boy. And I simply lack the time to really get into the intricacies of academic tomfoolery and backstabbing.”

“Someone messing with you?”

“Allegedly.”

“Do you need help?”

“I’m unsure what you are capable of, but I doubt there is anything you can do.”

“You’d be surprised. I’m a rogue, remember?”

“Someone, and I’m not exactly sure who, has been putting illegal materials into my living quarters. And it seems that someone has now informed the provost of said materials.”

“Seems like a lot of work to get you thrown out of here.”

“Being thrown out after getting tenure is a lot of work. But there are certain fields of study that are off limits to us, and if caught, we get thrown out.”

“Why not report someone for breaking in and leaving the stuff in your apartment?”

“Who would believe me? I have been destroying what I could find, but I doubt I will have found everything, and now, my life is over.”

“Where’s your place?” I asked.

He pointed across the courtyard at a window one floor up on the opposite side.

“Right there,” he said.

“Nice commute,” I mused. “If I can get over there, into your place, and get rid of whatever’s been planted, will you do a favor for me?”

“If you can actually do that, then yes, I will. What favor?”

“I want you to take my friend’s son on as one of your pupils.”

“Deal.”

You have been offered a quest:

Rebuild the Guild IX - Lothar Kuthbrook II

Lothar requires you gain admittance for his son to the Enderun Academy, but in order to gain that admittance, you must keep the ethics investigation from finding any of the illegal materials placed within Professor Pomeroy’s living quarters.

Reward for success: Professor Pomeroy will retain Sven Kuthbrook as his pupil, Lothar will join the guild

Penalty for failure (or refusal): potentially the death of the guild

Yes/No

I accepted the quest.

“Quickly,” I said, pushing him a little out of the way so I could get to the window, “where would these, uh, illegal materials be?”

“They have been around my desk,” he said. “But I’ve found all those.”

“What have they been?”

“Spellbooks, grimoires, and bestiaries.”

“Those are illegal?” I asked as I opened the window up. “Bestiaries, I mean?”

“Certain ones, yes. Ones that denote specific species of demon or fiend, giving summoning instructions and the like.”

“Who exactly did you piss off?”

“I have my suspicions,” he said. “Chief among them Stellan Lambeau.”

There was a nice breeze coming through the window, and as I stepped onto the sill and threaded my torso outside, I really hoped I wasn’t about to squash down on the ground.

“What are you doing?” Pomeroy asked. “You’ll fall.”

“Nah,” I said, “I do this all the time.”

Which wasn’t exactly a lie.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

I hung there, off of Pomeroy’s office ledge, wondering if I should crawl around the interior of the courtyard. That was the most direct route. But it was also difficult work where I could easily be spotted. Going up top was better. Lots of stuff to grab onto, plenty of handholds, and then only the real issue of having to deal with the ridiculously steep copper roof on the top.

I couldn’t help but stop to take in the view at the top. It was absolutely gorgeous. To the north were massive mountains, with some in the further distance that were sparkling white. Glorious peaks pierced the sky. To the west a forest extended out to the horizon. And I couldn’t really see that much to the east beyond the city, because Glaton just spread out and out in that direction. I could make out farmlands becoming grasslands far in the distance.

It was just really fascinating to have a view of things from up on high. I think that I’d gotten somewhat inured to it back on the old planet. It was so easy to hop on Google Earth or a Maps app and see a top-down view of everything as far away as you wanted. Here, though, it’d only been ground-level everything until now. And it was a testament to the size of the building that I could see as far as I did.

But I had things to do. Or, you know, a specific thing to do.

I ran along the top of the roof-line, my feet landing perfectly as I moved.

It took mere seconds to sprint around the building. Once I saw the pale and beleaguered face of Pomeroy looking out his window, I knew I was in the right spot. I slid down the copper roof, using my boots to keep from going too fast, but misjudged a little bit and maybe had to catch myself. I found my grip just before falling the six floors to a quick stop on the flagstones of the courtyard below. It’d be really awkward for me to have to come back after Pomeroy saw me die in a red moosh.

Climbing down was, well, interesting. I got a good look into a few apartments, glimpses into people’s lives really. Nobody was home, thankfully, so there were no awkward moments where I came face to face with some dude looking out his window. I did come face to face with a cat, who was noticeably upset at me for blocking his sunbeam.

I made it down to where Pomeroy had pointed. I looked across the courtyard, and, with large gestures, I pointed at the windows I balanced next to, hoping he’d understand that I was asking him if this was, indeed, his apartment.

He nodded, but then his head spun around. Someone was at his office door.

The professor’s windows were unlocked. I was grateful that air conditioning was not yet a thing, and so people tended to leave their windows unlocked to catch a breeze.

I slipped right inside.

The place wasn’t big. There was the main living area, which had a small kitchenette sort of a thing, or at least the Vuldranni equivalent thereof. An entire wall was taken up completely by a bookshelf, and the opposite had a large desk covered with journals, loose papers, and books. Very much a study spot. One door led out into the hallway while another led into a tiny tiny bedroom, just barely large enough to hold a twin sized bed and a door to the bathroom. The blankets were stiff and grey, the pillow was formless and stained. And a small nightstand made out of hunks of wood had a precarious stack of books on it.

So many books.

Books everywhere.

It made sense — he was a professor after all. But since what I needed to do was find some books, I was feeling pretty glum about the whole thing.

Obviously, I wasn’t going to have time to go through every single nook and cranny to find illegal books.

Quickly, I sorted through the books on the nightstand. Histories: Imperial Matchmakers: The Involvement of the Emperor In the Arrangement of Marriages between Noble Houses, Fields of Blood - Retracing Ancient Battlefields, Fields of Death - Retracing Ancient Battlefields, and Ancient Responses to Cataclysmic Natural Disasters. You know, normal bedtime reading.

I didn’t see anything that would be considered contraband. Then I lifted the mattress. First book found: Demons and You: A commonplace primer for summoners. I snatched it up and shoved it in my belt. Under the bed was a chamber pot, which I was about to make a stink over, considering where the bathroom was. But something seemed off, so I snatched the pot and took a look. It was a cast iron bowl of sorts filled with stinky yellow rocks. Sulphur. Bit stereotypical.

I pulled the bowl out and took it into the main living room, setting in on the table before heading into the bathroom. In the bathroom, I learned a few things. Notably, I was spoiled by my shower. Also, Pomeroy was a disgusting guy. He clearly hadn’t cleaned in a while. His sink was clogged with hair, both of the face and head variety, and likely elsewhere. There was something akin to a shower, but it was more primitive. It was just a spot where water came out and you sat on a stool and rinsed yourself off. There was no way to luxuriate under flowing water. And there was only one tap, so I figured there was no hot water.

The toilet was closer to the Old World designs from, say, Victorian times. I appreciated the fact that toilets had developed in Glaton and had spread, at least for the most part, through the city. A quick check through his toiletries revealed a host of potions and tonics, most of which seemed of dubious quality, but I doubted they were illegal. Still, what did I know? I scooped them all up, and took them out in the other room.

I stood in the living room for a moment, and the enormity of the task came over me. The perfect place to hide illegal reading materials was, naturally, in the extensive library of reading materials. Sure, I could burn everything. Setting the place on fire seemed like a perfectly reasonable response to the problem, and being that the powers that be knew full well that Pomeroy was currently in his office, there was no way they could blame him for the it. Plus, stone walls. So it probably wouldn’t spread to another room. Probably. But it also wouldn’t look great for Pomeroy’s apartment to burn up. At any time really, but especially when it was about to be raided for contraband.

“Think,” I said to myself. “Think.”

The book I’d found reminded me of the crap the Iron Silents had. That, naturally, made me suspect this might have the taint of the Iron Silents. Ew. If that was the case, I had to be sure not to overthink things, because the Iron Silents consistently displayed their inability to ever do the smart thing. But it was more likely the Iron Silents were only suppliers to Pomeroy’s pernicious opponent, and that the rival professor had been the one to do the hiding of the illicit goods. In that case, I would need to actually think because the mystery asshole would want to make it look like Pomeroy really was hiding things. In which case, the bookshelf would not be the place to look.

Pomeroy said he’d cleaned his desk multiple times.

Just for giggles while I was thinking, I pulled a pen off the desk, tied it to a piece of string, and cast detect secret door. The pen swung in a lazy circle for a second. Nothing.

But it did give me a second to just look around the room, idly following where the pen was spinning. And I noticed a little something amiss. The place was such a mess that seeing something amiss should be difficult. But because there was a bit of the mess missing, it became clear. Some of the dust and detritus at the edge of the carpet had been cleaned away. It was the corner that went under the desk. I knelt down, and pulled the carpet back.

“Aha,” I said, and shook my head. When had I become the type of person who said ‘aha’ when I found things? All of a sudden I worried that I’d been going through incremental personality changes since I died. Was that possible?

Focus.

Someone had made a semi-secret hidey-hole. Someone who was not very good with tools. Or hidey-holes. The wood didn’t really match back up, the cuts weren’t straight, and there was no easy way to get into the damn thing. I had to bust my dagger out and pry the stupid boards out of the way. But there was the prize. Or, in this case, the anti-prize: A set of things that Professor Pomeroy should certainly not possess. Several spell books, which I could tell because of the hint of magic coming from them, as well as their rather svelte shape. Since you didn’t actually need to read the books, they were never that large. At the bottom of the little stack were two thick books with especially gross bindings. It looked a bit like someone had chosen to tan the skin off of something’s face, because there were still teeth and eyes embedded in the leather.

From the hallway, I could hear the jangle of armor and the thud of heavy boots.

Time was up.

I darted into the bedroom, scooped up Pomeroy’s gross grey floppy pillow, and slid back to the hidey hole. Everything up and into the pillow case. Then for good measure, I scooped everything from the top of the desk into the pillowcase.

A key was inserted into the lock.

“Shit,” I whispered.

Whoever was on the other side was waffling with it though.

“Silly to have so many different locks,” came an old wheezy voice. “Gotta try the next one.”

I darted to the window, stepped out onto the ledge, and very carefully slid the window back closed. I took a step to the side, and paused.

Climbing up to the roof and going around was probably still a good plan. However, there was definitely one major problem. Whomever was inside Pomeroy’s apartment, likely the evil professor asshole dude after Pomeroy, would know where Pomeroy’s office was, and more than likely, said asshole would want to look out the window and watch Pomeroy witness his own destruction. If that happened, they’d see me trying to climb back down to the office. I could climb down the outside of the building, but once I got to street level, it’d be so busy that I’d inevitably be noticed. And likely arrested for climbing a government building. Which was the same reason I couldn’t exactly scamper down into the courtyard.

One option.

Back in.

Not into Pomeroy’s apartment, of course, but one of the other ones.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

I didn’t go far.

I found the next bedroom two windows down. It was actually quite nicely appointed. Still the same size as Pomeroy’s and with the same general furniture, but the occupant actually cared about having a nice space to sleep in. The blanket had some color to it and wasn’t threadbare, the pillow was fresh and plump, and there was a small vase with a single flower in it that gave the little room a delightful fragrance. I felt bad stepping on the bed as I came in through the window.

Not bad enough to not do it, but still. I felt a little twinge.

I went through the main room, which actually had a couch and a little dining table in it, and paused at the door.

I peeked through the keyhole, and I saw two guards standing with a slight male human right between them. A rat-faced man who held his hands in a weird position, and it was clear he needed to clean his nails. And his scraggly beard.

“Where should we be looking, Lambeau?” came a call from Pomeroy’s apartment.

“Near the desk,” Rat-Face called back, his voice oddly calming. If there was ever a man more in dire need for a job in radio, I couldn’t imagine it.

But it did give me an idea.

I opened the door, and looked at the guards and Lambeau.

The guards looked over at me, but immediately dismissed me. Lambeau was a little more invested, but he seemed more confused than concerned.

I gave a weak smile and nod, then walked down the hall away from them, doing my best to keep the pillowcase out of view of the guards. As soon as I turned the corner, I stopped, and I looked down the new hall.

Empty.

I set the pillowcase down, then slipped the very basic demon book out of my belt.

It was time to do something risky. I cast shadowstep.

As always, going into the shadowrealm was disconcerting. The vague darkness, the mists that appeared out of nowhere and surrounded everything. And the feeling of being unwelcome. There were certainly things out there, things that didn't want me there, and, well, some that did, but not at all for a good reason. I didn't see any of the shadow creatures as I stood there in the hallway, but I could feel them. Or, you know, I was just being paranoid because Careena had drilled it in me that they'd be there.

Slipping around the corner, I saw the real world moving at a snail's pace. Less than a snail's pace, really. I sprinted down the hallway at full speed and stopped right in front of Lambeau. Then I leaned the book between his back and the wall. And then I sprinted back down the hall, popping back into reality as soon as I was out of view.

Immediately, I heard the sound of the book falling against the floor followed by the sound of one of the guards being surprised.

I couldn't help myself, so I peeked around the corner.

"What's that?" Guard One asked.

Lambeau looked down at the book on the floor.

"It's a book," Guard Two said.

He bent down to pick that up.

"It's not mine," Lambeau said.

"It fell from you," Guard One said.

"No it didn't," Lambeau countered.

"What is it?" Guard One asked.

"Can't read," Guard Two said, and held it out to Guard One.

Guard One carefully looked over it, having to sound a little bit out to himself, and then his face went red.

"Arrest him," Guard One said.

Guard Two grabbed Lambeau.

"Wait—“ Lambeau started to say, but Guard One backhanded Lambeau.

"There are two options here, scum," One said. "Either this is yours and you're guilty of having demonic materials, or this is something you were going to try and plant in there. Either way, you've got problems."

Guard One stomped into the room, and I slipped back around the corner, walking quietly down the hall and not at all hiding the smug smile spreading across my face.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Walking through the residence hall of the building was simple enough. No one had the slightest regard for a poor-looking person wandering along with a pillowcase. Which was a relief since I had a decent amount of ground to cover — down a set of stairs, through a guarded door, and then back up the stairs — to get to Pomeroy's office.

I knocked, and then waited.

The door opened up about two inches, and a wide-eye peeked out at me.

"It's you," Pomeroy said. "Did you, was it—“

"How about you let me inside first?” I asked.

“Of course,” he replied, and he moved so I could get in. As soon as I'd gotten past him, he leaned out the door and looked both ways before shutting the door again.

I sat down in the chair opposite his desk.

"What happened?" the professor asked. He came around to his side of the desk, but neglected to take his seat. He was almost vibrating he was so excited.

I held out the pillowcase, and set it on his desk.

"That's my pillow," he said, genuinely confused.

I grabbed the pillowcase and dumped its contents on his desk.

Everything came tumbling out, the sulphur sputtering off the desk and onto the floor, leaving a trail of yellow dust behind. The cast iron not-a-chamber-pot also left a sizable dent in the wooden desk.

Congratulations! You’ve completed a QUEST!

Rebuild the Guild IX - Lothar Kuthbrook I and II

You foiled the efforts of the Ethics Committee to find any illegal materials within the living quarters of Professor Pomeroy, so Professor Pomeroy will now retain Sven Kuthbrook as his pupil.

Reward for Success: Lothar Kuthbrook will join your guild.

"This is a lot of things," Pomeroy said. "Where was it?"

"Hidden compartment next to the desk."

"How did you manage to find that?"

"Trade secret," I said. “Bonus points because I had an opportunity to make Lambeau look pretty guilty. Hopefully that mitigates your problems with him somewhat.”

“Really? You framed Lambeau?”

“Not sure I’d call it framed, but yeah, He’s in a sticky situation at the moment.”

“That is wonderful. Truly, you have saved my life. I can’t thank you enough.”

“It was nothing — happy to do it. But maybe, in addition to the kid getting into the Academy, you could agree to do some research for me from time to time. Or explain things to me. I’m curious about a lot of things. Even basic things.”

“A service I would be happy to do for you, Mister, uh—”

“Hatchett. Master Hatchet.”

“Right. Yes," he said. “Now, your other reward, let me get that squared away.”

Pomeroy finally sat down at his desk. He pulled open a drawer, whipped out a sheet of parchment, and shuffled things around to make enough space to actually write on it. His handwriting was a beautiful flowing script, a bit like cursive but with a host of bonus flourishes. And of course he finished with a lovely, but awfully large, signature at the bottom. Pomeroy read it over once, then presented it to me.

"You put the young boy's name here," he said, pointing to a blank space on the document, "and then return it to me. Or have someone return it to me. Probably the father or the mother. Or both. Good to meet them and the son, discuss, a bit, what they are hoping to achieve.”

"And what about tuition?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

"How much will it cost?”

“Nothing. It is funded by the Empire."

“Wow.”

"Where exactly is the town you hail from?"

"Tiny place. Very remote."

"I feel they might need a new schoolmaster there."

"Very likely," I said with a smile. "This, uh, stuff. Do you want me to get rid of it for you?"

"Would you mind?"

"Not in the slightest. Though, maybe you'd like to keep your pillowcase?”

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

He gave me a small satchel that carried the books and whatnot very well. It made me feel a bit more refined.

About twenty yards from the entrance to the Ministry of the Interior building, I noticed an older man in a robe walking alongside me.

When I looked over at him, he was glaring back at me.

"Clyde Hatchett," he said.

"Maybe," I replied.

"We need to have a chat, you and I," he said. "Follow me."

"You know, normally I don't just go along with strangers. Unless, you know, they've got candy."

He harrumphed lightly, but didn’t say anything. He didn't even look back at me. I think he knew my curiosity would get the better of me, and I would be along shortly.

And of course, he was right. I hated that he was right, but what choice did I have? You can’t just not follow some random dude in robes who tells you to follow them. That's a waste of completely perfect opportunity for adventure.

We took a short walk around two blocks and down a small alley, and then came to a small iron door set in a brick wall. The door was a bit on the short side and a bit on thin side. The robed man fished a bright key from his pocket, and unlocked the door. A beautiful garden was inside.

"After you," he said.

"You realize how suspicious this is," I said.

He rolled his eyes, and walked through the hole in the wall. And then came back out. And then went in. And kept walking in the garden.

“Close the door, and take the key please," he called out.

I took my time getting to the hole in the wall, and really studied it. I don't know what I was expecting to find — it was just a hole in a wall that had a door hung on it. On the other side of the wall, there was a beautiful garden. It reminded me of Gramercy Park, a private bit of green space for anyone in the neighborhood.

I did as he requested, and headed into the garden.

There was a fantastically sweet smell to the place, a freshness that reminded me how immune I had become to the malodorous conditions of the day to day reality of Glaton. Gone were the wafts of poop from a cornucopia of species. Nor could I smell pee. Or trash. Instead, it was flowers. Rich loam. And as nice as the place smelled, it looked even nicer. The trees all looked perfect, without a single dead branch or errant leaf. The grass was almost unrealistically soft, like I was walking on memory foam.

It wasn't a huge park, less than an acre I’d guess. There were a few groundskeepers working, all wearing light-colored robes, all deeply engaged in whatever they were doing with the plants and trees. The man I'd been following was sitting on a bench, looking into a pond.

I sat down next to him.

We were looking into a koi pond. Surprisingly deep, with lots of fish. One end had a small stand of thin trees, something that looked a lot like bamboo, but was more flowery.

"It would seem, Clyde Hatchett," the man said, "that we are fated to keep meeting."

"Have we met before?"  I asked. I tried hard to place the man, but failed.

"We have not," he said, "I was more using the organizational we."

"I didn't realize that was a thing."

"I'm tired," he said. "I didn't get much sleep last night as I was busy trying to quell an international incident."

"I don't know who you are, but you sound important. Is there some manner in which I'm involved with said incident?"

"Oh yes. Very much so. And let us do away with those foolish ideas of truth and lies. Let us just talk as two individuals who can be honest for this one conversation, and we can return to the rules of society once we step outside this garden."

"Refreshing. I like it."

"I am Walter Scrogs," he said, "current shadow minister of the mancers."

"Shadow minister?"

"It means I get to deal with all of this nonsense while the real minister goes to parties and presses the flesh."

"Seems a bit unfair."

"I know. I pity how many fancy robes he needs. But I am not at all suited for politicking. Gives me colic. I prefer what I do."

"Okay. Well, you know who I am."

"Unfortunately I do."

"Hey, man, being honest doesn't mean you have to be a jerk.”

He didn’t respond. Instead he waved his hands around, made a fist, and then flipped his fist over. It was filled with small brown pebble-looking things. He threw one into the pond, and a brilliant yellow fish scooped it up immediately. The other fish headed our way, getting the picture they were about to get fed.

"Neat trick."

"It certainly amuses the grandchildren."

"Wait, you have children?"

"And grandchildren. Did you think we weren't allowed to marry? Or remain celibate?"

“Kind of?”

"Your view of mancers is ridiculous and wrong on so many levels."

"I could say that same about your view of me."

"I wager we have a more accurate notion of who you are than you have of who we are."

"Well this is a fun game."

"And not the point of this conversation. You think we exist to police magic within the Empire—“

"You don't?"

"Allow me some time to finish, please."

"Okay, but only because you said please."

“You think we exist to police magic within the Empire. And that has become one of our duties, to a certain extent. But we are the only ones allowed to perform magic within the Empire. I know it may be hard for you to understand why, but that is the folly of youth. There are those of us who have been cursed with such an advanced age that we understand the reasons behind many of the decisions that are not understood today."

"Cursed with long life?"

"The nigh-on immortality that may come with study of the arcane arts is only a boon as long as you care only about yourself. As soon as you care about someone else, it becomes a lingering nightmare."

"Might need you to explain that one to me—“

"Imagine watching your grandchildren shrivel and die of old-age."

"Let's not imagine my grandchildren for a good long while," I said.

“Regardless, there are reasons the Empire requires limitations placed on magic,” Walter said. “Some may seem superfluous now. Draconian or haphazard. And I’ve heard the rumors that magic was only outlawed to control the power of magic-users, and that the Emperor was angry with a mancer and acted rashly. But simply speaking, it was a decision that was not made lightly. There was nearly as much violence over the initial edict as the tumultuous times leading up to it. We like to think the Empire has existed, untouched, for centuries, but we often fail to understand the internal strife that has nearly torn this country apart multiple times. And the bulk of those times, the worst of the massacres and the civil wars, have all been borne on the backs of magic users as they sought to change the world to fit their needs."

"Look, man," I said, "I know you're telling me some history, and that's all well and good and I appreciate the lesson. But--"

"I was there for some of it,” Walter said. "I know—“

“Sure you were. But I can say that too. I can lie and say that I was there and I know—“

“Do you want me to cast a truth spell?"

"I mean, it'd be better if you teach me to cast a truth spell. Because otherwise, you can just spout off some Seussian mumbo-jumbo and throw up jazz hands, for all I know. If you tell me that's a truth spell, what am I going to do?”

"Your lack of arcane acumen is astounding."

"I mean, not for nothing, but you guys are the reason I don’t have a mentor to teach me anything arcane."

"She fled because she broke the basic covenant, and she knew she was in the wrong.”

"Is this the unwritten rule pertaining to underground magic users?"

"That is certainly one means of referring to it, but it is more than that. There are obvious downsides to having a singular organization responsible for all magic in the Empire. Especially all those who control it are fallible beings. Despite my best efforts, politics infects the organization, both from within as we fight to control and guide the Ministry, and from without as others seek our assistance in their own nefarious plans. It sets various schools of magic up on pedestals and denigrates others. Organizationally, we forget the importance and utility of various magics, to our disgrace. And research is forgotten. We make no new inroads into spells. Most of the research these days is trying to find old spells to bring back into the fold. Nothing bold is being done. And that is because we are a monstrous group. The size has made us unwieldily, and instead of attempting to make each other great magicians with morals and ethics, we police ourselves to within an inch of outlawing magic in its entirety. Sure, we excel at fancy little spells for dinner parties. We fill the ranks of industry and fully half our number do little beyond assist in growing bountiful harvests. But I know we are falling behind other countries. Other wizards grow in skill and spells. and we take up another seat at the ballroom planning to wow a duke with parlor tricks until he gives us enough money that we might have silk sheets instead of satin."

"Take a breath, man."

"It is a sore subject, Clyde Hatchett."

"I can tell."

He took a moment, and tossed more food to the fishes. He tried to disperse the food as fairly as possible, throwing the pebble-bites to individual fish as he judged how much food they'd gotten. The fishes weren't exactly happy to wait, either, pushing each other around as they jockeyed to be in the right position to grab the next morsel.

Sitting there, it was easy to get lost in the moment. The glorious smells wafting across the gentle breeze, the vibrant colors of the fish reflecting in the noonday sun. It was idyllic.

"It behooves us to look the other way for a few certain individuals who we deem able to add something positive to the Empire."

"By we, you mean you."

"Yes. The primary duty of the Shadow Minister it to oversee all projects we keep in the shadows. One of which is working with those who remain outside the boundaries of the Ministry. I think you would have done well inside our walls, and I would have personally guided you through the maze of bureaucracy. But after the events of last night, I doubt you would find our group particularly welcoming."

"I was only defending myself."

"I have reviewed your actions, at least those that I had access to. You do not attack willy-nilly. You do not sling spells in public. And though I can't quite fathom where you are learning your spells, nor why you've chosen such spells to learn, I can see that though you were fighting for your life last night, you did not use the worst spells within your arsenal. That shows restraint."

I nodded.

"This is my lone offer to you," he said. "And there are no negotiations. Either you take the deal, or, we continue as adversaries. And I will make sure the full weight of the Empire comes to bear as soon as we are able."

"I really don't respond well to threats."

"It is not a threat but a reality, Clyde Hatchett. Though I can admire your confidence, you lack the skills, level, and spells necessary to make a stand against the Empire of Glaton. However, with all that said, I see you are taking new pathways through the Arcane Arts. You are using different spells, you are making powerful choices. If you can maintain your restraint, I will add you to the shadow roll. You will not be accosted by our members, nor reported to the watch. However, there may be times when you are called upon to give demonstrations of what you have learned, and, perhaps, teach select spells to members of the Ministry. For compensation of course. Should the need arise, you will also come to the defense of the Empire. And you will find a mentor to guide you until you are at such a level that we know you won't accidentally destroy the world."

Walter threw the remaining food the fish, and wiped his hand off. He looked at me for the first time since I came into the garden. "Does that sound like a deal to you?"

"So I can cast magic—“

"You can remain on in the same way you act now. Magic should be something that you hide. You begin casting in public to the point we begin to hear your name bandied about, and we will be forced to come down on you. However, if you maintain a low-profile, we will ignore you."

"Can you suggest a mentor?"

"No."

"But I need one."

“That you do, but part of being on the shadow role is anonymity. Just as I cannot divulge the name of someone to aid you, I will not divulge your name. That is part of the deal. In addition, finding a mentor to suit your style of magic is important, it is something ever magic user must do on their own. And please trust me when I say: finding your own way through magic is a recipe for disaster, and nearly always ends poorly."

"Okay. I guess. I mean, seems like I have little choice."

"Let us be clear," he said, "you have a choice. You can go about your business. It is possible we will decide you are not worth bothering with, especially considering that you somehow have connections to the Carchedonian royal family. But you will always wonder if we are around the corner, waiting to grab you. Or if we are about to interfere with your tomfoolery at the Ministry of the Interior. Be a pity to let Pomeroy know that we know what you did."

"Hey, he didn't do anything."

"Politics, though. I daresay he would fare well in The Mamertime.”

"I'm not even going to ask what that is. Just sounds awful."

"I suppose it speaks to your skills as a rogue that you don't know the name of the prison."

"I"ll take the deal," I said.

"I will add that it should go without saying that you shall not kill any more of our members—“

"Hey—“

He held up his hand. "Allow me to finish. You shall not kill any more of our members without sufficient cause and provocation. I urge you to not do it, because even hotheads who step out illegally have friends. Perhaps make use of your hold person spell more. Although, you don't have hold person, you have a variant I haven't seen before, don't you? Hold humanoid. Very interesting."

He pulled out a notebook, and jotted something down.

"Anyway," he said, "I fear I have an event to prepare for. One of the few I seem unable to get out of during the year. And you have, well, whatever it is that you do, to do, eh?'

"Yeah, I guess."

"I hope it is quite some time before we meet again, and in more pleasant circumstances."

Walter grabbed my forearm.

You have been granted the indicium: Shadow Ministry Badge

Neat.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

I caught a carriage back home. I decided it needed a clever name, but that it wasn't the time to come up with something. Instead, I tried to decide what my move was with Godfrey's brother, Hamilton the beastmaster. A member of the elite Thingmen, a military organization currently breaking with tradition by not standing down. Maybe it was something as simple as a desire of vengeance for their master. Or, and seeming more likely given the political climate of the Empire, it was linked to some sort of coup. Who knows?

Back at the complex, I got out of the carriage, thanked the elderly gent for the ride, and walked upstairs to my apartment.

It was empty, always nice. I put down the bag, and I went through the contents.

I wasn’t particularly keen on handling the two big skin-wrapped books if I didn't have to, so I left them stacked together and concentrated on the spell books. There were nine of them, and as I read over the titles, I found that I was already wrestling with the decision to use them. I wanted to, and yet, Careena had been so against them. And maybe for good reason. Maybe it would stunt my growth as a magic user. And if I ended up focusing more on magic than roguery, it wouldn't do to limit my abilities just to get some easy spells. Most of the books seemed like they were from the bargain bin, just basic stuff that would get someone in trouble. Flamedart, animate minor object, fill small hole, stuff like that. But a few seemed more nefarious, which only made me suspect the Iron Silents had been involved all over again.

Animate Minor Object - bring a small object, less than twenty pounds, to life as long as you feed mana into it.

Force Burst - send a bubble of force away from you

Fingers of the Stone God - send forth up to five pillars of stone from the ground for a maximum height of fifty feet. Height may be spread around pillars unevenly.

Fireball - summon a medium sized ball of fire, able to be thrown from your hand.

Summon Imp - summon an imp

Summon Celestial Ally - summon a friendly celestial, your level or lower.

Summon Infernal Ally - summon a friendly infernal, your level or lower. May not actually be friendly.

Flamedart - fire a dart of flame from your hand.

Fill Minor Hole - fill a small hole, less than two cubic feet

Nothing that really called out to me. Except fireball. I couldn't help myself — it would just be too much fun to throw fire. So I learned the spell. And it was actually one of the more difficult spells I’d had to learn. At least, as far as the book went. By the time I was done with it, I was exhausted, wanting nothing more than a quick nap. Or a long nap. Maybe I’d just go to sleep for the night.

I knew that'd be a terrible idea though.

Instead, I grabbed another of the spell books, and I learned that spell.

And again.

Once I got started, I couldn’t stop. I was weak. I didn't have these spells, so I didn't see a reason not to learn them. Sure, I understood logically it would be better for me to learn them on my own or develop my own versions of these, but I didn’t have time for that right now. Maybe if Careena was still around, or I had some other instructor of magic, but being a thief-y type and trying to run a guild in the midst of a political war, I didn't have the time to devote to learning the mystic and arcane arts. Hopefully it wouldn't be something that bit me in the ass. That said, it seemed that most things in Vuldranni wound up, at some point, getting involved in ass biting. And not in the good way.

By the time I’d learned all my spells, I’d bottomed out my stamina, my mana, and even took a decent hit on HP. Which made me think there'd been some sort of internal damage I hadn’t noticed, which wasn't good.

Slowly, I got to my feet.

It wasn't dark out yet, but it was well into the afternoon. I'd spent more of my day learning spells than I'd anticipated. And I still hadn’t gotten clothes for the ball.

I went through all my pouches and bags, looking for what I wanted to take with me that night. First was one of the magic coin pouches. A full one. I was going to buy a lot of stuff, if I could help it. The second, the bag of stasis, because why not? It functioned as a bag of holding in addition to whatever else it might do. So that was all I needed storage wise.

Downstairs to the tavern, I looked to see who was around.

Godfrey sat at the bar. He looked to be in his cups, leaning low over the wood so his mustache drooped into his mead. Titus was reading a book. A young woman worked the seated crowd, delivering drinks to tables, taking orders. She looked over at me, and gave me a smile.

"Don't bother with him," Titus called out, not bothering to look up from his book. "He'll sit here.”

I gave the new woman a smile, and went to the stool Titus was pointing to.

“New hire?” I asked.

He nodded. “She’s the daughter of one of your new neighbors.”

“Strange, she doesn’t look like a kobold.”

That got a wry grin. “Matthew and I had a bit of a talk with Boris and Shae. Freed up some of the apartments. And before you say anything, it’s not because we don’t like the dang kobolds. It’s because there too many good people looking for help, and so we’re just trying to get people in—“

“The missing kids situation?”

“Part of it. Maybe most of it. But it’s the instability. There is talk about the Legion leaving the city. Which means the City Guard are going to be swinging their big dicks around, which means the little guy is vulnerable. Some asshole landlord wants to take a tenant out, they can just hire the guard. No Legion around to keep them in check.”

I nodded. I didn’t particularly need all the explanations, but sometimes people needed to talk. To say things out loud so they could understand them as well.

“So how many open apartments do we have?” I asked.

“We have two,” he said. “The kobolds are taking the basement and sub basement of the new building, and the sub basement of the bakery. We offered them one of the apartments there, but they didn’t want it. Boris said that they’d feel too exposed. So, my wife’s brother and sister moved in, and—“

“I get it,” I interrupted to say. “Friends and family moving in.”

“For the most part. Leaving one open right now for Godfrey’s brother, provided Picus smiles on you.”

“Who?”

“The god of luck?”

“Right.”

He shook his head slightly, but he didn’t press me further or make fun of me for not knowing the pantheon.

“And one more for whoever we can find to be security,” he said. “Like Lothar.”

“What about the Minotaur?”

“I asked him that, but he said it’d be too far from you.” That came with quite the smirk.

“I have a feeling I’m going to need to rethink the third floor here,” I said, trying not to be sullen about losing my training floor.

“We all make sacrifices, maybe you can tone it down to a single apartment.”

“And maybe we can store Nadya’s mimic in your place.”

“There’s a mimic upstairs?” He asked, his face draining of color.

“Yup. But I’m sure we can find a different place for it to live.”

“You do realize that’s a man-eating monster, right?”

“Sure, but it’s a man-eating monster who can’t work doors.”

“Yet.”

I tried to shrug that off. I didn’t want to think about the possibility the mimic might actually smarten up to the point where it could get out of the apartment on its own.

“Speaking of Minotaurs who love me,” I said, “where is ol’ Mornax?”

“Last I checked, the roof. Helping put Nadya's vague plan of “monster lab” into something closer to reality."

"Why the roof though?"

"They're knocking a hole in the wall to make a door. That way she can have secret nighttime visits with you." He waggled his eyebrows for emphasis, and I just frowned.

'"Reminds me," I asked, “do you know any good tailors?"

He smiled, and told me a few people to check out. I probably should’ve gone straight to one of them, but I was dying to see how my tjene was faring as a construction crew. So I went back up to my apartment, and then continued up the final staircase until I came out on the roof. The garden had been disturbed a little, and was clearly in need of some work. It was still gorgeous, but with a wild streak that wasn't exactly in line with the chill atmosphere I liked it to have.

Construction had begun, mostly in the form of a ragged hole in the side of the building.

"First time y'all done this?” I shouted to Mornax, Klara, and Nox. They were all just staring at the hole.

Six eyes looked back at me with a mixture of concern and humor.

"Yes," Nox said. "I did visit the Imperial Library, and there was a pamphlet on civil codes for construction. I thought that might be adequate to parse out how we might make a door here."

"But?"

"It was not."

I walked through the rooftop garden and stepped into the empty apartment. There had also been quite a bit of demo work inside — it was down to the metaphorical studs. As in, the lathe and plaster had been torn off, and I could see the beams and masonry behind the walls. Even the floors were gone. It offered a good look at all the plumbing for the place, which hadn't yet been touched. It looked nearly modern. It wasn't lead piping, that much I could tell. It looked like a lighter grey metal, but nothing I could outright identify.

"Who did the interior work?" I asked.

"Mornax and some of the local kobolds," Nox replied. "They say they are yours."

"I mean, not exactly the term I'd use, but yeah, they live here too."

"What would you have us do, Mast- uh, Clyde Hatchett?"

"Just Clyde. Or Hatchett. Whatever. One of you needs to go downstairs, talk to Titus and get one of his carpenter friends over here to hang a door."

"Hang a door?"

"Trust me, say that. And fix the wall."

"The other of us?"

"One of you gets to stand guard at building three, which is that one," I pointed to the new building, "and one of you gets to come with me and go shopping."

"Stand guard," Mornax said quickly, and was already stomping down the stairs before anyone could say anything about it.

"I have some shopping needs," Nox started to say.

"You got us in this mess," Klara said firmly. "You get to deal with the carpenter. I'll go carry his bags."

I shook my head. The dynamic between these three was unique, and I wasn't quite sure how it worked. Yet.

"I, uh," Nox said.

"Hey man," I interrupted him to say, "she makes a good point. You started this, better finish it."

While there may have been a bit of hesitation when she asked him to do something, my word was final. Nox nodded ever so slightly, and then delicately walked down the stairs.

"Shopping," Klara said. "Are we getting weapons?"

"We're getting a bunch of stuff," I said, "starting with a fancy outfit for tonight."

She frowned. "Wish I'd been fast enough to say guard."

CHAPTER FIFTY

Klara brightened up ever so slightly when she found out she wasn’t the one getting a fancy outfit. She was almost happy when she realized she got to watch me try things on and have tailors yell at me for the short turnaround time. Basically, I could get something mostly off the rack with some slight alterations.

The guy we wound up going with, Garneesh Ruberchon, was the least cruel about my timeline, and he had some astonishing abilities that made him a most exquisite tailor. He could flick thread into the air and have it slip through the eye of the needle. Super neat trick. He could stitch at near lightening speed. Definitely someone who was very high-level. Or highly skilled. I wasn't sure which.

One platinum later, and I had a contemporary suit to wear to a ball. It was dark, with a tight jacket and slim cut pants. I was going to need to find a new sheath and belt to hold my daggers because there simply wasn't enough room around my waist. Klara carried the suit, glaring at anyone who got too close to either me or it. It made walking through the crowded streets around the Grand Bazaar much easier. I almost thought about going into the Bazaar itself to see if she'd be able to cut a swath through that horde.

I considered going to a blacksmith to look at weapons and other sundry items of that nature, but it just seemed faster to go to Gideon's because he carried such a wide range of stuff. I could probably get everything I needed in a single stop. I'd probably wind up with stranger things than had I gone to a blacksmith. But I could deal with strange — I couldn't deal with late. And we were already on the verge of being late, if we didn't get this next stop done quickly.

So that meant going to Gideon's.

"We're going to a slightly strange shop next," I warned as we walked.

“Strange how?"

"Uh, it's, I mean, I find it weird. Maybe you won't. Also, I think you need to wait outside until I make sure you're okay with him."

"Okay, that is weird."

"And that's really all I can say about the place."

"Also weird."

"He's got most anything though, so we can basically knock out everything else on our list."

"Where is this list of 'ours?’”

I pointed to my head and smiled.

She just frowned. "Be easier if you write it out next time."

"Maybe I will."

Klara didn't say anything, but I had the feeling she wanted to. She seemed like the type to want to have the last word in every conversation. Which I could understood, since it was something I liked as well. It was a dominance thing.

"I get why Mornax is the body," I said, "and obviously Nox as the mind. But, no offense, how do you fit in?"

She looked over at me, and shrugged. "No clue. That was drivel Troels spouted off. Pretty sure you have to make your own meaning out for it. Just glad you picked me."

"What do you mean picked you?"

“There were others waiting in case you didn't think the three of us were worth the debt."

"You mean I could have had more of you guys?"

"I guess, yeah. Or switch us out."

"And you're happy about the situation?"

"Much better than going back to Carchedon."

"Is this a suitable conversation to have out of doors?"

She looked around the pedestrians surrounding us, the sparse horse and wagon traffic trundling down the road.

"Look around you Hatchett," she said, "no one cares about you here. Or me. We can talk about whatever we'd like—“

"I know it might seem like that, but I can assure that it is not the case. I know for a fact that we are being followed right now. I live my life under surveillance."

"And why is that?" Klara asked. "Why would you be surveilled?"

"There's some, well, asshats who've got it out for me, and we're becoming something of rivals. And by rivals, I think they'd prefer they stopped me from existing."

"And you think they are watching you?"

“No, I know they are. They're out there waiting for the right time to pounce."

"Ah," she said, and she looked around, scanning the crowds. "To me, that means you need to have one of us around you at all times."

"I'm not sure that's the case.”

"With no disrespect meant, I disagree."

"You can disagree, that's fine. Useful, in fact. I want to hear what you guys think because there's really no chance I know more than the three of you about this world we're living in."

"That is an odd way of phrasing whatever it is you are trying to say."

"Something which needs to probably happen later and not now."

"What the hells are you talking about?"

"Just can it for now."

"Can what?"

"Why don't you tell me about yourself?"

"I'd rather not."

"Uh, okay."

"What is it you want to know?"

"What's your Choice?"

"Valkyrie."

"Warrior."

"That I am."

"What got you, uh, here?"

"I chose poorly."

"You thought it'd be the chalice of kings, eh?"

"What?"

"Never mind. What was your poor choice?"

"I believed a man who said we could make it through the Great Erg."

"And?"

"We did not."

“But you're still alive.”

"Forty-eight of us went out, three returned. Note that I say returned and not succeeded. The death payments to those who did not survive bankrupted us. And this was the manner in which I chose to repay those debts."

"You get paid for this?"

"I got paid. Now, whether or not I draw another paycheck depends on you."

"That seems messed up."

"It is but the way."

I shook my head. Debt slavery. Of a sort. I guess it'd be more accurate to say that she traded all of her potential paychecks for one up-front paycheck, so maybe it wasn't exactly slavery. She was, however, stuck with me. And the other two. And there was no guarantee we'd get along at all. It could be bad. I mean, already she seemed a bit on the gruff and rough side. But, to be fair, I really hadn't spent much time with her.

"Level?" I asked.

"Thirty-one," she replied. "You could look at my sheet if you like."

"I know, I just haven't had the time—“

"I see."

"It's not that."

"I said nothing."

"Yeah. You didn't need to."

She arched an eyebrow at me.

Gideon's place wasn't busy. It was never busy. But I did have to wait for someone else to vacate the store, and so that was interesting. I guess, in that regard it was busy. Klara waited outside while I went to chat with Gideon.

I double-checked the interior to make sure I was the only customer, and then I approached the counter and set my account coin down. Gideon checked the coin, then we did the hold hands things. Warm tingling feelings, and I took the coin back.

"Evergreen," Gideon said. "We welcome you."

"And a hello to you," I replied. “And, uh, yours, I guess."

I got a slight nod.

"How are we to help you on this day?"

"Before we get to that," I said, "there is someone with me. And it's not really a normal, uh, situation because they are part of my group--"

"A party?"

"No, I think like that, but--"

"Guild?"

"Not that either. Except yes, but no. More--"

"A hirð, then."

"You know, I can just tell you."

"Not a hirð?"

“The Carchedonian version."

"Tjene.”

"So you know of it."

"We have seen them before, yes."

"Can she come in with me?"

"Yes," Gideon said. "Members of your Tjene will be considered as extensions of you."

"Good, I guess?"

He smiled at me.

I stepped to the window and motioned for Klara to come inside. She came in, did the introductions with Gideon, totally perfunctory, and then stood back against the wall.

"You have things to sell?" Gideon asked.

"Not much," I replied. "More things to buy."

"Ah, finally using your credit?"

"Some of it. I need to outfit her," I pointed over my shoulder at Klara, "and a minotaur and another human. Gotta get things for them to have an apartment."

Gideon nodded his head, thinking. Figures scurried out from behind him, running through the goods of the shop, gathering things up and setting them out on the counter. While they did that, in the open space between Gideon and me, I set out the weird, big books I'd taken from Pomeroy's place, as well as the dagger I'd snatched off Insidious.

"I need that identified, please," I said.

Gideon nodded, and spread his hands out.

The hooded figures had a wide variety of things spread out across the counter. There were bags and pouches, swords and axes, armor of varying thickness and piles of clothes, blankets and pillows.

I pointed. "Pick what you want, and then make educated guesses about the other two."

"What's the budget?" she asked.

"He'll tell you when you've spent too much," I replied, nodding at Gideon with my head.

His brow was furrowed, and I could feel the flow of magic from his hands over the dagger and the books. It was surprising — I hadn't felt anything like this before.

After a moment or two, he shook his head.

"We are unable to identify this dagger," he said, pointing at the offending item like it was something nasty he'd just scraped off the bottom of his shoe.

"So you haven't seen something like it before?" I asked.

A wry smile. "A possibility. We will not be purchasing it as this time. If you are able to identify it, we will likely be interested in purchasing it."

I shrugged, and put the dagger back in my bag, idly wondering what kind of weapon would be unidentifiable to someone like Gideon. I took a peek at the books.

"What about the books?" I asked.

"They are grimoires," Gideon replied. "Rather rare, indeed."

"Enlighten an ignoramus," I said. “What's a grimoire?"

He cocked his head to the side, I think an expression of surprise, and then reached his inhuman fingers out to glide them across the creepy leather covers.

"A grimoire is a book of magic. It is a collection of spells written by a wizard, or mancer as they are called here. But unlike a spell book, it holds multiple spells and provides the instructions on how to cast and optimize certain magics. This one, on the top, is the grimoire of Ultius the Blind."

"Do you know what spells it contains?"

"I know rumors of what spells it may contain. You may open and read it if you wish — it is your book, and there is no inherent danger of unleashing or mistakenly learning magic. Unlike with a spell book."

I flipped the cover open, and riffed through the pages. Yellowed pages covered in a difficult to read chicken scrawl.

"Is this an original?" I asked.

"No," Gideon replied with just enough of a smile to let me know I was daft for even considering such a thing. "A replication." He turned to the very first page, and pointed down at the bottom where there was a name and a date.

"Oh," I said. "How much will you give me for these?"

"Fifty gold," he said instantly.

A good amount of coin. But this was a way to get my study of magic on, and there was also a lot of value in that. I didn't exactly have time to read, let alone practice magic, but that wasn't necessarily going to be the case forever. It might be nice to have a book I could read every once in a while. My bathroom was devoid of reading material, and I hated to admit that that was one place I truly missed having an iPhone at my disposal. Especially considering how much meat I was eating.

“I’m keeping them for now," I said.

Gideon nodded, then turned his attention to Klara.

I grabbed the grimoires and put one of them in my bag. The other, I thought I'd go through. Just give a quick read while Klara picked out linens or some such. But there was one problem I hadn't anticipated, the book wasn't in a language I could read. And clearly my handy-dandy language skill didn't proc when presented with reading. I needed someone to speak it. I wondered if I could just read the words out lout without understanding, and then somehow I’d magically start understanding. But how would I know if I was pronouncing them right? Did someone need to pronounce the words correctly for the boon to activate? Up until now I’d been annoyed at having these creepy books, but now I was feeling good. This would prove interesting.

"We are done," Klara said.

I looked up from the book to see the shop had returned to normal, and there was actually a customer inside. It looked like some moderately lost civilian, out on a shopping expedition checking out the weirder shops in the Grand Bazaar.

Klara had a large sack slung over her shoulder, and smaller ones in each hand. I thought about offering her room in my Bag of Stasis, but she didn’t look like she was struggling. The bags were heavy enough they made the muscles in her arms bulge, and I felt scrawny in comparison. Not that I needed to compare her to myself, it just sort of happened, and off we walked, because this is just going bad places. All I'm saying is that she had huge arms and she gained a certain form of beauty when she was using her muscles.

Anyway, we went home.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

While we'd been gone, some wheeling and dealing had happened between my various tenants, and a bit of a shake-up transpired. Lothar and Sven had moved into building three, taking one of the second floor apartments there. Lothar would serve as security for building three. Nadya was taking my workout room as her laboratory. Apparently the mimic had grown enough that it wouldn't fit through the door at the present time, and Nadya wasn't sure how she was going to go about training the thing to shrink sufficiently to move through the door in any rational timeline. So, that meant we had demo’d an apartment for no real reason. Which was annoying on many fronts, not the least of which being that we had to pay someone to put it back to being an apartment. I suppose there was the door between buildings, that was a useful element to have. A quick means of egress. Still, while they told me about the planned changes, I couldn’t help but wonder why they couldn’t have had this conversation, say, yesterday…

Shae was going to move into Nadya's lab apartment with Klara, while Mornax and Nox would move into the second floor apartment directly above the Heavy Purse. I still didn't have my workout spot back, but I was now the only one living in my apartment. At least, that was the theory.

All this was relayed to me in rapid-fire fashion by a very excited Shae, who was waiting on the stairs to welcome her new roommate. I don't think it will come as a surprise that Shae was significantly more thrilled with the new living situation than Klara, who shot me a look over her shoulder as Shae dragged her up the stairs.

I just shrugged and smiled. I went up my stairs, and stopped at the first apartment.

The door wasn't locked, so I gave a polite knock. After a second, it swung inward, and I looked up to see Mornax looking down at me.

"Clyde Hatchett," he said in his resounding baritone voice, "how may I serve you?"

"Uh, just looking for, uh, Nox, if he's around."

"I am here, Ma— Clyde Hatchett," Nox said.

"We have got to work on talking to each other," I said. “This is getting ridiculous."

I pulled the grimoires out, and tossed them on the lone table in the room.

"Can you read these?" I asked. “The language inside, I mean. I know you can read. You can read whatever you like. You can read these books if you like."

He ignored my bumbling and thumbed through one of them. I looked around the place. They had not gotten much set up. I'm not sure how much Lothar had done, but at that point, there were two chairs and a table that had clearly been 'borrowed' from the Heavy Purse, as well as a stool. There were also two beds sitting about as far apart as they could possibly be in the open studio-style apartment.

"I recognize the language," Nox said, "but I have yet to learn it."

"Can you read a few words out loud?" I asked.

"I don't know any of it."

"Sure, but can you sound it out? Do you know a language like it?"

"By my guess, it's a dialect of Silvestry, but some of the letters are stylized like you'd find with the Bussalf. I can try, but—“

"Just a few words. Humor me. See if, you know, maybe you can just sound out, like, five words."

He gave Mornax a bit of a look, but the big bull just shrugged. Nox sat down at the table and pored over the book. After a minute, he looked up at me.

"This is a bit ridiculous," he said. "But here we go."

The language sounded nice. Pleasant, a bit like the rustling of leaves and branches hitting each other. And then, those magical words:

Smashing! You’ve learned a new language, Lower Norfang.

"Holy balls, it worked," I said. I grabbed the book from Nox, and the words all made sense. I knew the language. This was maybe the best cheat code in the world.

"You can read this?" Nox demanded. "Did you make me sound it out just to have me be a fool for your entertainment?"

"No,” I said, "not at all. Nothing like that. I have a skill. Or, I mean, a boon where I can learn a language if I hear a few words of it. I didn't know if it would trigger just hearing a language read out loud. Or if the person speaking needed to actually understand what he was saying. You know, it was an experiment, and it worked. I know Lower Norfang now, even though you were just trying to make the sounds."

"That is an amazingly powerful boon," Nox said quietly.

"I know."

"You could be the most important asset to historical studies in, well, ever."

"I mean, let's not go that far."

"It has far reaching implications, my lord, beyond which you or I are comprehending right now. Languages that are dead or beyond our comprehension, they could be read by you, and who knows what secrets they might unlock—“

"Let's calm down, and take a step back."

He took a step back.

"No, I was wrong, take a step forward."

Confused, he took a step forward.

"Now take a step back. And take a step forward, and we're doing the cha-cha!'

"That's stupid," Nox said.

"But it got you to calm down, didn't it?"

"I suppose."

"Okay, well, these books are illegal, so we're going to need to hide them somewhere."

Nox picked up the other book and flipped through the pages.

"This one I can read," he said. "Would you like me to read it for you?"

'You can do that?”

“Of course. I will read it and see if it contains information that interests you."

"Sure. You keep that one down here, I'll take the other one upstairs."

"Do you have orders for me?" Mornax asked.

"Guard duty, my friend."

He nodded, then stopped. "Do you have someone to guard you this evening?"

"I'm fine," I said. "I think this thing is at the palace. I’ll be safe there."

He seemed mollified by that.

I went upstairs, put the grimoire in the bathroom, and my other things in the other room. I took a read of the grimoire, then a shower, then I did a little primping before getting in my suit. Trussed up and looking pretty, I still needed to find spots for my every day carry. I only had room for a few things.

First was a dagger. It had been a while since I'd taken the Tooth out with me, so I used some leather strapping to make a sort of back sheath for it. Reach up under my jacket, pull on a tie, and I had the tooth. It was going to be my only weapon, since taking along the magic sword seemed, well, gauche. Like I was going and expecting trouble at the ball. Which, to be fair, I was, but I didn't want it to look like I was expecting trouble. That was kind of the key: the appearance of being chill with the ability to throw down at a moment's notice.

For good measure, I wadded up the Bag of Stasis and got it on my side. It seemed more like an oversized money pouch than anything else. So I unwadded it, and I put a cloak inside. A big dark leather cloak that would give me plenty of bonuses to stealth. Then, wadding up the bag, I got it onto my person once more where it looked mostly normal. A check in the mirror, a touch up of the hair, the realization that I was just stalling because this seemed an awful lot like a date and I hadn't been on a date since that time I took Carolyn Zahn to a burger place on the East Side over by the Met. She thought it was a great friends night, and I didn't correct her.

Someone knocked on my door.

I stalked over, knowing it was probably Mornax or Nox coming to ask what else I wanted them to do. In some ways I appreciated Klara's more restrained approach. I swung open the door, ready to be annoyed.

Instead, it was Nadya.

She smiled.

She looked incredible, wearing a fantastic ballgown in a deep imperial blue. Her hair was up, her neck was covered in jewels, and she appeared every inch royalty.

And then there was me, with a bag on my side. I mean, it was commonplace for people to have bags or pouches because pockets weren't that big of a thing yet. And you had to carry around gold, which was both heavy and sizable. But still, she put me to shame.

"You look lovely," I said, and I didn't stammer at all. I silently thanked past me for putting as many points into charisma as I did.

"Thank you," she said with a slight bow of her head. "There's a carriage waiting for us. I didn't think it would do to show up sweaty from walking."

"So it is at the palace," I said.

She gave a demure little smile, like I'd figured out a secret, and she nodded.

"Ready?" she asked.

As I felt my nerves begin to act up, my stomach preparing to launch itself into an Olympic routine of internal gymnastics. I reminded myself that I had quite literally died. More than once. There was no way the evening could be worse than that.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

The carriage was waiting for us behind the bakery, which meant, for this particular trip, we went up onto the roof of building one, across into building two and through Klara and Shae's apartment before going downstairs to the second floor, where we took the back door to the rear portion that was the carriage house and 'yard' of the building. A beautiful glossy black coach waited for us, with big black horses stamping, ready and eager to pull. The driver looked over at us, and bowed slightly to Nadya. There were three other people there, all wearing armor, all with large swords at their side, and all bearing the Imperial seal.

One of the guards opened the door to the coach and set a small stool out so that we wouldn’t need to climb in. Nadya went first, and the stool was disappeared. Apparently I did need to climb in after all. I looked over at the guard with a "really" expression on my face. He grinned back. I winked at him, and hauled my fancy butt up into the carriage.

"So, how's the pit?" I asked.

"Gross," she replied.

"Any good monsters?"

"None. It's truly just a clean-up. Everything there is long dead, but," she paused for a second, then just smiled.

“But what?"

"It's just very different now. Matthew is serious all the time, thinking about, well, probably politics. Godfrey is moping about his brother and the Thingmen. So it's just me, trying to bring a little levity to the group. It turns out they are not fond of mud fights."

"Is anyone?"

"I thought it was funny. But what have you been doing? I feel like I've lost track of you lately."

I looked at her, trying to gauge what my answer should be, where I should place the boundaries of the truth to tell her. "It's been strange," I said. "I'm almost sad I'm not in the pit day after day. Hopefully soon."

"Bah, soon you'll be running this guild of yours."

"I don't think there'll be that much to do."

"Fanciful last words."

"Right? I should knock on wood or something."

"Plenty of it around," she said, gesturing to the coach around us. Though, to be fair, most of the interior was lined in leather.

She looked out the coach window at the passing city, and I followed her gaze. People were hurrying home. It was that magical time between day and night, a gorgeous twilight settling across the cobblestone streets. It would have been a completely spellbinding moment, had our horses not been as flatulent as they were.

I tried to pretend I couldn’t smell it. Just seemed the polite thing to do. But then Nadya started laughing, and I couldn't resist. She had a lovely, infectious laugh, and soon we were both wiping tears from our eyes.

The Palace loomed up ahead. It was good for that, looming. But we didn't approach the building head-on. Instead, we made a westward turn and headed along a side street. We passed a group of carriages and coaches making their slow way through a gate and up toward a large, brightly lit building on the palace grounds.

"The ball's there?" I asked, almost leaning out of the coach.

"It is," Nadya replied.

"That's a huge building."

"The palace of the Blackburn. One of eight palaces on the grounds of the Imperial Palace. I suppose, if you count the Imperial Palace, there are nine. But most people don't."

"Is that the biggest of the eight? You know, not counting the Imperial Palace?"

"No. Second, um, third smallest. But other than the Imperial Palace, it's the closest to the walls, so it's the one that gets used for events."

"And it's where you live?" I asked, joking.

She looked at me, then nodded.

"Wait—“

"I haven't always been fully truthful with you," she said. "It's just, I didn't want you to think I was some stuck-up princess who lived in a palace and gets waited on hand and foot."

"Okay, but you are a princess who lives in a palace and gets waited on hand and foot."

"But I'm not stuck up."

"You aren't. That's kind of the important thing."

"I'd like to think so."

We bypassed the line of coaches, and, instead, went to a gate further along, where we were whisked through without having to stop. Then we went up a long and smooth road lined with beautiful trees, and finally stopped at the narrow western end of the Palace of the Blackburn. Several footmen and footwomen (footpeople? Sounds weird) were there to help the two of us out of the coach. Nadya knew all of them by name and greeted them quickly.

"You are late, Lady Glaton," a stern looking woman in all black said.

"I'm not late—“

"Your parents are waiting for you in the Exalted Room."

"Yes, ma'am," she said, then turned to me. "Family stuff."

"Do I—“

"You come with me," she said, a slight smile on her face. “It’s part of the quest, remember?"

The old lady in black rolled her eyes, but then turned and marched into the house, expecting us to follow right behind.

I have a decent memory for directions. Usually one or two trips to a place is enough for it to get stuck in the ol' noggin. But the Blackburn Palace, or Palace of the Blackburn if you're being formal, was a maze inside. Especially because we were taking the servant’s hallways through the place. And everywhere we went, there were servants who dutifully stopped what they were doing and stood out of the way so we'd have easy passage. It made me feel weird, I hadn't expected that sort of response. In both this life and the last, I'd always been the person to get out of the way, or, the person who got shoved. So being the more important person was disconcerting. Although it was mainly Nadya the servants moved away from. Or maybe it was the lady in black. She was fierce.

After about five minutes, or more, of marching through the halls, we got to a door and the lady in black stopped, and turned around. She looked over Nadya, and did a little adjusting of the dress, pulling the neckline a bit up. Then she tucked a curl of hair back in place, and generally tutting over her.

Of course, as soon as the old lady looked away, Nadya undid the various adjustments, and stuck out her tongue at the lady.

I smiled. The old lady in black frowned.

"Not much I can do for him," she said, and stomped off.

Nadya grabbed my hand, then pushed open the door. And we walked into high society.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

More or less. It wasn't quite a ball room, but it was certainly more than just a regular room. There were about twenty people inside, a few waiters serving drinks and small bites, and lots of chatting. Everyone was dolled up to the nines, and everyone stopped to look when Nadya and I walked into the room.

Nadya didn't seem to notice. She spotted who she wanted to speak to and dragged me over that way. I, on the other hand, was hoping that elves had evolved not to blush, because I felt like my face was on fire as forty eyes dug into my very soul. Sure, there's a touch of hyperbole there, but I really felt massively out of place.

She stopped at a group of four people, two men and two women. All older than us.

"Mother, Father," Nadya said, "This is Clyde Hatchett."

Great. The Parents. Already.

I smiled immediately, almost involuntarily.

"It is an absolute pleasure to meet you," I said, wishing I had some potion of unshame.

Her mother and father were actually not what I was expecting. I'd thought of them, initially, as distant relatives to the throne who, perhaps, had a run-down manor house in one of the older parts of town. Then, I thought they'd be stuck up Rich people. With a capital R. But these were both warm and open people who seemed genuinely happy to meet me.

"Ah right," Nadya's father said, "the young man who saved you in that horrible pit fiasco."

"Did you mention he's an elf, Nadya?" her mother asked. "I don't think we have any of the traditional fare—“

"No need," I said.

"Thank goodness. I would hate to have forgotten--"

"Mother," Nadya said firmly.

"Yes, well, it is lovely to meet you."

"Nice to meet you as well, your, uh, highness?"

"I suppose that is our honorific at the moment, is it not, Dalton?"

"I am a prince, and you are a prince's consort, my dear," her dad said.

"It's all so confusing."

"Nina, playing dumb does not suit you."

She coyly slapped his hand.

"Mother, Father," Nadya said, grabbing my hand and pulling me away from them, "I'm sure we'll see you more this evening."

"You owe me at least one dance," her father, Dalton, said.

"I'm listening to lectures and looking at monsters tonight, Father," Nadya called over her shoulder. "We can have a dance another time.”

She took me over to the bar, and she ordered wine for us both. It came back in crystal glasses, and was a bubbling red, but it tasted fine. A bit piquant for a slob like me, but, well, I wasn't exactly a drinker.

Then we were back in the mix, meeting the whole family. It was a blur as I met Glaton after Glaton. And while I knew they were family, I was a bit surprised at the diversity of appearance. Sure, all of them human, but other than that, they ran the gamut. Finally, the rounds had been made, and Nadya and I were left alone at the side of the room.

"Is this just your family?" I asked.

She nodded in the middle of a sip of her bubbly red wine. "I'm not sure when it started, but it's a bit of a tradition that all the Glatons who are going to an event meet up beforehand and have a chat. My father said that when he was younger, it was an opportunity to give out socializing orders. Who to speak to and what to speak about at the event. But these days it's calmed down, and we mostly just have a drink and say hello."

“Where I’m from it’s called a pre-game. Does everyone live here?"

"In this palace? No. But most of the Glatons live on the Imperial Palace grounds. There's plenty of space.”

"What happens if the next emperor isn't a Glaton?"

"The grounds and all the palaces on it belong to the Glaton family. But the Emperor is permitted to have the main Imperial palace as his or her residence while crowned."

"Oh, so, uh, nothing really happens."

"Not much, no."

"How long does this last?" I asked.

"The symposium? Hours—“

“No, this portion of it. The Glaton pre-game.”

“Half an hour, maybe? It gives the rest of the guests time to be brought in. Then we have to go be announced, and everyone claps. It's a horrible ordeal, but, well, tradition."

"Wait, I'm going to be announced?"

"You'll be announced as my escort because you don't have a title. Unless you've gotten a title, then you can be announced as such. Which is another stupid thing that is dictated by tradition. When I was little, I thought about fighting it all. About abolishing all this nonsense, but being a bit older, I decided it's not the hill I want to die on, you know?"

"Got to pick your battles," I replied.

She nodded.

A loud crash interrupted our conversation. The door a the far end of the room flew open, and a figure strode in, boots clacking on the parquet floor.

A hush came over the crowd. I knew immediately who'd come to the party.

"Valamir," someone said in a low tone.

He looked around, decided who was the most important in the room, after himself, I suppose, and began the ritual of meeting everyone.

Conversations mostly resumed, but it was very evident everyone was keeping one eye on the former emperor's brother. Watching everyone watch him, I couldn't help but wonder if Matthew was right. If the entire Glaton family was against Valamir, maybe I’d just been hoodwinked by the man. Maybe he was the sort of asshole who'd kill his brother and try to steal the throne.

"Awfully daring of that man to show up here," I heard someone mutter.

"Can you imagine how insufferable everything will become when he assumes the throne?" another said.

"There's still time for someone else to take it."

"And have Valamir kill them too? I think not."

I looked over at Nadya. She was looking at me, a hint of a smile on her face.

"What?" I asked.

"Just nice to be here," she said. "I'm happy."

"I, uh," I stopped there. No chance was I going to come up with something witty to say, so I just had another bit of bubbly.

“Me too,” I finally mustered.

I felt his presence before I saw him. There was just an aura about the man. It was something I hadn't experienced in his home, though. There, he'd been vulnerable, and more like a normal person. But here, he approached Nadya and me with his back ramrod straight, looking rigid and admittedly somewhat fierce in his military uniform. He looked Nadya in the eye, and gave the slightest bow.

"Niece," he said.

"Uncle," she replied.

"You look beautiful tonight," he said, "you do our family proud."

"I am happy I can look good enough to make the family proud."

"You know what I mean, niece."

"I know I know, but I've been trying to coax you from being awkward for years."

"And it would appear it is something I am fated to be cursed with."

"Nonsense—“

"And who is this?" Valamir asked, turning his gaze on me.

I smiled.

"Clyde Hatchett," I said.

"Hrmph," he replied. "Your pit-worker friend?"

"Yes," Nadya snapped. Then she paused. “You know I work in the pits?”

He gave her a cryptic smile, and leaned in close. “I know many things about you. And him.”

Valamir looked over at me, and it seemed like it almost hurt him to have to address me. "I heard you were quite brave on a number of occasions at the pit. Thank you for keeping my favorite niece safe."

“You're welcome."

"Do you have plans beyond cleaning pits, young elf?"

"Plans?"

"You cannot be happy cleaning pits. Do you think you will spend your next hundred years mucking out after monsters and trash? You must have goals and desires—“

"Uncle," Nadya said, pointedly.

"What?" Valamir asked, and it really seemed like he didn't see any issue with his line of questioning.

And all of a sudden I saw the beauty in his act. If he played at being this awkward doofus of a guy, it gave him so much freedom to say whatever he wanted. To question people. No one would dare gainsay him — not just because of his social position, but because it had been established he was the weird, awkward uncle.

There was the clean ring from a large bell.

"Line up please," called out a man's voice. "Low station to high. No one is here for the first time, you all know your places."

"We will finish this conversation yet," Valamir said. "You can be sure of it."

"Sure, Uncle," Nadya said, as if she was tired of it all. And then we lined up near the end of the line, before Nadya's parents and after nearly everyone else. There was only one couple, and then, at the back, Valamir.

"Odd," Nadya whispered to me as we started walking, "the Emperor's daughter, the princess, she's not here."

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Being Announced is silly. Ridiculous really. And yet I've never wanted a title more just so I could be Announced as well, rather than being “and escort.” Probably not the most demeaning moment in my life, but as I descended the stairs, reduced to “and escort," I decided I needed a title. Or just to never be 'Announced' again.

We walked down the stairs, and moved into the party. Except it wasn't really a party. It was more like a receiving line where some obvious sycophants waited to press the flesh with the Royal Family. No one wanted to press my flesh, or Nadya's. We skipped right past it, but there were plenty of people who grabbed at Nadya's parents, and especially at Valamir.

The Monster’s Ball was divided into three main areas. The most active social area was obviously the ballroom itself. There was live music, dancing, and people socializing. Then, in a separate room that was nearly as big, there were monsters in cages. Each cage had at least two, if not more handlers nearby. Curious rich people could walk by and peek at the monsters. From our quick overview, I couldn't see which monsters had been chosen for display because Nadya pulled me along to the third room. It was the smallest of the three rooms, though that's not saying much because we're still talking about an Imperial palace here, which means by my standards, it was huge. The smallest room had a lectern up at the front, and was otherwise filled with chairs. The lecture hall. There were a few rolling chalkboards that had prepared drawings on them.

Nadya picked seats near the back, explaining that she didn't want anyone to pay more attention to her than the speaker, and then she pulled a notebook out of a hidden pocket on her dress. I suppose that was one advantage to big poofy ballgowns — they could hold pockets.

It wasn't a particularly crowded lecture, but the woman speaking was enthusiastic all the same.

"There is little more commonly known about the colloquially known ‘metalmuncher' than it eats metal," she said. "But the danger this beast presents is greater than nearly any other."

One of the aides behind her pushed out a chalkboard that had a drawing of what I assumed was the MetalMuncher. It had a pretty unique design to it, something along the lines of an insect put in a blender with a squirrel and an octopus. Six legs, long tail with a big sucker at the end and small suckers around the tip. Furry, with something along the lines of a cute face. Until, that is, you saw the thing’s mouth, at which point, you'd wish you could unsee it because it was hideous. It was a horrible collection of small blunt teeth that, according to the lecturer, "moved individually to rip and shred metal and take it down into the creature's highly acidic gullet."

She gave a brief overview of the creature as she'd studied it, that it was found primarily in the caves and caverns to the west in the mountains between the Emerald Sea and the Empire, though it was possible they were elsewhere as well. It didn't appear they did a tremendous amount of burrowing, but they seemed to have an affinity to metal, which allowed them to sense it, as a wolf or lion does blood. Hence, when hunting and studying it, there was no trouble finding the creatures as they came to the researchers and ate the armor the researchers wore. Her main point of focus, at least as I understood it, was the economic danger the creatures posed. They weren't particularly vicious, as they didn't seem to have any desire to consume flesh, and would flee if attacked. The danger was their ability to hide in small places, that some might be transported from the caves to a more civilized area with a higher concentration of pure metals. Pure metals seemed to cause high growth rates for the creatures, followed by high reproduction rates. So if a metalmuncher was released into a commercialized smithy, it could unleash a veritable pandemic of metalmunchers, which might be capable of rendering a town metal-free in a matter of months.

Next up was a man who came to talk about something called a skammarrunna, which was something found in the deep forests and marshes in the western and southwestern areas of the Empire. It looked like a simple mound of leaves or vegetation on the forest floor, but then, it ambushed creatures that walked by, pouncing and eating anything that got too close. The skammarrunna could grow immensely large, but started off rather small, which is when, the lecturer opined, it was actually most dangerous. Because a huge pile of detritus was easier to spot as being a skammarrunna, the smaller ones really seemed like they might actually just be leaves.

The creatures weren't keen on moving — they tended to stick to ambush spots they liked. But they did move on occasion, especially as they got larger, when they tended to become more mobile hunters. Skammarrunnas weren't particularly fast over distance, but they could move very quickly in their attack mode. The lecturer said there was a skammarrunna out in the display area, and there would be a feeding later, which would give a good example of its style of fighting, and the true physiology of the creature.

And then the abominaball. I giggled when I heard the name, but when I looked over at Nadya, she was giving me a serious look. Which, she definitely managed to hold for a solid second before breaking into a smile herself, which she dutifully hid with her notebook.

The abominaball was another ambush creature, this one found in the mountains across most of the Empire. Anywhere that had heavy snowfall, you'd find an abominaball. During the day, they looked just like boulders that had been snowed on. Just big mounds of snow that were mostly ball shaped. But if you got too close, they’d attack. And during the night, the creatures moved and hunted.

It was this facet which made them most dangerous to explorers and adventurers, because they moved with preternatural quietness, thanks to the snow, and they were just so big. The lecturer had several chalkboards ready to go over the physical structure of the abominaball. It was definitely an odd creature. Mostly round, like a giant ball, it had a massive mouth that almost bisected the ball. Short gullet, and lots of its organs were actually stored in the body above the mouth. It didn't really have arms, but it did have fourteen sets of legs that were placed around the creatures' body, almost like a spine. So no matter the direction the creature was facing, some legs would be on the ground. It didn't seem to have a predilection for up or down, so it could roll if it wanted to. Very weird creature.

Thankfully, after three lectures, even Nadya's attention waned, and she decided she needed a break. So we went into the monster display room to see the creatures there. Especially because it was going to be skammarrunna feeding time very soon.

We swung by a table of food and picked up some bites. Small sandwiches with exotic meats on them, and spicy mustard slathered all over. Tasty. But it was a little odd to be eating at the same time as this giant creature stared at me from between the bars of its cage. I'd never been keen on going to zoos in the old world, and this was remarkably similar to a zoo. Except I had the feeling these creatures would be significantly more dangerous. The thing watching me while I ate looked a lot like a tiger, except it was green and black instead of orange and black. And it was bigger. Also, it had a flower on the end of its tail that had a wicked looking spike sticking through the 'petals.' The nameplate at the bottom said the creature was a skogur, a temperate mid-empire skogur to get specific. The two guards for the cage were standing behind stanchions that roped off a section about ten feet out from the cage, which made me think the skogur could snap its tail out about ten feet.

Nadya saw some movement happening further into the room, so she dropped her sandwich and grabbed my hand. It caused my mouth to miss my own sandwich, and I got yanked, sandwich smeared, along behind her.

It was skammarrunna feeding time.

If you didn't know it was a monster, you'd have looked at the cage and wondered why someone had bothered to rake up a pile of leaves and put it there. The cage itself was about twenty feet by twenty feet, so on the bigger side for the displays. And the pile of leaves took up most of the cage. The floor was covered. A portion of the top had been removed, and was hanging above by a rope. Then I noticed a goat being lowered into the cage. A live goat. I felt an upwell of remorse, that we were watching this poor goat get sacrificed. And yet, we were learning, right? It wasn't just for entertainment value.

Nadya had her notebook out, and was furiously scribbling without looking at the page, either drawing or writing what she was seeing.

The goat struggled a bit as it went through the cage opening, and then the nightmare portion of the evening happened.

There was an explosion of movement. It first looked like the leaves flew back and away, which revealed the underbelly of the skammarrunna. We saw a dark, almost viscous snail-like flesh. There were shorter tendrils, maybe two to three feet long, everywhere. In a sense, it looked like the goat was being attacked by a horrific dark-brown mop. Or a shag carpet. Except that there were definitely hooks among the tendrils, not just on the ends, but a bit like suckers on an octopus tentacle. The goat disappeared under the skammarrunna, and the pile of leaves appeared as normal again. Except for a very brief, and gross, crunch.

Then, total stillness again. The whole attack took maybe two seconds, at the outside.

The rope that had been tied to the goat was still in the cage. After a tug, it seemed like it was trapped there, so one of the handlers just cut the rope and let it fall. They lowered the top piece back into place, and then we returned to looking like a group of people standing around looking at a pile of leaves.

Suddenly, I had absolutely zero desire to go into the forest. Ever.

"That was terrifying," Nadya said. But her facial expression kind of said otherwise. She looked exhilarated. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was smiling.

The rest of the cages were more ordinary monsters, which I realize is an odd thing to say. There were red, green, and yellow slimes. Things that looked like slimes with legs. A tank of water filled with fish-type creatures.

It was all very interesting. I was having fun. It was also interesting to see that most people there didn't keep the same sort of work schedule that Nadya did, because she was yawning by the time we sat down to listen to another lecture.

"You need to get some rest,” I said.

"I'm fine," she replied, leaning against me and closing her eyes.

"Yeah, you totally look it."

She smiled, but didn't open her eyes.

"Trolls," the man at the front said. "Scourge of civilization."

"I think I could go to sleep," Nadya said.

"Not a fan of trolls?" I asked.

"They're gross," she said, getting to her feet.

We made a surreptitious exit, and I escorted her home. Which, in this case, meant walking her to the main stairs.

An armed guard stood menacingly at the bottom of the stairs. But at seeing Nadya, he stepped aside so she could walk up.

"Claude," Nadya said to the guard, "do you have a guest medal?"

"Yes, ma'am," the man said, and he produced a small silver medallion on a blue ribbon from a pouch on his belt.

She took the medal from Claude, and we walked to the next landing up before she handed it to me.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Marks you as an official guest of the family. Means you won't get thrown out if a guard comes across you."

"Ah, might be handy," I said.

"I guessed you probably wouldn’t leave quite yet. Maybe you need to go visit someone's brother?"

No secrets amongst this group. Which could be a good thing. At least people were talking to each other.

"That's the plan," I said.

"It's that way," she said, pointing to the northeast. “Good luck."

She stood there.

I stood there.

She smiled at me. She was waiting for something.

I swallowed hard. Hesitating. Because that's what I do. There was an easy answer. An expected response. But here I was, freezing on the spot.

This beautiful girl couldn't be interested in me, right? Despite all the evidence to the contrary, despite her pseudo-uncle hiring the anonymous-thief me to ensure regular me had no interest in the girl, she didn't like me that way.

Right?

The momentary pause went on for way longer than it should have otherwise.

You’re being ridiculous.

I kissed her.

It wasn't the type of kiss they made movies about, nor was it the kind you got at the end of the eighth grade dance. Her lips were warm and inviting, and she leaned into it. Stupid or not, hesitant or not, this was what we were doing.

I'd pay the consequences later.

Congratulations! You’ve completed a QUEST!

Rebuild the Guild VII - Nadya Glaton

You accompanied Nadya to the Monster’s Ball

Reward for success: Nadya will join the guild

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

It was just the one kiss. Not quite chaste, but certainly nothing worth more than a deep blush over. Though I did blush.

Nadya smiled, deeply. But she didn't say another thing — she just winked, and darted up the stairs, picking up her huge dress so she wouldn’t trip on it as she ran. It made me think of Cinderella for a moment, until I realized that other than running, stairs, and a big dress, it didn't have anything to do with that fairy tale. The princess, somewhat literally, was running away from me, the commoner, up the stairs, and there was absolutely no mystery about any of our identities. Frankly, we probably knew more about each other than anyone else.

I walked back down the stairs, and as I took that last step, I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder.

"One," Claude said, "put the medal on."

I did.

"Two," he continued, "treat her right."

"Roger roger," I said.

He looked a bit confused.

"Which way is the exit?" I asked.

He pointed to the massive door where people were actively entering and exiting, and had the look on his face like I was a bit of a dumbass.

"Is there one that leads to the, uh, gardens and stuff?"

"Going to have a moonlit walk by yourself in the maze?" he asked.

"Maybe."

Claude frowned, but he did give me directions.

Once outside, through an exit that didn't have a host of other people milling about, and certainly no carriages jockeying to pick up their owners, I got my cloak out, and pulled it over myself. Time to be sneaky.

Which wasn't exactly true, because I did have the medal which meant I could wander about the grounds freely.

I angled to the northeast, and started walking.

The grounds were massive. And reasonably well lit, provided you stayed on the path. There were Legionnaires about, likely the only ones remaining in Glaton. They formed the palace guard, but as soon as they saw the glint of the metal of my medal, they let me go without even a token inquiry. I had to take a few detours around buildings. Some of which were clearly residences. Definitely one was a barracks of sorts. There was a big stable and riding yard. Lots of fountains, gardens, leisure spots. There was even just a wide open lawn with a singular large tree and a small building full of picnic supplies. It was certainly nice to be royalty.

Finally, though, I came to a set of walls. Big, tough military-style castle walls that were made of thick stone and looked imposing. These weren't the same walls that went around the rest of the Imperial Palace or its grounds. This was a fortress. One that was likely built as a last-stand for the Imperial Family.

Being that there were no guards on the walls or at the large open doors leading into the place, I just walked in. And while it struck me as odd, I’d been told the place was an impenetrable fortress and that the gates were closed, I also didn’t want to question my good luck too hard.

It’s not like I was waltzing out in the open. I more sidled along the edges, staying in the shadows and pausing every so often to make sure no one saw me. I didn't see anyone, which wasn't necessarily a sign that I remained unseen, but no alarms got raised. Going through the archway, I saw another set of heavy stone doors on the other end. This was a killbox. If anyone broke down the outside doors, they'd pay a heavy price just walking into the fortress.

The inside of the fortress was no different than outside: militaristic and functional. Everything was made of the same thick stone, and there were plenty of defensive positions. A keep rose up in the center of the fortress, going sixty or seventy feet up. At the top were tall crenellations, providing plenty of shooting spots. The keep was dotted with murder holes, but few actual windows. There was a singular door at the bottom providing entrance to the keep. Smaller structures were built up against the walls, like a smithy, where a forge fire still glowed, despite the hour.

I needed to find the stables. Since Godfrey told me the stables were along the north wall, and I saw bits of hay and straw on the ground leading generally northward, I figured that was as good a place to head as any.

I followed the base of the wall and stayed as much in the shadow as I could, heading north. I finally saw signs of life, as two men walked from the wall towards the keep. They weren't wearing armor, but they moved like men who fought constantly. Heavily muscled, lots of scars, and just a mean, competent aura about them. Thingmen. There was definitely a different air to them than any of the Legionnaires I'd met. They felt more like killers than defenders.

I couldn't hear what the men were talking about, but something was bothering them, and they were arguing. As soon as they turned the corner, I was moving again. I made the corner of the fortress, and looked up to see a tall round tower.

There were men and women coming out of the tower, heading towards the keep.

I ducked back into the shadows as much as I could, flattening myself out and willing myself to be invisible.

The men and women passed by incredibly close, and I heard more than one person muttering about the shift change. Wondering what was happening, who had left, that sort of a thing. Something was going on, I just had no idea what.

As soon as they’d all moved past, I leaned out to check around. On the far side, from the other tower, I saw more soldiers heading towards the keep. It seemed like there might be a meeting happening. However, in the middle of the back wall, I saw my destination. The big double doors were definitely the mark of a barn. Or a stable.

I moved quickly through the shadows until I got to the doors. They were huge, easily twenty feet tall. Above them was an opening leading into the hay loft. A rope attached to a pulley hung down to the ground, with one end laying next to the other. I didn't see any other easy entrances into the place, so I decided the bale pulley was the answer. I gave the rope a quick tug, to see how loud the pulley would squeak.

Quiet as can be.

At least the Thingmen kept their gear well maintained.

Quickly, I yanked on the rope until the hook on the other end got caught in the pulley up top. Then, I just climbed up the rope. Which was not as easy as it sounds. Every pull up, I had to make sure I didn't slip. My hands were aching by the time I got to the top, but I got a notification:

Cool Beans, you’ve leveled up the skill Climbing. You’ll find newer, smaller handholds and footholds, and they will be easier to grab onto!

So that was nice. Sort of.

The hay loft was, as expected, full of hay. There was a bit of room between the top of the pile and the ceiling, and I managed to squeeze through there for a few yards until the pile started coming back down, leading to an open space on the floor of the hayloft around a smaller door.

I opened the door just a little, and saw a walkway. One side of the walkway looked down into the stable itself, while the other had regular looking doors at even intervals. There were lights on in the stables, and I suppose the designer of the place assumed that'd be enough to light the walkway as well. But it was dark. I couldn't see into the individual stalls below, but I could see plenty of stall doors, as well as stations that made me think I was looking at horse storage. And yet, it's not like Godfrey said his brother worked with horses. He was a BeastMaster. And so I was insanely curious what creatures might be behind the doors below.

I tiptoed down the hallway to the first door and peeked through the keyhole. A bedroom. Not large, not by any stretch of the imagination, but it seemed homey enough. There was a bed along one side of the wall, a dresser on the other, and a small window opposite the door over a little writing desk.

A man was in the bed, sleeping, and, from the sound of it, maybe had a cold. He was loud. Thing was, I couldn't really see him, and there was no nameplate on the door. It could be Hamilton.

I grabbed my lockpick tools, and went to work.

Click. Almost instant. That brought a pretty big smile to my face.

I crawled into the room, moving slow and quiet, then got close to the man.

Skinny. Giant hooked nose.

Godfrey had said when I saw Hamilton, I'd know. This guy didn't make me think of Godfrey at all. Probably not Hamilton.

Back out to the hallway and onto the next door.

Same procedure with a similar outcome.

Repeat three more times.

At room six, there was just a hint of light coming out of the keyhole. A man sat at the desk, a candle next to him. It looked a bit like he was writing.

He heard something, or sensed me in some fashion, because he turned and looked back at the door.

I scooted back, a bit shocked at what I saw.

It was Godfrey. Or, you know, a dude who looked exactly like Godfrey.

Very slowly, I inched back to the door, and peeked inside.

Godfrey-not-Godfrey was shaking his head, and then bent back over his writing.

I tried his door.

It wasn't locked.

So I pushed it open, again, slowly and silently, wishing I had a spell to make things totally quiet. Then I stepped inside the room, and very carefully closed the door behind me.

It clicked closed, and the man whirled around, a dagger in his hand. His eyes went wide at seeing me, and he pushed his chair out of the way as he got to his feet and somehow grabbed a sword at the same time. Suddenly there was a blade at my neck.

I brought my hands up so he could see I held no weapons.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Hamilton?" I asked. "Is your name Hamilton?"

He looked confused and concerned, but he didn't thrust the sword through my neck, so, minor victory there.

"Do I know you?" he asked.

"I'm a friend of Godfrey’s,” I said. “Your brother sent me."

He waited a moment, then tossed his sword on his bed. It bounced once, and I grimaced. Looked like a hard mattress. Hamilton sat down at his desk, and shook his head.

"Godfrey," he said softly. "Doesn't give up, does he?”

He pointed at the desk, and I saw a letter there. I leaned over and read a little of what Hamilton had written. It was to his brother, and was explaining the difficult situation he faced, where he wasn’t sure he wanted to remain with the Thingmen, but that the leadership of the group decided that the Thingmen needed to remain together until they’d exacted vengeance on whomever had killed the Emperor. And it was something being enforced, the gates were being kept closed and locked. He hoped Godfrey would understand, and then it was blank because I’d come in. There was a small bin next to the desk, and it was full of rejected letters.

“No, in my experience Godfrey seems to excel in being stubborn,” I said, taking the chance to sit down on the bed.

"I'm assuming you're here to get me to leave."

"That's right."

"Does he even understand what it is I do? What this means?"

"He probably does," I said. "He seems like he's got a good head on his shoulders, like he probably understands a lot more than anyone gives him credit for.”

"Do you know what I do here?"

"No clue. I don't know what the Thingmen are, either, if I’m being honest.”

"It's not a thing that can easily be left behind—“

"A thing. Heh."

"Shut up."

"Look, man, you were a Thingman, right?"

"I am a—”

"No, were. At least as far as I thought, you pledged your loyalty, sword, and service to someone, right?"

"Yeah, the Emperor."

“Exactly. So we’re on the same page. But where's the Emperor now?”

He looked out the window, at the night beyond. He didn't have an answer.

"Godfrey doesn't know what's going on because you guys aren't supposed to be here anymore," I said. "According to everyone, y'all are supposed to be boozin' it up and living life down by the ports, if you know what I mean."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Engaging in sexual intercourse with willing ladies and gents for monies."

"Ah. Those ports."

"This is supposed to be party time, right?"

He nodded once, then shook his head. "No, not this time."

"Why?"

"Because it wasn't right."

"What wasn't? The Emperor's death?"

"He was killed."

I opened and closed my mouth. Did I tell him truth and mention I'd been there that night?

"Hamilton," I said, "do you want to be here?"

He snapped his gaze onto me.

"What kind of question is that? I have a duty—“

"You had a duty. You fulfilled it. Now you have the chance to leave, to go live a life. And your brother is asking if you'll join him. And your sister. And I don’t know about the rest of the men and women in this fortress, I don’t know about those who wear your uniform, but the little I’ve heard, I don’t think you’re really like them. Are you?”

He frowned, but he didn’t say no.

“You’re a BeastMaster, right?”

He nodded.

“You came here to work with animals. To make the Thingmen better with your skills. And I ask you, if they decide the right thing to do is seek vengeance, what is it you will do with your skill set?”

He turned and looked out the window, then finally asked: "You have no idea about anything of our family, do you?"

“No,” I said. “But I do know that if I had any of my family left, I'd do anything I could to spend more time with them."

Now that wasn't exactly true, by which I mean it was basically a lie because my family was awful. But it sounded like what someone who loved their family might want to hear.

He looked at me, and nodded a few times, like he was actually ingesting my words and doing some heavy thinking.

"It would be nice to see my nieces and nephews," he mused.

"They're fun kids," I said, even though I'd only met them once.

"But what would I do out there?"

"What do you do in here?"

"I am a BeastMaster."

“I know that’s your Choice, I don’t exactly know what that actually entails.”

“I tame and train wild creatures. Any creature.”

“I mean, that sounds like a useful skill, I’m sure there's work for BeastMasters out there."

"Maybe, but not in the city. Not in any way where I'd be able to afford to live near enough to actually see my brother or sister. Or anyone. I'd have to go out into the wilds. Or a city like Torkminton."

“Tell you what? You come with me, and I’ll set you up with a place to live and a job as a BeastMaster. and if you don’t like it, I’ll buy a damn ticket to Torkminton, okay?”

"No offense, little elf boy, but you sound overly generous and a liar."

"Guilty on both counts," I said, "but only one right now. Godfrey and his family live in one of my buildings. As does your sister."

"You're the landlord?"

"I am."

"What's the business? Where you need a BeastMaster?"

"A thieves’ guild."

He blinked a few times. Then he started laughing. It was small at first, then louder and louder until it was a true belly laugh and tears started leaking out of his eyes.

"Didn't think it was that funny," I said.

"The absurdity of it all," he managed to squeeze out between breaths.

"You might have me there."

Someone thumped on the wall, and Hamilton got himself under control again. He shook his head.

“’Tis a strange thing, elfboy," he finally said. “But I been wallowing here since the Emperor died. We all have been. Last bit of hope left with the commander. He said there was one last mission for the Emperor: to save his daughter. That we were to hold the fortress until he returned with the princess. Left this morning, he did. I volunteered for the mission. Hells, we all did. But I wasn't chosen. Straight warriors only. The upper echelon of fighters going off to battle. And those of us here are stuck to hold the fort. But I been thinking about who I am and why I'm here. About duty and honor. I swore to serve the Emperor. To keep him and his safe and protected. To bring honor on his name and on his throne. I didn't swear to keep this building safe."

"Your family needs you," I said. "I don't know how much you guys hear about what's going on out in the rest of the city, but kids are disappearing left and right. Godfrey is trying to make sure your niece and nephew stay safe. As is Matthew. As am I. But we can always use more help. Especially someone who's an elite warrior like you."

"Maybe it's time, then. Maybe it's time to protect my family."

“So you’ll come with me?"

He paused, then nodded once.

"I served out my oath," he said. "I will come with you. Serve my family. Maybe punch my brother in the face for sending you instead of coming himself."

"To be fair," I said with a smile, "your brother doesn't have the right skillset for this."

He stood up from his desk, and slid a chest out from under his bed, right between my legs.

"Ha," he said, opening the chest and pulling clothes out.

"And as long as we're making big decisions, you want to join my guild?"

"A thieves’ guild?" he asked, packing his belongings in a small sack.

"I mean, that's what it started as, but it's going to be more like just a guild of good people. And not to sway you, but your brother is joining."

Hamilton stopped. "Joining? As in he hasn't yet?"

"No. He made me getting you out a contingent to joining."

"Hells, I'll join right now, just to beat Godfrey to it."

You have been offered a quest:

Rebuild the Guild X - Hamilton Hayes

Initiate Hamilton prior to initiating Godfrey.

Reward for success: Hamilton will join the guild

Penalty for failure (or refusal): potentially the death of the guild

Yes/No

"Hamilton," I said, "I think I'm going to like you."

Hamilton puttered around his little room, packing his things. He didn't have much, just a few odds and ends, a bit of clothing, four books. And then he was ready to go.

"You leave the rope in place?" he asked.

“The one from the hayloft?”

“No, the one you used to climb the wall."

"I just went through the gates."

"The gates? They're closed."

"Um, they're open now," I said.

"What?"

"I walked in through open gates. I was ready to climb the wall, but I didn’t have to.”

He looked confused, then blew out his candle, and opened the window. He leaned out and looked around.

"People in the yard," he said. "Something’s happening.”

I headed over to the door, thinking I’d hop outside and take a peek myself, but I heard footsteps on the wooden walkway outside. I held up a hand to Hamilton, and pointed to the door. Then I looked through the keyhole.

There was a man with a sword out. He walked by, and another man came along. And another and another. I lost count, but after a moment, there were two men standing out front of the door, one with a big warhammer, and the other with a sword.

I crawled back over to Hamilton, who was leaning against the wall so he could look out the window from an angle, theoretically remaining unseen. I stood up so I was on the other side of the window, and got a look myself. Lots of people wearing armor and holding weapons. I couldn’t make out any emblem or color. I got Hamilton's attention, and pointed at the door. Then I held up two fingers, and mimed pulling a sword.

He nodded, and slowly set his bag down on the floor. He padded across the floor, and reached behind the bed, pulling out a short sword. Not even a sword, more like a really big knife. He slid the sheath off, and let it fall on the bed.

I pulled him, gently, over to the side of the wall with the door where we'd be covered when the door opened. Given the lack of any sound from outside, I had a thought to what might be planned.

The two of us stood there, waiting. Weapons out.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

A bell pealed out in the night. Once. Twice. The third ring was muffled by the crashing sound of a hammer slamming into the door, and the door slamming inward. The man with the sword leapt through the open door, stabbing down through the bed in one smooth motion.

There were grunts and screams of pain echoing out through the night, as well as inside the stables.

"Missing," Swordsman said.

"One missing!" Hammerman called out from the hallway.

Others voices called out successes. Death had been dealt.

Hamilton tensed up next to me, and I could feel him ready a strike.

I put my arm over his, holding his wrist down.

He glared at me, but I shook my head. It wasn't the time.

The swordsman stepped back out through the door into the hallway, and started talking to his compadre out there. They weren’t trying to be quiet anymore. We could hear all the soldiers walking by, their boots feeling like they were thundering against the floors.

As the footsteps drifted into the distance, I looked over at Hamilton.

Veins were standing out on his neck and face.

"Hold it," I whispered. "This is not the time."

"If not now, when?" he asked.

"I don't know, how about when we aren't outnumbered a thousand to one? That might work a little better."

He grunted at me, then sidled over to the window. He peeked out.

"They're heading towards the keep," he said.

"How many are there?" I asked.

"More than I can count."

"The way I see it," I said, "we have a few options, none of which are particularly pleasant. From what I understand, you probably prefer option one, which is we just muscle up and fight our way out of here. Kill everyone we can and let the gods fight over the dead."

"Wouldn't mind it."

"Frankly, I think we'll wind up among the dead, but that might be okay for you. Option two, we sneak out of here. That's more my preference, although I have the feeling as a BeastMaster, you're not exactly the sneaky type."

"Maybe I chose BeastMaster to disguise how sneaky I really am."

"Maybe we can sass each other later, once we're out of this mess."

"Maybe."

"Somewhat a subset of option two, let's call it two-b, I have this bag of stasis, and I think maybe you can go in it, and I can sneak you out that way."

"You sure I won't suffocate?"

"Reasonably."

“So that’s a no?"

"I have no real information about it, but my current working theory is that no, you will not suffocate.”

"And we'd be trying it out on me?"

"Yes."

"You got a two-a?”

"We sneak together. I go first, you go second, we try not to be seen so we don't have to resort to option one."

"And we have to get Snüt."

"Snoot?"

"Snüt. Creature I've been training."

"Something small?"

"Smallish."

"You know, it's the ish that worries me."

I was about to step out into the hallway when I heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps on the wooden floorboards. I motioned at Hamilton, and we slipped back against the wall with the door in it.

A swordsman came in, and pointed at the empty bed.

"No one was here," he said.

That's when I heard a second voice.

"He wasn't cleared to leave, and there's no record of him leaving. He must still be here."

"Yes, sir," the swordsman said.

"Check the building. He might be holed up with one of the animals."

"What do we do with the animals?"

"See which ones are tamed, and take them. The others, kill them."

"Of course."

Both Swordsman and other dude turned and left the room. This time, I followed close behind, wanting to get a better look at our opponents.

I pulled my KrakenTooth dagger out of its sheath, and held it ready.

I probably should have looked before I figuratively leapt because as I stepped into the hallway, Swordsman wasn't yet walking. He was standing at the edge of the walkway looking over into the stables. He must have caught a bit of movement in the corner of his vision, or, you know, I wasn't as quiet as I thought, whatever the case, he turned around and saw me. His eyes went wide, and he was about to say something, but I put my hand over his mouth and jammed my dagger into his stomach.

He made an 'oomph' sort of a noise, and I felt the hot rush of his blood around my hand.

"What did you say?" came the voice of the second man.

I turned to see a posh-looking man wearing very nice clothes staring at me.

There was a moment of confusion between the two of us, I think, as we tried to figure out both what was going on, and also what we were supposed to do in this situation. He had no obvious weapon, and as soon as he realized this, he turned and bolted down the hall. There was no way I could catch him. Unless...

Technically, the KrakenTooth dagger was submerged. Sure it was in blood and not water, but where were the boundaries of the magic?

I activated the special feature of the KrakenTooth dagger, willing it to drag me thirty feet through the water.

GG! You’ve killed a Human (lvl 21 Guard).

You’ve earned 1200 XP! What a mighty hero you are.

What happened next has one of the top spots in the list Horrible and Disgusting Things Which Clyde Hatchett has Lived Through. Because it did work. In a way. I was pulled thirty feet, shooting forward. But I was pulled through what the KrakenTooth considered the liquid medium. In this case, the swordsman. My entire body went through the Swordsman's body in a truly grotesque explosion of blood, guts, and a lot of other internal elements suddenly made external.

It was a shocked me who wound up with my KrakenTooth knife sticking through the back of the running man. His lungs rattled a little, blood spouted out of his mouth, and his body hung on my arm, somewhere between life and death.

"Who.... are... you...?" he wheezed.

"Wouldn't do you any good to know," I whispered back.

I angled my arm down, and let him slide off. He exhaled his last breath, and fell into a crumpled mess on the floor.

GG! You’ve killed a Human (lvl 25 Noble).

You’ve earned 1250 XP! What a mighty hero you are.

I spat other people's blood from my mouth, and I wiped my face with my sleeve. Which did absolutely nothing, because my sleeve was completely covered with blood. And chunks. I barely managed to hold my bile back, and immediately began tearing my clothes off. It was simply too much.

"Are you getting naked?" Hamilton asked. "What in the hells are you doing?"

Then, he must have gotten a better look at the surrounding scene, because he gagged, and asked: "What in the hells did you do?"

"It wasn't my fault," I said. "I didn't think that would happen."

"What was supposed to happen?"

"Just an enchantment on the weapon that lets me move quickly."

"And what? Like, through people?"

"That was an unexpected side effect of the enchantment."

"I should say so."

"Which one of these guys might have clothes that fit me?" I asked.

He sized me up, then pointed to the door I was nearest.

"Thompkins. He's about— was about your size."

I poked my head into the room, saw the figure dead in the bed. Any remorse I felt for the gruesome murder I'd committed vanished. Into the room, and I pulled out the chest from beneath the bed. I knocked off the cheap lock with the pommel of my dagger, and then flipped the lid open. At the top was a pouch of coins, which I took. Not like Thompkins needed it now. And I was taking in another mouth to feed. Then a journal, which I left. Below the journal were civilian clothes. Basic and scratchy wool garments, with a somewhat nice green cloak to top it all off.

At the bottom of the chest were what I guess were the Glaton equivalent to girly mags. Girly drawings. Not bad, but Thompkins definitely had some kinks.

I splashed a little water from the pitcher on the dresser onto my face, did a little cleaning, at least as much as I could, and I got dressed. Thompkins was a little shorter, but a little stocker than me. So his clothes weren't perfect — I looked like I was ready for a flood — but it was better than being naked for a frantic flight through the city.

Back in the hallway, there was no sign of Hamilton. I figured he'd gone off to grab Snüt. I wanted to know who we were up against, so I looted the corpses. First the remains of the swordsman, which I mostly left alone because it was a bit difficult to find any element of his outfit large enough to hold anything. But the nobleman had more things, naturally.

There was a chain around his neck with a small talisman on the end. He had no weapons on his person, save a small knife hidden in each of his bracers. One of the blades had a green sheen to it, so I left that on the body, not wanting to deal with poison. If it was poison. Might not have been. There was also a pouch of coins, which I took, and a pouch that contained a few random items. A tiny journal about the size of a matchbook, a ring of keys, and a small metal shield or badge that looked like it had been worn regularly. It was something I recognized, but couldn't place.

While I was kneeling over the corpse and thinking about the badge, where I'd seen it, I heard the sharp clang of metal on metal. And again. Over and over. Then some shouts.

I stood up and looked over the railing, and spotted Hamilton. With some new friends.

By friends, however, I mean more of the killers. There were five men with swords out. In the light below, I could make out their uniforms a bit better, but it wasn't something I'd seen before. Yellow tunics under dark armor. They had on helmets that covered nearly all of their face. It was a good way to be anonymous, I supposed. It made me wish I had some armor.

Hamilton had his big knife thing out, and was backing up towards the stable. He didn’t have much room to go, and bumped against a stall door.

The horse inside whinnied.

"Nowhere left to run, Thingman," one of the men in yellow said.

As befits a first impulse, my initial plan was crap. But because I didn't have a second idea right away, I went with plan one.

Quickly, I tapped into my mana, and I cast raise dead on the corpse of the nobleman. I poured some extra mana into it, hoping it would speed the process up.

There were a few feints below. No one seemed willing to engage Hamilton one-on-one, so I think they were trying to find an opening to all attack at once.

My undead minion rose to a standing position, and his dead eyes looked at me. Gross. Dealing with the undead is undoubtedly gross.

"Kill the men in yellow," I said, pointing down below, hoping that the zombie I just made could still see in color.

The zombie didn't pause. He grabbed the railing and vaulted over.

"No time like the present," I said, and I, too, grabbed the railing and vaulted over.

Having gone first, the zombie hit first, and without much in the way of poise. He just sort of slammed on one of the men. I, at least, led with the dagger, spearing through my target's helmet and compressing him to the floor.

I rolled up to my feet, and struck out with the dagger, stabbing out to the right.

The soldier there got his sword up in time to deflect the KrakenTooth, but I grabbed his tunic with my hand and slammed my forehead into his nose.

Remember when I said they had full coverage helmets? Well I didn't.

It hurt like hell, and the guy just laughed.

I stomped on his insole, and he stopped laughing.

A scream sounded behind me. The zombie was getting his munch on.

I parried a sword thrust with the krakentooth, the steel scraping along the tooth with a skin-crawling sound. Then I cast flamedart right in the guy's face.

Now the full coverage helmet went in my favor, because the guy's face went up in flames, which promptly set his hair alight, and he couldn't get his helmet off. He stumbled away as his head burned, and I jumped back as another blade came at me. It sliced right through poor Thompkins cloak and shirt, but it didn't break the skin.

My new opponent had his tongue sticking out as he smiled at me. He was enjoying the fight.

I heard clanging behind me, which meant Hamilton was holding his own. And the subtle groans of the zombie mixed in with the shrill shrieks of the burner. For the moment, I only needed to worry about the man in front of me.

He feinted another thrust, but I wasn't bothering with swordplay if I didn't need to. I just reached my hand out, poured mana through my arm, and vicious wrenched the man's humerus. He clearly had no experience dealing with magic, because there was only the slightest pause before his bone ripped out of his flesh and smacked into my hand. He gave me a horrified look, his mouth open revealing a lot of rotting teeth.

I swung the bone around in a beautiful arc, blood slinging off in a perfect spray until It smashed into the tongue-man's mouth. His head snapped around, and his brown teeth flew from his ruined mouth like a demon's dice game. I flipped the bone in my hand, and turned around to see who was left.

Hamilton was breathing hard, and bleeding in a few places. The zombie was down, but not out, still crawling on the ground.

The boys in yellow were all dead or dying, and I flipped through the notifications quickly to make sure. Nothing of note, the only Choice any of them had was Guard.

I severed my tie to the zombie, and the former nobleman returned to being a corpse. I threw the bone on the ground as Hamilton stabbed a barely breathing man through the back.

"You hurt?" I asked, already running my self-healing spell to get myself back up to tip top shape.

Hamilton nodded. ”Nothing that won't heal."

"You get Snüt?"

"Down there," he said. "But you got a plan to get us out of here?"

"I will by the time you get Snüt."

He nodded, spat out some blood, and ran down the stables, holding his side tight.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

I walked towards the large doors that led out of the stable, and I peeked through. There was still activity happening in the keep, the sounds of battle echoed out across the stone grounds of the fortress. But the gates were wide open, leading right into the city. Two men, or women, stood silhouetted in between us and freedom. A rather paltry guard.

"Elfboy," I heard from behind me. "I require assistance."

I looked over my shoulder, and saw Hamilton next to an open stable.

"Are there horses left here?" I asked.

He nodded. "Why?"

I walked back his way, and saw a lot of blood coming out.

"How bad are you hurt?" I asked.

"I'll make it," he said, obviously lying.

My first attempt at healing someone with magic had gone incredibly poorly, so I needed a new trick. I looked down at the five corpses, and went through them quickly. Sure enough, two healing potions. They weren't big ones, but better than a poke in the eye. I brought them over to Hamilton.

"Thanks, elfboy," he said. "Get Snüt out."

And then, while he administered them to himself, I peeked inside at Snüt. I don't really know what I expected, but it was not Snüt. There were some really big eyes in the middle of a feline head. Huge ears. Massive paws. And wings. It was about the size of a baby bear. More or less. Just with every indication it was going to wind up being much bigger. Much bigger.

"Uh, is it going to bite me?" I asked.

"Probably not."

“Aces.”

I walked into the stable, my hands spread out, speaking nonsense words softly.

The creature tilted its head as it looked at me. Then it sprang.

I froze.

Snüt slammed into me, and then sort of glommed on, getting its front legs around my neck and wrapping me in his wings. Which were not covered in feathers, nor was it just skin like a bat’s. It was more like a very fine fur. Almost like a velvet.

"He likes you," Hamilton said helpfully.

"I can't see."

Hamilton got Snüt off of me, mostly, and then attached a harness to the creature.

"What is that?" I asked.

“A type of griffon."

"Ah."

"Just a baby though, very impressionable and tame-able."

Hamilton got Snüt to pull his wings in, and then perch on my back. Which was a crushing weight.

"He likes being on someone," Hamilton said.

"And you're out of commission?"

“Do you know how to saddle horses?"

"I'll hold the baby."

"Thank you."

For what it's worth, Hamilton was damn good with horses, not just beasts. He pulled four horses out of their stalls, and had pads and saddles on two of them in what I thought might have been seconds.

"You know how to ride?" Hamilton asked.

"No, but there's no time to learn. The gate is still open, only two guards. Also, why four horses?"

"Well we need two, and I like these other ones. I'm lead," he said, getting up in his saddle. "I'll charge the guards, you follow behind. Which way is your home?"

"South. In Old Town."

"We ride."

He was about to kick his mount when he looked over and saw me trying to haul myself up on the saddle with Snüt digging his claws into my torso so he didn't fall off.

"Foot in stirrup. Then leg over saddle."

"It's the moving weight on my head that's making this problematic."

"Snüt," Hamilton barked. "Horse."

Snüt hopped off me, shoving my face into the horse's hot flank, and landed on the back of the horse I was trying to mount. It made the horse a little nervous, but Hamilton made a sort of shushing sound, and the horse calmed right down.

Then, embarrassing myself only slightly more, I got onto the horse, my feet in the stirrups, and I held on. But as soon as I was in place, Snüt hopped back on my shoulder.

"Toss me your reins," Hamilton said. "And hold on."

I did so. Notably, so did Snüt. Which meant his claws were digging into me.

Hamilton kicked his horse, and we were off.

We burst out the big stable doors and galloped across the stones of the courtyard, creating an awful racket. The guards at the gate looked up, but by the time they got weapons around, we were crashing down on them, thousands of pounds of trained warhorse crushing the feeble humans. And then we were out, careening down the streets.

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

Here's the thing: riding horses is definitely the best way to move through Glaton. Barring any magical means, of course. But riding is incredibly uncomfortable. At least for an untrained idiot like me. And no amount of begging Snüt got him to let go. I managed to guide us, from behind Hamilton and his horse, through the twisty streets of Old Town to the backyard of the bakery, and through the stable.

I was expecting one carriage to be in the backyard, the still-to-be-fixed-up KidnapWagon, but there was a second coach there. One much nicer than our cage on wheels, one with the Imperial crest on it. It was, in fact, the one I'd taken a ride in that day.

"What's that doing here?" Hamilton asked.

"I have a friend in the Royal Family."

"Good friend to have.”

"I think so."

We put the horses in the stable, and by we I mean that Hamilton took the saddles off, brushed them down, and put the horses in the stable. Thankfully, he peeled the griffon off of me, and let Snüt attach to himself.

Five minutes of quick work, and he was ready to go, hand on the hilt of his saber.

"You need a minute?" I asked.

"For what?" he asked.

"Grieving your friends?"

He stared at me. Then his eyes flitted away for a half second before returning, harder than before.

"It will be a thing I do on my own time," he said. "In my own time. Take me to my brother, or take me to the next hurdle between my brother and me.”

"This way," I said.

We went through the back door of the bakery. As soon as we were inside, I heard voices inside the kitchen. Light leaked out under the door.

I pointed to the kitchen door, and mimed walking quietly.

Hamilton nodded, and drew his saber from his sheath.

I had my KrakenTooth dagger out, and let mana flow down my arm. I was reasonably sure it'd just be Nadya talking to Matthew or something, but I didn’t want to take chances.

Three feet from the door, and it opened, light spilling out into bakery as a whole, blinding me.

"Clyde?!" Nadya cried, and someone, her, threw their arms around me in a tight embrace.

I got my eyes open and blinked a few times before I realized what was going on. It was almost exactly like what had happened after I’d returned from being killed over and over again. All the people I knew were gathered in the bakery’s kitchen planning what to do because I’d gotten lost.

"People, meet Hamilton," I said. "Hamilton, I think your brother is here somewhere."

Congratulations! You’ve completed a QUEST!

Rebuild the Guild VIII - Godfrey Hayles

You convinced Godfrey’s brother, Hamilton, to leave the Thingmen and join his family.

Reward for success: Godfrey will join the guild

Nice. That made eight. I could take my time finishing off Matthew's quest.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

It took a few minutes to get everything sorted out, but before long we had the whole group, as it were, down in the Heavy Purse. My whole prospective guild was there.

Titus and his wife Penelope were behind the bar, as per usual. Nadya and Shae were at opposite ends of the bar, with Klara sitting next to Shae. Mornax, Lothar, Nox, and Leofing were at a table, pulling apart a steaming roast chicken. Godfrey and Hamilton sat next to each other at the bar, looking so alike at the moment that it was disconcerting. Twins, man. And finally, Matthew stood by the fire, arms crossed.

I pulled over a chair, and stood on it.

"Friends," I said. "Before we get to anything this evening, uh, this is a bit sappy, so I'll keep it short. You're the best family I've had yet. Thank you."

It was a muted response for a second before Leofing roared his approval. That seemed to break the seal, and everyone else at least clapped. It wasn't an overwhelming response, but, you know, it was something.

"That said," I continued, "tonight marks the inaugural meeting of our new, old guild. We are devoted to the betterment of Glaton through any means necessary — legal and illegal, below-ground or above-ground, violent and non-violent. We will use what tools we have to forge our way forward. Tonight, we become the Skull and Thrones."

"Good name," Leofing said.

There were some other nods in the group, but most important to me, Matthew's mouth curled up at the ends in the start of a little smile.

Notice - you have changed the name of the Guild: The Biscuit’s Union to the Skull and Thrones.

"And with that, let's get you all set up as members in good standing. Leofing, I welcome you to the Skull and Thrones as a full-fledged member."

Alert, your guild The Skull and Thrones has a new member.

Total members: 5

Members in good standing: 1

A few claps.

"Nadya Glaton, I welcome you to the Skull and Thrones as a full-fledged member."

Alert, your guild The Skull and Thrones has a new member.

Total members: 6

Members in good standing: 2

"Shae, I welcome you to the Skull and Thrones as a full-fledged member."

"Titus, I welcome you to the Skull and Thrones as a full-fledged member."

Then Penelope

And then Hamilton, which got me an eyebrow raise from Godfrey, but did manage to complete the quest for Hamilton.

Congratulations! You’ve completed a QUEST!

Rebuild the Guild X - Hamilton Hayes

You brought Hamilton into the guild prior to initiating Godfrey.

Reward for success: Hamilton will join the guild

Then Godfrey. And finally Lothar.

Alert, your guild The Skull and Thrones has a new member.

Total members: 11

Members in good standing: 8

Eight members. I did it.

Congratulations! You’ve completed a QUEST!

Rebuild the Guild

You successfully rebuilt your guild to the minimum size a guild can be. Should you ever drop below eight members in good standing again, you will have seven days to regain the minimum.

Reward: 10000 XP, 100 Guild Points

10,000 XP?

I checked my notifications, and there was definitely no level-up. Something weird was going on, and I needed to figure out exactly what. Also, 100 guild points. I needed to dig into what that meant, how I could use the points to make the guild better. Or even what they could do. I watched as everyone read over their character sheets, and smiled. Well, everyone but Matthew. He was just looking at me and smirking. I hopped off the chair and walked over to him.

"I'm sorry, " I said, "I just couldn't complete your quest in time."

"I get it. It's a tough quest. I didn't set it up to be easy. But finding a way around a hard quest, that's smart of you."

"I have a good teacher."

"Not sure how much longer you're going to be needing what I'm capable of teaching."

“Oh, probably a long while."

"No need to blow sunshine up and around my nether regions, boy,” he said. "You ain't getting rid of me any time soon. Rent's too good here. And you got me too curious about how things are going to play out. I'm with you, kid."

Quest Altered and Completed.

Rebuild the Guild II - Mathew Gallifrey

Matthew will join your guild.

“Matthew,” I said quietly, “I welcome you as a full-fledged member.”

Alert, your guild The Skull and Thrones has a new member.

Total members: 12

Members in good standing: 9

And that felt good. I felt good. I felt like I'd really done something. I felt accomplished. I could have just let the guild die. It wouldn't really have changed much for me — maybe it would have even made my life easier, but I'm not sure it would have made anything better. The tavern was filled with friends, and on this rainy night, with a warm and crackling fire, I felt happy and hopeful. Nadya was smiling at me, and there was a real warmth in my heart.

Naturally, that was the moment the biggest window exploded inward.

CHAPTER SIXTY

Four figures burst through the glass. They had daggers out and wore black armor over their bodies.

They were screaming and charging for me.

Faster than I could see, Leofing was up, and ripped his sword from his scabbard with such force that he cut off the upper third of one poor fool's torso. Lothar brought a chair down on the second man's head, and Mornax, for his part, was in the midst of tackling the third.

Only the fourth man managed to reach me. He slammed a knife into my chest, and since I didn’t die immediately, I assumed it didn’t puncture my heart.

His hot and fetid breath rushed out of the mask.

"We can reach you anywhere,” he said, in English. "Any time."

Then his head was removed from his body.

Leofing. There's definitely something chilling about a fighter that high a level.

Gently, at least as gently as he could, he pulled the dagger out of my chest, and laid his hands on me. I felt a gentle warmth spread about my body, and I got to watch my hitpoints slowly heading back in the right direction.

Matthew and Titus ran outside with lanterns, looking to see if any other attackers were there.

"Don't bother," I said, taking a deep breath. "And thank you Leofing. Saved my butt there."

“’Tis my job," he replied, a wide grin spreading out underneath his beard. "I like my job."

"There won't be more of them," I said. "Not tonight. This was just a message."

"From?" Matthew asked, coming back inside.

Godfrey and Hamilton were lifting a table in place to block the window. I'm not sure that it was planned to work that way, that the tables were the correct size to fill broken windows, but it certainly was useful.

"Iron Silents," I replied.

"They had four of their members killed to send a message?" Matthew said. "What's the message? That they have too many members?"

"No," I said. "It's more complicated than that." I took a very deep breath and reconsidered what I was about to do. Because it seemed like a very bad idea. But I couldn't hide the truth any longer. I needed to tell someone, and if I wasn't going to trust this group of people, what the hell was I doing here?

"What's going on then?" Nadya asked.

"There's something I need to tell you," I said. "About where I'm from."

READY FOR BOOK 4?

It’ll be out soon! Well, soon-ish. Book 8 and 9 of The Good Guys are coming out first, and here’s the preorder link if you’d like to get Book 8:

Eastbound and Town

But Clyde’s journey is far from over, and I’m really excited about the next book:

War of the Posers

Want more updates?

Sign Up Here for my email list!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Eric Ugland ran away from Seattle to join the circus. And then he came to his senses, and moved to Manhattan to be a playwright. Now he's a novelist in Oregon, trapped by trees and snow and bears. Mostly bears.

The Bad Guys is a continuing LitRPG series I’m writing in the world of iNcarn8. My other series, The Good Guys, takes place in the same world. Join my reader group and be the first to know when new books come out.

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If you want to chat with other readers about any part of Vuldranni, iNcarn8, the Good Guys, the Bad Guys, or just LitRPG in general, come and join my discord: The Good Guys.

CONTENTS

Also by Eric Ugland

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Ready for Book 4?

About the Author

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright, amiright?

Also by Eric Ugland

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Ready for Book 4?

About the Author

Contents