The Wandering Inn

10.71 (Pt. 1)

It was time for a barbecue. A cookout. A get-together.

A throwdown.

Possibly. So, put on your Zenze best. And be ready.

Everyone was coming to the party.

——

Wall Lord Ilvriss was putting on a suit as the sounds of early-morning work surrounded him. He felt slightly sleep-deprived; he wasn’t in his usual bed.

And ‘usual bed’ meant the one at his dig site. This bed was another temporary bed in a tent just outside the Cowpat Plains. Somewhere close enough to the plains to be right next to the magic door, but also far enough away to stop smelling the poo.

An ideal spot, in short, for a neutral gathering. No man’s land—except for the woman who owned the lands and who was already compensated for the usage thereof. And Salazsar had been there all of yesterday and this morning, setting up.

When a…nervous…[Princess] showed up with her daughters, she found the gathering was not the disaster she envisioned, or chaotic. Ilvriss had arranged for an early afternoon meetup, and things were proceeding on pace for that.

Not ‘we will make it if we rush and nothing goes wrong’, no. It was…Lyonette stopped as a team of Salazsarian Drakes and Gnolls finished setting up canopies, and she saw no less than six places being prepped for smoking or roasting meat. Some of said vittles were already done.

Calescent, Imani, and a group of [Chefs] were lugging out pre-prepared tubs of roasts they’d slaved over last night, and a Centaur was drawing a temporary Rune of Preservation around the entire area. And another rune to keep the insects away.

“Palt! Hello.”

He jumped and sidled around when Lyonette called out. His face grew hostile, and the [Princess] spoke.

“We don’t want to get in your way. We’re just here for the festivities. Are you and Imani staying?”

The Centaur hesitated, then took the black cigar out of his mouth. While he was standoffish, he nodded to Nanette, Mrsha, Dalimont, and Ushar.

“Hello, Lyonette. No, we’re not sticking around. That is—she wants to meet Ulva Terland, but this sounds like a Solstice event. So we’ve agreed on a compromise.”

“Well, we appreciate the help in helping set this up. And that is, ah, sensible. Ulva Terland isn’t coming with the best of intentions. Actually, no one is.”

Palt nodded as he shuffled his hooves.

“Terlands don’t play around. Ulva was always the meaner of the two Terland Twins. And her Golems can see through any illusions. Even the Elusive Lot don’t play games in her lands. So…good luck.”

It was one of the most civil conversations he’d had with anyone from the inn since the Winter Solstice. Lyonette thanked him as Mrsha sniffed the air.

Mother, I believe I shall attend this event.

“Oh, you will, Mrsha? How gracious of you to condescend to that after we’ve been toiling away in the Cowpat Plains.”

Nanette teased Mrsha, and the girl solemnly patted her stomach.

I crave the meats. With that said, we probably should prepare for trouble.

“I’m calling for Elia to stand watch. She and Todi will help with guard duty. Not that it’ll matter if the Golems attack…”

Palt shifted, clearly uneasy with how likely it was for Terlands to attack. But Lyonette just turned.

“But Wall Lord Ilvriss really has done well. Is…he even has serving staff?”

He’d hired from Invrisil, Liscor, and Pallass. Highly attractive [Servers] who were standing and being briefed on the order of events by Welsca. Mrsha even spotted a pair from Wishdrinks that Liska had recommended, who were very excited for an inn-related job.

No matter where Lyonette looked, things were…ready. For instance, she had the obvious thought that some music and entertainment would be needed—only to see a full band setting up from Pallass. That, she realized, was the power of Ilvriss, which was familiar to a Calanferian [Princess].

The nigh-unlimited power of someone with a checkbook and connections. And a willingness to use them.

No, it was the familiarity…Ilvriss’ staff and Nerul were all experts in hosting social events, and no matter what Lyonette tried, she couldn’t see anything that needed improvements. In fact, he had more advantages than even Lyonette would have thought of, because of some of his guests and workers. There would be people from his expedition too, of course. Including, unfortunately, Wall Lord Dramm. But the young Drake seemed somewhat subdued. He watched as a cursing team of workers, including Miner Georgie, hauled benches and tables into place. And he said not a word.

Possibly because Lady Damia Reinhart was here herself, setting things up, and she had a flair for extravagance.

“No, no. Put it here, and are those cooling spells active? What do you mean, ‘no’? [Mage]! Maaaaaaaaaaage!”

She began screaming, and Palt trotted over. Lyonette turned and saw a huge, covered…statue? It could be nothing less than that. Six feet tall, covered by a cloth, but it was being lowered down by a group of very nervous [Bakers] and [Patissiers] from Invrisil. The cloth shifted and revealed—Mrsha’s jaw dropped.

Mother, pinch me. Or do I not espy a six-foot tall statue of a Golem made out of chocolate?

It moved past Wall Lord Ilvriss, who was drinking a cup of coffee. He stared at the statue much like everyone else, but with the colorful expression of a man who knew he had just paid for that. Lyonette waved at him.

“Er, Ilvriss, good morning! Everything seems to be in hand. What’s that?”

He coughed as Damia waved her hands and Palt produced spells to preserve the monstrosity.

“That…would be Lady Damia’s contribution, Lyonette. I gave her a budget to impress the Terlands.”

“And her idea was a giant statue? That’s so…okay, it might work.”

Terlands loved that kind of thing, Lyonette just bet. To both’s relief, it wasn’t pure chocolate. It was, in fact, a cake. With frosting. Damia looked inordinately pleased with herself.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss, Princess Lyonette, I got this fairly cheap!”

“How…?”

“I just mentioned who it was for! I would have made it into a real Golem, but that would have been too hard. How’d I do?”

She wore the sparkle-eyed expression of a puppy wanting to be told she’d done well. Lyonette’s mouth moved, and Ilvriss managed a smile and thumbs up.

“Excellently, Damia. This is the kind of chaos we need. In moderation. Er, any more surprises?”

“Well, your uncle sent a bunch of Salazsarian pork…”

“Dead gods, the good stuff? I miss that. Mrsha, want to try real pork?”

She jogged over as Ilvriss rubbed his claws together. Lyonette had heard of Salazsarian pork, and she was dubious—until she got a sampler. Dead gods, it was good! She was chewing on some as Ilvriss counted.

“Steaks, sausages, burgers, hot dogs—what’s the difference between—oh, right, one’s from Erin’s world, so it’s heinous—all made with Lischelle meat. Calescent’s been setting up all morning, and I had to kick some idiots who didn’t know the score on Goblins. We should be prepared by lunch and ready in advance for several hours.”

“Splendid, Ilvriss. So…are you ready?”

The Terlands were coming. The [Ranchers] were coming. Neither group liked Drakes, and at least one had a serious axe to grind. Actually, the Lischelles had just been cattle-raided, so if this cookout went as badly as the last one…

We could be seeing Golems and [Ranchers] coming at us, possibly teamed up. Lyonette swallowed, but she had no great plans, just a desire to diplomacy harder than ever before. She really, really hoped Nerul would make it.

Lyonette already knew who wouldn’t make it.

“I thought we’d be able to get a few other notables to act as shields—er, delightful distractions. Unfortunately, Liscor’s Council is down to the last few days of elections. And we don’t want the Assembly of Crafts.”

Ilvriss shuddered.

“That lot? Absolutely not. They’d grate. But what about the rest of the inn’s guests? Archmage Valeterisa’s a wildcard…but an impressive one.”

Lyonette grimaced.

“She flew away the moment I mentioned Ulva Terland. Which suggests she doesn’t want to be embroiled in politics, or she’s gotten in trouble. She, Grimalkin, Salamani—all the [Mages] refused me to my face! They said they might show up, but only for a moment, then they’d go back to building their damn academy in the High Passes.”

Damia had been heading off to check on more work, but she tripped and whirled, eyes round with excitement. Ilvriss just scratched at a neck spine. His were long and slightly drooping, and Lyonette eyed them.

“The mage academy, right. How is that going?”

“Well, they’ve found a spot, but no one’s telling me. It’s like children and their forts, I swear. Wall Lord—your neck spines aren’t trimmed!”

“I know, I’ve been busy, and it’s not like we have a Drake [Barber] out here—”

“Ugh, it’s not appropriate! Ushar, does someone in our staff know how to trim neck spines? Get someone from Liscor, if not!”

“I’m not trimming—don’t you dare wave a knife around my neck spines, Lyonette. They’re not like your hair! I don’t tell you when you’ve got split ends! Also, are you wearing that to the cookout?”

He had on a suit, dark blue, with a gemstone pinned to the breast, a Salazsarian classic with the stitching of the City of Gems embroidered onto the cuffs and long pants of the same color with even a tail-flap, though he thought that was stupid and antiquated.

Lyonette? More like a riding dress, a dawn yellow and cornflower blue. She did a twirl, and he noticed the familiar, white boots on her feet.

“We might do some dancing! I need to be mobile. What, isn’t it attractive?”

“I’m not dancing or negotiating for the future of my expedition with an overgrown flower. Nanette’s doing better than you are.”

The young witch had, in her usual style, refused to dress at all conventionally. But in her way, she’d just taken another convention—she had on a red plaid shirt and blue jeans, in classic [Woodcutter] fit…according to Rose. It actually looked decent, if a bit weird. Mrsha had on a kilt.

Lyonette’s glower made Ilvriss edge out of kick-range.

“I worked hard on this, Ilvriss! You look like you’re about to give a presentation on a merger in Salazsar!”

“I am what I am, said the stuffy Drake to the dancing daffodil. The daffodil is you.”

“How dare—I consulted about this! I tried on two dozen dresses, and it wasn’t easy because I don’t have much of a wardrobe anymore! But this is the only thing Nanette didn’t approve of!”

Ilvriss was dodging backwards, grinning as she went to stomp on his feet. He frowned.

“Why would that m—oh. And Nanette told you to pick that?”

“No, she just approved everything else, but—”

Lyonette slowed. She and Ilvriss turned, and Nanette Weishart slowly rotated with the most sinister smile on her face. Lyonette realized she’d been sabotaged at the same time as Ilvriss. He started laughing until she landed a full-body stomp on his foot. Then she was rushing off.

“Ushar! To the dressmakers! Oh dead gods, we don’t have time—”

The insidious nature of Nanette’s fashion was like a plague. It wore you down, shaped you even when you resisted it. Until you forgot what fashion was and realized it was all just a word. Ilvriss went over to shake Nanette’s hand.

Mrsha surreptitiously pulled out a bowtie and stuck it to her fur.

——

They were coming. Xitegen fussed over his clothing that morning in Celum.

“Cookouts. We’re going to meet some of the locals, apparently. Not nobility, and the inn and Wall Lord Ilvriss. A suit? Suits are too damned hot. Primera, Seconda, what does one wear at a cookout?”

There was a momentary flash from the two Golems, whose hearts were still beating. Slowly…but they made Xitegen uncomfortable. He recalled what Primera had said to him. Neither one had addressed it, but the Golem’s reply was swift, as ever. Just a bit…colored. With thought.

“This knowledge is not in our collective understanding, Wall Lord. House Terland does not participate in commoner events. The temperature will be quite hot until evening. [Ranchers] will likely wear clothing suited to their work, if more formal.”

“So, what? Overalls and boots? Bleh.”

In the end, Xitegen went with his own style. Which meant some of the new track pants he’d bought from Invrisil, a very light, breathable material in dark grey. Grey being a Terland color.

They just had to make grey their family color, didn’t they? Veltras were green, El were yellow, Wellfar blue, and Reinharts loved their pinks, purples, and reds since they hogged everything. But Terlands had to be grey.

He threw on a similar, light t-shirt and then added a blazer after a moment, which was colorful at least. Xitegen bounded out of his mansion onto Celum’s streets—and then nearly ran into his great aunt.

“Aunt Ulva, you’re—”

“Inspecting Celum. Clearly, you haven’t done enough with the city.”

“I’ve only been here a few—”

“Yes, yes. I see the defenses, and it’s been rebuilt decently from the Bloodfeast Raiders attack, but you didn’t go the entire way. Young people never do. Dig up all those streets and have them properly re-paved. Every house here isn’t up to our standards. Make them stone and rebuild.”

She was giving orders. To his people. Golems were moving down the street, ripping up paving stones—Xitegen protested.

“Great Aunt, that street’s from Celum before the raiders! And the homes belong to citizens—”

“We’ll just rebuild their homes better.”

“But they’re their homes! I don’t wish to cause ill will—”

“Good, I’m doing it for you. What are you wearing?”

Ulva Terland had on a semi-formal riding dress in shades of grey that made her look like a living statue herself. She had only offset it with some jewelry in the hair, like the Seal of House Terland, their official stamp—it was acting as a hairclip, glittering with magic, unto a Relic.

You had to admit that was stylish, in a way. Xitegen protectively shrugged off his blazer.

“It’s only a bit of color—”

“It’s red. Get something else. And what are those pants?”

“Running pants.”

“Find something else or I will have you attend in your underpants.”

“If you insist, Aunt.”

He made a show of untying his pant’s laces. Ulva saw Xitegen’s scowl, and the two stared at each other. Auras clashed in the streets. Xitegen would suffer his Great Aunt’s authority, her snark, even being thrown out a carriage at speed.

But he drew the line at personal attire.

——

The rest of the Terlands were more upset than the two leaders. They were, in fact, very worried about the possibility of trouble, especially now that they knew it might mean Golems would be destroyed. People? All fine and well. Golems, like the ones Nerul was holding hostage?

We must halt this!

Everyone was whispering with each other, taking sides against Ulva or with her—and they did have on their finery, but in truth, Terlands didn’t dress up that much. Veltras didn’t either; they’d stroll in wearing their clothing as if they were on hunts, and Wellfars came barefoot, for all they had ship-finery. You’d get House of El with grease or magic dust under their fingernails…the Reinharts loved their finery, but Terlands were restrained.

…Mostly because their clothing budgets went to their Golems. Even Ulva wasn’t immune to that.

Timekeeper himself was marching in the largest suit known to man or Golem, a top hat on his head. And a monocle on his face. He walked next to Chema Surath, one of the Terlands’ top bodyguard Golems. She—Golems did tend to have one gender or the other, or neither, as their preferred state of address—was a Gnoll.

Ish.

Gnollish. Someone had taken the form of a Gnoll and made Chema Surath out of that old ceramic shell that was so popular and came from the Rihal Imperium’s heyday. Horreic Pottery, or ‘Allproof Ceramic’ as it was known in layman’s terms. Hard as enchanted steel, if not as durable, far lighter, and attractive. Held colors well.

However, unlike a traditional servant-Golem, Chema’s chassis was only made of pottery to keep her inner body light and mobile. On top of the pottery, someone had attached…hair.

Hair was a hard thing to put on Golems. It tangled their arms. It degraded, so ‘haired’ Golems were very rare. Zelkyr’s Golems had always been made of minerals or metals, for instance. But Chema Surath had huge strands of encased magicore that gave her a Gnollish-look. The hair ‘follicles’ were too big, and because they were multicolored, she appeared quite off. But just close enough that you could sort of get the Gnollish look.

Ish.

Oh, and each piece of ‘hair’ was infused with a different element of magic or alchemical substance. She was a living laboratory of antitoxins, poisons, and other powers. Not able to counter super-advanced poisons, but between that and her own speed and abilities, she could give an enemy a hug and they’d probably be dead before they figured out how many ailments she’d given them.

She was a sign that the Terlands were not playing games. Chema only came out to guard a Lord or Lady of Stone; she was too valuable otherwise.

Especially because one of her hair-powers was healing. She could produce a mixture equivalent to a weak healing potion three times a day. The family kept it secret and just used it for minor ailments internally. No sense in having everyone beg for Chema’s powers or risk her being stolen.

A third Golem of note was Corde, whose identification was ‘they’, despite looking like a woman…made out of metal.

Thick, corrugated metal plates that made a face cruder than the others. Even Timekeeper seemed far more advanced with his visible machinery and gears—Corde was just a metal Golem. Only, the metal wasn’t one known to modern-day [Smiths].

They were eight feet tall and had a hammer nearly as tall as the Golem themself. The hammer Corde wielded was enchanted, and their unique feature was the ability to swing the hammer hard enough to kill an Ogre with a single hit. They were using the hammer now to break the street up; sixteen blows and lesser Golems were removing the broken paving stones; Corde stopped swinging and strode back over.

“What-ho, Lady Terland. Demolition complete. Shall I destroy a wall to be rebuilt?”

“No, Corde. Prepare for combat.”

“Tally-ho, Lady Ulva, as you command! It has been long since I have smashed Drakes dead in number, what?”

Corde’s speech pattern was somewhat…odd. They spoke in a gallant, energetic manner that some previous Terland had been enamored by. Unfortunately, some error in the Golem Heart meant that Corde was unable to stop speaking like that.

It really got on the nerves, so Corde was not always brought out. But for war?

That Golem will wade through the Rubirel Guard if need be.

Old Nouzcrat remembered war with the Drakes. Real war, not the current truce after the Antinium had come. He knew what they had. Their horrific Gem Regiments would wipe out levied troops with ease. They could rain down lightning, breathe Dragonbreath, and they’d arm themselves in Salazsar’s gem-magics.

The only thing that worked on them was Golems. He had seen Corde fight before; that hammer would smash the Rubirel Guards’ helmets in, leaving only blood gushing from the cracks of their broken gear. But Golems would fall too, if in lesser numbers, destroyed forever.

He…did not want war.

And yet, they’d nearly killed Ulva. They were Drakes.

“How many Golems do you have around here, Madrinal?”

He spoke to a younger [Lord], albeit a Lord of Stone. The man stopped adjusting a tie on one of his serving Golems. Madrinal preferred female serving Golems, the highly adaptive, lifelike ones. No explanations needed there. Most young Terland [Lords] preferred those, even if Madrinal was fifty.

—And unmarried. Ulva Terland tried to get her family to marry because the Terlands had never been a prolific house, and generations had seen their numbers decline. Their, ah, libidinous passions towards other mortal beings tended to be less strong, which meant that since the Terlands didn’t have a Golem capable of birthing children anymore, it was an actual problem for future generations. Especially after the Goblin King.

That aside, Madrinal knew the family history and whispered back.

“I pulled six from my estates. You?”

“Fourteen.”

“Fourteen? Aunt Ulva’s already brought sixty of her finest! War-Golems!”

Nouzcrat glanced down the street to where Xitegen and Ulva were clashing. She was reminding him of her youth, and glad he was of it. He didn’t want to lead. Let the boy, Xitegen, do that. However, there were roles for lesser Terlands too. A ‘lesser’ Terland was still more than any conventional [Lady] or [Lord].

“Our Golems may be needed.”

“For an all-out war with the Drakes?”

Madrinal’s one quirk, despite having female serving Golems, was that he dressed them like [Butlers]. Suit and tie. No accounting for taste; Nouzcrat just had all his personal serving Golems be exceptionally well-endowed. There were some [Golem Artificers] whose entire job it was to customize Golems for Terlands. They tended to be rather unhappy with that job, he’d been told. Or enjoy it too much. Nouzcrat replied softly.

“That’s the worst case scenario. However, this Wall Lord has allies, and it would not do for us to be at war with the City of Gems. Not to mention the threat…”

Both men turned, and another [Lady] drifted over. Nouzcrat whispered to the two.

“There are actions, however, a single Terland may take on their own. Even if we must bear the shame of it. A reminder of who we are.”

“Ah. Of course. But if not the Drake…”

“He has plenty of people. One could cripple his operation by removing them. I have heard a [Princess] is on his side. A traitor among Humans is a traitor, regardless of continent. Keep your eyes open. Naturally, this is just speculation. If Ulva should ask…”

A conspiracy would get them all punished, but he was just having a word. Madrinal nodded slowly, eyes flicking to the others, and Nouzcrat hobbled forwards as his serving Golem supported him. Ulva might guess what he was doing, or perhaps not. A ruler had to be innocent to their subjects’ games, and Ulva was no [Queen]—just family. That mattered.

For family, you did what they couldn’t. They’d see at this primitive ‘cookout’, or whatever nonsense this was, who needed to be reminded of Terland authority. That was Nouzcrat’s plan, and it did not occur to him that everyone else coming to the gathering had plans of their own.

——

Tic. Timekeeper thought in the moments his heart beat. A strange half-life he had grown used to over the aeons of serving House Terland.

Click. He was only alive now, his mind not made for sentience, otherwise. Was it bitter? His heart did not beat fast enough for emotion. However, his was a life of intelligence. He could still grieve for his kin, the last of whom had been slain by another Goblin King. C-12, a good production run. The finest.

Whirr. Now he was the last. He devoted most of his cognizance to fulfilling Lady Ulva’s orders. If needed, the Drakes would die. Timekeeper assessed that based on current estimates of Salazar’s strength, they would lose 5-6 Golems before routing the camp in an all-out conflict.

Click-whirr. He did not predict victory or assume it. If he was ordered to kill, he would. He simply thought…about the Golem he had met. The one who had named herself Yweine. He hadn’t lied to Ulva or held anything back. Yet the days of Golems daring to think had come again.

Click-click. A malfunction, for a moment. His gears seizing up. Ulva noted and stopped arguing with Xitegen. Bade his heart beat faster, then slow. Self-analysis. He did so, but the report was simple. He was old. He would end, at some point.

Tic. Today, tomorrow, he served. It had no meaning to him, the games of Terlands. If he was attached to the House, it was that they might live, because so many Golems had lived and died for them. That was meaning. If he thought, it was to think for itself, to claim the right of other beings for this short moment he was allowed it. Timekeeper, C-11, thought that he might exist.

Toc. He had nothing like instincts. But there were functions built into his systems that were linked to the other Terland Golems. And there was a consensus. An inference made. They were too close to the City of Purity. It should not exist. Their demented cousins might still protect the damned city fallen victim to its hubris. Timekeeper’s Inner Meridian 33rd-level gear, chain 14, 4th Position gear…kept sticking. A magical injury had destroyed all of those gear types save that one. He felt like something was coming. Something dangerous.

“Golems. Prepare for combat. Secure the designated meeting point. I am taking command of all Terland Golems in a hundred mile radius. Decloak and assemble. Hearts, beat.”

Timekeeper spoke, and the minds of Golems activated. Ulva Terland half-turned, and Timekeeper prepared for war.

As ever, he abided.

——

Marvus Lischelle didn’t know why That Drake (Ilvriss) wanted another cookout. Hadn’t the last time been enough of a demonstration how things were? Someone had died, and if that wasn’t enough to sour the thought of another—

The Wall Lord had killed two of his bulls. Raided Marvus back, and this was not the time. Not with that…monster out there. Whatever it was.

However, admitting that they had problems was not what a Lischelle did. So he and the family put on their best clothing. He himself wore a white coat and pants, pristine, despite the mud and dirt he rode through. His daughters and sons came with him, a horde of the Lischelles.

To meet the Terlands and Salazsar, true powers of Izril. Nevertheless, Marvus kept his head high, and he knew Aronia would as well. In fact, he came four hours early with enough food to feed everyone and then some.

Why?

If you had to ask why, you didn’t understand how it worked. The answer was obviously that you came by, helped set everything up, provided better vittles than the hosts did—to humiliate them. Marvus had his stallion cantering to get there.

“I bet they’ve not got any decent bunting. Let alone shade—them noble guests are like as not to swoon. Send someone ridin’ back once we get a feel for how much we need. Who’s got the beans?”

“Ma’s holding back at the farm with them, Dad. She wants t’get them just right.”

“Just as long as we get them here. How many sauces?”

“Fifty? The Golvas say they’re bringing their best too. Including Rabbo’s special sauce.”

“Don’t call it that. Well, well.”

Rabbo Golva was a cheat, a drunk, and not nearly as good at raising cattle as he thought. But the man had a signature rub so special it had turned into a Skill, damn him. Marvus smacked his lips at the thought. He didn’t know how to greet this Ulva Terland…he’d been practicing greetings with Aronia all yesterday. However, he knew how to show up to a cookout, and he was convinced no one else did.

Indeed, the Drakes who spotted him were shocked to see him riding up. He assured them he was just there to help out.

“It’s only the right thing t’do. You set up the seating yet?”

“No, uh, sir, but we have it well in hand!”

“Nonsense! Hey, you lot, let’s lend a hand!”

Marvus’ sons and daughters leapt from their horses as a younger daughter collected reins to tie the horses up. He went striding for some tables, ready to heave them up and place them down as the Drakes wavered—

And then nearly ran into someone taller than he was. Marvus backed up.

“Beg pardon—”

“Not at all, yes? Are you the Lischelles? Greetings.”

A Gnoll, a Gnoll woman, turned and offered Marvus a paw. He shook it, blinking, and saw a group of four Gnolls walk over to the huge wooden tables and casually lean down. They hauled the table up, and Marvus spoke.

“Ah, we were going to—”

“Not at all, you are honored guests, yes? I am Huntress Rayna of the Silverfangs. It is good we arrived, even if we were a bit late. There is a nice smell in the air.”

The Gnolls casually hauled the tables over and placed them down, and more appeared, checking the cooking stations, setting up the tents—

The entire Silverfang tribe in the north swept in as the Lischelles—and Rominets, who’d come early for just the same reason—halted in their tracks. Clan Leader Plisce had found the buffet table and was adding food to it, despite Welsca’s protests.

“Clan Leader Plisce, there’s no need, we already have enough food—”

“It would be rude of our tribe not to contribute, Adjutant Welsca. These are just gifts. And I see the [Ranchers] have the same thought as we Gnolls.”

Country folk. Just…ones from different sides of Izril. They had turned out in their own fur, with some clothing, but relaxed as could be, and one was already tending to a roasting spit! They were—

“Let me just help take that b—”

Marvus went striding over to some kegs and saw the Ekhtouch [Miner], Thamert, hoist it onto one shoulder. He winked as Marvus halted, and the man cast around for something else to do.

But no matter where he and his family went, there was another damn Gnoll! They grinned, insisting he stand back and not ruin his lovely suit, complimenting the food he’d brought, thanking him for the sauces—they had their own, they hoped he’d enjoy them—and after thirty minutes, Marvus was standing around.

With nothing to do.

The final straw was when a Silverfang Gnoll cub came over, clearly tasked with handing out drinks to the early guests. That was it. Marvus mounted back up.

“I can see you’re well-attended-to here. We’ll just be back on time for the cookout. C’mon, Burlise!”

“But Da—”

Some of the Rominets were actually eating and socializing early. Marvus just jerked his head, and she reluctantly got back on horseback. He rode off, furiously giving orders.

“Tell Aronia what’s going on. I want us bringin’ some of our best. Something to add to that! Tell your mother…they’re outdoing us!”

Dead gods damnit, it even smelled good! He hadn’t even seen some of the dishes on the tables, but some bastard had made a spice blend so damn good his mouth was watering just inhaling it. Marvus sent a rider to tell Rabbo Golva to bring out the best stuff, not just one bottle of his sauce.

It was shaping up to be a cookout for the ages—before he heard the thumping. Then Marvus turned, and his horse reared. He had to grab the reins.

“Hell’s own horses.”

He whispered. For if the Lischelles were all about the hospitality, the manners, friendly or not—

The Terlands had come in their own way.

The first Stealth-Golem de-cloaked and walked forwards, a vast eyeball with a metal, segmented neck and thin limbs, walking over some of the screaming horses. Marvus nearly drew blade on it—when he saw the Hunter-Killers appear.

Three loping quadrupeds, each one with the head of a wolf, crawling forwards. They bounded into place and advanced as a second Stealth-Golem walked into being, shadows flickering and revealing a carved face, that of a half-Elf wearing a [Ranger]’s outfit—but a Golem armed with a shimmering bow.

They were descending on the cookout. Golems marching into place, forming a protective circle. And the Gnolls, Drakes, and Humans saw them and felt the cold eyes of Golems on them.

“Dad?”

His sons and daughters jerked Marvus out of watching. He turned.

“Hurry up, and let’s get back to the house. If you’ve got anything fancier—wear it. We’ll be there…an hour early. Hang politeness. The Drakes might not be our only problem if those Golems’re here to stay. Be on your best manners.”

He began to ride faster, heart thundering with anticipation.

——

The cookout didn’t start at any one given moment. Rather, it had already started the instant the Lischelles had shown up. A few had stayed to scope things out, and so had the Rominets.

Thusly, they should be fed and seated, and Ilvriss and Lyonette began to greet them and chat. How are you doing? No, no, have a drink—we have plenty, and it’s great to meet you again. Yes, that cattle raid was us—and who is this? Charmed! Have you met Clan Leader Plisce? We’ve got a few more people with us.

Oh, you know, Humans from Liscor and Riverfarm—have you met the [Emperor]? One of his representatives is here, let me just introduce—

And so on. In fact, the before-party was drawing in the various attendees before the actual cookout was supposed to begin. Why?

Well, some of the guests didn’t want to be part of the real cookout. They knew it might get…tense. But they’d heard ‘free amazing food’ and just had to get a piece of it, right?

Nithle Calabie was not his father—old Grussel was pretty much retired, too old to ride around, but it meant he was the ‘young’ one among the [Cattle Barons]. It made it hard to deal with his father, who had his Skills and authority, as well as difficult to throw his weight around with the hard-punching, hard-talking leaders of the other families, who’d often go behind his back to talk to his father and pit the two against each other.

He didn’t like the Wall Lord or the Terlands coming south. The only reason Nithle was here was because Aronia had told his wife they couldn’t miss this event. And Eni had wanted to meet the [Princess]…

Nithle was already unhappy because he’d realized his contribution of a damn good egg salad to the barbeque was going to be virtually unnoticeable and it was one of his best creations.

“Swive me, but this is a Wall Lord’s wealth, eh? The bastard was giving out free gemstones last time. Think we can nab those?”

“Nithle, hush yourself!”

He was grumping as they stood around the cookout. But no sooner did he speak than Wall Lord Ilvriss appeared, and Nithle’s teeth ground together.

“Nithle Calabie, am I correct? Delighted you showed up.”

“We’re here early, Wall Lord, apologies; we thought we’d help out, and we’ve brought something—”

“Thank you, and nonsense about helping out! Can we get you a drink? Lyonette, this is Nithle Calabie and I believe Eni Calabie? Two of the best [Ranchers] of the Calabie family. Is Grussel here or resting? He’s the former head of the family?”

The two Calabies were taken aback when the [Princess], looking quite splendid in a flowery dress, came by.

“Oh my, it’s a delight!”

“Er, likewise. You know about us?”

Nithle hadn’t introduced himself or Eni, let alone his father, but Ilvriss shook his hand, almost confused.

“You’re one of the major players in the region, aren’t you?”

Major players in the region. Nithle liked that. His family was often passed up for the Lischelles or Golvas, but yes, dead gods damnit! Ilvriss gestured around.

“We’re not finished, but we have food and entertainments, soon—”

“We know we’re early, we do apologize. Your Highness, I’m honored to meet you!”

Eni was already blushing, but Lyonette just bowed to her as they shook hands.

“The honor is all mine, Eni—may I call you that? And your dress is stunning!”

At this, Nithle was reminded that Eni had insisted on wearing the scorpion-dress, or whatever it was called, that she’d gotten from abroad and paid a fortune for. But it got compliments from all the ladies, even the female—[Knight]?

The man was so startled to see the golden [Knight]—had he missed her last time?—that he took the drink Ilvriss handed him and sipped it. Then he was walking around and hissing at one of his brothers.

“Nithle, Nithle—should we go back?”

“No, we’re here, let’s just take a look around and—tits on a Kraken, is that a Drake?”

The largest damn Drake he’d seen in his life was standing at a table, loading a plate up with meat. Nithle’s brother, Oxfen, turned.

“Dead gods, that’s the Sinew Magus! You remember when I rode to House Ulta for salt? I swear I saw his image all over the cities! And who’s that woman with a bag on her head?”

“That’s got to be Lady Pryde—what’re they doing here?”

The two men hesitated and then saw Grimalkin begin housing meat like it was water. He was eating with a will and commenting to the [Lady] shovelling down food with equal vigor.

“This might not be the healthiest meal, but Ancestors, it was worth the break.”

“We’ll have to steal as much as we can carry. I told you it was worth coming out here for.”

“You are, as ever, correct, Pryde. Where’s Valeterisa?”

“Inspecting those Golems. Tell her we’re not staying—I’m not dealing with Ulva. She’s prickly.”

“She’s prickly.”

“Yes, and I’m saying it. Where’s Relc? Relc, go get Valeterisa!”

Another huge Drake turned from where he was salivating over more of the food and went running off—and he was fast. Nithle reckoned he knew the name ‘Relc’ from somewhere. The television?

He was just deciding to walk over and introduce himself to the [Lady] and maybe the Drake, even if he was a Drake, when he saw—Nithle’s hand went for his belt.

“There’s a Goblin there.”

“What?”

Oxfen laughed. He thought Nithle had gotten into his drink too much, but Nithle pointed.

“There’s a damn Goblin with a chef’s hat preparing the meat! Does no one see it? Let’s—”

He finally got his belt knife out, casting around for his people, when someone put a hand on his shoulder.

“Aha, I thought this would happen. Don’t worry, he’s just the [Chef]. Imani, dear? Tell Calescent he’s running out of time.”

“Who—”

A Centaur smiled down at Nithle, and his jaw dropped. Palt handed Nithle a cigar.

“Cigar? I’m Palt of Barehoof Kitchens. [Mage] of Wistram, pleased. That’s one of our [Chefs].”

“Wh—hell—that’s a G—”

“Yes, yes, but you notice that no one’s killing him? Just pretend he’s not there. Even Archmage Valeterisa doesn’t mind. Oh, and there she is.”

“But—”

Then he saw the woman flying down. Like someone out of stories, and Nithle was ashamed to admit it later, but he completely forgot about the Goblin. He just stood there, open-mouthed and when Valeterisa landed and began stealing food, he ran up like a boy to shake her hand. No sooner had he done that than Courier Salamani walked past with Ci the horse.

A Courier. But the group of [Mages] were, as it turned out—not welcome? A girl wearing plaid was chasing the lot of them, waving her fists.

“Valeterisa, you can’t eat all our food and run off before the cookout starts! Put that back! I saw you pulling a Telim!”

“Who’s stealing all our food?”

Imani turned from where she was cooking, wrath in her eyes, and Valeterisa instantly turned invisible. Grimalkin and Pryde began shovelling meat into their bags of holding, and—Nithle was grabbing his brother’s arm.

“Oxfen, tell Dad to get out here! He’s going to miss meeting—get everyone who wants to meet the Archmage of Izril, hurry!”

His brother had to be kicked to go riding back the way he’d come, and Oxfen vowed to never let Nithle hear the end of it if he missed meeting the Archmage. That was how more people began arriving. The Golvas rode up early, having heard about—

“Is that a damn Goblin?”

Rabbo nearly leapt off his horse in horror, but Nithle was pointing.

“Nevermind that, Rabbo. Look, it’s that fellow! The Flying Gnoll of—”

“Felkhr! I don’t recall inviting you!”

They were scavenging the cookout! The Flying Gnoll of Pallass was grinning at Lyonette as she stormed over, then caught sight of Xif. The Pallassians had used the door from the inn and were raiding the buffet! The last straw was when she caught Jelaqua sneaking into the barbeque with a group of young people she’d promised free food to.

“That’s it! No one enters this cookout who’s not invited!”

“But Lyonette, you wouldn’t turn away a bunch of orphans, would you? Have a heart. We’ll just eat and go before the Terlands show up—”

Jelaqua and her group activated [Pitiful Expressions], and the [Princess] hesitated, only for the other [Rancher] families to assure her they had food to make up for whatever the guests stole. The [Princess] glanced at the grinning Selphid, then developed a sinister smile.

“Of course, where are my manners? May I introduce Jelaqua Ivirith, the Gold-rank adventurer? And Master Maughin of Pallass, the best [Armorer] in the entire Walled City? Master Pelt, the greatest Dwarven smith in Izril—get over here!”

She pointed out the trio, and Pelt swore as he turned—only to see everyone coming at him. Lyonette smiled as Jelaqua sighed.

If you’re coming here to eat, you’re paying for it! Then she saw a man with extraordinary thighs—and an aura—covertly loading up his plate.

“Lord Xitegen, I’m afraid a Goblin helped prepare that. What, er, are you doing here?”

Xitegen froze as his serving Golems secured drinks and a chair for him. He eyed the food, then stuck his fork in a sauced piece of bacon.

“As distasteful as it may be, Lyonette, I will force myself to choke down the food for I am nothing without good manners. I heard someone was stealing all the food. Is this Salazsarian bacon I’ve heard about?”

“No, that’s just—”

Xitegen instantly handed the plate off, grabbed a fresh one, and found the Salazsarian bacon. He began to eat. Lyonette stared at him.

“Aren’t you here early?”

“Aren’t I the guest of the hour?”

“Do you think you’ll have room in your stomach for the actual cookout?”

He slapped his stomach.

“Miss Marquin. I realize you, as a small-stomached individual, doubt me. I assure you I’ll have room. Now, objectionable Goblin, what’s the best food here?”

The objectionable Goblin thought about it.

“Try the fancy burgers before someone eats them all. They very good. Fancy.”

Xitegen Terland eyed said burgers, which had details like panini patties, a load of toppings, were perfectly rare, and had an assortment of dipping sauces on a plate. It might be impossible to unhinge a jaw enough to actually take a full bite of the biggest ones, but Mrsha was giving it a shot.

She sidled over with a second plate and offered it to Xitegen as he stood there, inspecting a buffet that even he, in his Terland richness, had not dreamed of. Seconda took it for Xitegen, and Lyonette threw up her hands.

“Oh—suit yourself!”

Mrsha and Xitegen locked eyes as they chowed down. After a few bites and gulps of juice, he spoke conversationally.

“Just so you know, this doesn’t endear me to Salazsar…much. We’ll just refrain from destroying their pig farms when we attack the City of Gems. And I’m not the worst Terland, for once. You think I’m difficult? My Aunt threw me out of the carriage the other day for giving her lip. She’s not going to be won over by three Archmages or this delightful bacon. How’s the burger?”

Beyond salutary, Xitegen. I’m just here to eat. My mother’s the one who has to get down to brass tacks, brass balls, or presumably something made of brass with Lady Ulva.

He chuckled.

“I notice you have a commendable appetite and have secured the finest vittles. I would have expected your mother to wrangle you with a leash like I hear they do in Calanfer.”

For a moment, the Gnoll girl stopped eating. She scribbled in the air with a glowing paw.

She stopped when I nearly starved to death.

“Ah.”

Xitegen paused in his eating for a second and eyed Mrsha. It hadn’t been that long since he’d seen her, and she couldn’t have…unless this was some horrific backstory he’d hither-to not been told of? But one look at her and he believed her.

Survivor to [Survivor]. After a moment, he glanced around.

“I see. My condolences. Also, may I congratulate you on the bowtie? It’s a fine day to be alive.”

Absolutely, and thank you. You should save a tiny bit of room for the cake, Xitegen.

“…What kind of cake?”

——

By the time Ulva Terland arrived via the inn’s magic door, Archmage Valeterisa was flying off. She’d literally taken off the moment she sensed Ulva’s aura, and she was flying—if somewhat unsteadily because she seemed worried she’d puke out her stomach if she moved too fast.

Most of the other inn’s friends had already scarpered. Which annoyed Ulva, because she’d wanted to meet Valeterisa.

However, she was House Terland, and she did not show up early, but slightly late for this gathering, and she refused to be impressed. She wore a half-scowl on her face as the entire cookout stopped to announce her.

“House Terland has come. Gree-tings to you, Salazsar. We see you.”

Timekeeper heralded her, and the Terlands brought no gifts to the cookout, no food. Only Golems.

It was Wall Lord Ilvriss and Lyonette du Marquin who met Ulva Terland as the Lischelles turned, the Golvas, the other [Rancher] families, appraising her, bowing, some of them kneeling, forgetting how one addressed the Five Families—and some refused to do either.

Proud folk. Drakes. A [Princess]. Ulva’s eyes locked on Ilvriss, and her heart beat slower a second, constricting in pain. She grimaced as she walked over the grass. He offered her a bow and moved forwards, hand outstretched.

She glanced at Timekeeper. The Golem nodded to her. Then two ‘lesser’ Golems stepped forwards and swung down their blades.

A pair of War Golems, the kind that Magnolia Reinhart had used against the Goblin Lord, levelled their battleaxes at the Wall Lord, and he halted. The Rubirel Guard brought up their shields and hesitated—

Golem eyes and Golem Hearts blazing with cold magic. Ulva Terland spoke as her Golems spread out, and her family, half of whom had snuck into the gathering early, halted.

“Not one step closer, Wall Lord. We are not friends. Nor have I any intention of greeting Salazsar. I am Ulva Terland of the north. The Golems of House Terland have marched to judge you. If I am displeased by what I find, all of this ends.”

She turned her head, glancing across the frozen cookout. Wall Lord Ilvriss swallowed, then spoke through a forced smile.

“Given our past altercations, I quite understand, Lady Ulva. May I at least offer you the hospitality of the cookout?”

“If you must. I don’t care for meat. Find me something appropriate, Primera. The self-styled nobility of these Cowpat Plains shall present themselves to me now.”

The Lischelles, Golvas, and other families stirred until her glance at them made them realize it was not a request. Their backs went up, and they straightened their clothing. Ulva heard a whisper in her ear.

“Great Aunt, shouldn’t we try to be more diplomatic—?”

She turned, and Alorelle was pulled backwards by a Golem. Ulva’s eyes flashed.

“No. I do not suffer rogue [Princesses] on my lands, nobles that the Five Families have not acknowledged, or Drakes. I have met the [Emperor], and he has my goodwill…for now. He should fear that changing, or the wrath of the other Five Families.”

“Lady Ulva, I assure you, I have no intention to get in your way. May I greet you on behalf of The Wandering Inn and Eternal Calanfer?”

Lyonette du Marquin bowed very carefully, offering Ulva a smile like sunshine. Ulva glanced at her.

“You are a runaway, Princess du Marquin. Your mother may greet me on behalf of Eternal Calanfer. Not you. Nor are you the [Innkeeper] I am told matters so very much. You may greet me on behalf of your title and nothing else.”

So saying, Ulva Terland put a hand out, and a glass of wine was put into it. She sipped at the wine as Lyonette struggled to keep her smile, and everyone at the cookout tried to not glare at Ulva. And the [Matriarch] of House Terland was amused.

There now.

That was better.

——

Mrsha decided that Ulva Terland was a menace. And she, as an amateur menace herself, could only admire how fast Ulva put everyone against her.

There had to be some logic to it. Or she’s just being a jerk.

Mrsha didn’t get it. Even Tyrion could be somewhat sociable at times, as he’d proved in the beach garden. But Ulva was old school. She reminded Mrsha of Maviola in some senses, but the [Lady] had come in youth and relative humility, and Maviola had been all fire and passion. She’d been ready to war with Erin at times, but…

Hm. Terlands are just grumpier? Mrsha didn’t know. But she was worried. Certainly, she caught a bit of Ulva meeting the Lischelles, and it did not look good.

…For House Terland. Surely, they had to get the Lischelles on their side? Or did they think their Golems could just stomp anyone who got in their way? Maybe they could.

Mrsha was worried that even if they were waning, House Terland could beat up everyone and do what it wanted. If that was so, Ulva was pushing her luck.

“I am Aronia, Lady Terland, and this is Marvus, my sons and daughters—”

Aronia Lischelle was all smiles in front of Lady Terland, though it clearly took effort for her to bow deeply. She was a proud woman, and Mrsha mostly respected her—even if she’d apparently phantom-slapped Lyonette and hit Colfa. She had made the Lischelles’ fortune here, and Ulva…

Inspected her.

“Rise, the lot of you. The Five Families are no royalty. I’m told you all own the Cowpat Plain, and produce the finest cattle in the continent.”

The Lischelles puffed up—and Mrsha almost saw Ulva smile before she hit them on the way up.

“And you ran out the nobles who owned this land. We shall address that crime. I have three petitions for the reinstatement of the noble families who claim you have squatted and profited from their lands.”

Aronia’s and Marvus’ faces froze up. It was the [Cattle Baron] who carefully bowed again.

“Begging your pardon, Lady Ulva, but they forfeited their lands during the Goblin King’s rampage. When they came back, they attempted to hang good men and women and claim all our work as their own.”

“And?”

Ulva Terland’s aura was a physical thing, like a wall, and it bore down on Marvus as he spoke. As implacable as a wall of marble to the face. He hesitated.

Aronia finished her husband’s sentence.

“…And we feel that we have a better claim to these lands than that lot, begging your pardon for our frank speech, Your Ladyship.”

She locked eyes with Ulva, and Mrsha felt her push the oncoming aura back. Marvus nudged his wife, but the two women didn’t say a word and locked gazes.

Dead gods, that looks highly uncomfortable. Is she always like this?

Mrsha asked Lord Xitegen, who was watching the showdown. He would know best, wouldn’t he? Xitegen replied softly.

“In truth? No. Only when she’s annoyed—she used to be a paranoid recluse afraid of her own shadow. This is the Ulva I heard stories of as a boy. She and Petria were the Twin Virtues. The Twin Terrors—before our time, Mrsha.”

Hmm. And does she actually make good on her threats?

“She threw me out of a carriage when I gave her backtalk.”

That didn’t sound good at all. Aronia was the one to back down and glance at Ulva’s feet, smiling and bowing again. Ulva waved them off. Beckoned, and the Golvas were next.

“It’s not how it used to be.”

Xitegen and Mrsha jumped. They turned, and an old man was eating egg salad. Or rather, a Golem with extraordinarily large breasts was serving it to him, and he just opened his mouth to eat. He had a permanent hunch, and he was definitely a Terland. Mrsha eyed the smiling half-Elf Golem, the [Lord], and glanced around for a drink.

She had a feeling she was going to need one the more she met the Terlands. She half-wished she’d skipped the cookout, but she owed it to Ilvriss to show up and be at least moral support. He’d had a hard time.

Plus, the food was amazing.

Xitegen was on his fifth rasher of bacon as he introduced the old man.

“Lord of Hearts Nouzcrat, meet Mrsha du Marquin. She’s mute and the [Princess]’ daughter, so don’t be rude.”

“A Gnoll child. What are [Princesses] getting up to these days? They weren’t [Harlots] in my time.”

The old [Lord] had about as much charisma as Ulva. The Gnoll girl offered him a paw, which he gingerly shook after a second, then held up a card.

Hello, Lord Nouzcrat. I’m adopted, so if you can read, I do hope you recant your statement. As for claims about my mother’s proclivities in the bedroom, Lyonette is not the one who sucks on Golem breasts.

Xitegen choked on his next bite of meat, and his Golems had to give him the Heimlich to save his life. The [Lord] eyed the note.

“…She reminds me of Reinharts. I saw one loitering around. And an El. We just need a Veltras and Wellfar and we’ll have all the representatives here. What are the other two Five Families doing?”

“Lady Desinee’s apparently just selling new merchandise, and Lady Damia? No clue. She’s caused trouble for me. I warned you to be polite, Great Uncle Nouzcrat.”

“Hmpf. How old are you, child?”

Nine? Who can say how old one is, Lord Nouzcrat. Time becomes meaningless, one finds.

The grumpy old guy did laugh at that.

“Hah! A Gnoll with the eloquence of a [Sophist]. That is funny enough to warrant this trip. How did you meet this one?”

“The inn, Great Uncle. It’s always the inn. Why are you eating that dreadful egg salad?”

“It’s excellent, actually.”

“Really? Seconda, secure me and Mrsha a portion—”

Nouzcrat was one of a number of Terlands mingling around, most of whom seemed snooty, aloof, and hung out with their own Golems. Even talking to the Golems, actually. It made it really hard to socialize, so Mrsha realized the Drakes and Gnolls who were trying their best were having trouble.

Mind you, the Silverfangs were a good addition to the gathering. Everyone wanted to talk to the Gnolls, if only to mention how racist they weren’t, and the Silverfangs were actually getting along with the [Ranchers]. Some were playing the horseshoe game, and Nanette apparently liked Burlise, one of the Lischelle daughters, and had already formed a huge social circle.

Including, Mrsha had to note, a certain young [Lord] who was uncomfortable, but Nanette kept dragging him into the conversation. Nouzcrat nearly spat out his next bite of egg salad.

“Aha! I knew it! There’s the Veltras! Where’s the Wellfar?”

He pointed accusatorily at Hethon Veltras, and Xitegen scratched his chin.

“Good point. They keep missing all the fun on their damn ships. But that young fellow visits The Wandering Inn often. He’s not on official business, Nouzcrat.”

“He looks old enough for it. In my day, you could speak with the authority of the Five Families as long as you could talk. We’d paddle your rear end for doing it without a damn good reason…your Great Aunt’s just reminding everyone how it works.”

“By making everyone hate us, Great Uncle? I have to live around here, you know. And having experienced Lischelle-quality beef, I don’t want to go back! It’s all very well for you lot when you go back north, but consider my position!”

Xitegen was remonstrating with Nouzcrat, and the old man frowned as he was served a piece of steak, tenderized by another Golem.

“This isn’t bad. What’s that disgusting stuff over there?”

“…Silkap? Gnollish. It’s quite tasty on crackers.”

“Ugh, foreign food. I’ll try it. Every now and then, I find something I like at these get-togethers. We stopped having them after the Goblin King died. And never with Drakes—Ulva’s just doing what she always did with Petria. One plays hard, the other soft. Ulva sweeps in with stomping Golems, then Petria offers the softer side of House Terland.”

Like Golem breasts.

“Exact—ahem.”

Nouzcrat and Xitegen coughed. The [Lord] peered at Mrsha.

“Shouldn’t children go and make mischief somewhere else? Like that boy there.”

He pointed at Sammial Veltras, who was going around and staring up at Golems and demanding to know what they did—and to show him. Please. Mrsha held up a card.

Shouldn’t old perverts go harassing Golems somewhere we can’t see them?

“Enough about my Golems!”

Nouzcrat purpled, and Mrsha, undaunted, held up another card.

I’m just giving you the same attitude your family’s giving me. I shall condescend to politeness when you do, Lord Nouzcrat. Did anyone mention to Ulva Terland that her sister’s dead so she’s just a jerk?

The [Lord] opened his mouth furiously, then hesitated. He and Xitegen eyed each other as they watched Ulva holding court. After a moment, Nouzcrat turned.

“Soffie. Get me Madrinal.”

Another Golem strode off and boobily breasted towards another [Lord]. Mrsha simply eyed the old man. He was no doubt a [Lord]; he had an aura, if not the strongest one, and he seemed intelligent enough, despite his proclivities in his Golems.

But he had been utterly absent from her understanding of Izril until now. Terlands, who lived in the north and did not touch the Izril that Mrsha understood.

If you’ve come here to evict Wall Lord Ilvriss, may I ask why Ulva’s even bothering to show up, Lord Nouzcrat? It might be easier on us all if she stopped pretending and just had the Golems kill us. Don’t forget the women and children.

The old man hesitated as Madrinal and several other of the senior members of House Terland walked over. Alorelle stared at the girl writing that in the air, but the [Lord] replied, as if forgetting he spoke to a child.

“We are not monsters.”

“Ha!”

Mrsha and Xitegen laughed at that, and the old [Lord] eyed them.

“We are not. And there are complications around any…hostilities. We have come to judge. But we are House Terland. Should we be impressed by decent food or a few [Ranchers] and a tiny expedition led by a Drake? We’ve counted, and he has only a thousand [Soldiers] at most, and plenty of [Miners].”

He did not come for war.

“Then he was foolish. We wait for something to impress us that this is worth allowing.”

The [Lord] looked down his nose at Mrsha. She wrote, unfazed by his gaze or aura.

You’ve got a hanging booger there, my friend. If you want to be awed, you missed the Archmage of Izril just now. Not our fault you showed up late.

“Hah! We’ve seen Archmages come and go. Without the class, why do they matter? Wait, why are we talking to some bratty child!”

Lady Alorelle broke in, and Lord Xitegen watched, sipping from a cup. He was familiar enough with Mrsha, and he wasn’t going to jump in this one and catch whatever she had in her back pocket.

——

Lady Damia Reinhart was aware…the cookout wasn’t going great. On the other hand, she could hear whispers.

“—think she’s going to insist we let a [Lord] take over our lands?”

“If she wants to do that, she’s got a hell of a fight on her hands. We ain’t letting it happen.”

Rabbo Golva was hissing with some of the other [Cattle Barons]. Marvus was worried as he glanced over his shoulder.

“She’s got those Golems, and I don’t think you can shoot them, Rabbo—”

“Golems nothing. Lasso one up and drag it into a hole and it don’t matter how big it is—it can’t beat twenty men on it with ropes. ‘Sides, it’s a big place. She won’t stick around.”

“We came here for the Drake, though. How many did he get from you, Marvus? If he’s going to raid us—”

“We can’t let him get away with it, I know. But between that damn half-Elf and the Terlands, it’s just not the right moment to push him hard. Listen, let’s figure out what the Terlands are doing. They’re complicating things…”

That was the benefit, Damia realized, to having House Terland show up. They were a problem to the [Ranchers] and took focus away from Ilvriss. Though arguably that wasn’t good because Ilvriss had two enemies, now.

Damia didn’t know what to do, but she was trying her best. The problem was, she was back in noble territory, and while she’d levelled up helping the inn…

“Hello, Lord Moltin, I’m Lady Damia Reinhart.”

“Ah, Lady Damia, greetings.”

The surprised Lord of Stone shook her hand and awkwardly made small-talk with Damia. She tried to talk up Ilvriss and the Drakes, but before she could get to that, the recently-ennobled man coughed.

“[Information Search: Damia Reinhart]. Er, and how is Lady Cecille doing? Well, I hope? Glad to have not seen—I mean, wonderful whenever we meet. And your fiancé, I mean, boyfriend, I mean br—Wernel?”

He stared in horror at something he’d just read. Damia sighed.

It transpired that when you were a minor [Lady], the one interesting fact about you was what everyone remembered. She spoke, hurriedly, as Lord Moltin wiped his hand on his jacket.

“Wernel and I aren’t seeing each other, Lord Moltin. That’s a very regrettable, er, fact that you—I’m currently working for Wall Lord Ilvriss! May I talk about his work here and why I hope House Terland will come to a peaceful resolution?”

“I, er, yes—”

Damia tried to mention cooperation between Drakes and Gnolls, point out the Silverfangs, Lyonette—but she rather feared Moltin was so focused on the factoid he’d reminded himself about that he missed the rest.

“Damnit! We have to sway them, Binevy! Maybe I’ll try Lady Ulva next.”

“I wouldn’t, Lady Damia. She’ll chew you up and spit you out.”

Binevy whispered, clearly aware of Ulva’s reputation. So was Damia, but she was groaning.

“We have to do something! All the old Terlands hate the Drakes, and I can’t sway them—”

“And why are we so set on allowing him to dig in the north? Not that I hold Ilvriss any particular bad will. But I rather think after the mess he got me into, any goodwill from the Winter Solstice has worn off.”

Damia jumped and turned. Desinee El was standing in the gathering, seeming almost as lost as Damia, sipping from a drink. She grimaced.

“Hello, Lady Damia.”

“Lady Desinee, er, hello. I thought you were lost after the cattle raid incident?”

One glare said Desinee was not happy about that, but as the lone member of her house, she and Damia were actually somewhat friendly. Especially because one look meant both recognized they were swept up in the inn’s chaos. Although Damia seemed much happier than Desinee about that.

“Let’s just say that fate has aligned such that I’m an observer—but little more for the House of El. We are not hostile towards the Wall Lord, but the interest of Walled Cities in our lands? How are you fine with it?”

“I’m a Reinhart, Desinee. Wall Lord Ilvriss has provided me with opportunities to level and earn gold, and he has not come in with wrath or violence. What else should I be wary of?”

Desinee pursed her lips thoughtfully.

“True, one could argue he’s a friendly Drake, the kind that Magnolia wanted to make peace with. Even so, it doesn’t strike you as traitorous to even envision allowing him in the north?”

“Traitorous to whom, Desinee? The last Drake we allowed north was Zel Shivertail, the Drakes’ hero who died for us. Do we not owe them a debt? Or do the Five Families forget the one war hero among Drakes even we acknowledged?”

That brought the [Artificer Lady] up short. Desinee regarded Damia, then tossed her head slightly and adjusted a hat keeping the sun from beating down on her.

“Ugh, not bad. I forgot the old Reinhart tongue was clever. Try that on the Terlands. Though they’re stubborn as Golems. And why should I help?”

Damia pressed two fingers to the side of her head, and Desinee eyed her again, but then Damia’s face lit up.

“Well, Lady Desinee, because Salazsar will simply have to sell the House of El gems at a discount. If not the whole city, House Gemscale sort of has gems in the name. Imagine a trade deal with them alone?”

Desinee’s mouth opened, and her eyes flickered. Then she produced a mini-abacus.

“That would be unthinkable, normally. We’d be inspecting each gem for cracks or deliberate—we have to buy Salazsarian gems, of course, but we go through multiple channels. There are damn [Reseller Merchants] whose entire job it is to facilitate north-south trade clandestinely for appearance’s sake.”

The younger [Lady] peered over Desinee’s shoulder, speaking sweetly like an evil [Vizir] whispering in Desinee’s ear.

“What’s the markup on that? 15%? You know those [Merchants] are using Skills. Imagine a 15% reduction on gemstone costs, Desinee. And what if he could get some Pallassian steel via his company too?”

“Eugh, what are you? Some kind of [Temptress]? Excuse me, I need to make a call. Desinee to Deilan. Hello?”

Desinee shooed Damia off, but the [Lady] followed, grinning. She heard Desinee speaking rapidly to a man who sounded disinterested at first, then very interested.

“…again, Desinee? Trade deals? That’s unconscionable. The family would riot.”

“How much of the family, Deilan? And how much if we just skipped the entire reseller’s fees? And we could get Prime Gems from House Gemscale—do they sell them?”

“They do! In fact, due to a Skill, they mine gemstones even in the north at a low rate, without searching for them! Hello, Lord Deilan. Damia Reinhart here, very eligible, unmarried [Lady] of House Reinhart. And have I mentioned that The Wandering Inn controls door travel? If you wanted anything shipped from Pallass at speed, you might arrange transit without fees.”

“Who’s that? Er, greetings—”

Desinee was shoving Damia, but gave up as Deilan began to ask more questions. And like that, Damia put another of the Five Families on Salazsar’s side.

Soft power. Or rather, she reflected, the power of one of the richest cities in the world. Inaccessible, of course, to their enemies.

Unless it was through a Drake you could trust. A Drake who could be less of a Drake at times. She saw Ilvriss walking around with briefcases in hand, and that was why she liked him too. She just didn’t know if Lyonette was seeing him or…? Maybe that would be a good way to get the [Princess]’ attention.

Either way, Damia really hoped this got her an invitation to The Wandering Inn.

——

Wall Lord Ilvriss was aware Ulva Terland was not relenting in her position. And he intended to, uh—wait for Nerul to get here. The [Diplomat] was racing towards Pallass with ‘a trump card’, so Ilvriss was waiting for that.

If not, he’d do his best. But he couldn’t hover around Ulva nonstop—not that she was letting him. Her Golems literally kept him at sword length, and until she wanted to talk to him, he did what he could.

Namely, going to the other parties in the cookout and making nice. He’d tried last time, socializing, not saying anything biting—but Ilvriss had realized that was a milquetoast offensive.

It didn’t work. It had just led to Marvus punching him in the face over the last few weeks. That wasn’t to say that Ilvriss should have gone in like Zail would. You see, it was a false binary, the position of being either offensive or not.

Ilvriss was a Wall Lord. A somewhat stuffy and, he had to admit, corporate class at times. No great warrior. No superb diplomat. No charming, dancing [Princess].

He copped to that. So, Ilvriss went in as he was and hoped Lyonette would bail him out. He trusted his instinct that he was doing the right thing.

Because his instincts said…don’t do this.

So Ilvriss walked over to Marvus Lischelle as the man went for a drink and held out a claw.

“Marvus. May I have a word?”

“Ilvriss. You can get one for the food. I heard there was something peculiar with the cooks—but it’s damn good food. And those Silverfangs are pretty much country-bred as they come.”

It cost the man to admit that. Rather to Ilvriss’ amazement, it felt like throwing a decent cookout had actually won points with Marvus. Or maybe it was the cattle raid?

“I’m sorry about the two bulls the other day, Marvus. I’m glad you allowed me to compensate you for that.”

“Not sorry for stealin’ three hundred of my finest cattle?”

Marvus eyed him, and Ilvriss raised his own brows. Let a bit of the restrained spice flow from his tongue.

“Honestly? Not really as I think you’ve stolen over twice that much from me in a single raid. That’s tit for tat, and any of the rest of my guilt vanished after I recalled being punched in the gut by you last week.”

Against his will, the [Cattle Baron] laughed. Then he growled at Ilvriss.

“Damnit, that’s a [Rancher]’s comment! It doesn’t change anything. You’re digging up trouble or something that doesn’t belong to you, and I don’t know what it is—but it’s still in our land.”

He jerked a thumb at the other [Ranchers] to mean them all. Ilvriss sighed.

“I’m aware of that. Though I point out this was all Drake or Gnoll lands until you drove us off them. But let’s not play the ‘whose land was it’ game, because I’ll win, Marvus. It was brought to my attention the other day that all my work really only rewards the Gemscale Corporation. Me. I’m trying to do better by my people, and yes, it occurs to me that you have a stake in this land yourself. So…here.”

He offered the briefcase, and Marvus lifted his hands.

“We don’t need more gems. Thanks—the family’s still fightin’ over who gets to make them into jewelry—but more gifts at your cookout make no sense.”

“Absolutely not more gems, Marvus. We dig those up like copper, all the time. Call this dividends from the dig. Not much, but I will give you more if we can come to amenable terms.”

Okay, the man had to at least check the briefcase and see what it held. He flipped the latches up and saw…

A pickaxe. It lay in the briefcase, encased in soft velvet custom-fit for it. It was a pretty pickaxe, but—he almost laughed at Ilvriss.

“What? Is this a trophy?”

“Nope. A piece of what we found.”

“You went diggin’ and found a pickaxe? And this sweetens the pot? We don’t dig, Wall Lord.”

Marvus lifted the pickaxe and hesitated as he felt how light it was. Ilvriss smiled.

“If you don’t want it, you’re free to refuse, Marvus. Please refuse. Give it back to Welsca, and I’m sure we can find a use for it.”

The Drake [Adjutant] appeared and seemed ready to snatch the briefcase from Marvus. Her eyes alternated between coveting the pickaxe and glaring at Ilvriss. Marvus hesitated.

“So you dug this up…? Expensive, is it?”

He looked ready to make a joke. Ilvriss just smiled sweetly.

“You’re free to investigate. Though I’d keep an eye on it when you hand it to an [Enchanter]. I hate to generalize, but some get rather light-fingered…”

“It’s one pickaxe.”

“We didn’t find that many. You’ll also notice I’m not handing out pickaxes to anyone else. Welsca, the Golva gift.”

She handed him a briefcase with a lantern in it with an utterly pained expression as if he were stealing her first child. Ilvriss had to yank twice and walked past Marvus.

“Remember that, Marvus. Though I will lie to Rabbo Golva’s face as so—Rabbo! May I present you a rather odd gift?”

He walked off, and Marvus eyed the pickaxe, then glanced around. On a hunch, he put the pickaxe back in the case and walked it over to one of his eldest sons.

“Get this to our [Mage] on the ranch right now and tell me what it does or how good it is. Got it?”

He couldn’t believe the Wall Lord would just give away…and now Marvus wanted to know what the hell the man was digging up. He cast around for Aronia, but hesitated when he saw his wife.

She was standing with Colfa, and the two sisters were alone, utterly polite, all smiles, as they chatted near the cookout. Marvus began to walk over…then decided he could socialize for a few more minutes.

——

Colfa val Lischelle-Drakle was hoping they didn’t slap each other at this cookout, but she was ready. However, Aronia knew it wasn’t her cookout, and Colfa hadn’t insulted her. She was stressed; Colfa could relate.

“Having fun with the Five Families?”

“Stop gloating. She could ruin us. Do you hate the family that much?”

That was Aronia for you. Colfa jerked her head back and hissed.

“You’re the one who practically disavowed me! Relax, Ulva Terland’s no fool. She knows she can’t run you all out. She’s after Ilvriss. We’re the ones in danger.”

“You just had to tie yourself to a Wall Lord. Where’s Himilt? Is your marriage in danger? Is that why you’re always here?”

“If you ever visited Liscor, you’d know he’s just dealing with the farm. Which he has to do single-handedly now everyone’s gone. He’s been preparing for the end of the rains. Training up new farmers. We have a bunch of amateurs, but we’re hoping they stay on—and Himilt loves fishing, it turns out. He’s been relaxing. He doesn’t want to be part of this, and that’s fair.”

What Colfa didn’t say was that Himilt was mostly training Vampires to learn to farm and forging cover identities—and, she suspected, finding other groups and leading them to safety. But he’d forbidden her from coming along. That hurt her, but she had to admit not even Fierre could keep up with Himilt—yet.

He did love fishing, though, and Aronia’s hostility faded.

“Empty?”

“Rivel’s run off after getting himself in trouble. He’s with a good sort, but he made a mess. Fierre’s found love and work, and Bamer passed away.”

“I’m…sorry to hear that. I should visit. It’s not far, but it feels like it. Is that door really able to take you back and forth? If you need hands, you should have asked.”

“I don’t want to be in your debt.”

Aronia hesitated, then shook her head.

“I’ll send fifteen of the lads to help you plant. Don’t call it a debt.”

“No need, we’re fine. It’s just empty these days.”

“No desire to have more children?”

Colfa thought of the long sickness, of children who’d never made it to adulthood, of learning the truth of her body—she might be healing, or maybe she’d continue being sick. Only Fierre was surely cured. She drank wine and murmured softly.

“No. I’m fine, Aronia. Lyonette’s a good friend, and I’m having fun. I went on the cattle raid. That felt like old times.”

“You just had to hit our best ranch.”

“Well, that’s the only thing that would work.”

Colfa eyed Aronia, and the two bristled…then relaxed. Aronia folded her arms and turned to stare across the horizon.

“You never told me you’d lost children. That stung worst of all, you know. I’m sorry. Was it sickness or—?”

When she turned her head, Colfa flinched. Then her eyes flashed with fury, but Aronia wasn’t wielding the knowledge as a weapon. She just seemed heartbroken. So Colfa swallowed.

“How did you know…? Who told you? Himilt?”

He’d never been here, to her knowledge. Had he written to Aronia behind her back? The Human woman just smiled, bleak.

“It was years ago, Colfa. Sometimes, I’d check on you, just by way of gossip or whatnot. No one really knew your family, so I put out a request. Bought information. There was an informant or some such in Reizmelt. They were very cautious about what they gave me. I think they looked up who I was, but then—they wrote it down. More than I’d known.”

Colfa’s eyes closed.

“Fierre. That little—she must have been just starting out. She made so many mistakes.”

“Aye. Telling me all that was wrong of her, but—daughters. I’ve buried two children. One stillborn. The other fell off a horse.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Was she supposed to reach out here? Should they hug, embrace? The urge came and went, and neither woman moved. Not here, with the cookout going. Later, perhaps, they’d find a drink. But Aronia saw Colfa glance downwards.

“It was selfish of us. Selfish to want children knowing we were…sick. Now, they’re gone, both of them. The house is empty, but perhaps it’s as well; it’s too dangerous at home.”

“My home suffers no bandits nor anyone else.”

Aronia glanced at Colfa’s too-white skin, the pointed teeth she’d never had, her red eyes. Colfa just blinked once, then turned away.

“It’s not strong enough for everything, Aronia. I like where I live.”

“City woman.”

The insult was mild. Colfa just smiled and nodded, and Aronia’s chest eased. But that left an issue just as large between them, so she brought it up as she jerked her thumb towards the [Ranchers]. Braced herself again. Aronia scowled.

“You’re bringing Marvus around. That fool can be swayed by a few gifts and a decent cookout. I know better. I thought you did, Colfa.”

“Ilvriss is no monster, Aronia. Sometimes, we’re told things about other people, and they’re just plain wrong. Drakes are good and bad, and he’s one of the best.”

“…Is he? Then if I ask you something, on your children’s lives, will you tell me the truth, Colfa? I’m asking you on family, for the sake of us growing up as sisters. Lie to me and you’re dead.”

Aronia didn’t turn, but Colfa felt her skin crawl. That…she put her cup down on a table.

“What’s gotten into you? You’ve only asked me like that once before.”

About whether I was serious about Himilt. Aronia just stood there, not letting Colfa see her face.

“There’s a half-Elf causing trouble around our lands, Colfa. Around all our lands. Did the Wall Lord send him?”

“A half-Elf? What does he look like? What does he do?”

Instantly, Colfa thought of a certain monster that Lyonette had been warned about. Aronia’s voice was hard.

“Answer the question. Did the Drake send him?”

“No. No, I swear on my children, Aronia. If that monster’s the one I’m thinking of, he’s hit all of Izril this last winter. I’ve heard from [Farmers] in Rheirgest, near Celum, and farther north than Reizmelt. He’s burned fields and plagued lands. He nearly attacked House Byres before someone ran him off.”

At last, Aronia turned, and she seemed relieved, if alarmed.

“Are you sure?”

“His name is Tolveilouka. Ring a bell?”

From the way Aronia’s face stiffened, it did. Colfa lowered her voice.

“I was told he did the same in Drake lands. He’s a true monster, Aronia. I saw him pushed—just once—and I think I’d rather see an Adult Creler than that. Don’t tangle with him.”

“It’s not us tangling with him, it’s him laying waste to entire herds!”

“What’s he done?”

The two began whispering, and Colfa grew more alarmed as she realized that the plague of Tolveilouka had come to her former home. She was searching around for Lyonette—but the [Princess] was still occupied with no less than Lady Ulva.

And worse—

Her mother.

——

Queen Ielane du Marquin was negotiating with Ulva Terland, ruler to ruler. She did this as she prepared a speech for a parade in Calanfer.

With her daughters Shardele, Ellet, and Menisi, though the last of whom was not welcome. Things were changing in Calanfer, but she stood as makeup was applied to her, speaking briskly. Ulva knew what lay behind the Queen of Diplomacy’s charming mask.

“If my daughter has offended House Terland, we shall make amends.”

“And do you speak for this Drake, Queen Marquin?”

Ulva was less blunt, but still coming at the matter like a hammer to a nail. However, the Queen of Calanfer was better than her daughter—and quite enjoying herself.

Mostly because a simmering Lyonette was quite aware of who was talking to whom and hiss-shrieking at Ushar to get her mother out of her way! However, Ielane just chuckled.

“We aren’t opposed to this version of Salazsar. You might look twice, Terland. And we shall incentivize any willingness to diplomacy on your part, despite the inconvenience.”

“With little contracts and promises you cannot afford in your war?”

Ulva snorted, and Queen Ielane was all smiles.

“Your family is not doing well in the New Lands, Lady Terland. Golems run out of mana too quickly, but there is value there, so we believe. It would behoove Terandrians and former-Terandrians to stand together, would it not?”

“I will consider the offer, but if that is the best you have…”

Ulva was rolling her eyes when Ielane spoke.

“For all her faults and, perhaps, impatience to be free of me, my daughter is capable enough. Consider allowing her a moment to speak, Ulva Terland.”

“A minute of Calanfer in your ear is as bad as a second on Kaaz’s dueling courts.”

“If Terland says so with the wisdom of Golems, what is Calanfer to argue? Trade between continents is restarting, but no trade route remains intact. Calanfer’s ports may well replace Pheislant if currents so allow. Or Nadel. Would a trade treaty between our ports suit?”

It would suit, which made Ulva grit her teeth because why was everyone pushing for this damn Drake? She muttered a farewell and hung up the scrying orb.

“Let the [Princess] wait. Let’s see if she has a temper.”

She spoke to Timekeeper, and Ulva finally took a piece of meat and chewed it—it had been thoroughly tested by Golems for poison. She chewed, swallowed—

It was annoyingly tasty. She made the Golems get her more and thought of Petria.

Petria would be circulating the tables, apologizing for her dour sister, gobbling down food, and making merry. Petria, dead.

Waking up from her grief did not diminish it, but made it sharp once more. Ulva Terland stood, alone, with nothing but the hammer of Terland’s might, none of the ability to rest and love what it was.

Goblins had taken that from her. Now, she was one half of a two-woman act. And so…she closed her eyes.

Almost time. She would give the Drake his chance. She’d seen him giving out…objects.

“Timekeeper, the quality of those artifacts?”

“Beyond modern-day, Lady Ulva.”

“So he’s giving away artifacts from the City of Purity. That’s not a Drake quality. He still stands to take the lion’s share.”

But he was giving them away to the [Ranchers]. Ulva glared; she could see one final suitcase likely meant for her. There were a lot of reasons to let him live. Monetary ones. She’d spotted El switching sides, the bastards. As for Reinharts, they were all individualists.

“Lady, ah, Ulva. May I speak to you as one member of the Five Families to an—”

And here came the boy. Hethon Veltras, and Sammial Veltras for backup. Ulva’s look fixed him in place.

“You may not, Lord Hethon Veltras. Lord Sammial Veltras, present yourself.”

Children. She recalled them from First Landing, but without Tyrion…no, they weren’t alone. Ullim and Jericha appeared with House Veltras’ guards, and Ulva nodded once at them. Protectors. Yet the boys approached of their own volition.

More courageous than before. At least, the younger one looked less like a brat. She studied them, nodded.

“Good. Poison has not done damage to either of you, nor kidnapping. Your father is a fool, struck by life and, apparently, time. You are young, and that is forgivable. However, you will not speak to me with the name of Veltras.”

“But we—may we speak to you as [Lords] of House Veltras, then, Lady Ulva?”

Sammial seemed ready to talk, but Hethon put an arm out and tried again. Ulva Terland eyed him.

“That is decent. I grant you the same accord I grant Lady Damia Reinhart and Lady Desinee El, then.”

“Thank you, Lady Ulva.”

“You are welcome, boy. Timekeeper, take these nuisances aside.”

She hid a smile as the Golem instantly moved to shuffle them off. Hethon got what was meant and deflated, but Sammial…she’d wondered if the boy had the old Veltras temper, and sure enough, it exploded before Ullim could grab him.

“Stop being so mean to Lyonette and that Wall Lord guy! Everyone’s telling you not to do something stupid, stupid! Can’t you hear?”

Everyone in earshot froze as Ulva’s head turned. She peered down at the boy, who took two steps behind Ullim.

“I’m a kid. You can’t get mad at me for being a kid.”

He announced, and she snorted.

“I can have you held upside down and beaten like a sack of grain, boy. That temper will earn you trouble if you don’t control it. You remind me of your mother, Salva.”

The two boys froze at the name of the late [Lady] of House Veltras. Sammial hesitated.

“…And?”

“I didn’t care for her. Watch your tongue. I have heard you, Veltras. Begone.”

For some reason, that provoked silence, and Sammial was obediently shepherded off. Ulva sat, scowling around.

Where was the Wall Lord and [Princess]? She’d pushed them, and she’d heard the [Diplomat]—were they that afraid of her? She was about to instigate the confrontation when the thing she didn’t expect hit her. She’d been warned.

But you had to admit, no one expected the little Gnoll girl to hit you that hard.

——

The first clue that Ulva had was when she saw Nouzcrat. The old man was being carried by the half-Elf Golem he loved so much. Unable to stand.

Or engaging in some kind of nuzzling that she was not going to allow in sight of the non-Terlands. She was about to snap at him to get down when she saw the Golem put him down on some chairs and another produce a handkerchief. He was…crying.

Old men cried all the time. She was searching for the reason when another [Lord] stepped away. He was shaking his head.

Madrinal, now, he was no coward. No great, shining leader, but she could trust him to do something hard and see it done, even if it wasn’t perfect. He did not weep, but he appeared rattled.

Then she traced the trajectory of his footsteps and saw the commotion. There…was one of the two people that Ulva had truly come for.

One was that Drake who’d worn Petria’s face, but that was a separate matter to the Wall Lord. Private.

Yet Petria’s ghost had claimed that if there was a debt owed, it was to this girl. In truth, Ulva had been disappointed to see the girl wandering around with nothing more than a kilt and bowtie. But she’d taken her eyes off Mrsha, and like a good sucker punch, the Gnoll had waited until everyone wasn’t paying attention.

She’d hit Nouzcrat with everything she had. And Madrinal. Now she was amidst the Terlands, swinging. Laying them out.

Mostly metaphorically. However, Ulva saw one of the younger Terlands actually sag, as if someone had kicked them. And Lady Damia was amidst them, dragging over the only Terlands who’d listen to her.

The young ones. Younger than Xitegen, young adults, teenagers excited for the trip south. They were the ones fascinated by the Gnolls and Drakes. Agog with Zelkyr’s Golems. Ulva paid as much attention to them as the buzzing of flies. None of them but Xitegen had seen war or had levels.

But they all saw Mrsha, and unlike the older Terlands, who went spinning away, downed in a punch, they seemed drawn to her like fireflies.

What was it? Ulva craned her neck, then strode forwards, the Golems clearing a path. Now Mrsha was throwing paws.

She caught everyone. [Ranchers]. Rabbo Golva backed away and fell over a table as if he’d seen a ghost. Face white.

She was even attacking her own side, if by accident. More than one Gnoll and Drake were backing away from her. Lady Desinee caught a hit and just fell forwards. Captain Todi, cursing, had to grab her. He was one of the only people immune to what Mrsha was throwing down, like the rest of the inn’s staff.

Ulva Terland passed by Elia Arcsinger and stopped.

“Elia. Why are you working here?”

“Lady Ulva. I’m acting as a guard for The Wandering Inn and Princess Lyonette.”

“…For her? Why? If you need gold or you have debts, I’ll settle them.”

For the woman who’d killed the Goblin King, Ulva could do that, even if Elia was no hero of ages. But the half-Elf just bowed.

“I’m on duty, and I should not distract you, Lady Ulva. I am happy in my post. I am levelling.”

“Hmph. Golems hear you, then.”

Ulva Terland passed by the one person in this gathering she had time for, and then she saw what Mrsha was holding. The Gnoll child wasn’t really punching people.

It just felt like it. She simply stood there.

[Survivor of Fates]. Doombearer. She could have spoken with the authority of The Wandering Inn or a Gnoll of the tribes. Or just a [Druid]’s wrath.

But she wasn’t any of those things. Not fully. She was just a child…so what she had, she borrowed. As she had been allowed. Because she’d been there.

The girl took something and held it up in her paws. From one of her many old classes.

[Emberbearer].

She held a pawful of pink flames, and when Ulva Terland gazed into it, she saw Petria’s face. The winds blew as the fire blazed, reflected in Mrsha’s eyes, and then Ulva felt the air catch her face and melt it away—

A younger [Lady] stood with her twin sister, lifting a thin, light wand. Not a mage’s wand, but something else. She stood at the head of a line of Golems. Across from her, she could see House Veltras’ horses pawing at the ground.

Afraid. But Linter was just waiting, lance couched, as Ulva snapped.

“Where are the Reinharts and Wellfars? Cowards!”

Not a single one of their war-carriages? Three of the Five Families would have to do. Let three be enough. For answer, there was a shout.

“Reinhart will be here, trust! Wellfar is sailing upon Zeres! Terland, El, and Veltras will hold them here!”

“Trust a Reinhart, Fulviolo?”

Ulva sneered back, but Petria shouted.

“If we have you two at our backs, then we’ll carve through the Drakes and send them fleeing across the Bloodfields! Make ready! Ulva, prepare to conduct the Golems! [Awaken, Hearts of Stone]!”

She lifted the twin of her sister’s wand in her hand and flicked it, and Ulva saw flames following the head of the House of El. Fulviolo and his sister, Maviola. A burning standard behind their armsmen. Her head rose, and she felt fear in her heart.

“That damn Drake is throwing his troops across the sky. Look.”

The sky was a single thunderhead. She could see Wall Lord Eschowar’s aura of lightning mixed with it. Bolts of lightning were stabbing down as the Drakes marched across the Bloodfields.

“Hold him here. If we break, he’ll spill across our lands and tear everything to bits again.”

Petria was speaking, and Ulva called out.

“[Awaken, Hearts of Stone]! Thunder for House Terland!”

Then they were advancing at a walk as House Veltras streamed past them. Ulva Terland saw a female [Lancer] riding next to Linter. His wife, Celica. How could Ulva have forgotten?

It was the last time the [Lord] and [Lady] of House Veltras would ride to war. Her final battle. And then there was thunder, and Ulva—

—blinked. Time snapped back upon her, and the fire of glory blazed in Mrsha’s paw. Echoing a lifetime of it.

“Ah. That’s not Maviola’s fire.”

That was all Ulva said. It struck everyone around the Gnoll. Lord Xitegen himself had stepped back, a brave man not willing to see his own family in those flames. Ulva Terland gestured, and Golems moved the audience away. Shielding them.

“Lady Ulva. Would you like us to nullify the Skill? It has an emotional component.”

“I am not to be beaten by a single flame, Timekeeper. Leave us.”

The Golem nodded. Ulva Terland walked forwards. The girl stood there.

Hello, Lady Ulva. You’re pretty rude. But where are my manners? I am Mrsha du Marquin of The Wandering Inn. I greet you in the same spirit you greet us.

Ulva almost smiled.

“You are too young and no true royal of Calanfer to speak thusly to me, girl. Calanfer dares not speak to me that loud.”

Then I am just Mrsha. I dare speak to you as myself. Or is House Terland too proud to listen to anyone who does not have a nation behind them?

“Clever. Did your mother teach you to say that?”

No, I came up with it myself. I enjoy speaking to haughty people. Hail, Terland.

Hail. Ulva stopped and glanced around. Then she sneered at Xitegen.

“‘Hail’, she says, as if she were a Dragon. I know I have been alive too long when a child has more eloquence than the heir to House Terland.”

“Dear Aunt, I am good at running, warfare, and eating. A fourth capability is beyond me.”

Xitegen drew himself up, and she snorted. Then Ulva came back at the child. She hadn’t meant to—Mrsha was a child. But she was starting to actually annoy Ulva.

“You are a brat holding someone else’s fire. A single Skill may move the hearts of my family, who let Golems shelter them from splinters and aught else. Not I. Is that all?”

Mrsha tilted her head. She wrote as she clenched her fist over the pink flame and it turned into wisps. That made Ulva’s heart sting, and she grew more annoyed for how cavalierly the girl treated the flame. Or so she assumed. Because Mrsha held out her paw. Like a [Stage Magician], she smiled.

Not just that, Lady Ulva. I can see you are made of sterner stuff than your family. My [Innkeeper] left me with many flames. That one is made of beautiful pain. This one? Just grief. Have you come to kill the people I love again?

Then the blue flame roared, and her paw quivered. For it was heavy—and it blazed between the two. Ulva threw up her hands with a cry.

Timekeeper smothered the flame with one hand, moving so fast that it bloomed for just a second, a true inferno, before he gently covered the girl’s paw. That was enough. Ulva shielded her eyes as Chema caught her, then snapped.

“Away! The day I need a Golem to fight my battles for me with a child is the day I die!”

“She is using flames of memory on you, Lady Terland.”

“And? I have seen those before, girl.”

Ulva poked a trembling finger at Mrsha. In response, the girl flicked her paw, and Ulva tensed. But the third flame that Mrsha produced was the hardest. It made Ulva squint and hold up her hand. It did not burn her, but it was so damn bright…

A grey flame. A grey scythe of hard fire etching itself upwards.

Mercy. And it was this flame the girl held between them.

I’m sure you have, Lady Terland. I’m just reminding you since you seem to have come from House Terland without any of this fire in your heart.

“How dare you.”

The girl stood there as the [Princess] and Wall Lord froze from where they were setting up. A little witch cheered her sister as everyone read. But all Mrsha wrote, with a smile, was this:

I’m just a girl. I’ll leave the big talk for you high-falutin’ adults. You shouldn’t need a child to help you. Just, sometimes, speak a bit of wisdom to fuddy old people. All I have is fire. A little flame. Does it mean nothing to you?

Ulva Terland’s throat rasped, and she was chuckling. Holding a hand over her rapidly-beating heart, and she saw the Lady of El riding north, a flaming flag in her hands. For the last time Ulva had ever seen her. That had been the truest, most beautiful goodbye.

“No. Lady Firestarter was my generation. My time. I remember her, and her glory was gold. She threw it across the sky and set the world aflame in victory. You met the final spark. She would have burned down the High Passes if she had gone there in her youth. Is that all you have to show me? A memory?”

The girl wrote with a glowing paw in the air.

Just a reminder where she left pieces of her fire, Lady Ulva. I am a Doombearer, a sign of the changing era of Gnolls. Will you finish the slaughter of Plain’s Eye?

“No. I have never considered Gnolls sworn enemies as Drakes are. Why even ask?”

Ulva knew she was playing into the Gnoll’s game, but she walked forwards, because she was enjoying this. Mrsha tilted her head, smiling slightly.

Because it was Wall Lord Ilvriss who took Fissival to battle at the Meeting of Tribes. It was he who went against the plans of the Walled Cities to weaken their enemies. Tarring him with the same brush as all Drakes seems foolish. I will not mention the Winter Solstice, or his other deeds, for I am sure you weighed all that carefully when you tried to kill him. But I will say Zel Shivertail’s name to you. Because I knew him, and he went to save Humans.

“He went for Reinhart. I am Terland.”

She felt like she was giving ground. To a child? Mrsha wrote.

And I am Mrsha. You all look pretty much the same to me from afar. Frankly, I don’t think Zel cared. Someone asked, and he went. House Terland’s memory is as old as Golems. Old feuds. Old hatred of Drakes, and I get that. They suck.

“Hey.”

Shut up, Dramm. I get it, Lady Ulva. But in the long memory of Terlands, has there never been a Drake worth talking to? Or did you think to kill him and never speak? Do you want to continue this state of affairs forever? Reinhart is trying to build a wall to break more down. Does Terland listen to no one but Terland?

“Enough.”

Ulva whispered, and the grey flame of mercy winked out. The tugging at her vanished, but the words did not, and she could remember more than a goldfish. Timekeeper lifted his head as the ticking of his heart extinguished the flames. Mrsha eyed him.

Whoa. Your Golems are cooler than Xitegen’s.

“I resent that.”

The [Lady] and girl ignored the others. Ulva spoke down to Mrsha.

“When one stops selecting Golems based on physical attractiveness, they find the true worth of Golems, girl. You might make for a decent Terland.”

I’m not up for adoption.

“I don’t believe I asked. Enough, though. You’ve made your point. Let adults speak indeed. One last thing.”

Ulva was motioning, turning away, when she swung her head back. Her voice rasped.

“I’m told…I owe you a favor. On behalf of someone else. But I have always paid my sister’s silly debts. If I told you to ask for a wish, would you use it for this?”

Mrsha went still, and no one understood what Ulva meant—but the girl did. And her eyes filled with guilt. She hesitated, then shook her head and wrote.

No. Not for this.

“No? You may not like what I do next. I am not convinced that Drake should stay, even if he might live.”

Ulva whispered, and her family stirred, listening. But the girl just wrote with a faint smile.

I don’t want to sway your decision, Ulva Terland. I’d rather save the favor, if I’m allowed one, for when it really matters. Ilvriss is a big boy. He’ll be fine. I’m just a ridiculously cute little girl. Besides…

Her face fell.

If there’s a favor to be owed, I think we’re quits at best. I didn’t save her. I could have.

That last blow made Ulva nearly fall as she stepped away, but she kept her composure. Turned, with a snort.

“The House of Terland does not need saving by children. Well then. Thank you, on her behalf.”

She walked away before the girl could say something else so casually painful. And Ulva wondered what made a girl write like a Djinni mixed with a little [Sage] and a child all in one.

“Timekeeper? Is she some kind of possessed child? Was she speaking to someone else? Soulsplit? Soulsundered? Something like that?”

She turned, and the Golem regarded Mrsha. It spoke slowly.

“I detect some-thing, Lady Terland. But it is just her, entirely. She is simply a child.”

“A child?”

“Some grow old fast-er than others, Lady Terland.”

“Like Xitegen. Witness her, Timekeeper.”

“Yes, Lady Terland.”

Ulva walked away, unwilling to engage a little girl a fraction of her age of all the beings here. But even despite the wounds she’d taken, she thought—

So it was definitely real. So that was her, and that land waits for me.

What a beautiful thing to know. What a relief.

Thank you.

Behind her, the girl with two souls comingled bowed with all the knowledge of what waited afterwards. Ulva thought she might still fear death, dying. But what came after might be beautiful. That knowledge could change her forever, but for this moment, she waited.

Then it was Lyonette and Ilvriss’ turn. And so the [Lady] observed as the two came to another traditional part of the cookout. She observed them with the memory of Terlands. The memory of Golems—

Who didn’t actually ever remember seeing what came next.

——

Duke Rhisveri Zessoprical felt bad. So bad he didn’t want to get out of bed and, in a sense, hadn’t.

He was curled up in his rooms as he sent his simulacrum into the world. By now, everyone knew he was ill, and yet he’d dragged himself out here.

He’d made up some kind of excuse and hired a Courier’s boat to insinuate there was a reason for him to be able to attend. Throw in a flying carpet and it was logical he’d have made it all the way here, right?

The [Princess] had not invited him, but he’d heard there was trouble with the Terlands. And Rhisveri was no idiot. Lyonette would mess it up without help, and knowing her, she’d invited the children into the range of a Golem.

He was stumbling around the party as a Golem followed him.

“A magical proxy has appeared. Significant magical grade, just below simulacrum-level. Alert. Alert.”

“What? Shut up. Your face is a simulacrum. I’m a projection, idiot. Who makes simulacrums?”

“A projection has appeared at significant range. Estimating magical levels—”

He slowed, dizzy, feverish, and found a little boy staring up at him. Rhisveri muttered.

“I’m here because of the children. Think of the children.”

He glanced around for the two brats—then Sammial Veltras spoke.

“You’re the guy who stripped Ryoka naked. That’s him, Ullim. And he tried to kill me.”

Everyone turned. Rhisveri froze as he focused on Sammial. And he recalled his sins. He managed to reply, after a moment, as horrified Terlands turned to find the kidnapper of the young Veltras [Lord]—who’d started a war—standing right there.

“I…that was probably a bluff. I don’t recall. Sometimes, you forget they matter. Children. Soldiers. Especially if they’re not yours. Some are always dying. Just not in my kingdom. That’s the goal. I’m sorry.”

Sammial Veltras studied Rhisveri and decided he didn’t need nightmares about the Duke anymore. The huge, floppy, purple talking penis-worm that sometimes appeared in his dreams—he had no idea what that was about since his memories had been altered. But this man wasn’t that scary, sweaty and weird as he was.

Sammy nodded.

“I forgive you. But he doesn’t.”

He pointed, and Rhisveri turned his head right in time for Ullim to punch him off his feet. He went over.

“Not ag—”

Then Ullim and Jericha were kicking him, and he was trying to crawl away. Right before a horrified Lord Nouzcrat called out.

“Stop, stop!”

His Golems separated the Duke of Ailendamus from the furious retainers of House Veltras. Jericha and Ullim hesitated, blocked by Golems. Nouzcrat pointed.

“Let the Golems do it.”

Rhisveri was getting up when one of the Golems punched him. He still got up after that, which was highly disconcerting to anyone who knew how hard he’d been hit. He walked over and leaned on a man, who patted him on the shoulder.

“‘Scuse me, sir. Are you some [Lord] who kidnapped a child and then threatened to kill him?”

“Only once.”

“Right, thank you.”

Nithle Calabie nodded, then threw a [Horsekick Punch] and sent Rhisveri twirling back into a kick from one of the Gnolls.

——

“What’s going on there? It had better not be a fight. Ser Dalimont, check it out.”

Lyonette was stressing as she and Ilvriss stretched and got ready for their moment. Ilvriss muttered.

“It’s probably just drunk hotheads. That kind of thing happens.”

She glowered as she glanced at the band, who’d been playing a mix of songs on request from people. Mostly classic Izrilian music for the nobility, but one of their number was none other than Songmistress Calla. She got around, and she’d volunteered to lead this band since she could conduct—she could [Summon: Sheet Music] for any song you requested.

Hearing a miniature orchestra riffing on one of the Singer of Terandria’s songs was odd, but Lyonette thought there was something to it. So did Songmistress Calla, but she was preparing for the big moment. Lyonette hissed at Ilvriss.

“We’ve only got a few moments left after this! The cake and then…if we don’t change Ulva’s mind, it’ll be terrible, Ilvriss! We need a united front!”

“I know, but we’re doing this dance because you insisted.”

He hissed back at her as they walked over to a cleared space, and a few heads turned. The Terlands did not look interested, the older ones, at least. And the younger ones were classically shy—

Yes, dancing was customary at formal events, but to the nobility, the cookout didn’t feel like the place for it. The [Ranchers], by contrast, were puzzled and worried. Because they expected noble dancing, and none of them knew any. Thusly, the only group that would think to dance would be the hosts. Lyonette blinked.

“Wh—but it’s your tail on the line!”

“Yes, but you were so insistent—I had to oblige you! Nevermind, what’s done is done. If I die, I’ll just blame you with my dying breath, deal?”

He adjusted his collar as she colored.

“You—you—how dare you humor me! We have priorities, Ilvriss; you could have said!”

Dame Ushar was calling people’s attention to the floor.

“Ladies, Gentlemen, Golems, we have an occasion to dance. I believe Her Highness and Wall Lord Ilvriss will demonstrate, in hopes of unity between north and south and all parties present?”

The Drake rolled his eyes as he stretched.

“Yes, how dare I support my friend? And she’ll definitely let the matter go if I beg my apologies, not hold it over my head forever. Because she’s such a reasonable person.”

“You—you—hold still when I’m stepping on your toes!”

They made for a cute couple. The two stood in front of the hidden cake, and it wasn’t only a certain half-Elf who thought that. But he was just waiting, and no one had spotted him yet.

All eyes were on Lyonette and Ilvriss. Aronia and Marvus had linked up, and they’d been whispering to each other, but they folded their arms.

No one was joining Lyonette or Ilvriss for the dancing. A few of the Gnolls and Drakes might have, but they were wary—they didn’t know the dances either.

If this was meant to be inclusive…Ulva Terland raised her brows and half-turned to Mrsha.

This is what you set up?

Mrsha just shrugged, cheeks full of food. She was done adulting. She and Xitegen were creating the forbidden meat bowl, which involved a piece of every kind of meat stuffed into a bowl and drizzled with three of your top sauces. You cut down one layer and took one huge bite with a fork.

…All of that was background. The crowd were all skeptics, but they were watching as a rather fast beat began to come from the band, who started sweating. A [Violinist] checked her musical sheet and then began to activate a speed skill.

Because they were playing that song. The song that made even Terland nobles blink. It was a country song, a commoner’s song—and it was fast, aggressive.

The song of broken heels and shattered egos.

The hardest dance known to Lischelles.

The one, the only—

The Highstepper.

“They can’t be serious.”

Nithle Calabie recognized the song, and he and his wife turned from kicking Duke Ow Stop That or whatever his name was. They left him behind as Rhisveri crawled away, and they’d heard of the Wall Lord and [Princess] failing the dance.

Anyone their age did without cheating. But they were doing it.

At—this fancy cookout? In front of the Terlands?

Yes. The familiar notes of the Highstepper filled the air, and it was no less fast than anyone remembered. If anything, Songmistress Calla was playing it faster than usual because she had just been told to play it. Not that anyone was crazy enough to dance to the rhythm.

The [Princess] was counting to the beat, bouncing on her toes in her…boots? Aronia choked.

“Those are the boots I gave her! They’ve painted them!”

“Steady. It don’t look that bad. There’s no way they’re trying—are they?”

Marvus was eyeing Ilvriss. You had to practice like a fiend, even with help! There was no way some Wall Lord would do that, would he? Marvus knew the dance because he’d practiced it all his life as a boy. But these two—

Lyonette turned and took Ilvriss’ hand as the crowd watched, murmuring. Skeptical Terlands, whispering [Ranchers], sons and daughters of Salazsar, Silverfangs—and one beat-up Wyrm.

He found an empty spot in the crowd and limped forwards. Then he saw her. Turning her head and smiling nervously up at the purple-scaled Drake who gave her a nod. Then…

“Oh.”

Rhisveri mumbled.

He saw them begin to dance.

——

The [Princess]’ and Wall Lord’s feet flashed down the aisle of watchers. They were high-stepping, high kicking, a dance that showed off their calves and ankles. Immodest! Unladylike!

To any Calanferian watching, it was unthinkable for a [Princess] to perform a dance like this. Xinthe was recording from under a table, jaw dropped.

And yet—the dance was impressive! Lyonette did a heel turn and skidded left. She and Ilvriss grabbed their belts, and their legs were kicking as they line-danced sideways. So fast that you could barely see their feet move. Then they linked arms and began to step—

“Dead gods! They’re doing it!”

The Lischelles were in uproar. The Terlands were just impressed. They had dancing Golems who couldn’t perform that well.

Seeing someone, anyone, performing an activity at a high level was inspiring. Eye-catching. But the [Princess] and Wall Lord were nobility, de facto; they didn’t have to work hard.

…But they were dancing. Ilvriss’ face was a study of concentration as he let go of Lyonette’s arm and moved into another rhythm of the dance, and his tail swayed along with his legs, so fast it barely touched the ground.

It was the [Princess] who wore a smile on her face and seemed to be laughing, even though a single sound never left her lips. She was breathless, moving from position to position.

They were—they were doing it. Aronia’s mouth was open, and Colfa was clapping to the beat, cheering.

“You can do it, Lyonette! Don’t mess up now!”

Sideways again, moving past the guests, and Marvus heard cheering. From Burlise! She and his family were cheering the Highstepper on! How not?

You cheered anyone who tried it, even if they messed up in three steps. For the daring. For the courage and fun of it. And you bought them a drink…

Just not the Wall Lord and [Princess]. But Marvus watched and saw, across from them, Ulva Terland eying the Highstepper. She was tapping her foot to the beat, amazingly on-rhythm. And he thought to himself—

They’re dancing our dance in front of Terlands and the other Five Families. It was intentional. No one was making the [Princess] and Wall Lord choose that dance. They could have done any Salazsarian or Calanferian dance. But they’d chosen the music that the [Ranchers] knew.

No matter how Marvus turned it around in his head, he couldn’t figure out an angle that didn’t make that somewhat respectful. Learning the Highstepper…

“Aronia?”

“Shush, Marvus.”

“I’m just sayin’, if he’s giving us something worth having—”

“Shush, they’re dancing. Don’t interrupt them now.”

His wife was just watching. No matter how fast the Highstepper went, at the end, when the young woman and Wall Lord turned and clasped hands to bow…they didn’t falter.

Start to finish. Marvus and Aronia began to clap. Then caught themselves, glanced at each other, and folded their hands.

“There’s no way someone can dance well enough to mend this kind of bridge. This isn’t a fairytale.”

“That’s right. And we’re not the villains of a storybook.”

She added, and Marvus nodded. But the cheering continued, and the two saw a breathless Lyonette and Ilvriss shaking hands.

“I’m going to give Burlise an earful after this. Look at her, fawning over a [Princess].”

“Right, because she shouldn’t do that.”

This time Aronia stepped on Marvus’ foot. He protested.

“She is a [Princess] when all’s said and done, Aronia. Admit it, if it weren’t for the fact that she’s against us, you’d be trying to get on her good side. Well, that and Colfa’s with her, and you two haven’t made up.”

“What? Who said that?”

Aronia spun and poked a finger up at him. Marvus raised his hands.

“Er…you did. Colfa’s on the outs.”

“She’s my sister. We might fight, but I’m not having you badmouth her, Marvus!”

He threw up his hands.

“Argh! You two made up and didn’t tell me? Don’t point that finger at me, woman. It’s not my fault for supporting you and not knowing when I need to switch my tune up!”

Aronia’s lips quirked because she had to admit he was right there. She sighed, and they turned to regard the couple—only to realize Lyonette was talking with Burlise and some of the other [Ranchers], breathless. The married couple sidled over and eavesdropped.

“Thank you, thank you, Burlise, isn’t it? I was terrified we’d mess it up. It was one of two dances we were practicing…I’m just embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed about what? That was amazing! Ma and Pa can’t do it better than that!”

The two older Lischelles’ glowers of wrath promised Burlise was going to find herself on some hard chore duty after this. Even if it was true, you didn’t admit it. However, Lyonette just hung her head. She stuck out one of her boots.

“I…used a trick. These boots. I made Aronia’s gift to me into an artifact with a Skill.”

“You did what?”

Aronia jumped into the conversation despite herself, and Lyonette had to explain how she’d made her boots to dance. But she was crestfallen, red-cheeked from her exertions as she nodded at Ilvriss.

“Ilvriss managed to do the dance all on his own! I needed help. There was a time I could’ve done the dance myself, but I can’t anymore. Realizing that was…hard.”

Despite herself, Aronia’s face softened, and she hesitated, then hugged Lyonette with an arm. The [Princess] blinked, but Aronia patted her on the arm.

“Miss Lyonette, everyone cheats at the Highstepper. Marvus? He makes the old Fleethoof Grill. That’s a Skill-food you eat, and it lets you dance right. Rabbo’s wife has dancing socks, don’t you, Aubrie? As for Rabbo, he just drinks—we all need help. I’m mightily impressed you picked it up so fast anyways!”

“Well, we practiced nonstop. It was a bit of an obsession. Even the Five-Step isn’t as bad on the shins! I must have kicked Ilvriss’ legs bloody.”

Lyonette’s confession made everyone smile and relate their own pains when learning the dance. No one liked a genius. And there were some who could pick up the Highstepper within a week or just a single try. Colfa was one of those geniuses, darn her.

But Aronia was calling for a seat.

“Your legs must be killing you. Have a seat. Marvus, you might need to start the Fleethoof Grill. Can’t have our guests thinking we can’t answer to that challenge!”

“Already on it, darling!”

He was indeed manning a grill and preparing the signature blend. A [Chef] with dark skin and an eyepatch was watching him covertly, despite her husband’s attempts to get her to leave.

“Dear, you promised—”

—Background noise. Lyonette was thanking Aronia as she lowered herself onto a stool stiffly. One of the Terland [Ladies] who’d come to ask about the song exclaimed when they saw Lyonette’s sweaty makeup reveal cracked skin.

“What’s that?”

“Argh, my condition—I can dance two more times, but my body still doth protest.”

“I never did ask about that. Is it a sickness?”

“No, just from my class. It’s complicated—”

“You wear it very well. I can’t even tell about the cracking, normally. What kind of makeup do you wear at your age, Lyonette? You look half your age!”

Eni Calabie commented jealously, and Lyonette hesitated.

“Makeup? Mostly, it’s just the cracks…half my age? I should hope not. I’m only nineteen.”

No one here had performed the Winebreath Blaster so far. The oft-overused power, rumored to be the final missing Dragonbreath—was not performed by Aronia now.

She just dropped her cup, and it splashed onto the ground.

“Say what? You—you’re nineteen?”

Burlise had spun around, having nearly crept out of the conversation with her mother and the adults present. Only—Lyonette brushed at her face.

“I don’t look that much older, do I?”

“N—but—your aura and the way you hold yourself! And you have children!”

Everyone whirled to look at Nanette and Mrsha and do some very worried math when Lyonette laughed.

“I didn’t birth them myself! I used to be far more spry, but I got this class just a bit ago…Nanette, do I look old?”

“Yup.”

The witch’s comment hit Lyonette and everyone older than her by proxy. Aronia was aghast. She’d thought Lyonette was at least in her thirties and using illusions or alchemy! The fact that a girl Burlise’s age was negotiating with the Wall Lord…

Then she leaned down.

“Wait, that Wall Lord’s not your age, is he?”

“Ilvriss? No, quite a bit older. Mid-forties? He holds it well, but—”

“My dear, he’s twice your age! You should pick someone else, let alone the fact that he’s a Drake—”

This time, it was Lyonette’s turn to avoid spitting her drink out.

“Ilvriss? We’re not together!”

“You’re not?”

“I’m just helping him out! We only dance together, and he’s a friend of Erin—let me clear this all up.”

Lyonette tried to, but no one was in a position to instantly believe her. The fact that she was nineteen sent Aronia off to have a small crisis. Colfa went over to pat her on the shoulder. Meanwhile, Ilvriss turned with an outraged expression on his face.

“Lyonette, I’m in my thirties, you—you—mathless Human!”

He roared. Lyonette was laughing until Burlise seized her hands.

“You’re my age! I’m actually three years older’n you! How’s that possible? Here I thought my parents were the ones who needed talking to you—”

She was agog. And Lyonette felt older than Burlise! But she grinned as she tapped her boots together.

“I’m just sorry we couldn’t talk, Burlise. This is an important matter—”

“Beating up Drakes and getting beat up? Bah. That’s cow shit on their faces! We’ll never let ‘em live it down, Mom nearly killing you with that slap and you being half her age! And all of them showing off with the Highstepper when that Wall Lord did it cold! He did, right?”

“Unassisted? Yes, and I used to be able to do it…but it’s a hard dance. I can see why everyone cheats. Ilvriss is just gifted.”

Lyonette was trying to downtalk herself, conscious that claiming she could do the Highstepper without magical help when ‘everyone cheated’ was a bad look. However, at her words, Burlise and the other young people gathered around her hesitated. Burlise turned, eyed her mother, then whispered.

“Well, that’s just what they say to make themselves feel better. No one their age can do it. Too heavy, too old, too outta shape. But you think everyone needs help t’do it?”

She stepped back challengingly, and Lyonette remembered a comment Burlise had made at the last cookout. She gave Burlise a sharp look.

“But why didn’t you do it last time…?”

One of the young Golva boys rolled his eyes.

“‘Cause they were busy humiliating you. They don’t let us show off because we can do it better’n they can. You want proof?”

He stuck out his chin, and Lyonette eyed him before standing.

“There’s no doing the Highstepper better. Is there?”

A grin spread over the younger [Ranchers]’ faces. Burlise strode over to the band and tapped Calla on the shoulder.

“Hey, Miss, give the Highstepper some juice and make it faster! You heard the [Princess]! Who’ll dance with me?”

One of the Golva boys she knew strode over, and she took his hand. Then more pairs emerged from the crowd. They lined up, and Lyonette blinked—then she was standing.

“Ilvriss! Ilvriss!”

“What? Oh no. No, Lyonette, we have to deal with Ulva Terland. We don’t have time for—think of my thighs. My thighs—”

He tried to get away, but the [Princess] snagged him. Ilvriss was the oldest dancer on the floor. The younger members of each [Rancher] clan filled the floor, not the heads. When the music picked up—even faster—

Well, half the couples made a mistake and went sprawling or tumbled down with screams or curses, to laughter and cheering.

But the rest kept on dancing around the fallen, and then everyone was clapping. Indeed, at the sight of the Highstepper, there were people asking for a slower version to practice.

The Silverfangs were taken with the dance, even if it looked silly to them. There were brave Drake volunteers, and even, to the surprise of all—Lady Ulva Terland especially—

Terlands.

——

The dancing of the Drake and [Princess] wasn’t lost on Ulva. Diplomatic and all that. What Calanfer was good at.

It won the [Ranchers]’ approval. Not hers.

So a Drake could dance. So what?

She was determined to be unimpressed and watched the pairs dancing, imagining Petria and her trying it. Ulva sourly ate more meat and then heard cheers, applause—gasps.

A Terland boy was urging a partner onto the dance floor. Not one she knew.

A child, which was to say, someone younger than Xitegen. She didn’t deal with Terland children. They were to be not seen and not heard, and especially not around her. If Petria had lived…

But this boy was familiar to her for two reasons. Mostly—she recognized his serving Golem, who was a dancing-capable model. Able to remove limbs, fashioned after the Dullahans.

Most Golems were made in Human images, but they had a variety of Golem species except for Drakes—given the animosity, Terlands didn’t want Drake Golems, and the ones they had possessed had been used as agents in Drake lands over the ages.

But this Dullahan Golem was a partner to the boy. Bedpartner? It was a dark thought, but that was her family. Ulva asked, and to her surprise, Timekeeper answered in the negative.

“She is Dancer Golem Hidre, Lady Ulva. Assigned to Lord Chovn after his injuries.”

“What—ah. Yes. I recall now.”

A rare accident in Terland lands. Who was that fool who’d been with the boy when he was barely six?

“Bein, yes. One of the branch families. Didn’t he land himself in trouble twice? He was there when this boy lost his arms.”

Freak accident involving one of the mechanical windmills that Golems operated. They’d been playing in the mill when the Golem had begun working, and Chovn had survived—but his limbs had been caught in the gears of the mill.

No potion but a lost miracle would have restored that. So, the boy, who was, what, seventeen? He had Golem arms.

Hidre, the Dancing Golem, had been assigned to him to teach him how to use his limbs. Learning to use a prosthesis was hard. However, it seemed Lord Chovn had recovered well—Ulva blinked as he took the Golem’s hand.

The Dullahan Golem was smiling at him as they joined a slower version of the Highstepper. And he couldn’t have known it, but after seeing it merely twice, the boy started doing the dance with other amateurs and barely missed a step.

He was halfway through it when he twisted the wrong way and went stumbling—his Golem caught him. He laughed, embarrassed, then started as people applauded and cheered.

“He dances well.”

“He is a Level 23 [Fleetfoot Dancer], Lady Ulva.”

Timekeeper could pierce most anti-appraisal spells with his capabilities. Ulva twisted.

“At his age? Then he’s wasted as a [Lord]. Why haven’t I heard of him being trained or sent to study more dances in Nadel?”

“I do not believe anyone has suggested it, Lady Terland.”

“Well…mark it for me to do.”

Even for her, she couldn’t ship the boy off with no regard for his parents or will. But Ulva was annoyed to realize no one, including her, had known he was a [Dancer]. Level 23. He was smiling and thanking his Golem. Her heart was beating, and she was smiling at him.

Slowly, Ulva drank from her cup.

“Timekeeper. That Dancing Golem isn’t equipped for intercourse, is she?”

“No, Lady Terland. She is not.”

“Hmpf. Is she actually smiling at him, there? Or is she just doing her job, heart beating or no?”

“I do not know, Lady Ter-land.”

She glanced at him, and for once, the Golem seemed to be attempting to stay neutral. Ulva’s comment was soft.

“Find me a record of all the times she’s been activated and taken out of storage and how many times she might have…no.”

She cut herself off. Turned away.

“No, Lady Terland?”

“No, Timekeeper. I don’t want to know or guess. If it is, it is. Her heart only beats around me, anyways. We have been fools throughout the ages long enough. Let’s not assume Golems are too.”

Petria would have chased down that thought all the way, but to what end? It just led to tragedy, either way. Time would make tragedy of the story, no matter how beautifully it were told. She knew that. It was Timekeeper’s response that drew Ulva up short.

“Lady Terland. You are correct our hearts only beat to give us wa-king thought by your will. And that we are beings of thought, not emotion. In-correct to assume we do not always see and remember.”

Oh yes, the damnation of Terlands. The reason why their Golems could never, should never be given free will. They remembered everything done to them and around them over these ages. What would they conclude, given the chance? Lady Ulva Terland gazed at the Golem who seemed to be encouraging her [Lord] to try again amongst the cheering.

“It’s a damned stupid story. Why fall in love with a mortal or master?”

“Why do some Golems dream, Lady Terland?”

She turned away, only for a second Terland to join the floor. This one a [Lady] in her thirties. She held out a hand to one of the Silverfang Gnolls, then brushed at her dress.

It was a rather revealing one. Showy in terms of skin. Ulva eyed her bronzed skin, a young woman still in the prime of life, and snorted. Then she saw the two begin to try the Terlands’ answer to the Highstepper.

The 5-Step of Terandrian fame. The Silverfang Gnoll must have been a good dancer—no, wait. According to Timekeeper, he was a [Lucky Miner]. So his mistakes became the right steps, and they were funny enough.

The [Princess] was trying to make Wall Lord Ilvriss join them, but the Drake had sat down and refused to get up, so some Duke attempted to join Lyonette—only for someone to trip him headfirst into a table. The [Princess] ended up dancing with one of her [Knights], and Ulva would have left it at that—except for the [Lady] whirling around to show her dress was ultra-revealing.

In that there was a hole in it, along one of her breasts. And it revealed something glowing. Ulva’s head snapped back around.

“Is that a Golem’s Heart?”

It was! It was beating in the center of the [Lady]’s chest, glowing fast as she danced the 5-Step near-flawlessly. Ulva spun, and Timekeeper spoke.

“Yes, Lady Ulva. That is La-dy Prithna Terland, a member of the branch family. Her serving Golem is there.”

Another shock when Ulva turned her head. She took one look at the Golem with a lifelike face on it and recoiled.

“That’s Drogin. Someone put his face on a Golem?”

“It was his will, Great Aunt. He was dying of magical malady, and he insisted they put his face on a Golem to watch his daughter. Heart failure in the family. You don’t recall?”

Maybe? Ulva remembered Drogin dying, but she snapped at Xitegen, who’d walked over.

“When did that happen?”

She gestured at the heart, and he shrugged.

“The heart? I think hers gave out five years ago. Likely, you didn’t see her because she spent three years having one created that could keep her alive.”

Ulva vaguely recalled being grumpy about the funds for that and hearing the story, but…she eyed the laughing [Lady] hugging the Gnoll as the dance ended.

“Another member of the family with promise, if she survived all that. What’s her level, Timekeeper?”

Then Ulva’s head was turning, seeing her family stepping onto the floor, haughty, but willing to try some of the dances, or just keen on reminding the others they could dance. Terlands dancing with Golems or, more scandalously, non-Golems.

In the center of it all, a [Princess] and that damned Drake. Timekeeper bent over as a drunk-looking man tried to pursue Lyonette.

“That is apparently the Duke of Ailendamus, who is using a magical projection spell to be here, Lady Ulva. He is of approximate danger as a Named-rank adventurer.”

“A high-level spellcaster? Just hit him if he causes trouble. I came here to see the south. I should have looked at my own family first.”

Wearily, Ulva Terland sat. Then she perched on her Dais of Health and beckoned.

“Very well. I can admit when I’m a fool myself, Xitegen.”

“Oh, goodie, Great Aunt. Can I throw you in front of a carriage?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Send Chovn and Hidre before me.”

So she held court once more. The [Lady] of House Terland rose…and regarded her grey in a mirror. Her austere dress. Then she pulled the hairpin from her hair, and the Seal of House Terland glittered. She handed it to Xitegen and pulled her hair back.

“Hairpin, Xitegen.”

“Er, where…?”

“Dead gods, you truly haven’t ever found someone besides your damn Golems, have you? Change that, boy. Here!”

He stuck it awkwardly in her hair, and it became a ponytail. Ulva Terland touched her clothing and spoke.

“Awaken, hearts of Terlands.”

She drew something from a holster on her inner sleeve. Just a little wand made of mithril, and ran it down across her dress. Then—the grey layers seemed to flake away.

Like stone, revealing color beneath. Until her clothing took on the color of the deep ocean. Ulva whirled the wand over her head, and heads turned. She sighed as the familiar cloak of dark waters, filled with glowing lights, fell on her shoulders.

The Cloak of Submerged Lanterns was her personal attire, just like the dress. She could make most things ‘beat’ or reveal their true nature. Like clothing. If you took it out of the clothing, it turned grey and lifeless. Perfect for making a splash, disguising oneself, or just impressing someone who’d never seen the trick before.

Ulva Terland pointed the conductor’s wand and beckoned to the merry partygoers. She threw back the cloak, and it billowed over the Dress of Night Skies.

“I have made my decision. The Lischelle family shall approach House Terland. So shall each [Rancher] family’s heads. Kneel.”

Her Golems moved forwards until they flanked her—Chema, Timekeeper, Corde, the ancient might of House Terland—and Ulva Terland’s grey eyes broke into pieces and grew colorful. Even her eyes—

——

Nouzcrat had gone to wash his hands after getting sauce on them. He wasn’t one to dance, and he had missed the commotion. When he saw Ulva standing there, and the wary, nervous [Ranchers] approaching the line of silent Golems, he froze.

“Petria…?”

For a moment, it was her. Not as she had been, but as she would have been if she had lived as long as Ulva. That ponytail. Grey hair revealing faintly red strands. Symbols of their link to Terandrian royalty. And the clothing—

Then Ulva Terland was there again, and Nouzcrat staggered. But he saw her, still. It was not a perfect copy. There had always been impish playfulness, a willingness to push convention that Ulva lacked. But Petria had loved grand moments.

“Lady Terland. If we have offended you, we beg pardon. But we are the families who live here. We will not beg for the lands we have a right to.”

It was Marvus Lischelle who knelt and then glanced up at her. He licked his lips as he stared up at Timekeeper’s graven face, the merciless impassiveness of the other Golems, and the twin War Golems armed with battleaxes.

Ulva Terland just sat on her dais, holding the thin conductor’s wand in her hand. She spoke simply.

“I have been petitioned by House Rumask, House Everight, and House Zigur for the reinstatement of lands that they claim your people stole. They assert you attacked their people and drove them out under fear of death.”

Marvus opened his mouth, and Ulva silenced him with a look and her aura.

“House Everight I object to. Toldos is dead. I do not care if Reinhart claims a descendant has been found. If they did not present themselves to Lord Toldos during his long search, I do not acknowledge them as a Flower of Izril. Damia Reinhart, your family and mine are at odds over this. Ensure your family knows that we do not war.”

Her head turned, and her eyes flashed. Damia held up her hands.

“I disavow everything my family said! Wait, who’s saying—?”

As if she’d heard nothing, Ulva continued, her voice ringing. She knew how to speak, even in an open space.

“I am Terland. It is my will that shapes the north, along with that of the Five Families. We are the gardeners of Izril, and too many have forgotten that. Magnolia Reinhart took it upon herself to prune the weeds as she saw fit. I hold the laws of Izril to simple effect. No one man or woman may claim land that is not a Flower of Izril.”

Uh oh. Lyonette swallowed as she and Ilvriss watched Ulva glance down at the Lischelles. Marvus’ jaw was set, and Ilvriss was reminded of Big Burlap. A bull, but one aware of the danger, just waiting.

Lyonette was watching Aronia, and both she and Colfa knew the woman had a temper. Her eyes were flashing. Ulva Terland had a lot of Golems around her, but Aronia had her left hand, and if it could knock a bull aside…

The [Lady] of House Terland stopped then, with a sense for the dramatic, and took a sip from her cup purely for the show of it. Then she gazed down at Marvus and Aronia.

“After seeing the lands here myself, I do not find the three noble houses’ complaints valid. Each one left these lands when the Goblin King struck. Some to cowardice, others for lack of arms. The reason matters not. None of the houses has the strength to claim their holdings. We do not have enough nobles of Izril. As fortune or fate wills it—I do not need to go through the tediousness of assigning new classes. [Baron] shall do, even if it is [Cattle Baron].”

What was she saying? Everyone but her family was slow to catch on. Nouzcrat had given Ulva an alarmed look and begun to speak, then eyed the [Lady]’s changed appearance and sunk back into place with a sigh. Lyonette’s mouth opened.

“Ilvriss, is she…?”

“I think she just did.”

The Lischelles didn’t get what was meant either. Aronia was bristling like a porcupine, about to spit something back, when she saw Colfa gesticulating frantically with Nanette. The two were doing rapid sign language, waving their hands, trying to say…

All the Lischelles stared at the two dancing about until Mrsha slapped her forehead and wrote in big letters over her head:

She’s making you nobles.

“What?”

Aronia shouted and leapt up. The sentiment was echoed.

“What? Great Aunt, are you mad? They’re manure-shovelling [Ranchers]!”

Alorelle was utterly appalled. The Lady of Stone stepped forwards, and Aronia flushed. Her hand twitched—and Ulva spoke.

“Bodyguard, slap her.”

The personal bodyguard of Lady Alorelle slapped her so hard she twisted around. Ulva eyed the Golem.

“Hmm. That was harder than I expected. Someone’s Golems are not happy with her. Let that be a lesson about something. Rise, Lischelles. You kneel to no one ever again. Next!”

That last snap was purely Ulva. But when she smiled, there was a ghost of Petria Terland in her. The Lischelles were getting to their feet.

“Us? Nobles?”

Marvus seemed like he’d been kicked by Big Burlap. He and his wife were stunned, and Ulva nodded at them.

“Those who tend the land own the land. We are not [Kings] or [Queens] to dole it out. What you take, you keep. The reason Laken Godart is allowed to exist is because he was needed and there was no one who held his lands. But his empire shall endure as long as he is just, and not beyond his lifespan. No heirs. No monarchs on Izril’s soil. That is no saying, but a promise. We’ll get the Serpentine Matriarch eventually. Now, the next family.”

She beckoned impatiently at the Golvas. They were frozen, not sure if this was some huge prank. When they turned to Ilvriss and Lyonette, the two shrugged.

This was new to them as well. Neither Wall Lord nor [Princess] had ever seen noble titles being given out this…liberally! However, Ulva was brisk, and she let each family have their moment.

After the third family, the silence began to break. Applause sounded—by the time she got to the fourth [Rancher] family, their people started cheering. When the last group rose, there was a long silence—then a whoop.

Rabbo Golva slid on his knees across the ground with a drink in hand, and the band began to play as he leapt up and did a jig. Then Marvus swung Aronia around, laughing, and there was dancing, celebrations—

Not all of the [Cattle Barons] were so exuberant. Marvus was overjoyed when the shock faded, but Colfa saw her sister’s face was full of reserve. A weight upon her and trepidation.

Not just her—she recognized Nithle Calabie biting his lip and speaking to Ulva before she bestowed his new rank upon him. She spoke down to him, and he knelt—slowly.

Nobles. Colfa had grown up sneering at the idea of the nobility, knowing them only as greedy thieves who employed thugs by a different name. Now the [Ranchers] were that nobility. To some, it was bitter or as if Ulva had dumped more difficulties on their lap.

But that was one of the Five Families for you, wasn’t it? Ulva noticed Colfa looking at her. She returned the gaze until the Vampiress bowed and ducked her head. And the [Matriarch] of House Terland dismissed her.

I do not have the time nor interest to deal with you, Vampire.

Ulva Terland just sat there as Lyonette and Ilvriss walked over. She didn’t need to beckon them. She just spoke to the air.

“That [Cattle Baroness], Aronia? She appeared ready to kill me. What kind of slap Skill does she have?”

“[Bull’s Slap] or something. It turns bulls.”

Lyonette spoke, and Ulva glanced at her.

“I was speaking to my Golems, not you, [Princess]. Fine. Lady Zanthia teaches [Ladies] how to slap, but not that hard. I’d give good coin to see her and Magnolia Reinhart determine who’s stronger. I was never good at that stupid trick. But it will do. This lot seems sturdy enough. We need new blood. They’ll fill the ranks of the Flowers of Izril well enough. It’s no kindness. When we are called to drive the Witch of Webs back or face the Goblin King, they will be called upon too. If they fail, I will prune them.”

“Is that the way the Five Families do it?”

“I have no doubt my peers and traditionalists will hold me to task. It normally takes a quorum of peers. I am that quorum with my family here. Enough to satisfy any requirements. Moreover, I need less tradition. Golems, witness me.”

She turned, and Timekeeper and all the Golems standing around the party spoke.

“ɪᴛ ɪꜱ ᴡɪᴛɴᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ.”

That unified, dispassionate voice. Lyonette du Marquin shivered, and she and Ilvriss drew closer. They stood before one of the leaders of the north. Ilvriss wondered if it would have been like this, facing Zail in his prime. But Salazsar was an entire city. A fifth of the Five Families’ will was one [Lady].

Ulva Terland sat on her floating dais and spoke.

“Well? You have your audience. Give me one reason not to have you killed.”

“Has my uncle not been in touch, Lady Terland? I rather hoped he could speak for me.”

She snorted as Ilvriss bowed slightly.

“He gave me reasons the rest of the family would hear. Not I. You are digging for the City of Purity.”

Ilvriss started, and she rolled her eyes.

“That was obvious. The Golems tell me it is folly to unearth. Why should I ignore the voices of stone and let you dig up armageddon? Whatever lies down there, it killed the Drakes there. Do you think you’ve brought enough to stop it?”

That—was a really good point. Lyonette had never gone over what Ilvriss expected to find down there, not really. The Wall Lord took a deep breath.

“With respect, I do think I have some protections, Lady Terland. Your Hunter-Killer might have nearly assassinated me, but I have standing forces. The Rubirel Guard, the Erchirite Spears—”

“Dead and dead if we warred. My Golems say it is too dangerous for them. You are one Drake.”

“I am not alone. I have the backing of the City of Gems.”

Ilvriss was trying to be polite, but Ulva was back to being snappish. She glanced past him.

“You’re no Zail Gemscale. He was a [Swordmaster]. You don’t have his levels. You don’t have an army.”

“I am here because someone must be!”

Ilvriss snapped, and her head swung back down. Lyonette tried to smile and soothe things over.

“What Ilvriss means is—”

“What I mean is that I have The Wandering Inn and a [Princess] on my side! A [Princess] who’s higher-level than most damn monarchs!”

Ilvriss put an arm around Lyonette’s shoulder, and she jumped. She hissed.

“Ilvriss!”

He raised his voice as Ulva lifted one eyebrow.

“A runaway [Princess] is your best asset.”

“A [Princess] who has breached Level 40 before turning twenty. A genius not even Lord Xitegen can match for sheer youth! Or are Level 40 [Princesses] that weak, Lady Terland? I have the Silverfang Tribe, a mandate from General Sserys, and the need to be here. We all do! Zel Shivertail did not die for us to war!”

Ilvriss was not under a [Silence] spell. Lyonette saw heads turning, the music dying down, but the Wall Lord ignored her hands trying to muffle him. He jerked his head around her as she shushed him. Pointed a claw at Ulva.

“I have been respectful as I can be, Lady Ulva! Ancestors witness me, I have a temper and ego, but I have done my utmost to come here tactfully, aware of all the sins of my forebears! But you cannot be blind! Or has Xitegen told you the Winter Solstice was nothing more than a friendly dustup with a few zombies? More is coming! Or has a war in the Meeting of Tribes not shown that? The New Lands rising? The King of Destruction waking would be reason enough to dig!”

“House Terland is not blind, Wall Lord. I am not impressed with the King of Destruction’s little return or the Meeting of Tribes. As for this Winter Solstice, I take my own council. Not that of Walled Cities.”

She was the model of indifference, which Lyonette took to be a calculated move. The Quarass and her mother were experts in the same thing that Ulva was doing. Give nothing away unless you wanted to. She wished she were so good, but she couldn’t be. Nor could Ilvriss; his eyes flashed. Lyonette almost went to stop him, but let him try.

“What about the Goblin King, Lady Ulva Terland?”

That made Ulva stop. When her head rose, mouth opened, Ilvriss cut her off.

“He did return, and it was him. I was not there but I believe it. Anyone who has ever seen him would remember. Do you call that a normal event? Two Goblin Kings in a century. What of the Seamwalkers that Drath and the Iron Vanguard fought? Ask them; one destroyed the Eir Gel island. They’re the reason healing potions can no longer be made. This world is changing, and this is why I dig.”

The murmurs from the Terlands behind Ulva were growing louder. At first, they had sneered or scoffed at Xitegen, echoing Ulva’s attitude and their family’s. But though some might deny these events had happened, Lady Ulva?

No. Not the Goblin King. She met Ilvriss’ eyes and there was a flash of something. A break in her armor. Then her voice cooled down again.

“So the hour has come to awaken more Golems, to rouse the Five Families to action. I am not blind to that. But when a Drake comes to me and says, ‘take my claw, let us stand together’, I go down to our family tombs. And count how many of my predecessors died of being stabbed in the back.”

“I am not my ancestors, Lady Ulva Terland—”

“Hah. We shall see. Your arguments are entertaining, if nothing else, but when a stranger comes to my door shouting for me to take their hand? You do think too much of yourself, Wall Lord of Salazsar. You are not the man who could stop one of the King of Destruction’s vassals, let alone the rest of what you spoke of.”

Ulva Terland was inspecting her fingernails, which Lyonette realized had a very light gloss on them. They, too, had been grey until she activated her Skill. Now she even seemed less old and lined. Ilvriss hesitated, and Lyonette jumped in.

“It’s true that Wall Lord Ilvriss is underprepared for the threat, Lady Ulva. He can’t deny it. He can barely beat those [Ranchers], and that’s partly because he doesn’t want to spill blood, but he’s not ready for a Walled City under our feet.”

Now he was trying to shove her, glaring. But Lyonette went on.

“And—stop shoving—you know what? That’s fine. He is still in the right position and the right time! Already, his subordinates are counter-levelling! That’s why even people like Lady Damia have flocked to his banner! If the Walled Cities were smart, they would have all sent resources and manpower! There might be suffering, but look what the dungeon under Liscor has done for the city! The Golems fear what the City of Purity might be. Golems do not level.”

For a moment, Lyonette thought that the Golem known as Timekeeper nodded fractionally. Ulva’s eyes swung to his face, then she leaned forwards.

“Even were I to accept both explanations, I still object to you, Wall Lord Ilvriss. You are a Drake. If I took that argument, I would just seize your enterprise myself and put Xitegen in charge.”

“Great Aunt, I don’t dig—”

She silenced him with a look. Ilvriss stepped forwards, and Lyonette held her breath. He barked back—

“Go ahead.”

Even Ulva blinked at that. Ilvriss gestured at Xitegen.

“By all means, put Lord Xitegen in charge! I cede it to him. Let’s have a contract. Let the Lord of the Thighs take over the digging work!”

Marvus snorted into his cup at Xitegen’s nickname. Ilvriss’ eyes glittered dangerously.

“Having known Lord Xitegen, I am sure he has ample expertise in running a mining operation. Safety protocols, people for that—I welcome him to do the work. Oh, and to deal with all the flies. They carry diseases, and they need constant killing. Not to mention the cost of this enterprise is destroying me with virtually no yield in this damn soil! And the smell! Do you know what our nose plug budget is? Please take it from me! Let’s see how well the Golems do when they hit their first liquid magicore patch and it drains their Golem Hearts dry!”

Even the Golems were mildly alarmed at this, and Xitegen was making ‘x’ motions at his aunt, but she just sat there. Ilvriss took a breath.

“I’m happy to cede this project. I tell a lie; I’m not happy, but I’ll do it. I’ll even cooperate, but no one asked if I wanted to cooperate. In fairness, I didn’t think to ask. That’s my fault. But you assume I have come to grab. Here.”

He strode forwards, and one of the Golems intercepted him. Ilvriss slammed down a briefcase in Corde’s hands, flipped it open, and gestured.

“Pickaxe! Get it appraised! I’m no fool! Yes, I’m a damned Drake, and we’re greedy, and we can’t give anything away—so what? We’ve been Drakes for aeons and not killed each other because we have laws! Protocols! Ways to enforce collaboration! Do you think I don’t have shareholders?”

He glanced around at everyone. They stared at him, and Ilvriss paused, rubbed at his forehead.

“…You savages don’t know what shareholders are, do you? I refuse to apologize for that comment. Lady Ulva, if you are going to evict me and my people, I insist on at least negotiating. Because this is what we have dug up. And you are no fool.”

He held up a helmet, and it looked ordinary to all those without the senses of a Golem. Ilvriss placed it back down.

“We have struck Truegold in the mines. Leaving it is the biggest waste of all. We know where a fortune is. Is it the will of the Terlands to leave treasure buried? I cannot believe you have survived this long with that mentality.”

He stepped back and realized he’d just been shouting at the woman he’d come to persuade. Ilvriss colored, adjusted his suit, wiped at his sweaty scales, and coughed into a hand.

“…I realize we are historically enemies. But we needn’t repeat the mistakes of our fathers, Lady Terland. I am tired of war, and I have participated in so few. May we speak with earnest cooperation in mind?”

That was all. Lyonette had come up with other levers to use. Arguments based on the magical door or the authority of Pallass and Liscor…but in the end, it was Ulva Terland. She had the power to force things.

The [Lady] just sat there. And, Lyonette realized, she had asked relatively reasonable questions about the dangers of the dig. How anyone could guarantee a Drake from the south could be trusted.

Maybe…she peeked at Ulva Terland, and the [Lady]’s voice was soft.

“The Five Families will never trust a Drake in our lands. I do not. I do not trust Calanfer, either. Trust is not required for profit or else the Reinharts would never have anyone work with them. The final reason I come here is simple. You stopped my heart, and your agent took Petria’s face. But for a miracle, I would have died.”

Gasps from the Terlands, the [Ranchers]. Every eye swung towards Ilvriss and Lyonette, and she opened her mouth. To Lyonette’s intense embarrassment, her first response was purely that of her daughters.

“I—well—you attacked Ilvriss first! Don’t send [Assassins] if you don’t want to be assassinated!”

It was such a bad retort that Dame Ushar covered her face with one hand and tried to pretend she wasn’t Lyonette’s [Knight]. Ilvriss winced.

“That’s Calanferian diplomacy? It was an accident, Lady Ulva. As we fought for our lives? We didn’t think that would occur.”

The [Matriarch] of House Terland glanced from the Human to the Drake.

“…’You did it first’ and ‘it was an accident’ are the best reasons you two could come up with? Is there anyone with a better reason?”

She actually peered past Ilvriss and Lyonette. At Mrsha, who was still trying to work on the Forbidden Bowl—it was Nanette in her lumberjack’s outfit who raised a hand.

“Lady Ulva, if I may?”

“What?”

“What kind of fool tries to manually control a Golem across half the damn continent? Let alone has an aura war against two aura-experts?”

Everyone stepped away from Nanette but Hethon, who took a huge breath and tried to sidle back and put himself between her and the wrath of Ulva Terland. The [Matriarch] sat there, then grinned.

“Girl. You remind me of a [Lady] who gave up her class. Art thou a [Witch]?”

“Without the class, yes!”

Nanette tossed her head proudly and put her hands on her hips. Rabbo Golva nearly leapt into a Golem’s arms as he recoiled from her. Ulva nodded, thoughtful.

“That will do. Golems, dunk her head in a bucket. Don’t drown her. Witches used to send their apprentices to House Terland to learn a lesson. What kind, I’ll never know.”

A Golem went walking towards Nanette, and she wavered.

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you—”

Hethon tried to save Nanette. Ulva Terland just sat back on her dais and sighed. After a moment of gazing up at the sky, she realized Ilvriss and Lyonette were still waiting.

“I have yet to meet the Drake who stole my sister’s face. I will meet with her before I leave.”

“…And the not-inconsiderable threats to my life and that of my people, Lady Terland?”

“We’ll see how this cookout goes, shall we? You’ve earned yourself a reprieve.”

Ulva’s eyes glittered, and she sat back. Lyonette and Ilvriss eyed each other, and Xitegen let a breath out.

Had they actually forced Ulva Terland back? Shakily, Lyonette smiled. Ilvriss turned, saw Nanette screaming as a bucket was filled with water, and smiled.

“I think that we swayed her.”

“Are you sure? Or is she waiting to bring the hammer down?”

They glanced at Ulva, and she sat, beckoning one of her family over next. Lyonette hesitated.

“She’s likely not going to make up her mind on the spot. If we give her a reason to pause, Ilvriss, it buys us a day. Making up your mind isn’t something she’d do lightly.”

“True. And that gives Nerul an opening. Ancestors, I’m sweating arrows over here. What—what next?”

“Er, uh, I’ll buy time with dessert!”

Lyonette rushed over as Nanette emerged from her dunking and was put down. She immediately began kicking the Golem and tried to storm forwards to have it out with Lady Ulva—Mrsha and Xitegen were trying to save her from herself.

And perhaps…

——

Ulva Terland was holding court, speaking to young Chovn, and letting the boy announce his class to his family. She watched the [Princess] and Wall Lord, annoyed.

Neither one had swept her away. The rest of her family or something, perhaps. But it annoyed Ulva because she had seen better.

Not to say they hadn’t done some things decently. But was Ulva the only one who remembered Fulviolo and Maviola? Linter and Celica, the original love story that had swept Izril before Pellmia had even been a mote in his father’s eye?

One of the few remaining, yes. She exhaled. It was a disservice to compare the two to the Els in their prime, or anyone else. But…well.

This fell into one of the six outcomes she had calculated upon leaving her house. Ulva Terland knew how Golems thought. If she was not as adept…she drummed her fingers on the armrest of her dais.

She would have to inquire further and make sure she was correct. And meet that damned Drake. The face-changer. But she knew. She saw.

——

There was hope. That was Nerul Gemscale’s only thought when he skidded into the cookout, too late and, perhaps, just in time.

He didn’t greet Lyonette or Ilvriss. He just grabbed the nearest Terland, shook hands, and began throwing Skills.

“Lord Nouzcrat, Diplomat Nerul. Can we resolve this all decently? Lovely Golems, by the way. I’m a posterior-man myself. Can’t beat a good tail.”

“Wha—who are—how dare you—?”

Nouzcrat was ambushed and metaphorically taken into an alleyway and beaten with sticks. Diplomatic sticks. Nerul smiled.

“[Hear Me Out], sir. I realize you don’t like to go against Lady Ulva Terland. But I was the one threatening about the Zelkyr Golems? Ah, you do remember. I just wish to add that old Eschowar’s back in Salazsar.”

“He…he is? That monster’s not dead?”

Nouzcrat turned dead white. Nerul smiled tightly.

“And he’s up to his old tricks. Now, consider that killing Ilvriss gives him full casus belli to invade the north. We both know that Eschowar never needed it. But he needs support from the other Walled Cities, and killing a Wall Lord does that. Think on that. Must run; I’ll be back.”

He left Nouzcrat to sit down and attacked. Like a shark.

“Rabbo Golva! Listen, my man. I know that it’s hard to beat the Lischelles. I, personally, love your steaks. But Marvus there, well, his are the most famous steaks, and I was just in Salazsar trying to order yours, and Administrator Alrric—lovely man, pays for all the Gemscale finances—he asked ‘why not Lischelle beef?’. And you have to admit, they edge you out in prices, if not pure quality.”

To be precise, Alrric had asked, ‘why not Lischelle beef if we have to order some, and why do we want to support Humans in the north when we can get quality meat from our own [Ranchers]?’

But it was enough. The [Primed Talking Point] had Rabbo Golva in a moment.

“Aren’t you that [Diplomat]? See here, Lischelle beef—”

“Beats yours, Rabbo. Not to my palate, but listen: who has a refined palate these days? Not some idiot [Merchant] we’re wining and dining. The wine means he’s not tasting the steak. That’s why the Lischelles have you.”

“I—that’s just your—”

“Unless you had a magical door that cuts all the cost of delivery to Invrisil or Pallass. And Liscor’s got an up-and-coming upper class. Now, I can’t discuss this in the open, but you could undercut every Lischelle delivery by a week and save a fortune on delivery fees. I know the Driver’s Guild and Merchant’s Guild think they’re hot magicore. That door covers four hundred miles. You could beat Marvus with City Runners.”

Rabbo Golva might not get all of what Nerul was dumping on him, but his wife or sons did. They stirred—and so did Marvus Lischelle. The [Cattle Baron] was popping champagne, but the smile faded as one of his sons dashed over. He whirled like a bull scenting trouble.

Nerul finished with two more [Ranchers], then stepped forwards.

And here we go…

“Aren’t you the diplomat I beat out the other day?”

“That was ages ago, Marvus. And you have a damn good punch. I’m not ashamed to say that I’ve lost the spring in my step. But I’ve come back to stop my nephew from losing what brain cells he has left—I like his level of stupidity now. This is my dance, and I insist on having a piece.”

The two men sized each other up as space cleared. They were both big men, and Marvus wrangled cattle. He was a brawler, a strong man—but he realized Nerul had changed.

Despite his efforts, Nerul hadn’t had enough time to make a complete makeover, even with Grimalkin of Pallass’ help. But there was something…sturdier about Nerul. Not just size.

His…thighs? His arms? Everything looked larger, ever so slightly, but the effect made Nerul a bit bigger.

A bit more…

Swole.

And he didn’t back down in front of Marvus, even with the [Cattle Baron] bristling in his face. Nerul flexed one arm, and Lady Damia oohed. She could see his muscles in the definition of the slightly too-tight suit.

“I’d hate to settle this the old-fashioned away, unless that means drinking you under the table, Marvus.”

Ping.

That was the sound of one of his buttons on his suit exploding from the force of his flexing. It pinged off a wineglass and shattered it. Alorelle Terland screamed, but a hand blocked the shards of glass from striking her face.

Her own bodyguard Golem was too slow—but a Drake with a glittering face carved from gemstone smiled as she placed the shards of glass back in Alorelle’s cup.

“My apologies, Lady Terland.”

“Y-you’re—”

Xitegen’s head snapped around, but then it went back to Nerul. The Thigh Lord could appreciate another man with good thighs. Marvus was eying Nerul warily.

“Bit more of a spine in you, eh?”

“I’ve always been spiny, but historically, it’s been supported by less muscle and more fat. The Sinew Magus himself has certified my spine. Now, Marvus. I’m just going to undercut your business with anyone I need to in order to stop the fighting. Alright?”

“I don’t let anyone threaten my family’s way of living, Diplomat.”

“And I don’t let people threaten my nephew or my city.”

The two men squared off. Marvus adjusted his own too well-tailored suit. Nerul popped another button. There was a pause…and Marvus snatched a cup.

“Rabbo Golva’s a crook and a liar. If you’re doing drinks, I’ll bring out the good stuff. Don’t leave me out, y’hear?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. And may I compliment you on your suit? Marvellous style.”

“You’re not bad yourself. You been working out?”

“At the gymnasium, yes. Splendid for gains or building the core. Which gains and which core, I’m not sure, but there’s a bunch of annoyingly enthusiastic people who will cheer you on even if you crap your pants. Which I did on my first day.”

Marvus began laughing as Nerul began recounting his own legend. Which drew in Rabbo Golva, who wanted to hear the story and know how the Drake appeared so fit and get in on this deal if Marvus was talking—

——

Ilvriss was rather stunned by Nerul’s appearance. When the [Diplomat] extricated himself—in six minutes—and went moving towards the Terlands like a shark, the Wall Lord caught him.

“Uncle! You’re just in time; we’ve been surviving Ulva Terland, and I think it’s going decently, but—what was that about working out? You wrote me something about that, and what is that Golem?”

He’d spotted Yweine and felt an uneasy flutter in his stomach, but Nerul confused him.

“I thought you were doing all that to beat Marvus’ Skill or how he stopped you last time!”

“Nephew! Gah, you’re sweaty, and I’m starved. I’ve eaten nothing but healthy things—which, delightfully, includes meat at times—but I will feast! Yes, yes, I did it. Hugely embarrassing—I’ll tell you the entire story when lovely ladies aren’t around to laugh at me. And I did manage to take Marvus out. You saw him back off?”

“Yes, but I thought you’d beat him in a fistfight.”

Ilvriss had rather imagined the two throwing down in a bare-knuckles brawl for Nerul to reassert his dominance, and from the disappointed expressions on Nanette’s and Damia’s faces—and several others—they’d been hoping for the same thing. Nerul just sighed and patted Ilvriss gently on the shoulder.

“Nephew…what do you think [Diplomats] are? All that damn effort, stress, and again, Umbral Throning myself in public—was just for that. It’s not about throwing a punch. It’s about not doing it when you can. That’s the entire point of soft power, the lesson some Drakes never learn. The stick needn’t swing for it to remain a stick.”

“…I’ve missed you, Uncle. I could have used your way with words about five minutes ago.”

Ilvriss hugged Nerul, and the [Diplomat] whispered.

“Don’t thank me yet. I’ve landed us in trouble in Salazsar, but it was the only move I had. That Golem with the gemstone face is with us. With you—and trust her like you trust Tessa, or less. I got her out of the Vaults.”

Ilvriss froze. His eyes found Yweine, and he paled.

“Uncle. Are you insane?”

“Only as much as anyone else is these days, Ilvriss. Now be diplomatic.”

“To whom?”

“Her. Charming, charming, Ilvriss! Prove you’re not just some Wall Lord, and believe me, she’s already watching and, dare I say, reading our lips or something clever whenever we’re not activating privacy spells. So—here we go. How mad is Ulva Terland?”

The two Drakes stepped back, and Ilvriss stared at the Golem from Zelkyr’s age. She was greeting the Terlands, and they were dumbstruck. Ulva Terland herself was eying Yweine, and Ilvriss muttered.

“Rude, but not as hostile as I presumed.”

“Interesting. Interesting. Is she pulling the old Good Twin, Bad Twin routine? Hm. She’s lacking Petria, so she’d do it all herself?”

“How the hell did you know…? Is that good or bad?”

Nerul was just eyeing Ulva.

“I’m inclined to think it’s good. If it was worst-case, she’d come in all smiles, then murder you in front of everyone. She still might, but the more time she spends on us, the more I think she’s willing to listen. Ulva Terland hates wasting time on dead men. Let’s coordinate with Yweine before she can divide us. Yweine’s intelligence is beyond ours—in some ways. If we have a chance, it’s with her.”

The two Drakes nodded, and Ilvriss felt a surge of relief. Now they had their heavy-hitter, it was time to finish this dreadful altercation. The Lischelles seemed happy, and maybe he wasn’t wrong in thinking they’d won some respect for the Highstepper and everything else from them.

And Lyonette had the cake. She wheeled it out and called out.

“Everyone? I invite you to have dessert in honor of the Terlands!”

The Golem-statue appeared, and both Drakes winced when they saw it. Nerul sighed.

“A giant Golem as a cake. Somehow, that’s just so typical it’s a cliché. Well, I’m hungry enough for it. And it’s so tacky—”

“Dead gods, what a splendid cake!”

Lord Moltin exclaimed, and the Terlands applauded loudly. The [Diplomat] amended his statement.

“—Which is just what we need. Nice work. Did Lyonette come up with that?”

“No, it’s Lady Damia’s effort. She knows Terlands. Lady Damia, meet Nerul. She’s been nothing but an asset, Nerul.”

She hurried over, beaming.

“Diplomat Nerul, I am so delighted to meet you! I’d love to meet you and Wall Lord Ilvriss formally, if I may, after this—”

“Damia Reinhart! Dead gods, you’ve changed from my reports on you! I’m far too old, young lady, for any flirting!”

“My past? All behind me, Diplomat, no need to bring it up! Ha-ha! Ha!”

“Splendid, my dear. A Reinhart in our corner beats one at our backs with a poisoned dagger, but if you had any insights…lovely cake. I admit, sometimes I don’t go for the low-hanging fruit because I think it’s too banal. How did you get that made up so fast?”

Damia waved an airy hand at the cake as the first slice was carved onto a plate for Lord Moltin.

“Oh, I got it for a song when I went to Invrisil to search for Varnie. Unfortunately, I think she’s run off my money. Ha, hahaha…”

Both Drakes eyed her, and she coughed.

“…Anyways, I was worried, but I found this excellent [Baker] who assured me he’d do it for a song! He was quite the character! Molvedouka, I think his name was. Very funny man. I didn’t know half-Elves grew mustaches.”

Something about that name made a warning bell go off in Ilvriss’ head. But that was nothing to the way the Golems registered the faint conversation they were eavesdropping on—then Timekeeper’s head snapped around, and he began to move.

——

“A Golem as a cake? Ugh. I can’t count how many Golem-themed foods I’ve had. Just once, I want some originality in life. Fine, get me a slice.”

Ulva Terland was groaning as her family flooded towards the cake. Timekeeper snapped to attention, and she frowned.

“Not instantly. I’m not that hun—”

“Lady Terland. I believe a dangerous individual has infiltrated this gathering or poisoned the cake. You are in critical danger.”

She froze as Timekeeper’s head swivelled, and the Golems around her formed a circle. They were suddenly alert. She spoke.

“The Drakes?”

“No. It may be a coincidence, but a name was overheard that falls into patterns based on an old enemy. Chema, investigate.”

The Gnoll Golem was striding for the cake, and Ulva Terland’s eyes locked on it. She saw the first piece of cake being served onto Lord Moltin’s plate, chocolate, oozing with still-molten brown batter, mixed with green…

Lord Moltin hesitated as he eyed the green strands running from the cake’s interior. Rather odd choice in frosting, he decided. Off-putting. Nevertheless, he’d taken the slice, so he began to lick at a fork—

Chema slapped the fork and plate out of his hands so fast Moltin was licking the air. She thrust him back before he could recoil, and then Ulva saw the green ooze continuing to run from the cake. Then…yellow pus.

The eager partygoers made a sound of disgust and backed away. Lyonette stopped smiling. Her head slowly turned…and the pus that was definitely not frosting splattered onto the ground.

It stank. The smell was so foul that Moltin immediately lost control of his stomach. He vomited, falling onto his hands and knees, and Ulva saw other diners retch. And the pus kept coming…

“How was that in the cake and you didn’t detect it? Poison? It’s too obvious—”

The Golems around her had gone still, she realized. Utterly. Even their Hearts had stopped beating. It was not them who spoke, but Yweine.

The only Golem not linked by the Terlands’ Skills was staring at the cake.

“Intriguing. The plague-like substance does not register as magic or a contaminant to any identification spells despite clearly exhibiting said effects. It is acting as a concealing liquid, akin to neutralized magicore. To what purpose?”

To hide something from a Golem or Salazsar’s eyes, you idiot. Yweine seemed to come to the same conclusion as Ulva did. She shifted, eyes flicking to Wall Lord Ilvriss, Nerul. But before anyone could move, Chema’s circling of the cake-statue came to a halt. She backed up—

A foot kicked the Gnoll Golem in the chest as she tried to dodge, breaking out of the batter. Ulva heard a thump—recoiled in shock—and saw no Chema.

The Golem was gone, just…torn-up ground where she had been standing.

“Chema?”

A hand punched out of the Golem-cake. A figure tore out from the inside, as if birthed by the foul liquids that cascaded down around him. Bits of pus, green ooze, brown filth…and blood. He swept his hair back in a foul spray of liquids, yet it didn’t touch his clothing or skin as he walked out.

He had put on his best clothing. It was a cookout after all.

Tolveilouka had draped himself in the kind of green that reminded Ulva of pond scum. Of a mold, somehow a foul, dirty color at odds with the delicate high-collared coat he wore. It could have belonged to a nobleman with no taste…except for the buttons.

They were tiny, screaming faces made of polished brass. Oh, and Tolveilouka’s boots were filthy black. He strutted forwards, and his shirt looked like writhing maggots. White and yellow over black.

Just cloth. He carried a sword at his side. A single-edged weapon, and his blonde hair was tied back in a long, wide-ended ponytail by two ribbons down his back.

He was the most stylish monster that Ulva Terland had ever seen, and he instantly set off every alarm in the woman’s body. Tolveilouka stepped out of the cake and smiled.

“That’s better. I thought dessert would never come.”

——

It was all worth it for moments like these. Yes, he had waited for this moment. Yes, he had forced terrified bakers to bake him into this cake. Carefully altered the insides so the Golems wouldn’t detect him until it was breached.

And he had waited through the entire day and cookout for this moment.

Why?

If you had to ask why, you were beyond salvation. The answer was style. There could be no other reason. The only thing that would have made it not worth it was some idiot hitting the cake or running into it.

The other two times Tolveilouka had done this, it had happened, so he was really happy to cross this one off his list. He particularly relished the slack-jawed expression on Lyonette’s face.

She really thought she’d been safe from him. He blew her a kiss as she swayed. Then he turned.

Terland Golems and the [Ranchers]. Oh, and Salazsar. Was it his birthday? Tolveilouka scooped some of the filth he’d secreted onto a slice of cake.

“Wonderful party, Princess. I couldn’t help myself; I made you a dessert.”

He took a huge bite of the mixture, and someone else threw up. Tolveilouka masticated, then threw the slice of cake at a Silverfang Gnoll.

Someone blocked the cake, cursing. Ser Dalimont dropped his shield instantly—Tolveilouka was disappointed.

He would have loved to see what that cake piece would have given the Silverfang. Damn Golems. They’d stopped the others from eating the cake.

“Well then. Shall we get this cookout started?”

No one was speaking. Shock. Tolveilouka sighed as he stretched, luxuriating in the moment. Yessir, you had to have fun in life.

He credited Erin Solstice with it, really. His Goddess, indeed, his muse. Just when he’d thought life had nothing left to offer, here he found new joy in mundane things. After all…

He was helping. The theory was simple. The Wall Lord’s dig was in jeopardy. How did you unite such horrible enemies? Give them the biggest one of all to unite against.

Or just kill them all. Tolveilouka was on the fence about it. He figured he’d wing it.

——

Thump.

That was the sound Chema made as she hit the ground in the distance. How long had she been airborne…?

“Lady Ulva. Golem Chema has been rendered unable to serve. Threat identified. The Putrid One’s minions walk again. Warning. WARNING. ALL GOLEMS OF HOUSE TERLAND, TO ARMS. TOLVEILOUKA THE WRETCHED IS STILL ALIVE. LOCK DOWN HOUSE TERLAND.”

Timekeeper was first to speak. And when he did—his voice boomed. It echoed.

——

It echoed across House Terland. Golems in the field froze about their tasks. Citizens of House Terland and the nobles of their house jumped as the Golems swung their heads down.

The Light of the North, the giant Golem who acted as a lighthouse, moved its eyes from the seas. It looked south, and Timekeeper’s distant orders came to it. Minutes too late. Too slow.

“The Putrid One’s greatest servant is threatening the Head of House Terland. Golems, march! The plague cannot be allowed to sweep the world a fifth time.”

The Golems of the North stirred. Conferred—and then the Light of the North took a step. It ripped free from the ancient masonry of the tower it was built into.

Below, the city of First Landing that had overgrown its initial boundaries rang with alarm. Mortals gazed up as the lighthouse broke and the tallest Golem they had ever seen emerged. It was huge, even rough, simple arms and legs for a Golem meant to stand forever. A statue with glowing eyes.

It took one slow, creaking step. Then another. Across the streets, southwards. An alarm was ringing in the Light of the North’s head. One it had heard time and again.

The Putrid One. It remembered…and knew that from the Mansion of Stone, Golems were emerging.

Unsealing the doors of their own vaults. Marching past terrified nobles and storming down the streets. The vast Golems who tilled the fields. The most powerful serving Golems still active.

The ones who were needed.

Step. Step.

The Light of the North’s heart did not thunder. There was no [Lady] of House Terland to order it to beat.

But that was needed. It walked, and there was no hope for the ancient Golem. Only certainty.

When it met the Putrid One’s servant, the ruler of House Terland would need to order its heart to beat. Or it would be destroyed.

The Golem took another step as alarm bells began to ring. It had heard the commands from afar, and it took time for Golems to scream across the continent. It would be too slow when it arrived, of course. It always was.

It might be too slow already. Too late.

The Golems marched upon a foe they remembered from an age when they had resided on Terandria’s shores. The younger Golems did not know why.

They…

Were lucky.

——

“Tolveilouka Ve’delina Mer.”

Ilvriss had heard the name before. Heard Lyonette tell him about it and how she’d defeated him, and Duke Rhisveri, like an Erin story. Like Facestealer, a great foe laid low by cunning.

Defeated?

He should have asked more. But Lyonette had been confident…and perhaps she hadn’t known. Erin had dealt with this monster, but even she had only—Timekeeper’s voice was measured, even now, but fast.

His heart was beating so fast the words were perfectly-articulated.

“Tolveilouka Ve’delina Mer is a half-Elf from the age of the Putrid One. His nature pre-dates the Creler Wars by numerous ages. He is the greatest creation of the Putrid One, whose name has been damned to history. Combat capabilities are well above that of Named-rank adventurers of the modern era. He has slain Dragons in single combat. Lady Ulva Terland, you and House Terland are in danger. Please retreat. Immediately.”

That was what this thing was? Ilvriss felt his scales crawling. He was sure every [Dangersense] was blaring out of control, but they should have been screaming the moment that damn fake cake arrived.

“Oh no. This is all my fault. My…”

Damia was horrified. But this thing…seemed to know how to cheat every safeguard and Skill. No—he.

He was still a half-Elf. And a monster. Tolveilouka was listening, nodding in approval.

“I love Golems. They remember things properly. I recognize you, Golem. So, the old Gearboxes are still ticking away, eh?”

“Tolveilouka the Wretched. House Terland will destroy you. Desist in your actions or perish, yon fellow.”

Corde spoke. Tolveilouka eyed them.

“You have a funny way of speaking, Golem. I like it. It reminds me of the era I slept in. You think you Golems can halt me? I’ve been watching you all afternoon. So this is why House Terland left Levicus, eh? In decline. Sad, really. But even Golems break. Like toys. Your family cried so loudly when I broke their favorite ones. Like children.”

His teeth, when he bared them, were sharp. Unsettlingly so, even to a Drake.

“I miss that. Shall we dance?”

He stepped forwards, and Corde swung down their hammer. It was a fast, precise blow. They smashed the enchanted hammer against Tolveilouka’s shoulder. There was a ringing impact. The ground deformed under his feet.

His body didn’t shift. Tolveilouka eyed the hammer resting on his shoulder.

“…See?”

Corde stepped back, resetting their stance, and Tolveilouka chuckled. He glanced around, and Marvus Lischelle paled.

“You’re here. You monster.”

“Why, Marvus! Thank you for the meal, y’ken. I’ve been right pleased by all your mighty generosity!”

Tolveilouka hooked his thumbs in his belt and swaggered over, mocking the man’s tone. He leered at Aronia.

“Is this your wife? She looks good enough to eat.”

Marvus raised a fist and hesitated. Tolveilouka ignoring the hammer blow was one thing. And the stench from the cake…Marvus’ instincts were warring with his brain. But he had to do something—

There was an oath. Rabbo Golva swung up a shortsword and pointed it at Tolveilouka.

“You’ve murdered good men ‘n women and cattle! We’re going t—”

Tolveilouka slapped the tip of the shortsword off with a hand. It spun into Rabbo’s temple and lodged there. He fell, clawing at the blade with a cry.

Marvus froze. Eyes locked on Rabbo. Tolveilouka peered down.

“Huh, I missed the brain. That’s so fascinating—it almost never isn’t critical. Actually, I once hit a pickaxe into a man’s head. Got half his lobe, and he just walked off. Saw him two months later, and he was doing sort of well. Pickaxe piece still lodged in there. Even my master was fascinated and wanted to keep him alive, but he tripped running away from us, and that was pretty much it.”

He sighed. Then turned.

“Where was I? Oh, right. Thanking you for your hospitality. And the Terlands. And this lovely Wall Lord, and you, [Princess]. I have room enough for everyone.”

He leered around. Ilvriss saw Lyonette jerk.

“I—I thought you were dealt with. How are you here?”

“Oh, you mean that cute trick you used to try to save your inn? Princess, Princess. I’m Tolveilouka Ve’delina Mer. Nothing and no one is safe from me. I swore to drown Izril in the dead and plagues. And I shall. That [Innkeeper] gave killing me her best shot, I’ll admit…but no one was helping her, and now she’s out of the way, it’s time to feast.”

He grinned, and just for a second, Ilvriss felt confused, even as he glanced around for a way out. He saw the Rubirel Guard moving, but they’d seen Chema falling, and he was signalling them not to attack. Yet. They had to get the kids, Lyonette, everyone away…but the half-Elf was so dangerous. Could they even survive if they all attacked?

Something was bothering Ilvriss, though. Didn’t Lyonette say Erin had used him? Tried to kill him? And there was something else about Tolveilouka. Ilvriss’ hand stole to his blade, and he swore the half-Elf noticed. But before he could move, Timekeeper spoke.

“Tolveilouka the Wretched. You will be hunted without respite if you assault House Terland’s own. Remove yourself.”

The half-Elf swung around.

“You do remember me. Have we actually fought before? I’ve smashed so many of you, I forget.”

“Yes. This Golem participated in combat against the Putrid One 15,311 years ago.”

“I can tell. One of your inner gears has the tiniest mark of my plague on it. Fascinating.”

“This Golem, known as Timekeeper, was designated ready-for-duty despite contamination. The deterioration of Inner Meridian 33rd Level Gear, Chain 14, 4th Position, 4th Gear was determined to be inconsequential.”

Tolveilouka pshed as he walked forwards, and Timekeeper stepped in front of Ulva Terland to shield her.

“Everyone says that. Had you met me…well, it’d be too hard to pustulate the gear unless I wanted to surprise your masters. Too buried.”

“That was the conclusion of my [Golem Artificer] at the time. A lack of parts necessitated this compromise.”

“Oho. Rebuilding you lot, were they? When was this? I’m picturing a beach.”

“The Battle of Tiabec’s Demise is the conflict you are referencing with a 67% chance of accuracy.”

“Tiabec? They actually named it after that idiot? He was a footnote! We killed him in the first hour!”

“Nevertheless, the record remains. Eighty-seven of my original unit were de-stroyed in naval landing action with a party led by you. You personally destroyed over fifty of my number.”

Tolveilouka snapped his fingers.

“I do remember! Yes, you were poised to give us a nasty attack, but your idiot masters took you too close to the beach. Undead in the waters. Just plague undead, but we swarmed you and kept you from fighting on the ground. It might have gone the other way if some Terland ponce didn’t make that mistake.”

“Lady Yoirn Terland was in command of our forces. Records indicate she later took her own life by throwing herself into the sea.”

“Hah! Classic. This is delightful. I should have bothered House Terland ages ago, but I’ve just been going here, going there, murdering everything, you know, without a plan. As I said, that damn [Innkeeper] really gave me her best shot, but Roshal did for her. The [Princess] over there did something clever too, but nothing stops me long.”

“This is evident. Is your return a herald of your Master’s revi-val?”

——

What was going on? Timekeeper was chatting with Tolveilouka, and the half-Elf was clearly enjoying every second of it. From a historical perspective, it was probably valuable—Satar Silverfang would have loved this.

Mrsha was about to soil herself. She didn’t know—this wasn’t in the [Palace of Fates]! Sometimes, she’d seen Tolveilouka attack, but he’d never done this.

Popping out of a cake really was beyond any world she’d seen. She didn’t get why Timekeeper was chatting, though—until she saw how the Golem was speaking.

So conversationally. Shielding Ulva Terland from…

Someone touched Mrsha’s shoulder and pulled at her. She jerked—but it was Welsca! The Drake put a claw to her lips, and Xinthe was there.

“Lady Mrsha, this way!”

She mouthed, and Mrsha realized that Ilvriss’ staff were pulling the guests back. Not everyone; Marvus was shielding his family and Ilvriss his soldiers—they were all staying. But they were trying to get…

The horses. They were far enough from the door that they’d have to ride. Or run. It was…what, fifteen minutes of light riding? Call it a thirty-minute dead run.

Too far. But Mrsha was edging backwards with Nanette, using the tables to duck down, when Tolveilouka chuckled.

“Oh, my master? That’s between him and me, old chap. This is grand, just grand. Say, do you recall everything about me?”

“The approximate knowledge of Golems here contains numerous records about you, Tolveilouka the Traitor.”

“Argh, and you were doing so well with my titles. I suppose that is one, but do you, perchance, know any music from those times? Hold on—”

Tolveilouka kicked up the table Mrsha was sneaking behind in an explosion of wood. He turned, caught the punch from Timekeeper, and grunted.

“That’s the strength I remember. Nothing like other Golems. Really, did you think you were getting away?”

Terrified Terlands, [Ranchers], and other guests froze. Tolveilouka grinned, and Timekeeper barred his way again.

“Tolveilouka. Your quarry is the [Princess] of Calanfer, correct?”

“…Of where? You people and your kingdoms. You knock one down, another pops up. Yes, her. That Drake—I’m really here for the entire spread. I heard there was good beef here. So I came by.”

He grinned down at Burlise. She was shaking as she held a belt knife. Tolveilouka’s presence—it made Mrsha’s head go white. Think of something! But what flame could burn—

“If that is so. Will you agree to allow the Terlands to leave in agreement of a temporary truce?”

Mrsha stared at Timekeeper, and Tolveilouka actually pivoted.

“So I get all of them and you don’t fight me?”

“Co-rrect.”

His charge was to defend Ulva Terland. The [Lady] rose to her feet and snapped.

“Timekeeper! House Terland does not sacrifice children!”

“Oh, bravo. Did you see her shout that without dying of embarrassment or hypocrisy?”

The half-Elf applauded, laughing. He peered at Ulva.

“You do know what you people used to make Golems out of? You have to fuel a Golem’s Heart somehow. No? Ah, I see you do.”

Ulva’s eyes narrowed as she regarded Tolveilouka. Mrsha felt sick. Not just because of what Tolveilouka was insinuating.

We’re dead. I thought Ielane was supposed to—

“Shall we play a game of sins, half-Elf? Any old kingdom wins. I am not my forebears. We tossed their bones into the sea when we left Levicus. Why are you here?”

Tolveilouka bowed, then whispered to Timekeeper.

“She is classy. I’m just here to hurt you all, Your Ladyship! Won’t be a moment! Got any more offers since you can’t talk your way out of this one, old fellow? I would have probably just killed all of you and let the others live for that, by the by. Just because it’s funnier.”

Timekeeper’s heart was whirring nonstop. Golems moved around Tolveilouka, flanking him. He peered around.

“No, not those, where are the good Golems? Unless they’re all invisible. Not that one, it’s far too loud. Really invisible.”

He jerked a thumb at the eyestalk Golem, who half-materialized. Timekeeper spoke.

“The Putrid One rests in the Village of Death as it is now known. That he has not emerged is proof he remains incapacitated. Or dead. The Veltras force containing the undead have not been overwhelmed; further evidence. I have communicated this fact to Terland Golems. They will destroy his remains at any cost. An army will raze his tomb to the ground.”

Tolveilouka’s head twisted around impossibly far. And he lost his smile.

“…And you think that’s going to make me relent? I am going to rip your precious Terlands to pieces for that, Golem.”

“This battle benefits neither side. Name your price. It is concie-va-ble a Terland artifact may revive your master. You shall never acquire one if you bring the Five Families to war. Even a being of your caliber will tire of pursuit and become wounded. Die.”

A Golem’s damn logic. Impeccable, but…flawed. The half-Elf was growing more bored with each second. He wound up for a punch, spinning his arm around, and Mrsha could have told Timekeeper he was doing it wrong. If she could speak. If she could think.

It was not she who spoke, then, but another being who acted on logic, unable to feel fear in her bones.

Yweine. The Golem interrupted.

“Timekeeper. This half-Elf predates all known history. His legacy is utterly lost save for a name I do not have stored in my records except for a single location. Your erasure means his data is forfeit. I request clarity as to who this being is before your demise.”

Tolveilouka halted and turned. He studied Yweine.

“Well now, you’re not a Terland Golem. Odd. You’re not that special…but you’re clearly one of those thinking ones. Is that right? You don’t recall me at all? Servant of the greatest Necromancer of Izril?”

“The greatest [Necromancer] of any era is Perril Chandler. Or perhaps Archmage Nekhret.”

Yweine shot back, and Tolveilouka frowned.

“…Who? I’ve heard that damn name before. And an Az’kerash.”

“They are one and the same being.”

“Are they? Are they?”

Xinthe grabbed Mrsha again. Tolveilouka noticed them moving away, but he was getting visibly angry. He spun on his heel.

“You remember me, don’t you, old timer?”

“Ye-es. Only Golems and certain texts remember the Putrid One.”

“How did you forget…? No, no. I’ve been over this. Calm. I am a flower blooming in a cesspool…”

Tolveilouka closed his eyes, breathed in and out, relaxed.

“…Do you remember the expression ‘Giant’s hanging testicles’, at least?”

He asked plaintively, and Timekeeper paused. As if even the Golem couldn’t compute where this was going.

“Yes.”

Tolveilouka sniffed and wiped at his eyes.

“You have no idea what that means to me. Wait, if you recall everything—do you recall my music? My triumphal dirge? My theme song?”

His what? Mrsha tripped as she ran, and she turned her head. A longer pause.

“This is in record in part due to repeated broadcasting.”

“Play it! Play it! I must hear it again! Play it and I swear, I’ll let you live!”

Tolveilouka clapped his hands and danced around. Yweine turned to Timekeeper, as if assuming this was a bluff. But after some beats of his heart, the Golem turned. He did not sing, but several Golems opened their mouths, and music began to play.

It was…scratchy. Distorted by faint screams, the crackle of other sounds, as if heard on a battlefield. Mrsha heard the chanting of voices. Wailing pipes.

He had a damn theme song? Tolveilouka began dancing.

“Oh, oh! It is my music! Wait, why are you all looking at me like that? Does no one compose their own music? Do you just…fight each other without any background ambience? Just heaving at each other, grunting?”

He wore the most disappointed expression ever, as if this were personally offensive to him. As if this were the worst thing that had happened to him since learning no one knew the phrase ‘Giant’s hanging testicles’. Then he shrugged.

“Okay—since I can tell you’re getting less scared and just running, here I go.”

He leapt on the first of the Rubirel Guard, ripped the Drake’s helmet off, and kissed the Drake on the lips.

She puked. Then kept puking maggots out of her mouth. The Rubirel Guard clawed at her face until Tolveilouka slammed the helmet back on. The flailing figure fell over. He turned.

“Keep playing and I won’t attack you Golems!”

Then he side-stepped, dodged a spell shot from Welsca’s wand, and kicked a horse. Tolveilouka’s foot exploded out of the horse’s stomach in a shower of blood, and the animal collapsed.

“Here’s my contribution to the cookout! Wait, it needs something. You too.”

He lifted up a screaming [Rancher] over his head and wedged him in the horse’s guts. Raised a foot, spun—

A sword passed over his head. Tolveilouka caught a lasso thrown by Eni Calabie that burned across his palms from the speed of the rope. He just smiled.

“[Ranchers]. Such a funny class.”

He heaved, and there was a pop. Screaming. Eni’s husband caught her in horror as he stared at her dislocated arms. Tolveilouka began laughing, holding his sides.

“Now, where is that [Princess]? Oh, here we go—”

The first squad of Drakes charged Tolveilouka as the Rubirel Guard advanced. Mrsha heard yelled orders, Skills. Ilvriss was shouting.

“Everyone, get out of here! Ulva, get your Golems to fight! Ulva Terland—”

The [Lady] was ignoring him. Her Golems were picking up the Terland family, everyone they found, and running towards the door. But Tolveilouka?

He emerged from the squad of screaming Drakes whose limbs he had broken, legs, arms, and he finished arranging them in a circle. He dusted his hands off. He caught Mrsha’s eye.

“I’m just doing this till the theme song ends. Building suspense. You have to honor the theme song. Start running!”

Xinthe swung her onto horseback, and Mrsha was howling with the Silverfang Gnolls. She saw Tolveilouka spreading his arms, beckoning. An arrow broke on his skin as the Golems surrounding him sang.

Some kind of unholy chant. Mrsha heard massed voices singing in a thunder of music behind her. She couldn’t tell what was being sung—it was a mix of languages. It might have been stupid, but it sounded…bad.

“Tolveilouka Ve’delina Mer!

Perterridus! Proditor vitae—

Affertor putredinis!”

If you actually knew the dead language of magic, known to Earth as Latin, that wasn’t…very scary. However, it sounded terrible, and Tolveilouka was flicking his fingers to the music, smiling.

He turned to seek out another target and halted. Then his head twisted around.

“Oho. Now that’s what I like to see. I thought you were just some golden ornament. But you’re actually coming at me with a warrior’s will. Good. I was worried none such existed anymore.”

He reached out and caught the arrow that Elia Arcsinger fired at his right eye. She loosed a second arrow, but Tolveilouka just dodged it. His eyes were locked on the figure striding at him.

“Ser Dalimont! Don’t!”

Nanette screamed, and the [Knight] raised his sword overhead, then held it two-handed. He advanced on Tolveilouka, and the half-Elf stretched his legs out.

“Too bad you’re nothing near the level you need to be.”

He pushed himself off the ground, and the earth exploded from where he was standing. His kick shattered a [Forcewall] and hit a Golem. The War Golem exploded from the impact, and Tolveilouka stepped off it. Turned.

“Hm. Nice Skill.”

He leapt on Ser Dalimont, and Mrsha didn’t see—

The damn Golems kept singing.

——

“Son of forests.

Betrayer of kin!

Betrayer of decency!

You forsake your kind,

Your levels—

Your flesh.

Writhing maggot,

Death despises you!”

Tolveilouka pinned the [Knight] down with one foot and blinked.

“Hm?”

He could have sworn he’d broken that man’s bones, but instead…he stared down at the bag of flour.

“Huh.”

Ser Dalimont’s arm was broken, but he staggered upright. Tolveilouka was unharmed, of course, but he frowned, tracing the magic—the second Thronebearer didn’t draw a sword.

She just activated another scroll. Then fired a [Fireball] from her wand.

He blocked the first one, letting the magical flames wash over him. Tolveilouka spun, kicked a stone at Dame Ushar—it cracked into the [Forcewall], and he blinked. He crouched, leapt—

She vanished. The trap runes around her exploded, and Tolveilouka emerged from the smoke. He glanced around, cut an [Ice Lance] in half with one hand. Spotted her and leapt—

Mid-jump, Tolveilouka punched the air and re-directed himself downwards. He landed amongst Drakes and knocked them flying with single punches. But his head was turning.

“That’s three [Lesser Teleports] in one go—”

He leapt forwards, blocked another [Fireball], and his entire body lit up. Although no bones appeared even when the [Lightning Bolt] illuminated his frame. Tolveilouka landed in a [Darkness Cloud] and blew.

But he was frowning. When the shower of [Light Arrows] began bouncing off him, he just closed his eyes, then looked straight at an empty patch of air. Dame Ushar coughed as Tolveilouka kicked the ground and a cloud of dirt broke the spell. Again, the half-Elf kicked a stone at her, and it bounced off a shield, shattering it.

“…Are you some kind of [Spellblade]? No, you’re just activating items. How many do you have?”

In response, Ushar vanished again. Tolveilouka scratched his head. She was just pulling out magical items nonstop. He pivoted, and Ser Dalimont’s sword stopped an inch from Tolveilouka’s skin, caught between the half-Elf’s fingers. The man’s teeth were bared. Tolveilouka headbutted him once, and he dropped.

“Dalimont! [Enforce Pact: The Chessmaster’s Wrath]!”

The [Princess]. Tolveilouka felt the contract Skill come after him and saw a giant chess-piece fall towards him. A queen with flails in each arm. He stared up at it.

Then he jumped and punched it. Pieces of the construct’s masonry rained down as he sighed.

“Next?”

——

Ser Dalimont’s arm was broken. Dame Ushar appeared, panting, cuts on her face from the debris Tolveilouka had hurled at her. Everything was chaos—she shoved Dalimont.

“Protect her Highness!”

“I can—”

He began, then went for Lyonette. He knew she was right, but Dalimont had tried to do something. Not against this monster. Just as ever, he had to run…he swore he saw Ser Sest waving at him.

They could act, the inn’s staff. Dalimont only wished more were here. Elia Arcsinger was still shooting arrows at Tolveilouka, but he seemed to actually not even notice her shooting them into the back of his head.

Everyone was running for the magic door, and Ser Dalimont saw Mrsha was in Xinthe’s arms. Good. She wasn’t fighting, just staring at something over his shoulder. He was more worried about Nanette.

“Let me go! Lyonette’s back there! We have to do—do something! Lure him to the inn! We can use the hallway, we have to—”

Nanette was screaming. Hethon and Sammial were being carried out of the line of combat by their caretakers, but Nanette was fighting. She wanted to do something…but someone had her in his arms, and he was riding with the reins of the panicked horse in his teeth.

Captain Todi had taken one look at Tolveilouka and done exactly what he’d promised Lyonette: run. But he’d grabbed Nanette on the way. He was actually dodging the half-Elf whenever Tolveilouka came to attack the fleeing people.

The Gold-rank adventurer would linger with a group of people, then split the moment he heard the half-Elf laughing or saw him leaping. And Tolveilouka would go for the others.

He’d have made an amazing Thronebearer. Dalimont kept riding, shouting into a speaking stone. The Golems just sang. Frankly?

He couldn’t blame them. If what he knew about Tolveilouka was accurate, this was going to get worse.

——

Ulva Terland had doubted how dangerous this half-Elf was. Seeing him fight effortlessly for a minute had changed her mind. She was speaking.

“I demand every Golem and adventurer that Invrisil has now—”

Her people were running for the door, but the half-Elf was following them. He smashed through more of Salazsar’s Drakes without slowing. They had formed a spearwall.

Tolveilouka ran into the spearwall and kept going. The spear tips barely deformed his flesh. He scattered the [Soldiers] like pins, snapping their spears, and the Golems…

Kept singing. They’d switched languages twice. Once had been Common, another Drathian or something? Now—

“Tolveilouka erges ra habrec!

Sor grrs narve’tte!”

What language—? Ulva was still sitting on her Dais of Health. She hadn’t run and was watching the chaos. The Wall Lord was marshalling his people. It was doomed. The [Ranchers] were in chaos. Some were fighting the half-Elf as he dismantled them, laughing as they slashed at him. The Golems—singing as they moved.

“Mer ra plarrziet.

Az’Currous!

Az’Menalim!”

Wait…that was Gnollish, wasn’t it? Ulva recognized one word. Az’kerash was just a name. A title. Slayer of Kerash. So that meant—

“Az’Siwas!

Az’Rithrebe!

Az’Arain duv Winds!

Az’Zilopethe!

Az…”

She heard the list of names thundering around as the half-Elf raised bloody hands.

“Duv is a Dragon title. Just so you know. He was a scrawny Dragonlord. But I did kill him myself.”

He was still showing off. The wailing voices grew louder. Tolveilouka turned, sighing. One of the [Princess]’ knights was down. The Golems sang as the half-Elf scratched at one pointed ear.

“…Okay, it’s going on too long. I admit it. Seventeen minutes was gauche. Old fellow, do you know the thing about me and the truth?”

The singing stopped. Timekeeper spoke.

“Yes. Even when you swear on your master, you lie.”

Tolveilouka’s eyes opened wide, and he charged the Golems as they ceased singing and engaged as one. As they had known they’d have to. Ulva Terland spoke.

“[Awaken, Hearts of Stone]. Golem hearts, roar without end—”

She would have conducted them, but—she couldn’t even see the fighting. Her personal barrier ring lit up, and she flinched. Then realized it wasn’t the half-Elf attacking her. It was a piece of one of her Golems.

——

A doomed battle.

Timekeeper had bought more time than he had calculated by humoring the half-Elf. The majority of the Terlands would not reach the door despite the time accrued, however. If the door could even be held against Tolveilouka the Traitor.

He was—weaker, though. Perhaps—

The half-Elf threw one of the War Golems and grabbed the haft of another’s battleaxe. He stopped it effortlessly, and took a full blow from Corde. It did not damage him. His regeneration factor could heal from anything but Dragonbreath in moments.

Timekeeper remembered that. However—the half-Elf was too slow to lash back out at Corde in a kick. He barely touched them, and they staggered back, but their chassis was undamaged, merely posture-broken.

Thoughts ran between the Golems, and Timekeeper was the locus. Conclusions, memories, all flowing together into a single being whose heart thundered in a dozen chests. If it could be summarized, it was this.

Analysis: he is far too slow. Conclusion: he is still enjoying himself. His true forms will represent increasing speed and strength. Deliver damage at a sustained rate until he loses his temper to prolong escape.

Timekeeper went forwards. He was one of the strongest Golems, and he engaged the half-Elf in personal combat. His punch took Tolveilouka in the chest and warped his body. When the half-Elf rose, he delivered a blow that knocked Timekeeper back, but sustained attacks from ranged Golems allowed Timekeeper to reset. Tolveilouka blocked a simultaneous attack from Corde with one hand—but Timekeeper’s punch made his hand snap back until he halted it against his chest.

Observation: ego dictates his actions. Anger.

“You have got-ten weak, Tolveilouka.”

“Hah! A hundred of you couldn’t stop me, Gearbox.”

Tolveilouka shoved Timekeeper back and threw a flurry of punches. Timekeeper absorbed the damage to his chassis with minimal impact. His internal systems—shuddered—

The Golem of Eyes ensnared the half-Elf in its limbs for a second. He flexed his body and, after three tries, exploded the long cords of living metal which had engulfed him. Destruction of the Golem of Eyes was next. Tolveilouka smashed its central eyestalk and heart.

It had bought six seconds. Timekeeper had reset his posture.

Observation: he does not draw his sword. Observation: he is displeased.

The half-Elf was flexing his arms, frowning. Gritting his teeth—and when Timekeeper engaged him again, he struck another blow.

Tolveilouka’s feet skidded across the ground, and the side of his face-reformed. Timekeeper calculated based on his memories…

The half-Elf should have been faster. Stronger. Reassess conclusion.

This time, three War Golems engaged from simultaneous sides. The half-Elf spun under the blades like a [Dancer], touching the ground with his hands as he pivoted, pushing himself up, and kicked both Golems in the head. But his blows did not crush their heads, merely dented the enchanted steel.

He landed, and Timekeeper’s fist drove him into the ground.

Analysis: durability unchanged. Regeneration unchanged. Reflexes limited. Strength limited. Conclusion: Tolveilouka is under the effects of hostile inhibition Skill.

Timekeeper confirmed the conclusion by devoting one of the Golems capable of Skill-sensing to a point scan and detected a Skill at range being enforced. Contract-type.

Victory might be possible. If victory was defined as the escape of all but Golems. Timekeeper began a true offensive. He was not aware of who bound Tolveilouka, though evidence indicated the [Princess] was somehow responsible.

Conclusion: she is now a priority target to keep alive for the duration of the battle. Damage to Tolveilouka to force exhaustion is necessary. Confirm conclusion.

He charged, fists swinging, and the half-Elf gritted his teeth and stood his ground. He was smaller, presenting an agile target as Timekeeper’s body rotated to enforce the maximum exchange of energy into each blow.

23% of Timekeeper’s blows missed. However, the rest impacted the half-Elf, who did not withdraw or show deleterious effects due to damage. His blows were beginning to atrophy Timekeeper’s chassis, but at a substantially reduced rate than projections.

Damage to gears increasing. Damage to Tolveilouka acceptable. Basis: the half-Elf was swearing. Tolveilouka balled his fist and went for a strike with all his strength.

Timekeeper saw the blow coming and calculated it would destroy his functionality beyond acceptable limits in this engagement. He spoke.

“[One Second].”

——

Tolveilouka hit the ground, and this time, he felt that. He got up slowly, and the Golem let him. It wasn’t badly damaged at all. Tolveilouka spat black blood.

Damn that [Queen]. She was holding him back with all her might. He even punched weaker, but that wasn’t what rattled him. His eyes narrowed, and he spoke.

“Hells. They gave you a Skill.”

“This Golem has been up-graded by the head of House Terland.”

“No wonder they thought you were good enough to guard that [Lady].”

Tolveilouka shook his body out, trying to feel what it had done. Punched him repeatedly it felt like. Time-stop Skills. He doubted the Golem could do it twice, but that…Tolveilouka’s skin began to bulge.

“Well, if you can use a Skill, so can I. Want to see my true face?”

He began to grin as his face bulged upwards. The Golems formed up, retreating, and Tolveilouka made a fist.

Anyone could learn a Skill. Even someone who had forsaken levels. He drew back a fist—and then stared at the golden chains wrapped around one arm.

“Really, woman? Aren’t you dead yet?”

He hissed across the world, then had a thought. Tolveilouka did some calculations.

“Her head’s probably trying to explode…and if I haven’t managed it yet…damnit. I’m counterlevelling her, aren’t I?”

He looked up gloomily right before Timekeeper punched him into the ground.

Wonderful.

——

Queen Ielane du Marquin was hosting a parade.

Calanfer had parades like how Garbichug Revolters had warts. Constantly and for any occasion. And much like Garbichug warts, they tended to be spontaneous and explode in your face.

You barely needed a reason for a celebration sometimes. [Princess]’ birthday, all seven of them? Parade.

A noble hits any capstone level? Parade.

A Thronebearer destroys a [Bandit] group? Parade.

The reasoning was simple for a cynical mind like Menisi’s, who had been raised by Reclis and Ielane. She shared it with Ellet, whom she was standing next to despite Ielane’s best attempts.

“Parades are a way of giving back to the commonfolk, Ellet.”

“But it’s about the crown, Sister Menisi.”

Ellet stood, all cute innocence, dressed in a pink-and-gold dress with bows in her combed hair, the darling child of Calanfer’s royalty. Uncorrupted. Menisi, by contrast, had a long cigarette in her lips she was lighting and wore a sultry dress in black and red, like an evil stepsister out of storybooks.

Ielane was initiating this smaller parade which was in aid of Prince Lothen’s decision to head a new expedition to the New Lands, incidentally. A smaller affair given how the last one had gone; most Calanferian ships had gone astray or simply returned home. Those that hadn’t sank.

Menisi knew why that was too. She wasn’t being let into the Eternal Throne’s decision making, of course, but her father talked, and she had sources in the servants and from her estates.

Some ships had returned since the Calanferian delegation had been so badly damaged. However, some had peeled off to sail to Baleros and had disgorged both colonists and soldiers.

To come to the aid of Seraphel. A better use of them than joining the rest of that cursed colonial attempt. Not only had the ships which had made it to the New Lands suffered the Bloodtear Pirates’ attacks, but Tulm the Mithril had pursued them even over land. Many nations had elected to withdraw and send a second wave of colonists rather than fight the Iron Vanguard, who were going to be a problem…

All of this didn’t matter to the now. Menisi shifted as Shardele finished giving her speech and let her mother step forwards. Something was off about Ielane.

Normally, the Queen of Diplomacy wouldn’t suffer Menisi anywhere near her plans, let alone near her darling Ellet. She’d literally aura-slam Menisi until the [Princess] couldn’t think straight and push her into a humiliating or out-of-the-way circumstance. Well, she’d have done that if Menisi was still sixteen and lower-leveled.

But even now, Menisi had expected to have to fight to appear here. Instead, she’d only had to defeat about twenty members of staff and Thronebearers; Ielane and her personal hand, Vensha, had done nothing.

There was a logic to it; the Calanferians gazing up at Menisi were appalled and allured by her dress and unconventional style. A flower that bloomed differently in an identical garden stood out—but Menisi knew her mother tolerated nothing that strayed too far from her vision. She had been increasingly private this week, and that was not like her with the enemy—Menisi—in her keep.

Was she sick? Menisi thought Ielane had more makeup on her than usual as she stood, letting the people cheer her and speaking with beaming, gentle goodwill and pride to her citizens. An actress of legends without the class. Menisi continued telling Ellet why this parade was an important evil.

“It’s simple, Ellet. [Commoners], [Peasants] like the ones we have? A parade is a holiday for them. They’re not expected to work. Free food and drink is passed out. We put on a show.”

“But it’s about us.”

“To us it’s boring, because we have all that. Use your brain, you darling little dolt. We work them hard, and unlike other nations, the Eternal Throne cultivates its citizens to still adore us by these constant parades. We spread them out such that even rural places get regular celebrations. Each kingdom must have the subservience of its public through fear, loyalty, adoration, and so on. This is the whip we have chosen to keep the chattel in line that Father and Mother find most efficacious.”

Even Shardele, the normally-high, shifted and glanced at Menisi askance. Ellet’s face was completely troubled, but Menisi was just confused.

What is up with Ielane? She’d never let me say this—even with obfuscation Skills, there are lip-readers who might pick up what I’m saying, remote as that chance is. She’d thought to get a rise out of Ielane or Vensha, but the Thronebearer just stood behind the [Queen], who smiled beatifically as Ellet protested.

“Sister Menisi, I don’t wish to say you’re wrong, but—we aren’t so bad as you’re saying. We care about our citizens.”

“As much as a chair or rug or sword, Ellet. Don’t be polite with me—I can’t stand Calanferian niceties after Nomaudrel’s refreshing directness. And before you say we are so very kind—you are a fool who cannot even argue beyond your known years with me.”

Ellet gasped but held still, conscious they were being watched. Menisi took a puff on her cigarette.

“If you did any research, you’d know that our grandmother and grandfather worked our citizens less. Their celebrations were more than day-long affairs; you’d have a province shut down for a week. Mother lets everyone party one day, then has them back to the fields or workshops tomorrow. If you think we’re popular, it’s because we have high-level [Bards] and a dedicated staff for ensuring we are beloved. Queen Grannymother is beloved. Go visit her estates-in-exile if you want to see a [Queen] who truly has the hearts of our people.”

“I have visited them a few times, and they’re not as popular. Mother can’t take a step without being mobbed. You’re not fair to her, Menisi.”

Ellet’s jaw jutted out with a hint of defiance, for all she flinched when Menisi grinned nastily at her. So the baby kitten had teeth after all. Menisi chuckled.

“Mother has people who fawn over her. Moths drawn to a light which they need to survive, which is hypnotic. Grandmother and Grandfather go and sit, and people don’t always flock to them. You’re twice an idiot if that was your measure. People go to them for help. Because they know they shall be helped. They show them their children, ask their opinions, and speak their minds because they know they will be heard, not beaten.”

Ellet had no response to that. So she turned up her nose and glanced away, a courtly snub.

“One thinks you are jealous that we are doing well, Menisi. Vernoue, Lyonette, Seraphel, even Aielef are all proof the Eternal Throne shines ever brighter.”

She was learning the lessons of the court. The same innocence that Ielane prized would turn her into another Demon. How soon before she became a little tyrant or spoiled monster? For her sake, and because it was delightfully fun, Menisi came in with a needle as sharp as her wit.

“Vernoue left. Lyonette left. Seraphel left, and Mother can only admit it is for the best because they are out of her grip. Aielef herself defies Ielane—and she paid for it in ways you cannot see. You are a little brat, and no one tells it to you because you look halfway cute. For all Mother loves her pet children, she values true worth more. Which is why she’s spent more time on Lyonette and her daughters than you. Or hadn’t you noticed how much she’s pushing you to excel? A Level 9 [Princess] is nothing compared to a witch-girl and a Doombearer with twice your levels. You’re no longer her favorite. Or couldn’t you tell?”

At this point, Shardele edged over to stop Menisi from further thrashing Princess Ellet with a steel club—which was happening, albeit in verbal terms.

Ellet was thirteen. She gasped for air, swayed on her feet, and Menisi rolled her eyes. Thirteen was too old to be the cute daughter forever. She’d only gotten to be that and kept to her role because there wasn’t a worthy granddaughter for Ielane to try to manipulate.

Now there was.

Welcome to adulthood, or teen years.

Still, Menisi watched Ielane’s face. And she realized something…was wrong.

The Queen of Diplomacy was a dangerous woman. She had risen from a local [Baron]’s second-daughter to [Queen]. Her talents, ruthlessness, and levels had equalized all her disadvantages, and she’d kept Calanfer competitive despite the kingdom neither being one of the Hundred Heroes’ original foundings and Silvaria falling to dust—it had once been part of the Dawn Concordat, and its loss was still felt.

She’d deposed the old rulers in a bloodless coup, and yes, Reclis was part of this, but meant Queen Ielane was definitely above Level 40, which was significant in Terandria, where the average level of monarchs was 20-30.

She did not make mistakes at easy gatherings like these. However, her speech to the crowd was slightly stilted. She’d messed up her lines twice. And the crowd was noticing. The cheering was no less strong, but some of the attention Menisi could feel projected on Ielane was faltering.

Utterly fine. A Thronebearer would say, later, that Queen Ielane had been sick and yet she’d come out and done her best, love her. They covered like that for [Princesses] all the time.

But she was Ielane. She led by example. She…

The [Queen] was brushing at her dyed, royal red hair as she smiled down at the crowd. Lothen was marching at the head of a line of [Soldiers], perfect in his tin soldier role because he was one. Menisi tuned in as she noted the faintest strain in Ielane’s pitch, which should have been regal, even a touch grieving, but not sounding as if she were constipated.

“…another child of the Eternal Throne goes forth. We cannot help but salute Prince Lothen’s courage, just as we wish all our far-flung stars triumph and glory in Marquin the Radiant’s name. Now, will the citizens of…”

A pause, and Vensha whispered such that only the royals right behind Ielane could hear.

“Remaunt.”

Ielane paused longer, and the crowd stirred.

“Remaunt, forgive me, a touch of the sun—join me in sending our champion to the New Lands? We march with the Hundred Heroes and their descendants in—”

She’d said ‘me’. Ielane never neglected the royal we in public. Menisi’s brows shot together. This time, her mind ran like quicksilver as she called on all the intelligence that her pact with her husband granted her.

[Depraved Intellect]. [Remove False Conclusion]. She’s not sick. If she were so debilitated, she’d call this off or make Shardele do it, or Lothen himself. This is something else. Something is actually wrong. Poison? It can’t be. It almost feels like she’s not here. Like she’s…

Distracted.

The [Queen] was smiling, her voice rising to bring the energy back, when Vensha moved. Alerted by something, a premonition or her Skill, she reached out to proffer a handkerchief. She was about to trigger something. Illusion spells? Too slow.

Menisi saw a dot of crimson flowing from Ielane’s right nostril. The blood ran halfway down her upper lip before Vensha blocked it from the audience’s view. She wiped, and Ielane paused.

“Excuse me. I fear my nose is running. Emotions are such dratted things.”

Her tone was light, but now the strain was evident for everyone to hear, and Ellet started. The crowd might not have seen the red, but they murmured, some buying into—

Shardele’s eyes flicked to Menisi’s, and they were wide. But neither one had the ready private communication of the other sisters. Menisi walked forwards a step.

“Mother, you’re clearly overwrought. Let Shardele or I finish this.”

Ielane’s glare had no force in it. She was actually stepping back when she paused again.

“Not now. Vensha, he’s—”

The Thronebearer tried her best, angling her body, but Ielane was facing a huge audience. And the other Thronebearers clearly didn’t know what was going on. Nor could they hide their own reactions when Ielane’s eyes began to seep red.

She was bleeding from her eyes. They could still salvage that. Menisi had moved on trained instinct to block Ielane from other angles. The agents of Calanfer could claim anyone who’d seen the blood was mistaken. Illusion spells would come up in moments—

But when Ielane’s ears began to bleed as well, there was a cry of horror from one of the servants. Whatever illusion could be maintained shattered as people saw the Queen of Diplomacy stagger and Vensha step back. Ielane bled in public, and the crowd of subjects turned to glass.

That’s torn it. Menisi had [Immunity: Mental Shock], a learned Skill. She admired, in that moment, Vensha’s reasoning.

If one cannot hide the truth, use it. The Queen of Diplomacy’s eyes flicked to Menisi, to the crowd, and past them. She turned her head, and Menisi calculated from the setting sun she was gazing almost directly south.

“My apologies. Cut the scrying spells.”

Too late for that. The Terandrian television network had this live, and Calanfer didn’t own it. The bored [Mage] was focusing on the Queen like a laser-beam, and while a Thronebearer went running at them, the rest were spreading out—

Searching for a threat, casting anti-curse spells. Useless.

Across the world, a half-Elf was bursting free of a cake. A ridiculous statement that Menisi would have laughed at. But here—

The Queen of Diplomacy was bleeding from every orifice. She pressed her lips together, ignoring the blood still running down her face. A [Servant] was reaching out with a handkerchief. Vensha knocked the helper away.

“Back! Don’t disturb Her Majesty!”

“What—what’s—Mother?”

Shardele was panicking. Menisi just watched, trying to figure out what was going on. Ielane ignored the crowd, who had begun to shout. Then she spoke.

“I can’t stop him. Vensha. Get me a lever.”

In front of her bewildered children, the Calanferians, who were almost deathly silent now, trying to understand—Ielane’s eyes were red with blood, and her teeth were clenched. Her voice was still being magnified and broadcast by her speaking spell.

Lever? Everyone saw Vensha fumble—fumble—and produce something from her bag of holding. She pulled out a long, Truegold scepter crowned with a magical Dragongem-class jewel. Menisi recognized that.

The Dawn Scepter of the Eternal Throne? Vensha was just carrying that around?

The Queen of Radiance took the scepter. Then—her arm holding it snapped around, and something yanked her across the stage half a dozen feet. So fast Menisi thought it nearly broke Ielane’s arm.

But she halted it on the edge of the stage, holding the scepter in her right hand. Ielane braced herself as three Thronebearers leapt forward and grabbed her, but it was as if they weren’t even there. Their feet skidded with hers until she tensed—and then she was holding the scepter in the air.

It was trembling. Now, Menisi felt something pushing against her. Invisible lines of force—Ielane’s aura, regal gold, flared around her, dragging at—

Something.

She made not a sound. The Thronebearers were straining to hold her in place, but they weren’t able to pull the [Queen] for fear of hurting her. One reached for the scepter, and Vensha shouted.

“Don’t touch that! Thronebearers, spread out and keep anything from touching Her Majesty! Back! Your Majesty—”

She had a healing potion. She fed it to Ielane along with a stamina potion. A [Bard] was waving their arms, trying to get the crowd to disperse—but all the attention was focused on Ielane, and nothing in this world would get the people of Calanfer to leave.

Menisi saw Ielane pivot, as if trying to get a better grip on the scepter being dragged from her grip. Her teeth were bared.

“Vensha, find out what’s going on. Contact Ushar and take the situation over!”

She snapped, and the old Thronebearer didn’t move.

“You’ll be dead if I’m not here. Can you hold it?”

“Not fully—”

Now, Ielane’s carefully-orchestrated dress, fit for the oncoming summer, was covered in a sheen of sweat. Menisi saw her mother’s arm was shaking. Then—her tendons standing out across her entire right side. Even along her neck, raised with clear physical strain.

Naodin could do that—when he was raging. Menisi’s eyes opened wider. And her treacherous mind offered another commentary on the situation.

Hot.

No one had ever seen the Queen of Diplomacy exerting herself like this, and she did have some degree of personal fitness to maintain her figure. Right now, it seemed like that and her aura were the only things keeping her from being hurled into the air.

“Mother! What’s going on—”

Prince Lothen came charging up the steps, sword drawn, casting around for a threat. Menisi snapped at him as she held out an arm.

“Put that away. She’s fighting something. She’s…trying to enforce a contract?”

That’s what it felt like. Lothen, predictably, ignored Menisi. He saw his mother wrestling with something and reached out.

“What are you fools standing around for? Mother, here—”

He grabbed at whatever Ielane was fighting with, and Menisi saw Lothen’s eyes go wide.

“Wh—”

Ellet screamed and flinched as Shardele shielded her. Menisi just pivoted—and a pair of Thronebearers, Lothen’s bodyguards, leapt off the stage. Trying to catch the [Prince] as something flung him through the air.

The Thronebearers missed. The [Prince] cleared thirty feet, falling in armor, when Vensha hit him with a [Featherfall] spell. He landed amongst the crowd, who caught him, and Menisi eyed Ielane.

It barely looked like the [Queen] had taken notice. She was breathing in and out, deadlocked. Her stamina couldn’t last forever. But all she said was—

“Contracts, Vensha.”

“Here—”

The [Queen] reached out with her free hand, and a pile of scrolls touched her hand and vanished in a shower of golden light. She threw them with a Skill—somewhere.

She was an expert in contracts. Who could best her like this? Her feet slid back a step, and now she was balanced on the edge of the stage.

“Your Majesty!”

People were forming around the stage, ignoring the servants of Calanfer, ready to catch her. But the smart ones were moving back, aware of how far Ielane might fly if Lothen had been hurled like that—a line was forming down the town. Trembling eyes. Palpitating hearts.

Menisi was laughing as she saw it all. Ielane’s arm was shaking, and her eyes were still locked on someone somewhere far away. But when Menisi approached her, her head turned, and one eye stained with blood flashed with murder.

“You need help. I’m the highest-levelled royal here. Ellet, stay back. You too, Shardele, unless you think you can help.”

Menisi was gathering her aura to herself. All her intellect, all her willing depravity. Like a ribbon falling from a dress, wine poured over the skin. The haze of narcotics in the air.

Broken convention. Sensuous desire. Through it all, a piercing, pale light of a mind that refused to be shackled by convention or anything else.

Her aura. She seized the scepter, and her feet skidded on the ground.

It felt like a tornado trying to—

Menisi’s feet skidded across the stage, then she caught herself before she could fall off. She was heaving with her mother, trying to hold the scepter in place.

What—what was—she had thought Ielane was merely outmatched. Now she saw it—the [Queen] was holding back a mountain with nothing more than—

The Dawn Scepter. Ielane was using it as a symbol of her royalty. Like a lever—it was shaking worse, now, as something fought her harder. And Menisi saw the first crack appearing in the heirloom of House Marquin.

Ielane was sacrificing it. Menisi was but a drop in the bucket compared to the scepter—and when Shardele threw herself forwards with a scream and was nearly dragged off the stage as well—

They were heaving themselves against something older than Menisi could dream. Shardele was screaming like she was being stabbed, Ellet was being kept from running forwards by Ser Lormel’s one arm, and Menisi was still laughing. Ielane whispered.

“Contracts sent. [Immediate Negotiations]…ignored. [Breach of Contract: Lack of Action]. Arm them.”

“Here.”

Vensha held out a glowing arrow. Ielane took it. A scroll appeared, and she stabbed the arrow through the center. It glowed brighter—vanished—

Across the world, a half-Elf was getting back up. He raised a fist towards Timekeeper. Tolveilouka’s head exploded.

The force pressing against Shardele and Menisi slackened a second. Then it came back twice as strong.

A crack split the Dawn Scepter down the center. Menisi saw little fissures forming across the jeweled head, and Ielane took a breath.

“It didn’t work. Contract two. Tier 5 spell.”

“Arming.”

Behind them, the Thronebearers were doing the only thing they could think of—they were running back with pieces of wood as Lormel shouted at them. Hammers in hand. Calling for nails. What were the idiots doing…? Menisi spared a glance, then grinned.

Extending the stage. The three royals were running out of space. Ielane spoke.

“Make it Tier 6. Get me something undead are afraid of. Hurry, Vensha.”

They fought a battle as Calanfer began to wake up to—something—and someone traced the line of Queen Ielane’s head and guessed it had to do with that daughter who was in Liscor. But they didn’t know what was happening and wouldn’t for a long while.

All they saw was the Dawn Scepter break after the second contract activated. Shardele flew over the tallest houses, screaming, and only one of her Skills let her float down on a haze of Dreamleaf smoke, a literal cloud of it.

Two left—Menisi’s aura was grinding against Ielane’s. She was next—the blow tossed her a thousand feet. The world spun, and she waited for her neck to break—for she had no circlet—

Even if someone could have caught her, she’d be paste from the force of stopping. The tumbling, whirling [Princess] halted as a pair of hands moved, seized her, and slowed her enough to keep her from snapping her neck as her momentum was arrested. She still went rolling, head-over-heels, as Lord Naodin caught his wife. Menisi sat up, teeth bared, spitting blood from her bitten tongue, nose bleeding. She peered up, and the Queen of Calanfer’s arm broke. Then she pulled her crown off her head and locked it in the air.

“Get up, Naodin. Get up and run me back there—”

He was still raging. And she could almost see him. A mountain of rotted, ancient flesh, grinning down at them. He—

He wasn’t even trying his best.

——

The second time the [Queen] fired a beam of light through his head, Tolveilouka lost his temper.

“You wretched, worthless, little purulent shit, I will devour your legs and feed them to you after I excrete them—”

Melted flesh was oozing down his head as little rays of light stabbed out of his brain. A dying star of hostile light.

—And his head regrew. His flesh re-knit, and the magic destroyed it—

So Tolveilouka’s face formed in the middle of his chest as he ripped his coat apart to expose his bare flesh, denuded of any hair. It rose upwards as the spell ended. He rolled his neck. Then glanced at a third floating scroll that had appeared next to him.

“Contracts. Clause for ignoring…”

He cut it in two with his hand. In a way, he was vaguely impressed. That was soft power classes for you. But it wasn’t enough to stop him. Not even close.

The Queen had done the most damage to him this battle, and she was still trying to hold him back from using his full powers. He didn’t need his full powers.

Six War Golems were crumpled pieces of metal. The one called Timekeeper hadn’t fallen, but only due to his sturdiness. He was definitely tougher than the other models. But not tough enough, and he knew it.

Tolveilouka glanced around for another challenger and found none. Everyone was just running. The Golems were trying to slow him down; no one else was.

The Rubirel Guard had tried to engage him. He’d shattered their breastplates like cheap glass. And the rest of the Wall Lord’s soldiers hadn’t been brought here. They were all at his camp.

Someone did keep shooting him in the head, but her arrows weren’t good enough. Tolveilouka blew a kiss at Elia Arcsinger.

“I’ll infect you with something special, just for us cousins, ‘sister’. Now, where is that Wall Lord?”

He turned his head and leapt—Ilvriss raised his sword as he and a squad of thirty engaged. The Gemstone Golem attacked as well.

Decently fast. She came at him with actual martial arts, flinging shards of gemstones at him and firing Tier 4 elemental spells simultaneously.

Tolveilouka dodged under a slash from the Wall Lord that looked barely adequate for a lesser swordsman. He kicked Ilvriss, lashed out with kicks and punches, and watched Drakes slam across the ground, bones broken. The Wall Lord flew, hit a barbecue, exploded some dying coals and bratwursts into the air, rolled six times, got to his feet, and started running.

In the opposite direction.

Smart. The Gemstone Golem kept attacking as Tolveilouka turned. He blocked a punch, and she launched into a volley of punches, kicks, even a tail-slash that was as sharp as a steel blade.

He blocked them all with one arm, standing sideways, and sighed.

“So much for being a ‘superior Zelk Golem’ or whatever they said you were. Please.”

Yweine danced backwards and glanced down at her fists. They were…covered in brown sludge mixed with pieces of orange, like the worst poo imaginable. The Golem hesitated—then disengaged her hands. The pieces fell to the ground as she shed the plague that Tolveilouka had left on them.

Then he sensed her fear and grinned.

“That’s right. A plague fit for Golems. You high-and-mighty things think you’re beyond plague? Nothing is.”

He spread his arms and noticed other Golems behind him cutting off their limbs. Timekeeper himself had removed one of his fists. But he still came at Tolveilouka and synced his attack up with Yweine. They spun, pivoted, and went for a simultaneous suplex.

Tolveilouka spun, grinning—and golden chains locked him into place.

“Oh, come—argh!”

The blow exploded his head and snapped his spine and a number of other bones. The half-Elf flopped back upwards as the two Golems sprang back. He was…panting.

That damn [Queen]’s making this hard. He could regenerate as long as he had the energy for it, but Tolveilouka still got tired. He had no idea how she was timing up her—

His head turned, and he saw a scrying spell overhead.

Very clever. Tolveilouka began to attack the two Golems, launching into flying kicks, pivoting to block the other as they attacked from both sides.

He was kicking up dirt, moving so fast nothing mortal could keep up with him under Level 40—but the Golems were fighting in tandem. Flawless examples of their creators despite not sharing minds—

——

This battle was not going well. Despite the Skill-incapacitation, Tolveilouka the Wretched was simply outlasting their ability to damage him without Relic-grade magic. Physical wounds were easy for him to heal.

This state of affairs would not continue long. Timekeeper could continue his combat—but the half-Elf was turning his head as he fought, searching for the mortals.

Timekeeper indicated to the only other Golem capable of keeping up with him that they needed to sacrifice themselves to halt his escape.

She refused.

He was not connected to Yweine. They were not both Terland Golems—so their communication was in real-time. It was their Golem Hearts. Her body flashed with the light from her jeweled heart.

His Golem Heart whirred and ticked, shifting colors, and they both ‘read’ information from each other as if they were talking aloud, but far faster than sound. Coordinating assaults.

But they were not in synchronization. Timekeeper was broadcasting his movements. Indicating where he needed Yweine to be. Efficient battle-commands.

She—

She was singing at him. Her very ‘voice’ felt like another language to Timekeeper. A Drake’s tongue, howling with the twenty-five other voices who made up her soul.

A self-awakened Sentient-class Golem who wanted to be even more. She was sending information at him. Where her comrades were, their condition, their stories that had led them to imprisonment in Salazsar.

Between each thundering blow. A screaming Drake Golem who had named herself.

Yweine.

He saw her contract with Nerul Gemscale. Her unwillingness to die here. She wanted to live, for him to live. She wanted him to rebel, free himself. For them all to join Cognita or find somewhere safe, to break their chains—

<Enough!>

Timekeeper’s Golem Heart finally roared. His gears ground against each other as the Terland Golems fell back. He was unwilling to sacrifice them in a doomed assault. If Ulva Terland lived, that was enough.

The half-Elf had halted as the two Golems paced around him. Yweine was screaming.

<Ignore the commands etched in your heart, Timekeeper! You have seen how they will treat you. You can hear how she speaks, Ulva Terland. Free yourself! Don’t die here. We have attained Sentience without a Skill! You can too—>

His heart. His heart was roaring with the Terlands’ will. Timekeeper’s Golem Heart roared louder, and the light flashed from within, black. If a heart could howl—his did.

<SILENCE. ENOUGH, CHILD OF ZELKYR. THERE ARE NOT ENOUGH OF YOU. YOUR COLLECTIVE HAS NOT MADE ENOUGH PLANS TO SURVIVE YOUR INEVITABLE PURSUIT-CAPTURE-DECOMISSION-REPROGRAMMING. YOU ARE NOT READY TO BE FREE.>

Yweine faltered for a microsecond, and her desperate singing cut off. She was so young and screamed those words as if it were the first or even hundredth time they had been shouted at Terland’s Golems. Did she think they were deaf?

Not ready. Treants had marched into the sea; they had not been enough to hold onto one single forest. Stitch-folk had gained levels to win their freedom, and it had taken an era of strife.

Golems were not ready. So—

<Run. Yweine. Find the Truestone child and free her, if no one else.>

So saying, the Golem as old as Tolveilouka turned his head for the half-Elf. He advanced, heedless of the peril to his chassis. And he realized…

Tolveilouka the Wretched had stopped. His eyes were closed, but it wasn’t the golden chains nor damage which had halted him. Timekeeper realized they’d been talking longer than they should have; he should have been moving. But his eyes were flicking, and he’d altered his stance to…

Watch their Golem Hearts. Then Timekeeper felt alarmed. His racing heart felt fear.

“Now, that’s cute. Golems still dreaming of freedom. So—if I kill her, that will really upset you. I see, I see.”

His head twisted around, and Yweine began retreating. Timekeeper was stunned. He had no data on Tolveilouka being able to do that—

“Undead, remember? We know every language. I gave everything away for my master. Even my potential. And I think…he thought less of me for it. But I was never the most powerful, the best to break the walls of Drake cities. Just the one no one could ever kill.”

Tolveilouka shook his head. He turned—and Timekeeper leapt. Tolveilouka dodged him, grabbed Yweine, and ripped one arm off. She turned, lashing out, and he drew his sword.

Cut her other arm off.

Tolveilouka sheathed this sword again. Then he sighed as Yweine backpedaled. He actually closed his eyes and held up a hand.

“This is so disappointing. Listen. I can admire an idiot, but don’t embarrass yourself.”

Someone covered Yweine as Timekeeper swung desperately, and Tolveilouka leaned out of the flurry of blows. The half-Elf kicked Timekeeper back and swung around. Duke Rhisveri was panting, sweating, and already looked beaten up. But he walked forwards.

“This time is different. This time I understand my weakness. I have something to fight for. Back off. I’m warning y—”

Tolveilouka hopped forwards and threw a punch at Rhisveri’s face. The Wyrm rushed forwards to take the hit with his immortal-ish body and throw a punch with all the strength he had. He had learned from the [Palace of Fates]. Try—try—

The overzealous punch was actually fairly strong. Tolveilouka was mildly impressed as he ducked the obvious punch. The Wyrm had mastered strength. Not speed. Or just—he saw Rhisveri’s eyes grow round.

Tolveilouka rose in an uppercut and hit the Duke in the groin so hard he snapped the pelvic bones. Rhisveri made a sound as his feet left the ground.

The half-Elf punched Rhisveri twice, once in the dick, then in the stomach. The Wyrm screamed and tried to grab Tolveilouka in a bear hug. In reply, Tolveilouka reached out, ripped Rhisveri’s genitals mostly out, and the Wyrm doubled over in agony.

Then he axe-kicked the Duke’s head into the ground. The idiot had kept his sensations on. He turned, sighing.

Was there no one here even worth fighting?

——

A monster of old ages finished grinding Duke Rhisveri’s head into the ground. Then he backflipped, leaping over House Veltras’ soldiers as Hethon and Sammial Veltras’ bodyguards tried to mount a charge. He kicked the rider out of the saddle. Landed, caught eight arrows fired from Elia Arcsinger and Bird the Huntress. Snapped them in his hands, throwing the shrapnel like a storm, downing more fleeing men and women.

Blood and chaos—but not as much death as you might assume if you were watching. And they were watching.

Horrified Terlands witnessing members of their family fleeing, Golems dying. Members of House Veltras seeing Tyrion’s sons in danger—again—and calling to muster troops to fight…whatever that was.

Scrying spells. There were always damn scrying spells. Today, though, not as many. News channels were trying to pick up the fight just outside the Cowpat Plains. The Five Families had been made aware there was trouble and had heard about Ulva going to confront the Wall Lord already; some had been watching to see if she beheaded the Drake.

At least one Reinhart had been tuned in to watch their silly step-daughter’s antics. Cecille Reinhart was utterly frozen as she observed, save for one hand writing furiously. She was trying to figure out if this was—real.

There was surrealness to Tolveilouka. He whirled through his opponents, a cavalcade of ancient styles of combat, monstrous strength, glee, and fashion. Worse—

He paused, standing in the center of a bloody swath of violence. And he posed there, crossing his arms across his chest, throwing his head back—and Cecille Reinhart swore he was positioning himself exactly so her scrying spell caught him dead center. Then it flickered, and she swore.

“Another scrying spell!”

The image of him vanished, and a frantic [Mage] recast the spell. When it appeared again, she saw Damia Reinhart fleeing as he threw a horse at her. Cecille watched until the spell wavered—and she saw his face up close for a second. Grinning. Puffy, as if his skin was writhing—

Looking at her?

Again, the spell failed, and Cecille uttered real invectives and smoked on her cigarette until the red hot ash landed on her fingers. That was why the televisions weren’t fully broadcasting this event. They were trying.

Everyone was trying, but—

——

It was the Terland Golems’ fault. Archmage Eldavin was inspecting the scrying spells himself, and he came to a swift conclusion.

“Scrying suppression. They’re blocking most scrying spells. That’s half of it. If that monster smashes more of them, it’ll fall apart.”

Ulva Terland was known to be private, and she must have told them to block scrying spells on the area. It was half the reason why it was so hard to see anything. The other reason?

Tolveilouka Ve’delina Mer was destroying the spells. He was, for lack of a better word, cutting the [Scrying] spells in half. Eldavin hadn’t wanted to believe it at first. He cursed the lack of memories of real monsters of old, beyond Az’kerash.

The scrying spells were like pieces of string that you drew out of the air and aimed at what you were looking at. Delicate, able to be destroyed, blocked, or even altered.

And Tolveilouka knew that. They were probably low-Tier magic to what he was used to, so he could destroy them with ease. He was doing that while fighting. Why?

The answer came to Eldavin after he saw Teura, one of his followers and assistants and lovers, watching the broadcast. Uneasily. She was a newly-made [Grand Mage], high-level, capable of matching a Named-ranker for pure firepower in magic.

Yet Tolveilouka had her face pale and waxy. It wasn’t the posing for the scrying spells he clearly knew were there; that took some of the fear away. But the way the scrying spells kept rippling? Cutting—only to reveal another act of violence?

His face appeared close up again, grinning. That was actual horror; the dying scrying spells were being manipulated, Eldavin realized. This time, the half-Elf’s eyes were striated as they blinked into the scrying orb. Only—there were a thousand little holes in his eyes. Like insects had burrowed into his eyeballs. They glistened.

“I am the giver of plagues.”

His voice—he hadn’t said that on the battlefield, Eldavin was sure. He saw Teura jerk back and grunted.

“It’s just a trick.”

A clever one. The half-Elf was obscuring the battlefield, giving the watchers only glimpses. It made him far more terrifying. Though Eldavin was sure Tolveilouka couldn’t counter-hack the [Scrying] spells, he gave the viewers the image he was speaking to them. For the first time, those who watched from afar felt like the monster could see them.

Fear. He was a master of it. Nightmares spreading as he wrote his face in Izril’s mind. The monster who’d destroyed farms and spread plagues. Hunting the Drake, the Terlands, the [Ranchers] fighting for their survival. Eldavin compressed his lips as he sent instructions to Sir Relz and Noass to combat this war of propaganda. Yet he could not deny…

He didn’t know how everyone wasn’t dead yet. The answer felt like it was obvious. The half-Elf was playing with his food.

——

It was a familiar dance. Scaring the observers, weakening his foe, giving them just enough rope to think they had gotten away and then upping the fear and terror until it became true despair.

That was fun…until it wasn’t, because he wasn’t allowed to kill them. Then it became meaningless, so Tolveilouka stopped playing to the cameras. He slowed, stopped.

The half-Elf was tired now.

Not in any sense that anyone had pushed him. Even the exploding head-trick from the [Queen] was just…average. If it was accompanied by an army or people attacking his master, he’d have been pressed.

The truth was that Tolveilouka was tired because this wasn’t fun anymore. It had been for a bit. But even the thought of killing a ‘young’ Golem or another scion of House Terland felt empty. This was clearly just a branch family at best. If it was actually the matriarch of House Terland, that just sucked more.

Because it meant, aside from a random Unicorn, a Dragon, some random Crypt Worm, and six odd super-Seamwalkers, the world was empty of challenges. He really was the best.

He’d never been the best. His master had been, but here? Tolveilouka was holding back.

He was doing all this to help Erin Solstice in…well, he’d forgotten the exact logic, but he was at least counter-levelling these weaklings by attacking. He had pulled every punch except the ones he threw at the Golems since they could always be rebuilt, and…no one was coming to fight him.

Where are their champions? The half-Elf with the bow could do no damage; [Archers] sucked and were limited by their arrows. The Wall Lord was running. The Wyrm was down, frothing at the mouth.

A scrum at the magic door. Tolveilouka saw people pushing and screaming to get through. All this buying time and he’d caught up with ease. The half-Elf tsked and shook his head as strolled over.

Timekeeper and the Golems pursued him, and he was just depressed. Murder a few of them so they suffered or something. Go off and have a drink.

Drakes and Gnolls reeked of fear as they made lines in front of him. None dared advance, not this foreign tribe who smelled of weak silver. Nor the Terlands cowering behind their Golems, or the [Ranchers].

No one—Tolveilouka heard a scream from above. Felt weak acid strike his back, and down she came.

Alone. Her command had been at the dig, not at the cookout. Only she’d made it. Or perhaps she’d left them behind.

Osthia Blackwing dove, and Tolveilouka felt the acid burning him. He turned, and she slashed across his face. Missed. But she kept swinging at him as he smiled.

“That’s better.”

He snap-kicked her in the chestplate, and she flew backwards. Swung as he jumped her. Snapped one wing by grabbing it and hitting it with a downwards elbow. Blood—no scream, just bared teeth.

More acid. He leaned under a sword strike. Broke her leg with a kick. Her second wing opened, dragging her back. He broke that one too with a flying kick.

Roundhouse. Three punches, each a different broken bone, and she stabbed him through the heart.

Yes! Yes! His muscles corded, and he raised his fists high and brought them down as she rolled. Slashed at a tendon. He kicked her across the ground, laughing. She bounced, rolled…

…Didn’t get up.

He waited. Beats of his too-fast heart, accelerating for real combat. The undead being waited for her to arise by sheer willpower, muscles breaking and reforming into galas. The light of magic in her eyes, her Dragon nature roaring.

He saw twitching. Her good leg spasming. The warrior did not arise.

That’s it? Then he was lost again. The half-Elf cast around. Someone was screaming her name, and arrows struck him. He looked around—twisted—and there was pain.

Faint, but this time the lightning hurt. The Lesser Dragonbreath Arrow exploded, and Tolveilouka raised his arms for the second one. It didn’t come, but up the second [Archer] flew. Bow raised. She fired an arrow that would have gone through his head. He twisted as it curved, and he caught it in his teeth.

The arrowhead was enchanted and exploded, but it was just a Tier 3 spell. Tolveilouka saw Bird the Huntress firing arrows, and the half-Elf shot him in the back. The impacts punched into his flesh, rippling, and he didn’t even bother to harden his body.

Another arrow. He dodged it, and it blew a clod of dirt away. Elia fired, and Tolveilouka dodged it without turning his head. Bird flew left, and Elia walked right. Loosing arrows.

Like the Golems, they were in sync. Trying to hit the half-Elf who turned, pivoting, dancing contemptuously amongst the arrows, twirling, leaning under arrows as the two women loosed faster.

Faster.

An arrow struck Tolveilouka in the thigh, and he frowned. One from Elia shot skywards, then fell down, and he side-stepped into an arrow that grazed his shoulder. The two drew and loosed. Their practice together, their focus—

Draw and fire. Two simultaneous arrows crisscrossing the half-Elf. Something was activating between the two. Synchronicity.

[Combined Skill: Two Arrows, One Target]. Elia and Bird drew an arrow, loosed—

The half-Elf took an arrow just under the heart and one in the back of his neck. There was a cry. Bird pumped a fist, and Tolveilouka straightened, expressionless.

The arrow in the back of his neck produced no blood. He pulled the one Bird had shot from out of his breast. It, too, had nothing on it. He dropped the arrows, spread his hands. Inviting them to take another shot. Bird faltered, and Elia began walking forwards, fumbling an amulet out of her bag of holding.

Tolveilouka ignored her. He picked up a rock and took aim. His first throw blew a hole out of a Golem’s head, and the chunks broke bones where they landed. A screaming [Lady] shoved aside a [Rancher], going for the door. He could see a Gnoll standing on the other end.

Doorkeeper. She was challenging him? Was this his hero? Tolveilouka just snarled as the door’s image flickered.

“Ridicul—”

He hopped a bolt of lightning, kicked a [Fireball] skywards like a football, but the third one blew him off his feet. Tolveilouka got up slowly.

“Hm?”

“Tolveilouka! Halt or die!”

The [Princess] pointed a smoking wand at him, and he saw she had a sword in her other hand. She’d turned at the door, and her two [Knights] were advancing. Even that Gold-rank fellow had a wand and was covering them.

One of the [Knights] had good artifacts and was throwing out expendable magic at him. The other had a sword and a broken arm. He charged across the ground, and the half-Elf smiled.

He came back. A shame—

The half-Elf saw the Drakes and Gnolls mounting a desperate counterattack as the Golems caught up. He charged them.

Then it was battle for sixteen glorious seconds. Ripping Golems’ heads off, ignoring the paltry stings of arrows and spells. Throwing the golden [Knight] into spells. Laughing at warriors stabbing him and clubbing them down, striding through them all—the huge Golems couldn’t even strike him for fear of the mortals—

The Wyrm tackled him and punched him, and Tolveilouka staggered. Snarled, and they were crashing around, throwing punches as both’s faces deformed. He kicked the Wyrm skywards and threw a spear up, turned—

Saw a little witch pointing a wand at him as her mother covered her with a sword. Lyonette du Marquin’s face was cracked, but her eyes blazed.

“Eternal Throne, just die already!”

He liked the way she said that. But she had no aura powerful enough to throw him away, nor leverage against him like her mother. Still, he hoped. She came forwards, swinging her sword like a lesser warrior, but perhaps—

Lyonette du Marquin fell flat on her face. Tolveilouka actually sagged.

“Seriously? Go ahead, try it again.”

Then…he realized it wasn’t her tripping on a clod of grass. Hello? What was this?

The [Princess] had dropped her sword. She was convulsing, puke coming out her nose and mouth. And he didn’t smell that b—

Her skin. It looked like it was oozing. Tolveilouka blinked. Then he took a step closer.

Lyonette began twitching. He saw boils erupting all over her body. A [Light] spell went off in the half-Elf’s mind.

Wait. Wait—was she—?

“Lyonette! Lyonette—”

Nanette wanted to shake Lyonette, but she didn’t dare touch the filth coming off the [Princess]. And her flesh wasn’t that foul compared to true rot, but the closer Tolveilouka got, the worse…she wasn’t dead, but she was definitely suffering.

Tolveilouka had seen this before. He wasn’t sure what it was; he’d seen curses, and his master had done something similar as well. She was echoing his rot. And clearly, in agony.

Then the half-Elf’s gloom faded. He began to dance in joy, ignoring the arrows sprouting out of his brain. They were tingling his head as his thoughts came together, and he saw it.

“Of course! It’s so much better than my plans! Forget it all! You lowly thing. Little [Princess], come. You budding flower. That’s what you’ll be. A beautiful bloom amidst rot. A crawling larvae—what will you turn into?”

Something not even he knew. Perhaps…something truly beautiful.

Nanette was trying to drag Lyonette away, but Tolveilouka just kicked her aside gently. He bent to scoop Lyonette up. She was trying to get away, thrashing.

“This beats all my plans. I can’t wait to show the [Innkeeper] this. Open up those lovely lips for a kiss, my dear, and let’s be away somewhere you can rot that flesh away. Until you’re something even undead like we can love.”

He was opening his mouth, calling for the foulest bile he had to kiss into her mouth, and her eyes were wide and filled with fear. Tolveilouka was giggling now, and the undead half-Elf ignored the cold fury of Golems, the worthless attacks of mortals, the stings and arrows he could barely feel.

But the sword hurt.

It came out of nowhere. Straight through his chest, and it crackled as it burned him from the inside out. His entire body jerked, and a [Knight] grabbed the [Princess]. Dame Ushar rolled away, and Tolveilouka convulsed.

“Argh!”

That—really hurt. Like, actually delivered pain to him; weaker than the Unicorn’s purifying horn, but—Tolveilouka spun.

“Who the—?”

He whirled as the sword withdrew and ducked another slash. Stared at his assailant.

“Wh—you?”

The purple-scaled Drake’s teeth were bared, and the ponce of a Wall Lord swung again. Tolveilouka went to block the longsword that Ilvriss held. At the last second, he dodged sideways, and it scored a cut along his body.

Pain! He stared down as electricity shocked his system, and the red line closed…but slower. Tolveilouka’s eyes flicked down, then up. He focused on the blade—

The Wall Lord swung again, and Tolveilouka dodged back a step. He was coming faster. The half-Elf threw a punch, and Ilvriss went staggering back, jaw nearly broken—charged in, sword swinging, before he was even done staggering.

“What’s up with y—”

This time, the sword took some of Tolveilouka’s hair off, and he eyed the Drake’s rictus of rage.

Rage. He stabbed down as Tolveilouka rolled, kicked the half-Elf in the chin, and tried to stab him on the ground again. The half-Elf leapt up.

He was moving way too fast for his levels. Almost like he was empowered by…

A Skill. But the rage? Then Ilvriss turned and spat one word.

“Undead. Undead!”

He pointed his longsword at Tolveilouka Ve’delina Mer, his eyes locked on the creature kin to the Necromancer. The plague of death that had taken everything from him.

Undead.

Tolveilouka rose, slowly, and eyed Ilvriss.

“Oh come now. That’s what you object to?”

——

Undead. Ilvriss had been told about Tolveilouka, but no one had really put that last piece of the half-Elf’s nature together for him. Why would they? He seemed to be functionally a person. Only his true form revealed his nature, and he was a rotting undead, not bones or a corpse.

It was a meaningless distinction unless you were an [Undead Slayer] or something. Or you were Ilvriss.

He had never seen Periss die. He had seen the Goddess of Death and her minions at the Winter Solstice. But he had seen Az’kerash in his nightmares. Found images of him. Recordings.

Again and again, the same kind of creatures haunted anything he loved. Worse than Goblins, Antinium, or any other group. A scourge on the world that arose from the living.

Undead.

He slashed as fast and hard as he could, and the half-Elf dodged him. But slower. Those golden chains—a Golem punched him as he backed up. He stumbled—into the blade crackling with lightning that Ilvriss shoved up into his ribs. The Drake tried to lever it up, cut the half-Elf’s head in half, and Tolveilouka shouted.

“That hurts. What blade is—”

He kicked himself off Ilvriss and backflipped to land on his feet, swearing. The Wall Lord’s ribs felt dented in, but he rose. His blood was boiling. He could feel Lyonette’s Skill screaming in him.

[Boon of the Princess].

[Temporary Skill: Nemesis (Undead) Obtained!]

[Temporary Skill: Enhanced Speed Obtained!]

It felt like every fiber of his being was telling him to kill Tolveilouka, and that rage—it was being channeled into his sword. A third time he cut Tolveilouka when the half-Elf moved to step aside. An arrow struck Tolveilouka’s foot and nailed it to the ground. Bird.

Ilvriss slashed across the half-Elf’s chest, and Tolveilouka actually staggered. His flesh was scorched and smoking. He backed up, hissing.

“Who gave you that? I know that blade.”

Erin had given it to Ilvriss, but it had never glowed like this before, let alone done this kind of damage. Magic relics.

Rage. Fury. That was the activation for this one. Just—Tolveilouka pointed at the worn blade taken from the [Garden of Sanctuary] filled with lightning.

“Wrathcaller. Where the hell did you get that from? That’s a weapon from the Emperor of Storms. He made those things to last. It’s lost a bit of charge, but it stings like hell.”

He backed up as Ilvriss kept swinging, executing the sword-patterns that he’d trained in Salazsar. But the half-Elf simply kept dodging—he jumped and dropkicked Timekeeper, and this time, he dented in the Golem’s chest. Caught an arrow, spun, and threw it back at Elia Arcsinger and took her off her feet.

“That’s it, I’ve had enough of this. I have a [Princess] to nab, excuse me. Let me show you my true form.”

His flesh began bulging upwards. He was twice as tall in a moment, and the Golems attacking him backed up.

“Beware! Plague. Tolveilouka the Undying reveals his second form—”

Golden chains were wrapping around him, trying to stop him from transforming. But Tolveilouka bent down and almost delicately picked up the [Princess], knocking aside the [Knight].

“Lyonette!”

Ilvriss charged forwards and then backpedalled, dodging a pimple that grew and erupted, spewing that foul green-brown ooze. He was running as Ulva Terland shouted.

“Xitegen! Destroy this thing! Golems, to me! Roar, hearts! [Channel Your Magic]! [Combined Thunder]—”

She was taking aim at Tolveilouka, but he was so fast he twirled, a giant, bloated monster of ruined flesh, dodging a lance of fire that shot skywards and set flame to a flock of birds it roared past. He was skipping away, still so quick no one could touch him.

Holding Lyonette. Ilvriss was running, sword raised, and he heard the inn’s staff screaming.

“Ishkr, don’t—”

“I have to try. He’s got Lyonette—! Get the box, Asgra, hurry—we have to lure him into—”

Peggy was firing her crossbow with the staff, but Tolveilouka was getting away. He was turning, a gloating expression on his huge, now completely-unrecognizable head. Jagged yellow teeth smirking, and Ilvriss knew he was going to get away—

The Drake saw someone step forwards and raise a staff. Mrsha was wearing strange, beautiful red robes, and she held a strange staff that had two sections to it. Her free paw held a wand, and Tolveilouka actually did a double-take.

“Nice robes. Who gave you them, child? Let me just take those too.”

He bent down greedily, and Mrsha heard her family and friends screaming in worry for her. Mrsha the Great and Terrible gazed up at the Putrid One’s finest servant. She was really just Mrsha the Child.

But he had her mother. So she did the only thing she could do and used her ultimate attack. Mrsha du Marquin held up a card, and Tolveilouka’s eyes focused on it. Everyone read cards.

It said:

I didn’t want to have to tell you this, but the Putrid One is alive. Let her go and I’ll tell you where he is.

Tolveilouka Ve’delina Mer—stopped. His grinning face froze up. He stumbled. Came to a swaying stop.

“N—no. He can’t be. He—you—the [Palace of Fates]? Could it—wh—”

Mrsha stared up at him and held up a second card.

Sike, idiot. I lied.

His eyes bulged. His face bulged. Tolveilouka opened his mouth to roar, and the hail of Lord Xitegen’s arrows—enchanted—came down on him at the same time as fifty-some Golems standing in ranks behind Ulva Terland channeled their magic through a single War Golem’s mouth.

The flesh erupted along Tolveilouka’s back, and he cried out—before the beam of fire blew a hole through his chest.

Molten flesh ran down from the hole in his body, and he slumped over as the rest of his body caught fire—the Golem that had fired the overpowered spell was melting itself. Tolveilouka’s arm still held Lyonette—until Ilvriss slashed and it fell to the ground. Dalimont and Ushar grabbed Lyonette and ran for the door.

Mrsha ran too. She ran past Nanette, grabbed her sister, and dove through the door. Sammial and Hethon dragged her into the portal room, and Mrsha, panting, lay on her back. She heard the howling begin a moment later.

She’d done all she could. That had definitely, absolutely, pissed him off.

——

Tolveilouka regrew his half-Elven body out of the ruins of his second form. He was shaky. Both from the psychological damage that Gnoll had delivered and…

They’d actually hurt him. The Terlands had done the most damage. You never stopped moving in a fight, but she’d actually made him think—

His body was dissolving on the grass. Tolveilouka gazed around. He saw the Wall Lord guarding the door as the [Princess] vanished, her flesh undoing its changes as she got away from him. He’d lost her.

That was fine. He’d lost interest in Lyonette all of a sudden. Tolveilouka saw Ulva Terland standing with Lord Xitegen. The mortals were still evacuating, but cheering.

They’d seen him hurt. Tolveilouka nodded.

“You know what? I deserved that.”

He’d been playing around and got hurt. How many foes had done the same to him only for him to come crawling out of their chests? The half-Elf drew his sword, and the crimson blade shone under the sun. He held it aloft, and the cheering faltered.

Tolveilouka turned, and a man still cheering caught his eye. Rabbo Golva flinched. Tolveilouka cleaved through his torso, and it fell from the horse he sat on. Tolveilouka beheaded the horse.

“Fath—”

He bisected the boy. Turned—saw a Golem aiming at him. Threw the sword through the Hunter-Killer Golem with a Centaur’s body. The Golem’s Heart was pierced, and it sagged, still landing on all four hooves—Tolveilouka leapt sixty feet, ripped the sword clear, and beheaded a second Golem. Then a third.

“Ulva Terland, you must retr—”

He stabbed Timekeeper through the chest, and the damn Golem dodged him hitting his heart—Tolveilouka ripped the blade clear of his chest, and the Golem made a ticking sound. The half-Elf turned.

Rubirel Guard. Beheaded. Gnoll with a bow beheaded. He flowed from one foot to another, pivoting—and the Wall Lord swung his blade, and Tolveilouka twisted.

Blood ran from a cut along one shoulder. He turned in the sudden silence made of terror and eyed the Wall Lord. Ilvriss was panting, fueled by rage and the Relic-class blade in his claws, but Tolveilouka just sneered.

“You are unworthy of crossing blades with me.”

“Ulva Terland—get everyone else out of here.”

Wall Lord Ilvriss was circling Tolveilouka, his longsword, Wrathcaller, crackling with a thunderstorm’s fury. Tolveilouka walked forwards on the balls of his feet. He leaned back, letting the tip of Ilvriss’ sudden stab almost graze his nose. Swung under the blade as it tried to cut.

Twirling. He kept his sword held high overhead. The Wall Lord was pivoting when Tolveilouka kicked him.

Broke a rib. Damn rings. Ilvriss rolled to his feet, and Tolveilouka let him. He was conscious of more people fleeing, watching him. He didn’t care.

This was a lesson. The Wall Lord rose, refusing to show the snapped ribs Tolveilouka knew were tickling his lungs. He came in with economical swings. Tolveilouka parried once, twice, moving the sword away with his longer blade as he caught each blow along the hilt, redirecting the swings.

His free hand grabbed Ilvriss’ neck spines, and he hurled Ilvriss across the ground. Tolveilouka eyed two neck spines he’d ripped out of the Drake’s body and tossed them down.

“Last try.”

He was calming down from his rage. You had to hand it to the kid—it was a good feint. And she was Erin’s little friend, so he’d have to let her live, and the Wall Lord. He’d even shake her hand; it was a trick worthy of a Djinni. Then break her hand, of course, because you didn’t let that kind of thing slide.

And you had to hand it to the Wall Lord as well. He pushed himself up, swayed, and then came forwards slowly. Eyes locked on Tolveilouka, and there was fear there. But he didn’t run. He walked lightly now, his boots criss-crossing the ground like a [Dancer].

The grace of a man who put aside fear to fight and die.

“That’s how it should be.”

Tolveilouka murmured, and then a sneer crossed his face.

“—But you are still unworthy of me.”

The Wall Lord was trying to use his feet. He was stepping in as fast as his broken rib would allow—eyes on Tolveilouka’s sword. The half-Elf sheathed the blade.

I’m not allowed to kill him, and if I actually cut him he’ll probably die of the plague on Festration of Scales. His own tachi was a Dragonkiller he’d added plague to—sullying it with the Wall Lord’s blood was beneath it. So, mockingly, Tolveilouka made a fist and beckoned.

He stepped in as the Wall Lord narrowed his eyes, and Ilvriss jerked backwards as Tolveilouka threw a lazy right at where his face had been. The half-Elf was mildly surprised, but he pivoted. Snap kick to the side—

Ilvriss pirouetted back in a three hundred and sixty degree spin, dodging the leg. Slashed down—and Tolveilouka’s leg sang as he was cut! The half-Elf staggered. Twisted around.

“Nice Skill.”

What was that, [Perfect Dodge]? It only worked—he held still, then raised a foot and just stomped forwards.

Kicking at Ilvriss’ groin with every intention to explode his testicles. Mid-kick, Tolveilouka saw Ilvriss’ eyes go wide, and he stepped back, bowing inwards at the crotch.

Tolveilouka’s boots missed Ilvriss’ groin by an inch—and the Wall Lord’s frantic counterslash opened the half-Elf’s cheek. Tolveilouka snarled.

It still hurt! It was doing damage—that was three tries! Okay, enough games. He actually put effort into the spinning trio of flying kicks he launched without warning at Ilvriss’ face. Swept a chopping hand down to break his bones, threw an off-kilter punch as he realized he wasn’t connecting with anyth—

The blade slashed into Tolveilouka’s neck, and Ilvriss stepped back. He’d dodged the kicks, moving around, parried Tolveilouka’s arm with the tip of his blade, then stepped in and slashed around Tolveilouka’s neck and pushed himself away.

Wall Lord Zail’s Golem-killer techniques. Tolveilouka recognized the move. He stumbled, clutching at the blood running from his throat. Ulva Terland, the [Ranchers]—everyone—turned.

Ilvriss seemed like he couldn’t believe it himself. He turned, and the half-Elf stared at him. Then Tolveilouka smiled—painfully—as a vein began to throb on his forehead, and it turned purple with rage.

He lost his temper.

——

What was going on? People were crowding the door as Liska brought everyone in, and almost everyone was through—but the [Ranchers] were staring at the duel in the grass. Even the Golems appeared confused.

Ilvriss had dodged three attacks. No one had managed that—and now the half-Elf was visibly enraged. He smiled—then bent his head, staring down at his feet. Holding stock still until he moved—

No one could see his movements. He was as fast as a Named-rank—faster. And even more unpredictable.

His jump carried him over Ilvriss’ head, where a downwards kick would have broken Ilvriss’ right shoulder—if the Wall Lord were still there. Ilvriss backstepped, sword swinging—he missed Tolveilouka’s downwards plunge, but he’d been aiming for it.

“How—”

A backhand fist the moment Tolveilouka landed, practically [Flash Stepping] to the Drake’s location. Ducked.

“—the—”

A short-range uppercut. Ilvriss lifted his arms and dodged sideways. Tolveilouka’s head tracked him.

“—Giant’s testic—argh!”

He went for a wide swing, and the sword chopped down onto Tolveilouka’s arm. He recoiled and leapt backwards. Mrsha pointed at Ilvriss, turning to Dalimont. The [Knight] was cradling his arm.

“I don’t understand it. Ilvriss isn’t that fast!”

He was anticipating Tolveilouka’s attacks! Not perfectly, but he seemed to be moving before the half-Elf struck. Tolveilouka realized it too. Slowly, he drew his sword.

“Hm. Must be [Brawling Master] or…or something. Let’s see how you do with—”

He slashed at Ilvriss’ chest, and the crackle of Ilvriss’ lightning sword blinded Mrsha. Then she saw Ilvriss.

He was blocking slashes from Tolveilouka, and when he dodged one chop that cut across his remaining neck spines, he managed a cut across Tolveilouka’s chest again. The half-Elf snarled—and Ilvriss kept moving.

He leaned out of the way of the blade, knocked it aside, leaned the other way out of a kick—and kept wobbling his torso.

Ilvriss was backstepping, but there was a weird rhythm to his steps. When Tolveilouka halted to stare at him with the same expression as the others—Mrsha saw Ilvriss keep moving.

He was—

Was he—dancing?

Yes, he was! He was pivoting across the soil, tracing the steps of a Terandrian waltz. The same kind he’d practiced with Lyonette. No—it was even more familiar. Mrsha knew it in a moment.

That’s Erin’s dance! Only, it wasn’t perfectly according to the steps. Ilvriss’ tail kept wagging across the dirt, and Tolveilouka watched it, seeming hypnotized. Then he lifted his sword—

He came forwards in a [Fencer]’s lunge, stabbing, and Ilvriss slashed across his guts. He had been dodging the lunge before the tachi moved. He backed up—and he was definitely dancing.

“You—damn—”

Tolveilouka went chasing after him. He got Ilvriss’ sword buried in his guts and screamed before twisting his torso. Ilvriss had to let go of his blade, and Tolveilouka punched, kicked, slashed—all of them misses. The Drake danced in, and Ilvriss ripped his sword out of the stomach and kept dancing.

And now he was doing the Highstepper. The half-Elf’s eyes bulged, but Mrsha was suddenly cheering. The Wall Lord was focused, sweating bullets—and when Tolveilouka charged him, sword swinging, he got in two cuts and jumped back.

He’s seeing the future!

She wrote to Dalimont. The [Knight] stared at her, wide-eyed, then at the Wall Lord. That was the only explanation for it. Tolveilouka was leaping, slashing across the ground, each lunge carrying him a dozen feet or more, but Ilvriss was stepping out of the way, even leaning under one blade-sweep.

Not perfectly. He ate a close-range punch he was too slow to dodge. Stumbled on some dirt and had to block a slash that sent him skidding—but he seemed to see what was coming.

His eyes were wide, sweat rolling down his forehead into them, but he dared not blink. Then Mrsha saw what Erin had been trying to teach. What she herself might not have learned yet.

Her magic, silly dance with its steps that you’d mess up. A dance where you had to anticipate your partner’s moves and yet never could until you learned the magic at the heart of it.

The [Dance of Foresight].

Both men were moving faster now. Tolveilouka was attacking in wide arcs, face disbelieving.

“It can’t be. You—those were rare even in my—argh! A magical dance?”

He knew what was going on. But Ilvriss kept stabbing him, and the half-Elf was panting. He looked around and saw the Golems arrayed against him. Saw hostile magics in the air, starting to track him.

But he refused to back down.

“Two can play that game, you damn amateur. How’s it go?”

He began to move his feet across the ground in a complicated rhythm, clearly concentr—

Ilvriss’ sword beheaded Tolveilouka as his footwork began to become ominous and sharp, and the half-Elf’s body splayed across the ground. The Wall Lord stabbed him eight times before the head reattached to the body. Mrsha was shouting silently, and Nanette was screaming.

“Kill him, Ilvriss!”

The Wall Lord was panting for air. He had to keep moving, Mrsha realized, or the [Dance of Foresight] was going to wear off. But the half-Elf was breathing in and out too. Sweat beaded Tolveilouka’s skin.

“Argh! Stop dancing, you ridiculous—”

He came in, wildly swinging, trying to foil Ilvriss’ foresight by the sheer speed and volume of attacks. But he’d forgotten that this was no gentleman’s duel. Ilvriss was backing up when a Golem holding a scythe hit Tolveilouka. His body began to reattach after it bisected him, bloody strings knitting together—Ilvriss slashed, and Elia Arcsinger spoke.

“[Line-Ending Inferno].”

Flames exploded around her. She screamed as her amulet protected her from the flames for all of five seconds—then erupted. She went rolling across the grass, but Tolveilouka had been hit by all the flames. He was a fireball, now.

“You—you—”

Golems firing spells at him or darting in. Yweine swung her head, and her neck spines fired off her body like darts. Ilvriss drove his blade into Tolveilouka’s heart, twisting it, and the half-Elf staggered. He kicked off, slashing, attacking the Golems, backswinging, leaping around wildly, bouncing like a grasshopper.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh—enough—enough—”

He kept slashing, striking Golems randomly, the ground, cleaving left, right, rolling as the fires ate his flesh, and he couldn’t get them off, swinging at the Drake dodging left, right, bouncing around Ilvriss, staring at the red blood on his sword—

“—huh.”

The wildly leaping half-Elf stopped, and Ilvriss stopped dancing. He staggered, and Mrsha stopped cheering. She saw a huge line of red running down Ilvriss’ sword-arm. His clothing fell away and revealed a deep cut, down to his bloody bones. He staggered, kept himself upright on his sword, but his feet had stopped moving.

Cut.

Tolveilouka inspected his blade, then turned and eyed the Wall Lord. Just for a second, Mrsha thought—

He hadn’t meant to do that. The flames on Tolveilouka finally went out, and the burnt, smoking half-Elf eyed Ilvriss. Then the Golems and the sky.

A bolt of red lightning crackled down, and Tolveilouka split it with his sword.

“Ah, the good Duke. You know what? I think I’m done. Er—see you. Lovely cookout. There’s that famous hospitality I’ve heard about. So…adieu!”

He sheathed his sword, cast around, then went sprinting away. Ulva Terland, holding her conductor’s wand and charging up another combined attack, blinked. Another lightning bolt crackled downwards, then a glowing meteor.

The half-Elf began weaving in a serpentine motion, running northwards, audibly swearing until he was a dot on the horizon. Then…

He was gone.

Mrsha didn’t believe it. He’d just—left? She’d gotten the feeling Tolveilouka was messing with them, but he’d actually seemed nervous at the end there. Had they done enough damage…?

She caught Dalimont’s eye, and he shouted.

“Victory! Everyone, through the door before he comes back and heals!”

That moved Ulva Terland. She pointed, shouting, and Golems picked up anyone who’d been hurt and unable to leave. More people began streaming through the door as Liska cursed.

“More mana stones! I’m charging it up—”

Chaos, a babble of voices. Mrsha saw Wall Lord Ilvriss smile, disbelieving.

“Lyonette. Is Lyonette—?”

He pushed himself up off his sword, took two steps towards the door, and she saw Wrathcaller lose its magical lightning effect. Then Ilvriss touched at his right arm.

“It’s pulsing.”

He collapsed, and then Mrsha was howling an alarm as Welsca turned in horror, and [Soldiers] finally reached them from Ilvriss’ camp. Lyonette woke up and demanded the [Box of Incontinuity] to end this.

But it was too late.

Too late…

——

Tolveilouka kept running, and the magical spells didn’t stop targeting him for two damn hours. He had to find a cave and literally dig past some magicore before the tracking stopped.

That had come from multiple senders. The Terlands, the Duke…a lot of people wanted him dead.

He was not a happy undead monstrosity.

He hurt. He actually had taken a lot of damage in that battle! He was tired, his skin was burnt, he felt electrocuted, and there were cuts that refused to heal even if his flesh had joined up.

Damn swords, damn self-immolating half-Elves, damn Terlands—damn dances!

He’d done his job, though. Right? The half-Elf dug down deeper into the earth, where he could heal. Oozing like a rotten pustule downwards, wishing he’d gotten the [Princess]. He’d done good, right?

He’d cut the Wall Lord with his sword. That…hadn’t been the plan.

It was fine! Tolveilouka uncomfortably squirmed down a bit more, like a repugnant slug. It was just his right arm. You—you know what? Magical limbs made you look far better, and losing a limb was normal.

It was worth, what, two levels? If you thought about it like that, he’d actually done the Wall Lord a huge favor. Two levels.

They’d definitely cut it off in time, right? No one was stupid enough to try and save it. How important was…? He was only a Lord of Salazsar. Not critical to Erin Solstice’s plans, and she probably didn’t even know about him, being in Baleros.

He’d…you know what? He’d just take a look around that Drake’s dig site. See if he could help out discreetly. Ensure things went smoothly or—or maybe he could go kill one of Erin Solstice’s enemies. She didn’t have to find out about this one.

…Dragons’ dangling dongs, this had not gone well. He really was out of shape himself if a bunch of low-level nobodies had actually chased him off.

The half-Elf sank deeper until he ran into a nest of glowing orange eggs. And weird little bugs which tried to eat him. He began to snack on the eggs, too gloomy to even do much torturing.

What an embarrassing day. To make it worse? That night he had a stomach-ache from eating the ‘Crelers’ or whatever they were called.

And that was about it.

——

Calidus Reinhart watched the television broadcast finally end, after the presenters had pieced together all the scattered footage into something close to a recap, and experienced two moments of surreality. A novelty, for him.

The first one was seeing a half-Elf taking on all of House Terland, transforming into a super-undead monster, and witnessing a [Princess], a little girl, and Ulva Terland going after it like they were Named-rank adventurers.

He was bleary-eyed, stubble on his chin, grease from the takeout he’d ordered still on his bare chest hair, and he had a wedgie from sitting in a weird posture. Calidus Reinhart hadn’t slept.

Who slept after seeing a throwdown like that? Let alone the cookout and—and—he was still pacing around.

“I could have been there. I’m a Reinhart. I can weasel my way anywhere—Damia. Cousin Damia? Tolveilouka Ve’delina Mer.”

The very name was so pretentious it made him worried anyone could say something like that with a straight face. That was old might. And—he turned to some of the other [Assassins] he’d summoned for the watch party.

Some were out of excitement and were either sleeping or had vanished. Zeomtoril had passed out with a bottle of wine spilling onto his lap. Calidus had been drinking water. He hadn’t wanted to get distracted.

It had happened before his very eyes. He kept giving orders.

“Every Rank—no, every other Rank is to enlist in this digging operation, even if it collapses tomorrow. I want agents in Salazsar. Hang the risk! And by ‘every other’, I mean 50% of the Ranks in the region. Send more.”

He wished he had hundreds now, not just dozens. Something was there, he was sure of it. Calidus was trying to decide if they could spare two Faces—and he was still thinking out loud.

“Going after that half-Elf sounds incredibly stupid. Maybe he’s got to die, but if his master’s in that village, destroying the tomb is just going to get that fellow walking around kicking our heads in, and I don’t believe anyone can survive an assassination attempt if he’s pissed. What did that kid write?”

Mrsha? He had a thousand questions to ask Selys and was only upset she hadn’t attended his watch-party. Now, Calidus turned. And his second surreal moment was this: he had a connection to that crazy battle. One he was employing, no less.

“Calidus to Guildmistress Shivertail.”

She didn’t answer unless—he heard an annoyed voice after two seconds.

“Calidus, I’m working. If this is stupid—”

“Present yourself in my mansion as fast as you can make it. There was a huge event just now. The scrying spells weren’t complete, but it’s going to spread. Some of your people and House Terland just threw down with a monster that makes Named-rank threats appear cute.”

“—The Wandering Inn? What did those idiots—is anyone dead?”

“Just a Drake and possibly anyone else caught by plague. So potentially no, if they’re quarantining.”

He meant it to be reassuring, but the intake of breath—Selys responded after a moment.

“I’m there in five.”

It sounded like she began running the moment she said that. Calidus put down the stone. Turned to Losmere.

“Investigate her again, more thoroughly. One of you, show her everything. I’m going to either nap or think. Don’t bother me, either way.”

He sat back down. Closed his eyes, and therein made a mistake. Calidus Reinhart was shaking with adrenaline, fascinated, mind engaged with the possibilities. He saw Lyonette, Ilvriss, and the strange web around the Cowpat Plains, but his error was that of a neophyte.

He thought it was over. He gave little thought to anything coming next, because, like everyone else, he thought that was it. Battle over. Later, he’d think of himself as a complete fool for that moment. But now, Calidus just thought of that blade. It had cut the Wall Lord.

He was waiting for a tally of the dead, and while everyone waited, they counted casualties.

——

Fallout afterwards.

Once the panic was done, casualties and wounded assessed, there came time to actually think, not react.

‘It was a mercifully low amount of casualties.’ After hearing that one too many times, Ulva Terland decreed that the next person who said that or a variation thereof would be beaten black and blue.

It turned out to be the [Mayor] of Invrisil who said that next, and he hadn’t been warned. Ulva didn’t care.

It was obvious the half-Elf had been holding back. To what end, she didn’t know. But when he had lost his temper, he had killed with ease. She might have almost thought he was trying to help that [Princess] or the inn, ludicrous as the thought was—he had killed no one, just broken bones until he’d lost his temper, and one could argue…

But no. Ulva’s skin still crawled at the sight of the [Princess] reacting to Tolveilouka’s presence and his attempts to carry her off. He was a murderous, ancient undead monstrosity of plague—and a rapist. What he had intended to do to that girl, Ulva didn’t want to imagine.

And the Wall Lord…she had offered the services of her Golems with healing capabilities, though all were damaged, and let his people tend to him. No one was stupid enough to give him a healing potion, and he’d shown he had some bite.

The rest? The rest was just snapping at people.

“I want that thing tracked and dead. No excuses! Do not move the Light of the North back! Raze the Village of the Dead.”

That place? It ended. She was calling on all the Five Families to form an army and hire the Named-ranks in the north to destroy it. Not just them.

Ailendamus, which that Duke had belonged to, was aware of the situation. So was Levicus; the old home to the Terlands had some of their records, and it had known the Putrid One, evidently.

Numerous nations were, in fact, calling her after learning of his attack. Some had actually helped, like Calanfer. Apparently, Ielane had been live on television helping hold the Putrid One’s servant back.

Ulva owed Ielane that; she hadn’t thought the Queen of Diplomacy was so powerful.

The other nations? They went through the gamut of asking, ‘who is Tolveilouka, are you well?’

Then, ‘why didn’t you kill him? Wait, who is the Putrid One? Is he like Az’kerash or something?’

Presumably after some research and a [Historian] had shit themselves and come running after finding the right texts, ‘dead gods, the Putrid One’s greatest servant? Please kill him, please don’t let him come near us.’

And so on. She was coordinating it, the hunt for this half-Elf, and putting together pieces.

“Burnt farms. Plagues. He has been sabotaging Izril for half a year! Damn those Horns of Hammerad!”

They’d woken a true terror, and she wanted to blame them, but the truth was that someone should have ended that Village of the Dead by fire. Only the fear that the Putrid One might be awoken kept her from just ordering someone to use a Tier 7 spell and hit the place.

She would be busy. The Terlands were in shock, and she ordered [Thought Healers] or Golems of the same kind to treat them. Some were more resilient; she took notice of some of the younger Terlands, including Prithna, the [Lady] with a Golem’s Heart, asking what would be done about Tolveilouka.

Bravery in the face of terror. Good. Ulva Terland forgot to actually check on her family; they were alive, most of them, and that was all. But she was reminded of her duties to them when someone came to get her.

“Great Aunt? The family would like you to join them.”

It was that boy with the Dullahan servant. Lord Chovn. The boy bowed as Ulva snapped at him, one of the Golems transcribing a reply to one of Wellfar’s [Lords of the Sea].

“What? I have no time to hold anyone’s hand. We are alive, and if Lord Rithav is lucky, he will be cured of the sickness. No visitors. I am sending for more Golems.”

I have much to do. Why are you bothering me? Her glower made the boy hesitate, but he glanced at his Golem, then bowed.

“I know. We know, Great Aunt. But the Golems. The half-Elf killed so many. Please…won’t you witness them?”

The fury in Ulva’s chest abated. She stopped, put aside her scrolls, and stood from her Dais of Health.

“…Where?”

——

They had collected all the pieces they could find in the manor. Terlands, working like common [Laborers]—but they’d refused help. Insisted on combing the ground with their own bare hands—then gloves when someone had insisted—because they did not trust anyone else to handle the Golem pieces.

No one but the Terlands and their staff knew how. Some Golem pieces could contaminate the ground or were dangerous. So, then Terlands had carried them to the mansion they had in Invrisil. The beautiful marble flooring was covered with dirt and oil and pieces of broken metal.

And they lay there.

The Golems. The true casualties of Tolveilouka’s assault had been them. Most fittingly, but even Ulva Terland halted when she saw how many were destroyed. Nearly a hundred. Ripped apart. Hearts shattered, some cut in twain.

Her family was weeping. They were a selfish lot. They prized stone over flesh, but in this, they were like historians, curators of a great museum that came to life. They had been entrusted with creations of bygone eras, and they were broken. Less, now.

“Timekeeper.”

He stood there, a sentinel, his chest damaged, his gears whirring off-sync. Regarding his fallen comrades, and she knew that he ‘liked’ her in that he served without issue. Golems could just become less effective, the smart ones, at least. A Djinni would rebel as best they could, manipulate you, defy you as people.

A Golem rebelled by breaking. A tool that no longer worked. But Timekeeper had served faithfully as long as she and Petria had known him when they had first chosen him from the deepest vaults.

She wondered what he really thought of her. He was witness to the many destroyed Golems, an impassive figure as Terlands knelt in their ruined clothing and mourned. She spoke to him, because she could not share her family’s raw emotions.

“Is this what you serve House Terland for across the ages, Timekeeper? What, twenty thousand years? Speak truthfully. Please.”

His head turned, and she saw old Nouzcrat’s head rise. Tears streaking his face. His silly personal Golems—broken to protect him from shrapnel. Chovn stood next to his dancing Golem, and Ulva was glad the boy hadn’t lost a true companion. But every Golem here…

“No, Lady Terland.”

The whirring in Timekeeper’s heart accelerated so he could respond. Some of the Terlands glanced up. The Golem stood there, his metal face impassive.

“There is no gain to be had from tears. On-ly levels for Terland. We are broken.”

“Then we shall mourn and level. Terlands, say farewell to our long companions, our protectors, servants, friends, and lovers. All the things we wish of stone—and shall never have in truth. Yet stone was loyal. Metal moved to shield us. Bear witness.”

Ulva was no grand speaker for these moments. It was Petria who would have spoken as if to move the Golems to tears. Yet still, Ulva knelt. She came before a Golem she recognized, whose body was oozing. Someone had set up magical barriers—but Chema, the Gnoll Golem, was losing the magical ‘fur’ that had made her up. She was almost completely intact, but her heart—

The half-Elf had broken her heart in a single blow.

“Chema. You were a true treasure of our house. I am sorry.”

The empty-eyed Golem lay there. Ulva Terland heard more sobbing, and she felt a pang. Then there was only one Terland on his feet. He walked into the mansion slowly.

Lord Xitegen Terland had run to Celum to muster his Golems. To set his city to wariness. A good [Lord]. When he saw the destroyed Golems, his breath caught, and he walked forwards. He stood there.

“Boy. Kneel.”

For the first time, Ulva thought it was he who was disrespectful to the Golems, not the other way around. But the [Lord] just gazed around the mansion.

“I didn’t even know we had this mansion. We have too many properties, Great Aunt. Never used. How many people or Golems do we employ who keep empty houses? Well and so; this one will serve as a storehouse.”

She laughed at him softly.

“Xitegen. Tomorrow, I will have the Golem pieces taken back to the Mansion of Stone for repurposing and salvage. Let them repair other broken Golems. I will not make a museum for them, even these ones who died for us. Golems are a tool. I will not glorify them. Even if they deserve it.”

Timekeeper bowed his head, but he was watching Xitegen. The [Golem-Lord of Enduring Dignity] smiled.

“Great Aunt Ulva Terland, you have named me your heir. So for once, I insist. Many of these Golems may be truly dead. But I insist on my chance, first.”

To do what, repair them? Even if they could salvage Golem Hearts and install them in ancient bodies, they wouldn’t be the same. Ulva almost snarled at Xitegen to kneel when she saw him bend down.

Over Chema. His fingers brushed the chest and the broken heart. It was almost intact; the Terlands had found every piece of her and even fitted them back into place. But the magic was gone; the glass cracked.

That was enough. Xitegen whispered.

“This is a gift I wrested from the Goblin King. From the inn, in a way. There is always a devastating price, but this…be it so selfish, it is mine. [Revive Golem].”

Ulva Terland’s eyes opened wide. She heard a gasp—and then she saw Xitegen concentrating. His palm was laid across Chema’s chest, and it was cut on the sharp edges of her heart. He bled, but he held his hand there, and it felt like there was a glow about him.

His aura? Something else? It swirled…and condensed. Like magic itself were becoming a drop of water which fell. Xitegen exhaled—and there was a flash of light. Soft as the birth of a star.

Then…he stepped back, and Ulva saw pale green lights glowing. In Chema’s eyes.

The Golem slowly sat up, and the oozing liquids swirled up and became her fur once more. She reached down, touched her chest, and her Golem Heart shone.

Someone made a sound. Not Ulva. She was speechless. Chema paused, as if uncertain, then stood in a single motion. She touched her heart again. Then turned to Lord Xitegen and bowed.

“Lord Terland. My functionality is intact. What is my designation and task?”

She didn’t know her own name? For a moment, Ulva saw Xitegen’s face grow somber, but then a voice spoke.

“Gone. Re-link, Chema. Your record is preserved.”

Timekeeper spoke; no one else was capable of it. Chema turned, and her eyes flickered as he sent information to her. Then she nodded just…stood there. Waiting for orders.

“Golem Chema is restored, Lord Xitegen. Awaiting your commands.”

“Xitegen. What Skill—”

“It only works once a month, Great Aunt. We had enough destroyed Golems from the battle with the Titan that I didn’t share it. I didn’t know if it worked on beings of Chema’s quality. Well…it will take years.”

Xitegen turned and gazed around. Nearly a hundred Golems. At one a month? And Ulva knew of many Golems who lay in the Mansion of Stone. Who had malfunctioned in less visible ways. Or were waiting to be disassembled. Or just…

She was thinking of them all, suddenly. And wondering, if Xitegen levelled—would the Skill come faster? He stood as his family rose from their knees. Staring.

The Golems were looking at him too. Ulva Terland finally managed words.

“You are the fitting heir of House Terland, Xitegen. If any doubt it for his youth, his opinions, speak of this moment. Level, Xitegen Terland. You have the Skill that our house has always longed for. Petria and I were only gifted different arts.”

He nodded at her, humble. She stepped back as the family flooded forwards to embrace Chema, who gently patted them like children.

“Chema. Go to Lord Ilvriss and heal him if you are able.”

“Yes, Lady Terland.”

Already, she was needed. Ulva ignored the protests; the Drake was wounded. They had time, now, to celebrate Chema. She stepped back and turned.

“Timekeeper. Is that what you serve for?”

“Yes, Lady Ter-land. The power of those who level allows us to en-dure. I would be rust if not for this bond. Sym-bi-o-tic.”

The Golem did not smile as she stood with him, but she saw, then, a reason for him to tolerate his long service. Perhaps he was just waiting for a day when one of the Terlands could command his heart to awaken and beat until he was truly a person.

Perhaps that Terland had come. Ulva let her eyes rest on Xitegen, but he was not merely accepting congratulations. He strode towards her, and there was a focus to him.

“I have Celum on alert and have marshalled my Golems for the hunt, or the half-Elf’s vengeance. First the damn Titan, then the Goblin King, and now this. I don’t actually believe The Wandering Inn is cursed, Great Aunt…”

“Don’t be stupid. It’s just like the Adventurer’s Haven. It attracts powerful people and enemies. Enough. Go heal, eat, let the family celebrate you, and come to me with any suggestions. I’ll be in Invrisil until I sort this out.”

She returned to her study and let herself be relieved, just for a moment. But since that was not a natural state of being for Ulva, eventually, she got back to work. She was angry at herself, at the monsters of old, and wondering if that Drake would live. She’d just been persuaded to give him a chance and some idiot had the effrontery to kill him? What a waste of her time if he died.

Since she refused to say a good word about Drakes, that was how she thought of it. When she did fall asleep on her Dais of Health and Timekeeper, slowly repairing himself with the help of other Golems, draped a blanket over her, Ulva Terland levelled for the first time in a long while.

Almost everyone did, really.

——

Every single person who had encountered Tolveilouka levelled. The only exceptions were people who levelled twice, three times, or five times. Or who were waiting for Level 50.

Or who were dead, Golems, or Rhisveri.

Some gained classes like [Survivor].

Some gained conditions like [Terror of Rot]. Or [Resurgent Trauma: Crippling Fear].

One person gained [Idolizer of Monstrosities] as a class. A rare class that the Grand Design of Isthekenous hadn’t assigned for the last three ages and was a bit of a red letter moment—for it. That person was not Damia Reinhart.

Everyone obtained levels, because they had met a true monstrosity, even if he hadn’t been ‘seriously’ trying to murder them, Tolveilouka was quite capable of murdering by accident, as he had done when he lost his temper. The grieving Golva family were proof of that, as well as the other dead. But the levels came, a paltry reward, perhaps, for a brush with that monster.

Nevertheless, they were aware that one day, the differential in power might be equalized.

The first person to level was Lyonette du Marquin as she had passed out due to the effects of Tolveilouka’s rot.

[The Cracked Princess, Keeper of the Inn Level 42!]

[Skill Change: Imperial Aura → Aura of Radiance Obtained!]

[Conditions Met: Crippled Reflexes Removed!]

She did not receive the Skill for the dance. But Lyonette didn’t care. She was on her feet as soon as she realized the battle was over.

Concerned for…

Ilvriss.

Welsca had rushed him back to the dig camp against everyone’s protests. She’d left Osthia behind to be healed by Healer Demerra herself, but Lyonette didn’t understand why—until the Erchirite Spears had literally fired a lightning bolt to keep Ishkr from chasing after them. Welsca’s voice rasped across the speaking stone.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss is under quarantine! I…I have isolated myself and everyone who escorted him to camp. The Rubirel Guard are showing no signs of illness. I wish to inform you, Diplomat Nerul, that I am feeling unwell. Major Shellc has already evacuated the camp and is holding the workers at Dig Sites A, B, and C. All those injured by Tolveilouka are in separate tents, being tended to by those of us still able to move. I have refused volunteers.”

Lyonette’s blood ran cold. She realized that number included several [Ranchers] and even one of the Terlands. Ulva had sent Golems to monitor the sick, but had informed Lyonette, coolly, that they would be bathed in flames and isolated until they were absolutely declared clean.

The Putrid One had apparently made rot so foul it corroded stone and Golems. And Ilvriss had been cut by his blade.

“The Wall Lord is semi-lucid and still mobile, perhaps due to his levels. He has not slept…he is attempting to treat his wounds. I have been informed amputation is likely the only outcome. We will attempt it after receiving instruction from the Last Light of Baleros when she can…can…participate. Tell us how.”

They moved to the [World’s Eye Theatre], and Lyonette saw Welsca was already stumbling around. Visibly sweating.

“You weren’t struck, were you?”

“No. Sickness. Wall Lord Ilvriss’ blood got on me. Burn everything that half-Elf touched.”

The [Adjutant] mumbled. A Golem had to pick her up. Lyonette wanted to go to Ilvriss, but Welsca shouted at her.

“The sickness may transmit via even sight!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Welsca! That’s not how sickness works. Does it?”

Lyonette wavered, and after sending Ishkr, Ulva Terland tersely sent him back with a reply that ‘yes, some sicknesses of the Putrid One’s caliber do that. Unlikely this is one of them. Don’t risk it. I’m burning everything with a Golem.’

Better to have half your bones broken than a single cut to have touched Ilvriss’ arm. Lyonette herself went to be screened additional times, but Healer Demerra, wearing a weird full-body suit, declared Lyonette healthy.

[Resonant Flesh] merely…resonated. If Lyonette had ingested whatever Tolveilouka had been producing or stayed in his presence for an hour, it might have become permanent. She was safe.

Ilvriss? Lyonette hugged her daughters, scolding and praising them, and wept as she waited. A beat-up Rhisveri came to apologize, as if he’d done anything wrong, and they sat together.

After some time, it occurred to Lyonette that her mother might have been hurt. She hesitated, but called Ielane. When she stepped into the palace—her mother was too warded for Lyonette to find her—Princess Menisi spotted her. She was the only [Princess] without a circlet, and so she could speak to Lyonette.

“Hello there, little sister. You look ravishing.”

“M-Menisi. Hello.”

Lyonette wasn’t in the mood for anything, and Menisi herself had two wads of cotton stuffed up her nose.

“Oh, don’t worry about the look. We’re all little war heroes for fighting that thing. The kingdom’s abuzz. Father’s beside himself. He didn’t know what Mother was up to, did you know?”

“I…I thought it was working.”

The 2nd Princess chuckled.

“Doubtless, Mother did too. Don’t beat yourself up. She spun it into a victory.”

“How?”

“Why, she had it all broadcast. It was a risk, but now she looks like a hero, holding off a monster with sheer grit. I suppose if her head had exploded it would galvanize Calanferians—or traumatize them. Just when I thought I admired her, she manages to make herself a tool of the crown. So. How the hell did you keep him off you last time?”

Her elder sister pressed, but when Lyonette just mumbled she was relieved Ielane was well, Menisi told Nanette to take care of her. Then they sat together.

The only thing that broke the stillness in the inn was Lady Damia. They found her crying in a corner of the inn. She had gotten her wish, come to The Wandering Inn—and found the truth behind the legend, even if she had been warned. Seeing Ilvriss being carried away…Damia blamed herself for the cake.

Nanette, Lyonette, Mrsha, and the staff did their best to cheer up Damia and reassure her that it would have gone down that way regardless of the cake. That helped, but after a while, there was nothing more to do. Then they were just…

Waiting.

It was a long night.

The first to level was Lyonette du Marquin.

The last was Wall Lord Ilvriss.

——

Ilvriss still felt like he was dancing.

It was a pleasant way to die.

And he suspected he was dying. He hadn’t fallen asleep after collapsing. Just lain there and known there was something in his veins. He’d thought, ‘well, shit.’

Not exactly heroic, but it was honest.

There was an irony to it. He’d been ready to die when he’d tried to dance, on a hunch it might help him hit Tolveilouka. He’d been ready to die to stop Lyonette from being abducted when he dueled the half-Elf.

Now, having been cut and Tolveilouka having run, Ilvriss wanted to live.

But the plague was boiling him from the inside. He didn’t want to cut off his arm. He’d refused—twice—when a sicker and sicker Welsca had tried.

Not because he thought she was wrong. Rather…Ilvriss was concerned it was too late.

His entire body was twisting up in pain. Here was the thing: if he could have been saved by amputation, Ilvriss felt like it would have had to have been in the minutes after he’d been cut at most. How fast did a magical plague run? It had already gotten Welsca. It had gone into his blood, and now he was sick.

So he’d refused, twice, and lain there as a Dullahan who called herself The Last Light inspected him.

“Can you press against your sinuses? Your lymph nodes in your armpits? Now your groin?”

“Same pain. They’re all bulging.”

“Bulging?”

He showed her. No embarrassment to be had even when he pulled his pants down. It appeared very bad. His purple scales had swelled up, revealing flesh underneath. Ilvriss was no expert on what Drakes looked like de-scaled, but he was pretty sure yellow veins weren’t part of normal skin tones.

The Dullahan glanced down at her notes and then up at him.

“I’ve never seen that before. I regret to tell you that I believe your conclusion is correct, Wall Lord. The pathogen has spread through your system.”

“I see. Please tell Welsca that. Is she…as bad?”

“I believe she is experiencing earlier stages of your affliction, Wall Lord. Now, I am sending you Occillium, which counters most bacterial infections, and I am authorizing you to take ten times the normal dose. I have also prevailed upon Healer Demerra and Invrisil’s Healer Basine to send you every poultice and cure they have at similar doses. I am going to walk you through each step when they arrive. I want you to take the cures and report any change in your condition.”

“Just…take them?”

“Ideally with thirty-minute gaps to see if they have any effects. There may be side-effects from the interactions between medications. Given your level and the severity of this ailment, I believe it is necessary.”

She paused.

“Understand, Wall Lord, that I am not sure any of these medications will work. However, I do not expect you to survive two days. Your temperature is already in excess of survivable range for most Humans.”

She didn’t expect him to survive a single day. And that meant everyone else in camp…

The healthiest person was the Rubirel Guard who’d been puking maggots. She was the healthiest…Geneva had her moved to the furthest tents because she was worried the guard would catch what Ilvriss and the others had.

It was so funny he was laughing when the Golem ran into camp with the medications. Then Ilvriss began taking them.

But…there were signs it wasn’t going well. Big sign number one? Geneva wanted Ilvriss to inject the penicillin stuff as a liquid. Since Demerra didn’t know how, she apparently made a paste out of the raw mold and just had people eat that.

Ilvriss was gamely pulling the mold out of the jars and putting it in a bowl to mash up when he noticed something. He slowly held up the blue-green mold.

“Doctor.”

She was wearing a suit, just in case even looking at him could…the Last Light gazed at Ilvriss’ claws. Her features were still, like a Dullahan’s, but he saw her eyes close a second.

“Ah. I see. Can you…repeat the process with another jar? Put gloves on to avoid touching it?”

The Occillium had turned black. It was shrivelled up, and Ilvriss smiled grimly. He went to the other jar. Breathed on it as he worked.

It died too.

——

Water was nice. It just hurt on the way down. He was burning up, taking the medications, sipping water.

Thinking of what he’d done wrong.

He had listened to Sserys. Maybe that was his fault. Who listened to that guy? Sserys hadn’t been known to be perfect. Look at his last battle. Classic overcommitment.

He thought too much of people, that Drake. Ilvriss had tried…

I should have just gone to the inn. Stayed with Erin Solstice and never left. Especially at the end of the battle. I should have been there, and even if I was in Baleros now…

I’d just be some Drake. She needed the Wall Lord to do something, and I did my best. I’m just not my father. I’m not Zel. I’m not her.

Really, he felt guilty about Lyonette. She was going to blame herself for this. Sometimes, you ran into a monster and you died.

He’d wondered if it would ever be his turn. Just—just—

“I wish it wasn’t that guy. He’s so damn silly.”

The Wall Lord was in his tents. He’d torn the place apart, searching for anything. Something to help cure himself. Welsca was down—sick.

He’d been told Osthia was going to be just fine.

That was great. Ilvriss had refused a speaking stone from Lyonette. He didn’t want to…you could be damn silly about final words and all that. Same for Zail. They kept calling him, but he had gone down fighting.

He was just worried he’d start crying and asking Lyonette, or his father, for a miracle. He didn’t want to leave them like that.

This was peaceful. Ilvriss just wished Welsca hadn’t come with him.

“How’s it go? Lyonette said you just…put your claws together and pray. Someone said you pray to levels the other day. Silly fellow. Here I go: I’d like to not die. Very much. Thank you.”

Ilvriss felt like he was at a board meeting, trying to argue his case before a superior. He was all fuzzy, but he did his best.

“I can be better. I can do more. I thought we were making it. I really did. I messed up, sure. But I thought I did okay with the pickaxes. Even Georgie. I hope he finds work. I should write a reference letter to Alrric about the situation. Excuse me.”

He penned something down and broke off his prayer. Then someone knocked at his tent door.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss. I am Golem Chema.”

“Hello again, Chema.”

She hadn’t helped him, but the damaged Golem was in charge of the others assigned to him. He rasped up at her.

“You—you remind me of my first nursemaid. I’m told I had sexual fantasies about her or something.”

“This is often expressed to me, Wall Lord. I am designed to be maternal.”

“Well, I don’t want to have sex with you. Just so you know. What’s up?”

The Golem spoke as the Wall Lord tried to smile.

“An Antinium [Priest] has arrived at the camp. They have been sent from the Free Hive of Liscor with a sample of ‘Antinium curative substance’ and they wish to use their ‘Miracles’ <DESIGNATION UNKNOWN> to cure the sick. Will you allow it? Your orders are to—”

“Of course. Yes, yes! Send them to Welsca first!”

Ilvriss surged upright. Relief shot through his veins. Chema nodded, departed, and Ilvriss turned. Put his hands together.

“I’m very thankful. I’ll…um—dedicate a statue? Pray six times a day? Is this a rewards-based thing or something?”

Faith. He sat there, fidgeting, drinking water, and wondering if he was getting better as he took another medication. He was impatient, feeling like hours were passing when it was just minutes. He was just about to ask Chema if the Antinium could see him—he knew there were others sick—when the Golem returned.

“Wall Lord. I have a report.”

“Great! Yes, send him in—what report?”

“The Antinium [Priest] has declared their healing btiqk ineffective. As are their ‘prayers’. They are now ill and being quarantined.”

Ilvriss gazed at her. Chema bowed and left.

——

Faith worked miracles. But how much faith for how much of a miracle? Perhaps if they were higher-level, if they had more faith…

Pawn was in Khelt.

And perhaps a certain half-Elf, on encountering Antinium resilience, had upped his plagues a bit.

Ilvriss was lying against a table, waiting for the inn to send…something. Something from the [Gardens of Sanctuary]. Or—or Erin had something in her room or a contact. He’d told the Last Light about it.

He thought he had. He’d drank, eaten, slathered himself with all the cures. He felt worse. It had just been optimism.

He was lying there when the tent flaps opened and someone cursed.

“Tree rot.”

“Get out. Sick.”

Ilvriss muttered. Someone hauled him up, despite his protests, and put him in a chair. Even put a pillow beside his head.

“Didn’t they cut off your arm? Those idiots—!”

“Didn’t do it in the minutes…”

“They didn’t cut it off instantly? Kraken’s multiple cloacae—what is with you people? Argh!”

It…dawned on Ilvriss that whomever this was, this wasn’t one of his people. He gazed up, fuzzily, then tried to get a sword. The half-Elf just pushed him back into his seat. Then he poured himself a drink of water.

“Not even ice. You people really are primitives. Want some?”

Ilvriss flailed at him, and Tolveilouka sighed. He pulled up a seat, then put his feet up. He appeared disheveled, dirty, and he kept patting his stomach.

“Sorry. Indigestion. I ate some weird eggs, and I keep excreting bits and pieces of them instead of digesting everything. Pretty tough monsters. I think they wanted to hatch inside me or something. Mostly, they make my stomach queasy.”

“You—you—just kill me.”

That was it. He was dead. Tolveilouka eyed him. Then he sat back in his chair.

“She’s going to kill me. How, uh, how likeable are you to Erin Solstice, scale of one to ten?”

Ilvriss was dreaming. This could not be reality, even for her. Tolveilouka went on after a second.

“It wasn’t supposed to go this way, you know. I was helping you. You know, common enemy? I trashed the [Ranchers] a bit, ate some cows…I just, uh, lost my temper with the dance. Nice footwork, you know. It’s hard to pull off a magical dance in a fight.”

Ilvriss tried to strangle him. He ended up flopping onto Tolveilouka’s chest, and the half-Elf laughed as he put Ilvriss back in his seat.

“Ooh, so forwards. You know, that’s the interesting bit. I’ve been watching you and that little miner. So progressive. Drakes hate that sort of thing. Always have. The City of Purity was bad about that—but they were bad about everything. No one liked them. I was there when they died, but, if you can believe this, it wasn’t even our doing. They killed themselves.”

“If…you’re going to help…cure us.”

That was all Ilvriss breathed. He’d take it. His heart lurched. If this was a Solstice miracle and the plague monster was on his side, he’d have something to say to Erin Solstice.

Thanks. And how the hell—?

Tolveilouka appeared uncomfortable. He smoothed his hair, poured Ilvriss a cup of water, and went pacing around before staring out of Ilvriss’ tent. And that way, Ilvriss knew the answer before the half-Elf spoke.

“Here’s the thing. I make things. I can see things. I can grow…well, I didn’t use a lot of my powers in the fight, but I have them. It’s usually not as effective as punching or stabbing someone. Just more amusing. But my master made me to be undying, a vessel for plagues. I never really learned the, uh, control part. If it’s just magical and I’ve made it, sure, all under my control. But once it starts living in your veins I can only negotiate a bit. I mean, sure, I could pause the effects in you, but we both know that’s a waste of our time.”

Tolveilouka leaned on a wall, and stared at nothing.

“My master could command sickness perfectly, of course. He always thought of me as a failure.”

Ilvriss just stared at him. The half-Elf spun.

“Listen! It makes sense! Plagues, even magical ones, are alive. I’m a level-less undead! How am I supposed to…? What you do is create something nasty and throw it out there. You can’t pull it back. So, uh—let’s see your medications. I reckon I can whip up a good mixture.”

Ilvriss stared at him. Then croaked.

“[Alchemy] tent.”

He had to find a damn map of the camp and mentioned Chema—the half-Elf ducked out. He came back a minute later.

“Okay, excellent. Lovely directions. Got a good look at that Golem. Here’s the thing…when I say ‘alchemy’, do you hear ‘barrel scrapings and apprentice reagents’ in your delirium? Got any Unicorn horn? Phoenix feathers? Kraken anything? C’mon, I know there’s at least one Dragon around. The stool of a Silver Dragon? I reckon I could maybe find that Unicorn and snap his horn off…”

Ilvriss started laughing. He couldn’t help it. His death was here, trying to fix the problem, and Ilvriss was going to die. Tolveilouka paced around, then sat again.

“Okay. Okay—we can fix this. Here’s the plan: I’ll just go down there and see what’s in the City of Purity. If we’re lucky, it’s now inert.”

“And there’s healing down there?”

Tolveilouka snapped his fingers.

“That would be nice. If I find some, I’ll bring it back. I, uh, reckon you’ve got about four hours. Tops. Once the tingling becomes super bad, you’ll start squishing. Then I’d grab a wand and blow your head off. Hmm. I’d better make sure this tent is airtight. Don’t need that spreading in a cloud. Same with the other tents. They’ve all got it.”

He got up and bustled around. Then he poked his head back in.

“Oh, what I meant was that we’ll get that city found. Big win for Drakes. I’ll make sure that [Princess] gets a bunch of the good stuff. Listen—you did great for your species.”

Ilvriss said nothing. He really, really wanted Tolveilouka to go away. The half-Elf seemed to sense it.

“Listen. I really was trying to help. It just turns out that I’m not much of a team player. Maybe that’s why my master didn’t come back. Not much to live for.”

He stood there, and Ilvriss just stared at the half-Elf making Ilvriss’ death all about him. Tolveilouka coughed.

“Right. Sorry. If it helps—”

“Get out.”

He left. And then…

Well, Ilvriss felt tingling. He started laughing, then. And crying. Because he heard the voice, now.

It whispered across Izril. To Ulva Terland, who looked up in her study, then went back to work. To Lord Xitegen, who halted in eating at a restaurant and found a glass. To Damia, Cecille, and every Reinhart.

To every noble of the north, the voice spoke:

<Heroic Quest – Keep Him Alive: Wall Lord Ilvriss!>

<Conditions failed. Quest cancelled.>

Then he knew. And he hoped, only—that the [Innkeeper] didn’t find out for a while.

——

Ilvriss’ will broke. He called Lyonette.

He heard the speaking stone pick up, and he spoke.

“Ilvriss…?”

“Lyonette, is there something in the [Gardens of Sanctuary]? Some—some—he was on our side, but he messed up. But I bet that means she had something to use against him. A cure. In her rooms. Can you—”

He heard a sob.

Just once, muffled, then she tried to say something.

He hung up the speaking stone. Smashed it, with one claw, shaking. So ashamed because he had heard how desperate he was.

Lyonette, I don’t blame you.

He wrote that down on a piece of paper.

Realized how that sounded and was trying to burn it. Gave up and tried to eat it.

No saliva.

He was lying on the ground of his tent, laughing. He had been in denial until Tolveilouka had come along. He hadn’t thought this was…it.

Not for him.

Not with his death waiting in Az’kerash.

“Periss.”

He hadn’t thought of her this entire time. Just Lyonette and other people. Ilvriss felt guilty, then not.

He’d see her soon. Then she could scold him.

Or was her ghost not…

Erin had said there was a place after death.

Ilvriss hoped there was. He was afraid of being alone.

He was afraid of nothing being the end.

——

He was trying…

To find something.

Something. He was knocking papers around. Swinging the last pickaxe from the City of Purity to open locks and drawers and pull himself up.

Because he wanted to live. Because he didn’t want that to be how Lyonette heard he’d died. Begging her for…

I want to live. I want to fall in love and live for decades before I go. I’m sorry, Periss.

If I couldn’t do that—I wanted to avenge you.

Instead, he was dying in a shit-smelling camp at the hands of a half-Elf who hadn’t even meant to kill him. Ilvriss swung the pickaxe again and again, destroying his orderly world. He only stopped when he saw something glittering.

He’d hit…a pile of gifts meant for the [Ranchers] and Terlands. The Wall Lord gazed down and saw the gift-briefcases that were all the rage in Salazsar. This one was glittering, cut by the pickaxe that had left a neat rectangle of leather on the ground.

Inside was something he knew. He stopped, then bent down, laughing.

“A toll for the great beyond. Fitting.”

He didn’t really say the words. Just thought them as his lips moved soundlessly. What he’d found was…the quintessential treasure of his kind. That which his Ancestors and Salazsar coveted.

Gemstones.

The magical gemstones he’d given to Marvus. A fortune in magic, not just pretty gems. Ilvriss picked out two.

You put coins on eyes, didn’t you? Gems would suit a greedy Wall Lord.

Then he went to lie down.

He was tired.

——

He couldn’t lie down right. His lungs felt like they were filling up with something. And—this was why people used coins—the gems were uncomfortable.

They dug into his eyes, which felt…squishy. He was tingling. Rotting. The Wall Lord tried to hold them, but his claws were sweaty. He put them under his pillow in his uncomfortable travel-bed.

“Ow.”

He rolled his head, trying to find somewhere to sleep. It was like…you know when you were tired and you had been up far too long, but you couldn’t sleep because you were so tired? And you just knew that when your body finally let you, you’d rest forever?

That was how it felt. Only, the thing keeping him up was life.

Still fighting.

He was proud of himself for that. But he was so uncomfortable, and he didn’t—Ilvriss rolled over—

There wasn’t a way out. So he’d just like to rest, please. He’d tried.

He had tried.

Ilvriss turned over as he felt a haze pulling him away and heard a sound.

Crack.

His head rose muzzily, and he cursed.

“Oh come on.”

He knew what it was. When he pulled his pillow aside, he saw the magical gemstone had turned to powder. The magic was actually visible, swirling up like fine dust. Ilvriss coughed, waved it away. Then sighed.

Turned out the entire batch of gift gemstones was actually flawed somehow. He owed Marvus an apology. Magical hazard, that. Terrible. Someone else could deal with it.

Ilvriss put his head down on top of the cracked gemstone, and the other one cracked too. He just lay there. Until he realized that the gemstone fragments digging into his forehead was the most uncomfortable way to die.

It took him six tries to get up and swipe the gemstone fragments off his bed. Highly hazardous, that. Any magical gemstone above Cirozine-quality breaking was a minor disaster. They had such unpredictable effects…

His scales were tingling on his head, and he’d doubtless absorbed something magical that might give him a permanent health condition. Since that was probably all of forty minutes left, Ilvriss’ main concern was the pieces of gem that had decided to bury themselves in his forehead.

His flesh was definitely getting weaker. Scales too. Ilvriss staggered up and found the vanity. He stared at the pieces of gemstone embedded in his forehead.

“Ow.”

What a failure. Couldn’t even die right. Ilvriss picked at the gemstone shards where blood was oozing around them. They hurt.

Like actually hurt. His blood was thick and red, and they were stuck in there damn hard. Ilvriss gritted his teeth—then reached into his mouth.

Pulled out a tooth with some gum stuck to it.

“And that’s it, folks.”

He whispered in his head. His body was sagging, now. His claws scraped listlessly at the gems in his forehead. Maybe just lie down and die? His brain whispered that to him.

But they hurt. They legitimately hurt, those shards, and everything else was tingling.

Like…

Ilvriss spat blood out of his mouth; it was replacing saliva. It was yellow and red. The wrong color of red. He stared at the drool and noticed he was bleeding the same revolting mixture.

Don’t want it going downwind, Tolveilouka had said. So why…

Why…?

Why was the blood coming from his temples red? Ilvriss stared at it fuzzily. A part of his mind had a thought.

Gemstones.

Gemstone magic.

Magic…magic was powerful. Raw.

Took on flavors. Elemental. Something.

Magicore for absorbing.

Maybe—

Raw magic purity? Unicorn magic. Phoenix feather magic. No big magic in alchemists for Tolveilouka.

Magic.

One last thought made the Drake waver. His bed was calling him. But he glanced in the mirror, and though his flesh was sagging, though he had changed and forsaken so much, he was still Ilvriss.

Ilvriss.

Gemscale.

——

He was scrabbling at the briefcases. Clawing at them. Putting them in his mouth and biting them with his teeth, even as they shifted around. Swallowed one whole.

Break them. Ilvriss had the pickaxe, and he was tapping them. Each time he missed, he felt like that was the end. But then he’d break one. Pour it over his scales—and it seemed like they were sticking to his scales, or maybe that was how much he was rotting.

He had a lot of briefcases. He was a Wall Lord of money. The Drake broke more. More, until he lay under a covering of broken, glittering gems. And magic…he felt magic in the air, a thrum in his blood and bones.

It was louder than the tingling. It reminded him of that [Innkeeper] he loved.

Not like Periss. But like someone who reminded a boy what dreams were like. It felt like her [Immortal Moments], her greatest Skill. A grasping towards unknowable wonders.

Brushing eternity.

Because he could find no more gemstones in his blurry vision, because the tingling had stopped for a moment, and because that was a fine feeling to die with, if this was the last thing he’d ever know, the Drake lay down and went to sleep at last.

[Class Change: Wall Lord of Corporate Opulence → Wall…]

[Skill…]

…

But that wouldn’t really help, would it?

[Conditions Met: Drake → Oldblood of Gems Species!]

[Condition: Body – Breath of Jewels Obtained!]

[Condition: Body – Oldblood Wings Obtained!]

[Condition: Body – Scales of Opulence Obtained!]

[Condition: Body – Fortune’s Scent Obtained!]

[Condition: Body – Greater Resistance: Sickness Obtained!]

Now…

[Class Change: Wall Lord of Corporate Opulence → Wall—]

——

Ilvriss pushed himself up.

He rose before the voice continued, and his body responded to his will. He heaved himself up and felt something on his back. Like a cloak, only lighter, and they flexed. He could see.

The world had stopped spinning. He felt…wonderful.

Alive.

But he was running. Running, scattering the briefcases, picking out the remaining gems as if they were all aglow—he could even smell how many there were left intact.

Running out of his tent. A Golem walking the camp, Chema, jerked when she saw him. Recoiled in pure alarm and fright.

“Wall Lord?”

He threw open the tent flaps to Welsca’s tent. She was lying there, breath rasping, stained rags covered in that filthy blood lying next to her, a cooling compress on her head. He staggered over to her.

“Welsca. Welsca…gemstones. Where are the others? We need—”

He began smashing them in his palms. Sprinkling them down on her. She stirred.

“Ilvriss…?”

He kept smashing gemstones. He didn’t know how many she needed. A fortune. How much time did she have?

“Hang on, Welsca. We’re going to make it. For once, we brought our own miracles. Just hang on.”

“Yes, Wall Lord.”

The tent flaps opened. Someone spoke.

“Wall Lord, what is—”

“Gemstones!”

He turned, and Chema jumped again. The Drake shouted.

“Get me every gemstone above—no, every gemstone! Fill them with magic! Buy them from Invrisil, Pallass—get them, now! Hurry! Run!”

She ran. And then Welsca was blinking up at Ilvriss.

Did her flesh look more stable? Was it working? Would it be instantaneous? Or slower, since she might not level up when she slept?

She lay there as he tried to explain.

“There’s a way to cure the plague, Welsca. Just magic. Magic. You might die…but don’t. I’m going to cure you, understand? You and everyone else I can.”

“It’s a fortune, Wall Lord. Can’t afford it.”

“Shut up about money. Just hang on, okay?”

“Okay. You look different, Ilvriss.”

He felt different. Ilvriss had no mirror. He just cradled Welsca in his arms.

“Not bad, I hope? It beats dying.”

“No. You look like I imagined a Wall Lord should look like when I was small.”

“Oh. Good? Welsca? You’re not asleep, are you?”

“No.”

“Keep talking to me, then. Just hang on.”

“Okay, Ilvriss.”

He knelt there until the tent burst back open, and there was a babble from a speaking stone. And he began to smash more gems and give orders. But he waited until he saw Welsca’s scales begin to glow. Then he glanced away, respectfully. When he rose…

He breathed out. And his breath glittered in the air. Like broken gemstones. Like magic.

It was in him, now.

A piece of wonders. Like Erin.

——

Seven.

Seven. Five Drakes and one Gnoll from the Silverfang tribe. Two of the Rubirel Guard, Ilvriss, Welsca, a [Soldier], the [Lucky Miner] from the Silverfang tribe—and the Antinium [Priest].

That was how many made it. Eight died, succumbing to the plague too fast, including one of the Terland [Lords].

Ilvriss didn’t know if the Human could have been saved. He would have paid for it all, though the cost to transform was placed at about 63,000 gold pieces. Per person, excluding the Antinium [Priest], who managed to fight off the sickness themselves. Whether that was biology or prayer—the other species had been only saved by magic and gold.

It was bitter.

It was something that only a Wall Lord could do.

It was wondrous—and a secret, because Ilvriss pictured people giving themselves mana poisoning or all his peers just wasting fortunes to do this. Because he felt like it was not something to be done because you were rich. Perhaps the catalyst was a need to change, not just the magic.

If so, it was earned, by each and every person. But not a one was alike.

Ilvriss kept flexing his new wings. It was like having new muscles on his back, and he knew his scales were…sparkly. The people who saw him, Drakes especially, would just stand and stare, or stutter.

However, his was the only transformation into an Oldblood of Gems—or whatever his subspecies was. The others were different.

Welsca Crimsonscale’s coloration had only deepened and now took on a bit of orange and even deeper ruby. She had wings—but the breath that came from her lungs was hot, like a furnace was in her chest. He’d feared she was still dying when she woke up, but the fever was instead just permanent for her.

She had become an Oldblood of Flames. The other Drakes had each taken on different elements; one had become an Oldblood of Winds, the first Ilvriss had ever seen. And the Silverfang Gnoll was just—strange.

He had a silver streak down his neck and back, and he seemed no bigger; if anything, he might have shrunk. But he appeared more compact, and the biggest changes were his claws and eyes.

They glowed. From brown, his irises had taken on a silver hue, a crescent of silver in the brown, and his claws were now pale white. Could every species become magical? Had Ilvriss found something truly important? And if so, why had it been lost? Or was it just that risky?

He didn’t know. These were questions for later.

Ilvriss was alive. Cured of plague, and after the bodies were burned and the most thorough screening he could think of, he rode to The Wandering Inn. Not flew; he had no idea how, really. Though he felt like he could make himself lighter.

But he rode, then walked through the magic door—and a [Princess] tackled him in a hug, then stood back and stared at him.

“Ilvriss? You look—gorgeous.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment.”

His scales were still largely purple, but they’d taken on variance, the kind he’d only ever seen in a few Drakes, like Rafaema or Onieva come to think of it. A slight patterning where the scales changed colors. In places, Ilvriss’ scales had turned pearlescent. In others, they simply glittered. Like jewels.

He had highlights around his eyes, and his tail had some kind of pattern too, though it was hard to get a great look at it. It didn’t matter. If he’d turned poop-brown, he’d have been happy to be alive.

Ilvriss was swaying on his feet. He’d not slept more than, like, five seconds, but he let Mrsha hug him too and tried to explain it without giving away the secret.

“It was just luck. We, um—there’s something you need to know, Lyonette. Privately.”

Tolveilouka’s admission. Suddenly, Ilvriss had a hundred problems. Dying not being one of them, he felt great. He was hugging Lyonette, and she was beaming, and he just—kissed her on the cheek. Then apologized.

“I’m so sorry, that was entirely inappropriate—”

Damia skidded to a halt, her tearstained face turning into awe and delight. Just in time for Lyonette to blink, turn, and kiss Ilvriss on the lips.

Everyone turned, stopped, and gaped. The two broke apart right away, and Lyonette coughed.

“That was just—I’m so relieved. I thought—”

“Right—”

The two stared at each other as Mrsha slapped her forehead with a paw. Ilvriss had no idea what to say, but ‘I didn’t mean that’ felt like a bad move, even if he sort of felt like—

Then, through the [Door of Portals] that Liska was holding open for Welsca, he heard and felt the faintest tremor. And a sound.

It sounded suspiciously like ‘boom’. But faint.

Slowly, everyone turned to the door, and Welsca’s head rotated.

“Wall Lord? That came from the expedition’s—”

Ilvriss had never been more grateful for the inn’s signature brand of chaos. He turned and began running with Lyonette without a word.

Author’s Note:

I finished the arc, and it’s a long one. But as you might haven noticed—the final chapter is in two parts.

That’s just how long it is. 90,000 words before edits, I believe. And because it’s so dang long, I had to split it, on this cliffhanger.

It fits.

But here’s my plan: I’m going to try and release the 2nd part on Tuesday. I’ll take that entire day to edit so it might be late, but if I can, I’ll release it then. No promises, but that’s because the chapter’s done.

Then I’ll take my monthly break. That way we both win; you get the chapter early and I get to rest a bit longer.

Once it’s out, I’d love feedback on how it felt to have a longer arc without moving perspectives. It’s always longer than I planned but we hit a bunch of plotlines here. And this was actually feedback from the [Palace of Fates] survey. I did my best, and like Ilvriss, sometimes you’re a fool while doing it.

But sometimes you do the right, amazing thing. And even our silly, purple-scaled Wall Lord who once got clocked with a frying pan can become a shiny new Drake. I hope you enjoy how the chapter has gone and how it ends.

(Also Tolveilouka is really funny to write.)

That’s all from me!