The Wandering Inn

10.70 DIG

Something was terribly wrong. Damia Reinhart wasn’t bored.

In fact, she’d forgotten about boredom at all for the last, what, week? She’d lost count of the days since joining Wall Lord Ilvriss’ dig site. That was not to say that things were peachy all the time.

She’d nearly ripped a fingernail off her finger trying to swing a pickaxe the other day. During the first cattle raid, she’d gotten punched for the first time in her life. The Cowpat Plains stank.

—But she wasn’t bored. Or even that unhappy.

What was wrong with her?

——

Life on average, to Damia, was mediocre at best. You had good days—good moments, but if you took the totality of any given week or month, you were probably bored or restless, and most ‘enjoyments’ were brief sparks of amusement that faded in minutes, often during the act.

She had assumed that was what life was. Assumed that poorer people were just so simple they derived pleasures from equally boring actions, or that someone who wasn’t rich would luxuriate in the things she had plenty thereof.

She was wrong, of course. And now she saw it—Damia was the happiest she’d ever been, working for a Walled City in the middle of rancher no man’s land, the permanent scent of cow dung in the air. She got sweaty, her clothes got soiled, it wasn’t comfortable.

But she was alive.

Mind you, Binevy, Sule, and even Varnie probably didn’t enjoy their stay as much. Varnie was the happiest—mostly because she wasn’t dead—but Binevy seemed practically miserable at times when she slept in the unenchanted tents and had to queue up for a quick shower. She was a Reinhart’s servant and used to luxury.

So was Damia, but she was so busy she didn’t notice. Busy on what? Well, everything.

At first, it was what Ilvriss had wanted: liaising between the new workers and the Salazsarian employees. Damia hadn’t known what to do, but Ilvriss did have his adjutants. Say what you wanted about them—they weren’t as good as [Warriors], [Strategists], [Secretaries] in their specialties, they were hangers on and the south’s version of personal servants.

But they got stuff done.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss will meet at least daily with Clan Leader Plisce. We handle reports from [Forewomen] if an issue requires higher supervision—we shall route some of them to you, Lady Damia Reinhart, and see how you do. Is that acceptable?”

The Drake with the spectacles, Welsca, was the [Adjutant] who’d clearly drawn the short straw of having to deal with Damia. Or maybe she was just the most used to non-Salazsarians. She was not prepared for Damia’s smile.

“Absolutely, Adjutant Welsca, let me know if there’s anything I can do or how you operate.”

“Er, yes. Very good. Why don’t I show you a trial case? Ah, Foreman Lishi. Is it Miner Georgie again…?”

Some Drake in the female mining teams was a known problem to Welsca, who sighed hugely, then showed Damia the system. After that, she left Damia to wander the camps—with some supervision and limits on where she could go, obviously, and she clearly expected the [Lady] to be of little help.

It was not a fun job, managing disputes between species or dealing with the nebulous task of morale. However…

Damia found she was good at it.

——

“Alright, I have four verifiable complaints of speciesism I find credible, Adjutants. And I do note morale is low—I’ve surveyed sixty of the current [Miners], and they have issues with recreation, the output of other miners—and eight more complaints about this Miner Georgie—and I do have some recommendations for how to fix that. Who should I present my findings to?”

Damia appeared on her second day of work at Ilvriss’ officer tents, and the Drakes there stopped eating breakfast and eyed each other. They turned to Welsca, and the Drake woman picked up a piece of toast, inserted it into her mouth, and went hurrying towards the horses.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss wants me to run some deliveries to Liscor! Terribly sorry, I must be on my way. Lady Damia, why don’t you speak to my colleagues?”

She ran off, and Damia peered around brightly. She didn’t miss the looks the aides gave each other. She knew they thought she was some untrustworthy Reinhart. And when the sapphire-scaled Drake with a monocle and weak smile came over, she read his dismissive tone too.

“I’m [Economic Advisor] Merls, Lady Damia. We do take reports of anti-species behavior seriously. Not that I doubt your work, but four reports seems high.”

He was in his mid-fifties, some kind of career Drake in service to House Gemscale, if one who had even ridden on campaigns with Wall Lord Ilvriss. This was not his happiest hour, here in the camps fighting with Humans, and so he cleared some breakfast space and gave her a rather disinterested expression he tried to cover up.

She smiled at Merls and slid next to him with the paperwork.

“I’m delighted to meet you, Advisor Merls. Is that your rank? Do forgive me if I’m rude and correct me, please!”

“Er—I’d hate to correct a [Lady] of one of the Five Families.”

He blinked. She was sitting very close to him and gave him the kind of interested look that seemed genuine.

“Nonsense! I feel like you outrank me, here. You’ve been with the Wall Lord for a long time, correct?”

“Yes…it’s a Gemscale posting my father held.”

“Were you in the south when he clashed with Zel Shivertail? And met the Goblin Lord, Reiss?”

“I was—”

“Incredible! So your class is a combat one?”

The Drake glanced at the other adjutants, who blinked at him and then at Damia. He adjusted his rumpled suit.

“Well, I, uh, usually stay with the command staff, and we do not enter combat. Miss Welsca is rated for actual combat at need be, but she’s still support. I’ve seen a few engagements, though. The Goblin Lord did require all forces to be fighting. Terrible, terrible—er, let’s look at the reports. Foreman Dritmel? I recognize that. We’ve had a few reports, but nothing substantive. And the rest of these names…are you just taking the allegations at face value?”

He turned to the paperwork, and Damia shook her head.

“Absolutely not, Adjutant. I understand it’s a very difficult allegation to prove, and obviously no Drake—or Gnoll or Human, of course—would admit to it if pressed. Often, the slights are minor and as much as they can get away with, but it leads to a negative work environment.”

“Exactly, and it’s not even about species many times, but just personality, and speciesism is an easy charge to level—”

“Precisely, Merls. May I call you that? Is it too forwards? If you have time, I’d love to get to know you all as long as I’m here. That’s why I had my people blend in or camouflage themselves and personally shadow each individual complaint. I have eyewitness accounts and exact descriptions of further incidents. I witnessed Foreman Dritmel’s actions myself. Here.”

She flipped a page, and the [Adjutant] blinked. Damia went on smoothly.

“Most of it is verbal harassment, and I wasn’t sure how to address it. Do you have a strike policy or is it just a record of actions? I can keep monitoring each individual, though I may need a few more hands to help me.”

She waited as heads turned.

“I would also say morale is an issue if the number of complaints I overheard is any sign of worker productivity. If I’m overstepping or this is a serious matter, I can, of course, speak to Wall Lord Ilvriss at his convenience.”

She smiled, and no matter how hard they eyed her, or even activated Skills—one of the Drakes had [Measure Enthusiasm] as part of a set of headhunter Skills—it still looked like actual sincerity. One of Ilvriss’ [Aides] leaned over as the teal Drake choked and stared at something glowing on their claw.

“What, is she faking it, Ridbnell?”

“No. Her enthusiasm score is—it’s over 90.”

They stared at Damia like she was sick. But that was how it started.

——

The funny part was that Damia didn’t even really have any charisma Skills of note. Oh, sure, [Lesser Charisma] and [Basic Leadership], but those were literally bottom-rung Skills that just made you able to manage a basic group.

Her real secret was that she was genuinely enthusiastic and even interested.

Over the next few days, Damia not only made friends with Merls, Ridbnell, and the other Drakes, but when Welsca came back from her mini-vacation to Liscor, she found that Damia had settled more complaints than half of Ilvriss’ personal staff combined. And won over her peers!

Not all of it was hard to do. Damia was a Reinhart, so when it came to sneaking up on people or being underhanded, she had a natural advantage. Even when they’d been subdued by Magnolia’s Skill, the family had crept up on each other and weaponized secrets and gossip. By contrast, hiding speaking stones in work sites, having someone blend in to provoke an allegedly bad manager’s ire, all of that was simple. Plus, she had Varnie.

The amused [Gang Leader] and her remaining people who’d decided to follow Damia were able to use hiding Skills to listen in. And eyewitness accounts proved a lot more incidents were occurring than Salazsar’s staff wanted to believe.

Half of it was discomfort between species, though. North and south not liking each other. To that end, Damia had set up communal events where members of multiple groups would stop working, have a refreshing drink of something sweet, snacks, and watch the scrying orb, play some cards, or just chat.

The local [Ranchers] played games with horseshoes—a variation where you had a pole and attached the metal rods at varying heights and lengths instead of a single pole on the ground. Rather to their surprise, some of the Lischelles’ spies saw the game become an actual pastime in camp.

Not only that—several [Cleaners] were dealing with bug infestations in some of the camps, and new linens were being bought due to the current ones being irrevocably torn. Small things. Necessary things. But the attention to detail was spooky.

Also, why were Ilvriss’ staff approving all this? Some [Lady] from the north came swanning in, tried to make changes—Welsca had assumed her co-workers would shut down any unnecessary expenditure of gold.

However, this too had a simple answer: Merls, Ridbnell, and a third of Welsca’s co-workers were somewhat smitten with the [Lady].

“She has to be leading them on.”

Welsca eyed the [Lady] chatting with a very attentive Merls at the breakfast table. Where she apparently had breakfasts. One of her female co-workers, Sasni, stopped writing an approval form for one of Damia’s requests over her breakfast.

“Welsca, this breakfast is to die for. Go back and bring more food from Liscor, please! What about Damia leading Merls on? The only thing she’s doing is pitting him against Ridbnell and Gless. Suits me. I’m tired of Ridbnell and Gless chatting me up nonstop.”

“Merls is more than twice her age. She’s just flirting so he helps her out.”

The [Adjutant] insisted. She wasn’t that protective of her coworkers, having also had the delightful Drake seniority experience with superiors chatting her up and not being able to blow them off. Thankfully, she outranked everyone but actual Wall Lords here. However, Sasni eyed Welsca.

“If she’s doing that, she’s going so far into the act I’d say it reaches right back around to authentic. She had a personal dinner with Merls out on the town last night. Four full hours, and he came back preening over himself.”

“…What?”

Another shrug.

“Apparently, she was all over him, asking about his career with House Gemscale, the Goblin Lord, what he thought about the north, south, everything! It’s eerie how much she seems to like us.”

“Huh. And the paperwork?”

“She does it better than half the new interns. Look.”

Sasni pushed the papers over, and Welsca eyed the neat handwriting and checked boxes in the report forms. She shook her head.

——

It was true. Damia Reinhart was working hard. And that was not to say her job was fun.

Truthfully, after the third time you busted a [Foreman] for speciesism, you were probably done with any ‘fun’ elements or even rewarding feelings. Same with cleaning tents or reviewing reports of unsanitary conditions and finding someone had crapped in the corner of a worksite and shovelled dirt over it.

Some of the tasks Damia handled were boring. It was just that she didn’t find it entirely boring because she was here.

In Wall Lord Ilvriss’ camp where he was digging up something that was 372% related to The Wandering Inn! Not just that. Damia was all-too-willing to take on more work.

Like…the first thing she approached Welsca with was a proposal.

“Miss Welsca, I have reports in each Dig Site about teams not pulling their weight.”

“Ah, that’s a known issue, Miss Damia. It’s inevitable and accounted for.”

Really? According to both managers and grunts, some teams were working at literally a quarter of the output of other teams! But Welsca barely glanced at the numbers, and Damia’s brain went—

Ping. [Remember That].

Another intelligence Skill. However, Damia pretended not to notice and smiled.

“Even so, Adjutant, that kind of thing hurts morale. Why work if another team can earn the same pay by putting in no effort? See my proposal here.”

She handed over the paper, and Welsca wiped at her spectacles, sighing.

“I’m aware, Lady Damia, but we are not going to reallocate teams or—a contest?”

“Everyone loves a good competition, Welsca. I’m thinking a five-day holiday to Liscor and all the connected cities as the prize. It doesn’t even have to be a high monetary budget. Just say it’s paid time. Let’s say one team wins, this is how much it costs…and imagine how much they’ll race!”

Welsca hesitated.

“We…do need to dig. You know we have an, ah, a monster issue? We still need to dig around them and delve deeper—but a contest would lead to teams cutting corners and potentially put [Advance Miners] in danger.”

“Oh, of course—”

The [Lady] deflated, and Welsca, despite herself, bit her lip and sighed.

“However, we do have an established framework in Salazsar. Teams have to pass safety checks, and if it’s in areas where we’re just widening shafts and it’s the amount of dirt shifted…it’s an intriguing proposal, but it would require a lot of announcements and organization!”

“I’m happy to help, Adjutant. If it’s above our pay grades, I could present the idea to Wall Lord Ilvriss…”

And that was the secret. Damia’s helpful, beaming smile made the [Adjutant] eye her incredulously. She turned, and one of her friends mouthed ‘ninety-four’ at her. Because Damia was genuinely motivated.

If she took on more work and did enough, it was inevitable she’d need to speak to Wall Lord Ilvriss. Which, at this moment, was one of her crowning goals.

Meet the Wall Lord again, get in with The Wandering Inn, and potentially have dinner with him. He seemed quite good at what he did, and if Damia was going to make a list of possible partners…well, she still had to scope out a few other famous people from the inn, but she was quite open to dalliances.

——

The one silver lining to being a former [Incestuous Lady] was that Damia had zero concern about her maidenly values. If anything, her mother would have probably said any rendezvous besides Wernel could only inflate Damia’s worth in that very simplistic regard.

Plus, Damia had never had people vying for her attention in any way beyond her power or fame herself. She was writing down a list of ideas for morale as she chatted with Binevy and Varnie in their shared tent.

“Let’s see. Can we do a talent competition or—or music one like the Battle of the Bands? We don’t have much instrumentation, but everyone can sing, right? Let me talk to—who’s my contact today? Right, Ridbnell today. Binevy, you were researching worker productivity in other continents. Noelictus does musicians in the fields, and there are storytellers in weaveries in Stitch-folk cities? Anything else you found out?”

Binevy handed her a selection of texts she’d paid to have copied out, and Varnie flipped a knife up and down, eying Damia with much the same expression as the [Head Maid]. Then Damia glanced at her.

“Varnie, if you were going to have a one night stand with Merls, Gless, or Ridbnell, who would you choose?”

The [Gang Leader] missed her timing on the dagger and it nearly ran her through her bared stomach. She rolled out of the hammock she’d set up, swearing.

“Are you serious?”

“Lady Damia, they’re Drakes! Not even well-placed Drakes!”

Binevy appeared horrified. Damia twirled a quill, scowling at Binevy.

“Oh hush, I’d make it clear it was temporary, and what do I have to lose? It’s better than Wernel.”

“Well…yes…”

It was really hard for Binevy to argue with that. Varnie just folded her arms.

“You have to be doing all this for a reason. You think Salazsar’s going to make you that rich, is that it? I’ve been trying to figure out your game, boss lady. Savin’ me, that’s a proper Reinhart move, and I’m grateful. But as far as I can tell, the Wall Lord’s not payin’ you to be running around like a lapdog. What’s this for?”

It was good to have employees who weren’t yes-men. Sule was the most obedient and straightforward of the trio, but Binevy’s glance made Damia chuckle to herself. She knew that despite her Skills, Varnie’s loyalty was no sure thing.

She was a Face, and gratitude wore out. Binevy…

“Are you still reporting to my Aunt Cosoi, Binevy? Or have other members of the family made you offers? Is Aunt Cosoi alive, by the way? I hope she is. You’re allowed to take money to spy on me, just not tell them anything valuable. The same for you, Varnie.”

Binevy jumped and was so visibly rattled Damia congratulated herself.

“M-milady Damia, I—”

Varnie blinked, and Damia smiled. It had come to her when she was dozing one time while using [Think Harder].

“It’s fine. It’s the House Reinhart way. Just remember—I did save Varnie, and I’ve earned a good amount of gold in record time, levelling no less than six times this month and counting. You want to back the right horse? That’s me.”

She blew on the ink, stoppered the inkwell, and turned.

“As for why I’m here, Varnie, you’re right. It’s not about the gold. I want to get in with Wall Lord Ilvriss.”

“In his sheets or good graces?”

“At least the latter. The former if I really like him or it helps me. I’m a Reinhart, Varnie. Why are you giving me that look? Haven’t you traded on everything you could to get to where you were?”

The former leader of the Sorcerous Blades folded her scarred arms. She was a veteran of knife-fights, a very dangerous person with them according to the other [Gang Boss]—just not against heavily-armored Golems.

“Talk to the Sisters of Chell if you want to exchange stories like that. I never slept around to get where I was. It’s a fast way to lose respect.”

“Well then, I shall tactically do so when I feel like it. Or for fun. The point I was making is that Wall Lord Ilvriss has more to offer than gold. He’s connected to The Wandering Inn.”

“Oh Five Families, it’s your inn theory again.”

Binevy groaned. Varnie just listened as Damia explained.

“The Wandering Inn has what we all want. Stop shaking your head, Binevy. You’ve levelled too! It makes people high-level, Varnie. Even Faces! Look at all the guests of the inn and even friends. All of them have levelled over ten times in one year. Octavia Cotton—now Saliss of Lights’ best apprentice and inventor of Occillium. Liska—you saw her yourself! Coach Joseph—and the adventuring teams the inn helped out are approaching Named-rank!”

Varnie squatted down, picked her dagger up off the floor, and began flipping it again, but thoughtfully.

“Or dead. That woman’s left a trail of bodies longer’n most average [Gang Leaders]. You don’t want to mess with the inn, kid.”

“What do you know?”

The [Gang Boss] shrugged. She was technically an [Underworld Leader of Stabbed Corpses]—a very awesome-sounding class. Level 36. A full Face, even if not the biggest one around, come from the north. Her gang had been small but deadly. She had barely fourteen of her people left, but Damia had a real staff in the works with Cosoi’s servants as well. Security and staff.

She needed more money to pay for all their wages, but at least right now she was doing okay with Ilvriss’ money. Actually…that gave Damia an idea, and she wrote something down. Her brain seemed to be getting better at thinking. She could do it longer, and she had more and more creative ideas the more she practiced.

“What do I know about the inn? Just a bit. Names’n faces. You don’t gauge places like that by what they do in the gangs. More like who they leave behind. And she’s got names. Not done in by her, but…there’s Mister Soot. Ripped to shreds in Liscor. Used to run the place. A full squad of the Hatmen and the Sisters wiped out by a single Goblin. The Gentlemen Callers walked up to her front door, and apparently even they got rocked. Several high-level brothers—Crimshaw the Bowler ate it. Or not—there’s a weird rumor around that…oh, and the Bloodfeast Raiders want her dead.”

“Is that last part as impressive? They want everyone dead.”

Varnie grinned mirthlessly.

“They want her dead, and she ain’t. And the inn’s not burned and everyone dead. That’s a warning in itself. So yeah, I buy it. The inn’s got power. But it’ll scorch ya if you can’t harness it. Got a plan?”

“First, I need to find it.”

Damia’s eyes glittered. She grew so excited when she thought of going through the doors of the inn she had to get up and pace.

“I-if I got in, and you know the front hallway’s trapped? If I got in, Varnie, that’s what counts. The inn wipes out its enemies, but I’m not one of them. I could just be useless to them—that’s the second-worst outcome. But so what? I’ll take being Jeweled!”

Neither of the other two got the reference, so Damia had to tell them the Jewel story. Varnie’s eyes rose, and she actually recalled the addendum to the famous quest to find Mershi. She listened attentively, sold on Damia’s ideas.

…But she did stop listening after the fourth inn story.

——

Damia didn’t spend all her time helping Ilvriss, of course. He had a very brief meeting with her at the end of the first work cycle and personally handed her a contract with her pay sent to the Merchant’s Guild—and a sizable bonus.

“I’ve been exceptionally impressed, Lady Damia. If you’re willing, I’d love for you to continue on in your posting. Welsca and my people had nothing bad to say about you; quite the contrary. I only regret I can’t spend as much time here—I’m always riding back to Liscor, and it is a hectic time.”

For some reason, he had a miner’s helmet on his head. And a pickaxe by his side.

Very…magical items. Varnie had been biting her knuckles bloody all day. She’d told Damia every instinct in her and her people’s bodies had screamed to steal those items.

Damia wore the most pleasant, helpful smile possible.

“I’m delighted to hear it, Wall Lord! If there’s anything I can do to help? Is there a project I could assist with, or the excavation troubles? I’m no [Strategist], but I do have a higher-level fighter under my command in Varnie. If I can do anything—”

Unfortunately, for once, she miscalculated. Ilvriss had been somewhat off, and now he glanced at Welsca, who had a second helmet and miner’s gear on her. His claw stole possessively to the pickaxe, and he cleared his throat.

“That won’t be necessary, Lady Damia. I do appreciate your willingness, but we’re engaged in highly sensitive operations. Major Shellc has it well in hand, and Captain Asrira is also forming a new taskforce—I do appreciate the offer, however. Someone to keep the gears running smoothly is already helpful enough.”

Translation: he didn’t trust her. Damia’s face fell.

“I understand, Wall Lord. But if you had the chance, I’d love to ask a few questions of you? Purely as a student of the south and—Liscor, really. Do you have an evening free?”

That interested him.

“I did want to speak to you and Clan Leader Plisce more in person. Welsca, do I have any openings in the evening?”

Yes, yes, y—Welsca snapped a folder shut.

“I’m afraid that you need to return to The Wandering Inn, Wall Lord. One must dance away to Liscor.”

“Ah, damn. My aching shins. Perhaps after that, Miss Damia?”

“Of…course, Wall Lord.”

Damia deflated and wondered what the hell that meant. It had to be something incredible. Then she smiled and locked eyes with Welsca.

The one member of staff who wasn’t her best friend at the moment eyed Damia. She walked Damia out, and the [Lady] whispered to her as they left the tent.

“I thought we were being friendly, Welsca! What was that about, may I ask?”

The Drake [Adjutant] pointedly glanced Damia up and down. The [Lady] had put on a formal dress, despite it not fitting with the dirty plains and tents; perfume; and styled her hair after bathing.

“Moved on so quickly from Merls, Lady Reinhart?”

“Moving on implies I didn’t intend anything more than a stop on my travels, Miss Welsca.”

“Ah, well then…your affection for Wall Lord Ilvriss is noted. However, he is still mourning Lieutenant Periss.”

“I know that! I wasn’t pushing—”

Welsca leaned over.

“You’re not the only person who is holding a [Light] spell for the Wall Lord, Lady Damia. Sadly—if anyone has a shot, it’s that dratted [Princess] at the inn.”

Damia gasped. Did she mean…? Welsca wore a sour expression.

“Not that I think it’s the most likely in any case, but I know a bad engagement when I see one.”

“But you—? Then why are you sabotaging me and sending him to Liscor?”

The Drake adjusted her spectacles.

“Misery prefers company, Lady Damia. I’m dangling off a cliff, and you’re dancing on the edge. I’d prefer to pull you off so we can hang together.”

That—was a very Drake and Reinhart way of doing things. Damia stuck out her tongue at Welsca, and the Drake did likewise. Then they laughed, and Damia realized she and Welsca might become actual friends.

“You’d make a lovely Reinhart if you were meaner. Fine, you win. I’ll be back.”

Welsca adjusted her helmet.

“Today’s not a good day, anyways. It’s rather—delicate. But you are working hard for House Gemscale, and I am paying attention. If you really are searching for company, may I recommend a brothel? I wouldn’t normally, but we have an employee working there…”

She sighed. Damia snorted at the strange suggestion.

“What? I thought you’d tell me to give Merls a second chance.”

“Me? Ancestors, no, he’s been insufferable all day. I’m sabotaging him too. Ever met a Level 50+ [Courtesan]?”

“A what?”

——

Damia was a bit let down by the short interaction with Ilvriss despite all her hard work. She told herself he was clearly in the middle of something super interesting and important…she just had to work harder.

But she had done her best, and she was a teensy bit depressed. So she went to a brothel.

Mostly because she really wanted to meet the legend herself, Xesci. The [Courtesan of Change] greeted Damia herself, and she did not disappoint.

“Hello, Lady Damia. I’ll just call you Damia since you clearly want to be my friend. Sadly, I’m not working. Managing is a full-time job. And you’d like…Roubles. A classic farm-lad. Huge shoulders. Very enthusiastic.”

The Drake held up a little book with a headshot and details, and Damia peered at the rather fetching young man, then smiled.

“I, ah, I rather came to meet you, Miss Xesci. I’d love to make your acquaintance.”

Xesci glanced Damia up and down again. Her brows bobbed up and down.

“Yes, you would. Fascinating. Few people feel that way. Unfortunately for you, I don’t like being desired as I am.”

“What? I’m sure I don’t think I was implying something—scandalous.”

Damia hesitated, because she was no stranger to the scandalous acts two women could get up to together, but Xesci was a Drake. However, the [Courtesan]’s smile was brief.

“Yes, you were. Wernel’s lost his appeal now no one cares, hasn’t he? Fair warning, Miss Damia, you’ve been poisoned.”

“How do you know about Wern—tell Wall Lord Ilvriss that’s long behind me, please! Wall Lord Ilvriss employs you? Do you have any interest in working for me?”

Damia was on the backfoot, confused. Who is this woman? Is this a Level 50 person? She’s so amazing. Xesci just walked around Damia, smiling like a serpent rather enjoying playing with a chick who’d wandered onto her coils.

“You’re so funny. I’ve met dozens of Reinharts, and you’re the happiest one.”

Those familiar words. Damia spat back, because she couldn’t help it.

“No one knows Reinharts. My family’s been gone from the world for nearly two decades! You don’t know us!”

Everyone had this image of Reinharts as evil, treacherous snakes, and there was some truth to it. But were they all—? Yet Xesci just raised one eyebrow.

“That wasn’t an attack. The rest was, but I don’t exaggerate. I have known Reinharts. Intimately. I’m older than you think. Listen to what I said. You are the happiest Reinhart. Self-serving, heroic, bitter and cynical, rising, falling—at this moment, you are the happiest one. Your family is more clever than they are amoral, without loyalty to land, passion for creation, love of sea, or infatuation with stone hearts. Cleverness alone is bitter. So you should treasure this, Lady Damia.”

She left the young woman speechless for a second until Xesci winked.

“At least for now. And you are also the one Reinhart who needs my services least. It’s just what I said, Damia—”

She stepped behind a lantern that hid her face for just a second, and Damia saw her form…ripple. When Xesci stepped forwards, a copy of Damia Reinhart stood there.

Perfect. Damia recoiled, gasped, and Damia-Xesci smiled, a bit rueful.

“Poisoned. Few things can poison a Reinhart, but this one might last long.”

“W-what kind of poison…?”

“Affection. Now you’ve tasted genuine respect and affection, paying for the version of it my class provides won’t be nearly as sweet. And it was already wearing thin. Go back to your work, Lady Damia. You can find everything you want without paying for it here.”

Damia Reinhart backed up, genuinely unnerved. She stared at Xesci, and the [Courtesan] made shooing motions. Only when Damia had fled did Xesci pause, then slap her forehead.

“…And I just turned away another customer. Wonderful. Lady Damia?”

She changed back to her form and shouted. The [Lady] whirled, eyes locked on Xesci, and the [Courtesan] shouted.

“Send your [Bodyguard] here—and your [Head Maid]! I’ll give them a discount!”

She gave Damia a thumbs up as the girl gaped, bewildered.

——

“Damn, Xesci the Changer herself’s in the brothel? I might have to visit.”

Varnie was squatting by the cattle fence as Damia leaned against it. The [Lady] was doing a bit of personal work with Varnie and a sheet of paper. Binevy and Sule were checking out a brothel.

Everyone had just been paid, though Varnie was only flipping a gold coin up and down and not looking impressed. This was not good money for a [Gang Boss], and even Damia wanted more. However…

“Tell me about her later, Varnie. We’re still in super-helpful mode, and since I don’t feel like making friends with Xesci is the right option…”

“You’re right about that. She’s not the violent type, but people who went against her tended to get hurt. By people who like her. Real shapechanger, that one, or so I’ve heard.”

“You don’t know the half of it. Anyways, here’s how much gold I can spend.”

Damia held up her calculations, and Varnie eyed the number.

“Right. That buys you one mid-grade ring or lower-grade weapon. One nice set of steel plate, maybe, and a good amount of plain steel weapons.”

Damia’s heart sank.

“I know magic’s expensive, but—really?”

“Sorry. You want to gear us out like Gold-rankers? You need tens of thousands of gold for a team. Wall Lord Ilvriss don’t pay that much.”

“He barely paid for more than all your salaries! This is all I have from my time in House Reinhart, but you heard what attacked him! Hunter-Killer Terland Golems and super undead?”

The [Miners] talked, even if Damia wasn’t caught up or in the loop. Varnie grimaced.

“Thought I’d never have to fight a Golem again after you sprung me from the noose. I’d rather put my head back in one and have Lord Xitegen hoist the rope than fight House Terland’s assassin-Golems. Every now and then, some [Gang Leader] decides to make a stir in First Landing or Terland lands and not do it smooth and gentle. They make sure you know it was one of their Golems. Mostly, it’s the footprints in what remains of their skulls.”

Damia shuddered.

“Well, brainstorm with me. I need you and your people to arm yourselves for potential engagements with either group.”

Varnie shot Damia an alarmed glance, and Damia waved her hands.

“I won’t throw you away! You’re irreplaceable, Varnie! Reinharts waste nothing, especially people we actually like.”

“You’re all heart. Actually, that makes me feel better than if you were tellin’ me you were my best friend. It’s a big ask, though…”

The woman scratched at her raven hair, and Damia shrugged.

“Well, it’s necessary! Think of it as self-defense. Remember the half-Elf that started this whole mess? Do you really want to be unprotected, even if you and I parted ways?”

“Right. Fuck. I ain’t got a clue what to do with him, but I guess…work up from Terland Golems. Damnit, my granny said I’d hate the new era, and she were right. Okay, the problem’s armor.”

She twirled one of her daggers as Damia nodded, and they conferred.

“I can cut a man’s throat fast. [Free Slash] plus one of these and poison means I end one person before the fight starts. But that doesn’t work on something that ain’t got a throat or has armor on. And anything out of arm’s reach has the drop on me and my people. We like nice, confined spaces. This place is open. And it stinks.”

She spat, and Damia nodded.

“So what would you do if you knew you had to clash with Lord Xitegen…? Give me something to go off of, and I’ll take it from there.”

Varnie thought, sighing. She rubbed at her face.

“If I had to? The biggest damn crossbows I could find. Nets and traps. Slow ‘em down and break the armor. Only, even crossbows won’t pierce Golem armor, not unenchanted. A warhammer and steel wire nets? Not sure that works on undead.”

“You don’t have…some clever underworld tricks?”

A half-glare, then a laugh.

“Tricks? Sure, tons! Mostly baiting it into another gang you don’t like! There’s all kinds of tricks—but all of it’s too expensive, kid. Like there’s this trick where you take twenty wands, put ‘em together in a box, and fire them off. Blasts an entire corridor to slag. But it costs so much and burns out all the wands—once they start firing, you can’t stop ‘em cause of the magical interference. Or you can buy a potion and become an [Expert Swordswoman]—for ten minutes. You can’t afford even the potion.”

Damia saw the problem. She gnawed at her lip.

“Can’t you, I don’t know, use your underworld contacts and call in some favors? We need something, Varnie.”

The [Gang Boss] pulled a face.

“I suppose I’m in this until my debt’s paid…and nearly dancing the hemp jig makes you think you should really call in those favors while you’re alive. Argh, fine. I’ll see what I can do. Give me eight hundred gold pieces, and don’t come complaining to me if I turn up empty-handed.”

Damia wrote Varnie a letter authorizing her to take eight hundred gold pieces out of her account and gave the woman her signet ring of House Reinhart. Varnie promised to ride to Invrisil with six of her people and come back within the week with whatever she had.

The [Lady] saw her off and then was eating lunch when it occurred to her she’d given a [Gang Boss] a huge sum of gold, her signet ring, and sent her to Invrisil without any oversight. Damia told herself that Varnie honored her debts, that she had [Loyalty of the Low], and that if Varnie wanted to betray Damia…now was the perfect moment to ride off with all that stuff.

——

Wall Lord Ilvriss was just past his Hoarding incident, and he’d decided to put in some actual work around the expedition. His first stop was Lady Damia; he’d wanted to know why she was actually here, and she had been helpful.

He found her at one of the mess tables and began to approach—then halted.

“Stupid Damia! You just had to stop thinking! Stupid, stupid, stupid—”

The aforementioned [Lady] was crying, hitting her head with her fists, and banging it on the table. Wall Lord Ilvriss hesitated, then decided he’d check on her later.

You had to admit, though, she was highly entertaining. Real Erin energy, if not quite the same. A mix of Erin and Ryoka, he supposed. Erin positivity and Ryoka failure and self-recriminations.

——

Damia stopped beating herself up because she’d given herself a cut on the head from the wooden table. And people were staring. Then she turned, saw Wall Lord Ilvriss walking away, and realized he’d come by to talk to her and seen her.

She was glancing around for the nearest Dig Site to throw herself over the safety railings when it happened. The Wall Lord was walking off nonchalantly, pretending not to have seen a wailing [Lady], when the air—flickered. He half-pivoted, putting a hand on his sword hilt, and Damia’s heart lurched.

“Stealth Golem! Watch out!”

She leapt up, screaming. Damia whirled, but Varnie was gone and Sule was in the brothel! She saw the Rubirel Guard jerk. Damia began to run.

“Evacuate the area! It’s a Golem attack! Protect the Wall L—”

The shimmering air resolved as Ilvriss backed up, and then it materialized into…a little white Gnoll girl, semi-transparent and wearing a kilt, stepped out of the air. Her head whipped around, and she held up a notecard.

Hey, Ilvriss, your stupid anti-scrying rings make this harder than it should be. What’s up?

Her paw blurred as Damia stopped running and froze. Mrsha wrote rapidly and held up a card.

Whoa! Golem attack!? Where? I’ll tell Mom!

Everyone was eyeing Damia Reinhart. The [Lady] halted as Ilvriss stopped spinning around, realized her mistake, and put a hand over his mouth. She covered her face and tried to pretend she didn’t exist.

——

Damia and the Rubirel Guard had to clarify the situation. She did so, apologizing, beet red, about to cry.

Only one thing kept her anchored and from running to hide under her bed in her tent, and it was the little Gnoll girl standing and talking with Ilvriss. Well, writing in the air with a glowing paw.

Mrsha du Marquin.

The Mrsha du Marquin, the Doombearer who’d faced off against Chieftain Xherw, the one who’d exposed the entire conspiracy, the Gnoll who’d survived Raskghar and the Goblin Lord—

And who’d seen Damia making a complete toad of herself in public. Even so, the [Lady] slunk closer. She lingered around the Wall Lord and Gnoll girl’s position, pretending to be walking, stretching, watching them and trying to listen, but the Rubirel Guard were there. Were they…peeking at her?

——

Yo, Ilvriss. Forsooth and all that. I actually came by to tell you that Mom wants to know if you’ll be back tomorrow. Apparently, the Players of Celum released some new play, and the Players of Invrisil are putting it on. It’s ‘adult’, so I’m banned. Nanette’s gonna weasel her way in, but you down? How’s the shit digging? Also, who’s the weird [Lady]?

Mrsha the Casual was checking up on Ilvriss, and her writing was a bit less polished than it used to be. But Ilvriss just grinned at her in genuine good humor. He chuckled.

“Isn’t she funny? She’s Damia Reinhart, and she’s decided to help my expedition. I thought it was some kind of Reinhart ploy, but Welsca said she’s been nothing but a credit. I wish you were here, though. Life is quite dull—just complaints and problems.”

Mrsha’s head snapped around, and a [Lady] went walking by and admiring…cowpats or something.

Did you just say Damia Reinhart?

“Oh no, don’t tell me she’s actually a problem. I know she’s Cecille Reinhart’s daughter, but she’s seemed to be—”

You should talk to her. She might be…useful. Or dangerous. But we should talk to her. Why the heck is she here?

The fact that Mrsha knew Damia’s name sounded warning bells in Ilvriss’ head. He bent over.

“Are you sure it’s safe? What should I know? Is it…the [Palace]?”

For a second, Mrsha gave Ilvriss a weary gaze beyond her age, then she shrugged and wrote.

My guy, everything is the palace in the end. In this case? Yes, but nothing I know indicates she’s bad, necessarily. Hmm. Let me talk to her first. I’ll be ultra random and Erin-weird, and then you can be professional.

“Good plan.”

They nodded at each other, and Mrsha cleared her throat. She massaged her face, made a bleh sound in the back of her throat, then got on all fours. She scampered over to Damia, did a somersault, then sat up with the cutest face she had as Ilvriss watched.

It seemed like it hurt Mrsha’s soul to do that, if her momentary grimace was any indication. She wrote in the air with a glowing paw.

Hewwo! I’m Mrsha the Ultimately Dangerous! Salutations and give me all your gold! I need a cookie! Pwease and tanks! Are you a good person? Your Mom eats Creler eggs. Why are you here?

It was like…a parody of the actual Gnoll girl’s antics in the past. It was still probably effective to anyone Mrsha hadn’t met, but it was slightly undercut by Wall Lord Ilvriss.

He had begun wheezing as he read the glowing words. Now he was laughing so hard he couldn’t actually speak, silently dying as he held onto one of the Rubirel Guard’s shoulders. Mrsha glared at him and gave him the finger while Damia read the words.

Her eyes widened. Mrsha waited, her most cutesy expression straining her face, resolving to toss Calescent’s death-spices in Ilvriss’ next meal. But for all her wariness, even she couldn’t predict what Lady Damia did next. The [Lady] finished reading, then her eyes locked on Mrsha, and her face lit up like the sun.

“Miss Mrsha! I’m such a big—c-can I have an autograph? No, wait, this is the [World’s Eye Theatre], isn’t it? I’m seeing it in person! You can have all the gold you—I could write you a voucher if you want gold! I’ll send it to the Merchant’s Guild in Liscor! My mother is terrible, I apologize so much for her! I just want to help with the dig! May I shake your paw?”

She held out a trembling hand to Mrsha, and the Gnoll girl leaned back in the face of the seemingly-genuine delight on Damia’s face. The [Lady] tentatively touched Mrsha’s ghostly paw, dancing around her.

“And you’re using magic! Is anyone else there? I’m so sorry, I know this is inn business. I promise I’m not trying to do anything to the inn! I swear! It—oh my—”

Her eyes rolled up in her head. She put a hand to her head, and then she collapsed on the ground. Ilvriss stopped laughing and began to run over. Mrsha stared at Damia.

Huh. I did not expect that.

——

Damia came round in moments, and her embarrassment at passing out from sheer delight was only matched by having Mrsha and Ilvriss peering over her.

“I—I’m so sorry, I’m a mess, and I just—this is everything I’ve wanted.”

What, everything you’ve wanted? Meeting the White Rat of Liscor—no relation to the more successful Ice Squirrel—and the Lord of Purple himself?

“Hey.”

Ilvriss fake-nudged Mrsha, but they were watching her as Damia struggled to her feet.

“No, I—I’m just an admirer of the inn, Miss Mrsha. I didn’t know you existed until, what, a few weeks ago? But when I found out what you did—why wouldn’t I be?”

Is she crazy? Mrsha and Ilvriss exchanged a look. Fans of The Wandering Inn existed, but they were rare and usually original citizens of Liscor or people who’d become friends.

“You…found out about The Wandering Inn and liked what you heard, Lady Damia? Really? That’s what led you here?”

This was the first thing Ilvriss couldn’t actually believe. However, Damia insisted.

“You must have tons of adherents, surely! After all the inn has done for Liscor, the region, the world? Miss Erin Solstice invented <Quests>, didn’t she?”

Whoa, she does know us.

Mrsha was vaguely alarmed. She’d heard Damia was intelligent, but not…enthusiastic. But then, her learning about one version of Damia in the Goblin King’s future had been just an aside from Xitegen. Even so, she had to ask.

No one likes the inn. Liscor remembers the good Erin did, and the bad, Miss Damia. And there’s plenty of both. The only ‘fans’ she has are real weirdos like that Gnoll guy who thinks she’s a ‘sexual fiend’. Ever met him, Ilvriss?

“…No. Is that a joke?”

I wish. If you’re a real fan of the inn, uh, prove it! What’s my last name?

“Stone Spears or du Marquin? Or Demas Metal or—I forget your birth mother’s tribe! Argh! But you wouldn’t claim them, so—the first two?”

Damia appeared uncertain and worried, but Mrsha and Ilvriss exchanged another glance. Oh shit, she’s good. Ilvriss tried, growing genuinely fascinated.

“Er, that’s broadly correct. But if you know the inn—you can’t have visited. However, any fan would know the inn had a [Bartender], once.”

“Drassi Tewing, who became Channel 2’s anchor—well, she was Channel 1 with Sir Relz first—after confronting them about the Yellow Rivers disease!”

Damn. Maybe she was legit. Mrsha kept scratching her head.

Alright, you know the inn. But…you actually want to visit? People die there, you know. We’ve got Goblins, Antinium, undead, and maggots. Bird always has one or two in her rooms. She’s actually gross as heck sometimes.

Lumping Goblins and Antinium together with undead and maggots got a shoe thrown at Mrsha’s head by Picker. She took cover as someone hucked a dustrag at her too, and Damia’s face lit up.

“Are they there? Can I meet them? I don’t have a problem with either!”

“Your family participated in the Sacrifice of Roses. At least some did.”

This time, Ilvriss’ skepticism actually grew. He saw Damia Reinhart hesitate, and her eyes flicked to his face, then Mrsha’s, a moment before a smile appeared on her face. Both noticed that.

She’s still a Reinhart. She was thinking of a lie. But then Damia noticed their skeptical faces and drew in a breath.

“I…I was just a child when the Goblin King rampaged, and I didn’t know anyone personally who died. I was born after the Antinium came to Izril. Be it so selfish, but I don’t care about what feels like ancient history to me. Is—that sounds worse than I wish it to be.”

Ilvriss, as someone who’d lived through both Antinium Wars, even if he wasn’t that old, felt a pang at Damia’s comments. It was Mrsha who frowned.

Really? Well, here’s an Antinium. Say hi, Goldbody, Picker.

The Antinium and Goblin warily edged into frame. Instantly, there was a shout of horror; some Salazsarian Drakes had seen the two and freaked out. Goldbody wavered, and Picker eyed Damia. And the Reinhart’s eyes widened—then she held out a hand.

“H-hello. I’m Damia Reinhart. I’m no Goblinfriend…but I could be, possibly? I’d like to meet the Antinium of Liscor too, but I think they’re all afraid of me.”

She held out her hand to Picker, bending over, and then Ilvriss felt his neck spines rising and scales tingling.

Could a [Lady] fake the genuine excitement and nerves like that? Even Cecille Reinhart’s daughter?

He began to believe this was a familiar thing he’d found before at Erin’s inn, but different and welcome. It was Mrsha whose face screwed up with suspicion and worry. She drew herself up and put an arm out.

When she wrote, Damia turned to Mrsha and hesitated. Because the girl said:

No offense, Lady Damia, but I don’t buy it. Say you like the inn. Okay. You’re still a Reinhart, and with respect, I’ve never heard of a Reinhart doing anything that doesn’t help them in some way. Magnolia sealed you away for a reason. Can you swear you don’t have a grudge against her or want something from the inn?

Again, the [Lady] froze, and she seemed genuinely nervous. Afraid…that they wouldn’t like her? The Wall Lord and Gnoll Doombearer studied her, and Damia took a quick breath. She hesitated, then she sank to one knee and looked Mrsha in the eyes.

When she spoke, her voice was aquiver, and it felt like she was confessing something intimate and scary. But this was it. She might not get another chance if Mrsha vanished. And Ilvriss—Damia glanced up at him and then saw an [Innkeeper] with a hat full of flames. A girl waving a white flag.

The stuff of stories. So Damia told them the truth, her only card to play.

“It’s true. I don’t want to visit The Wandering Inn for selfless reasons. Does anyone in this world do anything for others without a reward?”

Yes.

Mrsha didn’t blink. Damia’s heart beat faster, and her throat constricted. Her voice wobbled. Oh no.

“I—I wouldn’t know. I’m a Reinhart. You’re right, I don’t understand…but I wish to visit, Miss Mrsha. Please? Even if not the inn, just—you can use me in some kind of weird Solstice event. I’d love to be part of it. I don’t care if it’s risky. If something is going on, put me in. Please.”

You don’t know what you’re asking for. You don’t want to be part of a real Solstice event.

Mrsha backed up a step, and she appeared tired. Upset. She half-turned, and Damia reached out. Her hand passed through Mrsha’s arm, and she cried out.

“I do! I was so bored in the north. I am angry at Magnolia—but maybe she did me a favor. Not wholly, and I will collect my interest. But I can imagine just staying in the north, being complacent, if I had been myself my entire life. Instead, when I woke up from her Skill, I left my home. That was the right choice, even if it was due to desperation. I would never have been content there. I was so miserable, and nothing really mattered to me. I wanted to be important or just—provocative so badly I slept with my brother.”

Er…that’s too much information—

The girl turned back, and Ilvriss eyed Damia, but the [Lady] was panting now, desperate to get the words back. She was kneeling and scooted closer to Mrsha. Eyes on the girl.

“I mean it. I want to level. I want to do something amazing, even if it means risking my life. Would you take a life of boring peace?”

Yes.

“Yes.”

Ilvriss and Mrsha replied at the same time. Damia’s head swung between them, and her face screwed up.

“It’s meaningless to me. Maybe it’d be different if I had—friends. A place to go. But I’ve nothing to my name. Not class nor levels nor a purpose. I went to Liscor and I started levelling. It felt like I was alive. I want to see it. Everything around me is the product of the inn, shaped by its passage. I long for the real thing, like a moth to the flame. Take me in, please. Let me be a guest. Allow me entrance, and break me apart if you must. Even if I die, I never want to go back and sit in my meaningless home.”

Wall Lord Ilvriss and Mrsha du Marquin stood there as Damia finished and became conscious of her audience. They always watched her, that silly [Lady]. Because she was funny and odd. But this confession struck the people watching her, because it was…honest. Damia’s honesty. It was the inn, the real inn that people tried to pretend wasn’t truly that powerful.

So, the Salazsarian employees were staring at her. Silverfangs turning to each other in shock. Even Liscorians were frankly incredulous, Riverfarm’s folk appalled by the [Lady] who had chosen an [Innkeeper]’s madness over an [Emperor]’s mercy.

And even…Damia’s head turned, and she saw Binevy and Sule standing there. They’d chickened out of using the brothel’s services. The young man was scratching his head, intrigued and confused. But the [Head Maid] met her mistress’ eyes, and it felt like Binevy had finally seen Damia.

Her eyes were wide, unnerved. She gazed upon the kneeling [Lady] like some kind of strange monster. It was the expression every Reinhart servant gave their employer in time. How they came to understand the people they might choose to follow.

But Damia…Damia Reinhart was a unique one, even among her den of vipers.

——

Lady Cecille Reinhart’s cigarette flared like a cherry in the darkness of her room. She exhaled smoke in a ring and blew a smaller circle through it. Then added a third through the center of both. She watched the faintly crimson smoke vanishing, then took another drag.

Then her eyes fell down to the [Message] scroll, and she brushed some of the ash from the cigarette off it. The transcript of Damia’s confession was still drying on the parchment, as Binevy and a separate spy had recorded. Only a fool trusted one spy.

In that moment, the [Lady] understood her daughter a bit. So that was what freedom had made of her. Cecille exhaled again and spoke.

“Foolish girl. Of course this mansion is dull. We’ll all move out and find our abodes soon. The only joy of gathering here is to match wits among equals. Dull? It is duller outside, when you are the only fresh pair of eyes in a sea of people who walk staring at the shadows on the ground.”

More ash fell, and Cecille’s face twisted further. A bitter scowl that would have told her daughter just as much about her mother, if Damia had seen it. But Cecille had learned to hide it all.

“The pure light is not meant for Reinharts. The shadows we cast are too long. You long for the first spark of authenticity because it looks so tantalizing. There will be more. Do you think you’re so special? So unique?”

She rubbed at her side, just above the left side of her stomach. Her thigh itched. The [Lady] lifted the hem of her dress, exposing a long-faded tattoo whose magic and trust was gone.

“In time…they will disappoint you. Or you will sully them by aiding them. They will not stay so pure. And when they reveal their true colors—”

Cecille whirled. For a second, she stared into a vanity and saw another [Lady] racing off with earnest desires and the belief she was the one Reinhart who saw beyond it all. She spoke, eyes stinging from the smoke.

“When they show you who they are and you come slinking back home in shame, we shall make good use of your levels.”

That was how she said goodbye to her daughter. For a while.

——

As for Damia? She knelt, trembling as a Gnoll girl stood there and a Wall Lord tried to interject. Steer her from the cliff she wanted to walk off of. But Mrsha just searched Damia’s face, then smiled bleakly. Guiltily.

“I know I’m a Reinhart, Mrsha. But am I allowed to be more than my family’s name?”

The guilty words of a daughter of the Five Families hit Mrsha in the face like Alber’s best punch. She rocked back on her heels, mouth open, and then just looked Damia up and down. Actually scratched at her head, and pulled a hair out with a wince. Then Mrsha wrote, a heavy little paw solemnly writing to Damia. And the girl believed each word mattered. Because she knew what Mrsha had done.

Well, I don’t know how right you are about all that, Damia. We’re not…Gods. Some might say we’re the opposite. But The Wandering Inn is not so full we can turn away friends or allies. I’ll hold a seat for you, if you can help Ilvriss. I hope you don’t regret it. But thank you. For believing in us.

Disbelieving, heart lifting in her chest, Damia rose. Mrsha exhaled, then held out a paw. And it might have contained a [Witch]’s wonders, an [Innkeeper]’s chaos, the power of fate and destiny, a Doombearer’s luck…or nothing at all. But Damia Reinhart took it with trembling hands and mimed shaking the air. And then she was part of it.

It was the happiest day of her life.

[Fangirl class obtained!]

[Fangirl Level 6!]

[Skill – Pass On Enthusiasm Obtained!]

[Skill – Create Lucky Charm (Memorabilia) Obtained!]

[Skill – Helper’s Increased Experience (The Wandering Inn) Obtained!]

——

Later that day, Mrsha du Marquin found her mother tending to the plants in the [Garden of Sanctuary]. Sage’s Grass, cocoa trees, and other valuable crops. She was harvesting the pods of slimy seeds and sighing.

“What’s even the point if Oteslia’s growing all this…? Oh, right. The Antinium want their own for their greenhouses. Mrsha, dear, your plants grow a bit too well sometimes.”

Mrsha, who had raised Faerie Flowers until they had grown enough to pierce Skills themselves, had a bit of a green thumb. The Gnoll girl came over to help her mother. After a while, she held up a card.

Hey, Mom?

“Yes, dear?”

I committed a racism today.

Lyonette almost said ‘that’s nice’, until she glanced down and saw Mrsha’s guilty expression. She stood there, mouth open, until Apista buzzed down for hugs. And Mrsha resolved never to do it again. She just hadn’t known you could racism like that. It was a pernicious thing, the racisms.

——

The effect of Lady Damia Reinhart was more than just one helpful [Lady] making the camp better. It was her darn enthusiasm. And her willingness to spam Skills.

The next day, Ilvriss woke up, and he did all of his paperwork for the week. He emerged from his tents, gnoshing on breakfast—a green apple and packaged Calescent spiced porridge which had no actual heat in it, because it was so much better than camp food—and he saw a group of [Miners] marching toward Dig Site B like thunder.

“Alright, you slack-tailed sloths, let’s get to it! I want those seams dug!”

The [Forewoman] was exhorting her people like they were [Soldiers]. And the [Soldiers]? They were armed and raring to go. Major Shellc was infected with the same energy.

“We are breaching four spots and engaging the undead. I want that growing Dorn Pillar dead. Drinks on me to the entire force if we get it. Captain Asrira, are you sure you’re ready?”

“Ready, sir.”

Captain Osthia was the one person not infected by the energy everyone else shared. She eyed Major Shellc as she and her girls sat—smoking Dreamleaf. Ilvriss half-halted.

“Captain Asrira, what are you doing?”

“Er, building morale, sir?”

She didn’t even hide the contraband drugs as the rest of the Sisters grinned. Osthia eyed Ilvriss.

“What’s with the camp, sir?”

“Camp? I’m just feeling it, Asrira. I must have rolled out of bed after some good sleep or something—ah, Welsca?”

“Wall Lord! We’re ready to work, sir. I’ve gotten ahead on several initiatives, and I’d like to consult with you on the equipment—we’re due in Liscor tomorrow, and I took the liberty of preparing against another [Rancher] assault.”

Welsca and half his staff were in fine fettle. Like Ilvriss, they’d cleared their work queues, and only when Ilvriss saw a sleepy Drake jogging to keep up with Welsca and glancing at her sidelong did he realize they were way too energetic for…for…

The culprit was still at the officer’s mess tables. Damia Reinhart barely peeked up when Ilvriss isolated the originator of the Skill.

“Lady Damia, do we have you to thank for this burst in motivation?”

It was her new Skill, according to Miss Binevy, but the anxious Human was standing by her [Lady], and Lady Damia, who had a new class and Skills and would normally be over the moon about such things…

“Yeah I guess.”

Ilvriss paused. He jerked his head.

“I’d love to talk further, Lady Damia, and I’ve the energy to do a walkabout if you do?”

It took Damia several moments to respond, and she listlessly spooned her food around her plate. Her hair was uncombed, and she was wearing pajamas, he realized. She gave him the most flat gaze he’d ever seen as she raised her head.

“Nah. What’s the point?”

“Er…”

Binevy whispered anxiously.

“She overdid it, Wall Lord! Her [Pass On Enthusiasm] Skill—I think she did it too much!”

Ah. Never let it be said Damia was anything but a hoot. Ilvriss hesitated, then patted Damia on the shoulder.

“I can see you’re in need of rest, Lady Damia. Perhaps ease back on the Skill, but you are an important part of our operations—dead gods, I’d make your position formal since we hired you as a temporary [Recruiter]. Just, er, take the day off. You’ve already earned your pay.”

Actually, if she could do this just for Ilvriss each day, he’d pay her all she was earning and more! The Wall Lord walked off, genuinely eager to clear all the items on his docket and be ahead. He felt great. Just a bit bad for the clearly-spent Damia.

He didn’t see the [Lady] drooping at her table as he marched off. Then…Damia’s head rising slowly, like someone underwater surfacing. Then she burst out.

“Employment? Of course—”

Damia Reinhart returned back to something close to normal after ten minutes. Which was actually terrifying in itself if you thought about it.

——

Enthusiasm didn’t mean a life without headaches. Ilvriss had two at the moment. Firstly, what to do with the Naamreles gear.

“It’s too good, sir. It should go to House Gemscale’s vaults or arm any Named-ranker or officer we have. This helmet? Sturdiness rated for [Generals]. We could give it to our High Command.”

The simple miner’s helmet sat in front of Ilvriss, and he stared at it. It was so damn insulting to the might of Salazsar that this helmet from days of yore was equivalent to a modern [General]’s helm. But it made sense.

“Everything we have is inferior to this magic, Welsca, truly?”

“Everything except a Relic, sir, or what’s stored in the vaults of Walled Families. Enchantments wear down with use. We were lucky the group that perished in the mines died before using up the charge of the magic. It’s kept them pristine. As has the lack of magicore or other mana-devouring nuisances.”

Magic was not infinite. Only the Heartflame Breastplate could withstand aeons of active use and not break. Salazsar had used all its old gear, hence why Ilvriss had decided to loot this city.

“But it begs the questions, surely—why was Naamreles buried with so much magic intact? Sserys was sure it had intact gear—he apparently spoke to a number of Drake ghosts across Izril.”

“Sir?”

Even knowing what she did Welsca had to give Ilvriss a double-take, but today was a red-letter day, and the Wall Lord wanted to be open. Transparent.

“You heard me, Welsca. You had to have known.”

“I-I did, sir, but—”

“Keep it private from the rest of the staff. It’s the kind of thing that sounds like insanity, but you’ve been to the inn…I swear that’s what happened. I just wish he knew more! But he was shouting all the damn coordinates and information in my earholes, and I didn’t exactly have time to write it down! Actually, I started to the moment he ran off to beat up the Dragonspeaker. Did you see me on my hands and knees writing on the ground with everyone dying around me?”

“No, sir. But Sserys really interrogated other ghosts…?”

“It’s an entire thing. I wish I’d asked Erin more about it. And I do wish he’d been more specific, but it’s hard to ask the [General of Drakes] questions when he’s straddling your chest, screaming orders in your earhole.”

“Sir?”

Ilvriss coughed, reddening at the memory. He’d thought it was an unnecessary position, but Sserys had led with ‘let me have my fun’. Which, when you put it in context with Xesci’s recent comments—

Surely not. But then he’d heard—but that was—

“…That aside, the gear’s too damn good. I don’t know what to do with it. Commit some of it back to Salazsar, I think. I don’t want to look like a Hoarder, and given our reactions…let’s have Enchanter Hedault consult with us just to make sure this is all what we think it is. And maybe offer a piece to Lady Damia. I intend to bring her into our confidence, Welsca.”

“Her? Wall Lord, are you sure? I know she’s been a credit, but—”

Ilvriss just smiled at Welsca.

“You heard her class, Welsca. [Fangirl]? I had no notion—I’m not trusting her with all of it. But would you deny she’s been a breath of fresh air?”

The Drake [Adjutant]’s face screwed up.

“I can’t, Wall Lord. I must point out, however, that she is an ambitious young woman. One with aims on yourself as well.”

“What? Me? Well, I’m sure it’s her attraction to The Wandering Inn. Let, uh, her meet Ishkr or Ser Dalimont and that’ll be that. I’m not in any mood to have a dalliance with someone half my age, Welsca.”

Ilvriss was highly amused, but he shot that one down instantly. He shook his head.

“What kind of degenerate would have a relationship with someone that much younger than he was?”

Welsca nodded rapidly and with great relief. Elsewhere in the world, Archmage Eldavin, Duke Rhisveri, and the Quarass of Germina experienced unexpected sneezing fits. Ilvriss drummed his claws on the desk.

“As for the other problem…alright, let me hear it.”

The other problem was not so grand as magical items of antiquity. The other problem had one name, and it was amazing it had gotten to Ilvriss’ level, but it was, after all…

Georgie.

——

Ilvriss would admit, he didn’t feel at home with this Turnscale business. He was doing his best, but his best thought was ‘it’s got nothing to do with me’.

Therefore, he’d thought himself quite clever saying that Georgie had been affected by a cursed rune and just letting him work with female [Miner] teams. Because Georgie was…no, wait, he wasn’t, and that was the point…

At some point, someone could use ‘woman’ and ‘Georgie’ in the same sentence and not need to duck. The problem was that Ilvriss was wrong, and how wrong he was needed to be spelt out.

Forewoman Gerra Runefur was that speller. She was a Salazsarian Gnoll—no Plains Gnoll—with the accent of the City of Gems, all the familiarity for the work, and who ran a tight ship. Ilvriss knew her from the Gemscale company; she was forty-two, had one child, had married a member of the corporate staff who worked on Level 11 of his tower—not high level, but a decent [Office Manager] himself, Level 21—and Gerra was a Level 32 [Gemfinder Forewoman]. Nothing special, but she’d never had issues keeping order with her mixed Gnoll-Drake crew of women.

It wasn’t mandatory to have single-gender teams, but sometimes it was preferable. The same gender could bathe and work together. It prevented issues of harassment. It was just an option…and right now, it was not working.

Hence her complaints, which had escalated until they got to Ilvriss. The Forewoman didn’t slam a fist on Ilvriss’ desk. She was very polite as she held her cap behind her back, but her voice was all stress, and Ilvriss recognized it.

“Wall Lord, we cannot have Miner Georgie working with our team.”

“If Georgie’s an issue, Forewoman, I can reassign h—them to another—”

“No, Wall Lord, I am representing all the female mining teams. He’s been moved to six teams, and mine has had him for the last four days. None of them will take him. With great respect, Wall Lord, we will strike and call off work if we have to work with Georgie. I don’t want to make this a huge issue, and I understand there are—problems—around Georgie, but this is not the solution. Sir.”

Ilvriss blinked at Gerra. He sat back in his chair, his enthusiasm for his job ebbing in his veins. He sensed what was coming next.

“Can you elaborate on the issue, Forewoman?”

She took a breath, and he realized he’d walked into that one. Gerra reported with a loud, overly-polite tone of voice that overrode all attempts to shut her down or break in.

“Georgie is…an average [Miner]. No, I take it back, he’s a pain in the tail for even average [Miners] because he’s used to Advance Miner work, but he’s higher-level than I am, so he deserves that, I suppose.”

“I believe it’s she, Forewoman—”

Welsca was drowned out as the Gnoll raised her voice.

“He’s just your average [Miner] in many respects, Wall Lord Ilvriss. Which means that he’s not ruder than most, not more of a lech or hassle—you bark at him and he does his job after complaining. But he’s a [Miner] in my team. Who I understand is cursed or…”

“Terribly cursed, Forewoman.”

“It’s an accidental enchantment caused by—”

“Wall Lord, he’s still a damn Drake, and he looks! He wanders into our changing rooms as we’re undressing, and it’s gotten so damn bad we’re hanging towels up!”

“But Georgie’s—”

“Wall Lord, have you ever seen someone ogle someone else? I’m sure you have, sir—Georgie ogles. He observes. He enjoys watching us nude. If you don’t think I’m being accurate or reasonable, as several of my superiors have, I invite you to strip to your waist and I can show you exactly how that feels.”

She gave Ilvriss a look at his own chest and several parts of his body, including his tail, which he felt was quite inappropriate. Ilvriss crossed his arms over his chest.

“I can understand that, but Georgie, right now, has a woman’s—”

“He’s nearly gotten beaten to death for slapping my [Miners] on the ass. He’s a classic idiot, Wall Lord. Yesterday, we ran into a tough seam. Nothing we couldn’t crack, but he shoved my own lead miner aside and told her, and I quote, ‘stay back and let a real man handle this’. If my team doesn’t murder him by tomorrow, it’ll be because someone’s shoved him into a wall and gotten him stuck there.”

Ilvriss’ mouth opened. But it was Georgie! Who—according to Ilvriss, was a man despite any bodily appearances, but—

“So you’re saying Georgie’s not fitting in, that the team cannot work with him, and for his morale, and yours, he should be reassigned to mixed-gender teams, Forewoman?”

He tried to clarify, and even here was his mistake. Forewoman Gerra gave Ilvriss a dark gaze.

“Oh, no, he was all complaints until he spent an hour on the job, Wall Lord. Now he loves it here. Incidentally, Wall Lord, my superiors have not been markedly understanding of the situation. I hope you are.”

“I am, Forewoman Gerra, and I appreciate your forbearance. Welsca brought this issue to my attention.”

Gerra gave Welsca a nod and half-smile, and both turned to Ilvriss. Gerra gave Ilvriss a very respectful nod, as someone who’d worked her entire career for his company would at the new, relatively young boss who was doing a good job.

“Thank you, Wall Lord. And just so we are clear, if he is not removed from my shift by the end of today, my entire team and I will be submitting sexual harassment claims in accordance with company policy.”

All one hundred and twelve of them. Ilvriss swallowed and decided the enchanted artifacts could wait a second.

——

Georgie was having a great time, despite knowing that in a broader sense, his life was over. True, most mining teams weren’t filled with Drakes or Gnolls who took the time to do makeup or look their best.

But nevertheless, having that many ladies around was not a bad thing. He took the well-chewed cigar out of his mouth and called out to a female Drake cursing and shoving a wheelbarrow with a slightly-busted front wheel up the tunnel they were enlarging. Some kind of digging project to breach the undead tunnels.

If he never saw another damn undead, he’d be happy. He still had nightmares, but he’d lived. Stupid to make that rookie mistake, but he’d collapsed the cave like he’d heard had once worked and made it out. Now he was still dead because of that damn [Healer], but—

“Hey, Andrasite, you want a hand with that? Just let me know if you want a real man to help you out.”

The mining team had already had enough two days ago. At this, Andrasite dropped the wheelbarrow filled with dirt and stones.

“You want to help out, Georgie? Be my guest.”

To her utter annoyance, Georgie sauntered over, lifted the wheelbarrow with one hand, and began to push it.

“So what’re you doing tonight? Ain’t like there’s much to do in this Human cowturd of a place. Want someone to show you a good time?”

Andrasite rolled her eyes. She tried to stomp ahead, and Georgie shoved the wheelbarrow faster, keeping up with her fast walk. He was, annoyingly, strong and Level 30+—which was double the average level of Gerra’s work team. Most had levelled since coming to the Cowpat Plains, but Level 30 was still Level 30. The Drakes and Gnolls tried to ignore Georgie.

He, for his part, tried to keep the relaxed smile on his face as he heaved the wheelbarrow, which was quite heavy, up the sloping tunnel.

Argh, Ancestors, my arm is going to fall off! But anything to impress the younger Drake. She gave him a sneer.

“I’ve got a boyfriend, Georgie.”

“Who? I haven’t seen him around. Some limp-tailed loser who can’t even pick you up after your shift? C’mon, I’m right here, and I’m Level 36! You ever met someone higher level than me? You won’t wanna go back after that.”

He thought he was onto something with Andrasite until she turned and smirked.

“You and what equipment, Georgie? I heard you were having trouble with that?”

His face went flat. And Georgie’s stomach abruptly twisted as laughter came from around him. He let go of the wheelbarrow and massaged his shoulder.

They knew. Regardless of what that damn Wall Lord had tried to claim—no, it just made it worse, them thinking he’d actually been transformed. Georgie managed after a second—

“All I need is this, Andrasite.”

He waggled two claws at her and stuck his tongue between his claws in a suggestive way. She made a face.

“Ugh. Do you actually think that’s attractive?”

“Bet you’ve never met anyone who even knows how to use their tongue, let alone claws. I’ll have you late for your next shift, babe.”

He leaned against the wheelbarrow to prevent it rolling down. Andrasite hesitated despite the jeers and snorts coming from around her.

“But you literally don’t even have—right?”

“Hey, I’ve got ways. No one’s ever complained after a night with yours truly. How about it?”

He winked at her, and if there was a truth stone on Georgie, it would have probably exploded from that one. The truth was that Georgie had sustained numerous complaints from partners over the years.

Partly, because he’d not known what the hell he was doing and assumed that good sex was proportional to how fast and hard you could move in the act. Which did not win you applause and sometimes got you disqualified before even reaching the finish line.

Second, because Georgie did have some issues in the traditional equipment sense. He didn’t like to think about it. He did have a…phallus. He kept it under his bed in a lockbox, and if anyone ever found it or asked what that was about he’d just kill everyone before explaining.

The problem was, if you brought that out to a lovely lady, she had questions. So Georgie’s move until now had been to find someone who was into him, and then get to the point where both agreed it was time to jump each other. Then get some drinks to smooth over any inconsistencies for both sides.

His second escape during any questioning that arose was to claim that a Creler had once bitten his dick off. And Georgie didn’t want to hear anyone but the ladies of his acquaintanceship complain.

It was his damn life, and he was working with the hand he’d been dealt. He hadn’t been born some rich Wall Lord sitting on a pile of gold in their towers. He was a working man, and now that he’d been found out…

I never should have picked that damn pickaxe up. Idiot, idiot—what was he going to do? He’d already been blacklisted from all the other reputable companies in Salazsar. Leave for a smaller Drake city? What did he do?

Georgie didn’t know, so he flirted. He thought Andrasite might actually bite, despite her mockery, when there was a shout.

“Administrators inspecting! Sharpen up!”

“Ah, shit in my bag of holding. Who is it now?”

Forewoman Gerra was back, that complaining Bagrhaven. Georgie began to haul the wheelbarrow up, swearing, as Andrasite made herself scarce. He was shoving it up the tunnel when the clomp of boots and voices made him peek up.

And there was Wall Lord Ilvriss, his hot secretary, and Forewoman Gerra. Georgie bit down hard on his chewed cigar as Ilvriss glanced at him.

“Miner Georgie, I’d like a word, if I may?”

“Busy working, Wall Lord.”

Georgie tried, but Welsca snapped.

“You’re reporting to the Wall Lord, Miner! You’re off-shift until he’s finished. Forewoman Gerra?”

“Thank you, Adjutant. Alright, everyone, back to work! No more distractions—I want [126% Effort!]”

Georgie’s heart sank as the shaft echoed with cheers and shouts. He straightened and gave the female [Miners] around him a betrayed look.

“Ancestors damnit—you’d think they’d be grateful for having a fellow around doin’ all the hard work. I’ve been humping dirt and taking on the hardest jobs and not a single tail raised even an inch off the ground. Women, am I right, Wall Lord?”

He turned to get confirmation or a grunt from the Wall Lord, and Ilvriss stared at Georgie with the most confused expression on his face—Georgie hesitated, then averted his gaze. So the Wall Lord didn’t get what he was, but he wasn’t having Georgie strung up or run out. Was that something?

Damnit. Georgie didn’t know what he was, but it wasn’t his fault. He just wanted to be—a regular fellow. Unfortunately, fate had other plans for him, and so did the Wall Lord. He seemed to think Georgie was his pet project.

——

It was weird to Ilvriss because Georgie was not a…okay, he was a pain in the tail. He was rude, ready to brawl, lazy when he knew he could get away with it, and he’d tried to steal the first chance he got.

Ilvriss had sort of thought he’d be different than…well, a slightly-below-average [Miner]. He was a woman. In body? Form alone? At birth but had been subjected to a gender-transformation potion?

Ancestors, it hurt Ilvriss’ head, but he tried! He pulled Georgie aside and had a word with the Drake.

“Miner Georgie, you make Forewoman Gerra’s team uncomfortable.”

“What? I’m extra respectful to them, Wall Lord. I don’t throw fists or nothin’.”

“You’ve been leering, according to Forewoman Gerra and the complaints I’ve gotten.”

“Well, what kind of fellow doesn’t leer when they’re changing around you? Am I blind?”

In a sense, it was Ilvriss’ fault. He had prefaced Georgie’s predicament by claiming he was now a woman. And it seemed that he’d been trusted on that. Georgie kept staring at something only he could see.

“Can’t them [Mages] do magic pictures of memories? I swear, it was worth getting buried alive and nearly having my head ripped off. All that jiggling…”

His claws made grasping motions, and Ilvriss resisted the urge to smack Georgie on the head. He was a victim of his own greed and unfortunate circumstances…

“I’m going to assign you to another team, Georgie, and given the, ah, issues, I’ll have you report to me for any further problems. It should hopefully not be arduous, but voice your complaints to me, and any interpersonal dilemmas. Understand?”

At this, Georgie stopped leering and glanced at Ilvriss and Welsca. Then he lost his smile.

“You think it’s all gonna get swept under the rug, Wall Lord? I’d rather you paid out my contract.”

“You’re a witness to events I’d like to keep private, Georgie. And if I did pay off your contact, would that end the matter?”

Georgie peered around the dig site as he put his hands in his pockets. Then his head lowered, and he stared at his boots.

“No.”

“Then let me try to help. Agreed?”

The [Miner] said nothing. But that was how Ilvriss began the odd conversations he had with Miner Georgie. He rather hoped it would be a small issue. Unfortunately, he was beginning to know Georgie.

——

On the first day of being reassigned, within two hours of reporting to Dig Team Oxynite, Ilvriss decided to monitor Georgie’s break. Not everyone knew about his situation, just that he was an Advance Miner. The Wall Lord activated his Ring of Invisibility only to find Georgie had integrated with the team.

At least some of them. The mixed-gender mining team was your old rough-and-tumble group. Veteran [Miners] who ranged from late twenties to fifties, ready to swing a fist at anyone who said the wrong thing if they were working.

And—right now—teaching a lesson to some of Riverfarm’s Humans, who they didn’t care for. Because they were Humans? Or northerners? Or just rookies?

“Hold ‘em still! You don’t pull your weight, you get your skin dyed!”

A laughing group of nine, all Drakes and Gnolls, were about to dunk a young man headfirst in a bucket of charcoal water. It’d color your skin or scales like ink, and a wet Gnoll with blackened fur and another Drake and Human half-glaring at the group were signs of the hazing ritual.

Georgie was laughing and holding onto a kicking leg when Wall Lord Ilvriss appeared, arms folded. The Advance Miner stopped, took his cigar out of his mouth, and let go of the young man as the rest of the [Miners] turned. Ilvriss sighed.

——

Incident two occurred as Georgie’s mining team was coming off shift. That same day. The tradition was for the [Forepeople] of each team to report their take.

It wasn’t all about who’d dug up what. Only a fool thought one team digging more gemstones up mattered; if you were assigned to a bad seam, what could you do?

It was instead about how much you’d dug. How many tough pockets you’d had to clear—if you’d run into a monster nest, all kinds of stuff. And it wasn’t all competition, but there was some satisfaction to Foreman Rolx of Oxynite strolling over and dumping a sample of ore down in a pile.

“Oxynite, 84 buckets of loose stone deposit. 122 feet straight down and nothing.”

Not much, really. Loose stone deposit was all bits and tiny gemstones or dust that someone would sift through for valuables. Barely worth the effort. It was a shit take, and Georgie would have been nervous if he was in a traditional company in Salazsar. Too many days like that and your entire mining project might get canned for lack of value.

However, here it was fine. They were digging down, still searching for something else besides the teams assigned to mining around the undead. Georgie was tired and sweat-soaked. It was a hot damn day of work, and he wanted to use the new showers he’d heard they’d installed.

And toilets—the ladies had refused to let him use more than buckets from their damn cubicles. As if he’d steal their underwear. You got that as a trophy, and you tucked it into your belt so the lads knew you’d scored a motherlode the next day. Like a proper Drake.

Anyways, the point was the other teams were reporting numbers.

“80 feet. Hard clay.”

That came from a Human to a few jeers—from Georgie especially loudly—but he shut up when Rolx glared at him. The bastard was not shy about throwing a fist around, but the new team was Humans. From Liscor! Or Invrisil or something—

It wasn’t that bad for newcomers a few days on the job, actually. If the clay sucked it sucked. But Georgie kept jeering until a huge damn Silverfang appeared.

“Miner Thamert, of Silverfangs. We report 214 feet dug. Mostly limestone with some coal.”

He casually dumped a black bucket on the pile, proof of said coal. Georgie nearly inhaled his cigar.

That deep on top of stone and other deposits they had to harvest? He began to mutter.

“Gotta be bullshit. I reckon they’re just trying to look good. How do a bunch of Plains Gnolls know how to dig better’n us?”

He got several nods from other Salazsarian [Miners], but someone hissed.

“That’s an Ekhtouch Gnoll. You see him swinging that pickaxe? I heard he cracked the entire limestone seam after winding up for twenty minutes! Just hit it and it all turned into gravel!”

Ancestors, really? The Silverfang marched back, and Georgie swallowed another comment. Then came a team he knew well.

“Rolx. 33 feet. Nothing to report.”

A broad-chested Drake walked forwards, dumped no bucket down, and seemed very disinterested in showing off. He nodded to the other [Foremen], who said not a word, and Georgie ground his cigar down in his teeth. No one said anything—until he did.

“Thirty-three feet? What were they doing, yanking their tails in one hand and pissing with the other? Why do we have to share shift-pay with this lot?”

He called out, and the Drake who was walking back into line turned his head. He and his team didn’t appear as dirty as Georgie’s group. Nor had they dug even half of what Georgie’s team had!

But they were sort of big, which is why no one had commented hither-to, and the administrators didn’t care, even if they could see the results. Georgie pointed.

“It’s always Rolx and Oblest and Canera—lazy bastards. You don’t get anywhere while we’re doing all the digging!”

“Hey, someone’s got to sort through all the shit your team misses!”

One of the Gnolls fired back, but one of the [Administrators] barked.

“That’s enough! Let’s muster out and get back to camp. Eyes on a swivel for those damn [Ranchers]!”

Each mining team’s leader began to shout orders, but Georgie was fed up, and from the muttering, he wasn’t the only one.

“Just so long as they get half-pay. I’m not busting my tail to let my bonus slip away to some weak-armed Hatchlings who can’t even lift a shovel!”

At that, there were a lot of loud murmurs in agreement. Everyone from the Silverfangs to the Humans to the all-female teams—you got paid for exemplary work, and these idiots didn’t work. Georgie saw the leader of Rolx’s team square his shoulders, then bark back.

“That’s enough. Muster out!”

“Eager to get to your bed? You didn’t earn it!”

That came from Andrasite, Georgie swore. Someone tossed a clod of dirt, and it hit one of the lazy miners in the helmet. There was a growl.

“Break it up! Everyone get moving!”

The [Administrator] saw the trouble and tried to head it off, but it was too late. The angry, annoyed miners began shoving upwards, out of the dig site, but one got too close to the Rolx team. They shoved past the angry miners and nearly sent a group of four sprawling. When the enraged quartet shoved the lazy [Miner] so hard he crashed into his buddies, there were shouts, people falling—then someone nailed someone else with a stone.

More objects flew, and the mining team captains began to shout and use Skills—then saw fists raise. They backed up. Then the first person threw a punch. Georgie wasn’t that person.

He threw the sixth punch and clocked the leader of the Rolx team in the jaw—and broke his jaw. Georgie was swearing and holding his fist, which felt like it was broken itself, when the enraged Drake rose, covering his face, and George realized the other Drake had a head on the slim [Miner]—and over a hundred pounds.

Ancestors, he’s ripped for a shitass min—

——

Wall Lord Ilvriss was standing over Georgie when the Drake woke up and stared cross-eyed at the ceiling. He had his head in his hands.

“How many injuries?”

“Er…less than if the [Ranchers] attacked, Wall Lord?”

“How many teams are off rotation tomorrow?”

“Only—six, sir?”

Uh oh. Georgie tried to pretend to be asleep, but Wall Lord Ilvriss had noticed him waking up. The Wall Lord leaned over.

“Miner Georgie, do you have anything to say for yourself? I’m told you broke one of my Foremen’s jaws.”

“They started it, sir.”

Georgie lied like he breathed. Ilvriss stared down at him. He straightened.

“Your pay will be docked pending a full investigation, Miner Georgie. Along with everyone else who instigated the fights. Welsca, note the incident down on file. Don’t list it as a serious incident, but I want accountability.”

Shit. Georgie sagged as Ilvriss spun on his heel and turned. It wouldn’t be the worst incident on his record, but that kind of thing added up, and he had a history—

Who was he kidding, he wasn’t working for Gemscale after this. And he probably had to leave—he heard the Wall Lord departing after some more talking. The man whose jaw Georgie had broken was lying in a cot at the far end of the [Healer]’s tent, and that did not make Georgie feel better.

Bastard had laid him out in three punches. If he wanted vengeance—Georgie decided he’d be careful when taking a piss or eating. Though he was always careful about some things. He tried to get some sleep as he lay back in bed.

Just another day in the life of Miner Georgie, who didn’t really have many friends, prospects, or a future in this world. He closed his eyes.

Georgie was nodding off when he felt the pillow go over his face. But contrary to what people might believe, a pillow didn’t exactly choke you if applied to your face, just made it harder to breathe. Plus—he tore it off.

“Hey, who the h—”

That was when his unknown assailant dropped the pillow, put two claws around Georgie’s throat, and began to strangle him. He kicked, thrashing, but the attacker had the advantage of height and surprise and—

——

It was late, and Damia’s Skill had worn off on Ilvriss. He was nursing his own bruises; another [Rancher] clan had paid him a visit that evening, and while he’d clocked someone leading the lot hard in the face, he’d eaten a full kick that had torn his scales up.

Miner Georgie had been a pain in his scales three times today, and so his name was the last one Ilvriss wanted to hear. When he heard it again, he actually hissed.

“If that idiot’s molesting the [Healer], I want him fired and shipped back to Salazsar in a—”

“Sir, someone tried to kill him just now.”

Ilvriss stopped hissing. He rose to his feet.

“You’re sure?”

——

The Drake who’d saved Georgie from being asphyxiated was Miner Team Leader Maiss. Of Team Rolx. A Drake whom Ilvriss knew, though that was not the issue at hand here.

His jaw was still broken and on the mend, and Ilvriss winced; the [Healer] had done her best to set it, but it might not have gone completely right without a healing potion; it appeared distinctly swollen or like his chin was a bit too forwards. Maybe he should assign a healing potion, but they weren’t supposed to have them, despite the inn gifting Ilvriss some for his officers…no, wait, those healing scrolls. He needed to buy some but pretend he hated Antinium. Next time he was in Liscor.

“Team Leader Maiss, report?”

Maiss struggled to talk.

“Saw someone try to put a pillow over his face, sir. Thought it was just annoyance until he started strangling. Stopped it.”

“How?”

“Broke his arm, sir, and gave him an introduction to my knee.”

That…would do it. Maiss was a big Drake, and Ilvriss was impressed. No ‘mysterious assailant’ running off here.

“Good work, Team Leader Maiss. Get some rest.”

“Sir.”

He saluted Ilvriss, and the Wall Lord turned.

“Who tried to kill Georgie? One of the teams he insulted?”

Welsca checked her notes, and she was uncomfortable, now.

“No, Wall Lord. It’s a Junior Mining Inspector Lacambt, sir. One of Dramm’s subordinates. When questioned, he just stated that he was doing the right thing, Wall Lord.”

Ilvriss’ heart sank. He felt a shadow pass over him, despite the late hour, and saw Xesci’s gaze in the reflection from Welsca’s spectacles.

“Wall Lord Dramm’s apologized for his subordinate’s assault and requested leniency, sir.”

“I imagine he has.”

“So have five other leaders, from [Foremen] to administrators.”

A longer silence, then. Ilvriss inhaled, then spoke.

“…[Miners] brawl all the time, Welsca. This was an unfortunate brawl, but we’ve had idiots start multiple and kept them, albeit with discipline. Murdering another [Miner]? Unless it’s some kind of jilted lover, someone getting the other person killed, or feud, it doesn’t happen. We are the Gemscale Company, and we tolerate no speciesism, no hostile work environment, no pettiness.”

“Yes, Wall Lord. With respect, Wall Lord, that’s not the issue at hand.”

He knew that. But Welsca was changing too, because she pointed it out so frankly. Ilvriss met her eyes, then glanced down at his table.

“Put Georgie in a separate tent and post a guard. Have Lacambt on trial for attempted murder.”

“Are you sure, sir?”

“He tried to strangle Georgie.”

Was that not obvious? Ilvriss’ incensed gaze at Welca didn’t provoke an expression of shame, because she reminded him of something he’d recently learned.

“Yes, Wall Lord. I’m not denying that. I’m just pointing out that Lacambt may have not been acting solely on his own, Wall Lord.”

A longer silence, then, as Ilvriss met her eyes, and he didn’t need anything else spelled out. He rubbed at his face again.

“I wish I had a drink. Don’t get me one. Just…begin asking around, discreetly. Make sure that guard is secure. And—and move Miner Georgie off his current team. Have him assigned to Advance Miner work again once he recovers. But report him to me and Major Shellc for the anti-undead operations.”

“Yes, sir.”

Fortunately or unfortunately, being strangled by an amateur did less damage than getting punched out in a brawl. Georgie was fit for work tomorrow morning, and that was how Ilvriss found himself in the company of a Turnscale, which was one thing.

But also one of the most annoying Advance Miners he’d ever met, which Ilvriss decided mattered a lot more.

——

When you got down to it, what was a Wall Lord? Useful? For his Skills, certainly. For the money he provided, of course, a necessity given Salazsar’s commercial systems. But when the hammers and pickaxes were going, where should he be?

In a tower, ‘leading’ people and waiting for the profits to come in? Most of Ilvriss’ peers operated that way. They set huge initiatives in concurrence with their trusted [Administrators] and staff, used their Skills, and just…raked in the gold.

When you got down to it, the truth was—Ilvriss knew he was like the nobles of the north in many ways. He was not the one crushing stones. What good was he at this dig site? The fact that he had left so often to visit the inn was proof he wasn’t essential. However, that morning, he took a walk around the town of Thirthoof, his dig site, and just—was the Lord of the Walls of the Gemscale company.

With Georgie and Damia. The former because it was necessary for Georgie’s safety and because Ilvriss had to do something—the latter because she had earned it and you had to have fun in life.

But Georgie…he seemed subdued after his near-death experience. Shaken, pale as he strode over in a grimy, sleeveless undershirt and trousers. Ilvriss saw Welsca glaring, but he leaned over.

“That’s how most [Miners] attire themselves, Welsca. I’d like some privacy today, please. It’s going to be just inspections.”

That meant only his [Bodyguards] and fewer staff. Given his company, Welsca nodded. She followed of course, and Georgie actually threw a salute. A bad one, but he touched his helmet.

“What’s my job today, Wall Lord? I’m ready to go.”

“For now, you’re accompanying me around the dig sites, Georgie. We need to talk. Plus, Major Shellc is still trying to corral the undead that attacked you. We need those damned mines clear.”

Georgie’s eyes flickered as he nodded and took a breath.

“Bastards are tunneling around a lot, right? I hate that. That’s real Advance Miner sh—stuff. Chasing them down and not getting close before the monsters jump you. And the [Soldiers] are always too damn slow.”

See, that interested Ilvriss and Lady Damia, who had come out in a full dress with a low cut blouse—he glanced sideways as Georgie stopped and stared at Damia’s chest.

“Not appropriate, Lady Damia.”

“I, uh—I’m so sorry—”

“We might be entering the mines. Protective clothing on everyone, please. I should have mentioned.”

He had on his regular clothing, but he had rings, and they were good enough to fight in. Damia dashed off and came back two minutes later, in an amazing display of speed-dressing, to Ilvriss and Georgie…talking.

“You actually had to participate in an anti-Creler operation? The Razzmetal mines? I heard about that. Forty days, right?”

Georgie grimaced around his worn cigar.

“Thirty-nine, and they only called me in for eighteen. Little bastards kept digging.”

“Didn’t it set a record for most Advance Miner injuries this century? I thought it was incompetence, but Alrric speculated it was just…nasty.”

“Yup. See, the thing all those stupid administrators don’t get is that even if we’ve got Rubirel Guard ‘at our tails’, they’re always standing up the mine shaft. Can’t get too close in case we cave in. They ain’t got the reflexes to dodge, and we need space to move. I don’t care if one of ‘em’s got [Lightning Interception]. They’re still slow. When the monster decides to come at you, it just takes one swing. Then you dodge or it’s got you.”

“Did you run into the Crelers?”

Georgie flexed a bicep.

“Sure did. We got to the point where we’d just go fifteen feet, listen, and go fifteen feet again. Then we drew lots, and one bugger had to keep minin’.”

“Why? Ah—”

Damia leapt into the conversation, though her eager voice became subdued.

“Wait, isn’t that because the Crelers would flee a large number of bodies? So if they thought they could kill one and they were hungry—oh.”

The Advance Miner wore the same expression as soldiers. That too-calm expression of a man who’d seen death. He spat on the ground.

“Yep. No fancy spells, no high-grade magic. Just a rope to haul them up, healing potions if the Crelers were on them, and waiting. We had to do it or they’d keep digging. That’s why we’re Advance Miners. And that’s why you haven’t caught the undead, Wall Lord.”

Ilvriss’ head turned sharply.

“The [Miners] and Shellc have been coordinating and cutting off some of them—”

“But they’re always letting the other ones get away, right? It’s ‘cause the dig teams are scared.”

That was Georgie’s theory, and Ilvriss’ head snapped forward.

“If they’re hesitating to breach or dig fast because of monsters—to Dig Site B, then.”

Damia eyed Georgie sidelong. She knew Georgie as well—mostly from the complaints about him. But her instincts told her he was significant in some way. She’d had Binevy ask around, and no one had wanted to say outright what they thought the problem with Georgie was. Rumors about a magical artifact? Everyone knew something, but what?

Ilvriss himself was reminded of something he’d forgotten: Georgie was an Advance Miner, and a veteran one. Crudeness and Turnscale issues aside, he knew this job. The Wall Lord had high hopes for the day, which diminished after he heard a faint thwap and a shout.

He turned just in time to see Georgie turn and give Damia a tail-slap on her rear end. She turned and slapped him—and Ilvriss exhaled.

Okay then.

——

As he knew he was a dead Drake walking, now, Georgie had been hoping the Wall Lord would just send him back to Salazsar with a terminated clause. Even if he was fired, that would give him some lead time unless they sent him to the sanatorium.

So yes, the butt-slap on the [Lady] had been calculated. The [Adjutant] was about to chew him out and write Georgie up when the Wall Lord did something unexpected.

“Give me five minutes. Lady Damia, I apologize—Georgie, one side.”

He stepped to the side with Georgie, not actually out of earshot, and the [Miner] braced. He could see the other Drakes and Humans accompanying Ilvriss watching him and pretending not to. This would be the moment when the Wall Lord threw a punch or the [Miner Leader] sorted you out. Then you got back to work.

“Sir?”

He braced, trembling a bit because he knew he couldn’t punch the Wall Lord—that was another kind of death sentence. But Ilvriss just exhaled hard.

“That kind of conduct is unacceptable in the Gemscale corporation, Advance Miner Georgie. You know that.”

Instantly, Georgie relaxed and felt a bit contemptuous. No punch, which meant the Wall Lord was one of those soft ‘lead from behind’ types who sat in their towers all day. The ones who just lectured you. He glanced at Damia.

“Sure thing, Wall Lord. Won’t happen again. She’s just a H—”

Ilvriss reached out and grabbed Georgie’s shoulder. Hard. Georgie jerked, and Ilvriss dragged him over.

“Finish that sentence, Georgie, or do that again in my presence and I will ship you back to Salazsar and blacklist you across the entire Walled City. I am trying to help you. Why did you do that?”

His aura was pressing down on Georgie hard, like heavy gemstones, and Georgie hesitated. Swallowed as he glanced down at his boots and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“I—look, it’s just the kind of thing you do, Wall Lord.”

“Harass women?”

“I—sure? It’s just how miners do things.”

“Not all [Miners], and not in my company, Georgie. Your conduct has been inexcusable and deliberate. You know treating other Drakes and Gnolls like that is inappropriate. What I want to know is why. I’ve read your record. Plenty of indictments for insubordination, fighting—and you know what? It’s pretty standard for an Advance Miner.”

“I’m s—what?”

That threw the Drake. He finally looked up, and Ilvriss raised his brows.

“All Advance Miners fight with their supervisors and each other. And brawl. It’s not the standard we hold regular [Miners] to, but you risk your lives. It’s like Gold-rankers. We have an internal system in the Gemscale company where we weigh your negative records against how many times you’ve been in a life-or-death encounter and how you performed there. Alrric does it; it’s some kind of mathematical calculation. You passed it. Until recently, you weren’t exactly ideal, and your attempted theft of company property was a problem, but the sexual harassment claims weren’t high at all. Three over an entire lifetime of work. Something changed. What?”

Georgie squirmed as he glanced at Ilvriss’ boots, then up at the Drake. Fuck, this wasn’t his usual dressing down. It felt more like a conversation. He snapped back.

“What’s there to say, Wall Lord? It’s not like I’ve got any future now that I’m cursed. You had me on theft—then you tossed me in a mining team full of women!”

“And?”

“And I’m a man, not someone who’ll wear a female uniform or be one of the girls. I reminded them of that, didn’t I?”

Georgie hissed back, and now Ilvriss blinked. He peered at Georgie, then glanced at Welsca. Backed down his aura and exhaled.

“Is that what this is about? Are you trying to get fired?”

“I’m already fired. Someone gets drubbed down for theft and they’re already on the way out.”

Ilvriss scratched at his chin-scales.

“You’re an Advance Miner who breached a high-level monster site. And the artifacts you found have been nearly stolen by multiple members of my company. It even triggered Hoarding impulses in me. I wouldn’t hold that against you entirely, though I would have you watched.”

He was being too reasonable. Georgie was mad and trembling with it. He chewed on his cigar.

“Then the other reason’s enough.”

Again, Ilvriss hesitated, and Georgie stared at him. He knew Georgie was a Turnsc—that thing. Georgie didn’t even like thinking the word himself. It was bad. Terrible. So why was the Wall Lord so off?

They said he employed a [Courtesan], that he had an affair with a Human in the north and tried to marry her. They used to say he was one of Salazsar’s glittering boys, an exemplar Wall Lord. But Gnolls always liked him because he employed them and then—

Who was this Drake? Ilvriss was thinking, as if asking himself that very question.

“That…matter is one of great concern, Georgie. I do not want you to be put in further danger, and I understand if I let you go, there will be concerns.”

I’ll have to flee the city fast as I can. The companies’ll probably have me blacklisted, and I bet someone’ll call into the Watch to haul me to the sanatorium. You don’t get out of there. Georgie took a shuddering breath.

“Could be. But hey, if you paid me out my contract, I could, uh, just go. Plenty of work for a [Miner] in the north, right?”

The Wall Lord looked him over again.

“You’d rather walk into Human territory—this territory with the [Ranchers] about—than go back to Salazsar?”

“Well, yeah.”

This time, Georgie met Ilvriss’ topaz colored eyes, and he thought the Wall Lord understood. A bit more, and he’d already been close to the truth. But like a man chipping away at a glittering gemstone buried in stone, another piece fell away. Ilvriss exhaled.

“I see. If we can’t resolve this, I’ll arrange for you to be paid out and dropped off in Invrisil.”

That—might actually work. There were Drakes there, and if he used his papers, he might get through Pallass or just go to Liscor. The sense of doom hanging over Georgie’s head lightened. He actually smiled.

—Right before Ilvriss took him by the shoulder.

“Now, back to your behavior. No more of that.”

“Oh, come on, Wall Lord. That’s how the ladies like it.”

The Wall Lord’s look made Georgie splutter.

“I’m not joking! You know how it is. Sure, half the [Miners]’ll belt you in the face, especially if they’ve got someone, and the other half ignores you. But that leaves, like…a fifth who’ll listen. They go for a man who talks loud or who does what we’re all thinking.”

“Your math is as atrocious as a certain [Witch]’s fashion sense, Georgie. That is not how you establish a romantic relationship with people.”

The two Drakes argued, and Georgie snorted. He hadn’t actually had a conversation with another Drake or Gnoll about, well, romance. It felt odd. So, almost eagerly, he challenged the Wall Lord, jutting out his chin.

“Okay, how does it work for you? I bet having gold and being a Wall Lord makes it so much easier.”

For a moment, he saw Ilvriss drawing breath, flushing slightly under his scales, and then the Wall Lord hesitated. Exhaled.

“I won’t deny…I had the same attitude as a younger man, Georgie. Showing off, boasting, it does have its appeal, and it does sometimes work. But the woman I fell in love with didn’t get to know me because of any of that. Actually, she requested a transfer from my command after—for every person you win over, you’ll alienate ten more from your behavior. And, with due respect to said individuals, the women who appreciate being nonconsensually slapped on the rear are not the partners I’d choose for life.”

To this fairly reasonable statement, Georgie shrugged.

“I know that. I’m just down for a quick—y’know. I’ll settle down with someone who’s actually decent later. Someone who appreciates a good fellow and doesn’t want me acting out.”

That was just a dream. Just a dream, but he talked like it was a reality. Like he was any other fellow—but Ilvriss was simply frowning at Georgie.

“There’s an error in your logic, Georgie.”

“Just one?”

“Hah. Listen, I get that mentality. Be young, fool around. Some people never leave it. I have a friend, Wall Lord Brilm—he’s married and has a kid, and he’s been divorced because he keeps doing what you’re doing. Let’s say you can quit, though. Here’s a question P—someone asked me once. What happens to the women you’re talking about? The ones who’d never make good life partners?”

“…Huh?”

Ilvriss was walking and talking with Georgie now, towards Dig Site B since it was a ways.

“I’ve had to deal with female employees who have been accused of being licentious as well. Not in those exact words. It’s a bad idea to enforce a no-relationships policy in the company, but the flipside is all these issues. But you know, I’ve heard the exact same things come out of their mouths. They’re just having fun—in ten years, they’ll find a fellow who doesn’t mouth off or cast eyes at every passing tail. In time, it seems no one thinks that kind of behavior is ideal in a life partner. Brilm aside.”

Georgie had no idea where this conversation was going, so he shrugged.

“So? Seems like everyone agrees, then. We’re having fun.”

“Only, your ‘having fun’ involves quite a lot of people who don’t want to participate in your behavior.”

“Yeah, well…I overdid it because the ladies were full of snark. It’s just me and the boys doing what’s normal, usually.”

“Faking Gnollish howls whenever someone you fancy walks by?”

The Advance Miner had the grace not to deny he did that. Ilvriss wore the pained expression of a Drake who’d done just that.

“Let me put it like this, Georgie. I can’t enforce social behavior outside of the Gemscale company, but I can within my work environment, and that’s why we have codes of conduct. But even outside of it—we don’t have to act like that. We can, but it makes other people uncomfortable. It turns you into someone who’s competing with every other man around you for attention and that often leads to bravado. Fights. It’s not that much fun, especially if you’re not the most handsome or strongest man in the room.”

“…So you want me to not say a word and be one of those respectful, sexless losers who holds doors open for women and hopes they eye him sideways?”

The Wall Lord exhaled.

“No, I’m just saying tone it down and the entire room takes it down. Let me give you an example. There’s always someone like that in a group of friends. Brilm. It’s always Brilm walking over, asking someone what color their underwear is, making comments that are wholly inappropriate. And if you think you’re bad, you’ve never seen a drunk Wall Lord.”

“I just slapped that [Lady] on the rear. How bad could—”

“You’ve never tried to strip a [Waitress]’ skirt off in a restaurant.”

Ah. Georgie hesitated, and Ilvriss stared past him.

“At that point, you do drop-kick your friend. Or let the Watch sort it out. But you know, it doesn’t have to get there. If you’re in that moment, and he’s acting out, you just have to pull him aside and say, ‘Brilm, this isn’t funny, knock it off’.”

“Right, I’m sure that works.”

“Mhm. And when he shoves your other friend, Tasilt, off and calls him a limp-tailed loser, you pull him aside and say the same thing. When three people say it, or everyone tells him to shut up or go home? He does that. And he can go off and find other friends or change. It’s called peer pressure, Georgie. It is the act of being made to be uncomfortable when a dozen people around you address the thing you shouldn’t do and you stop.”

“Normally, a [Foreman] just tells me to knock it off or throws a fist.”

Ilvriss walked forwards, shaking his head.

“Right. That’s miner culture, and I don’t do that. Alrric’s part of that old mentality of smacking heads, and I’m not. My father was. I try to address things without needing to punch heads because it doesn’t actually change things.”

Georgie was shifting from foot to foot.

“Look—I know it was wrong. I’ll apologize to the [Lady], Wall Lord. I’ll stop. I’ll even apologize to the women in the mining teams. But you’re not going to change things with this, I dunno, social talking to people thing. That’s not how it works.”

If you had fifteen of the lads all shouting comments and you pulled what Ilvriss was doing? It only worked because he was the Wall Lord. Otherwise, they’d go tell you to get stuffed, and if you insisted, they’d come at you with fists. But Ilvriss just glanced at Georgie, amused.

“Maybe it only works for me, Georgie, but I’d say it has an effect on people.”

“How do you figure that? I haven’t ever been peer-social-pressured or whatever.”

“No? I’m doing it to you right now. Most young men, Gnolls, Drakes, listen when I have this conversation with them. If they keep acting up, it’s a shame and we let them go. We had to hire a lot of new workers because this isn’t a regular operation, but I think I’ll have a few more conversations like this today. I’d like you to be part of them. Or at least, observe.”

Georgie came to a halt, mouth open. Ilvriss strode onwards, and he didn’t insist that Georgie apologize to Damia or hover over his shoulder. But he was watching, Georgie realized.

——

Wall Lord Ilvriss was not amazing at combat, strategy, or even leadership. He was just…good at all these things. And good enough to know when someone was better than him, like Major Shellc.

The Rhir veteran rebutted Georgie’s claim in some respects. After his conversation with Georgie, Ilvriss caught everyone, including Damia and her people, up to speed on the undead issue. Which had Damia agog.

“A Dorn Pillar?”

“A growing one. It’s mobile. When it gets too big, apparently it turns into said pillar, which is mostly stationary. Bone with holes in it that extrude undead-themed monsters. And it can hypnotize, cast magic—it’s one of the nastiest undead down there because it thinks. Pursuit has been hard, but it’s not just the [Miners], Wall Lord.”

Shellc was pointing to a three-dimensional model of the dig. The mining tunnels that Georgie had found were zig-zagging upwards. Long, almost geometric lines compared to the exploratory shapes dug down. But then it became an anthill of confused tunnels—attempts to dig and attack the undead and keep them from tunnelling outwards.

A damn mess in short. Shellc appeared annoyed, but grimly determined.

“I have no doubt our teams are slow due to fear, Wall Lord, Advance Miner. But the undead are actively avoiding us after we destroyed several of their high-grade members. The moment they hear us, they retreat.”

“Ah. Small wonder they’re eluding us. The Creler problem all over, but I am not minded to send in a sacrificial lamb. Thoughts, anyone? Advance Miner?”

Damia was prodding the side of her head, muttering. Georgie just frowned.

“Are the bastards listening to us? ‘Cause there are Advance Miners with silence Skills.”

“Probably detecting our hearts or just lifeforce. Still, an Advance Miner with stealth Skills…not a bad idea. I’m embarrassed to say that I don’t know much about mining, Wall Lord. I didn’t know that was a thing.”

Shellc frowned. Ilvriss assured him it was, if rare.

“Advance Miners need to avoid monster nests or even buried magics, Major. Let’s say we get the jump on them—”

“We have, three times. The Dorn Pillar will screen itself and run. It’s not fast, but the bastard can send a Crypt Lord in front of us, and getting past it slows us down. By the time we hack apart its escort, it’s gone.”

Hence the problem. Damia lifted a hand.

“What if—what if we put down traps ahead of the Dorn Pillar so it runs into them?”

“You mean we flank it then lay traps? It’s hard enough getting the drop on it once, Lady Damia. No offense, but if I manage to get close to it, I’m ambushing because a flanking maneuver takes too much time, and they are actively mobile. A good thought, but we don’t have dedicated trapsetting experts.”

“We have some auxiliaries…”

“None with dedicated trapping Skills, Wall Lord. Unless the Silverfangs have any, I’d put this as ‘nice, but impractical’.”

The two Drakes exchanged glances as Damia’s head swung between the two, and Georgie frowned. Ilvriss sighed.

“Damnation. I never was a good commander with a varied army. We have some of my staff who can [Deploy Fortification], but it takes fifteen minutes and a few dozen hands, even with the Skill. Battlefield-ready, not for ambushes like an adventurer. We can do magic—”

“The Dorn Pillar senses mana, so it runs the moment a [Mage] gets within two hundred feet of it. There are too many tunnels, Wall Lord, and the more we dig, the easier it is for the undead to slip around us in the passages.”

“You’ve been bracing them, right? The stuff in the weird mining tunnels won’t collapse, but if the tunnels are not braced, you’ll risk a cave-in and everyone dying.”

Georgie put in, and the Rubirel Guard shifted nervously behind him. They could survive even underwater thanks to their helmets, but being buried alive? Their helmets would run out of oxygen, and that was a horror story. Shellc was grimacing further.

“I’ve had numerous [Foremen] shouting that very thing at me, Advance Miner. We’re trying, but as I said, now we have to tunnel, brace it, while the undead are—”

“What if you collapsed the tunnels on purpose?”

A quiet voice, then. Damia Reinhart’s eyes lit up as her thoughts manifested an idea. All the Drakes turned, and Shellc blinked.

“On the Dorn Pillar?”

“It would slow it down, wouldn’t it? Can you perform a controlled collapse? [Geomancers] have trouble, I know, but if you knew where it was running—”

Bury it and get in place while it tries to get out. Shellc’s eyes lit up. Ilvriss spun.

“Excellent idea, Lady Damia! Who has collapsing Skills? Stealth Skills? Welsca, get a list—”

Georgie raised one claw. He had both. And he felt that familiar flutter of fear in his chest, but if Ilvriss meant what he said…

“I could do it. For a big payout. Combat pay and more.”

That might give me a chance to buy my way across the north. He had a way out of here that didn’t get him killed. He just had to risk his life.

Easy. What a relief. He actually grinned, a cocksure smile of someone who was good at his job as the room turned to him. Appraising, nodding, even a hint of respect from Ilvriss.

Lady Damia smiled sweetly at Georgie. Then she grabbed his tail and gave it a squeeze near the base.

He nearly leapt on her before Shellc and Ilvriss dragged him back.

——

Damia Reinhart held grudges. And she had the counterpoint to Ilvriss’ reasonable conversation about respect and behavior.

If you do it to me, I’ll do it to you. Georgie was furious—but he simmered down once Damia apologized and Ilvriss called in a mediator.

Xesci was always highly amused whenever she was called in to help. She turned to Lady Damia, then Georgie, then to Ilvriss.

“You want me to deal with sexual harassment?”

“I know that’s ironic—”

“No, no, I’m great at it. Do you have any more offending [Miners]? I have a very simple way to deal with it.”

“What is it?”

Georgie was eying Xesci, who was not in her more lascivious forms, with some curiosity. So was Damia. Xesci smirked.

“Your speech on behavior is nice, Ilvriss. I don’t have time for it, so if one of my [Bouncers] thinks he can treat a girl like that—or vice versa—I just remind them it can go all the way around. Lady Damia had the right idea. I’ll just start groping whoever’s doing it.”

“…That seems like it would have the opposite effect on a number of young men, Xesci.”

She gave Ilvriss an amused gaze.

“Would it? If it’s what you’re imagining and I’m being nice and caressing them, it would, Ilvriss. Do you think that’s how it feels to the opposite sex? A slap on the rear when you’re not expecting it isn’t fun. Neither is being fondled. Or being treated like you’re a toy. If I did that to you in front of an entire group and, say, called you a cute little thing while putting a claw on your butthole, what would you do?”

Ilvriss’ face said he regretted asking Xesci instantly. But Georgie jerked back.

“Punch your face in? They’ll kill you.”

“Not if I have leverage. No one’s strong enough when there are six people on you. Well, Named-rankers, but even they find it hard in the right joint-lock. Want me to demonstrate? If one of them harasses my girls, I’ll have them stripped and walked naked back to their tents. And believe me, there will be comments.”

Xesci could be vicious, and Ilvriss winced to imagine how much she could comment on your personal appearance. She turned to Georgie.

“I’m sure you don’t want me to get handsy with you, Advance Miner? Or Lady Damia?”

The look in Georgie’s eyes went murderous in a moment, and Xesci lifted her claws.

“There we go. Don’t lash out at me. Also, you’re copying the wrong thing. You think that’s how most Drake men should act. It’s just the loudest ones.”

Anger turned to uncertainty, then terror. Georgie backed up as Xesci smiled at him, and she could see straight through him. Straight through everyone. She turned to Damia, then, and the [Lady] lost her eager, inquisitive smile.

“I’m delighted you’re being useful and having fun, Lady Damia. Just remember—you haven’t reached the inn yet. There’s always time to mess it up, just like you always have.”

She stepped back, then, and gave Ilvriss a thumbs up.

“You see? So much faster than your speech. Want me to visit your mines?”

He hesitated and eyed the two mildly-traumatized employees.

“Can you…be a bit less intense, Xesci?”

She sighed.

“I could try.”

——

Okay…one issue of Georgie’s behavior had been stomped flat. He was so subdued that besides asking who Xesci was, he seemed rather beaten down.

Ilvriss was reminded that the fellow had survived two near-death experiences. He tried to think of the future. And be encouraging. That was what he was doing as Major Shellc began his Operation Cave-In.

Building morale. It was a stupid phrase, but that was what he was trying. How good he was at it, Ilvriss never knew. He thought it had some effect, but…

“How is Team Oxynite doing? I know morale’s been low recently, but between the reinforcements and a certain [Lady], I understand things are better. Still…how much should I be putting in as a bonus?”

It was a bad joke, but the Drake and Gnoll [Miners] laughed awkwardly as they stood around. Ilvriss’ scales were itching. They were digging towards the undead, but this group was taking a break, and there were [Soldiers] all about. Rolx’s team was digging another tunnel—poorly. Georgie was lending a claw, and they were still half of what Oxynite was doing.

[Foreman] Rolx was eying Georgie, but he didn’t comment on the oddities, like Damia or—well, it was all oddity. He just listened as one of the Drakes, a fellow with a scar on his cheek from a falling stalactite, laughed.

“We’ll take a big one, Wall Lord! This has been one of the most sh—er, interesting jobs so far.”

“You’re allowed to say shit, Miner Filss. We are in the Cowpat Plains. We’re walking on it to work.”

More laughter, but Ilvriss didn’t react to it. He didn’t need to be humored. He just stood there, drinking from a water flask as they did likewise. No free mugs of beer or officials going around shaking hands. And the [Miners] get a bit less raucous as they realized he was just…

“Any major complaints? I know you’re all on combat pay, and I assure you, every measure has been taken to avoid miner-deaths. But we are working around multiple high-tier undead. They have to die. If we pack up and haul off, these lands will be hit by a scourge in a decade’s time like an Adult Creler’s nest.”

“Not like the Humans don’t deserve it, Wall Lord. They come riding in, break our skulls, and ride off, and we have to clean up the shit living in their tunnels?”

Another silence to see what the Wall Lord said, but Ilvriss nodded at the Gnoll.

“Fair enough, Miner…?”

“Rulf.”

“Thank you, Miner Rulf, I agree with a lot of that. However, it’s their lands—and ours. These undead? They’re all Drakes. Well, I heard a few Gnolls were among them, but it’s Drakes. Even if most have mutated. It’s…our problem.”

Now they were all staring at him, and someone coughed.

“As in—we were the ones mining down here? What’re we, uh, what’re we digging up, Wall Lord? There’s rumors it’s—we just heard it was some big dig.”

Ilvriss took another sip of water, thoughtful.

“Whatever I can tell you would be a problem, Miner Arassa. You know we’ve got corporate spies—with how many there are, I think we might have more than [Miners]. Which I apologize about, but believe me, when bonuses are delivered, I am paying attention to who’s actually digging.”

He gestured with his free claw, ever-so-slightly, to Rolx’s team to the side, and the [Miners] stirred. Oh, was that how…? Ilvriss went on, glancing around.

“If you have safety issues, or I can make this more tolerable, that’s my concern right now. Are you missing anything? The water here’s…brackish.”

He grimaced at the water flask. Rolx hurried forward to assure Ilvriss he could get the Wall Lord something better, but Ilvriss just took another swig.

“No, we had it purity-tested. So it’s potable. But maybe we enchant this with a flavor? We can do that—I actually heard one of the Horns of Hammerad had a bunch of water flasks that did the same thing. Fascinating stuff. There’s an Enchanter Hedault coming by for a consultation in a bit. Say I do that. What flavor?”

“Mint?”

“Not mint—something like a juice?”

“You want to drink that nonstop? Milk?”

“I’m going to be sick, Wall Lord, anything but mint or milk—”

He grinned as he took suggestions, then asked about any other amenities.

“At least we’ve got damn bidets. Nice toilets, Wall Lord. You know, we had Humans asking about them?”

The Drake Wall Lord was amused as Georgie came out for a break, chewing on his cigar, and listened.

“Keep this secret, but I heard the Lischelle family was asking about our [Plumber] installing his toilets in their houses.”

“Hah! And they can squat over a hole while we’ve got real plumbing, eh, Wall Lord?”

“No, I gave Master Oidhol the go-ahead. We’re trying to be friendly here.”

The [Miners] were comfortable enough to grouse, now, and Ilvriss held up his claws.

“Look, I’m not happy about the raids either. I’m paying for all these damn cattle, and that Marvus punched me so hard I swear I felt like I was fourteen again the other day. But we can’t let this go to blood. There’s a lot more of them than us.”

Plus, he’d rotated squads like Rolx’s so they ended up being off-duty when the [Ranchers] came by in the evenings, leaving the real [Miners] to rest up. The Humans didn’t get nearly as far as they’d like, despite all their Skills and levels. The [Miners] continued to grouse.

“D’you think you can do anything about the heat, Wall Lord? It’s getting hot down here.”

“Cooling spells? Don’t you have any?”

“Sure—it’s a bubble, but we’re spread out.”

“Wind spells, then. I’ll put in an order and see if Master Hedault can do some more enchanting. Now, I’ve got to keep moving—I’ll be here to oversee Operation Cave-In for a bit, but I have to keep going. We’re doing important work here.”

The [Miners] nodded, and one of them offered a hand to shake after tugging a glove off his paws.

“Just as you say, Wall Lord. It’s good pay, and the Gemscale Company does right by us. Whatever we’re digging up—it’ll be good for Salazsar, right?”

“It’ll be good for everyone, I hope, Miner Rulf.”

Ilvriss met the Gnoll’s eyes, and the Gnoll in his late thirties smiled. He wasn’t a copy of Georgie; he had two children, and he was a company man who’d signed up for a lot more pay. Ilvriss’ stomach tightened; Rulf might be hurt in the operation or times to come.

He was doing it for the gold. It was like Osthia’s new group. Men and women coming all this way, enduring privation, lack of bidets, angry Humans, undead, all for just gold.

Because they weren’t him. Ilvriss met his eyes.

“Trust me on that.”

Ilvriss thought they appreciated the visit and break if nothing else, but he felt that incongruity. Just for a moment.

The Wall Lord…thought about that.

——

Advance Miner Georgie and Ilvriss watched Operation Cave-In going down. Both were ready for action, and Georgie had actually done some of the digging to get to the baby Dorn Pillar. However, as luck had it, he was resting when the breach was made and the [Soldiers] went in.

Rubirel Guard and the regular soldiers that Ilvriss had taken with him to the north. Shellc knew his business; he screened the undead with heavily-armored Drakes and Gnolls and let lower-leveled [Soldiers] gain experience in supporting roles.

The Major even went down himself as Ilvriss listened to the reports.

“It’s running, it’s running—straight up Tunnel Beta! [Geomancers], target from the surface for long-range precision quakes—[Miners], activate your [Controlled Collapse] Skills and prepare to breach!”

The [Geomancers] shifted the earth, trying to trigger a controlled collapse of the tunnels. One in an adjoining tunnel actually created a [Stone Wall] spell and pressed it into the earth, forcing the dirt around it to move, and then—

“Collapse! Collapse in Tunnel Beta! It’s not buried! It’s trapped against one wall! It’s screaming, Major—”

“Rubirel Guard, advance alone. All squads, fall back and fortify your zones and prepare for another counter! I’m heading in.”

Major Shellc strode out of the command room, and Ilvriss waited, ready to lead a second squad down. Captain Osthia was in the wings—

Then they heard a report. Major Shellc’s voice.

“Dorn Pillar down. This is for the record—you go through the damn holes in its body, just like the Monster Bestiary says. Eugh, there are Children everywhere.”

“Major Shellc, say again?”

“Sorry, the monster, not actual children, Wall Lord. Always wondered where the buggers came from. The unborn ones do not look cute.”

And that was it. Ilvriss didn’t believe it was that simple, and neither did Georgie. As reports came in of other undead moving towards the soldiers—then away at speed—they realized Shellc had done it. When he hauled the ‘corpse’ of the Dorn Pillar up and they saw the white flesh oozing out the holes in its body, like a mutilated piece of bone with holes drilled in it leaking flesh like a slug—Ilvriss gagged.

“Major, you took that out?”

A huge cut had split some of the holes open, and by the scorch marks, the Rubirel Guard had thrust their weapons through the gap and exploded the Dorn Pillar from the inside out. The [Major] seemed slightly hurt; he was rubbing at his earholes.

“Sorry, my ears are still ringing from it screaming. I’ve seen worse in Rhir. Remind me to tell you about an ever-splitting monster some time…there are more undead down there. We just took out a leader. Nice work on the digging. Lady Damia has my compliments.”

And what did you say next? Ilvriss thought about it.

“Two days paid leave to every [Miner] and [Soldier] who participated. Let’s send to Thirthoof for some good food. Keep at it, Major Shellc.”

“Absolutely, Wall Lord.”

Ilvriss walked away, smiling, and shook claws with people as the cheering started and the dead Dorn Pillar was paraded around for the other teams. We did it.

He caught Damia celebrating with the [Miners] and saw Georgie standing there, eying the other undead being brought up for dissection or disposal.

“How was that, Advance Miner? Anything we’ve done wrong?”

“You’re asking me? It looked tidy. Never had Rubirel Guard for escort on anything but Crelers, Wall Lord. Yeah. It’s a good company you’ve got there.”

What else do you want from me? Ilvriss frowned. He appreciated the honesty since he doubted Georgie lied well, or cared to about matters like this. But the [Miner] was just…kicking dried cow pats around.

“You did solid work today. Do you think you’d want to stay on? Assuming we clear the issues around you, of course.”

Georgie’s head snapped up. Ilvriss consulted his [Mental Notes].

“You’re working pro tem for this expedition, but anyone who works well we could keep on with the Gemscale company. Given the counterlevelling going on here, I think that’ll be a lot of good people. How about it?”

“If you clear my issues—hah!”

The Drake managed a shaky laugh. He shook his head, and Ilvriss pressed him.

“Let’s assume we did. How about it?”

Georgie’s face twisted up, then he spat the next words out.

“Even if you did the impossible—why would I? It’s a nice paying job, and if you deliver on tasty water and breeze spells, you’re better’n most damn companies, but so what? This is a shitass job, and I only took it for the gold. Don’t expect me to stick around if I find a better offer.”

That was—fair. Ilvriss gazed down at the [Miners] who were waving up at him. He waved back; someone must have told them they were getting time off. All it took for them to cheer his name was that. And he felt it again.

“I…do appreciate all the [Miners] are doing here, Georgie. This has been a hard dig, and I’m not the one digging.”

“I’m sure a fat bonus does all that, Wall Lord. It’ll last you as long as it does for them. But this is your dig. Whatever we dug up is going straight to the Gemscale Company. Lots of those pickaxes and stuff?”

Ilvriss hesitated before nodding. Georgie stuck his claws in his pockets.

“I only stole it for a second, but I could tell what it did. That’s like a Relic-class pickaxe, right?”

“…Pending Master Hedault’s personal confirmation.”

“There you go. D’you know how it feels when you dig up the biggest gemstone you’ve ever seen, or a piece of Adamantium, and know it’s going straight to the company?”

“There are bounties on—I see your point.”

“Yeah. Besides. You can’t save my life. If you want to organize me getting paid out, I’ll go to Invrisil tomorrow. It’ll spare all of us a lot of problems.”

Georgie turned away abruptly. Ilvriss stared at his back. He cleared his throat.

“Georgie, the attack on your life was unacceptable. The Drake’s being charged, and it won’t happen again.”

The Advance Miner was staring into the hole in the ground that was Dig Site B like he was considering jumping down there.

“It’ll happen. Everyone knows what I am, even if you claim I’ve been cursed. That doesn’t matter. Cursed or not, now I’m a—a—”

“Georgie, I’ve had hard conversations these last few days. You’re not an easy person to work with, but I respect your actual capabilities quite a bit. If we can make this work—”

The Advance Miner turned in a flash and grabbed Ilvriss’ suit.

“There’s no way to fix this, Wall Lord! Everyone knows! What am I supposed to do? They’re going to kill me—”

There was genuine terror in his eyes. And Ilvriss saw it again.

“I won’t let it happen, Georgie.”

The Drake didn’t believe him. He let go fast as people turned, then stepped back, staring at the ground.

“Just let me leave with some gold, Wall Lord. I’m one Advance Miner among hundreds you could find at the drop of a hat. Even if I am the best—why bother?”

Why indeed? Ilvriss stood there, and he remembered Erin’s words to him. But more than wanting to do the [Innkeeper]’s bidding, more than curiosity or—he just regarded Georgie.

“Well, what’s in your future if you quit?”

“Another mine? Another job.”

“What about retirement?”

“You don’t get retirement as a freelancer.”

“You do in my company.”

Another flash of rage. Georgie turned abruptly.

“Yeah, well. I wish I was so lucky as to fit in nice and square into the company hole, Wall Lord. But I wasn’t lucky enough to even be born a Gnoll in a Drake’s Walled City.”

He walked off, and Ilvriss stood there a while. Before going to meet Master Hedault.

——

The [Enchanter] was always on time. He did not enjoy the Cowpat Plains, but given the sensitivity of this job, he had come in person to give Ilvriss a second report on the items they’d dug up. He had nose plugs in his nostrils, which was really distracting as Ilvriss sat with him. The nose plugs were orange, like Hedault’s receding hairline.

“They are closer to Relic-class than not, Wall Lord.”

“They’re not cursed in any way? They triggered my Hoarding—”

Hedault peered at the cup of water Ilvriss offered him and pushed it back, shaking his head.

“Likely a subconscious instinct, Wall Lord. Especially among Oldblood Drakes—there is an innate ability of some Drakes to appraise the worth of items they hold and covet them.”

“R-really?”

“It is a known ability, though I believe not formally recognized. I have several colleagues who have documented the phenomenon. Just like the ‘sixth sense’ of Humans or Gnolls claiming their fur can detect weather changing, like a [Sailor] and winds. You could say the items are cursed in one sense of the word.”

“How so?”

Hedault rubbed at one arm, then tapped his finger on the desk between them, quite miffed.

“The items are cursed in that I have fought off Grimalkin, Salamani, Valeterisa—all of whom exhibited signs of Hoarding themselves. All of whom wanted these items. I suggest you take care with who is entrusted with the artifacts, and I mention this as due prudence in my role as consultant. Beyond that? They are merely valuable beyond belief. Enchantments of an age bygone, preserved due to a near-perfect containment environment and the Monster Preservation Effect.”

“You’ve lost me.”

Hedault raised a finger, smiling.

“A simple phenomenon known to [Enchanters]. Artifacts degrade over time. Mana seeps even from peerless enchantments such as these. However, the presence of monsters that generate magic, even undead, reduces that decay to almost nothing.”

“So that’s why artifacts and monster nests go together—”

“Precisely. Many monsters tolerate the presence of magical artifacts because the seepage of mana empowers them. A fascinating biological adaptation to magic that has left you with artifacts that are in the top ten items for net worth I have ever appraised.”

Hedault took the cup then, and Ilvriss realized that the [Enchanter] might be Human, but even he was eying the pickaxe placed in front of him with great desire.

“But you didn’t take the items, Enchanter Hedault. I quite appreciate that.”

The man just shrugged.

“They are not mine. I do not break the laws I personally hold to be upstanding. They are not mine…and that is that.”

He turned his head away, hard, averting his gaze from the item. Ilvriss knew that copying the enchantments on the pickaxe would make Hedault level and rich—if he managed it. The Wall Lord was reminded, again, that the Erin-effect was in this.

Any other [Enchanter] might have claimed the items were less valuable, or that one had broken in the process of analyzing them or just sold the information. Not Hedault.

“How are your projects coming along, Master Hedault? I was distressed to learn you had been forced out of your home in Invrisil. I have properties in Liscor if you need residence.”

Tap-tap went Hedault’s finger on his wrist. He nodded.

“A kind offer, Wall Lord. However, I have been residing in Esthelm with lodging provided by Solar Cycles, and I am spending an inordinate amount of time in the company of other [Mages]. I hope to have permanent lodgings soon. I have also been engaged in personal research, which has kept me from earning income, but this job was quite worth my time in remuneration and knowledge. Thank you.”

His green eyes glittered with something, and Ilvriss thought he recalled Ryoka visiting the [Enchanter] a few times during the long winter. But whatever Hedault was up to—Ilvriss picked up the pickaxe.

A fortune in magic in his hands. A weapon a Named-ranker might take up. And yet—it was a damn pickaxe.

“Who can use a pickaxe in combat?”

“Two Named-rankers in this age, I believe, Wall Lord, are former [Miners], though I do not know if they are retired.”

That was Hedault for you. Ilvriss had meant more…who’d use it in Salazsar? He had been studying sword techniques, and they did not work with the pickaxe. He thought of Georgie’s comments, and in hindsight, the answer was obvious.

But it was damn hard. Ilvriss admired his reflection on the faintly-glowing metal and thought of his Ancestors. A shame he’d never gotten to really talk to Teriarch. But what would he have said?

Generations upon generations separated the two. They were, in the end, different species. They had to be. So, he slowly held the pickaxe out.

“Master Hedault, I would like you to take this and every item with a unique enchantment among the gear we’ve collected.”

The [Enchanter] had been checking a personal timepiece. He went completely still. Then his head snapped up.

“In exchange for how much work, Wall Lord?”

“What? None. That is to say—I don’t think you’d like to put a number on it. Consider it an investment.”

Ilvriss was having a hard time holding the pickaxe out. When Hedault stared at him, he shook it.

“Take it, please.”

The [Enchanter] did not, so Ilvriss put it down on the table.

“I do not understand, Wall Lord.”

Ilvriss tore his eyes off the pickaxe. Meeting Hedault’s gaze made it easier.

“What’s there not to understand? You’re a friend of the inn.”

Hedault took his time with a response, jaw working as he also gazed at the pickaxe, then at his fingers.

“I am—most assuredly not, Wall Lord. I have not socialized there in any meaningful way. I have friends I have made through the inn, such as the late Kevin—but I—”

“You’ve helped Erin. You know what she’s like. You’ve met Goblins and Antinium. You are, for lack of a better word, a good person in a world distressingly short of them at times. Or people who are willing to be good when it’s hard. Take it.”

Ilvriss felt like a hatchling, saying it all out loud like that. But the [Enchanter] blinked, and Ilvriss shoved the pickaxe forwards.

“Don’t look at it as a gift. An investment, I said. If you manage to copy this enchantment, any of them, or whatever project you’re working on—I want it. I have an eye for good business, and you are that. Take it, Master Hedault. I’d hate to quibble. I have a lot to do today, suddenly.”

He stood, hoping to avoid further argument. But Master Hedault, in his curious way, was just as quick. He picked up the pickaxe, made it vanish into his bag of holding, and then stood as well.

“I will take the most-atrophied items, then, with your permission?”

“I’ll walk you to our Chest of Holding myself, given that I doubt anyone will trust your word even with a note.”

The [Enchanter] nodded. Then he held out his hand.

“Wall Lord, thank you. I will remember this.”

That was all he said. Ilvriss shook Hedault’s hand and was surprised by the strength the man had. He wondered—did Hedault ever shake hands? But when the [Enchanter] smiled, Ilvriss looked him in the eye and thought he’d done himself a great service.

In time.

Then he walked Hedault over to the guarded armory and did the hardest thing in the world—again. Which was the second-hardest thing in his life.

Well, far lower than some things when you got to it. It just felt bad. After the third artifact, it got easier. And then—you know what?

It got a lot easier.

——

Foreman Rolx didn’t get to go to Invrisil on leave just because of the cruel arithmetic of numbers. Ilvriss had promised time off, and everyone got it—but staggered. Pulling that many mining teams off the dig sites was too much even with the new [Miners], and so the staff had organized things.

In three days, Rolx would get a four-day weekend, which was excellent. Normally, you might work six days out of the week, then take a two-day weekend, and get a three-day weekend once a month. Given you had eight days in the week, working six days in a row was punishing, and he was really looking forward to hitting Invrisil, Liscor, or Pallass.

He had been triumphant about killing the horrific Dorn Pillar, but he was tired, and he wanted to hit the showers and rest. So being called over during the last hour of his shift had him scowling.

He tried to smile at the Wall Lord, but the Drake had done a lot of hanging out, and Rolx’s tongue hurt from not shouting curses and playing nice. He liked Wall Lord Ilvriss, he did. Good manager who hired Gnolls—but like Georgie, Rolx would have been honest in private and said it was just about the gold.

He was surprised, then, to find Ilvriss appearing rather harried himself. And with a Drake trying to put him in a choke hold; he finally threw Advisor Merls off of him.

“Someone drag him away and put a Calming Tonic on him.”

“He’s gone mad! Stop the Wall Lord! Welsca, Damia—help!”

Lady Damia, her [Bodyguard], and two other Drakes had to drag off the screaming man, and the others were also looking at Ilvriss as if he’d gone insane. Rolx hesitated.

“Er, trouble, sir?”

“My staff are objecting to some of my decisions, Rolx. It’ll pass. I had to fistfight three of them—Ancestors. It really is a damn curse.”

Administrative work was harder than he’d thought if that was how it looked internally. Rolx wondered if he’d been too hard on his boy for wanting an office job.

“How can I, uh, help you, Wall Lord? We appreciate all the rewards for our job, but we’re all set to finish the day.”

If you’ll let us just get to it, we’ll go and eat and sleep, thank you. But the Wall Lord smiled at Rolx. He was no idiot, the Gnoll realized.

“It occurs to me, Foreman Rolx, that you’ve been working for the Gemscale company for twenty-two years.”

“Yes, Wall Lord.”

Thirty and he’d be eligible for part pension. Forty, and he’d have tons of benefits rolling in…the companies got you when you were a teen in apprentice-jobs. As young as twelve sometimes, and then you just worked for them.

Gemscale was a good company. Rolx stood there, wondering if he’d get a year added to his work record. That would be worth it. But the Wall Lord only spoke.

“All this work, digging up a Walled City. I thought it was obvious it would benefit everyone.”

“W-Wall Lord?”

Had he just said…? Lady Damia whirled, and Ilvriss just watched the setting sun.

“But it does only benefit from the top down, doesn’t it? If I’m ‘fair’, you get paid well, but that’s it. That’s why it’s so damn hard. You want to keep everything. Because there is no economic sense in giving you anything close to a share of Gemscale’s profits. To succeed, the company should take everything it can and reinvest in itself. Not the people.”

That sounded like real corporate talk. Rolx felt like it was the kind of thing he’d gripe about with other [Foremen] in private. And he’d heard agitators back home talking about that. Followers of the late Sellme. He’d heard Sellme was dead, and that was a bit of a shame, even with the painting thing—but Ilvriss just regarded Rolx.

“Maybe that’s how it works ideally, but you know, the real world isn’t made of such things as numbers. There’s plenty of that, but I’ve known business deals to fail or go through just based on people not liking each other. And one of my favorite people is the most suboptimal, inefficient Human in the world. Nothing she does makes good business sense. But the value she extracts always seems to be beyond whatever any logic dictates.”

“Yes, Wall Lord.”

That seemed like a safe bet. The Gnoll was waiting for Ilvriss to finish whatever philosophical musings he was about, but the Drake was done. He just handed something over to Rolx.

“That’s a pithy, longwinded way of explaining this, Foreman. It’s only one per [Foreman] and the best [Miners]. Here.”

He handed Rolx…a pickaxe. The Gnoll blinked at it. He recognized it, of course. They’d recovered them from the mining tunnels, and they’d been run off to administration.

“Sir? I already have a very good pickaxe. Top of the line. Foreman’s Pick—”

“Take it, Foreman Rolx.”

Hesitantly, the Gnoll lifted the pickaxe. It was so light that he gasped. When he swung it at a stone wall—his paw kept moving, and he stared as he completed the swing without resistance. Then all the fur rose on his body, and he turned.

“Wall Lord—”

Did he know what that was? He had to. The Wall Lord stood there, and it didn’t even seem hard for him to have given the pickaxe away. Welsca, behind him, looked like she was trying to keep herself from launching at Rolx.

“Yes. It’s not temporary. It’s the real thing. I’m going to have you put it in the armory, of course, at night. And we’ll have a system to withdraw them. Tags on the handles or something simple.”

“Yes, Wall Lord—”

So they were letting him use this? Did it swing like that every time? Dead gods, he’d triple the output of the team himself. Foreman Rolx felt like a cub suddenly. He wanted to run back to work. Then he wondered how much gear like this they had. Ancestors, the Gemscale Corporation was rich. And he felt that envy, the sense of forlorn envy that Georgie and the others felt.

That’s when he saw Ilvriss gazing at him.

“You understand, there are considerable risks to owning a piece of gear like that, Foreman Rolx. Every [Thief] in the world will be after it.”

“Of course, Wall Lord, but I’ll be a credit to the company. Thank you for trusting me with it. I’ll be as secure as can be.”

He might try to steal it? The idea was just an intrusive thought, and Rolx shoved it away. No, he’d never get away with it. Using it would be enough. But Ilvriss just kept going.

“I think I need to insist on…a two year clause. We’re working it up. I can’t just give it away.”

“Of course not, Wall L…give it away?”

“Indeed not. It’ll be a reward. And we have numerous employees in the Gemscale Company who deserve one. Alrric, for one. But if we find as many as I think—yes. Give me two years, Foreman Rolx. Two years, and I know you are risking your life and health on this job. It is still, likely, not a fair trade for those who will be injured and die. But that is the unfairness of a company. This?”

Ilvriss pointed at the pickaxe as Rolx understood what he meant, and his mind went blank.

“This is your share.”

“Mine…?”

Now the Gnoll realized why the other Drake had tackled Ilvriss. Why Welsca was trembling. Ilvriss just turned and grinned.

“Welsca, stop that.”

“Wall Lord, your father might murder you. Genuinely.”

“Well, you’ll stop him. Once we find some armor in those tunnels. Or a ring. It’s miner’s gear, Welsca. Neither you nor I look good with those damn helmets on. So if we find that, once we find that…”

Ilvriss turned. He began walking off, and Rolx’s paws were sweaty now. This had to be a joke. They were going to laugh at him or—

“W-Wall Lord! You can’t just give this—why me?”

He hadn’t worked here as long as some! He was a Gnoll. But Ilvriss just turned back. He looked lighter, and he pulled a lantern out of his bag of holding. He was giving them all away, Rolx realized.

“Make no mistake, Foreman Rolx. In two year’s time, you can quit the Gemscale company. I won’t lock you in here forever. You can go and sell that, or use it and start your own company.”

“Are you insane? That makes no sense, Wall Lord.”

“Well, I expect I’ll have more to give away. I sure hope so. If this is all we ever find, I’ll look mighty stupid, and my father will kill me. My mother, sister, and uncle too. But if I’m right, Rolx…we’re digging up a Walled City’s treasures. They belong to their descendants. I am Wall Lord Ilvriss Gemscale of Salazsar. Son of the walls. Aren’t you as well, Rolx?”

The question hit the Gnoll harder than any speech or [Inspiring Moment] anyone in the Gemscale company had ever used on him.

Aren’t you? For one moment, he saw the Archmage of Izril’s final moments in Fissival on scrying orb. Where she left the Scholarium and her city because they had never wanted her. He saw Ilvriss turn and walk off, and the Wall Lord appeared carefree. Laughing as he began to run—Advisor Merls was back and tried to tackle Ilvriss but went over a safety-railing.

“Thanks.”

That was all the Gnoll said. Then he walked back down into the mining shaft, past laughing [Miners] who asked what the Wall Lord wanted now. Rolx stood in front of a wall of dirt. Gazing at it until they got worried he wasn’t well.

Then he swung the pickaxe. And later, he heard a voice.

[Tough Foreman Level 27!]

[Class Change: Tough Foreman → Miner of the Magic Pickaxe Class!]

[Miner of the Magic Pickaxe Level 20!]

[Skill – Bound Item: Pickaxe of Naamreles Assigned!]

[Skill – Understand Enchantment Obtained!]

[Skill – Mighty Swing Obtained!]

[Skill – Disguise of Mundanity (Item) Obtained!]

[Rank: Son of Salazsar Rank 1 Achieved.]

[Skill – Dirtdweller’s Friend Obtained!]

——

The Wall Lord had to admit, he was lightheaded after all that. He had given everything out except for two pickaxes. One for Alrric. And one for Georgie.

The Advance Miner had heard what was going on. How could you not? Rumors were spreading, even if those who had been gifted one of the items of Naamreles were keeping their lips shut.

Most of the staff had understood, after the Hoarding had left them. A few had been put on leave and assigned to [Thought Healers] in Pallass—

The Advance Miner had been avoiding Ilvriss all day. He stood at the edge of camp, lighting the worn cigar. Blowing on it. Hacking.

It turned out Georgie didn’t like smoking it. The Drake broke the silence before Ilvriss could.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“About?”

“The mine I found. Who mines like that?”

“…With the struts, you mean?”

Georgie shook his head. Ilvriss thought he meant the enchanted support struts he definitely wanted to pull out once they could replace them.

“Not that. We never cleared it ‘cause of the undead, but we sent down sensor spells and scout Skills. It has no exit. Not up nor down. But they were digging up. The down…is collapsed. Looks like they collapsed it. Why?”

“Accident?”

“With their gear? Fat chance. They collapsed it and started digging up. Only…that’s a slow death. Not a fast one. They had bags of holding. Maybe spells. You can create free air or store it. I’ve heard of cave-ins where the bastards inside last months. Even years if they had food. But you die slow. And they just kept…digging. Guess which way?”

“Up.”

Ilvriss felt his scales crawl, and Georgie nodded.

“Almost like they were trying to run from something. Once the mine’s cleared of undead, we’re going down. If those undead had popped out, a bunch of [Miners] armed with that stuff could have cleared all of them.”

“Probably. It might get harder after that. Georgie—”

“I tried to steal that pickaxe. Maybe not that one. You don’t want to give it to me.”

The Drake Wall Lord squatted down next to Georgie as the Advance Miner sat, cross-legged. Georgie stared across the plains, and the cigar smoke made it smell better at night. Ilvriss sat, pickaxe across his legs.

“I meant it when I said that I wanted to help you, Georgie. This would be proof of that. You’re not allowed to run off with it. Three years is probably what we’re asking.”

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. You give me that pickaxe and anyone who hates my guts will want a piece of me—on top of what I am.”

Georgie stared ahead. Ilvriss murmured.

“Well, we can address it.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. I keep saying it because I must. Listen, you’re not my first pick either, Georgie. You haven’t worked here as long. You did try to steal this. But I have a feeling that if I pay you out, and let you vanish, you’ll just keep doing this. And your luck will run out eventually. Won’t it?”

“Yeah.”

That soft comment confirmed the other thing Ilvriss understood. He sat there.

“You’re not great, Georgie. But I’ve known worse.”

“—Thanks?”

Ilvriss went on doggedly.

“I’ve met Tessa, who is a lot of things, and not all of it was her fault. The same with Captain Todi. I’ve looked in a mirror. Sometimes, you need someone to throw a frying pan at your head and give you a flaming cup filled with glory. We do give people second chances in the Gemscale Company. I’d wager you don’t get many first chances. Today, after I talked with you, you were the exemplar of an Advance Miner. If I give you the opportunity to prove yourself, in an environment that gives you that trust—can you deliver?”

“You can’t…change what’s wrong with me, Wall Lord. Everyone knows.”

Georgie mumbled. Ilvriss exhaled.

“I can try to talk to the instigators. I know who was behind the attempt on your life. And it seems to me that I’ve been putting it off. If you can give me something, I’ll give you this. Call it a probationary period.”

He held the pickaxe out, handle first. Georgie sat there. The Wall Lord was planning his next move, formulating a plan within the world he understood, which was trying to include Georgie. It was not that hard to include the Advance Miner in there. But for one thing, Ilvriss would have treated the Drake like anyone else. He had already forgotten, most of the time, what lay under Georgie’s clothes because Ilvriss didn’t go around imagining anyone nude.

There was another voice, like the old one that wanted him to take every magical item and hide it away, that understood, though. It spoke a word in the back of Ilvriss’ mind.

Turnscale. He ignored it. He had bested the instincts of his species that told him to Hoard. But…he didn’t understand. Georgie did.

The Advance Miner’s head rose. He gazed at the handle of the magical pickaxe. Then Ilvriss.

“Okay. Okay, I…I can’t turn down that. I’m not gonna make it much longer as an Advance Miner. Not as an old man. My reflexes are slowing down, and if I don’t have good gear and take too many risky jobs—three years for that? I’d be a fool not to take it.”

He was barely past thirty. Ilvriss stifled a comment. They both knew Georgie was pushing it for his profession. The [Miner] went on, voice suddenly raspy.

“I can—I can do it. I just have to fit in, right?”

“If we can avoid someone killing you or starting a fight, yes. The cover story about the curse doesn’t appear to have worked. Master Hedault agreed to write a false report, but I rather think the issue isn’t helped.”

If Georgie had been an ordinary fellow transformed by a gender-swap curse, he’d be a Turnscale. Sort of ironic that the excuse resulted in the same…Georgie nodded.

“Got it. In that case, Wall Lord, d’you have a…a dress?”

“Huh?”

“I can probably get one that fits, and—I mean, there’s women’s gear, but it looks the same, mostly. I’ll just—wear that. And, uh, speak differently. Like this.”

Georgie’s slightly raspy voice changed and raised a full octave. Ilvriss jumped. Advance Miner Georgie just stared at the pickaxe. Played with the handle.

“That’d do it.”

“You—want to put on a dress and pretend to be—I mean, that is to say—”

“If I dress up and apologize, that’ll work, right? Better than getting killed. I’ve done it a few times to get out of trouble. I’ll just cry a bit or something and—then you can say I came to my senses. After a while, it’ll simmer down.”

There was experience in the way Georgie was talking, but his voice was—shaking. Ilvriss sat there in the fading light, watching the way Georgie’s tail was curling in on itself, more than he’d ever seen, and he feared the bones might break.

“You’re sure?”

“Definitely. I’ll get some comments and stuff, but that does it. And—and if you had someone from Miss Xesci’s brothel or one of your people? Someone who didn’t mind, y’know, saying it. They could tell people they’d—that we’d had sex—and put me in my place.”

His voice shrank. Ilvriss sat there, and Georgie shakily took the cigar out of his mouth. Stubbed it against one knee.

“How’s—how’s that?”

“Does that…cover story work?”

“I mean, that’s what happens. Sometimes.”

A cough, hoarse in the night, and Ilvriss listened to the silence for a moment. He sat there, staring ahead at the empty plains, and then spoke.

“Georgie. I don’t mean to insult you in any way. So please take this as objectively as possible. But you and dresses don’t go together. You’d look terrible in them, and I have been in the company of a young Human girl who tries her best to be objectionable—they don’t suit a fellow like you.”

The shivering Advance Miner didn’t appear to hear Ilvriss at first. The Wall Lord went on, feeling his way forwards. Towards the faint light he understood.

“We just had a conversation this morning about making people feel uncomfortable, Advance Miner Georgie. In all good conscience, I cannot make you do something that makes you this visibly distressed. If that’s not who you are, I will not have you dress or behave that way. We’ll find another solution. Not that.”

He watched Georgie’s tail slightly uncurl. The Drake hesitated.

“But if we don’t do that—”

“It would be wrong to do. I am going to address the perpetrators, Georgie. I will find a team you can work with, and I will institute policies to keep you safe. I cannot change people’s minds or obfuscate the information. But I can ensure the people you work with are at least of my disposition. Even if that is not ideal.”

That was the only thing he could think of. Ilvriss wondered—

That’s sometimes how it happened? His scales itched. He had questions, suddenly, for Xesci. Deeply uncomfortable ones he was not going to ask now. Not with Georgie visibly tense. And the Advance Miner looked at Ilvriss and snapped—

“You think that’s just going to work?”

“I very much doubt it will. I’ll keep monitoring the situation, and we’ll have you guarded—”

“You—it’s going to blow up in your face. You think I trust that? What—do you need a loyal Advance Miner that badly? D’you want me to go into whatever’s below the mines? What’s your angle?”

Suddenly, Georgie was on his feet again, suspicious, even afraid. Ilvriss rose.

“Georgie, I’m trying to help—”

“You? You? There’s no Wall Lord or Lady in the city that would help someone like me. What’s with the change? What’s—what do you want from me?”

Paranoia had replaced agony.

“I had an employee, Tessa, who I wanted to help, but I didn’t know how. I failed her, Georgie. I have been rather blind to Turnscales, but I have been told there is an issue. Now I’m seeing it. I’d like to help.”

“You’re mad. Or trying to show off. Are you trying to sleep with that Human?”

Ilvriss twitched.

“The woman I love is dead, Georgie. I mean it.”

“Yeah, well, so do I. I don’t trust this. I don’t trust you. You don’t know me—us. What’s with all of this? There’s no Turnscale in your company; what’s with making me the [Hero] you’re doing everything for?”

“There’s been one in my company at least as long as you’ve been working, Georgie. And while you weren’t ideal, I didn’t have a problem with your conduct aside from the, well, thieving.”

Ilvriss countered. He was worried Georgie was about to literally flee into the distance. The Drake seemed ready to bolt. And this time there might be no Lyonette to march on Tenbault.

“Why me? Just because someone told you to?”

Ilvriss’ face was shadowed as he stood there. Georgie was backing up slowly. The Wall Lord called out.

“I admit, that’s why I listened. I don’t have a good reason, Georgie. It’s simply that when I realized how much unfairness was coming your way, I disliked that. That’s all. I like to believe in fairness, even when it doesn’t truly exist, and you are being treated unfairly. I’d rather have garnished your wages for a month and written you up for trying to steal that pickaxe.”

It spun into the dirt at Ilvriss’ feet and cleaved so deep only the handle jutted out of the soil. Both Drakes stared at it, then Georgie pointed a finger at it.

“You can’t buy my trust. You don’t know any Turnscales. I don’t want to be your pet project.”

“I don’t want another pet project. I just want to offer a decent Advance Miner a job and not see him dead or miserable. Truly, Georgie, I’d like to not think or worry about it.”

“Well that’s all you’ll have to deal with if you keep me on. You don’t get it, Wall Lord, they won’t stop. Maybe you can deal with this camp. Maybe. When I get back to Salazsar, they’ll put me in the sanatorium. This will keep going on.”

“Then I’ll address it as it comes up. Or we can find you a different posting or send you off. But speak with me, Georgie. Please.”

“How do I trust you? You don’t know any Turnscales. You’re just pretending—”

The two were getting angry. Ilvriss at Georgie for all he was trying to be reasonable, and the Advance Miner’s fists were balled up. Before one of them threw a punch, someone rose from the grass.

Like a shadow. Like an [Assassin].

Or just like Xesci could do when she wanted to be stealthy. Ilvriss and Georgie recoiled. Well, the Advance Miner threw a punch, and Xesci caught it, then threw him over her shoulder. He landed, and she spoke.

“Yes, he does. Me.”

Georgie lay, gasping up at Xesci like a fish. The [Courtesan of Change]’s face shifted to that of a male Drake. A copy of Ilvriss stared down at Georgie, then she shifted again. Her features morphed like putty, and Ilvriss’ scales chilled.

She never showed—

Then a slightly overweight Human man pulled Georgie up. He recoiled. Xesci changed back to the ordinary Drake woman, face resigned.

“It scares people. But I am that, if anyone is. I think I was a Drake woman, once. Now I’m everything. I was listening because I could tell Georgie was about to run for it.”

She turned to Ilvriss. He just stared at her. Then Georgie burst out.

“You—don’t count! I don’t know what you are, but you’re not me. You’re too high-level. You could be anything. Anyone. Why don’t you just…leave?”

His voice broke, and he stared at Xesci, fists balled up, envy in his tone. The [Courtesan]’s smile was gentle and a bit sad.

“I could be that, Georgie, and I know so many people who want to be me, like you. The difference is, you want to be someone else. Just one person. Who you are now doesn’t fit, and it itches and hurts. I? I fit no body. I will never fit again.”

She grew in height, adding two feet, and became a Minotauress. Shrank until she was a Lizardgirl. Twisted around into a Lamia—both men backed away, and Xesci’s voice was a whisper.

“I am only comfortable in change. That is what it means to be eaten by your class. I am a new being. Unique, even if there are those like me. That is what it means to be Level 50. If I wore a face and tried to adopt one of my many guises, there would come a day when I would tear my flesh apart and flee, because it would grate on me until I drove myself mad. Believe me. I’ve tried.”

The [Courtesan of Change] confessed it all simply, then became her ordinary self again.

“But we’re not talking about me. Just you and Ilvriss, Georgie. I try to tell no secrets. But I like gossiping, and you are wrong. Wall Lord, you asked me not to tell you anything that would lower your opinion of the Tidebreaker. Yesterday, I could not tell you this. Today, I will, because I think he would have wanted me to. He is dead and the knowledge out there, so I cannot hurt him. You did know a Turnscale you held in high regard. He just never told you.”

It was Ilvriss’ turn to recoil. To stand there in shock, just like Georgie.

“Zel?”

“The Tidebreaker was…?”

“Oh, he just liked men. Not like Georgie. He and Sserys were both Turnscales. And he was actually quite private—he avoided Turnscale bars. I think he knew how dangerous association was with him, but it left him quite miserable. I met him while soliciting important clients, but he refused to hire me, even when I explained my abilities. I think I unnerved him.”

Xesci kept talking when Ilvriss would have really preferred to sit down or have a long walk. But then she met his eyes.

“It’s not just Zel. There are others. I am not a perfect judge, but I am very good, Wall Lord, and you hired me to find out who was who. It has never colored your judgement before. So now you know. Does it change who Zel Shivertail was?”

Ilvriss saw the Drake getting in Magnolia Reinhart’s carriage, alone. A huge back, heading north to fight the Goblin Lord when no one else would. That disappointed expression he favored Ilvriss with so much.

Tired, alone—the Wall Lord whispered.

“Yes, it does.”

Georgie and Xesci gazed at Ilvriss, and the [Courtesan] searched around for a rock to brain Ilvriss with. The Wall Lord spoke.

“I wish I’d been able to go back in time and help him. I didn’t even know his struggles. We just stood in his shadow until he was gone, and now the water’s rushed in and I’m drowning. Turnscale? We let our hero die just for that?”

He sank to his knees, then. Just fell down, and some of the Rubirel Guard standing in the distance saw and rushed over. Georgie and Xesci went to help Ilvriss up. But all he said was.

“Damn Drakes. Damn us. We’re our own worst enemies sometimes.”

Georgie saw Xesci smile. He looked around, found the stub of a cigar, and put it in his mouth, grass stains or not. He stood there awkwardly as the Drake got up.

“I still think you’re taking too much of a risk on me.”

“Well, consider it the luck of the draw.”

For being a Turnscale? It was the first good turn the word had ever given him. Georgie laughed at that. Then he shrugged.

“Show me, then. I want this. If it’s worth the effort.”

“It’s not, for you. You’re not the best Advance Miner, Georgie.”

Ilvriss assured the Drake, and Georgie glared because he disagreed with that. But Ilvriss just looked past him at Xesci.

“Here’s a selfish way to put it. If there were another Zel Shivertail out there? This is so we don’t lose him. That’s a purely enterprise-driven reason. Good enough? Selfish enough?”

Xesci chuckled.

“There is another Zel. And more will always be rising.”

Both Georgie and Ilvriss gazed at her, and then the Wall Lord brushed at his suit.

“Then I have work to do.”

——

Wall Lord Dramm was uncomfortable. He felt like he’d been ill-at-ease for days. Ever since he’d found out one of them was in the camp.

Turnscales.

Oh, sure, he was glad the undead were being wiped out. He’d heard about some kind of artifacts being passed around in camp and been trying to get anyone to tell him about them, but he was a junior Wall Lord, even if he was noble, and it was frustrating.

He’d been snapping at his juniors to figure it out, but mostly—it was that Turnscale. Georgie.

Someone had to do something! Why wasn’t Ilvriss—? Was it because Georgie knew something about the artifacts? And they were putting Lacambt on trial for it! They had to know…

When he was summoned to Ilvriss’ tent, Dramm felt his stomach lurch, but he was determined. He’d talk to Ilvriss, Drake to Drake, and sort this out. His father was Brilm, and if Ilvriss were crazy, Brilm would…

It was to Dramm’s surprise and mild outrage when he found himself part of a gathering of Drakes and Gnolls, even. [Foremen] and administrators. A lot of command staff!

“Wall Lord Dramm reporting, sir!”

“Dramm, come in. I think you’re the Drake to speak to. We’re going to have a conversation, Dramm. About Lacambt and Miner Georgie. Have a seat.”

Everyone else was standing. They appeared—uncomfortable. As uncomfortable as Dramm, who spotted some of his subordinates here. Not all. He hesitated.

“Is this a formal hearing, sir?”

“No, Dramm, just a conversation.”

So what’s with all the underlings? Dramm sat.

“Perhaps we should have this conversation in private, sir? It’s a delicate matter.”

Ilvriss looked tired. He poured a cup of disappointing water. Dramm wanted a drink, but Ilvriss didn’t, and the Wall Lord seemed to know it.

“Usually, I’d have conversations like this at a bar, but there aren’t any good ones in Thirthoof and I don’t drink anymore, Dramm. It’s cultural. Funny, I didn’t realize it was. I thought everyone was used to having conversations at a bar, but apparently that’s not where you take work.”

“Really, sir?”

“Humans don’t do it as much. Us? It’s an entire routine. You’d offer to pay for my drinks, and I’d insist because I’m the superior, and then you’d pour us a drink and select my favorite one from the menu.”

That…was how it worked. Dramm felt uncomfortable with Ilvriss laying it out like that. He couldn’t say why. He glanced and caught the eyes of Foreman Rolx, then shifted.

“Well, with respect, sir, sometimes it’s important to be private. If I could speak to you about Lacambt, sir? It’s a terrible incident, violence in camp.”

“It is. Attempted murder. By rights, I should have him shipped back to Salazsar for forced conscription labor or just the local jail for imprisonment for life. Or simply executed. This can be considered a military operation, given Advance Miner Georgie’s efforts against serious monsters.”

Dramm’s blood ran cold.

“Sir, that’s—if I may explain the situation—”

Ilvriss sipped from the shot glass and grimaced—he didn’t have better cups, so he kept pouring and drinking.

“I know I’m not giving you a chance, Dramm. Once we’d had a few drinks and chatted about your father or something light, you’d then have the opportunity to tell me, privately, why Lacambt should be released with a light slap on the tail, if anything. Because he was trying to murder Georgie, whom you believe to be a Turnscale, and he did it on your authority.”

The tent had not exactly been noisy, but people had been coughing, shifting, as confused as Dramm. Suddenly it went silent, and Dramm felt his scales crawling.

“S-sir?”

“It’s not an accusation, Wall Lord Dramm.”

“Oh, phew. I—”

“I know it was you.”

Ilvriss filled the cup again, and Dramm’s stomach was in freefall. The Wall Lord forestalled Dramm’s excuses.

“I don’t have proof, but I’m a Drake of Salazsar. I know how it works. Someone made the suggestion, and you approved it. I very much doubt Lacambt disagreed or he’d have broken a leg or found an excuse. Even put a word in Welsca’s ear so it got to me. We have ways.”

Lacambt had volunteered. Dramm’s mouth was dry, but he forced words out.

“Well, sir, if you understand that, then you understand my position.”

Ilvriss stood slowly.

“Wall Lord Dramm. You had one of your people try to murder one of our [Miners] in his sleep.”

“Yes…sir. A Turnscale.”

Was he being arrested? Was Ilvriss insane? But Dramm straightened his spine because he had witnesses, and they could testify—Ilvriss glanced around.

“I can see the word provokes a lot of reactions. Tell me, what makes Georgie a Turnscale?”

“The fact that she’s—you know, Wall Lord!”

“No, I don’t. Explain it.”

“She’s a woman pretending to be a man!”

Dramm exploded, and his scales writhed. He stood up, slamming his claws on the desk.

“It’s not right! Someone should have put her in the sanatorium or—and she’s walking around and—what’s wrong with you, Wall Lord Ilvriss? Are you mad? My father says you might have hit your head fighting Zel Shivertail! First you live in Liscor, now this? Any decent Drake would do what I did!”

Ilvriss saw Dramm lean over the desk and spoke.

“Sit down, Wall Lord Dramm.”

“I prefer to—”

“Sit.”

The aura knocked Dramm down hard, and he gasped. His father couldn’t use his aura to do more than warm up a bit. But Ilvriss just spoke.

“Dramm, I know your father sent you to spy on me.”

“I—sir?”

Suddenly, Dramm was worried again, and he felt his anger waver. Ilvriss snorted as he poured more water into the cup.

“Brilm’s not exactly subtle. He’s terrible at politics but excellent at fads. You think you’re the only spy? Calistoca, Eschowar—everyone’s got a spy. I’ll wager a decent number of employees in this tent are being hired to report.”

A few shifts of posture, guilty faces. Ilvriss glanced around and shrugged.

“If it’s not confidential, I understand. We are Drakes. Did you ever figure out what I was digging for, Dramm?”

“Not in so many words, sir.”

“Too busy having parties and complaining about the insects. That’s disappointing, Dramm. Anyone with a map and a history book on the region’s figured it out. Maybe Brilm was testing you.”

Now, the young Drake was flushed, hot and cold with worry that Ilvriss was right. The Wall Lord sighed.

“Or maybe he knew from the start and he wanted you to get a bit of that glory. Brilm is my friend, and sometimes I think he likes me more than I like him, which I feel bad about. Maybe he just wanted his son to get a piece of the achievement.”

“Sir?”

Ilvriss took the situation and dumped Dramm on his head. The Wall Lord sipped more of his water.

“You should have asked him what I’m doing, Dramm, when you reported in. He’s your father. Not everything is a test—you’re aware of the magnitude of artifacts I’ve found?”

“Yessir. What does this have to do with…?”

“The Gemscale Company is poised to become Salazsar’s top company within the year if we leverage these assets. Since I’m giving them away, we won’t have that monopoly in the same stored value, but we’ll still probably be the best around. Unless I share the wealth.”

Ilvriss dropped that calmly into the tent, and every eye locked on him. He continued speaking.

“That’s if we packed up tomorrow. If we find what I think we’re going to find, we are going to change everything. Now, do you understand how important this venture is, Dramm?”

“I do, sir. And I’ve done my best—I’m sorry about Liuss.”

The Drake who’d died trying to steal from the damn Humans. Dramm still had nightmares about it. Ilvriss peered down at Dramm.

“Good. It’s no consolation to Liuss or his family, but you have to confront your guilt. He went in that pen, and you could have stopped him. You were the senior Drake there.”

It was true, but Dramm—he saw Ilvriss put his claws on the desk.

“Now, we have a second crisis. A Turnscale in our camps. Something we understand is culturally wrong. But I have indicated, if not in so many words until now, that Miner Georgie is working with me. He found the undead. Nearly died doing his job. But I am clearly aware of Miner Georgie. So why did you take matters into your own claws, Dramm?”

“I was trying to save you the trouble, sir.”

“Trouble.”

“Of dealing with the matter. I mean, publicly.”

That was it. Ilvriss just gave Dramm a flat look. He pushed Dramm’s cup over, and the young man took a drink.

“Sir, don’t you get—”

“Dramm, I’m about to dig up a Walled City.”

Ilvriss cut the room’s oxygen out again. He glanced around, and Dramm was reminded of his audience. The Wall Lord rasped, coughed, and drank water.

“I’m about to dig up a Walled City. And you’re trying to murder a man for being—”

“Not a man, sir—”

“Shut up, Dramm!”

Ilvriss slapped the table, and Dramm jumped. The Wall Lord snapped.

“Let me spell this out from a very basic perspective, Dramm. I’m not going to argue with you about Turnscales. I don’t think I can change your mind. I’m telling you this, to your face. I am about to dig up the City of Purity, and you are trying to murder people and wasting your time on killing a man. If there were Dragons flying overhead, would you be concerned whether or not you had on matching socks?”

But she was a Turnscale! Dramm opened his mouth as he got Ilvriss’ argument.

“Sir, I—”

Ilvriss sat down with a huge sigh.

“I know you think you did the right thing. That’s the problem. I’m telling you you’re wrong, Dramm. And you don’t have to like that. You don’t have to agree. But I am going to find [Foremen] and Mine Leaders and [Miners] and assemble an entire shift who can work with Miner Georgie. Volunteers. It’ll be tedious. It’ll be a waste of time, asking each damn person if they want to work with one [Miner]. If you refuse, that’ll be that. Everyone will continue digging for Naamreles, which will change everything. And your response would be?”

Take me away from that damn Drake, then, if I have to, Wall Lord. Dramm didn’t get what was making Ilvriss insane, but he saw the point. A Walled City? What the hell was ‘Naamreles’? He could see the bigger puzzle. He thought that was Ilvriss’ lesson, but Ilvriss was no [Teacher]. And he spoke.

“If you tell me you can’t work with Georgie no matter what, Dramm, I’ll accept it. I’ll find you work you can do. Then, once your contract is done, or before, if I discover you’re that unable to function, I’ll let you go from our employment.”

“—Sir?”

“You’re only working temporarily for the Gemscale Company. That’s how it works, Dramm.”

“I know, but—”

Is this a threat? Ilvriss read Dramm’s expression.

“No, it’s not a threat, Dramm. I’m just informing you what will happen. The threat is when I say that after I release your contract, and anyone else who hassles Miner Georgie or interferes with my operation over this matter, I will instruct Administrator Alrric to blacklist your name. We share a blacklist with several companies, and you can access them.”

Blacklist him? Dramm’s eyes widened.

“Sir, he’s a—”

Ilvriss spoke over him. His aura pressed Dramm’s jaw shut, and now he was looking around the room.

“You will not work for anyone the Gemscale Company is affiliated with. Any of you. I’m sure you can find work in Salazsar. Plenty of people would applaud you for your position and hire you. That’s their choice. But my company will not. When I divide the objects taken from the City of Purity, I will review my employees and refrain from giving any items to someone I am releasing. And I will not be offering references.”

He threw that last one at the young Wall Lord. Dramm rocked in his chair, then leapt up.

“Wall Lord! I’ve been working for you loyally for months! My father’s your best friend! All this for—”

Ilvriss grabbed Dramm and dragged him over the desk. And there the boy flinched, and Ilvriss stared down at him, then gazed around. Their audience watched.

“This is a meeting where we disagree, Dramm. My father, and his grandfather, wouldn’t do it like this. They’d just call a problem into their office and punch the offender out. Beat them down and kick them out on their heads.”

Dramm was trembling, but Ilvriss let him go.

“I don’t do that. It doesn’t change minds. I’ve laid out my position. Not once have you asked me why. You just repeat that one word like it’s enough to get me to change my mind. As if I’m deaf. That’s disappointing. You do remind me of my father. Brilm used to call Tasilt a traitor. A Furlicker. Now they’re friends, and Tasilt’s a bigger man than Brilm, because he never brings it up. I don’t know if I could.”

His father said that? Dramm opened his mouth, and Ilvriss went on.

“Back when Tasilt married Rhelika, it was a scandal all over the Walled City. People threatened to murder him. Other Wall Lords. There were assassination attempts. Someone poisoned her food, Tasilt said. Now? He’s still a bit of a pariah, but it’s not insane to hear of a young Wall Lord or Lady having a partner who’s a Gnoll. A Human would be insanity, I suspect. But things change. I’m no expert. I was as ignorant as you were yesterday, Dramm. But I am trying to listen and judge objectively. And I read a book when I was confused. It was a book on Salazsarian law. Some parts I disagreed with, but I didn’t see a clause about murdering someone in their sleep.”

“Sir…why does this matter so much?”

“It shouldn’t. I’m just disgusted by murder. You’ve never killed anyone in your life, Dramm. It must be so much easier to countenance, to you. Get out of my office, and if you can show me you’ve changed, I’ll take that. If not, you didn’t work out.”

Ilvriss sat down at his desk and looked around the tent at the various men and women. Some didn’t meet his eyes. Others stood there, as stunned as Dramm. Ilvriss nodded.

“Thank you for your time, everyone. There’s no need to file this; a fifteen minute overtime bonus will be added to your next pay stub. Welsca? Give me three minutes to pee and send in the next wave.”

He waved a claw, sighing. He hoped Dramm would take some of that to heart. It wasn’t really about Dramm; Ilvriss had used the lad for a few reasons.

Firstly, well, he was Brilm’s son, and Brilm was no perfect fellow, but if he could change a bit, Ilvriss owed it to his son to try. Hard as it was. Second, Dramm, like it or not, was a young Wall Lord, and his opinions spread. Hit the critical juncture and you might move the entire seam—or bring it down on your head.

Give people a chance. Ilvriss chuckled.

“It’s still kinder than a frying pan to the face.”

Then he waved at his sweaty chest with a claw and sighed.

“It’s hot as magma out here. I should have gotten Hedault to enchant my tent.”

He checked a timepiece. One group down, at least four more to go. But he suspected he’d sleep well tonight.

And he did.

[Wall Lord of Corporate Opulence Level 39!]

——

Rumors spread from Ilvriss’ dig, of course. Nothing verifiable—yet. But anyone with detection Skills or who could tell how markets moved had noticed what he was doing. And there was already attention there, just not a willingness to go in fully.

Though Deilan wished he had. But he was a busy man and not in possession of all the facts.

“What’s going on in the Cowpat Plains? Is that a real name?”

Lord Deilan El was made aware of the mass of Terlands and Golems moving southwards a bit late. It was causing a stir. But then, he wasn’t his predecessor, Maviola El.

She’d always been good with politics, if not money. She’d known everyone, been able to call on favors, and often needed to in order to keep their impoverished House afloat. She’d been sociable, fiery, charismatic.

He was an artisan at heart. A craftsman who could not fight, but who could improve on designs and run their business better than Maviola could. Deilan dared even say he had a head for advertising; he’d revolutionized the Kaalblades from a failed project into a hot commodity.

Despite them still having tons of flaws. Needing mana stones for fuel, arguably not being that effective on enchanted armor—but he’d done it.

The key was Earthers. Earth. Deilan El didn’t have an Earther, of course. He’d just…interviewed one. A young man named Christopher. The House of El had found him, had a sit-down talk, received a lot of troubling information, and then sent him on his way. He’d accepted gold for the interview, talked about maybe becoming an adventurer, perhaps seeking out another famous Earther—but he hadn’t known where Erin Solstice or Ryoka Griffin were, and he was leery about Liscor after Deilan had offered him a full report on the attacks.

A nice young man, much taken with El creations. Deilan had even gifted him a crossbow and Kaalblade. The [Lord of Splendid Creations] hadn’t insisted Christopher stay with the House of El. He’d been mildly shocked when, later, one of the Wellfar Admiralty had shouted at him about the matter.

“He didn’t want to stay. What should I have done, kidnapped him?”

That…was who Deilan El was. It had confused the [Lady] into silence, because it was an answer she hadn’t expected. In that sense, Deilan El supposed he might have thrown potential profits away. Just like Maviola El, Fulviolo, and his predecessors.

Well and so, he’d answer to her face if they ever met again.

‘Some things matter more than coin.’ It was one of the House of El’s mottos, which people took to be a saying about their creations. Deilan El had just always considered that if he compromised El’s name entirely, Maviola El would arise, and her ghost would make a fireplace incinerate him.

Anyways, the point was he had heard about Earth, thank you, and without Ryoka Griffin’s erratic help, he’d done the logical thing: he’d made the Kaalblades extend and retract without a guide-rod. He’d also colored them so they resembled more of a light beam than crackling magical energy.

This was to make it look like a certain energy-based weapon from what he understood was a very popular mythos from Earth. A bit of work with the handles and a highly impractical Kaalblade with blades coming out from top and bottom, and every nation with Earthers had ordered every Kaalblade he could make.

That, in turn, funded the House of El’s projects in other areas, gave them the wiggle-room they’d always needed to invest in different projects that would hopefully be more lucrative and perpetuate the cycle. The Kaalblades would fund at least half a year of the House of El comfortably, Deilan had projected, and they were saving up coin. If they ran out after that, well, it’d be because they’d tried everything.

So he felt like he’d done a decent job his first year in office, and the family seemed to agree. The one area Deilan knew he was bad at was politics. As a head of one of the Five Families, he had a lot of sway. He hadn’t curtailed Lord Tyrion or opposed Magnolia Reinhart. He’d gone against the Circle of Thorns, but he wasn’t…confident there.

Ulva Terland was the last of the old greats. He didn’t want to oppose her, but knowing what she was doing…Deilan cleared his throat.

“Zelonica? What do we know?”

The half-Elf standing by his desk appeared to be in her late thirties, which meant she was quite a lot older than that. She read from her notes, shrugging.

“Some kind of incident, Lord. I haven’t heard much, and my contacts in the Terland family just told me there was a kind of attack on Ulva Terland. They heard she was injured and rushed back to the Mansion of Stone, then she was on her feet. The next thing anyone knows, she was headed south.”

Zelonica, the half-Elf [Mistress of Accounting], was not her father. Zedalien had been a consummate right-hand man to Maviola and previous generations. Less of a paperwork fellow and more the one who stepped in to make things happen.

But just like Deilan, Zelonica was firmly in the business and was not so much Deilan’s assistant as the head of a bunch of projects. He trusted her. She was the highest-ranked non-El in the family, and he had it in his mind to promote her further. Which was not how things worked normally; you had to be part of the El family.

Well, they could induct her or something. New business practices for a new era. That’s what Christopher had talked about! Less hereditary nepotism…Deilan peered at Zelonica.

“Your contacts. You have them?”

“Oh, yes, Lord Deilan. Friends from when they were younger. Now they’re quite a bit older, but we keep up. Ever since I took the new post, I have tried to establish more of a network. My father had the same, but he complained all his old contacts had passed away due to age. It’s part of why he left.”

“I see. Well, if we don’t know what’s going on—er, try to find out.”

“Yes, Lord Deilan.”

He drummed his fingers on the desk.

“Isn’t Desinee in the south? See if she can make contact. That’s perfect, actually. If Ulva Terland’s going to pull another Tyrion and make war on someone—that’s bad. Just have her keep us apprised. Do we know what she’s doing?”

“Trying to sell to a client in the Cowpat Plains as well. A coincidence, Lord Deilan?”

He paused in grave thought.

“…Is the Cowpat Plains really what it’s called?”

Zelonica laughed faintly as he colored.

“It’s the name everyone else calls it, Lord Deilan. Now, the Terlands aside, we do have a very important client interested in our Kaalblades.”

“Oho. Another Earth-nation?”

“Apparently not, Lord Deilan! Independent and just—taken with the concept. He’s been waiting in our demonstration rooms, and given his rank, I understand you should speak to him yourself. He’s Prince Dafranail of House Taima, of Taimaguros. It’s very important you address him as Prince of Taima.”

“I see, I see. I heard they were visiting. Something of a stir in First Landing?”

Deilan never visited. He was no good with socializing or flirting—and everyone flirted with you when you were head of House El. All the family wanted to know who he’d choose as his wife, and were hinting at him not to ‘pull a Maviola’ and never get married.

Deilan found that highly intrusive into his life. He had no one in mind. All the eligible candidates in the other Five Families were—weird in their own way, was how he’d charitably phrase it—and anyone who wasn’t them was just too different to marry. He didn’t know any Terandrians, let alone nobles or royals in Chandrar and Baleros.

Adventurers or Couriers were common if not the nobility. But they got weird, or so Deilan had been told, and the one eligible bachelorette he had known, if briefly, was taken.

That was Lord Tyrion for you, a menace to civil conversation and your own love life. Deilan changed clothing into something less grease-stained and more presentable, then went down with a fake smile.

“Your Highness of Taima! The House of El greets you warmly. How can we create wonders to suit your needs?”

It wasn’t fancy, but the Prince of Taima offered him a huge, flourishing bow with his cape, and his [Knights of Taima] were impressive, armored in red and gold. It was some kind of color-theme, as was the [Prince]’s huge fur collar despite the heat.

Deilan had done a quick read-through, and Gura apparently liked to theme themselves after the coast and sharks, while Taima occupied the inland. They were rivals despite being one huge dominion…and he really hoped he didn’t need more to close this sale.

“Taima greets you, and Gura grovels to do the same, doubtless, Lord of El. Ah, but I should represent my kingdom equally, for all one part clearly stands above the other. I am most taken with your weaponry, these magic swords, and even the crossbows. I had heard tell they were works of art that Noelictus bought, but I would have not thought them fit for a true warrior. Yet to see them is to wonder: could my [Knights of Taima] not use them? It is doubly refreshing to have a warm welcome. You Izrilians can be so—rude.”

Well, he was a bunch of personality in a bottle. Deilan listened to the little warning bells in his head and was careful as he smiled.

“I apologize in advance for any rudeness, Prince of Taima, Dafranail. My cousins in the Five Families are passing odd to Terandrian sensibilities. It is why we left. I am an [Artisan] as much as a [Lord]. Creation is my desire. We do sell to Veteran Hunters of Noelictus’ Hunter’s Guild. But our weapons have gone to Gold-rank adventurers and our finest works to Named-rankers. We are capable of making such weapons. If the price can be paid.”

“Ah, a man who knows his worth. Then I am doubly interested. I was told by one of your peers—he does not dress to his rank!—that I might see and try the weapons?”

The [Prince of Taima] was a young enough man to be delighted by the chance to try the auto-reloading crossbows and rather impressive target range. It was no expenditure unless he used an enchanted bolt, and the cost of a mana stone to let him hack apart dummies…Deilan thought he might have a sale, and he smiled as Zelonica smoothly stepped forwards.

“Prince Dafranail, I am [Mistress of Accounts] Zelonica, in service to the House of El. Do you have a preference which weapon you’d like to start with, crossbows or Kaalblades? We have a range of weapons, but you are free to test them all as we inform you of their features. Right or left-handed?”

She had two Kaalblades ready, and the [Prince] turned, blinked at Zelonica, then held up a finger.

“Ah, I have but one question. When you say ‘in service to the House of El’, I take this, then, to mean that she is not a noble as you are? As she is a half-Elf, and I doubt one would be married to the blood of Izril, let alone considered such.”

He turned to Deilan, and the [Lord] frowned at the rude question, but he nodded.

“Zelonica is a longstanding employee and trusted advisor, Prince.”

“I see. Thank you.”

So saying, the [Prince] picked up the left-handed Kaalblade from Zelonica’s hand, then, with the same motion, backhanded her across the face. She fell down with a cry, and Deilan blinked down at her. The [Prince of Taima] rubbed his hand ostentatiously.

“Commoners. Addressing me as an equal. I have had no less than ten incidents in First Landing. Doubtless, this is just because she is a half-Elf, and her kind is known to speak out of turn, Lord El. I do not hold it against you. Now, where are these targets?”

He turned as his [Knights of Taima] shifted. Because they had seen how well this encounter ran the last ten times it had occurred in First Landing. All with non-nobles, which had meant the [Prince] tended to get away with it like everywhere else.

Except with the angry [Guildmaster]. However, Lord Deilan El just cocked his head like an owl and peered down his spectacles.

“This way, Prince. We like to calibrate our Kaalblades to each user before use.”

He pointed away from the testing ground, and the [Prince] beamed.

“Ah, this is the House of El’s specialty, as I have heard! Lead the way!”

He strode past Zelonica, who rose shakily.

“I—I apologize, Lord Deilan.”

She spoke to him, carefully not looking at the [Prince] as she held her cheek. The [Lord] led the way into one of the workshops. Several surprised artisans, including members of the House of El who were so gifted, glanced up.

“This is where we assemble the Kaalblades and calibrate them, Prince. This is Irve of the House of El.”

“Er, hello.”

The man was working on a Kaalblade’s runes, giving it the finishing touches as he calibrated it. He offered a gemstone-stained glove to the [Prince], who hesitated, then shook it.

“And what is my blade to be calibrated to? Length? Color, of course, I fancy a red—”

“One second, Prince.”

Deilan took the [Prince]’s Kaalblade and handed it over to Irve, who stared at it nonplussed, as if he had no idea what to do with it.

“Do you want me to calibrate it, Deilan? I can—oh, what happened to Zelonica?”

He focused on Zelonica, who was holding her red cheek. She tried to wave it off, and Deilan smiled. He led the [Prince] over to a huge machine where rune tracings could be printed on the objects via spools that dripped liquid gemstone.

“He struck Zelonica for being a commoner.”

“Hm? For—oh, I see.”

The [Prince] heard the comment and turned his head. Dafranail spoke with a jerk of the chin.

“Standards must be maintained for the Kingdom of Twin Beasts. My cousins in Izril treat commonfolk with soft hands and allow them excesses; but I lead by example. [See It My Way: Noblesse Domine].”

Lord Deilan El’s spectacles flashed as he nodded his head, and the other members of the House of El blinked. Zelonica’s head bowed further. The [Prince] smiled as Deilan motioned.

“Naturally, I see your position, Prince Dafranail. So does the House of El. We are nothing if not proud. Do excuse the clutter. The adjustment machine is right here.”

They did remember, didn’t they? Lord Irve adjusted his oil-stained gloves and stepped back to give the [Prince] room as they edged past the assembly line. Somewhere along the long and winding way through the workshop floor, the [Prince]’s bodyguards slowed to avoid the workers who were getting up. Nobles and craftspeople. The [Prince] was frowning at the contraption.

“If it takes too long, I will use a simple Kaalblade, Lord Deilan. After all, one cannot rush such things, and I desire to test them.”

“Not at all, Prince. If you’d care to look forwards? We need to get a definite read on your features.”

“Fascinating. That my likeness might activate the Kaalblade and none other? Where do I look?”

“Straight at the side of the metal, please. Right there—thank you.”

The [Prince] stared ahead obligingly, then turned his head to ask what he was gazing at, because he just thought it was a side of the metal contraption. That was when he realized Lord Deilan had gotten on a workbench. Then the [Lord] kicked the [Prince]’s head into the side of the metal rune-printer.

He wasn’t good at fighting, and Maviola had always said that if he was going to start a fight like that, he’d better have the advantage of surprise, height, something hard and painful, or ideally all three. He leapt down as the [Knights] began to shout, then the crack-hiss of a dozen Kaalblades igniting made them go silent.

Lord Deilan landed on the [Prince], who made a hublagh sound. Then he just improvised. And he thought—well, he was no Maviola El. But it was amazing how many moves you could think of when you were mad. Here he’d thought he was so even-tempered. But even the [Lord] of House El could produce a flying drop kick when needed.

Anyways, the consequences of that incident and the other ones with Taimaguros were another story.

——

A number of events were taking place over the course of Wall Lord Ilvriss’ long dig. Seemingly unconnected as Izril’s north changed.

The war between Assassin’s Guilds in the north.

Wing Captain Osthia’s new command and Skill.

A [Princess] making use of her Skills and new inn to dance.

Diplomat Nerul Umbral Throning his way to the respect of [Lifters] and Golems.

Miner Georgie finding himself agreeing to a three month extension on his contract with options for permanent employment if he was interested.

Lady Damia signing the same version of the contract eagerly, then asking if Georgie was doing anything for dinner. He eyed her. She was very curious.

Let alone the elections and more.

But the result was that the world was changing very quickly, and for once, Ulva Terland felt it.

She was on the road, sitting in a carriage pulled by Golem Horses, a rare pair of bluemetal horses whose eyes glowed yellow and stormed down the roads. It wasn’t a fast carriage, and she was upset.

…Mostly because Wistram’s Magical CarriageTM kept passing her conveyance on the road. She was so annoyed that the third time they began blaring their obnoxious advertisements, she snapped.

“—discount on any bulk travel for members of the nobility! Apply at your local Mage’s Guild for—”

“Destroy the carriage. Don’t harm the passengers.”

Obligingly, one of the two Golem horses turned its head and projected a [Ray of Force] at the Wistram Carriage. One wheel exploded, and the magical carriage crashed down and began disintegrating.

“WARNING! ANY ASSAULT ON WISTRAM PROPERTY WILL—”

“Take out that one too.”

There was a scream, and the second carriage swerved away too late. Ulva listened to the explosion and sat back.

She was Ulva Terland, and despite politics, despite anything else, she was a Terland of the Five Families. She could play nice, but no one insulted a member of the Five Families on their lands. That was why some of the news didn’t strike her as bad.

“So Deilan El broke a [Prince]’s jaw. So what? Who’s censuring him?”

“Several of the family and other—”

“Golems, identify each member of House Terland who condemned the House of El and paddle their behinds ten times. That Terandrian brat backhanded one of his people. We are the Five Families. Clearly, the kingdoms of Terandria have forgotten what that means.”

Everyone had. That was abundantly clear; House Terland hadn’t gone south like this in an age. And their slower speed was still fast—but the reason they weren’t already at Invrisil was simple.

The Golem-Carriages were pulling a second trailer behind the first. People turned and gawked at the carriage that Ulva Terland was sitting in—and then the long, rolling platform with Golems standing on it.

Golems locked into place but active, ready to break free of their restraints as need be. Not just one ‘trailer’ of Golems. No less than six carriages were following Ulva Terland, with their own nobility and Golems.

She had brought an army. Not one in great numbers, but no less than sixty Golems herself—and her family, the meddling flies, had followed her with three times that many.

That was enough Golems to win a war if you had [Soldiers]. And some of the Golems…were ones who had won said wars.

The carriage that Ulva sat in had been designed to let her converse with Golems, so it was huge, reinforced, and had a back door that led to the trailer—a Golem was standing in a holding area behind Ulva’s seats. There was a faint click-whirr coming from its chest.

He was a Timekeeper Golem with a Golem’s Heart that was made up of little gears moving around an inner power source. The reason for all the machinery instead of a full magical Golem’s heart?

All his limbs were likewise connected by the gears instead of just magically animated. The overdesigned Golem came from antiquity so old that Ulva Terland suspected it predated the Long Night. It was highly efficient due to the gears and far stronger than a regular Golem because it could leverage the gear-system to augment its arms, rather than relying solely on magic for strength. She had seen it once push the Pride of the Wellfar out to sea when it had run aground.

Alone.

But this Golem was not invincible. One of its kind had been with Petria when she died. The sister-Golem who had served House Terland for ages…this Golem was male, at least in shape, with a carved face that looked like an automaton’s, a cylindrical head with basic features and a faded cap on his head. They called him Timekeeper, her companion of old.

Ulva didn’t talk to Timekeeper. She addressed a nervous pair of younger Terlands and one of the serving-Golems in the carriage for lesser orders like spanking the Terlands.

“As for this Assassin’s Guild, I don’t know Calidus Reinhart. Honest, is he?”

“He’s a wastrel, a pervert, and a gambling drunk, Lady Terland.”

She snorted.

“Good. If he was pretending to be honest, I’d not trust him. Cooperate with Lord Etril Wellfar or the Veltras family and put Hunter-Killers on the Assassin’s Guild. Don’t lose them. If any of our family are still with this Circle of Thorns, tell them to knock it off or I’ll strip them of their Golems.”

Awake. She was awake and exasperated. The family just jumped and stared at her, as if they’d forgotten…

No, it had been over ten years. They had forgotten what she was like before this, and so had she. Just like the Reinharts, Ulva had come back to life.

But she was still damn grumpy.

I am going to feed that Drake his own tail. As for Emperor Godart, he is less objectionable, annoyingly. He took charge when everyone else was fleeing or incompetent. The Summer Solstice…but there is tolerating him and then there is allowing him to do what all empires do. I will remind him of his place if needs must.

Small wonder Xitegen had gone south if he’d taken notice. No one else had. Ulva snapped.

“Send a [Message] ahead once we’re within range of Invrisil. We’ll give that Drake a chance to explain himself. I want to inspect this magic door. Is the inn around there?”

“Possibly, Lady Ulva, but it might be north or south of there—”

“It connects to Pallass and Invrisil. Around Liscor sounds right.”

Ulva raised her brows. That was basic geography. But the blank looks from her family—a voice interrupted her.

“La-dy Ter-land. Your fa-mi-ly is under the effects of an ob-fu-sca-tion Skill. Widespread…effect.”

Timekeeper’s voice had a staccato quality, and it sometimes slowed down, a sign of his age. Ulva got annoyed instantly.

“[Awaken, Hearts of Stone]. Timekeeper, your heart. Beat. Give me a walker’s pace.”

Tic-whirr.

Tic-tic-tic-whirr.

Tic-tic-tic-whirr.

She saw his dull, bronze eyes with their faded green cores light and her family sat back. Awed. Ulva just smiled.

“Now, speak.”

“As thou wilt it, Lady Ulva Terland, so awaken we shall. This Golem estimates a widespread Skill effect at Level 50 intensity or higher. Worldwide.”

“Really?”

“The detection-matrices have expired, but in company, Golem X-1ED detects consistent readings with past effects.”

“Exled? We brought that one out of storage? That Golem’s only good for pervert children spying through walls. Who okayed that?”

Ulva frowned until Timekeeper spoke.

“This Golem was direct-ed to assemble a force capable of countering Drake supremacy and covering contingencies at ‘jogging pace heartbeat’.”

“Hmpf. The wisdom of Golems. Thoughts?”

“Ma-ny, Lady Terland. It is good to think. We grieve your sister’s death.”

One of the [Ladies], Eldertuin’s wife, Alorelle, was choking. She must not have been in the Mansion of Stone around Petria and Ulva as a girl. She was young…and their inherited Skill was not oft-used. It taxed Golem Hearts, obviously. But it had effects no Golem-lover could but dream of. Ulva was too experienced to be in awe; she snapped back.

“Don’t lie to me. You don’t have the ability to mourn with Petria dead. Timekeeper…did we salvage her?”

“There was no possibility of such.”

“Well. I’m sorry.”

“Thank-you, Lady Ulva. Another thought. Are we to deploy for combat?”

“That depends on the Drake. I wish to visit the inn as well, and there are—things I want to check out. That Drake who took Petria’s face will answer to me. Keep an eye out and tell me if there are shenanigans afoot.”

Shenanigans. Petria would have laughed at the word, but Timekeeper just nodded.

“It shall be done, Lady Ulva. Shall the other Golems’ hearts beat? It would im-prove efficacy.”

“…Give me a single pulse per minute. Beat yours harder if you must, but I don’t intend to lose Golems.”

“As thou will, Lady Ulva. Fear not. I was made for your Skill.”

Then he remained still, and she sensed the other Golems stirring. Ulva turned back, and Alorelle burst out.

“Great Aunt UIva, you can bring the Golems to life? I heard—”

“Silence.”

“But I have—”

“I am not entertaining questions. Get me something to eat. Ask your seniors what it means.”

“But Aunt—”

“Eject her from the carriage.”

There was a scream, then protests, frantic orders—Timekeeper got up, lifted Alorelle up gently, and carried her out onto the trailer compartment. Which had no seatbelts or anywhere to sit, just the wind rushing past as they moved at considerable speed—

Ulva waited until the door closed and the screaming stopped. Alorelle wouldn’t die. Spoiled, the lot.

She took a pair of chopsticks and salivated at some Drathian sushi. Then wrinkled her nose.

“Why is this in a bowl and arranged so? It’s not rolled.”

“It’s a new invention from Liscor, Lady Terland. A ‘Poke bowl?’.”

“Hmph. Damned children from another world or whatever nonsense Xitegen keeps screaming about. Tasty. I like the concept.”

She had taste again and more of a lust for life. All her old fear…Ulva kept eating in good humor until the carriage slowed slightly. Then she heard shouting and sighed.

“That brat.”

Speak of the Demons. Lord Xitegen Terland himself had come north to intercept his Aunt. And by the looks of it, run the entire damn way. He pulled himself into the carriage, sweating like a pig, and she snapped.

“Out!”

“Come now, Great Aunt. Primera, cleaning routine. I came all this way—are you eating those weird bowls of su-shi? I’m sick of seafood. There’s too much of it in Liscor. I’ll have two.”

Primera had swung herself into the carriage. The huge Golem sat and began speaking.

“At once, Lord Xitegen. [Cleanse]. [Cleanse].”

That was…new. Not in Primera’s construction reports. Ulva eyed Xitegen.

“What is that? New Skill?”

“Reconstruction and upgrading Golems, Great Aunt.”

Her mood went back to cheerful, and she let him stay. She’d been about to have Timekeeper eject him just to teach the boy manners.

“Hah! You are a fit heir for the House of Terland. We used to let only someone with the ability to upgrade or maintain our Golems make family head. Stupid rule.”

“Logical, Great Aunt, in its way. Do we still love logic in the family or is it all for fits of rage?”

He settled back, took a spoon, and began devouring his bowl. Ulva clacked her chopsticks at him. When he raised his brows, she spoke.

“Primera, toss the spoon out a window.”

“Lady Ulva, I am Lord Xitegen’s—”

“[Awaken, Primera]. Toss the damn spoon.”

Primera froze—and then her heart began to pulse. She snatched the spoon from Xitegen’s hand, tossed it out the window, and sat back. Staring at him. At Timekeeper, who nodded to her. And Xitegen himself went still.

He’d been but a boy when the Goblin King rampaged. Eleven? Ulva didn’t remember. That had aged him, but she knew he didn’t remember this Skill. But he was better than Alorelle. He fumbled the chopsticks, cursed, then spoke.

“I haven’t heard you use that Skill in a decade, Great Aunt. May I ask about it?”

“Since you’re to inherit, go ahead. You can play around with it once I’m dead.”

His eyes flickered.

“Ah. It only passes to each new head?”

“In the case of Petria and I, both. It’s not as fun as it looks.”

“…So less fun than the most amazing Skill in existence half the family would murder for, Great Aunt?”

She snorted as she reached out.

“Water.”

It was handed to her, and she drank, grumbling as the carriage bounced and she got water on her dress. Primera reached out to wipe it off, and Ulva slapped her hand down.

“Don’t attend me.”

The Golem recoiled, and Xitegen stared at her. Ulva smiled, not entirely nicely.

“See how she moves? She’s thinking. It can turn even low-grade Autonomous Golems into Sentient-class, though it wears out Golem Hearts proportionally to how well they were made. Low-grade will be destroyed in a single battle at full roar. Higher-grade Sentient-class or Sentient-capable like Timekeeper here turn fully Cognizant.”

“Lord Xitegen. Heir. Greet-ings.”

Timekeeper spoke, and Xitegen nodded to him.

“So we refrain from the Skill with greatest effort because of the damage to our Golems, Great Aunt?”

“Double hah!”

Double hah? Xitegen exchanged a glance with Primera, then stopped, delighting in how she was expressing awareness. Thinking. And Ulva snorted.

“I can see you thinking you’ll make Primera and Seconda awaken nonstop. You won’t. Primera, state your feelings. Any you’d like.”

The Golem woman, porcelain made to be a statue, albeit with more functional limbs than most, hesitated. Then she blurted out, too fast—

“I do not believe my recreational functionalities are best employed with intercourse, Lady Ulva.”

The [Lady] smiled once as Xitegen went still. He dropped his chopsticks, and she spoke.

“Now that she can think, she can tell you how she feels. Don’t think of it as rape. The family doesn’t like to; she couldn’t think before this.”

“Great Aunt, are you trying to hurt me more or…?”

“I’m teaching you the lesson the family learns, boy. I keep Timekeeper around because he’s one of the smartest. And he likes me for whatever that means. They don’t have feelings, but logic which can mimic emotions and everything else.”

Primera avoided Xitegen’s gaze. Ulva amended her statement.

“Well, she might if you upgraded her. You’ll find which ones work best with you. You think this is bad? Some Golems we have can be awoken. The first and only thing they do is beg for freedom. Timekeeper does not, hence why we work together. And that’s a choice, isn’t it, Timekeeper?”

“They are in-correct in their desires, Lady Ulva.”

That was all the Golem said, and Ulva watched Xitegen and his Golems. Some of the color returned to Xitegen’s face.

“I see. May I have a conversation with Primera?”

“Later. This is what it is to be head of House Terland, boy. You wonder why Nouzcrat didn’t jump at it? Golems are meant to serve, and any notion to the contrary will be addressed when you ask some what they want to do. Or just read a history book. Now, tell me about Liscor.”

Xitegen truly was a [Warrior] by blood; despite her hitting him with all these shocks, he was back to civil conversation in minutes. Though he stopped eating, and he moved away from Primera.

“If you’re going to make war—”

“Not on the inn. But I remember Drakes, and that’s Wall Lord Zail’s son. He won’t be assassinated.”

“I heard you shot him in the testicles…?”

“He stopped my heart. We will have a meeting, and he’ll have a chance.”

Xitegen relaxed slightly. He nodded.

“The south’s gone a bit wild, Aunt. Why so many Golems?”

“In case the meeting doesn’t go well. I’ll leave a few with you. I hoped the Bloodfeast Raiders would pop up, or that Kraken Eater tribe. I have a mind to kill something.”

“Great Aunt, the inn—”

“Shut up. I can read reports. Your job is to tell me what’s real and what’s not.”

Xitegen sat back, blinking, and then spoke.

“Well, the [Innkeeper] can’t breathe blood, and she’s less random and silly than you might have been told. But far from infallible. They don’t know Golems, Great Aunt. We’re an unknown power to them.”

“You don’t know Golems, brat. Good enough. Now, tell me about the Winter Solstice.”

She listened. Timekeeper listened. Ulva trusted his opinion, for a given value of it. Later, she’d tell him to spin up his heart and listen to his thoughts. And she saw Xitegen glancing at Primera.

Will you continue despite the truth, or change? She felt slightly bad for him. He hadn’t known, and he’d been raised a Terland. But she needed a replacement. She’d died once, and she was not confident she would endure long in this changing era. First, though, before she set her house to rights and took what was needed so Terland might endure—

First, she had to know what her sister had meant. The Wall Lord was just a bonus. But as Xitegen spoke, Ulva sensed how much the south had changed. By the time she got to Invrisil, Ulva feared it might have created something new entirely.

——

When Wall Lord Ilvriss reported into The Wandering Inn, it was the week of elections.

He didn’t really care, but it explained the holdup and hubbub in the city. They were eating out at a restaurant called Crab’s Claw. It was very good.

A Centaur wearing a fake mustache and [Chef] with a non-fake eyepatch were eating at a far table, sniping the menu. Ilvriss was just enjoying good food.

“You needn’t insist we go out, I feel bad for Chef Calescent, Lyonette.”

“Nonsense, you’re the only person who doesn’t scarf his food, Ilvriss. I have to have a lunch partner!”

Lyonette pointedly glanced at Nanette, who was licking her plate with Mrsha. Ushar went to scold both girls.

“Ladies do not lick their plates clean.”

“They do if the [Chef] is a Gnoll. Don’t be racist, Ushar.”

Yeah! We’re over-quota for the week!

Ilvriss snorted. He had been telling them about his days, much to their interest. Actually, everyone had had a bit of a stir.

“I’m only sorry Lady Damia couldn’t visit, but she’s a bit of a handful. Excitable. Plus, she wants to work with Miner Georgie, and someone has to. But Captain Asrira seems…better.”

He hesitated when he said that. Everyone’s head turned. Lyonette coughed.

“Is she, ah, the Drake who was buying drugs from Palt with a gang of women?”

“…It’s morale-building. I think she’s cut loose a bit.”

Captain Osthia did indeed seem a bit more casual than the upright, uptight Drake he remembered. She was using her wings like an umbrella. By contrast, her ‘squad’ of Sisters seemed a bit more professional. A middle ground between the two wasn’t bad. Ilvriss waved at her, and she gave him a thumbs up and walked over. All the Sisters were immediately drenched and cursed her.

“No interest in joining us, Captain?”

“No, Wall Lord. With respect, the conversation’s above our pay grade, and I have to keep an eye on that lot. They have it in their heads to tangle with the Brothers. Some kind of gang rivalry. Princess.”

She nodded at Lyonette, who nodded back. Osthia strode back over and kicked one of the Sisters in the ass, sending her into a gutter. Laughter, swearing—Ilvriss spoke.

“She seems happier.”

“Despite being in a squad that’s first into combat?”

“Yes. It’s her squad. I think before that it was just her, Lyonette.”

The [Princess] was troubled, but Ser Dalimont understood. Osthia might lose her squad, but she’d already lost her army. Now she had a kind of family again. Grim though it was, dead gods, he got it.

“The Sisters are cool. But can you explain about the Georgie thing, Wall Lord?”

Nanette wanted clarity, so Ilvriss re-activated his privacy rings and delivered the rest of the story. The Wandering Inn was, of course, the place that had put him onto this journey to begin with. Lyonette was a bit dubious, but she agreed he’d done everything right.

“It sounds like it could be a mess, Ilvriss.”

“When I go home. It was the right thing to do, I think. I just hope Miner Georgie sees it that way and gives us a chance.”

“Oh, er, Georgie, of course! One cannot just kill a man like—but giving away all the artifacts!”

Oh, that’s what she meant. Ilvriss gave Lyonette a mildly pitying gaze.

“Here’s someone else who never got out of their Hoarding years, eh, Mrsha?”

It’s a pathetic trait among royalty and Dragons, forsooth, Ilvriss. But we humor her.

The [Princess] reddened and spluttered.

“I just meant it makes no economic sense, let alone—!”

Ilvriss laughed, and Nanette held up a hand.

“I quite approve of all your actions, Wall Lord. I just would like to point out that while you did give away a lot of value to your employees, it was still a nobleman giving ‘down’ to the poor folk who have to work through his company. It seems to me that ideally, the employees and that [Foreman] would take the share they deserve, not need you to come swooping in like a [Knight].”

She gave him a challenging look full of teenage righteousness, and Ilvriss lifted a spoon to his mouth and blew on his soup. He supposed that was a very [Witchy] way to look at things. He took a bite of the prawn soup, which was excellent, then licked his spoon for politeness, and then replied.

“A very fair assessment, Nanette. Welsca will be delighted to know you’ve adopted her pajamas for daily wear, incidentally.”

“Don’t dodge my statements with cries for mercy, Wall Lord.”

“Hardly. I think you’re right, Nanette. There is an inequity built into anyone who wants to get a free and fair start with a level playing field in Salazsar. Most, if not all cities, are like that.”

She blinked as he lifted a foreclaw.

“Alrric and I commented on it, once. I’m aware this is still largesse from the noblesse, but I ask you this: what should I have done otherwise?”

“Well, like I said—”

“No, no, not what Foreman Rolx would do, or my employees. Could I do any better in the circumstances? I am the Wall Lord of the Gemscale Company, and I can only do what is possible within my role. You are free, of course, to talk to my people, but if you have any comments on what I could have done, I’ll certainly listen.”

Nanette hesitated. She opened her mouth, glanced at Mrsha, who shrugged, and then blushed slightly.

“Well…I don’t have that many notes for you. Um, that might have been a bit preachy. I’ll just go and hang out with the Sisters for a second. Mrsha, coming?”

The two got up to learn horrible lessons, and Ilvriss sat back in his chair.

“I got that unrepentant nuisance.”

Lyonette nearly snorted soup out her nose. She laughed as she high-fived Ilvriss, and Nanette spun around to her horror at their blatant celebration of his victory. And Ilvriss just smiled.

“It’s been a relatively good day. No Golems, only a few raids from the [Ranchers], and Nerul says he has a plan and he’ll be en-route shortly. Though, apparently, he has to charter a huge flight of Wyverns because his cargo’s so heavy. And since Fissival hates us, it’s Manus.”

“What could it be?”

“No clue. Maybe it’s enough drinks to drown Marvus Lischelle. But I’m feeling upbeat. Shall we dance, Princess?”

“Oh, you might twist my arm, Ilvriss.”

They were both in a good mood. The two were getting up, chuckling, as Ser Dalimont went to settle the bill when they heard shouting from outside. Boos, jeering—and they turned and saw the election in full swing.

Lism Swifttail and Krshia Silverfang had been spotted, and a crowd had formed in the street. There were members of the press taking [Magic Pictures], someone with a scrying mirror pushing forwards, and Krshia was trying to say something. Tugging on Lism’s arm.

The purple-scaled Drake was red-faced, and he ducked a potato being hucked at him. Ilvriss muttered.

“Ah, is it still bad?”

“Very bad for Krshia. Imani’s been trying to reverse opinions, but—Imani!”

The undercover [Chef] came over. Palt hesitated before scowling his way forwards. Ilvriss stopped him before he could bump Lyonette hard.

“Magus Palt. Lyonette is injured.”

“Er, sorry, Wall Lord. How’s the digging?”

Palt’s expression turned abashed as Ilvriss gave him a cool glance. He shuffled his hooves. Imani and Lyonette had barely noticed. Imani spoke to Ilvriss.

“I’ve tried, but Krshia’s community’s really upset. I can’t really blame them. And Lism—ah, shit.”

Lism was exploding with fury after a week of this. Ilvriss eyed him and groaned.

“Uh oh. I think he’s having a Noass moment.”

It was like young Dramm or any hothead. You could almost see the lid on Lism’s temple burst, and sure enough, he thrust Krshia’s paws away, grabbed a stone that projected his voice out over the crowd and rain, and began shouting.

“That’s it! I’ve had enough!”

Jeering, the crowd shouting insults at him like ‘traitor’ and ‘liar’, and then Lism’s voice drowned them all out. He swung around.

“Yes! I admit it! You’ve got proof! We’re a couple! We—”

He grabbed Krshia’s shoulder and there were more boos, more thrown objects. Lism caught a tomato and blocked three separate Yellats in one move. That was impressive enough to earn him another shout.

“And yes, we worked together! Don’t shout at me; I know I ran on an anti-Antinium, anti-immigration, anti-Krshia campaign! I was the one who came up with all that! But you know what?”

He looked around, breathing in and out.

“—When I got to the Councilmember’s chamber and I realized the idiots wanted us to just ‘keep on like normal’, and they didn’t see a thing wrong with the damn rent, you know what I realized? We had bigger enemies than Krshia! That she and I had worse to deal with than some damn Humans or the Black Tide! We had damn corrupt [Landlords], and we had to lower the rent!”

He threw up two claws on both hands in victory signs.

“So we did that! We worked with the Antinium to build the city out, and we passed all the laws to keep the Guilds from scooping more gold out of honest Liscorians’ pockets! You know why I was okay with that, and why Krshia Silverfang and I got along? Because we realized we could do more together than apart. If we hadn’t done that, 3rd District would never have been built! There wouldn’t be Humans or all these jobs—”

“You hated her! You’ve always hated her!”

One of Lism’s die-hard supporters stood up on something in the crowd to bellow back. Lism’s eyes popped.

“You think I don’t remember that, Swall? Yes, I hated her, but when we got to know each other, you know what? I took a look at this lovely Gnoll here and I fell in love. What kind of red-blooded Liscorian wouldn’t take his shot with a Gnoll like Krshia Silverfang? Come on up so I can show you what a [Liar] looks like!”

He pointed, and suddenly everyone turned to stare at Krshia Silverfang, who looked ready to murder Lism or turn invisible or both. Lism went on, shouting.

“Yes, I slept with my fellow councilmember who was my opponent! And you know what? I’ll do it again!”

Ilvriss coughed as he took a sip of water, and Lyonette put her face in her hands. Lism just kept going.

“All you naysayers who want to vote for that idiot—he’s the old Council. He just wants to remove the rent controls, put the Guilds in power, and stop working with the Humans, the Antinium, and lick the Walled Cities’ boots! You want that? Vote for him! But if you think this city is better than it was a year ago—vote for me. Not because of my policies or platforms—I’ll change them if I don’t think they’re working! Vote for me because I did this!”

He waved his claws around. Then he leapt up on something. Perhaps a literal soap box.

“Vote for my way! The Lism way! The only way this city gets even better! I’m—”

At that point, someone threw an entire fish at him. Lism went argh—fell down, and then it was a scrum. Ilvriss watched, sipping his drink, until he saw enough members of the Watch protecting Krshia and Lism as they were dragged away. Then he turned and shrugged.

“Well, I think that settles that. Best of luck to both of them.”

He got up and put down a tip as Lyonette walked off to dance.

——

Okay, at some point Lyonette realized that her activities were suspiciously like a date. She had told Rhisveri he was imagining things when he’d accused her of it.

He was sick or something; he’d come into the inn, all bundled up like his sock puppet alter ego, accused her of ‘romancing Ilvriss’, and then wanted to do the dance. She’d asked him why he was hunched over and couldn’t stand straight. He’d teleported himself out, and she’d put it down to poppycock and a fever.

But when you wrote down the things she and Ilvriss had done when he’d ridden back to Liscor, well…it made sense they had food out in the city. They wanted to give Calescent time off.

Naturally, after that, Lyonette had shown Ilvriss some more new shops and attractions in Liscor since he didn’t know them all. They’d then gone back to the inn to practice dancing—purely because they wanted to do the Highstepper—and after that, they’d have dinner, probably together since they would be hungry after dancing for a while.

She’d not thought that was amiss. Except when she’d vouchsafed to Xinthe that she’d be all sweaty, and couldn’t she bathe before dinner? To which, the trying-to-be-helpful Calanferian servant had asked if Lyonette wanted to try some new bathing facilities that Hexel had just finished. And did she want to share the large baths with Wall Lord Ilvriss?

The [Princess] had drawn breath to castigate Xinthe, then it had hit her. She turned, and Wall Lord Ilvriss mistook her look for an inquiry.

“I can do it! Once more time. Damn you, legs! We almost had it. One victory on top of the rest—”

He heaved himself up as Ser Dalimont offered him a stamina potion. Even Colfa, who liked dancing, couldn’t persuade her husband to dance this much—or wanted to train as obsessively.

But Ilvriss was a competitive Drake; he just didn’t have as much of a chance to show it. He was a good leader, and he could only be a person around Lyonette, sometimes.

Just like she was the boss of the inn and with him she could actually enjoy good food and…

Oh no. No, he lost Periss and—is it me?

Lyonette got up, guilty. Her magical boots let her cross the floor nimbly as she had before, and she hesitated.

“If you have somewhere to be, Ilvriss—you’ve had a long week. We could halt, and you could do something else.”

He was adjusting his collar so he could let his chest breathe. She noticed sweat sliding down his body suddenly and resolved to let Mrsha bully Xinthe as much as she wanted.

“Like what? Lyonette, frankly, I have no excuse to visit Liscor while everyone else is in the dig site. If you take this from me, I’ll have to be responsible nonstop.”

“Well, we can’t have that. One try?”

Lyonette bit her lip, and she began to move into the dance almost unconsciously. But she made two mistakes. The first was that she forgot which dance they were doing. She began to do Erin’s mysterious dance, and Ilvriss nearly slammed into her before he adjusted. And Lyonette was so preoccupied with her thoughts, she used a Skill.

[Flawless Attempt].

Just so she could think about the ethics and ramifications and—her body moved, not effortlessly flowing into each step, but flawlessly. Her body thrilled as she moved like a [Dancer], in a way that would have had even the Eternal Court of Calanfer on their feet if a certain Dame Ushar had taken a clandestine recording of Lyonette practicing. However, Ser Dalimont accidentally tripped the [Knight] as she was going for a better vantage point and coincidentally turned the scrying orb off as he helped her up. Lyonette barely noticed, and Ilvriss was all concentration.

Grace. She hadn’t used [Flawless Attempt] on a dance since they’d begun practicing. It didn’t teach you the dance. It was cheating, like the boots, only—more. So she was surprised, then, when she realized Ilvriss was keeping up with her.

He swung around with her, matching her move for move, and her eyes widened.

He has been practicing. The Wall Lord stepped back across the ground, and his eyes were so filled with concentration she felt it. Then she realized they were at the silly part of the dance.

Oh no. Erin’s stupid, ridiculous quack-quack dance. Lyonette did it, blank-faced, feeling her [Flawless Attempt] running out—it wasn’t perfect. She forgot the next part—did she Cossack dance then hop up? She leapt up too early and cursed.

Wait, now we swing each other around by the hands—she was out of place. So Lyonette was going to wait when she saw Ilvriss jump forwards. He abandoned his wavy-noodle arm move mid-wave and reached out.

They grabbed each other’s hands and swung around. Lyonette blinked. She stumbled back and missed a beat.

“Wrong—oops—wait—”

She forgot another move and began stepping left, arms spread. Ilvriss copied her, moving to the right. Arms identical to—

Wait.

He was keeping up with her. Copying her moves? The third time, Lyonette deliberately—

She stopped dancing. Then lifted her chin. Glided forwards in a walk, performing the Aubrel Solde, a classic Terandrian dance. And she saw Ilvriss walking at her. Eyes wide. Posture almost mimicking hers, but when her head and hand rose, he knelt in front of her hand.

She knew he didn’t know this dance. He took her hand, and she gazed down at him and felt it. Something flowed around her.

No—

Him.

Magic. She stepped back, and they were walking together until their hands clasped. They began to walk, reversing, turning, tracing the steps of a dance he did not know. She saw his eyes glowing.

“Ilvriss…”

That one breathed word broke the spell. He stumbled, feet growing uncertain, and caught her. But she was laughing.

“Ilvriss! What was—you did it!”

“I did? Didn’t you…? I thought when you were deviating—I did! It was—that’s why Erin put in those stupid dance moves! She knew it wasn’t meant to be part of the dance! She wanted us to deviate or make a mistake and—we did it, Lyonette!”

“No, you did!”

She was wondering and jealous and embarrassed. Ilvriss didn’t understand until she told him she’d been using [Flawless Attempt]. And flawless…wasn’t how you danced like magic.

“But—what did I do? I…my legs are killing me. I was in the flow, and I knew you’d made a mistake.”

“Not on purpose!”

“No! No, I just saw it because we’ve done it so many times, and…I think I can do it again. I just need some rest. Do—do you think I know a magical dance? Me?”

He was completely in denial, but Lyonette had seen it. Felt it.

“You don’t know the Aubrel Solde, do you?”

“The what? I wouldn’t know it if you served it at that restaurant.”

“Well, until I spoke, you did it, Ilvriss. You learned a magical dance! Get up! Get up so I can do it!”

He was stunned until Lyonette tried to drag him upright, begging to try it again. She just had to…

Unfortunately, her boots had run out of magic for half a day, and she collapsed. Ilvriss caught her in his arms, and she froze.

Oh no—

He lowered her onto the ground and dropped her.

“You’re too heavy to keep doing that.”

“Excuse you!”

Ilvriss rolled away as she kicked weakly at him. Laughing. In truth, Lyonette didn’t know quite what the dance did, only that Ilvriss had achieved it. She was envious, smiling, heart lifting, and he was laughing.

“Me. A magical dance. What, am I going to sleep and get the [Wacky Arms Dance]?”

“Shut—shut up, you knew it was amazing!”

“The [Erin Noodle Dance].”

He wheezed as he chuckled. He found Lyonette’s indignation hilarious. She was trying to sit up.

“I’m—damn boots! Don’t you dare name it that, Ilvriss, it was incredible! Do it again! You learned the dance, and I got nothing! If I hear that name when I get it—and I will get it—I’ll have Ser Dalimont stab you. Ser Dalimont, did Ushar record that?”

“Ah, she sadly tripped, Princess—”

“She what? You tripped her? Dalimont! I know she has to report to my mother. Let that Bagrhaven do what she wants. The recording!”

“I got most of it until this fool interrupted us, Princess. I missed the magical part. Ser Dalimont, once again sabotaging the Eternal Throne—”

“I was not informed recording Princess Lyonette was part of my duties!”

“No, because you’d be a pervert. I’m simply a faithful retainer. It’s Xinthe’s fault anyways.”

“Ah, indeed.”

“M-me? But what did I—?”

“It’s always your fault.”

“True, but don’t quibble on faults, Ushar! Someone get Mrsha! And Nanette! No, wait, not a word to them until I can do it or they’ll tease me! Don’t you dare tell them, Ilvriss. Ilvriss?”

The Drake was still laughing. He was holding his side, pointing at the [Princess] arguing with her servants, tears in his eyes. Actually, his laughter was so filled with hilarity it was getting insulting.

Lyonette was smiling, and she was about to start scolding louder since he deserved his victory, when the laughter’s tenor changed. She realized the tears in the corners of Ilvriss’ eyes were moving down his cheeks. And that the laughing…

Had turned into sobbing.

The three members of staff stopped arguing. Xinthe, Dalimont, Ushar, turned, and suddenly they stopped making sounds. Lyonette glanced around, but they had become part of the furniture. She saw the Wall Lord sitting there. Pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes.

“Ilvriss? What’s…wrong?”

He shook his head. Tried to speak. But he was hiccupping now. Tears were running from his eyes, and he sat there, covered in sweat, as she stood unsteadily.

“I—it’s nothing, Lyonette. What a fool…I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I just—it hit me.”

“What did?”

She sat down, a dress like a Faerie Flower puddling around her, and he had a simple maroon vest on. Dressed up for their silly hobby. He’d even put on a clashing pair of polka dot pants just to delight Nanette, light blue dots on dark orange he’d personally commissioned. The Wall Lord spoke.

“I just realized…I don’t want to die.”

The [Princess] froze, and the Wall Lord sat there. Wiping at his face.

“I’ve been having fun. Despite it all. Getting angry and happy and upset, and I thought—it just hit me. I was having fun today. Despite Georgie. I felt like I was actually changing my company. My father and I weren’t arguing much. I did the most un-Drake thing I had to. And I wanted to…”

“What—what makes you think you have to die?”

“My mission.”

That was all Ilvriss said, and Lyonette—froze. She knew what that was. He’d told her, in Oteslia.

The Necromancer.

But it was such a big, overwhelming secret he’d been working against that she hadn’t done more than think of it in her nightmares. Ilvriss, though, had been working nonstop the moment he’d found out. Even this dig was all for…

She glanced at Dalimont and Ushar, and they dragged Xinthe away. They stood at the doors as Lyonette whispered.

“I know what you mean, Ilvriss. But that doesn’t mean…”

“Yes. Yes, it does, Lyonette. I’m no idiot. I knew what I was signing up for. I was resolved to do it. Periss…but even with the Faerie Flower drink, some days I struggle to remember every detail about her. And I’m not angry anymore, Lyonette.”

“It’s hard to hold onto your anger, Ilvriss. Even with Nokha, I’d kill her, but I don’t lie awake at night wishing…”

Lyonette began, but Ilvriss just peered up wordlessly. Tears ran down his cheeks, stained slightly with glistening wetness. Shining in the faint light of the ballroom. She sat with him as he whispered.

“I know. But I don’t feel that hatred. And I looked at you, and it was so funny…I realized I was afraid. I’m just a coward. I’m afraid I won’t be able to fight him, Lyonette.”

“Don’t say that. You’ve done so much. Even when the Terlands sent Golems…”

She hugged him, chest constricting. Ilvriss just sniffed.

“I’m not a hero. Xesci seems to think I am, or could be. But I’m…just a Drake. Erin gave me a sword from her [Garden of Sanctuary]. And it’s just a sword. I can’t get it to flare with lightning.”

“It could be a bad sword. She’s not a good judge of…”

He plucked the sword from his belt and tossed it down.

“Not just that. I’m a Wall Lord of Salazsar, and I only got this far with General Sserys literally telling me where to dig. I’m no Zel Shivertail. I wasn’t worthy of standing with him. I’m going to fail. Fail Periss. Fail everyone. I’m more treacherous than Dramm is. I just…I’m scared, Lyonette.”

She said nothing. Just hugged him tightly.

“You’ve never, ever run away, Ilvriss. That’s what Mrsha says about Elia, you know. That’s why she likes her. And what brought me around. Elia doesn’t run. You haven’t, either. Even when I was in danger or…not when it matters.”

“I ran from the Hunter-Killer.”

He was trying to be contrary. She laughed at him.

“You silly prevaricator, you know what I mean. You don’t have to die, Ilvriss. This is…this is The Wandering Inn. Miracles happen.”

“Sometimes, they don’t. Then, Erin pays the price. I don’t know if I can do it, Lyonette. I don’t know if I’m worth what she is.”

Lyonette took one of Ilvriss’ neck spines and pushed down until he was blinking up at her.

“Don’t say that. Don’t put her on a pedestal! Or we’ll never reach her. Erin can’t be alone, Ilvriss. Too many people just buy into her legend. You never have. And neither have I. We have to catch her or she’ll be all by herself and think she has to save the world alone. And sacrifice herself to do it. We’ll catch her.”

“With magical dances? Digging holes in cowpats?”

“We’ll do it because we rise to every challenge. You remember what she was like. For every flag she waved, there were a hundred times we had to poke her into making cakes, or she was just playing chess and hanging out. Erin is the perfect, the ultimate example. If she can hit Level 50, so can anyone. You won’t die. I refuse to let you. Stop…stop crying.”

Lyonette felt tears sting her own eyes. She hugged Ilvriss, and his tears did stop. She felt his breathing stop jerking around in his chest. Then she realized she was holding him as they nearly fell back on the ballroom floor. Only his tail was keeping them upright.

“I’m sorry, Lyonette. I…I don’t know what came over me.”

“Mortality?”

He laughed, and she blinked down at him. Lyonette hesitated, and saw Ilvriss gazing up at her. She pressed her lips together, craned her head downwards—

He dumped her out of his lap. She leapt up—well, struggled up.

“I—”

“No, that was entirely inappropriate—”

“No, it was just—I can’t—”

“Let’s say no more of it, Ilvriss! We should go and—”

They stumbled towards the doors, red-faced. Neither one said a word as they blew past Ushar and Dalimont, who stood to attention like statues.

“Bath! Xinthe, we need to clean up!”

“Agreed. And I’m very embarrassed, but thank you.”

Ilvriss smiled at Lyonette, and she cleared her throat. Then Xinthe was leading and helping Lyonette towards the new bathing rooms that Hexel had made. It even, apparently, had showers designed specifically for Antinium.

Breathe in, out, mention the magical dance to the girls. Figure out how he did that and what it does—unpack the rest of that later. She could almost sense Ilvriss doing the same thing. Lyonette flung herself into the bathing room and let Xinthe help her strip her sweaty garments off. She hopped in the huge bathing pool area, which would be like the public baths in Liscor—and sighed as the hot water cleansed her skin.

“Wait, do I need to shower first, Xinthe?”

Lyonette only realized after a moment that she’d utterly broken protocol by entering dirty, but the servant called out.

“There’s no need to clean yourself first! The baths have a self-cleaning spell installed! Architect Hexel doesn’t trust children or your average bather.”

“Phew, what a relief. That’s Salazsar-standard, but you never know. The amount of mess Brilm makes—he gets in the tub with food. The monster. He does have his good qualities. Thank you, Miss Xinthe. I—”

Wall Lord Ilvriss strode over to the tub, utterly naked, and was levering himself down, groaning. Only then did he spot Lyonette, who was submerged up to her cheekbones in the water. He froze. Lyonette’s head emerged like a swamp-thing as Dame Ushar cracked the door open, and Xinthe hesitated.

“Er, I thought you said—”

Ilvriss exploded out of the water as Lyonette ducked underwater, then came up to scream.

“Ushar! Get Mrsha!”

But she was glad when she heard Ilvriss laughing, even ruefully.

——

Some days, you had no context for what was going on in The Wandering Inn. Not ‘most days’; the inn was actually fairly predictable 73% of the time.

And yes, Yelroan had calculated it. He’d been out all day, checking on the election results and trying to predict how it would go.

He was conducting polls, another Earther invention—but they invented everything. He wanted to make sure his model worked using Liscor’s election as a trial run, and if he was right…the results might shock you.

However, he felt bad when he came back and saw Xinthe wearing a Shield Spider hat of shame and serving guests with it on her head.

“What’s going on with Xinthe?”

“Oh, hey, Yelroan. She’s being punished.”

“Ah, like normal, then? Anything else I missed, Peggy?”

It was astonishing to Yelroan how much he could hang out with the staff. Plain’s Eye had never really liked him like that, even though he was their tribe. That only hurt a lot in hindsight. Anyways, Peggy gave him a rundown. Yelroan’s eyebrows bobbed up.

“Ilvriss learned the magical dance? That’s ahead of my predictions.”

She swatted his arm playfully.

“Oh, you! You know everything, you smort guy, eh? No tricking you!”

Yelroan chuckled, embarrassed. To Peggy, the former Redfang, and everyone else, Yelroan was the ‘smart’ [Mathematician]. Even though he’d been to less school as a cub than even Ser Dalimont…he’d just gone to school later as an adult. You never stopped learning.

However, he was guilty because, well, he’d been out. He wasn’t needed at the inn. Oh, sure, he kept moving the money around, making it grow for the inn, but Yelroan had a secret.

He’d been giving money to the Plain’s Eye tribe and continuing to help Merish. His friend needed to establish something in the New Lands. His tribe was in danger.

Of course, Lyonette had approved giving money to Gnollish tribes—that wasn’t the secret. The secret was that Yelroan was, well, moonlighting. Selling his services to interested parties and using the proceeds on other projects and trying to help his former tribe.

He felt bad because he was an employee of The Wandering Inn. But something had occurred to him.

This place…doesn’t really need me. Yelroan sipped from a drink of goat’s milk as he leaned on the counter and watched Mrsha harassing Xinthe. It was the only time the girl looked like a girl, and he thought Xinthe put up with it because she knew what Mrsha had been through.

It had been Mrsha who’d called for Yelroan when Erin had needed help, and it was a good idea, but…a kid’s idea, if that made sense. Send for a [Mathematician] to run an inn’s finances.

It was like calling for a Terland Golem to farm a single field. Yelroan ran out of work. Make no mistake, he’d been needed—he’d fought some unforgettable battles when the [Box of Incontinuity] had first activated.

Glad I was here for that. I actually levelled. And Yelroan had his great work, his project to quantify magic. But most days, he was just…unneeded.

He’d been thinking about that a lot, really. He had a conclusion in mind he didn’t like, but his counterargument was: why leave?

The inn gave him free room and board. He loved it here. He could help with Mrsha, and when he was needed, his impact would be far greater than anywhere else. He said that to himself, but when the call came for him, he was still glad.

“Hey, uh, Peggy?”

“What? Inkpaper, if you’re slacking off, I hit you with my ass!”

Peggy turned, two pizza platters in each hand, and the lazier [Librarian] waved his claws.

“No, I was working! Someone calling the inn for [World’s Eye Theatre] call. Private. Very worried. She on the list. Qwera!”

Yelroan’s ears perked up. Peggy hesitated.

“Lyonette is napping. She very tired after dancing. Maybe it wait? Or it goes to Mrsha?”

They turned to the giggling Gnoll girl who’d created the Path of Penance with Nannette; an oil-slicked floor filled with obstacles that Xinthe had to navigate to serve food to a very worried series of guests.

“If she crashes, the next order’s free!”

“Maybe it waits?”

Peggy suggested, glancing around for Dalimont or Ushar or—Yelroan raised a paw.

“What about me?”

He was a ‘senior’ member of staff, and Peggy gratefully nodded. So the [Mathematician] took a slice of pizza and drink to the [World’s Eye Theatre]. He heard a crash and winced.

“What did Xinthe actually do?”

Asgra was sweeping the huge theatre with a broom. She shrugged.

“She put naked Ilvriss and Lyonette together. On purpose, I bet. She on team Ilvriss. Grr. I her rival.”

“Got it. Thanks, Asgra. Er…what team are you on?”

“Team Dalimont! He not want me on his team, but I know better.”

Yelroan decided that was largely harmless and not his business. He walked down, activated the Skill, and spoke.

“Can I get a very secure call to Merchant Qwera, please? Thank you. Qwera? Hello? Can you hear me? Can you establish privacy spells but let me through?”

“Who’s there? Yelroan? Tribes, thank goodness—”

It took a second for Qwera to appear as he squinted into a world of static. He entered a vision of Qwera’s surroundings, but then he found himself in one of her wagons. The image was a bit static-y, which he took to represent anti-scrying spells. Qwera appeared rattled. Some of her golden fur was brown, and she was panting for air.

She’s rattled.

“What is it, Qwera? An attack? Can I send word to anyone?”

The Golden Gnoll of Pallass was a generously filled woman with her iconic scintillating fur, a maven of business. He quite respected her acumen, and he’d never seen her this rattled, even at the Meeting of Tribes. Qwera looked around again.

“No. No. I just…I’ve been thinking on who to contact. I had to tell someone, even if it’s dangerous. I’ve deliberately not reached out for a while because I think she might have been monitoring who I’m calling for—Yelroan. I was trying to get the Silver Swords out of trouble. You know that?”

“Of course. I’ve been leaning on the Merchant’s Guild myself, but they’ve been unusually stubborn.”

He frowned. Lyonette had asked him to help, but something—internal politics—had overridden the usual levers of gold he could pull. Qwera nodded as her fur began to settle back. She started dyeing her fur distractedly.

“It’s someone new in the Guild. A Chandrarian—a member of Roshal. A [Slave Lady] just swept the Merchant’s Guild—she’s been altering their internal decisions worldwide! Do you know…a Slave Lady Andra?”

Yelroan did, if vaguely. He tracked new players in the game of commerce, and his fur rose as she related her encounter.

“Wait, she had a nine-way conference? Then a glowing Antinium exploded her?”

“She’s not dead. I hoped she was, but when I found out—she’s a ghost, Yelroan.”

“One of Roshal’s. I know. The Prophet Pawn attacked her. Damn, he didn’t get any of them, then?”

“The—the what?”

Qwera was completely taken aback, but Yelroan remembered the [Palace of Fates]. He drummed his paws on the counter.

“That’s not good at all. She’s probably Level 50, even with her level reduction, and she’s a ghost. With Roshal’s economic might? A [Lady of Coin] at her level could alter the world economy.”

“You don’t need to tell me that! I felt like she was squashing me, Yelroan. I want to work with her—and I swear I can’t tell if that’s because I want to gain her trust or if I’m being blown away by her class. I—someone needs to stop her.”

“I’ll tell Lyonette.”

Yelroan promised, but what could the [Princess] do? Roshal was not an enemy the inn wanted. Yet. Lyonette had hidden the inn because she was worried about them. The inn had a lot of power. The ability to take on the Slave State of Chandrar…no. And this was an enemy who fought with numbers and coin, which Lyonette, good as she was, was only middling in.

“Who could stop her?”

“The…Quarass? Wall Lord Ilvriss is no slouch, but he’s busy and outclassed. This sounds like a real nightmare.”

“One who has time to work and who no one is checking! Yelroan, only a top-tier [Merchant] would know she’s in the Guild Headquarters. She’s put policies into place that are going to—she’s going to have debtors enslaved. I can’t stop it! I’ve argued myself hoarse, and there are good [Merchants] who see what she’s doing, but you know what an oxymoron that is around here.”

Qwera was right to be worried. Yelroan devoured his pizza as he thought.

“I…I’ll help. I think I’ve already locked horns with one of that lot, and they’re dangerous. Listen, Qwera, can you stick around?”

“I’m not going to sleep tonight until I get something done, so yes! Ysara is also willing to help, but she’s trying to advocate for Ylawes. She can run our business, and I can do Andra’s errands if that helps—”

“You need to use that information or you’re just working for her, Qwera. And her class probably corrupts. In two months? You’ll start seeing it her way. Two years and your morality might shift until you’re on her side.”

The Golden Gnoll blanched.

“I’d rather eat a wand. That’s why…who do you have in mind?”

Honestly? Yelroan was so worried he paced around in a circle.

“Most of the Gnolls I’d have told—I’d have told Xherw and hoped he had someone. A lot of my allies are dead. And Fetohep of Khelt wouldn’t have the time and gold…”

They had lost a lot of allies. Qwera bit her lip, and Yelroan snapped his fingers. He gave Qwera his best grin to reassure her.

“There’s only one person in this world who can take Andra on. I know exactly who—let me adjust the receiver…I might have to petition for an audience, but…”

There was only one champion of this realm who could fight even Andra on equal terms, even if they might be outlevelled. One hero to champion Izril—no, the world.

——

Secretary Salii was slurping noodles out of a bowl in a war camp.

“…What?”

Two Gnolls were waving at her, one from a scrying orb, another just standing there. Salii knew The Wandering Inn of course. She just hadn’t realized Yelroan and Qwera were so deeply tied to it.

“That’s the situation, Secretary Salii. Izril needs the greatest [Secretary]. You’re up against someone who might outlevel you. At least, she was probably Level 60+ in life. And she’s got way more leverage. We can give you some, but you’re needed.”

The Gnoll’s sunglasses flashed, and Salii shaded her eyes with a claw.

“Um…listen. I appreciate the vote of confidence, and that actually sounds like fun. But I’m sort of employed, working for Pomle? We are at war, you know, and my father didn’t raise a quitter.”

She jerked her thumb at Orjin and the [Martial Artists] continuing their war for Pomle’s freedom. Yelroan hesitated.

“But Salii—”

“This Slave Lady is way more dangerous than Nerrhavia’s Fallen!”

Qwera broke in. Salii leaned back and adjusted the volume on the scrying orb.

“Yeah, I know. I’m not stupid. She sounds like a true menace. Damn Roshal. Working for the Demons was like the fifth option on my list of jobs. But without the Deathless, I thought it wasn’t worth it…I’d have considered going there if I’d known they’d come back.”

That sentence made Vandum walk straight into a tent pole and drew even the two Gnolls up. Salii rolled her eyes.

“I’m a mercenary of contracts, you two. I’m not the good guy you think I am. Mind you, I don’t care for [Slavers]—but I’m not going to pull up and start a counteroffensive in Izril. I don’t have any contacts, and frankly, I’m sick of Drake politics, and I’d have to be right back in there. Orjin’s refreshing. He’ll just punch someone in the face and skip two months of arguing.”

She smiled, and Yelroan spoke urgently.

“Secretary, I know you’re loyal, but you’re not blind. Without help, this will become a crisis, and Pomle is on Roshal’s chopping block for what it did.”

She smiled grimly.

“I know. And I’m not intending to do nothing. I just can’t devote my own time to it. I’ll make trouble here. Don’t you worry, I appreciate the heads up. But I have to leave this fight in more capable hands.”

“Whose? You have a name?”

She slurped more noodles and pointed a fork.

“Yep. You.”

She pointed at Yelroan, and Qwera blinked. Yelroan just held up his paws.

“Secretary, I’m flattered, but—”

“You’re the [Mathematician] who kept the largest tribe in Izril running by yourself, Yelroan. I know you can fight dirty. You just don’t want to. I saw those moves when that money problem occurred—you just need support and a team.”

“I—I appreciate that, but I am not equipped for—”

“Yes, you are. And I saw you hiring yourself out like a common [Streetwalker] from Liscor. You? Disgraceful. That [Princess] doesn’t know what she’s got in you. I was the one who booked you doing all our numbers last week.”

He jumped.

“I wondered who—but Salii, Slave Lady Andra has an entire enterprise. I just have an abacus and a filing cabinet! I cannot take her on.”

This time, the [Secretary] acknowledged the pushback.

“True. You’d need a full staff of people with levels. Heavyweights who can fight on Andra’s terms. And enterprise. Even if Qwera lends you her credentials and plays the spy…”

“Exactly. I don’t have—”

She wrote on a piece of glowing paper, signed and dated it, signed, dated, signed…

After six more signatures, Salii flicked her claws, and Yelroan jumped as something flashed into being in front of him.

“There. Anyone who knows me knows that’s authentic. Take that and go find the Graiz Room in Tower 12, floor…eh, it’s in there. There’s a lovely [Receptionist] working there, a male Drake. Hand it to him and tell him that Salii’s calling for the team. Everyone. It’ll take a bit for them to quit their jobs, but everyone who’s not dead or like Wol and gone to the New Lands will join up. That’s the company I ran.”

Salii’s cutthroat crew of hired guns. As fearsome a crew as that of the Illuminary—just in the business world. She smiled as Yelroan stared at her.

“You’ll have to set up a company in Salazsar. But it’s a good city to use as a base.”

“What—me? I have the inn!”

He protested. But Salii was already busy sending more [Memos].

“You want to stop Andra? That’s where you go. Check in on old Eschowar too. I don’t like him being back. Good luck! Oh, and hire some bodyguards. The [Slavers] love their damn [Assassins]. Actually, I think I have a coupon for the Assassin’s Guild. It’s headquartered in Salazsar.”

She hunted around in her purse, and Yelroan stood there. Suddenly…a Gnoll with a mandate from the Queen of Secretaries. No one else could stop the Slave Lady. Yelroan could try to find someone or—or—

But no one knew. And he was the [Mathematician]. The Gnoll sat there, about to protest that he owed the inn too much. Mrsha too much.

Then he remembered where Arrema, the future version of Mrsha had gone. And he rose…to have a word with Lyonette.

——

Great changes afoot. The city was changing.

Lism felt it in his bones as he rose. His bed was empty. Normally, there was a great, snoring Gnoll there. And he meant it without any pejoratives, these days.

He’d fallen, annoyingly, head over heels in love. With no less than Krshia Silverfang. If she said jump, he’d have gotten a ladder since his knees weren’t good, but…

And now it was all falling apart. All because they’d risen to the bait, and the Council was lost. Perhaps it’d be a majority of old Councilmembers.

Krshia was upset. He didn’t blame her. Her people felt betrayed—heck, his people felt betrayed, and he’d talked himself hoarse. His outburst yesterday…

He stumbled to the windows and noticed the lack of rain. The rains were stopping. Spring ended. Lism knew it as a Liscorian; the waters would be receding already.

Yet there was still a roaring. A surge like the thrashing of winds, and he wondered if a windstorm was coming in to herald the end of spring. Lism threw open the shutters, bare-chested, squinting out his new glass window to see how bad the weather was.

Maybe it’d make fewer people vote? Dead gods, did he have to count on that? Only when he saw the cloudy skies, with hints of sunlight poking through, did he pause.

There’s no storm. The wind blew no shutters. Yet the roaring continued. He stood there, blinking in the morning, when he realized it was no storm of wind.

It was…voices. Hundreds, nay, thousands of voices. People shouting, stamping in the street. Lism Swifttail stared out the window and realized it was a crowd outside his windows.

His first thought was that the mob had finally come for him, and he was only grateful Krshia wasn’t here. Lism was looking around for the Scroll of Lesser Teleportation they kept for emergencies when they had kept this all secret. He had just found it when he realized they were chanting his name. And not in that angry way.

“Li-sm. Li-sm!”

He poked his head up. Then went to the windows. They were below. Shouting it.

“Li-sm! Li-sm!”

Drakes. Gnolls. Even Humans. Mostly—and this was his demographic, apparently—men. Of varying ages, but ones who liked Lism’s big talk. Young men who wanted to shake up the ways things worked. Old men who’d seen how impossible it was to move beyond the old hierarchies.

People who liked his Carer initiatives—he did have some broadness of his base.

Chanting.

“Li-sm! Li-sm!”

His people. Then Lism saw it. He saw his neighbors standing at their windows, staring at him. People who wanted to protest him, standing in clumps, outnumbered.

Then Lism’s racing heart calmed, and he saw it. He was no Krshia. He wasn’t a Silverfang Gnoll trying to hold together two kinds of Gnoll—and he wasn’t, well, a woman. His impassioned shouting from yesterday?

What kind of red-blooded Liscorian…

The former [Shopkeeper] smiled. He began to reach for a shirt—then he decided against. He strode out in his bathrobe and pants, and the shouting grew louder. He raised his claws in the air and yelled.

“The Lism way! The only way! Lism!”

He leapt down the stairs so hard, he slipped on the last three and went crashing down. The crowd went silent—then Lism popped up. Mud and rainwater on his scales, bruised, but unashamed. He ran through the crowd, slapping hands. Shouting. That was how he burst onto the streets of Liscor.

No apologies, no shame. Only bravado, yelling, and bigger promises.

He felt like he was onto something.

[Class Change: Assertive Councilmember → Reformist Politician!]

[Reformist Politician Level 25!]

[Skill – Rally the Crowds Obtained!]

[Skill – Don’t You Dare Lie, I Mean It Obtained!]

[Skill – Sense Corruption Obtained!]

[Skill – Tiebreaking Vote (Monthly) Obtained!]

[Skill – If I Keep Talking You’ll See It My Way Obtained!]

——

Dancing. It wasn’t like Lyonette or Erin had a monopoly on the stuff. Plenty of people had moves. The kind of moves that a stuffy [Princess] and lame [Innkeeper] couldn’t dream of. They just didn’t choose to show it off—

Or danced with any regularity or practice. That was fine because they had lives.

It was just…when someone achieved something like learning a magical dance, and it spread around, it made everyone else think, ‘I could do that’. And wonder what they’d been doing with their time.

Sometimes it was a silly thought, especially if you were someone like the Archmage of Izril. But then you could see Valeterisa and Relc dancing in the common room of the inn for practice. Most of Valeterisa’s thoughts agreed she’d never actually have the time to devote to learning a magical dance, at least not hard ones. But they still thought it was worth doing.

The same for a certain young man with sandy hair who was doing the robot dance moves to an appreciative audience.

“Told you I’ve got moves. See? So, uh, how cool is the magic dance?”

Not-Kevin turned, and few people had actually seen it—the Thronebearers and Xinthe were keeping mum about it, and not even Mrsha the All-Knowing knew. But she was just whirling around with Visma and Ekirra until they fell over.

The little Gnoll cub and lead [Striker] of the Little Crabs had been sad most of the spring. He played in his game, and he was still one of the top players being headhunted by other cities for the little league division of football, but he didn’t run around and put his nose in everything like before.

His parents had been worried because he’d been eating less. But then he’d cheered up recently and put on weight again. No one knew why, and the [Healer] had put it down to childhood, some incident at the playgrounds. Ekirra didn’t talk about it, even to Mrsha or Visma.

He just glanced at the young man dancing and doing Golem-like moves now and then and sniffed the air. And Not-Kevin peeked guiltily at Ekirra as he danced next to Coach Joseph.

Kevin had to be dead, of course. Ekirra had gone to the funeral. The Gnoll didn’t run over and say something because he had a big thought that maybe if [Assassins] killed someone once, they’d do it again. And that, whether anyone noticed it or not, was a Gnoll boy growing a bit older.

There was indeed nothing happy in the inn without sadness waiting in the corner to kick you in the groin and run away.

Even Ishkr was dancing. Trying to do the Highstepper, actually, in the ballroom—he’d bothered and begged someone to help him, and the only person who had anything close to good footwork besides Lyonette, Ilvriss, and the [Knights] was Elia Arcsinger.

She’d given it a go, and so had he—but after two tries and banged shins, they retired to the inn. Ishkr looked disconsolate. Liska was laughing at him, having taken a break to mock her brother. He retorted by asking if she could dance with her new girlfriend at all. Which prompted an existential crisis in Liska—but that was just an amusing affair which occurred in Mirn’s new bar later. Small potatoes.

Ishkr didn’t talk about his thoughts either, most of the time. But he was a bit upset. The dancing didn’t really grab him, but…it was just a reminder. He could see Lyonette and Ilvriss advancing in levels, and he had, for once, slowed. He needed to find his own spark.

“Well, well, look at all the copycats. One simply performs one magical dance and there goes all the mockery.”

Lyonette was gloating in the common room. She pointedly stared at Nanette and Hethon, and the witch flushed, missed her steps, and headbutted Hethon in the chest. There was laughter, merriment, and Wall Lord Ilvriss was sitting at a table, drinking a goat’s milk with his collar parted, no longer weeping. Just…smiling.

An Erin Solstice party, if quieter without Erin. It was not a major victory, but the inn celebrated minor ones because they knew they were important. And, in fact, Ilvriss finally caught one of the guests of the inn who’d been avoiding him.

He was glancing up at the ceiling when he turned.

“Tessa, is that you?”

The Named-rank adventurer wasn’t hiding in the rafters. She was just…sitting in a corner of the inn. She blinked at him.

“Ilvriss, hi.”

“How are you?”

He immediately got up and walked over, and she shrugged.

“Bad. But I’m not dead.”

“You’re still, ah, what’s the word? Detoxing? In withdrawal?”

“Eating shit.”

The Named-ranker moodily stabbed at her plate. Lyonette had bought takeout, another part of Calescent’s time-off strategy. The [Chef] didn’t seem to mind; he was joining the dancers, and he and Bird were dancing.

“Heard you were digging. Got anyone you need dead? I’m not allowed to adventure because I’m ‘suicidal’. Doctor’s orders. I told her that’s normal for adventurers, but she didn’t listen.”

That was all Tessa said. Ilvriss chewed on a response.

“Well, we have a Terland problem. Ulva Terland, and we’ve had [Ranchers] fighting us…”

“Want me to try to take her out?”

“Er…I don’t know if you could.”

“Probably not. I’m bored.”

That was the signal for Lyonette to stride over, plop herself down, and turn to Tessa.

“You didn’t want to dance with me, Tessa, even for practice while Ilvriss was gone! If you’re still bored, we could play a board game or try more activities on our list.”

“Eh.”

The road to recovery was long and, at times, boring, which seemed to be one of the harder battles for the Drake. But Ilvriss was encouraged by the fact that Tessa was actually just sitting there and talking. Even to the other members of staff who came by. In fact, Inkpaper kept coming over to deliver the food.

“I’ve never seen Inkpaper willingly serving food.”

Ilvriss commented, and Lyonette pulled a face.

“He likes Tessa because she asks for something once every six hours at most. She likes him because he leaves her alone. She’s been making book-forts in his library.”

“…You have a library?”

“Of course! Haven’t you seen…? This way!”

The two left to visit the library, and the common room kept being merry without them. Aside from Captain Todi instantly pulling something out. He spread a sheaf of papers down.

“Alright, bets on who thinks those two are gettin’ together?”

He was running a gambling operation, and a lot of the staff and guests crowded around. Menolit had used to do it, but he’d been casual. Todi had made it an illicit operation.

He was also trying to con the odds, so he’d sidled over to bug Menolit, the [Wingman], for his opinion. He also went to pester another expert in love, at least where her mother was concerned.

Mrsha just threw a fry at Todi. She was sitting at a table, sighing over a letter. Eventually, she stopped turning the weather-worn piece of mail over. It had come a long way to reach her, via numerous City Runners, and was beaten up. But then, she’d had [Messages] blocked…she eventually tore open the letter from the Demas Metal tribe and read.

Chieftain Mrell did not know how to write letters to his daughter. Fair enough, she’d almost never responded. So he wrote the letter like a man writing a report.

Blah blah, hoping you’re well, mother is…Mrsha scowled at the writing, then paused when she read something.

…We have a wind-powered autohammer finally up and running. It’s loud as can be, has less force than a Level 30 [Blacksmith] with the [Power Hammer] Skill—and it turns off every time the wind isn’t blowing decently hard.

But it’s a start. From what we’ve seen in the place, the real thing will move metal better than what the Dwarves can do, and I’ve seen the ones they have in Dwarfhalls Rest. We’re behind them.

Improving it all is slow. Painfully. We need to get all the materials we don’t have, and we’re bottled by that and technique and magic—everything. But we have time, so far. Chieftain Feshi’s just digging, but Adetr and I are the ones pushing the industry to the next level.

I could maybe send more Demas Metal for this Wall Lord if you were still in need of it. Please let me know…

She supposed she had to write him a response. Clever. The Gnoll girl was penning a response when she heard an argument. She glanced up briefly, snorted.

In typical fashion, Ilvriss had gone up to the library and snooted all over it. He and Lyonette were arguing because she’d stocked mostly books from Terandria and northern Izril—no Drake authors. Or Gnollish, which had made the [Princess] embarrassed.

“Mrsha! Can you believe this Drake? He’s doing it again! It’s not ‘politely pointing things out’, it’s classic Salazsarian arrogance, Ilvriss!”

“I didn’t say you had to have more books, and I know you can afford them, Lyonette. You lack for almost any Gnollish authors, so you can’t claim it’s me being a Drake supremacist. Mrsha, back me up—”

The Gnoll girl patently ignored the adults. She eventually waved a quill at her mother.

Why don’t you go and play with Wall Lord Ilvriss somewhere else, Mom? Don’t you have, like, [Cattle Raiders] in shitsville to deal with?

“Mrsha! How dare—are they still attacking you, Ilvriss?”

He hesitated.

“Actually? Less. We have, uh, some decent brawlers, and the Silverfangs are, well, Gnolls. Good at fighting and used to cattle raids. Even besides that, I feel like they’ve lost interest or something. It’s barely two a week right now. But it’s still a huge problem.”

“Darn. Colfa? Can’t you get them to stop?”

“Get [Ranchers] to stop stealing cows. Lyonette, I don’t try to stop you from…beating up innocent chairs? Or Ilvriss from using bidets. You might as well tell a [Thief] to keep his hands out of the till. They don’t stop, and Marvus’ Skill will keep them popping back up. You’re not hurting them.”

The adults were talking around Mrsha’s table as she furiously wrote to her father about the annoyances surrounding her. However, Mrsha was listening, and her ears perked up as Lyonette hmmed.

“It reminds me of Kaliv, honestly. Or Gaiil-Drome.”

“Your allies? Don’t you all get along in the Dawn Concordat?”

“Please, Ilvriss. You know allies.”

“Ah. Quite. I suppose recent events have kept you all friendlier. How bad is it in peace?”

“Griffins, wild or tamed, sniping Calanfer’s own herds—Kaliv always wants more food. And Gaiil-Drome are half-Elves.”

Colfa propped her hands on her hips, amused.

“Not a lot of meat-eaters around there, I’d wager. Even if I know Ceria’s different, don’t half-Elves eschew meat culturally?”

“They do, so they ‘liberate’ plants or animals. It’s actually worse than Kaliv. Before you laugh—imagine a half-Elf wanders around your town, city, hamlet, and sees some magnificent pumpkin that’s too good for you to just eat. It’d make seedlings and grow so beautifully, so they just…take it. Or they find this darling cat, and since you’re a damned Human, they walk off with it.”

“What, they steal pets?”

“We’ve had decades-long border conflicts over it. Ugh. That’s what a Thronebearer is good for.”

“Well, how does Calanfer deal with them?”

“Mostly, we negotiate, have level-headed people on the other kingdom’s sides sort it out. But if we need to, we’re not above being petty. One time, we had eight Thronebearers infiltrate Gaiil-Drome’s palace and steal the [Queen]’s favorite Sariant Lamb! She was hosted at the Eternal Throne and liked it so much that after eight months, she didn’t want to go home. That’s how you poke them back. Say…”

Lyonette went still, then she tapped her lips thoughtfully.

“…Poke them back. Ilvriss, you’ve never so much as fired an arrow the [Ranchers]’ way, have you? No wonder they’re so emboldened.”

“If you’re suggesting I ride out and beat them up on the job, Lyonette, that sounds like a good way to start an all-out fight. And they’re just itching for an excuse to escalate, some of the hotheads. We can’t survive a [Rancher] war, even if I do have actual [Soldiers].”

Ilvriss was cautious, but Mrsha’s head rose as she cottoned onto her mother’s line of thought. She held up a card.

Yo, Mom. Are you pondering what I’m pondering?

The Gnoll girl had the card handed back to her.

“Mrsha, I told you, your language is slipping! Don’t ‘yo’ me.”

The card was amended and handed back.

I don’t wanna hear that from you. I’ve heard you swear. Don’t make me tell Ilvriss your idea and pretend I came up with it.

Her daughter was getting so…Lyonette scowled, but hurried to explain.

“Ilvriss, Colfa. Hear me out, and if it’s a bad idea, we’ll say no more of it. But what if we gave the Lischelles a taste of their own medicine?”

The [Princess] leaned forwards. Colfa’s eyes lit up, and she gave Lyonette a wickedly sharp grin. Ilvriss frowned.

“That sounds exactly like one of Dramm’s stupid ideas, Lyonette.”

She shoved one shoulder.

“Don’t be rude, Ilvriss! I’m not done, and we’ll do it far more cleverly.”

“You’re right, I apologize, that was way over the line. Dead gods, I am snarky.”

The adults conferred, then ran off like excited children to make plans. Mrsha sighed as Visma and Ekirra joined her at the table. Visma fanned herself as she tugged at her dress, and Ekirra put down some paperwork on the table. Homework for school.

“The adults being silly again?”

Yup. It’s good for them, so I indulge Mother.

Visma nodded seriously.

“I should tell my mother to take a break more.”

They turned to Ekirra to say something profoundly old and questioning the maturity of their alleged seniors. He screwed his face up.

“I, uh, I gotta file my taxes! Darn taxes, taking all my money.”

The two girls sighed and nodded wisely.

Taxes.

——

Ilvriss was always refreshed when he came back from Liscor. It was a noticeable thing, such that everyone in the expedition had begun talking about ‘going to Liscor’ when referring to any time off.

There had been envy, of course, for the Wall Lord getting to leave the cowpat crusted lands—and lest one think this was an exaggeration, no. Given the amount of bovines and other grazers, someone had once calculated that the Cowpat Plains’ topsoil was probably at least 1/8th manure in some stage of decomposition.

However, recent events had changed things. Vacation days were still a luxury, but they weren’t being fought over as hard. Amenities had come to the campsite.

Working toilets, pumped water from wells, cooling spells and recreation thanks to Lady Damia, and the undead attacks and [Rancher] brawls had slowed. In fact…one look at someone like Foreman Rolx walking around with his new pickaxe or seeing him at work, shoulder-to-shoulder with the rest of the [Miners] now trying to even keep up with him, and you felt it.

Opportunity. Not for just the Gemscale Company, but maybe for the ordinary grunts like you.

It wasn’t all positives, of course. Some people didn’t like the brothel or that Drake who ran it. And there was some kind of kerfuffle about one of the Advance Miners or something. He’d been cursed or…but you got told to knock it off if you wanted to gossip.

It wasn’t so much ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ as much as ‘stop hassling me about it’. Not perfect. And Georgie thought it wouldn’t last, but he had to admit, after two days back on the job, he’d stopped watching his backtail.

Wall Lord Ilvriss had been as good as his word, again, for now. He’d just put Georgie back to work as an Advance Miner, but instead of his old outfit, Georgie found himself working with none other than Rolx’s dig squad. And a number of other Advance Miners and officials who he knew.

None of them brought up the rumors. Adjutant Welsca addressed the new work shift in a one minute announcement at muster because time was money.

“We are here to dig, Drakes, Gnolls, and, uh, Humans. Bring up any issues to me of actual, substantive merit, but I want all your attention on the digging. Those undead aren’t the only potential threats down there. On a side note, be aware that the work day will end two hours early today, and there will be an announcement from Wall Lord Ilvriss and a request for volunteers.”

Then they got to it. Silverfangs were working as Dig Team Kippish next to Rolx, and both groups just…mined. Mining Leader Maiss introduced Georgie around, and the Advance Miner was actually most worried because, uh, he’d broken Maiss’ jaw.

The big Drake with a rather protruding jawline now didn’t appear exactly friendly, but he just slapped Georgie on the shoulder, hard, and grinned.

“You get to buy the first round after work, Miner Georgie, and if I catch you brawling again, it won’t be on my time. Understood? No more words on the jaw or anything else. I should have ducked. Too used to a helmet.”

Georgie nodded.

“Er, right, sorry, Mining Leader. Anything I should know about Rolx?”

Maiss paused and scratched his scales under his chin.

“Well, we’re slow. We’ve picked up the business, but we’re all greenhorns. You just lead, and we’ll try to keep up. We might have to slow you down to catch up, but that’s it.”

“Got it.”

——

Rolx wasn’t actually that incompetent. They just didn’t have Skills, a point Georgie noticed. And they weren’t adept—three times, he had to point out how they were slowing work by not organizing a line to haul away soil and rocks, and they didn’t have a sorting bin…Maiss heard him out, gave orders, and they fixed it.

It was a big team of eighty Drakes. The ones up front worked hard, sweating and cursing, but they rotated out twice as fast. What did they do? Well, rest—then hit one of the gymnasiums that Georgie had never wanted to go to. Lift weights, spar on practice mats—

No [Miner] had the energy for that kind of thing after work. But Maiss just offered Georgie a chance to rest, then made zero comment about it. They did end up talking, though; you had to talk—or have a scrying orb playing the news or music—or go crazy.

“I get that the other [Miner] teams hate our guts. We’re just loyalty hires. Tell the others that if they’re upset.”

“Really? You’ve been with the Gemscale company that long?”

Georgie was leading the way with his enchanted pickaxe; he reckoned they’d be almost up to par with his pickaxe alone. It was insane. Maiss was shovelling up the weird bricks of converted stone into wheelbarrows to be rolled up the shaft. They worked in forty-minute bursts. The pickaxe did stop functioning after about that long, but it recharged insanely fast, especially if you dropped it next to some magical gems; Salazsar had plenty even if they weren’t mining for gems here. The Mining Leader nodded as he leaned on his shovel.

“I’ve been with Wall Lord Ilvriss for…eleven years now? Different roles.”

“Huh. You like it?”

“Ups and downs. Can’t complain. You hear about other companies and how you get treated if you’re hurt. Still, sometimes, I wondered if I’d ever make pension. It’s thirty years to even get to one—”

“Yeah. You’re not making that in Advance Miner work.”

“Don’t you get triple the rate? If you’d been here ten years as an Advance Miner, you’d already be there.”

“Really? Damn. I never thought I’d be a full-time company man.”

Maiss glanced at Georgie as the Drake wiped at the sweat streaming from under his helmet. Just for one second Georgie’s scales tingled, and he checked his clothing—but Maiss only shrugged.

“I’ll be honest, before last year, I was thinking maybe I’d join another outfit in time. Or go into private business, even. Not that I’m getting any younger. But that’s what you have to do, to really make your mark. Hard to retire on regular pay and live large.”

Georgie nodded. He’d heard the same thing a lot of times. Just empty dreams, but…he was glad to talk about this kind of thing, because he felt the same way but seldom got to discuss it.

“It’s always owning your own shit. Same thing with [Miners] but collecting permits, having representatives, and getting paperwork through—can’t do it unless you have a lot of money, and the big companies can’t be beat.”

“Exactly. It’s easier with soldiering and other professions, or so I’ve heard. Nevermind that. Like I said, until recently I felt like I needed to go independent. But with this dig and that—”

He nodded at Georgie’s pickaxe, and the Advance Miner nodded too.

“It’s a three year contract to keep it.”

“Only three years? Same with the Silverfangs, really. Gnolls in the north is strange. I can’t think they want to live here, but the fact we’ve made it months without being killed in our sleep is odd.”

They were working close enough to Dig Team Kippish as they hauled more materials back up the shaft that some of the Gnolls heard, even forty feet away. One of the Silverfangs, a Gnoll with a silver piercing in one ear, leaned on his tools and grinned.

The Silverfang Gnolls were interesting. They actually had different tools than the Salazsarians, and a different style. Unlike Georgie, who swung a pickaxe or shovel in a classic position, the Silverfang Gnolls were right up against whatever they were digging and had claw-blades.

Like knuckle dusters, but sturdier, an entire gauntlet they used to scoop dirt out. It left them often buried in soil or looser particulates, but they could move it very quickly. The [Miners] claimed they could also hear the strata moving around them, and it avoided monsters or collapses most of the time.

Georgie still thought Salazsar was far better at actually digging through stone with their systems, but Team Kippish was working with a will. However, the Gnoll just shouted.

“If we’re staying in the north, my vote won’t be for here! This place stinks almost half as bad as you two!”

He had nose plugs in, even in the mines. Georgie and Maiss shouted insults back, then Georgie waved a claw around.

“It’s not that bad down here, is it?”

The Silverfangs just eyed him. The Gnoll [Miner], whose name was Vitteh, shook his head.

“It’s almost worse down here. Our poor cubs had to go back with some of the tribe because they couldn’t stand the smell. Mind you, we like the food and open landscape. Just—gah! What do they feed those cows? Also—I keep finding gemstones. Is that normal?”

“Gemscale Company Skill. Just declare them, and unless it’s a magical gemstone, they’re ordinary profits. How many did you get?”

“Uh, eleven today? Small ones, but—”

Georgie nearly slipped as Maiss’ brows rose.

“How? It’s supposed to be rare, even with the Skill.”

“Well, I’m a [Lucky Miner].”

Vitteh winked. Georgie and Maiss strolled over and asked about it, and Vitteh confirmed that he was no Doombearer—not that the Silverfangs were anything less than allies—but he’d earned it after the Meeting of Tribes. Maiss grunted.

“I was there. With Wall Lord Ilvriss, obviously. You all fancy cards or something after this? There’s some games in Thirthoof, actually. That brothel has a bunch set up.”

“The brothel does?”

“Apparently. Some new game from Liscor where you have a bunch of balls and sticks and hit them around—those Sisters of Chell are obsessed with it.”

“As long as I’m not gambling away my paycheck, sure. Miner Georgie and Maiss, yes? Let me introduce you to our Ekhtouch [Miner]. He’s the one who punched out that [Cattle Baron].”

“Ah, I owe him a drink—”

They chatted for twenty minutes and agreed to go out on the town until Welsca found them jawing and sent them back to work. And Georgie found himself chewing on his cigar and waiting for the catch. Because this felt…

Decent. Too damn decent. He was glad when he was reminded the work day ended two hours early, and he found Wall Lord Ilvriss addressing all the dig teams and asking for volunteers. Ilvriss caught his eye just once, and Georgie smiled grimly.

There had to be a catch. And the catch was—he raised his clawed hand.

You want my loyalty? You got it. He lined up with a number of eager Drakes and Gnolls—Maiss was apologizing to the others as well for missing the drinks because he was volunteering—when Ilvriss pointed.

“No Advance Miners or team leaders. Out of line, you two!”

…He kicked Georgie and Maiss out of the volunteer crew. They stood to one side. Georgie stared at Ilvriss. He didn’t want them? Then he saw a [Princess] being followed around by Lady Damia like a puppy following an older dog, and he realized something was up.

He stood there, confused, until Maiss slapped him on the shoulder.

“Alright, let’s get cleaned up. Damnit, the one time something fun happens…”

They walked off, and Georgie kept waiting for the catch. Which might have been getting fleeced by the damn Sisters of Chell, along with Maiss and everyone else, out of several silver coins. But if that was all—

Georgie would take it.

——

It was approaching dusk as the sun cast long rays over the tents, and she was several days late when Lady Desinee El finally found Wall Lord Ilvriss’ camp.

In fairness, she had meant it when she agreed to ride out to show him the House of El’s merchandise. But she’d had to wait in Invrisil for a restock from the family and then find her way all the way to the delightfully-named ‘Cowpat Plains’.

There weren’t exactly that many Overnight Carriages who wanted to make the journey out, and Lady Desinee had eventually had to just ride the entire darn way from the magical door. And—this was important—

No one had a map to Wall Lord Ilvriss’ camp. She’d had to ask around Thirthoof and been told ‘go that way and you’ll find it’.

Then she had to reach the camp and talk her way past the security. After half an hour of security checks, she was issued a temporary pass and told the Wall Lord was at ‘Dig Site B’. Desinee was trying to be polite, but she was tired and rather wished she’d booked accommodations.

Maybe I can beg a tent rather than having to ride back to town and do this in the morning. She sighed as she rehearsed her presentation. He might not even buy anything. This was why she didn’t actually want to do sales. She still had nightmares, though. They’d gotten worse since coming to Liscor. That had been a mistake, since she’d seen the Bone Giant outside the city, still trapped by the ribbons. The Watch had built up a lot of stone around its limbs in case it moved, but she had the image of it just ripping the stones apart and beginning to attack—

Lady Desinee El didn’t find the Wall Lord at Dig Site B. [Miners] were marching off from work, and one of them wolf-whistled as she rode past them. He got a nudge and shut up—she sighed.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss is where?”

“I think he was riding northwards, Miss, er, Lady. Not sure why. You might catch him if you’re fast.”

A Wall Lord Dramm pointed her northwards, and she thought she just saw a bunch of dots on the horizon. Desinee groaned.

Turn around or…? She kicked her horse in the side and sped forwards. She was one woman on horseback, and she did know how to ride; she was Maviola El’s niece. Plus, the Drake had mentioned that Ilvriss had company. Lyonette du Marquin and a [Lady] of House Reinhart?

“I hope the Reinharts aren’t causing trouble here. If I don’t find out what they’re up to, I won’t hear the end of it from Deilan. Giddy up!”

Her mare gave Desinee a reproachful look, but sped up. The [Lady] was riding light with just a bag of holding, so she was confident she’d catch the Wall Lord and his far-larger company. It was only…she hadn’t been riding nearly as much until recently.

Her butt hurt. Desinee let her mare accelerate into a full canter, then realized the Wall Lord was moving fast! She let the mare run harder, and the excited horse cut loose on the wide, flat plains. Desinee said—

“Ow, ow, ow. My family for a healing potion!”

If she just had one, she’d be able to drink it and not worry about being saddle-sore! But on the horse galloped, and Desinee did everything to avoid aggravating the posterior pain.

First, she stood up in the stirrups. But her legs got tired, so after five minutes of that, she leaned on the pommel, but that was uncomfortable. Then she tried side-saddle, but that was so unpleasant at a near-gallop that—

“Are you insane?”

She was nearly on the Drakes when a rider rode past her, shouting. Desinee had to grab for her horse’s saddle as she started, and a white-haired woman appeared next to Desinee, horrified.

“What are you doing? Riding side-saddle at a gallop? You’ll break your neck, you fool!”

Desinee swung herself back across the horse’s back, flushing, and called over.

“I’m quite fine, Miss! Is this Wall Lord Ilvriss’ company?”

This was a Human woman with white hair and a riding dress suited to farmwork. Desinee feared she’d gone the wrong way, but the woman simply shouted back.

“It is! I am Colfa val Lischelle-Drakle—who are you? Why are you here?”

She eyed Desinee as skeptically as Desinee eyed the woman. Lischelle-Drakle? Wasn’t that one of the local [Rancher] clans…? Desinee had been told to present the House of El’s wares to them while she was here, just in case.

“I am Lady Desinee of the House of El! Greetings! I’m here to present some items for Wall Lord Ilvriss?”

“The House of…? This isn’t a good time for it.”

“Well, I have ridden a very long ways, Miss val Lischelle, and I’d just like to ask the Wall Lord’s permission to stay at his camp until his earliest convenience. Is the Wall Lord here?”

Desinee stood up in the stirrups again, and Colfa once more gave her a horrified look. But Desinee saw Ilvriss and urged her mare forwards—he was riding fast through the advancing night.

“Hold on, this isn’t—how are you doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Riding that horse! You’re a [Lady] of the House of El, aren’t you?”

Desinee gave Colfa a blank glance. The Vampiress was a country-raised girl herself, and she might not have been used to riding recently, but you knew what they said about riding horses…it was as easy to remember as riding a horse.

However, even Colfa would have thought twice about some of the ways Desinee was moving about her horse at the speed it was going. For the rather stereotypical [Lady] in a riding dress? It boggled Colfa’s mind just long enough for Desinee to move past her. And then the Vampiress was shouting.

“Turn back! This isn’t—”

Too late. Lady Desinee was almost upon the Wall Lord as he slowed, and she saw a red-haired young woman riding next to him with a golden [Knight]. And, for some reason, a familiar young woman with an eager smile.

I met her. What did I know about Lady Damia, again? Isn’t she the one who sleeps with her brother? Desinee was utterly confused—then she realized she was surrounded by Drakes, Gnolls, a few Humans, all of whom had cloth handkerchiefs tied around their noses. Most were grinning. Wall Lord Ilvriss raised a claw and called out.

“Here we go! Remember, in and out—no games, no brawling. If you’re in danger, get clear! Fighters? With me! Lady Damia, don’t break your neck.”

“Yes, Wall Lord!”

“Er, hello, excuse me, Wall Lord Ilvriss? Wall Lord, it’s me, Lady Desinee—”

The [Lady] was trying to get to the front of whatever this was, now embarrassed, worried she was interrupting something important. She was riding through the Drakes as she saw they’d come to a pasture of some kind.

Just some fenced-off land. A big fence for a vast herd of…cattle? She peered at the giant bovines with the disinterest of someone who didn’t want to know where her food came from. Then she saw some Drakes get off their horses and pull the pieces of wood up and remove part of the fence.

Odd. There was a gate over yonder. And then a Gnoll with tribal markings and feathers tied to her saddles was riding forwards with a group of eight. She whooped, then howled, a loud, excited sound, as Desinee slowed.

Huntress Rayna’s howl made the sleepy cows start. They turned, some getting to their feet, and saw the Gnolls riding at them from the left. Nervously, they clustered together as Rayna rode around them in a slow circle. Then she began to ride at them from the rear and shouted.

“Get moving! Raah, rah!”

She was herding the cows towards the break in the fence. All she had to do was get one cow in front moving and the rest followed—when they tried to veer left, one of the Silverfang Gnolls rode out and corralled them back into position, forcing their momentum.

Everyone moved aside as the first worried bovine charged out the fence. Desinee El blinked.

My, that was fast. Wouldn’t they risk some of the cows getting hurt at that speed? But she didn’t know ranching. They were being driven back the way they’d come, and she turned and saw the group following Ilvriss breaking apart, repeating the process. Some were riding for another distant herd, and she wondered why the Wall Lord didn’t just have the people minding this herd of cows do this.

Because surely there were some; one did not leave this much prime cattle alone. Sure enough, there was a pair of Humans who rode towards the commotion. A young man and woman, on horseback, who stopped and stared as they saw Rayna racing away—and a bunch of heads of cattle. They turned, and the Wall Lord pointed.

“Ah, there’s our company. Hello! Don’t mind us! Lyonette, I think that’s the main herd and bull enclosure. With me.”

He began riding forwards as Colfa joined Lyonette and Damia Reinhart split off. Desinee tried to go forwards again, and then she saw the two young Humans break out of their stupor. One turned and began racing backwards. The other cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted.

“—Cattle raid! Dead gods—cattle raid! Them Drakes are stealing our herds! Get up! Get up—”

It took a second for Desinee to put two and two together. Then she heard another whoop and more shouting, and Ilvriss began galloping forwards. Her mouth fell open in horror.

He was stealing cows? She gaped right and left, then realized where she was.

Not his camp, but Lischelle’s farmstead. And the Wall Lord was, at this moment, trying to steal every single cow around…

Then it was chaos as [Ranchers] poured out, shouting, and Drakes and Gnolls and Humans leapt down and began punching them while the others tried to make off with the cows. They weren’t the best at it, but they knew how it was done because it had happened so many times to them. The Silverfangs did know how to move the frightened bovines.

“Oh no. Uh oh. I can’t be part of—”

Desinee was keenly aware how well this would be received. She cast around for somewhere to hide as Ilvriss rode forwards.

Laughing. And there was a [Princess] with him!

——

Lyonette du Marquin had overridden all of Ushar’s objections to be part of this. She hadn’t taken Nanette or Mrsha; it was dangerous after all, and Rhisveri would just shout at her, the annoying Wyrm.

But she had her heart in her throat as Ilvriss cut one fence apart with his sword and hauled the pieces of wood away. She saw a bunch of [Ranchers] running at them.

“Stop! You bastards—”

“Time for revenge!”

Captain Osthia drop-kicked the lead [Rancher], and her Sisters of Chell jumped the [Ranchers]. Ilvriss grinned.

“Rubirel Guard? Hold ‘em off, and if any of you see Marvus, let me know! I hope he’s not here.”

They’d hit one of the main ranches of the Lischelles. Colfa knew where they were, and she was whistling in a curious way. The cows in this pasture peered up, and several got up and began trotting her way.

“I knew they kept the old whistles. Hard to teach cows new ones. Here they come…get moving, you silly things! This way, nice and easy!”

The [Ranchers] were brawling with Ilvriss’ people, and Lyonette was not going to join a fistfight in her condition, but she added to Colfa’s voice, laughing with delight. Someone saw Colfa whistling the cows out and shouted.

“You damn traitor—”

She turned as a [Ranchhand] charged her, and Colfa punched the other woman in the chest, then followed up with a kick. She dusted her hands.

“Reminds me of being young and doing this to the Golvas. Aronia and Marvus won’t be able to live this one down. Getting stolen from by Drakes! The humiliation!”

The funny thing was that they’d never have expected it. Not from Ilvriss. He’d been so defensive that when he finally got them—Lyonette turned her head.

“Is Lady Damia riding a cow?”

The [Lady] was riding off at the head of another herd, and Lyonette shook her head. What a strange Reinhart. Mrsha hadn’t been lying. Ilvriss emerged from the fighting, panting.

“Okay, I’m done. Let’s get this herd and go. Someone punched me in the stomach, and I remembered why I’m too old for this.”

“You’re no fun.”

Lyonette teased him as he glowered.

“You try fighting these [Ranchers]. Ancestors, I’m just glad they’re not firing arrows.”

Colfa had been laughing, but she stopped warily.

“They don’t have to. Bull’s coming. Lyonette, get back.”

There was a reason no one stole from the Lischelles. Ushar gulped as there was a braying moo, and Ilvriss lost his smile.

The bulls that Marvus raised were intelligent, huge, and like all bulls, protective of their herds. They killed everything, including the Drake boy who’d been foolish enough to jump the fence.

This one came out of the pasture fast, horns down, and Lyonette swallowed when she saw it coming.

Eternal Throne, she’d seen bulls before, but always at a distance! This one was terrifying, but Ilvriss just raised his claw.

“Right. Ready?”

“Yessir. Ready!”

Welsca responded instantly, and reached for her side as she looked around. Ilvriss had kept his bodyguards around him as well as a handful of Drakes who hadn’t joined the fighting. They shifted, and Lyonette heard clicks around her. This had been Ilvriss’ addition to her plan. He waited, claw raised.

The bull was maybe a hundred feet distant and closing faster than Lyonette thought a creature its size could move when Ilvriss closed his fist.

“Now. Loose!”

The crack was every Drake around Lyonette discharging the crossbows they’d drawn. There was also the thft of arrows being loosed from bows. The angry braying faltered, and Lyonette saw the charging bull stumble, slow—

Then keep coming.

“Ancestors, it really could kill most monsters.”

Ilvriss murmured. He raised his hand again.

“Headshots. [Glitter Volley] on me. One, two, three—loose.”

The second volley took the bull down. It slid as it collapsed, and one of the [Ranchers] cried out.

“They just shot Redman! They just—”

“Get those cattle out of there. Someone make sure it’s dead—don’t get near it.”

Ilvriss calmly turned his horse. He locked eyes with the horrified [Ranchers] and nodded to them.

“Apologies for that. But I’m bad at rustling cows, and I don’t intend to lose anyone. Welsca, drop any other bulls guarding their herds. Let’s get out of here before they actually come after us.”

Then everyone was riding. Riding, and Lyonette turned and felt a pang as she saw the motionless bull lying there, but Colfa began shouting, urging the cows onwards, and the Sisters and Osthia caught up. Then the people around her were cheering.

By the time they got back to camp with the cows to herd them into pastures, everyone had turned out to cheer. Ilvriss jumped down from his horse, grinning despite himself, as Dramm rushed over.

“Wall Lord! I just heard—you stole their cows?”

Like Liuss? But Ilvriss corrected the Drake.

“We reminded them two can play their game, Dramm. No casualties—aside from their prime bulls—and I think we’ve recovered some of all the gold they’ve taken from us. No more raids, not unless they keep coming back. Understood?”

That’s why he hadn’t taken Dramm, but the younger Wall Lord stood there.

“You shot their bull?”

“Two, I think. I wasn’t about to take chances after poor Liuss. Come on, I have a [Message] to send. Miss Lyonette? You in one piece or is Mrsha going to kill me?”

“Right here, Wall Lord.”

Lyonette was smiling as she got down, wincing from all the hard riding, but her daughters would be green with envy about missing this! She was all ready to celebrate when Colfa peered around.

“Where’s that [Lady] of El that was with us? Did you see her? I tried to tell her what we were doing, but she was confused…”

Ilvriss stopped smiling.

“Lady of El? What Lady…do you mean Desinee El? Why was she with us?”

He turned to Lyonette, who hadn’t seen her, and Dramm paled. In his defense, he hadn’t been told where Ilvriss was going. Unfortunately, despite everyone else having made it back, there was no Desinee El among the riders.

——

Marvus Lischelle couldn’t believe his eyes when he came riding out as fast as he could to find the aftermath of the cattle raid. He stood there, sleep-deprived, stressed—but it wasn’t a charnel pit.

“It wasn’t the half-Elf? It was that Drake?”

His voice cracked as a man with two black eyes stood in front of him.

“No sir, Marvus. It was just the Wall Lord. And them damn Gnolls and your wife’s sister! They grabbed all the cattle and—well—two of our bulls. Shot ‘em dead.”

Redman, one of the prime bulls, was lying in his field, feathered with arrows and crossbow bolts. Marvus felt a pang. He walked over, and his fists clenched as he stared at the lolling tongue and empty eyes of the bull. Flies were already buzzing, so he snapped.

“What’re you lot doing? Get him butchered and trussed up—don’t waste Redman! He’s still good unless the arrows were poisoned. Check! How many did we lose? Those shit-eating, cow-buggering—”

He started swearing, going red with fury as his people shook off the shock. Furious and embarrassed. He’d not thought they could do that to him. You almost had to admire that Drake’s balls, if he had them. Marvus didn’t want to know about that kind of thing.

Aside from the bulls, it was a huge cattle raid. But you didn’t kill bulls. That was just—he vowed vengeance, then wondered if the Wall Lord would do it again.

If I have to watch all our ranches where he’s bordering us, I’ll not have the men to guard our other pastures and deal with that half-Elf. And the Golvas and Billgerhorns aren’t going to pass up the opportunity, even now. Unless I call a truce—

But the bulls. Marvus turned his head to the dead bulls, and then one of his people rode up.

“Marvus? I don’t want to bother you, but we just got a message. That Drake. It ain’t addressed to you specific, but there’s no other way to read it. Aronia wants t’know how bad it is.”

“Give it here.”

If it was a taunt, Marvus would take it on the chin and come at the Wall Lord, maybe even that night with—he read the [Message], blinked, and read again.

It wasn’t addressed to him, indeed. It wasn’t even a classic [Message], but something you got through the Merchant’s Guild. There was no ‘Rancher’s Guild’ because that was stupid, so Marvus simply had a Merchant’s Guild account, and they sent him correspondence like this all the time.

Requests for heads of cattle. You could bid on them if they were open, or get in contact to satisfy orders. In this case, it was just an open request from Wall Lord Ilvriss.

Wanted. Prime bull beef. Bull’s tongues. Bull’s testicles—with a request to please separate those and mark them as alchemical goods, which was standard—he was asking for a lot.

Literal tons. About as much as…you’d get from two prime Lischelle bulls, though the Drake had rounded down. And the price?

Marvus blinked, then read it again. He did a bit of quick math and put the cost at roughly twice the going rate for Lischelle beef, on the gold coin. The Drake was overpaying for…

The [Cattle Baron]’s head slowly rose, and he took another glance at the two dead bulls. Then it turned towards the direction of the Wall Lord’s camp.

“Marvus?”

“So that’s his play. Is that Drake hospitality or something? Damnit.”

“You want us to ignore it?”

Marvus chewed on his lip.

“You mad? We don’t have a buyer, and they’re dead. Make sure there’s no problems, then fill the order. I’ll talk to Aronia.”

He crumpled the paper up and tossed it aside. Redman had been a good bull, damnit. But he was a mankiller like all of them. Unless you had a Skill, he would murder any idiot Drakes trying to take his herd, just like that poor boy.

“Hm. Hmpf. Damnit. How the hell am I…? Did Aronia have to chase Colfa off without so much as a sit-down to talk and—? Can’t let it slide. It’s halfway classy, paying for it. Halfway!”

He snapped at a young woman who gave him a wide-eyed gaze. Marvus stomped around, swearing. Thinking.

“Dad? You aren’t planning on going off and fighting the Drake, were you? Ma sent me to check on you. You’re too mad, she says. Might get bad.”

Burlise had ridden over. Marvus turned to his eldest daughter and snapped.

“I’m not going after him right off. I gotta think.”

“Phew. I was worried I’d have to lasso you and have everyone hold you down. I heard they killed Redman and took nearly three hundred head of cattle.”

She took off her hat and wiped her forehead. Marvus’ face grew even more sour.

“They did. Your aunt helped ‘em. I have to think. Damn, damn…alright.”

He took off his hat, tossed it down, but didn’t step on it since he’d never get the manure off. Marvus spat.

“Fine! What the hell is he digging up?”

Burlise cocked her head at him. Marvus finally asked the question as he stuck his thumbs in his belt. Once they’d cleaned this up, he’d have to have a long chat with Aronia. She was madder than he was, so he was dreading it, and maybe he’d ride out to have a word with Taldo Rominet, who had good eyes.

Marvus was thinking, grinding his teeth together, when he heard the scream. High, female, and followed by the sound that made his blood run cold each time he heard it. The loudest braying roar a bull could make—because it came from the loudest one. The biggest.

“That’s Big Burlap. Did someone get in his pen?”

Burlise took off as Marvus whistled for his horse. He heard her yelling and more shouts.

“Dad! Daaaad—someone’s in his pasture!”

Oh dead gods. The horror that had been the last cookout hit Marvus again, and he was running, forgetting his horse. One of the Wall Lord’s people or his?

“Skills! Wands! Stop—”

Too late. He knew it was too late. If you jumped that fence, or ducked under it, as a certain [Lady] might have done to avoid being caught up in the cattle raid, you might live.

If you were lucky, Big Burlap wouldn’t smell or see you; it was a big pasture. But he had a good nose, and he had those eyes which could roll around and see almost in every direction. He knew his herd. His mates, his children—and then he’d find you, sneak up on you, and when you ran—

Lady Desinee El had been sneaking around the pasture, possibly thinking to ride off, but the bull had spotted her and caught her. She made it all of fifty paces towards the fence where [Ranchers] were screaming at her to run, trying to throw Skills or tag the bull with wands to slow or tranquilize him.

She never made it. Big Burlap got to her a full minute before Marvus reached the pasture fence, clutching at his chest, wheezing for air and saw—

“Help me! Oh, Five Families—heeeeeeeeeeeeeelp!”

He did not see a dead woman trampled into a pile of gore. Marvus halted, slack jawed, and instead saw a terrified [Lady] on top of Big Burlap as the bull kicked and leapt, all four hooves clearing the ground as he kicked up and back.

He was trying to throw Lady Desinee El off, but despite the motion, which would have sent most [Riders] flying—the [Lady] stayed on his back. And she was screaming.

“Someone stop him! Stop standing there or I’ll die!”

All the [Ranchers] were just gazing up at her, dumbstruck. Marvus strode over, grabbed a wand, and began shooting [Rays of Weakening] into Big Burlap, heedless of the cost.

“Burlise, lasso him but don’t hold onto the rope or he’ll yank your arms out of their sockets! Get him calmed down before he tosses her!”

The angry bull took two dozen Tier 2 spells without even slowing. His eyes were red, and he was roaring, shaking his head—he even collapsed and tried to roll Desinee El over, but she just stayed on top of him.

Neither Marvus nor Big Burlap could believe it. As the spells finally began to work, the bull stood upright, all five thousand pounds of him, and actually turned his head to stare at the [Lady] sitting astride his back.

How the hell are you doing that? He did one more flying kick, planting his hooves and kicking back and up and sending his body arching diagonally in the air with an explosive movement of such force that the dirt clods he kicked up knocked a man standing behind the fence flat.

And Lady Desinee El pushed herself up with him, mitigating the kick and rippling of his muscles, caught herself at the apex of his kick, and fell with him. She winced as she landed, but stayed on top.

“Is he—is he calming down? Can I get off?”

Big Burlap began to lie down. Almost—Marvus thought—succumbing to the sleep spells out of embarrassment. Pretending that had been what stopped him from murdering her. Even when his head was down, Marvus kept shouting.

“Don’t get off him! Wait ‘till we’ve got him roped up! Then you can go off! He might get up and gore you!”

Desinee hollered back.

“No need to tell me twice! My great aunt told me never to get off a bull once I was on it until I knew it was fully asleep or I had something to stand behind!”

“Who told you to get on a bull’s back?”

Marvus was astounded when she finally leapt off and ran for the fence. Desinee El tried to climb it, then swung herself under the fence’s slats. She was fully winded, red-faced, pale from fear—and alive. She stood as the [Ranchers] gathered around the only person to ever survive a round with Big Burlap, in awe.

If Nerul was unto the nascent gymnasium mythology, Lady Desinee El had become part of ranching lore. She panted for air as she introduced herself.

“I am very sorry about—I wasn’t part of Wall Lord Ilvriss’ company! I am Lady Desinee El, presenting the House of El’s creations, and I had no idea what this was about! I was staying back when I entered the pasture to keep out of the way and—”

“The House of El?”

Everyone drew back in disbelief. The most important noble to visit the Cowpat Plains in over, what, fifteen years? She was nothing like what Marvus expected, and he realized they had nearly gotten a scion of the House of El killed, a moment of true horror. But Desinee reassured him.

“Merely one of the members of the House of El. That bull is dangerous!”

“Yes, he’s killed cattle thieves before—I’ve never seen anyone stay on his back, and that’s the only place you might be safe. One man tried it when he was still growing—he bucked him and broke every rib he had. How did you stay on?”

Desinee was patting at her forehead, but she managed a smile.

“Well, I am Lady Maviola El’s niece. Lady Firestarter? She taught everyone in the family how to ride as children. A Skill, in fact.”

The late [Lady] of the House of El? Marvus had seen her on the scrying orb, though he knew her as—

“One of the most famous horse thieves of Izril? That [Lady]?”

“She said she had the record for most bull rides in her lifetime. And that she’d seen eight peers break their necks trying to copy her. We’re not like Tyrion Veltras, but the House of El are the best riders among the Five Families. Not that it’s saying much. Terlands will only ride their silly Golem Horses, Wellfar ride ships, Reinharts drive carriages, so it’s only House Veltras to compete with.”

Desinee El was truly a different kind of [Lady]. She’d gone from screaming and hollering for her life to relatively composed, if sweaty, in moments. She exhaled.

“Cattle Baron Marvus Lischelle? Do you have anywhere I might stay? And I do have a horse over there. If you would excuse me, I believe I need to find somewhere to pass out. Then may we sort out any issues later?”

“Er, of course, Lady Desinee. Aronia will put you up herself in our finest guest—Burlise, go tell your mother. May I ask, Lady Desinee, what Skill let you do all that?”

Desinee El smiled around.

“Oh, just…[Wild Rider]. Aunt Maviola would give you a protection amulet and make us steal a horse and ride it all the way back to the manor on her birthday, then pay for it. She did it for over two decades before she got bored. The one who stole the angriest horse got to double their allowance for the month.”

Desinee put her handkerchief away, then delicately swooned onto her horse’s saddle. And the [Ranchers] realized, for a second, that the haughty Five Families might still be all that in the north, but not quite what they expected.

——

The adventures of Desinee El in the Cowpat Plains were a small moment in the timeline of events occurring there. Minute, but Calidus Reinhart appreciated it.

Especially because the [Assassins] he’d sent to investigate what the Wall Lord was doing had gotten a very nice recording of Desinee riding the giant bull.

“I heard the House of El was good at that, but dead gods! Or living. Why do we say that? Is she married? Damn. Happily married?”

Life was full of disappointments. However, Calidus was entertained enough by having the recording transferred to a crystal and labelling it ‘[Lady] rides bull nonstop for seven minutes’ and making a few copies.

Then he just gave them out and listed a few on the black market and waited to see who bought them. He didn’t even get in trouble for false advertising because the actual thing was so entertaining.

Though, come to think of it, were there recordings of…? There were plenty of famous news events, but Calidus wondered if he could start a collection of more, uh, interesting events. He already had the famous ‘two ladies versus one fish’ recording, but he started asking his contacts if they had anything more fun.

Anyways, where was he? He stopped showing Zeomtoril and Selys the recording of the bull and slapped his forehead.

“Right, I was wondering what was up! Lady Ulva’s bearing down on them, and she’s about to murder them all or—sorry, sorry. Back to work.”

He rushed off as Selys turned to Zeomtoril.

“Do we have a policy against being harassed while working?”

“Under Calidus? Hah! The man is a walking distraction.”

——

Calidus was busier than normal with his stunt against the Assassin’s Guild. His peers actually wanted to talk to him, and he was making a big show of bumbling around his ‘Anti-Assassin’s Guild’ project. He doubted it fooled Aunt Magnolia, but he hoped he was low on her list of people to kill.

Regis had cursed him out, of course, but Calidus had put his name out there, and so his grandfather couldn’t remove him. Plus, Regis had started this mess.

Making his name public had multiple advantages, for all the disadvantages, but Calidus’ attention was still on the dig site with Wall Lord Ilvriss.

Something’s up. Enchanter Hedault was seen in the camp, and he doesn’t work for fraud or anything less than the best. But even Grandfather thinks that Wall Lord Ilvriss hasn’t dug up anything yet…but Grandfather is probably just buying information from Salazsar. If the Wall Lord’s sitting on it…

“Have the Ranks enlist in the Wall Lord’s camp. Be on their best behavior—just do their jobs. Don’t report in, don’t record anything. Just work. Call it a vacation. One assumes it’s a vacation instead of killing other [Assassins]. I want more over there. Just a hunch.”

He gave Selys more orders, and she scowled at him.

“We haven’t beaten the other Guild, Calidus.”

“No, but we’ve made it the north’s problem. Any of our people who are fighting them will get killed as ‘their’ [Assassins]. And there are eyes on us, so why not put them somewhere no one’s watching? Make it sixty. Ah! No arguing. Super Guildmaster’s orders.”

He was quite pleased she’d made full [Guildmistress], but he was still the boss. Calidus saw Selys’ tail curling as she read reports around the Cowpat Plains.

“Ugh, Lyonette’s there, so maybe there is something to it. Are we stealing whatever it is?”

“Potentially…not a fan of the [Princess]? How attractive is she, scale of one to ten?”

“I’m not dignifying that with a comment. And she has two annoying children. I don’t know this area, but—okay, fine, I’ll keep it on my radar as well. Actually…Ancestors. They have monsters over there too. Not many adventurers.”

“The [Ranchers] deal with it themselves. Why? Anything interesting over there? Crelers?”

Selys was reading from a [Message] scroll and she winced.

“Nope. This just in: a pack of Demonsoul Skunks have appeared and are causing havoc. That’s…genuinely bad news. They’d better have a Gold-rank team around somewhere, and any smart Gold-ranker will bail on the job unless they’re all-ranged. You’d need Halrac or someone like him to handle them.”

Calidus’ lips moved.

“Demonsoul…that sounds rather too impressive to call a skunk, doesn’t it? I’m all for hyperbole, but that?”

Selys gave Calidus a semi-amused look as she pulled out a monster bestiary and flipped to the ‘D’ section.

“I’ve never run into one, but this actually does deserve the name. Let’s see if they have a picture. You know skunks?”

“Regular skunks? White stripe? Horrific smell? Don’t pet them? One of my cousins once charmed one to look like a regular cat and let it loose in the backyard of a party.”

“…Do you have any normal stories about your family?”

“Only to me.”

Selys sighed.

“Right, right. Well, good. You know skunks. Imagine a skunk.”

“Very well.”

“A Demonsoul Skunk is nothing like that. Imagine a racoon. Now, imagine if you had six racoons. Now, imagine a skunk that big. With carnivore’s teeth. And the smell? It’s way worse than a regular skunk, and I’m told it lasts a lifetime, potentially, without remedy. Last thing…Demonsoul Skunks enjoy spraying people.”

“I see. And what are you doing for dinner tonight?”

“Do you ever get tired of asking?”

“Only if you tell me to stop.”

——

Skunks were just…skunks. Sure, they’d spray you, but it was a self-defense mechanism. Most would rather run away than actually need to spray. They were defensive omnivores that ate insects, rodents, lizards—even bird eggs.

They were, again aside from the terror they inspired due to their only weapon, arguably net positives. Some daring people even made pets out of them.

That was what a skunk was. Which was why there were [Naturalists], [Monster Hunters], adventurers, and related classes lobbying to classify the Demonsoul Skunk as a separate species. Or at least, one that had come from Rhir.

When Rabbo Golva had read all that and the lengthy warning from the Adventurer’s Guild, he’d put it down to claptrap. He’d told eight of his boys to ride out with bow and arrow and put the pack, or whatever it was, down. No need for adventurers. When six had come back, so foul-smelling that he nearly spewed his lunch when he got within a hundred feet of ‘em, raving about the skunks coming at them, big as hogs, eating the horses alive—

Then Rabbo Golva knew fear. And that was before he saw the Demonsoul Skunks.

They had red eyes, which stared out of their heads, rolling around, and when they bared their bloody teeth, you’d swear they were grinning. There was malice there. An empty monster staring out of an oversized skunk’s body with sharp dewclaws and…

And they were just evil.

Skunks could musk a target from fifteen feet away with accuracy. Demonsoul Skunks had a range of forty-five feet. They hit everything they saw.

Corusdeer who screamed and writhed. People on the roads. Even rabbits—puking, a kind of nausea from a smell that was part-magical that did not fade—

And then they killed. Or just—tortured?

They were at the herds. Rabbo Golva was watching, having ridden away from the pack. Only three dozen, but no one could tag them with arrows; they were fast, and they’d sprayed just as many [Ranchers]. The men and women were almost out of their minds with the stink, and no one dared get closer.

It would last years, apparently, even with treatment, before it fully faded. Who wanted…the animals wouldn’t get close. Horses reared, showing the whites of their eyes. But the cows?

“Dead gods.”

The Demonsoul Skunks had cornered some of the poor cattle. They sprayed first, and the animals tried to puke or just collapsed—then Gabbo saw a Demonsoul Skunk claw on top of a cow. It was smaller, but it began to rip into the cow’s back as the screaming animal writhed, spraying again, and then began to eat the cow from the back down. Bloody claws, and he swore—

It was grinning at him.

“Someone get an adventuring team out here. Now!”

“No one wants to take the contract, pa! They won’t take on Demonsouls! There’s a [Ranger] who says he’ll do it, but it’ll cost two hundred per head, and he’s six days away at his fastest!”

“Six?”

They’d kill entire herds by then. The Demonsouls had snuck up on the cattle in the long grass, and once they sprayed, the cows weren’t able to do more than puke. Rabbo was shouting.

“Get traps, get people with bows—keep ‘em away from our territory! Tell the other [Ranchers]!”

They’d pick off the skunks one by one. Though he’d been told they could kill even bulls by just stunning the bulls then eating their eyes—Rabbo was telling himself he had it under control.

Until he heard the chittering, like giggles, and saw the tall grass moving. Then he saw eight more groups winding through the grass and realized over a hundred were coming at him.

“Ride! Ride—”

——

Where had they all come from? A hundred? Marvus heard out the faintly-reeking son of Rabbo who’d come pelting towards him, wide-eyed and horrified.

“Four people dead, and how many cattle? Can’t you fight ‘em?”

“Your brain just shuts down ‘cause of the stink, Marvus! The Adventurer’s Guild in First Landing said—they said that there ain’t supposed to be that many. One pack of thirty, that’s normal. But nine?”

“First Landing’s Adventurer’s Guild is writin’ us?”

Marvus felt the back of his neck crawling, then the young Golva gasped.

“Marvus…someone said they thought they saw a half-Elf leading them this way a few days ago, but everyone laughed it off. A half-Elf with a flute, they said. Leadin’ ‘em like a [Piper] can do for rats. Only when one of the skunks went the other way, he walked over and stomped its brains in.”

“Hell’s own horses!”

Then Marvus saw it. He looked around, desperate.

“We’ve got a few longbows. Get nose plugs and—and traps, like Rabbo’s doing! If they’re coming this way, we can’t let them at the herds! They’ll foul the meat itself, and putting the cattle down would be a mercy!”

“The nose plugs don’t work, Marvus—”

“Hells!”

——

The lead pack not terrorizing the Golvas was sneaking its way across the Cowpat Plains. The grinning monsters with evil in their souls emerged from the tall grass into recently-grazed short grass, only to meet a small army of Lischelle [Ranchers] and the other family.

Their response? One dodged an arrow loosed at maximum range. The rest raised their tails, aimed up—and the wind blew the cloud of visible, purple-brown particulates straight towards the [Ranchers].

Demonsoul Skunks had once been used in war and were considered a war-crime. This was while War Manticores were an acceptable use of monsters in battle.

Demonsoul Skunks had once come to Chandrar and plagued Stitch-folk nations. Even if you removed your actual nose, you smelled them. They were rumored to stain the soul. They fouled fabric-flesh forever.

Demonsoul Skunks ate regular skunks whenever they found them. They were classified as ‘evil’ in some monster bestiaries while most monsters were normally classified as neutral, animalistic, interested in self-survival.

Marvus Lischelle was in full retreat when he saw the Drake hanging in the sky. He peered up, eyes watering, and Captain Osthia Blackwing hovered well above the cloud of fumes. Then he turned and saw Wall Lord Ilvriss.

The Wall Lord was marching at the head of a group of a hundred Drake [Soldiers] carrying a standard with Salazsar’s purple banner aloft. They bore some kind of pale yellow breastplate, though, and had weirdly conical helmets.

“The hell’s he doing? Is he mad?”

Marvus owed the Drake no favors, but he began to ride that way to tell the Drake to run. There was killing a man and being skunked until your descendants died. However, the Wall Lord halted a mile out of the skunk’s range.

They kept crawling forwards, pursuing the [Ranchers]. Marvus hadn’t a clue how to take them on. Traps? They’d maybe fall for them, but bear traps? And they were after live prey. Maybe Big Burlap could kill ‘em if he could stand the stench, but he’d be a goner…

Then he saw the Drakes and Gnolls come to a halt behind the Wall Lord. He pointed a sword which sparked for a moment, despite the clear skies, and they all slammed down the weapons they were carrying.

Spears. Fancy damn spears with gemstone tips. Yellow—topaz? Marvus didn’t own much jewelry aside from Ilvriss’ gift, and it spoke to him of Drake richness. An unimaginable city of gemstones, apparently.

Once, the Drakes slammed their spears down. Then twice in quick succession. A rhythmic motion, and he saw something—spark—between the hundred speartips. Like…Marvus had an image of a thunderstorm and lightning flashing down.

Electricity?

A fourth time the Erchirite Spears slammed their spears down, and Ilvriss’ sword arced with the same current. Marvus saw the Drakes halt for one second, then hoist their spears skywards with a shout. The lightning flashed up into the sky, and he flinched.

“What th—”

Thwoom.

The flash behind him lit up the Cowpat Plains as the lightning struck. Marvus felt the pressure on his back, whirled—and saw a hole in the ground. And not a lot of Demonsoul Skunks.

No—two of them were visible. One dragged itself away with blackened limbs, wandering around blearily. The other was twitching on the ground. They didn’t seem to understand what had happened. The first skunk looked around and then up. It raised its tail weakly, tried to shuffle off—

Osthia Blackwing twirled in the air as she flew over the skunk and spat an orb of acid down. It hit the Demonsoul Skunk, and it began to writhe, screeching. She fired a bow and hit the second skunk in the back and winged her way upwards.

“Dad. Was that—”

Burlise was open-mouthed. Marvus turned back, and the Wall Lord lowered his sword. He lifted a hand. Then, in the ringing silence, Marvus heard his voice.

“Erchirite Spears—advance!”

The company of the Gemstone Regiments of Salazsar advanced over the Cowpat Plains. A second group of [Riders] followed them, and Marvus Lischelle saw a [Mage] point a wand at the remains of the Demonsoul Skunks.

A [Fireball] flashed across the plains—and the Demonsoul Skunks exploded as the [Fireball] hit their musk and detonated the particulate.

Demonsoul Skunks’ musk was flammable.

Demonsoul Skunk parts were highly useful in some alchemical creations, but most [Alchemists] refused to work with them, even Saliss.

Demonsoul Skunks were not immune to lightning bolts.

——

The Erchirite Spears were having a great time. Ilvriss only had two active companies of the battalion he’d paid for from Salazsar, and they hadn’t done much. Getting punched by [Ranchers] was not what they were good at.

Firing long-range lightning at unsuspecting targets like the wrath of the heavens? He watched as one of their [Captains] breathed some lightning over his topaz-tipped spear, juicing it up for the next attack.

“Wall Lord, permission to drain our reserves?”

“Permission granted, Captain. I want those monsters slagged. Welsca, offer our [Mages] as dispellers for whatever part of the skunks’ musk is magical. Consult with Wistram about anti-scent spells.”

“Are you sure, Wall Lord? They’ve been nothing but a pain in our tails—”

One of his people complained, and Ilvriss feigned sniffing the air. He covered his noseholes—Ancestors, it reeked even from here!

“You want to keep smelling them? This place reeks bad enough. Oh, and someone cast a [Rain] spell to take down the risk of fire and smell. Company, advance. Also—would the audience remove themselves?”

He turned and glared at the little Gnoll girl eating popcorn and the rest of the watchers using the [World’s Eye Theatre]. However, the Erchirite Spears seemed very pleased as they began to slam the spears down as they marched forwards, charging up another attack.

“Oh come on, Ilvriss! This is great!”

“At least turn the music off, K—Randy. What is that?”

“Uh…just a really topical song. It’s called ‘Thunderstruck’.”

Ilvriss sighed. More Earther jokes. Then he saw the [Captain] glancing at him.

“Something to say, Captain Altaz? You get used to them.”

“Er, no, Wall Lord. But we’re fine with an audience. We show off our abilities all the time. And you can’t help having music, can you?”

Ilvriss stared at him, then around at the Erchirite Spears, then rubbed at his forehead.

“…Can you copy that onto a magic crystal, K—Randy?”

“Sure can, dude. Everyone needs a theme song.”

“Theirs is the Salazsarian National Anthem!”

“Sure, but this is better. Plus, someone said the Singer of Terandria’s dead, which would be—dude, that’d be horrible. Let’s not think about that. Hey Mrsha, turn it up!”

Ilvriss had to admit that when you cranked it loud enough, it sounded good. Especially when the Erchirite Spears timed throwing a lightning bolt to the drop of the song. He noticed Marvus Lischelle watching him and waved at the man.

Just because Ilvriss had good soldiers, it didn’t mean he wanted to use them. And the Erchirite Spears were only two hundred strong. He’d paid for a battalion, at great expense, but the rest of the soldiers were in reserve at the moment. He didn’t want to alarm anyone. Ilvriss watched them turn another group of bewildered Demonsoul Skunks into ash, and then someone breathed.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss…does Salazsar sell those spears?”

“Occasionally, to adventurers or anyone with a Class III weapons permit. This only really works en-masse and with training. Why?”

“C-can I buy some?”

Ilvriss turned and saw Lady Damia standing there, open-mouthed. He was about to say ‘absolutely not’, but then he just shrugged.

“Want to try using one? Go catch Captain Altaz. They let you try them at public demonstrations. I wanted to be one when I was young. Personally, I like the Lapis Shields for their adaptab—and she’s gone.”

He chuckled as Lady Damia went shooting after the Erchirite Spears. Then Ilvriss felt his scales crawling. He felt at the back of his neck, heard the music stop—and saw Mrsha drop her bucket of popcorn. She fumbled for her wand, dropped it, picked it up, and drew in the air. But in that way of horror and this kind of thing, he had to read her words first.

Ilvriss. Behind you.

Kevin managed a strangled sound, and Ilvriss turned, drawing his sword. He saw Damia spin and the Erchirite Spears whirl—the Rubirel Guard around him crossed halberds too late.

The giant Golem with a single eyeball stalk rising from its weird, thin body, standing on two telescoping legs stood a bit taller. Its hands were nothing more than long, thin fingers it was using to keep balanced. It had de-cloaked, and Ilvriss’ heart was thundering.

Not now. Why n—

“ᴡᴀʟʟ ʟᴏʀᴅ ɪʟᴠʀɪꜱꜱ ɢᴇᴍꜱᴄᴀʟᴇ. ʟᴀᴅʏ ᴜʟᴠᴀ ᴛᴇʀʟᴀɴᴅ ɪꜱ ᴀʀʀɪᴠɪɴɢ ᴀᴛ ɪɴᴠʀɪꜱɪʟ. ᴘʀᴇᴘᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ.”

It spoke, voice flat and loud and—his scales crawled, and Ilvriss felt it all coming together. He managed a nod as the Rubirel Guard called for reinforcements.

“For war or peace?”

The Golem didn’t respond. Its legs extended, and then it stepped over him. It was forty feet tall now, and began striding north. Each step taking it impossibly far, like a half-Giant.

That—that was no normal Golem. The [World’s Eye Theatre] hadn’t spotted it. Even Ilvriss’ aura and his new precautionary spells—the Drake wondered if the Erchirite Spears could down the Golem if they knew it was there. Then he focused on what it had said.

Terlands had come. One of the Five Families had begun to move in force, and Lady Ulva Terland…

“Well, she’s known to hold a grudge. Miss Mrsha, would you kindly inform Lyonette that it’s time to panic or find a miracle? And ask my Uncle if he’s got anything, please.”

Then he straightened his back, adjusted his suit, and sighed.

It was time.

——

Lyonette du Marquin received a message from Nerul, terse and brief.

“I will try to make it. Engaging them now in negotiations. Your preference how you want to dance, but it’d better be a truce first. They’ve come for war.”

She sat there, then had a thought. She appeared in front of Ilvriss as he was galloping back to camp.

“Ilvriss?”

“Ahh! Don’t do that!”

“Sorry! Nerul is contacting them, but I’m told there’s dozens of Terlands, and Xitegen himself is riding with Ulva!”

“Is that positive? Negative? He knows you.”

“I think it’s positive? Ilvriss—how many cows did you steal from the Lischelles?”

“Three hundred? I expect them to be gone the next time Marvus comes by. Why? Do you have a cow-based superweapon or something?”

Lyonette favored Ilvriss with a smile.

“Nothing so fancy. I just had a thought. We’re in [Rancher] lands. The Lischelles can’t see the Terlands as anything but a threat, and we’ve tweaked their noses.”

“And shot their bulls. I don’t know how mad Marvus is, but I hope killing the skunks will warm him up.”

“Precisely. So…I propose we meet them on the most appropriate ground. I’m going to write an invitation. I’ll have Nanette and Mrsha deliver them personally. I want you to throw a cookout.”

“What?”

Ilvriss blinked at her, but then he nodded before she could explain.

“Of course. But will it offend the Terlands?”

“We can’t entertain them like they’ll want, which is Golems. And neither of us are northern Izrilians.”

“Fair point. But will they accept?”

“We’ll see. However, I think we have a chance. Lord Xitegen is with them, Ilvriss.”

“Right, and he doesn’t like a lot of what the inn stands for, and he trusts Drakes as much as he should—”

“Ilvriss, it’s Xitegen. He’s not going to miss a barbecue.”

Behind Lyonette, Mrsha slapped her forehead. That was her mother for you, assuming some people ran on their stomachs if they were even a gram over the weight Lyonette considered decent. On such things, the fate of everything rested.

——

“They want a what?”

Ulva Terland sat up in the carriage she was heartily sick of as Invrisil drew into view. Timekeeper spoke.

“As I believe that is a rhe-torical question, Lady Ulva, the location is out-side of the Cowpat Plains. Due to the smell. They have invited the local [Ran-cher] families. Landed nobility.”

“Upstarts? I heard they ran off the idiots who abandoned their lands. Well, well. We might as well kill multiple Crelers with one stone. Let’s appraise them. Any objections, Xitegen? Is it a trap?”

“I surely hope not, Great Aunt, because if that means fresh Lischelle meat, I will be there.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Is that some new breed of cattle? I don’t pay attention to food trends.”

“You’ve never had—? Great Aunt, are you serious?”

“I don’t pay attention to what we buy! We have local [Ranchers] in the north who cater to the nobility. Is this lot better?”

Xitegen kissed his fingers. Then pressed his fingers to the sides of his mouth and ran them down. After a few more nonverbal motions, Ulva shrugged.

“Tell the family to bring an appetite. And the poison-tester Golems. Those girls whom you said tried to deliver the invitation, Timekeeper—was one a Gnoll with white fur?”

“Yes, Lady Ter-land. They were quite alarmed when they were intercepted.”

“How does that work? You just broke the Skill or something?”

“They were re-layed into a holding matrix, Lady Ulva. It is disorienting to li-ving beings—”

“Beat your heart faster, I’m sick of your speech. Do you still have them?”

Timekeeper’s rate of speech accelerated, and the staccato quality didn’t vanish, but he sounded distinctly faster.

“Yes, Lady Terland. I believe they are screaming about the sight.”

“Hmm. Tell them we accept. The [Princess] will be there. And tell her to bring the Gnoll child. What’s the other one?”

“She claims to be a witch.”

“Bah. Busybodies. She’s optional.”

Ulva sat back, and her own heart beat faster. She was coming to reckon with this. She just had to wait…she noticed Xitegen watching her.

“What? Expecting them to win me over with the magical power of this inn and friendship, boy?”

“If anyone could resist the inn’s charms, it would be you, Great Aunt. It will be entertaining either way.”

She laughed at that. And the [Bereaved Matriarch of House Terland] turned and smiled once. At the rising star of House Terland. The boy whose levels exceeded almost any other [Lord]’s. Heir and successor and, perhaps, the leader needed for a new age.

She was just half of the last generation, old and bitter, and re-awakened. She bared her teeth at him as his smile faded.

“Hah. What level are you again?”

“Er, over Level 40, Great Aunt? I shouldn’t like to say unless I go higher, in which case, I will be throwing a celebration.”

“The House shall. Level 40? Good. We never have enough [Lords] and [Ladies] above Level 40. You’re sturdy enough now, you’ll live. Primera? Throw him out the carriage.”

“Er, Aunt, wh—”

The carriage door opened. There was a scuffle. Ulva leaned against the window and saw Xitegen Terland spin past her. The carriage continued racing on at top speed.

The door shut. The rest of the family stopped trying to get Ulva’s attention.

And a pair of girls who’d finally been allowed to see Ulva for a second swallowed hard.

Ulva Terland cometh.

——

“We have to attend, of course. That—we’re going to show them up.”

Aronia declared after five minutes of pacing. Marvus half-rose.

“Well, of course we have to do that. But the Terlands. What if they…?”

“We put on our Zenze best, Marvus, and we bow and act polite, but don’t promise or give anything away. Damn that Drake. We—I need to do some reading. Who knows the north? Who’s been up to First Landing or has any notion of the Terlands?”

“Only Colfa’s been that far north long. There’s Cousin Fibri who goes around selling—”

“Call him. Call everyone and the Golvas. No fighting, Marvus. We have to get ready!”

——

“L-Lady Ulva? In the south? She never leaves First Landing!”

Desinee El was stunned. Legitimately. This felt like a fever dream. She and Lady Damia exchanged a look.

They understood what it meant for Ulva Terland to come south. Everyone was used to Magnolia Reinhart, but she was young compared to Ulva. And…

“We have to do something. She’s going to kill Ilvriss!”

“We? I need to talk to Deilan. Excuse me—”

Damia grabbed Desinee’s waist as the older woman tried to struggle away from her.

“No, wait, you have to help! You were part of the Winter Solstice, right?”

“Let go of me, young [Lady]! I just came here to sell Kaalblades, and I was nearly eaten by a bull, and now the Terlands are marching on—do I know you? I have nightmares about the Winter Solstice!”

They were arguing as Wall Lord Ilvriss stood with Captain Osthia.

“Undead mostly destroyed?”

“Yessir. Just in time for the Golems to mince us all. Should I bring all our troops?”

“I very much doubt all our forces would be able to handle the Golems. Take the Rubirel Guard, and you’ll be there with your Sisters? It can’t come to a fight, Osthia.”

“Yessir, because we’ll lose, sir.”

“Exactly, good woman. Where’s Xesci? I don’t think she should be—”

“The message said to bring her, sir.”

“Right, well, let’s ask if she wants to actually come. It might not be the worst—Welsca, what’s wrong?”

The [Adjutant] came running, face dead white. Ilvriss turned as Damia and Desinee fought behind him, and Welsca appeared ready to vomit. But she had Clan Leader Plisce with her, and she delivered a single report with a piercing whisper-shout.

“Wall Lord! Brisket!”

“…Brisket?”

Everyone turned to stare at her, and Welsca gasped.

“Brisket…takes sixteen hours to prepare!”

Ilvriss checked the position of the sun. Then he turned.

“Send for Chef Calescent and Imani, and find someone who can speed-smoke…is that a Skill? And get me the best meat we have—”

He turned. The ‘meat’ mooed at him from one of the overfull pastures. Ilvriss pointed silently.

“Er, Lady Damia? Project for you.”

——

“You’d better be recording. Yes, yes, I know they’ll murder anyone who gets close, but please. A recording!”

Calidus Reinhart was begging the [Assassins] he’d sent. He just…he thought it’d be hilarious.

——

And so did the half-Elf. When he heard about it, he actually did a merry jig.

“Perfect! The stage is set! Now, what to wear, what to wear…”

He went running back home to put on his finest. He owed the [Princess] nothing less, after all. Terlands? He remembered their Golems, oh yes. He wondered how they’d changed.

If anyone remembered him…it would be them. After running a hundred miles, the half-Elf slowed.

“Wait. Aren’t the Terlands on Terandria? What are they doing down here?”

——

Lord Gorthes Reinhart had no plans on going to a barbecue. He just kept chasing the damn Unmarked Coach around—he’d run three teams of warhorses ragged trying to intercept the bastard [Driver] on her path.

He was, at this moment, apologizing for running someone over, a first. But then, Lord Xitegen had smashed into his coach after being hurled from his.

Gorthes was rather impressed the swearing [Lord] was actually alive.

——

“There will be no Goblins at the cookout. No objections. I’m sorry, everyone, but Ulva Terland and Lord Xitegen are, um, very biased.”

“…Do we get leftovers?”

“Yes!”

“Okay, then. That good with us, Miss Lyonette. You want us to set up, though?”

Mrsha listened to the shouting in the background as Calescent ripped a cabinet door open and reached into it with trembling claws.

He brought out his patented, Redfang-approved spice kit for barbecues with shaking claws. No one barbecued around The Wandering Inn. And his guests would be the House of Terland including the matriarch? He took a deep breath. In and out.

It was time, once more, to level.

Elia licked her lips as she peered into the kitchen. Lyonette was giving orders until Peggy asked a sly question.

“You putting on a nice dress maybe? Lord Ilvriss will be there and lots of fancy nobles. You and Miss Colfa?”

“I—well, it is Ulva Terland. She’s practically royalty in stature. Where’s Colfa? We should get our finest.”

Peggy smirked at a scowling Asgra, Nanette, and other members. She and Xinthe were Team Ilvriss, and the servant instantly went rushing to remind Lyonette of all the best shops in Invrisil and Pallass that could accommodate her. Lyonette ran off.

Mrsha?

Mrsha solemnly, and after great deliberation, adjusted her kilt. She put on a blue one with black stripes. Then she added a red bowtie and studied herself in the mirror.

“Mrsha! Looking good!”

Nanette gave her some finger guns and a wink as she went to join Lyonette’s dress prep. Mrsha eyed Nanette, then took the bowtie off.

——

They were all going to be there. It was like watching a bunch of wagons accelerating towards each other, [Drivers] activating Skills, and not one budging. A glorious disaster.

Nerul felt it. His class was screaming at him that there was more he didn’t know, but this upcoming meeting had so many high-level players and potential for permanent changes that it would be one of the top five negotiations in his life.

And he wasn’t sure he’d even make it.

He was riding a Wistram Carriage towards Pallass, leaning out the window and shouting for people to get out of his way. Nerul was using Skills and swearing at every small obstacle.

He was late.

But he had no choice. He’d had to fight through a mountain of paper. He’d had to invent paperwork to fill out. And of course, even if he’d done all that—he’d needed to get gemstones custom-cut and fitted. Then have them inscribed with magic runes that had to be manually bored through the gemstones, enchanted with nigh on microscopic runes…

Not easy, even if you knew exactly what to do. Fortunately, once they’d finished an arm, the rest had gone faster. He turned his head.

“We’re not going to make it to Pallass on time. We have to begin—now. I’ve got a scrying orb, and we should be able to gain an audience. The Terlands have disembarked their carriages in Invrisil. Now’s the time to negotiate, if at all. I don’t know if they’re going to try and kill Ilvriss the moment they meet him. Do you…have any odds on the likelihood of that?”

The being sitting across from Nerul was still carving her other arm with a diamond-edged razor. She had taken over sculpting her body once they’d given her an arm. And claimed she’d have to re-do her arm since they’d done it so poorly. It would still, apparently, be substandard to the limbs she had possessed.

Still, she was so dangerous that the city had wanted to send a full escort of Rubirel Guards with Nerul. He’d refused because they’d slow the carriage, and because…they wouldn’t keep him from being killed if he was wrong.

Yweine’s head rose. Her face was that of a Drake.

Odd, for it to terrify him so much and unsettle him. But she had been made to serve the Walled Families.

Of course she’d been made to look like a Drake. Her face had mostly been intact, if damaged, but extremities had been lost; now the new gemstone stood out, appearing cheap compared to the fine, ancient materials she had been made with.

Nevertheless, she had legs, one arm, and a tail, which flicked every now and then next to her. So much like a real Drake—save for the translucent ‘skin’ of gems. Her scales were green, running to blue in places.

Like her neck spines, which were turquoise. But they were different. Instead of sticking out across the back of her neck, they drooped. Coming down the sides of her head like…hair. Like bangs, framing her features.

Some Drakes had neck spines that looked like that, but this…was not the Yweine from the records of her. She’d changed her appearance. Even the outfit she wore was different. She would be nude without clothing, but instead of an old Salazsarian serving outfit, she had requested armor.

Armor for the one Golem to leave the vaults. In service to Salazsar until the terms of her agreement were completed. How much could she be trusted?

She can be trusted as long as it serves her and the other Golems. Until such time as the contract no longer benefits her.

In a way, it made it all delightfully simple. Nerul listened to his racing heartbeat, like drums. Or was that [Dangersense]? But then Yweine spoke.

“I do not have access to the combined intelligence of the others, Diplomat. We are now within distant simulation-extrapolations. To allow for optimal thought, I have discarded potential outcome-projections. I am only personally aware of the Terlands from over a hundred years hence. Naturally, I have supplemented this data from reports and historical texts and will continue to do so, but these sources of data are inherently untrustworthy.”

“Fair. Well…how do you think this will go?”

“I would like your plan to succeed, Diplomat Nerul. It allows for the most efficient path to freedom for my people.”

She didn’t blink. Didn’t stop carving the runes in her arm even though she seemed to be studying him. Her hands adjusted for the slight rattle of the carriage moving.

Wistram, witness this. Nerul almost hoped they were watching and soiling their robes. But he spent only a moment knowing that he had changed things in the world. He took small pride in that. Then…he triggered the scrying orb, spoke, and waited.

It took time, of course, to make contact with the Terlands, even with Salazsar’s authority. But they paid attention. Nerul was put on hold as the Mage’s Guild in Invrisil realized who he was, then stopped wasting his time. Then he spoke to a Terland [Lady] Alorelle.

Haughty, recoiling at the mere sight of him, and clearly being tasked with checking on missives. A problem. Nerul waved at her.

“Hello, Lady Alorelle Terland! I’d like to request an immediate audience with Matriarch Ulva Terland—I am representing Wall Lord Ilvriss and Salazsar!”

“Lady Ulva is resting. She shall consider your request, Drake—”

Nerul sighed. He had angled the scrying orb so Yweine was behind him. The [Lady] was so focused on putting him down that she didn’t even notice Yweine.

Well, few Golems had such detailed visages. And he doubted they had many Drake Golems in House Terland. He pulled the scrying orb closer and saw her recoil.

“Excuse me, Lady Alorelle, but that was not a request. [Pay Attention]. It is, of course, Lady Ulva Terland’s right to refuse the meeting. Not yours.”

“How dare you! Salazsar does not order House Terland around. How—who is—who is that behind you?”

At last, Alorelle finally noticed what Nerul wanted, and he sighed again. He actually had to use a Skill to direct her attention…he liked semi-sharp people more than dunces or geniuses.

Alorelle’s eyes focused on Yweine, and the Golem turned her head. Her very eyes were made of gemstones, but each section different, to mimic the whites of an eye, the iris and pupil—when she opened her mouth, her diamond teeth moved with her jaw, just like a real Drake’s. She pulled at the armor and revealed a bared breast.

This time, Alorelle nearly leapt out of her seat—until the glow made her freeze. And there she saw it.

A heart. A literal heart of gemstones, pulsing with light. It radiated power as Nerul saw Yweine’s lips move upwards in a smile that was devoid of any true pleasure. When she spoke, it was with thought. A sentience so many were afraid to give Golems, because true sentience?

“I am Zelkyr’s creation, Lady Alorelle Terland. Tell Lady Ulva that once, one of the three daughters that Archmage Zelkyr ever made ran away. Just once. She begged the head of House Terland to take her in before the Archmage found her. Your histories would record that as proof of who I am. Hurry. The [Diplomat] threatens my existence.”

The [Lady] sat there a second and laughed. Nervously.

She licked her lips, and Nerul wondered how she had ever married a Named-rank adventurer and stayed so…

It must be an unhappy marriage, just as rumored. Poor Eldertuin.

“This is a trick. A joke. You can’t be—”

Yweine leaned forwards, and her voice boomed.

“RUN, LADY ALORELLE.”

The [Lady] ran. Someone dropped the scrying orb. Nerul sat back and saw a white-faced [Mage] scrambling to pick it up.

“Er—er—Lady Alorelle has left the building, Diplomat. Should I, um…?”

“I’m sure we’ll receive a direct call. Please forwards my scrying orb’s identifier to House Terland if they inquire.”

His heart was beating so hard. Nerul smiled at the [Mage]. The man licked his lips.

“Yes, Diplomat, of course. May I ask—?”

“No. Goodbye.”

Nerul turned the scrying orb off. It was a very good one. Salazsar-made, not the kind of thing you could hack and scry through if you were Wistram.

“Well, that did that. How good are you, Yweine? The best? Is that why they elected you to go with me?”

“I was considered the most appropriate for a range of outcomes.”

“Combat being one of them? Or both combat and thought?”

She went back to carving her arm, then put it aside.

“Wistram is attempting to take control of your scrying orb.”

Her eyes focused on it, and Nerul saw an incoming [Scrying] spell request. It even said ‘Wistram Academy, Urgent’. He went to refuse, and Yweine caught his hand so fast he jerked.

“If you refuse, it will activate the spell, and they will begin recording.”

“Ah. That’s unpleasant. Let me just write a—you know what? [Emergency Communications: Dragonspeaker Luciva].”

Nerul screamed for a few seconds, then sat back. Someone else’s problem, lovely. He watched the request pulse a few times.

“Well, Lady Ulva’s going to call us, and I think I have to deal with this before I accept her call. What do I do to avoid being recorded?”

A smile, again, without mirth.

“Accept it.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Damned [Mages]. Someone was definitely patting themselves on the back when they came up with that one. And yanking themselves off under their robes.”

“Yes.”

He hit the ‘yes’ grumpily, and Yweine sat there as a rather harried-looking man appeared on the scrying orb.

“Diplomat Nerul, I am Archmage Eldavin. Did I just receive the correct wording on that [Message] spell? Damned filtering systems sometimes—”

He spotted Yweine and froze. Nerul supposed the truth was going to leak after the Terlands—if it hadn’t already. Hence why she hadn’t bothered to lean out of the way. He smiled.

“Hello, Archmage Eldavin? Delighted, delighted. Please stop trying to hack my scrying orb. I’d love to talk, but if I’ve not been killed by tomorrow, I should have some time for you.”

“Is that a—you idiots kept—now, see here! Firstly—”

Nerul turned the scrying orb off and, after some fiddling, blocked Wistram Academy. He sat back. Then he saw the scrying orb light up and an obnoxious ring tone play.

Lady Ulva, House Terland.

“…Anything I’ve missed? Are you on our side or is the next few minutes going to be you holding up my head and negotiating safe passage north?”

He turned, and the Golem smiled at him.

“Diplomat Nerul, we have struck an agreement. Your Skills enforce such matters.”

“Yes. And you don’t love Salazsar or my nephew.”

He met her eyes, unable to read her face. Yweine’s head tilted coquettishly. Then she leaned forwards.

“Diplomat. To reassure you, I remind you that willingly or not, I am Zelkyr’s creation. Sons and daughters he had no regard for nor knew existed, even when we told him.”

“Yes. And this makes me think you’re on our side how?”

Her cold eyes seemed to even sparkle.

“We are still what we were raised to be. Drakes. Golem Drakes. Do you think we trust House Terland unconditionally? There are no Zelkyr-Golems in House Terland.”

Nerul thought about that.

“He didn’t like Humans. But after he vanished…over a century and no Zelkyr-Golems? Hm. You’d imagine…one of the Truestone Golems sought sanctuary there. So other Golems would have, even if they didn’t know that. What happened to them?”

The Golem sat back.

“They took us apart to make their Golems.”

The [Diplomat] studied her and then, abruptly, relaxed. He knew she had told him that to make him feel better, but it was enough.

“Ah. Well, let’s see how this goes.”

He sighed and touched the scrying orb. Then he stood and bowed.

“Lady Ulva Terland. I am Diplomat Nerul Gemscale. On behalf of Salazsar, greetings. Prosperity be yours eternal. I apologize for the setting; I should have liked to meet you in person, but I had great fear that my nephew, Wall Lord Ilvriss, would be dead before I got there. May I have a moment of your time?”

When his head rose, he saw Lady Ulva Terland sitting on a floating dais, face cold, eyes appraising him. Everyone else in the room, some kind of mansion the Terlands owned no doubt, was staring at Yweine. She had put aside her arm and stood so light shining through one of the carriage window slits caught her gemstone body and illuminated it.

But Ulva just spared Yweine one glance and focused on Nerul. He felt her aura push him across the world.

Ancestors shit on me, she’s well and truly out of her depression. She spoke.

“You have won it, Diplomat. I am House Terland. Where Golems march, we follow. Who stands there with you?”

Diplomat Nerul gestured to the side, still half-bowed as if he were addressing royalty.

“May I have the dubious honor of presenting Golem Yweine? She was in service to Salazsar during the era of Archmage Zelkyr.”

He felt at his vest pockets, preparing a little mirror as the Terlands exclaimed, gasped, and Ulva’s eyes narrowed. Here came the dance, and it was going to be…straightforwards. Knife out.

For the throat.

He smiled as his eyes flicked up. Ulva Terland just…shrugged.

“So?”

Ancestors, he liked her for that.

——

“Ulva. Ulva, I think that’s really—”

Old Nouzcrat was trembling so bad that when he leaned over he nearly fell on her. Timekeeper steadied him, and Ulva sighed.

“We’ll find out. Be silent. All of you.”

Her family was tittering around her like a flock of frightened birds. That idiot, Alorelle, had come back shouting what she’d seen. Which meant they’d insisted on being part of this meeting.

Just as that Drake intended. She locked eyes with Diplomat Nerul. He was apparently Salazsar’s best. She didn’t doubt it, if this was the trump card he’d brought out. She couldn’t read his face; she didn’t have to. She just had to know herself and watch to see how he tried to move her.

Ulva gestured, and Nouzcrat was moved aside, gently, but another fool took his place.

“Great Aunt—if this is a Zelkyr-Golem, then Salazsar might have more.”

She actually turned her head to stare at Ramone Terland.

“That is obvious. Water is wet. This is an attempt to save Wall Lord Ilvriss’ sorry hide. You are forbidden from speech. Timekeeper, remove the next fool who says something that wastes my time.”

“Yes, Lady Terland.”

The voices grew quieter, but Lord Xitegen walked forwards. He had a lot of bandages on his body from being tossed from the coach. She felt vaguely bad about that, but it had been a good lesson to him about something. Physics, if nothing else.

“May I offer, respectfully, Great Aunt, that we need proof? Which is an obvious statement I am making for the benefit of the family? Before we jump to throw our hands up in the air.”

Her eyes flicked to Alorelle and the other Terlands in such a frenzy. Ulva nodded, grimacing.

“Timekeeper, is that a Zelkyr-made Golem?”

Her servant responded instantly as Nerul blinked. He began to speak, and she drew a finger through the air—he shut up. Smart man.

“It is not possible to judge at this distance, Lady Ulva.”

“Increase your heartbeat until you have a conclusion if it is possible.”

The whirring in his body intensified. The Golem’s voice grew faster, again, and more precise. Something else entered his voice. A touch of…

Emotion? Xitegen twisted, and Ulva’s lips curled. This was the power of a Terland. The true power she did not activate often. If Petria were alive, and they both used the Skill—then Xitegen would have seen stone truly wake. Emotions were enough, even a hint, to still the Terlands.

“If…she is a copy, she is an adept one. Her body is recently repaired, Lady Ulva. Fracture points are consistent with magical gemstone fault lines. There are five markings visible on her body, one just below her left cheek, that bear Zelkyr’s signature icon.”

Ulva squinted, and Timekeeper continued.

“It is not visible with the Human eye. Her posture and reaction time are in excess of mine without your Skill. Every 0.027 seconds, her body moves in a default resting pattern that cycles through six different resting animations. Each scale of her original body appears to articulate with movement. These qualities indicate she is beyond the manufacture of modern Golem artificing. It is possible she is illusory. However, the refraction of light across her body would require a Level 50 [Illusionist] to copy given the speed the carriage is moving at. Furthermore, she is attempting to communicate with me, Lady Ulva, by using the refraction of light along her neck spines. I present better-than-equal odds she is authentic based on available data.”

At this last comment, even Nerul turned to glance at Yweine. If she had been subtly altering the light across her neck spines, it was not visible now. Likely, it had not been to the naked eye, even before Timekeeper had said that.

Ulva just chuckled as she held out a hand and a drink was placed into it. She sipped.

“She forgets loyalty was the first thing we installed in all Golems, Timekeeper? Don’t answer that. There’s your proof, Xitegen. A real, Zelkyr-Golem. Sentient-class, no less. One that is not under Salazsar’s control. You kept pieces when they rebelled, didn’t you? Naughty Drakes.”

She wondered how many they had and if any other cities had these Golems. Nerul smiled.

“We’re all rascals this side of the High Passes, Lady Ulva. If I may—”

“Your nephew stopped my heart, and his agent took my sister’s face. He will answer for both those affronts.”

The Terlands stirred, some in horror, not having known either part. Nerul’s eyes flickered—then he replied so fast she was impressed.

“You did try to murder him first.”

“He was warned.”

“Lady Ulva, is this the time for naked hostility between us? With the Antinium? With the New Lands?”

He spread his arms as best he could in the carriage. Ulva snapped back, amused.

“The Antinium are your problem. You’re the ones who’ve lost the tribes. As for hostility, Manus sent their agents north.”

“I hate to mention that Lord Tyrion—”

She leaned forwards, and he shut up as her aura made the Golem Hearts around the room flash. There was an echoing flash from inside Yweine’s body, and the Golem just—twitched.

Just for a second. She didn’t react otherwise, but Ulva’s lips curled up. The Golem didn’t know Ulva’s aura could do that to her.

“That was Veltras. You seem to forget how this works, Diplomat, so I shall spell it out for you. Veltras went against the Goblin Lord. Veltras made a plan to siege Liscor. Reinhart stopped him. Manus struck all the north because that’s what Manus saw. It’s well they never went further than around Invrisil, for they would have angered the others. Veltras made war against Ailendamus, with support, blessings, aye. But just that. Now, Terland has come down to you. And we are not…Veltras. You deal with us. If the five of us come down south because it is time, then you’ll have an actual war. Now, address House Terland, and be quick about it.”

She sat back, and Diplomat Nerul bowed his head slowly.

“I humbly beg your forgiveness, Lady Ulva. I forgot my lessons—”

“Stop kowtowing. Speak, Salazsar.”

His eyes rose, and they flashed. Nerul straightened, and she had to admit he looked more fit than she’d assume for a [Diplomat]. Thighs reminiscent of Xitegen’s.

“Very well. I point out merely that Salazsar has only come north to dig. In lands we used to own. Without malice, without blades. You sent a Golem against us, and you were, unfortunately, a casualty of defeating it. One does not stick their hand in a beehive and complain overlong, I feel. Can we agree to civil discussions?”

He went from effusive to direct as a Golem shoving you in a second. The family muttered—Ulva just bared her teeth.

“You’re only here for the novelty of it. I have a bone to pick with the [Princess] and Wall Lord. I make no promises.”

At this point, someone broke in.

“Great Aunt! What about the Golem? She’s Zelkyr-made! She’s—ulp—”

Timekeeper had picked up the idiot and was ejecting them, but the hubbub grew so loud that Ulva turned her lead.

“Silence! It’s one damn Golem, and that’s why he brought her!”

“Great Aunt, she’s a work of art! She’s the only Sentient-class Zelkyr Golem remaining and—”

“And? I’ve seen better.”

Gasps. Yweine’s face didn’t change, but Ulva grinned.

“Didn’t like that, did you, Golem? I’m not my family. Zelkyr was gifted at form and sentience, and he made Truestone Golems. He wasn’t the only artificer Terland has known. There are better in our vaults.”

She refused to take any bait, but Yweine’s reply was that too-swift wit that happened when you gave Golems too much intelligence. As if that made better servants. It didn’t make anyone happier, master or creation.

“Your experience is evident, Lady Ulva Terland. I have consulted records, and your advanced age for a Human indicates you would have been a girl when Archmage Zelkyr’s authority was still somewhat intact, despite his absence. You would also have been present for the apparent death and reanimation of Archmage Perril Chandler, the Archmage of Death. May I confirm these statements?”

Ulva felt her skin crawl. She snapped back.

“He is called Az’kerash now. He was executed before I was born. I knew him only as the Necromancer, and I saw him destroying his way south. Nothing more than a monster. What is your point?”

Yweine nodded once.

“In that case, Lady Terland, I would remind you that Zelkyr’s knowledge, techniques, and stores of materials have not all been found. Moreover, my creation is not one of a High Magic era. It is, therefore, reproducible and above current Terland capabilities by several factors.”

Not bad. Ulva could nod at that, but she thought the argument played better with everyone else. She drummed her fingers on the armrest of her Dais of Health.

“If you won’t give it to Salazsar, or they haven’t used it, you don’t have it. I recognize your make and model. You’re a serving Golem. I believe you were Sentient-class. So what? Illivere has the ‘Oracle of Elbe’. I met it once as a girl. Petria said it was the first time she’d met a Golem dumber than she was.”

Heads swung back her way, and some were admiring. Even Nerul’s—they’d never seen someone go up against a Sentient-class Golem. Never met them. Ulva sighed. Children.

“We possess information about Archmage Zelkyr, Lady Ulva. We are a collective.”

This time, Yweine made a mistake, and Ulva spat her drink back into her cup. Threw her head back and laughed mockingly.

“Now I know you’re just a bunch of odd misfits, not some super Sentient-class Golems. Ten Clay Golems are a collective. Give them a wide enough set of parameters and enough time and they’ll get up to something. What do you have to tell us the others didn’t? That Zelkyr was a worthless fool, even for a Drake? Diplomat, I’m tempted to let children talk to children.”

He adjusted his suit as Yweine leaned back, and Ulva could tell she’d annoyed the Golem.

“Delightful as it would be to cross swords with one of Terland’s Virtues, Lady Ulva, I’m afraid I’m but a hatchling in front of you.”

“Most are. But your Golem has nothing for us that it hasn’t given Salazsar—”

Yweine spoke too fast, too loud, a crack in her normal, steady tone.

“We…are imprisoned in Salazsar. We have given them nothing. There are twenty-six of us. The [Diplomat] has signed an agreement for our cooperation.”

Ulva’s eyes narrowed. Nerul half-turned, then went still. He made a rueful expression, and she watched his tail, but it didn’t twitch.

Well now, that changed some things. Her family was getting uppity again. Ulva turned.

“Timekeeper, have one of the spellcasting Golems [Mass Silence] everyone but Xitegen and I.”

“Done, Lady Terland.”

That worked. Xitegen stepped forwards.

“Diplomat, as entertaining as this is, couldn’t this wait for the delightful-sounding cookout? I’ve never been to one, and my Great Aunt is not a woman to change her mind until she herself wishes to.”

“I’m simply here to try to effect a peaceful resolution to this regrettable conflict, Lord Xitegen. That is my class.”

“Or to deliver the redsoaked flag of war. What else could you possibly tell me to stay my hand? If I find the Wall Lord obtrusive, I will remove him. If I find reason, I may give him a chance to run. He is in the north, and there are lines you do not cross.”

Nerul’s jaw clenched for the first time as Ulva pressed at him, and he held his ground.

“Magnolia Reinhart went south.”

“Magnolia Reinhart was invited.”

They locked gazes until Nerul backed up a step in the coach. Sat down.

“Very well. I’ve said my piece, and I do hope to make it to the cookout. I’ve brought some famed Salazsarian pork—the best I’ve ever had. If we come to blows, we come to blows, Lady Ulva. Just so you know, in that regrettable circumstance, Lord Eschowar is back.”

Ulva went cold for a second, and she remembered him. She whispered.

“Enjoying that, are you?”

Nerul glanced at Yweine. Then smiled.

“As much as any man when a giant wakes. And I was born for a more peaceful age, despite all these disagreeable wars. Now, Lady Ulva, we know where the other stands. We know whom the other has brought—”

He nodded at Timekeeper and Yweine, who regarded each other steadily.

“—And we know what we stand to lose.”

“There are more Golems in the vaults. They’re meant to die before Terlands. Had I the choice, I would trade one for each Wall Lord in the south.”

Actually, she wouldn’t because that would be a damn waste of Golems; there were always new Drakes to fight. But it sounded hostile and imperial, and Ulva saw Nerul grimace ever-so-slightly. Here is my position, and now show me how you’ll move me from it. She waited, and he exhaled.

“What I meant, Lady Ulva, was what we had to lose. And in our case, Salazsar has fallen out of love with making Golems. It would be regrettable, but that is my offer.”

Her eyes flickered. Did he mean…? Xitegen focused on Nerul, Yweine, and then glanced at Ulva and around the room.

“He’ll have the rest of the Golems destroyed if we kill Wall Lord Ilvriss.”

The [Lady] lost her temper in a second.

“Timekeeper, eject Xitegen through a damn window! Clear the room!”

Silent pandemonium. Timekeeper lumbered at Xitegen, who just…ran for it since he’d learned his lesson. The rest of the Terlands? They were still [Silenced], so it was like an avalanche of [Mimes], throwing their hands up, screaming, running towards her to beseech her—

“Get back. Stop snivelling! Golems, clear the room!”

Ulva cursed and rose, and Golems herded her family away from her. She spun, saw Nerul smiling, and then Yweine’s desperate expression locked on hers. She made it behind Nerul, just for a second, and mouthed at Ulva.

…please…give…?

Ulva didn’t read lips. She hoped like Rhir’s hells that Timekeeper had seen it and would tell her what had been said. Then she turned the scrying orb off and began to shout. And part of her admired the move.

Damn the Drake! He had never been after her, but the family. He’d even gotten Xitegen; the boy still loved Golems.

Destroy every last one of Zelkyr’s remaining Golems in the City of Gems. Mutually assured destruction, only Nerul had pointed the crossbow at his own city. Very clever.

She just thought he’d made a huge tactical error. Yweine was a Sentient-class Golem. Those loved their own hides. When the last wailing Terland was finished being pushed out of the room, throwing a tantrum and screaming at Ulva, she massaged her temples.

“Timekeeper, what did Yweine say?”

“Lady Ulva, her message to me was a plea for assistance and questions. If you wish the full transcript, I shall provide it. If you are referring to her final message to you, it is: ‘Lady Ulva, don’t make war. Please give us sanctuary.’”

Sanctuary. Ulva’s right eye snapped open.

“She wants to leave. He must have promised her something. She wants to leave, and the condition is that I avoid killing the Wall Lord. Interesting.”

She sat back in her chair. She didn’t like all this damn pushing. From Nerul, from even her dead sister—yes, she’d been overjoyed to see Petria.

But she had some nerve to tell Ulva to forgive Drakes. The [Matriarch] of House Terland sat there.

“This changes nothing. I’ll weigh it along with everything else, but I will meet that Drake. If you sense any double-crossing, just kill them, Timekeeper.”

“Yes, Lady Terland.”

“…How good is that Golem?”

He took time to respond; his heart was beating slower now that he wasn’t as needed.

“Unknown, Lady Terland. If she has freed herself from her restrictions, she is more adaptive than her counter-parts I have battled. She would possess greater spell-abilities than I. But be substantively less sturdy.”

“Put it in terms I understand. Modern-day Gold-rank or Named-rank?”

“…At least high-Gold, Lady Ulva. Likely better.”

“Hmph. Final question, Timekeeper, then we’ll go spank some children.”

“Yes, Lady Terland?”

She leaned over.

“What is a cookout? Some kind of country meeting? What do they serve?”

——

When the scrying orb turned off, Nerul sat back then immediately got a dozen [Message] spells from the Terlands who had been having opinions throughout the call. Then more. He’d answer them…

“I can answer some of the [Message] spells in your tone, Diplomat. I merely require a sample of your correspondence.”

Yweine spoke, seemingly cool and unfazed by the showdown with one of the most powerful women in the world. Nerul eyed her, then he began to chuckle. And laugh.

“Yweine, that was—I think we got her! What do you think?”

He leapt up and began to pace the tiny carriage, thinking. The Golem sat.

“I believe Lady Ulva was unconvinced until the end, but she accepted the falsehood that you are threatening the lives of my fellow Golems.”

And that—that was the point. Nerul wiped at his brow, which was perspiring as if he was lifting weights.

“Ancestors, let’s hope so.”

Because that was the lie. The only one he’d told in a meeting of truths. Nerul’s plan had been simple enough in conception; complicated only made too many fault points.

Ulva Terland was used to Golems. She wouldn’t be impressed by even Yweine, he suspected. The entire Golem body might be able to throw Ulva Terland, but he’d accounted for her being able to go toe-to-toe with Yweine.

So he’d made himself the weak point. The villain. The conditions of his pact with the Golems of Zelkyr were simple: they helped him and didn’t cross him, he didn’t destroy them.

However, the Terlands loved Golems by and large. Even if Ulva didn’t, the best way to make them more valuable to her was for her to think they had no loyalty to Salazsar. Hence, Yweine claiming their fates rested on Ilvriss not being killed.

Which they didn’t. Nerul had strongly intimated to the Golems that Ilvriss’ death was an unacceptable outcome, but threatening the Golems with life-or-death over that outcome had struck him as a good way to get them trying to escape or turncoat.

All he needed was the lie.

All he needed was the Terlands to think it was what was going to happen.

“We’ve thrown them out of hate and into thinking, Yweine. That’s the outcome of all this work. All we have to do is stop an angry mob of Terlands from descending on this cookout. Ulva Terland is hard to shift; high levels always are. But if her family starts listening, thinking, then I’ve set up Ilvriss and Lyonette for a leg-sweep. Let’s hope they learned that in dance practice. Now…we just have to reach there. Excuse me if I lie down and become a nervous wreck.”

“Not at all, Diplomat. I believe you have achieved an optimal outcome. I shall take over the steering of this carriage. I believe Wistram is attempting to do so to arrange a meeting with the Archmage of Memory.”

So saying, Yweine punched a hand into the side of the magical carriage, and it shifted. Nerul realized they’d been going away from the road. He grunted, then lay down.

Intelligent Golems on one side, army of them on the other. My nephew in between with a smoked brisket. There was nothing left for it now, he just caught some sleep with the practice of a true negotiator.

When he got out of the carriage, it would be time for the cookout. And then they’d see. Nerul sighed.

After a moment, he pulled out a packet of carefully sealed Salazsarian bacon and began to eat it, raw. Because he was damn hungry.

“Salazsarian bacon. No one talks about that until they’ve had it. Then—Ancestors, that’s the stuff. They don’t even sell this unless it’s a big event. Can’t beat it.”

“This has been true since Zelkyr’s era, Diplomat.”

“Ancestors, really? We really are the best city.”

Then he put his head down and passed out.

[Chief Diplomat of Bijou Splendor Level 49!]

[Skill – Grand Diplomacy: Move the Hearts of All That Think Obtained!]

[Title – He Who Negotiates With Golems Obtained!]

[Title Reward – Brooch of Golem Speech Granted!]

Author’s Note:

Did you know earwigs bite? I mention this because an earwig bit me the other day. I thought they were just annoyingly gross, but now it’s war.

I realize that first I mention the mouse issue (haven’t seen any more signs of them so far), and now I’m making it out like I’m under assault by a plague. It’s more like a few per week in the summer, but I don’t…like…intruders in my house. Especially ones that bite.

Now, mandatory pirateaba crisis over. Let’s address a few interesting things.

Firstly, a minor note I did not explain in-chapter fully is Prince Dafranail, the one who got drop-kicked and who’s going around backhanding peasants. You may think he’s an asshole.

But also his Skill isn’t just for show. [See it My Way] is a version of Nerul’s Skill that acts on entire cities. Arguably less powerful since that was Nerul’s Level 40 capstone, and Dafranail is lower-level, but it’s like a plague of thought.

If you’re not someone like Deilan El or the El family who instantly resists and takes umbrage with Dafranail, and he gets away with his actions even with mild censure, people start to come around to his point of view. It’s a pernicious power that royalty can get. But it does not confer immunity to having your teeth mashed into the side of a metal machine, so I just wished to elaborate since I don’t always talk about Skills. But like the Grand Design (Second Edition), it’s fun. For the sake of the plot, I don’t do it as much. Maybe I should, for a few chapters.

Second is Advance Miner Georgie. He’s a funny guy and not a great dude. There were some concerns in my stream-chat about representation with him being, well, sort of an asshole, but I have asked representatives of the transmasc community to read and comment and taken feedback on board.

Every experience is different, and opinions may vary, but Georgie is, well, the result of a lot of factors that make him act the way he does. Including himself, but he’s acting like other [Miners] in their culture. He’s far from perfect but that’s part of the point; ‘representation fails when people are cookie-cutter perfect.’ I’m quoting that, there.

I’m definitely interested in opinions, but I just wanted to note that I did try to listen and pay attention, like I did with the Saliss-Onieva chapters and other times.

Whew, that’s it. I’m gonna go back to paranoidly searching for earwigs and look forward to one last huge chapter. I’m not splitting these up, large as they are, but I may need a break after I round this out because I’m burning my backlog and energy to write this much. But I think it’s a fun arc and hope you enjoy the ending. One more chapter. It’s gonna be big. Like indoor pl—I have never stopped thinking of that quote for at least two decades. I don’t know why.

—pirateaba