Interlude – The Gecko of Illusions (1/2)

To those who knew him, Archmage Viltach was known as ‘The Archmage of Terandria’. A curious title—but people would refer to him as the Terandrian Archmage and others would know what they meant.

Not the ‘Human Archmage’, because there were three out of the seven. Six now, and only two Humans if you took into account…current events.

Traditionally, the numbers of Archmages mattered little. Sometimes there was one. Other times they were counted only as the actual [Archmages]. And sometimes it didn’t matter because who ruled Wistram wasn’t the Archmages at all.

But the title remained. And there were seven—wait—six great [Mages] who had ascended to such lofty titles. One from each continent, in theory, but Rhir hadn’t produced an [Archmage]—or at least, a [Mage] of that caliber who had graduated through Wistram—in centuries.

As it stood, the numbers ran thusly: Terandria had two. Izril had one, and scarcely tied to her home at that. Chandrar had produced one. Baleros had three living Archmages.

Archmage Amerys was no longer numbered among them. And three of the six weren’t always at the academy; one had ties to the Iron Vanguard in no small way; despite being Human, he had been raised by Dullahans. The other, well, he was flighty and powerful. More closely linked to the Maelstrom’s Howling Great Company, but only by species.

Izril’s sole Archmagus lived on an island and seldom interfered in her home’s affairs. All three were what you could call classic, selfish Archmages. They had their hand in politics, but they were keenly obsessed with their own affairs.

…Well, you could count Archmagus Verdan Blackwood—the Human raised by Dullahans—as a politicker. But he was old, and didn’t have the stamina to fight it out constantly in Wistram with his peers. He was in effect, retired, and though he could wield sufficient power—

It was the three in Wistram Academy at this moment who made waves. Ones to watch. The other Archmages might not even have known about the Earthers.

Nailihuaile, the Lamia and head of her Revivalist Faction, did.

So did Archmage Feor, the old half-Elf who led the Centrists.

And Viltach? The Terandrian Archmage? Well…he and his Libertarians were known for their links to Terandria. And Viltach was especially political in that sense.

People said of Viltach that he never backed the losing horse. And that went for gambling as well as the affairs of his home continent. And if it turned out that a losing nation was, in fact, the one that would win a conflict? They had been the winning horse all along.

That was how the Archmagus operated. And how Wistram Academy liked to conduct a lot of affairs. There were exceptions—like the King of Destruction whom they opposed, but they generally liked to nudge things. Collect what was valuable. Avoid direct, messy intervention. Unless they had to. Which they didn’t do at all. Well—sometimes.

It was complicated. In many ways, Wistram was a giant of multiple intentions. Peer under the unified front, and you’d see a mess of factions. Each one vying for superiority, magical knowledge, power…

In this particular case, the upcoming conflict with Ailendamus and the southern realms was worrying any number of people. So far it was looking to be Ailendamus versus the traditional bulwark of Calanfer, Kaliv, and Gaiil-Drome. The Dawn Concordat as they were known, was known for having broken any number of nations sent against them. But Ailendamus had swelled of recent years, and their ruler, King Itorin II, was looking for easy victories.

The preparations for the conflict had begun interfering with sea trade. Ailendamus warships had clashed twice with Pheislant vessels and were blockading trade to the Dawn Concordat. Any goods headed their way? Well, those ships were ‘accidentally’ intercepted by Ailendamus’ peacekeeping force. Confiscated, or just ‘lost’ during routine searches.

It wasn’t exactly a stealthy maneuver. But it worked well against all three landlocked nations. They didn’t rely on continental trade, but their trade goods and luxuries were being clamped down on.

Just another precursor to the war everyone knew was coming. Now, it didn’t matter to Wistram except that this was a matter of international sovereignty on the waters. And Wistram Academy was—split—on what should be done.

Ailendamus would win. That was Viltach’s belief. He had a strong connection with King Itorin and he preferred to keep it that way by doing…nothing.

The other two Archmages disagreed.

“They can’t block trade! That makes us look bad if we don’t condemn them, even in words.”

Nailihuaile argued for opposition to the Ailendamus fleet’s actions. Only that. Feor was more direct.

“No nation rules the oceans. Ailendamus’ actions cannot be tolerated. Wistram does not take sides.”

That statement was so false that all three Archmages had to pause. Naili snorted, Viltach’s lips quirked, and even Feor paused in acknowledgement of what he’d said. Nevertheless—that was what the Academy said.

“I believe Ailendamus is within its rights. Or will Wistram oppose the nation?”

Viltach looked around challengingly. Naili grumbled, and Feor glanced at her. It came down to a vote in the Council. Nailihuaile mustered her Revivalists who held seats and pushed for a strongly-worded letter of condemnation. Feor tried to use his Centrists, one of the largest factions, to persuade Wistram to go a step beyond, unifying the other coastal nations to oppose Ailendamus and force a cessation to the blockage.

Archmage Viltach threw his Libertarians beside the Revivalists. The two factions hated each other usually, but this was politics. In exchange for his votes on a referendum inviting Chandrarian bazaars to hawk their goods at Wistram in an upcoming fair…Feor lost. Wistram sent words against Ailendamus, conveying their dislike of the blockade. The matter rested.

The ships still sailed the waters, ready to seize anything bound for Terandria. They had truth spells to check even the most tricksome of [Merchants], [Mages] of their own. The warships had fast counterparts who would destroy any would-be blockade runners or smugglers…perhaps some Drowned Ships got through, or the most elusive of [Merchants], but so what? It was working.

That was politics in Wistram. They had, through much arguing over three days, accomplished exactly nothing about the blockade, but done it in such a way that much clout had been expended and gathered. Feor was unhappy, but the fate of the Dawn Concordat wasn’t the highest on his list of priorities. More time to interfere when the war began, if need be.

And that was that. The end. The Academy had spoken, the Council of Mages had voted, and there was nothing more to be said.

…Except of course that there were some people who didn’t obey the rules. They were not Archmages. They had no desire to be that public. And they viewed a nosy bunch of warships interdicting all ships as bad for business. [Smugglers] already had to dodge [Harbormasters] and inspections at the ports. So one faction happily set sail even before the votes had been cast.

They were an Elusive Lot.

—-

The warship looked like one of Ailendamus’ grandest vessels. And the insignia read—Itorin’s Pride.

“Dead gods. But that’s the flagship. We didn’t receive word, did we?”

The [Admiral] lowered his spyglass as the navy, spread out in their blockade, hailed the oncoming warship. He heard a curse from one of his junior officers.

“Lord Admiral! I regret to inform you that we did receive several [Messages]!”

“What?”

“The contact, sir! This must be it.”

The [Admiral] of The Foehammer, a good warship, paled. He’d gotten several coded contacts yesterday through the [Message] system. Obviously, since you could intercept messages, Ailendamus had its own system of codes. It had told him to look for a message or persons today. But Itorin’s Pride?

“Are we going to war already? No—if the Pride is joining us, we might be sailing against Pheislant’s harbors. Dead gods. Make ready! I’ll greet our visitors myself.”

The [Admiral] checked his uniform, and saw the other ship hailing them through a complicated signal of [Light] spells. The deck was very busy, but to his surprise, the [Admiral] saw that they were signaling to come aboard his ship rather than the other way around.

Odd. But the [Admiral] saw the gangplank being lowered and hastily stepped forwards to greet…

“Admiral Dakelos! How the hell are you, my man?”

A giant of a man—not an actual Giant, but still—strode across the decks. He grabbed Dakelos in a bear-hug slapped him on the shoulders. The smaller man squeaked.

The [Commander]—no—[General] by his rank on his uniform was a bear of a man. A powerful nose broken twice, scars lining his arms—he had hair like it was made of iron—and a huge, booming smile.

He also smelled a bit of wine. He was clearly not at home on the rolling decks.

“Do I—know you? Sir?”

The man looked hurt.

“Dakelos! We met when you were barely a [Captain]. Back when you were sailing at sea? You don’t remember me? Yerzhen? Ah, but we had a grand time. Finished a barrel of…no?”

The [Admiral] blinked a few times, then blushed. He had a poor way with drink, and if he had met the man (and how could you forget a fellow like this?), he’d forgotten.

“I’m terribly sorry…was it Yerzhen? Er—[General]…?”

Belatedly, he saw one of his [Fleet Mages] coming forwards. It was a bit embarrassing, but the [Mage] began casting a truth spell at once. On both Yerzhen and Dakelos. The [Admiral] waved him back, but the unsteady [General] didn’t seem to notice.

“These damn boats. I hate them. Don’t know how you can stand them, Dakelos. What were you saying? Ah, right!”

He waved a stern finger at Dakelos.

“Don’t call me General Yerzhen. That was my father’s title. Let’s not stand on formality, Dakelos. Two old drinking-partners shouldn’t, eh?”

The truth spell flashed behind the man. All the statements were true. Dakelos, a bit miffed but more convinced than ever, saw Itorin’s Pride sailing past his flagship.

“Er—as you say, Gen—I mean, Yerzhen. What is the Pride doing?”

“Ah—that. You’ll want to follow. I was supposed to go ahead in one of our skiffs and spoken to you earlier today, but you know me—had to drink or I’d die at sea. How many [Soldiers] do you have under your command?”

Dakelos’ brows creased and his heart began to pound.

“I have a number of sailors, s—I mean, Gener—Yerzhen. But what is this…?”

“His Majesty will kill me if we’re late. Hurry up and turn the ship! I’ll explain on the way. You got the coded [Messages], yes?”

“Yes—but—”

Dakelos waved a hand at his officers. Wide-eyed, they began to call out.

“Raise the anchor!”

“The entire fleet, yes. We can spare a few ships if you think it’s wise, but we need to be landing in Nadel by nightfall, Dakelos.”

“Nadel? But that’s the territory of Lord Belchaus!”

Dakelos nearly fell over himself. And his voice was too loud; [Sailors] looked up and gaped. Was Ailendamus going to war against Lord Belchaus Meron, the Lord of the Dance? His harbors were practically unassailable! Even with the entire navy at his back, Dakelos wouldn’t like fighting there.

But Yerzhen just growled at him.

“Not so loud, man! I’ll tell you when we get to the cabin! But take the fleet! I’ll need to borrow half your [Sailors]—those who can fight on land. Should have told you earlier. Don’t tell his Majesty or I’ll be on the chopping block. Again!”

His voice was no less quiet, for all he was trying to growl. Dakelos hurried into his cabin and the [General] yanked the door shut.

“Get the fleet moving. I’ve got the Pride loaded with as many of our elites as we can. Dead gods, even the Thirsting Veil has committed sixty of its [Knights].”

“Sixty? Then this is an assault? We can’t take Nadel with our fleet, Yerzhen. Not even if we had three times our numbers…”

“Admiral? Do you still need me?”

The [Fleet Mage] called from outside the office. Distracted, Dakelos saw Yerzhen drawing a line across his throat.

“No lower-ranks, Dakelos. Can’t risk word spreading.”

“Of course. You’re dismissed! Man your stations!”

The Admiral called out. Now that they were alone, and discussing war, he saw the [General] straighten and look a lot more reassuring…solid. Stumbling he might have been across the decks, but Yerzhen’s voice was like a rock.

“We’re not assaulting Nadel, Dakelos. The opposite. Lord Belchaus is allowing our ships to land. He’s not happy about it, but he’s given us a window. From there—my troops and your [Sailors] will disembark and move westwards. We will set up camp and prepare to flank the Dawn Concordat when the war begins. In six days.”

Dakelos’ jaw dropped.

“But Lord Belchaus has always been neutral…”

Infamously so, in fact. The [General] winked at him.

“His Majesty knew that. But even the Lord of the Dance or whatever he’s called can see the way the wind is blowing. There were a lot of [Diplomats], contracts—none of my business. I’m just to take my men and yours and prepare for an attack when Calanfer commits its forces northwards. We play this right and we’ll take the capital on the seventh day and be sipping wine in a week!”

It could work. The [General] was flipping through the maps, tracing a route overland from Nadel to Calanfer. Dakelos couldn’t believe it.

“So this interdiction of smuggled goods—”

“Just to get you boys out here. You think we were going to have you sit here for months?”

That was what the [Admiral] had thought. But—what genius. And getting the Lord of the Dance? He felt the ship turning. The entire navy was following Itorin’s Pride.

Something did bug Dakelos, though. He’d thought the Pride was actually much further north. And it was moving so fast—he looked warily at the [General].

“I’m sorry, General Yertzhen. But this is just so sudden. Shouldn’t we send at least an affirmative back to the capital…?”

The [General] looked askance.

“Are you mad, man? Why do you think you only got the barest code-signs we were coming? This is secret. Do you know how hard it was to smuggle Itorin’s Pride all this way? We had to use illusions! This is beyond top-secret. But mark me. If I pull this off, his Majesty has assured me personally that he will make me a [Great General] of Ailendamus. And if I reach that position—I’ll be calling for you to become [High Admiral]. How’s that sound, Dakelos, eh?”

He pulled the other man into a one-armed hug. The [Admiral] grinned in disbelief.

“That would be—excellent! Gener—I mean, Yerzhen.”

“Exactly! Now, the Lord of the Dance is going to probably put up a fuss for the show of it, but he’ll pull back his ships once we clash a few times. That’s the politics of it—he’s going to pretend he gave up. So we’ll discuss how we want to orchestrate the thing. I think a few salvos of [Fireball] spells…but then we’ll have to rush my [Soldiers] to disembark, got it?”

“Of course….”

“Not to worry, man! The hard part is mine, keeping the [Soldiers] hidden. You have the easy part, shepherding us here and just play-fighting. Here—let’s grab a drink while we discuss landing points and such. I had a location—here?”

He pointed to the map as he investigated the cabinet with expensive liquors. Before Dakelos knew it, the [Admiral] was seated and the [General] was pouring him a drink. He tried to refuse, but Yerzhen insisted.

“Come on, man! Nothing like a drink to steady the nerves. We’ll toast to Ailendamus! May it conquer all of Terandria—no! the world! And to his Majesty’s health!”

You had to drink to that. Nervously, Dakelos did. Just a sip. His crew wouldn’t notice…

—-

The [General] emerged from the cabin with a somewhat intoxicated Admiral Dakelos an hour later. Plans all set. Together, they gave a speech to the crew, informing them of the sudden plans. It was of course—riotous, but the [General] strode up and down the decks, stumbling a bit, but roaring his intent to break the Dawn Concordat in a single, stealthy strike.

Itorin’s Pride was filled with cheering [Soldiers], even the stern-faced Order of the Thirsting Veil, saluting the sky. The rest of the navy took heart from it and sailed at full-speed, the [Fleet Mages] pouring all the wind they could into the sails.

They reached Nadel’s waters in record time after only nine hours, thanks to the currents and high morale. Admiral Dakelos was there as he saw, in the distance, patrolling ships react like they’d been struck at the sight of an Ailendamus fleet bearing down on them.

Nadel was not that far east of Calanfer. Somewhere near the middle of Terandria’s southern coastline, it was a safe-zone where no fleet save the Lord of the Dance’s was welcome. It allowed safe trade and it had fought off any number of navies.

On any other day Dakelos wouldn’t have put even a foot over the invisible borders of Nadel, but today he was drunk on courage, dreams of glory and promotion—and just drunk. General Yerzhen chuckled.

“See them spooking off? Probably screaming the alarm. I bet you the Lord of the Dance didn’t even tell them. Makes it authentic.”

“Er—of course, Yerzhen. What do we do? Start throwing [Fireballs]?”

They had a routine all set up. The [General] winked.

“I say we begin with a speech. I’ll give you the honors, shall I?”

“If you like.”

Boldly, the [Admiral] swaggered up to the front of the decks. In the distance, Nadel was a dot. But the harbors would already be boiling with the Lord of the Dance’s ships, as planned for the staged attack. His fleet would attack, and the Lord of the Dance would ‘fight’ for a few rounds before retreating.

“Admiral! The Lord of the Dance himself is setting out towards us with Nadel’s entire fleet!”

An hour later, the panicked, but excited shout came up the command deck. Dakelos felt a twinge of fear as he saw the huge fleet—dwarfing his own—but Yerzhen just tapped the side of his huge nose.

“Here we go. Just as planned. I’ll tell the Pride to begin moving for the shoreline. They need to do the most work.”

“Of course. And my speech—where are the notes?”

“Here.”

The [General] offered the inky notes to him. Admiral Dakelos focused on them and began to shout through a voice-amplifying spell as the enemy fleet came close.

“Attention, ships of Nadel! By order of His Majesty, King Itorin II, I demand you give us passage to the harbor! Ailendamus will not be stopped by any nation in this world! If you do not move your ships, we will immediately attack!”

Fiery words. He and Yerzhen had laughed over them an hour ago. They felt…wrong to say aloud, but Dakelos was shaking with excitement. He heard an answering voice a moment later.

The Lord of the Dance.

“Nadel bows to no other nation. I am Lord Belchaus Meron. If you advance further, we will destroy your fleet.”

The Admiral…sobered a bit. That was a terrifying threat. The Lord of the Dance himself was crewing his flagship and they could outmaneuver and out-fight his smaller fleet. He turned to the [General], but Yerzhen bellowed.

“All part of the act! Send the [Fireballs]!”

The Admiral nodded. He croaked around a lump in his throat and felt the wrongness—but he was too far gone.

“—[Mages]! Throw [Fireballs] at the flagship! Aim to miss!”

The [Mages] did. Dozens of [Fireballs] blasted across the gap between the closing navies. Dakelos saw them go wide, or explode too early. But Nadel’s navy reacted as if a hive had been struck.

“They’re closing! Starboard side! Dead gods—”

A shout from the side. Admiral Dakelos turned his head just in time to see Lord Bel’s flagship shoot forwards. It slammed into The Wrath of Sel, a twin of Dakelos’ own warship. The Lord of the Dance didn’t waste time on an engagement at a distance. He leapt aboard the ship, holding a sword, and his retinue followed. Dakelos saw him landing in front of the surprised [Captain].

“That’s a bit much for an act, don’t you think, General—?”

Lord Belchaus beheaded the man. Then he stepped across the deck, as if he was on a dance floor, and killed the [First Mate]. His crew followed, moving in graceful patterns, but deadly as could be.

The blood ran onto the decks as Ailendamus’ navy slowly stopped and stared. But more ships were crashing into theirs, boarding—

“General! I don’t think the Lord of the Dance is acting! General?”

Admiral Dakelos whirled. But the [General] was gone. Yerzhen, that bear of a man, was missing. And—

“Admiral! The Itorin’s Pride has vanished!”

“What?”

The [Admiral] rushed to the railing. But it was true. The giant warship, that had sailed through the waters, making noise, crewed by thousands—had even toasted to them and called jests for nine hours—was gone.

In its place was a floating…Dakelos stared down at it. It looked like a tiny trading boat, barely big enough to hold sixty people. He slowly looked up. The thought occurred to him, amidst the shock, the sudden fear—and the incomprehension at his situation made worse by the drink. It occurred to him that he might have been tricked.

—-

General Yerzhen chuckled as he skimmed across the waters towards the invisible ship from which he could watch the disaster unfold. He was [Water Walking]—although he was actually running.

And moving damn fast for a man of his size. He raced towards the ship, leapt, and landed on an invisible deck.

Then everything turned visible. The ship was shrouded, so once you got onto it you could see. That bear of a man, that huge [General] who had been so false straightened and saw—

Admiral Dakelos. The man turned, tears in his eyes.

“General! How could you? I trusted you! What is this? Why have you abducted me?”

The [General] paused only for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Dakelos. It was nothing personal. Just—I really had to use the toilet and I can’t shit at sea. Forgive me.”

He bowed, slightly. The [Admiral] stared at him through red-rimmed eyes and Yerzhen heard a snort.

The illusion of the [Admiral] faded. A Lizardgirl rolled around on the decks, clutching her sides and howling with mirth. There was more laughter and the rest of the [Mages] shed their [Invisibility] spells.

“Dead gods, Yerzhen! Another great line! I nearly laughed off my [Silence] spell when I heard your first one! ‘Don’t call me General…?’ Did you see their faces?”

“No. What’s happening?”

Yerzhen strode back down the decks. He didn’t look as tall or as grand as he did a second ago. His voice was more causal, less bass—but he still wore the [General]’s disguise. The Lizardgirl leapt to her feet as a Selphid, wearing the dead body of a Human man, pointed.

“They’re already surrendering. That [Admiral]’s no idiot. He’s practically screaming he was duped.”

“Aw, shame. Did Belchaus sink any ships?”

“Not for want of trying. What’re the odds he takes them all prisoner?”

“Five hundred gold says he lets them go but on less ships than they came with.”

“Bet.”

The [Mages] chortled and ‘Yerzhen’ and the Selphid clasped hands. The others crowded around, chortling at the fake [General]’s lines.

“I love your speech. Did you write it yourself?”

The Lizardgirl glanced at Yerzhen. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen, but appearances were deceiving here. Yerzhen winked.

“With some help from the [Admiral] himself. What did you think of my first introduction?”

“Good!”

The others chorused. The Selphid looked at Yerzhen.

“Was your father really a [General]?”

“Ah, well. You have to be honest for some of the truth spells. I’d have lied to the man about meeting him if the [Mage] had been there from the start, but that’s why I wanted him off-guard.”

Yerzhen winked. He did not look like his appearance, a big bear of a man. Nor—was he necessarily Human. What was true was that his name was Yerzhen; he’d used it to pass the truth spell. And that his father had apparently been a [General], or called that so he could pass the truth spell.

Nothing more. And the rest of the Elusive Lot—were just as mysterious.

It wasn’t all of them, of course. But six had been needed to keep up the mass-illusion of the ship. And Yerzhen made seven. The [Mages] all chortled as they sailed back towards Wistram.

“That does it for that blockade. Tell our associates they have a window to smuggle everything they want through. They owe us large for this.”

But that went without saying. The others nodded appreciatively.

This was the Ullsinoi Faction of Wistram. And this…was the Elusive Lot.

Possibly. Or it might have just been Yerzhen there. He poked the Lizardgirl.

“Taxiela, is that you?”

“Guilty as charged. Although I prefer Galei sometimes.”

The Lizardwoman sprang up and suddenly she was a Centaur. He tossed his head. And it might have been that it was Galei there the entire time or he just changed his illusion.

No one knew. But Taxiela/Galei was Palt’s master. As well as a member of the Elusive Lot. If they were even here.

It could be that Yerzhen was alone and these were all fakes. Or that he himself had created them all, or some of them and was pretending to have a conversation with Galei at this moment to fool the others.

Things got confusing really quickly around [Illusionists]. And the Elusive Lot were the leaders of the Ullsinoi faction who were made up of well, [Illusionists]. [Tricksters]. [Diviners], [Seers] too, and [Mages] who dabbled on the illicit side of life…

You could get all sorts of factions in Wistram. Not all were huge, political movements like the Revivalists or Libertarians. Some were specialized.

For instance, Bezale’s faction were the Scriptel faction—small, but in possession of a wealth of knowledge. Most of it written by their members. And numbers were also a fool’s game.

“Off we go! Back to Wistram, then! Unless anyone has business on the mainland?”

“One of us jumped ship.”

A Gnoll volunteered that. She grinned as the others chorused.

“Did not!”

Yerzhen took it at face value. Maybe someone had left, but the Elusive Lot would drive you crazy if you tried to find the truth. No one knew how many there were. There was no command structure lower-members of the Ullsinoi faction like Palt could understand, and even knowing who was a member of the Elusive Lot was hard. Palt thought his master, Galei, was part of their number, but he wasn’t sure.

He didn’t even know if Galei was his master or if different members of the Elusive Lot kept taking turns to impersonate his master.

Oh, the world was a grand game. Get your head around that and you were set. The Elusive Lot sailed back towards Wistram, chattering away. Yerzhen looked at Galei and the Selphid—who’d failed to use a name the entire time they had been together—as he talked.

“What’s back at Wistram?”

“Naili’s trying to corner us. Feor too. About Palt’s little prank.”

“Oh, that. Wonderfully done! Are they ours?”

“The inn’s ours. The rest? Let’s pretend they are, shall we?”

“Naturally. Should we let ourselves be caught?”

Of course, after the game of soccer, the Archmages had demanded explanations of the Ullsinoi faction. All they’d caught however were lower-ranked members. Cornering the Elusive Lot was like herding invisible cats with wings. The others shrugged or merrily ate snacks while reading [Message] spells on the fallout of their prank.

“I don’t care. So long as Palt can deliver, we’ve got a magical door in Liscor. Have the gangs heard?”

“Heard and are interested, but it’s too hot for them right now with all the eyes. Anyways, I hear the Gentlemen Callers are at the inn. On assignment.”

“Oho. Any idea who?”

“None. But you know how boring they can get. Bets that it’s got to do with the [Innkeeper]?”

No takers. The Elusive Lot swapped thoughts around willy-nilly. After a moment, one of them, Yerzhen again, raised a hand.

“While we’re on the topic…I call for seriousness. One minute.”

The laughing [Mages] subsided. Two of them vanished as if they’d never been here, and Yerzhen couldn’t detect them with any of their scrying spells. The rest, five now, gathered closer. Galei made his smiling face into one of seriousness by passing a hand down his features.

“Serious talk. What does Yerzhen want to say?”

“The Golden Triangle.”

The Elusive Lot paused. And even the hint of a smile vanished from the rest of their faces.

They were, by their own words, pranksters, tricksters, unrepentantly annoying—but not evil or good. They did as they pleased, which was generally to help Wistram as they saw fit. People who interfered too hard didn’t belong with them.

And the Ullsinoi faction loved tricks. Life was meant to be enjoyed, not wrangled over like the Archmages loved to do. Better to make allies than enemies. Better to laugh and enjoy life than try to be the biggest dog in the kennel.

But they did know things. Dark secrets. They did have…enemies. People on their bad list. And for all their lack of scruples at provoking a huge incident between Ailendamus and Nadel—the Elusive Lot was on the side of the Dawn Concordat. But the Golden Triangle was another thing.

What the Elusive Lot knew was that there was such a thing as poor humor. And the ‘Golden Triangle’ was a bad joke. People would die ere the punch line. And the Elusive Lot weren’t going to laugh.

“I’ve spoken to one of the Earthers.”

“Blackmage?”

The query came from Galei. Yerzhen shook his head.

“Another one. They all know it’s a—pyramid scheme. It’s obvious. You’ve seen the numbers and how it ends.”

“Not funny.”

That came from the Selphid. And that was the biggest indictment you could get. The others nodded.

“What will the Council do?”

“Denounce it, probably. Make everyone aware. The Archmages already know. But listen—I heard a rumor that says that Viltach and Feor both want the scheme to continue. Other groups, big groups, get into debt—helps Wistram.”

“And while they do that, many innocent small folk die! That’s their money being stolen!”

Galei stood up, cheeks flushed as he walked back and forth. It could be an act. The Elusive Lot was silent, thinking.

“Wistram sent Montressa and Bezale after the clues. They have all they need to explain what’s happened. I say—we take a first step. Any gang who we’re cordial with—any friends—we warn them. Wistram will move after us if word spreads.”

The other [Mages] murmured. Yerzhen went on.

“Guard our assets. The Walled Cities, at least are the center of the scheme. Let’s cut down the circulation of this game. How much gold is in the air?”

“Over a hundred thousand pieces. At least.”

All of it sent through the ‘Golden Triangle’. If it got bigger, it might well bleed the pockets of many dry. Yerzhen nodded.

“Vote: leak information of the Golden Triangle to…Pallass. He looks into who’s behind the center of it all.”

“Palt’s not good enough.”

Galei opined.

“He could get lucky. The Revivalists and the Scriptels won’t ever trace that mischief—let alone convince the Walled Cities of the danger. Send Palt. He knows how to explain the danger. Apparently he has a connection with Grand Strategist Chaldion? And Magus Grimalkin. Have him use them. I’ll contact him now if we agree. Hands?”

The others deferred to Palt’s master. The vote went up. Three to—seventeen. Dozens of hands popped around the other [Mages] and Galei counted them dutifully. The Selphid made three illusory hands. You never knew who was here. And the hands were more of a sign of…how passionate the other felt.

“Done. And we’ll send word to other agents. No Golden Triangle. Find the biggest sellers and…”

Quite calmly, Yerzhen drew a finger across his throat. The others saw his skin open and blood and viscera through the cut his finger had made. They nodded.

“Spread the word.”

—-

They called him the Gecko of Liscor. When they wanted to make him mad. To most people, he was just ‘Relc’.

Senior Guardsman Relc if you wanted to be fancy. ‘That idiot’ if you were Zevara.

But just—Relc. And he swung around Liscor, a familiar face known by almost all. That huge, sometimes bombastic Drake. Ugly; objectionable face and tail, but damned good with a spear.

A former [Sergeant] in the army. The Watch’s best fighter. That is who he’d been for…over a decade. Nearly two, now.

You didn’t need to summarize him with much. You could do it in a paragraph. Relc was a big, sometimes dumb Drake with a spear who was sometimes childish, sometimes bigoted, but was really a good guy.

That was actually a sentence. But it was Relc. If you wanted details, you had to go beyond him. He had a daughter called Embria who he was partly estranged with but who still admired her father. He had a friend called Erin Solstice who you’d have to write a million words about—oh.

And he’d had a partner named Klbkch. Until a day when he didn’t. And that was a tragedy. Not only because the Watch lost their link to the Hive, but because Klbkch was…solid. Reliable, or he had been. The only person who could really rein Relc in.

His partner. The Watch was already trying to fill his boots. The Watch Captain was searching for replacements. And what would they do with Relc? Well, at least he was here. That idiot would cause trouble without Klbkch. He was always there, always irritably reliable, the same. He was…

—-

Relc Grasstongue sat up in his bed. He blinked a few times, but he was awake.

At dawn. It was a habit so engrained in him from his days as a [Soldier] that he couldn’t stop it, unless he’d had duty the night before. He had not. Today was his day off.

“Grr. Stupid brain. Stupid army. Where’s food? Food?”

Relc muttered to himself. He fumbled around in the near-darkness.

He had candles, and matches. Even a lantern he was supposed to wear at work which he often forgot. The problem was that Relc’s room was anything but tidy. He found none of these things.

What he did find was some moldy bread. He sniffed it. Licked it a few times, and found some cheese under his bed.

“Huh. How’d that get down here?”

In the darkness, the Drake ate a snack. Not proper breakfast. He was still hungry after he smacked his lips.

“Hmm.”

The [Guardsman] sat in the darkness, reflective. He reached out and grabbed his spear.

He always knew where his spear was. Another habit from the army, one he didn’t resent. He slept next to his spear.

“Practice time.”

In his small apartment, the Drake carefully lifted his spear. He spun it around; the long weapon was in danger of hitting both floor, ceiling, and the walls. But Relc knew how long it was exactly. He could measure anything with it—but only thought in terms of the spear-lengths.

He hit nothing. The Drake ran through a training drill he’d mastered long ago. Oh—that was another thing about Relc.

He was a [Spearmaster]. A class as recognized as a [Fencer] with a bell. The Drake warmed up, as he always did, working until he was just about to sweat. His muscles warm, he relaxed.

He had made some sound, but his neighbors had long ago learned to ignore Relc in the mornings or had moved out. Now, the Drake sat down.

“I drank too much.”

He said that to no one in particular. Females of any species didn’t really visit his small, cramped apartment. The affairs he had with them were usually at their places, which were generally nicer, or in inns. Or other establishments.

Only one female person visited him. And that was his daughter. She was usually mildly appalled at the disaster of books with their spines broken, little knickknacks, food, clothing, and so on scattered around his room, but Embria was a [Soldier]. She was used to it.

It was still dark, even after his warm-up. It took longer for dawn, and dusk came sooner thanks to the High Passes. So Relc just sat there. He felt around and came up with something.

“Aha. Wire puzzle with the boar’s head. My old friend.”

The Drake had something in his claws. Invisible in the darkness, he nevertheless knew it inside and out. It was a blacksmith’s puzzle. A metal contraption in the shape of a boar’s head. And—a piece of bendy wire. The goal was to fit the wire through the boar’s head and out the other side without having to bend it. The wire was specially made—you could only bend certain sections.

Well—most people couldn’t bend the other sections. Relc could in theory ‘cheat’ due to his prodigious strength, but he took care not to. He carefully straightened the wire—then bent it into a pattern with his claws. Gently. From memory, in the darkness.

Then he inserted it into the boar’s head. Relc felt the wire snag on hidden tumblers. Then it was out the other side. He twisted and with a little snick, the boar’s head fell open.

“Gotcha! And you were so hard to begin with.”

Smugly, the Drake re-locked the head and tossed it aside. He had spent…how long? Three weeks figuring that one out? And ruined the wire part six times. It really was devilishly hard because you had to bend part of the wire back on itself to make it fit…

That was another thing about Relc. He rummaged around and found another little object.

“Hello? Are you Mr. Metal Block puzzle?”

He had a hobby of solving blacksmith’s puzzles. Wire puzzles, where you had to pull interlocking pieces apart, wooden matrixes that needed unscrambling…Relc spent a lot of his money on them. They were all over his apartment floor.

He enjoyed it. But you could count the people who knew this fact on two claws. Silently, Relc wrestled with the cube, which had multiple compartments you could unlatch and twist and turn or push in…

“Grr. Who makes these things?”

Relc wasn’t a genius at solving these puzzles. He was good, of course, and could solve basic ones—even ones he hadn’t seen—in minutes, but that was only by virtue of experience. There were…harder puzzles. And this was one of them.

“Oh? Oh? Aha!”

Relc shouted. He heard a thump from the wall to his right and apologetically knocked on the wall. But he’d found a combination of buttons when pressed…

The cube lit up. It was one of his magical puzzles. And magical puzzles could be anything. Relc saw a glowing font trace itself across the metal. Little, scrawled letters wrote something for him.

Well done. The Ullsinoi of Wistram present: The Cube of Galei.

“Oooh!”

The Drake stared at the cube. It was glowing now, the lines intersecting and meeting in the metal. And—he squinted.

“What is this?”

A second, illusory section of cube had appeared. Relc reached out and twisted in the air. The magical pieces moved. As they did, the glowing lines shifted to match. So you had to complete the top puzzle and…

The Drake smiled to himself. He bent over the puzzle as the sun rose, poking, fiddling, memorizing what he’d done and not done. He knew he’d have to leave soon enough. He was a Senior Guardsman after all. He had…

—-

Four hours later, Relc felt his stomach growling. The burly Drake looked up.

“Huh?”

Sunlight blinded him from the window. It had risen and, with the grace and tact of a [Thug], smacked him with its rays of light. Relc shaded his eyes. He checked the position of the sun and then swore.

“Ancestors, I’m late! Why didn’t that idiot get me?”

He shot to his feet and in a panic, looked for his clothes. His gear was at the barracks, ready for him to sign in. But Klbkch hadn’t gotten him! He always—

For the nineteenth day in a row, Relc caught himself. His beating heart slowed as he remembered something.

“Oh. It’s my day off.”

And then on top of that…

“Klb’s on vacation.”

Slowly, the Drake sat down. He looked around, blinking in the sunlight. Klbkch always got Relc before their shift started. In fact—the pair had been working together for nearly a decade. So much so that Klbkch would, on his days off, come to Relc’s door.

“Relc, we do not have work together today. Please do not bother me. It is my time off.”

That was what he’d say. Other times it was—

“Relc. It is time to go and sign in. We are late.”

Or—

“Relc, I have already signed in. I am attempting to wake you up for the fifth time. I will soon leave without you.”

Stuff like that, if Relc had gone back to sleep after his dawn wakeup. But he was gone.

Relc raised one scarred fist and looked at it as he lay on his back in his apartment. He could hear other people getting up, murmuring…it was a disconcerting experience. He was usually first out the door, thanks to Klbkch.

He could still remember punching his friend. Asking, pleading with him to stop. And Klbkch, angrier than Relc had ever seen him, refusing to stay down. Until he’d risen and—

“Klbkch has moves.”

The [Guardsman] felt his chest. He could remember being punched, too. He’d thought he was the best [Guard] on the Watch bar none. But Klbkch had put him and a group of Liscor’s [Soldiers] on the ground.

“Skills.”

The Drake stared up at the ceiling. After a while, he got his magical box and began to play with it without looking at it. Well, now Klb was gone. He’d come back. Relc had gotten used to him, though. And…

The Drake wondered if Embria was on-duty. She usually synced her time off with his. Otherwise, she was training 4th company; they had some new recruits to fill their losses. Or patrolling the Floodplains, helping out in Liscor…

“She must be bored out of her mind. 4th Company too. I’d be giving my [Wing Commander] all kinds of crap.”

The Drake thought about that. But Embria was tough. She’d handle it. She had the voice of authority. You had to have that. You couldn’t just get promoted on time served. Not in Liscor’s army. She’d be fine.

And she’d pick him up at any minute. Relc sighed, imagining her nagging him to get changed into something clean for their father-daughter time. Maybe they could visit The Wandering Inn? She didn’t mind it there. He brightened at the thought.

“Yup, yup. And maybe I can visit Invrisil. That’d be great. After all, I’ve got gold!”

He smiled as he thought of his other, newer job. The Drake bent his head over the puzzle and devoted his attention to it. He kept working, as the sun rose and everyone else went to their jobs.

It was only after two more hours that Relc realized that Embria hadn’t come. He looked up, feeling a bit woebegone. But she must have had to work. He sat there. As the morning came.

But if Klbkch and Embria didn’t come to get him, no one else would. No one but the [Landlord]. No one else from the Watch; Relc’s few friends in the city didn’t pay social calls.

He was alone. But for them. So the Drake slowly stood. He stretched. Found his money pouch, his belt, took his spear as always and walked out the door. He looked around, blinking in the sun. What did Senior Guardsman Relc do with his time?

Well…of late…he saw a Gnoll passing in the street. Relc smoothed his neck-spines, smiled at the female Gnoll, and hurried over.

“Hello, Miss! Have you heard about the Golden Triangle? I’m Relc, by the way. Senior Guardsman…”

—-

At the same time, a Centaur was taking his ease outside of an inn. Palt, the Centaur, smoked from a joint. He was always smoking. It was a habit. A way of life.

He was a [Smoker]. As well as an [Illusionist]. His name was Palt. And he got along with people.

“Yes, Master. Really? Really? This isn’t a prank? I’m asking because the last time you sent me on a mission—no, I understand. Yes. And yes. And no. I’m not doing Liscor. Or Pallass. I’ll pass along…no, I won’t. We’re already in hot water. Get someone else…okay. Thank you. Yes! Yes, I’m fine.”

No one could hear the conversation but him, and Palt was deliberately being vague. As he took a lungful of dreamleaf, that delightful substance that made your mood relaxed and your dreams very nice, he passed the smoking joint left.

Lyonette nearly fumbled it, owing to her inexperience with the entire scene. She brought it up to her mouth, inhaled—and began coughing. Palt grinned as he kept talking. Lyonette determinedly had another experience as she puffed on the joint—then she handed it left again.

Pawn was trying to figure out how to smoke the joint as Palt continued.

“No, I haven’t…Master, that’s my business. My romantic—thank you for asking. I’m fine. What? Warships? What did you—okay. Fine. I’ll check for it in the news. Yes, I’m sure! I’ll meet with Magus Grimalkin and Grand Strategist—as soon as I can. The Grand Strategist might take longer, but today! Thank you! Goodbye!”

“Puff. Puff.”

“Pawn, you don’t have to say that.”

“I am trying to get into the mood, Lyonette.”

Palt ended the communication spell. He grinned as he saw Pawn and Lyonette trying to waft the smoke into his…mouth. Palt rummaged in his bag of holding as he produced something.

“I thought that might be an issue. Here. Try this.”

He offered Pawn something. The Antinium and Lyonette stared at a square of…toffee.

“What is this?”

“Chewable dreamleaf. It’s…stronger, so maybe only have a bit. But it also works. I make and sell it as well as the rest, but I don’t use them that much.”

Palt shrugged. He liked smoking. Pawn on the other hand took the bit of toffee. Lyonette eyed it dubiously.

“It’s so…small.”

“You don’t need a lot. Like I said, try it—”

Palt retrieved his cigar as Pawn popped the entire thing into his mouth and chewed.

“Nom, Nom.”

“Pawn. You don’t have to say that either.”

Lyonette sighed. The Antinium raised one finger as he masticated. Then he replied.

“But Erin says that too, sometimes.”

“Erin is a silly…”

The Centaur handed Lyonette the joint.

“Go ahead and finish this if you want, Lyonette. I’ve got to go.”

“Oh. Thank you! I don’t feel…happy?”

“You might not the first time. Just don’t overthink things. You’ll just feel…calmer.”

The Centaur gave the advice he gave all first-timers. Lyonette nodded and kept puffing away. Pawn stared ahead.

“I feel nothing.”

“It takes time. Look, I have a job to do. Tell Erin I won’t be able to help cook.”

“Sure! Thank you for this and…”

Lyonette waved her hands. To mean everything, really. Palt had stayed at The Wandering Inn for a good time now. And he had ingratiated himself to everyone as much as possible. That meant handing out his goods to the Earthers, Ceria—Pisces had refused his goods, claiming he liked drinking more—and Pawn and Lyonette now.

Helping Erin out in the kitchen, too. The Centaur saw this as his duty for multiple reasons. First—Erin was an ally. You helped allies out. Second, he owed her. Montressa and company had tried to kidnap the Horns, had gotten into a fight at Erin’s inn. Debts weren’t a one-and-done thing.

And finally—he rather liked Erin. She was, in Palt’s words, cute. Attractive in more ways than just physical. The Centaur also knew that Erin was as hard to nail down as the Elusive Lot. But that was part of her charm.

“I’m going to Pallass!”

He called out as he trotted back into The Wandering Inn. He had been out the back, to pursue the semi-illicit experience of smoking. Palt already had a cigar in his mouth, though. He conjured a bit of fire to light the end and—

“Palt! How many times have I told you not to smoke indoors?”

An angry voice made Palt wince. He hadn’t even registered putting the cigar in his mouth. It was automatic, the way other people breathed.

The Centaur turned and ducked his head as he snatched the cigar out of his mouth.

“Sorry, Erin. It’s a habit.”

“It’s a bad one! How many times do I have to tell you? Smoking kills!”

“Er…it does?”

Erin Solstice hesitated.

“Yeah. It totally does. It makes your lungs all black and icky, right, Ryoka? Tobacco is evil!”

“But this is dreamleaf.”

The Centaur pointed to his cigar. Erin wavered again, and then wagged one finger.

“It’s secondhand smoke. That’s what’s bad! You’ll get kids high!”

“But if I funnel it out a window or contain the smoke…I’m only harming myself.”

Palt knew it was a losing argument. Erin didn’t like smoking. It was, perhaps, one of the biggest challenges facing getting to know her. He sighed, and then heard a voice as a taller Human came up beside Erin.

“Why not let him smoke if the smoke can be negated, Erin? It’s…not exactly the worst of drugs.”

Palt blinked at this unexpected ally. Erin turned and looked at Ryoka Griffin, surprised.

“Ryoka! But it’s bad! Weed is bad, right?”

“Uh. No. What century are you living in?”

“This one! Wait a second, Ryoka. Do you mean you’ve done…the stuff?”

“Which stuff?”

Palt smirked as he saw Erin’s jaw drop. The Centaur turned his head and pretended to cough. Erin looked indignant.

“But weed—”

“Erin. It’s not worse than alcohol.”

“N—yeah but—wait a second…”

Erin opened and closed her mouth. Palt looked at his rescuer and slowly put the cigar in his mouth. Erin eyed him with wroth, but she said nothing as the stream of smoke floated into a bubble around Palt’s head. The City Runner smiled and he nodded to her.

“A fellow connoisseur?”

“A dabbler. Hi. Ryoka.”

“We’ve met.”

Briefly. The two eyed each other up and down. Palt was sure Ryoka was from Earth. Beyond that? He was very curious. Could she be the legendary ‘batman’ for whom every Wistram mage had been instructed to look for? Perhaps. And knowing Erin? Palt would have put money on it.

“Is it…I mean, we have a similar substance. Is dreamleaf…like that, do you know? You were at Wistram.”

Ryoka Griffin’s voice was very cautious as she referred to the fact that Wistram had any number of Earthers as their guests. Palt smiled around his cigar. Now here was someone who might fit into the Ullsinoi faction. Or at least knew how to keep a reserve.

“I’ve heard it described, Miss. But dreamleaf looks very different to your—weeds. Different effects too, or so I gather.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. It’s minutiae, but dreamleaf provokes…dreams. The more you take, the more vivid the dreams. And the more relaxed you get. I hear you get paranoid on the other stuff?”

“You know it. This doesn’t make you paranoid? Any negative effects?”

“I get hungry. And lazy.”

Ryoka grinned.

“Wait, no side effects?”

Palt winked at her.

“Miss, what kind of [Gardener] grows a plant with side effects? It’s magical. Cities don’t like it because, well, it does impair your work ethic and it’ll demotivate you for hours, but it’s not bad for you.”

“I might have to try it, then. Do you sell…any of it? I have a friend who told me she could get some, but I wasn’t interested at the time. I could bring some back to her, though.”

“Well, if you do, I can set you up with a sample as a friend of Miss Solstice. And if you don’t like smoking…”

“Hey!”

Erin stomped on the ground. Ryoka broke off from reaching for her money pouch. The young woman waved her fist at the two of them. She pointed at Palt’s cigar.

“No weed in my inn. Palt, you can smoke if I never smell it. Got it?”

One small victory. Palt exhaled and the smoke flew up into the bubble overhead. He smiled gratefully at Erin and Ryoka.

“Your words are law, Miss Solstice. Speaking of which—I’m going into Pallass. I don’t suppose Magus Grimalkin will be…attracted here, will he? Or Chaldion? I could use that. I need to talk to them about something important.”

The two young women exchanged a glance. Well—Ryoka glanced at Erin and the young woman scratched at the back of her head vaguely.

“…No? I mean, I’m not gonna do anything.”

“Could you get them here if you wanted to?”

Ryoka was genuinely curious. She was still at The Wandering Inn. She had to leave. Soon. And she had to create a miracle before the summer’s solstice. But for one more day, she was here. It wasn’t about her, anyways.

Erin frowned.

“Well, yeah. Obviously. I could get them if I needed to. Like—scream through to Pallass and get Chaldion or Grimalkin? That’s easy.”

The Centaur and City Runner exchanged a glance. The [Innkeeper] who claimed to be able to summon the [Grand Strategist] of all of Pallass…

“How, Erin? You could just shout something and Grimalkin comes running?”

“Yep.”

Ryoka opened and closed her mouth. The worst part was that she believed it.

“…Give me an example. Please?”

The [Innkeeper] frowned for a moment.

“Um—okay. I open the door and scream ‘dead gods! I’ve got so many muscles! That new soup really does work! I’d better give this to all the Antinium and see what happens!’ And then I shut the door. It’ll probably work, right?”

Palt nearly dropped the cigar as he covered his stomach, laughing. Ryoka laughed too, holding the table. A giggling little Gnoll stopped creeping up on her from behind.

That was why he’d fallen a bit in love. That madness. Like one of the Elusive Lot, but without the need to prank and infuriate everyone in sight. The Centaur looked wistfully at Erin.

“You’re an inspiration to tricksters everywhere, Miss Erin. I salute you. And if you’d like to ever try my illicit drugs—please know that they’re all sincerely for people’s relaxation and state of mind. I carry nothing dangerous. And I’d be happy to show you how they work.”

Erin blinked at him. She smiled and laughed as Ryoka gave her a look from behind Palt.

“Oh—maybe sometime, Palt. I dunno, it’s not my thing. Uh—why are you going to meet Grimalkin and Chaldion? Is something wrong?”

An excellent deflection. Palt sighed. Was she even aware of how he felt? Well…business awaited. The Centaur turned.

“Just something unpleasant on the wind. I don’t know if you two know of it. It might be connected to…your people.”

Perhaps naively, he was unprepared for the way the two young women focused on him.

“What? What thing? Is it Joseph?”

Erin danced around Palt, looking suddenly worried. Ryoka stared at Palt. He hesitated.

“No, no. It’s not even confirmed. I’m going to do some digging, that’s all. And warn both Chaldion and Magus Grimalkin about—some of your friends in Wistram noticed this—it’s this phenomenon known as ‘the Golden Triangle’. Have you heard about it?”

“Noooo…”

Erin frowned as Ryoka’s head rose and her eyes sharpened further. Palt sighed as he scrubbed at his hair.

“It’s this concept where you give money to someone else. This group—and they invest it in adventurers, [Mages], and so on. Only—we’re not sure, Wistram, that is—that the organization or adventurers exists. We can’t find any records of them anywhere. And the people who give money are encouraged to get other people to join, and they get more money if they do on top of money for their investment…”

He trailed off. Ryoka looked pale. Erin was frowning, as if listening to something far distant, trying to recall something.

“That sounds like…a golden triangle. T-Triforce? No, wait. Illuminati? Um…Pyramids? No, it starts with a ‘P’. P—p—”

“Ponzi scheme, Erin. It’s a fucking Ponzi Scheme. No, wait. It’s more like a pyramid marketing…golden triangle my ass.”

Ryoka Griffin snapped. Palt’s saw her shoulder slump. He took the cigar out of his mouth.

“You know what it is?”

“Of course.”

The Centaur and City Runner turned to Erin. The [Innkeeper] blinked a few times. Then she remembered what the word meant. Her face fell. She closed her eyes and said another phrase that would have gotten Grimalkin and Chaldion to come running.

“Oh, shit.”

—-

Relc bought a new puzzle with the money he’d earned from the Golden Triangle. He felt good about it too; he could afford the best magical puzzles with his new revenue source.

“You’re flush with gold today. You can usually afford only the cheap stuff. Even the magic wires?”

The [Trader] gave Relc a pleased grin. The Drake gave him a smug grin in return.

“You know it. I’m part of The Golden Triangle. In fact, I’m a Diamond-backer. That’s a special rank. I get gold per month and more of a cut if I sign people up. Have you heard of it…?”

The Human man snorted.

“Have I heard of it? Of course! I’m a backer too. Gold.”

“Ooh, you got on it quick! How much have you turned into a profit?”

The man jingled his coin pouch with a pleased grin.

“A good amount. I’m going to put a hundred gold into it next month, though. Unlike you I have to pay to move up in ranks.”

“Hey! I enlisted at least a thousand people! Probably more, since they started enlisting other people too. Look at my coins!”

The Drake [Guardsman] slapped gold onto the trader’s counter for his money, not hiding the fact that he had lots more. The [Trader] inhaled, his eyes shining.

“Dead gods. All that from Diamond-rank?”

“Hard work. I get a larger cut than Golds too. If I’m lucky, I’ll move up to Platinum. And you know why? Because I signed people up. Everyone knows Senior Guardsman Relc is onto a good thing, right?”

Relc grinned. It had been part of his success. He knew and met everyone as a [Guardsman]. The [Trader] sighed.

“I was too late. But I’ll put that hundred gold down—sooner if you pay for something else.”

“Nah. I’ve got what I want. And I need to buy my kid a gift. A new saddle, maybe. She likes horses.”

The big Drake chortled as he scooped up puzzle after puzzle and put it in his belt pouch. The last was a wire puzzle, infinitely complex. The two wires were tangled together, even fused together in places, seemingly. You had to pull them apart by performing infinitely complex tricks—even putting them in water to get them to separate.

“Ooh. Magic. I wanted this for ages. Hey, how hard is it?”

“Ullsinoi, the creators, rate it at Tier 8 out of 10. You’re not solving this in a month, Relc. And you can’t brute-force it like the other puzzles.”

The Drake gave the [Trader] an arch look.

“I never do. Although…I bet I could break the puzzle if I felt like it.”

“Yeah, sure. And I’m…”

The Human eyed Relc’s arms and decided not to push the point. The Drake waved to the man.

“Thanks! Come next month! I’ll have more money and so will you!”

“If I’m not Platinum and retired? Sure!”

The two laughed as they walked off. Relc hummed as he tried to undo the wire puzzle, walking down the street. This was his first stop after signing that Gnoll woman up. She’d been interested in his sales pitch—not so much his best pickup lines.

Oh well. Embria still hadn’t found him so she was working. The Drake paused for a moment.

He’d solve the puzzles later. Right now…he was hungry. And he wanted to talk to someone. So he went to the only place he thought of these days.

The Wandering Inn.

—-

Ponzi schemes. Pyramid, multi-level marketing. The concept was simple. Money was shuffled around and for a while, it looked like the system worked. But like all flawed things—it collapsed.

It had to. These things were designed to go down like a fireball. And the masterminds would scurry away with the money while everyone else got hurt.

Oh, you could profit off of it. If you were on the ground floor, you’d make lots of money. That was why it worked. The illusion lasted just long enough to make it appealing.

But it was really a gamble. Someone had organized this. Someone was gambling that they could take everything and run before it fell to ruin. And when it did—people would lose everything.

It put a black taste in Palt’s mouth, even as he smoked and talked with people in Pallass. The Centaur was affable, sharing out joints, talking to…people.

“The Golden Triangle? My friend, I was one of the first people in Pallass. I’m not Platinum-rank or even Mithril-rank. I’m Orichalcum. The next is Adamantine.”

The Gnoll puffed out his chest as he took a joint. Palt exhaled a plume of smoke and it swirled around the fellow.

“And after that? I assume there’s an even higher rank?”

The well-bedecked Gnoll with a new, fancy suit, multiple magical rings on his person and stars in his eyes, blinked. He was new to wealth—he had been a common [Sigilist] before. Someone who carved runes into stone. He had not done the enchanting, lacking a [Mage] class, but he’d made good money.

Now he was rich. One of the highest ranks in the Golden Triangle. The Gnoll hesitantly smoked on his dreamleaf cigar. Palt blew more smoke out of his lips. It was…orange-pink.

“Nice cigar. Is it magical?”

“Actually, it’s one of my more expensive items. Dozens of gold per each. Want a puff?”

Palt offered it. The Gnoll greedily took it.

“I could afford a case, you know. And I’m just Orichalcum—yeah. Between you and me, I hear there’s a rank higher than Adamantine. But good luck getting to it. I’m willing to put down thousands of gold—and I earned it all through the Golden Triangle—but for higher ranks? Some of the nobility are willing to pay that much for…I hear it’s called Dragonscale-rank.”

Dragonscale. Palt kept his face straight as the Gnoll whispered the words. It was just a name. Meaningless. But the Golden Triangle had all the makings of a cult. Give to the Triangle and you would ascend the steps. And you would receiveth.

It made him sick. But he kept up his friendly smile as the Gnoll inhaled the magical smoke and coughed. And it made him more talkative.

“Truth is—I know the first person in Pallass who was part of the Triangle. Now—if you were to ask about it, you could go to her. She’s Adamantite. You hear me?”

“Impressive!”

Palt exclaimed. The Gnoll nodded a few times.

“She’s a Dullahan. Still signing people up. She doesn’t show off her money—she put it all back into the Triangle since she’s trying for Dragonscale-rank. Now me, I want to live a bit. But she’ll be richer than I…it’s confidential, you understand?”

“Of course.”

The Centaur’s fingers twitched. More of the smoke whirled around the two. The Gnoll didn’t notice. He was inhaling both dreamleaf and Palt’s cigar.

The [Illusionist] had not told Erin a lie. He did not sell any dangerous drugs. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have any. People knew Palt was a [Smoker]. But so few wondered what that class could do.

This. The smoke was addling the Gnoll’s senses and mind. Making him friendly. Talkative. Palt was deliberately not inhaling his cigar’s fumes. He took a draft as the Gnoll passed it back, held it in his lungs—but he had a [Smoker’s Lungs] Skill that allowed him to just exhale the cloud.

“Phew. That’s something. I love it. Could you sell me…a few of them?”

The Gnoll was glassy-eyed. Palt eyed him.

“For you, friend? I can sell you a few of my special items.”

And he did. Passing dreamleaf cigars off as the ‘special’ stuff. He charged only his normal rates, pretending it was a massive discount. It was a trick, but Palt didn’t sell his special cigars.

He had a few. Like the ones he’d used on Pisces. The one he was smoking now was designed to make friends. The Centaur let the Gnoll go—he patted the Gnoll on the shoulder and murmured something.

“Might want to clear the smoke. You know how Pallass is. [Brisk Breeze]—and take one of these to do something about your breath. Free of charge for a friend.”

The smoke blew away and the Gnoll blinked as Palt handed him a near-translucent cigar. He grinned as the Centaur lit it for him.

It would detoxify his system fast. The Centaur trotted off as the Gnoll began to puff it. The [Illusionist] made tracks in case the Gnoll figured out he’d been under the influence and called the Watch. But Palt doubted it would come to that.

He was on the hunt. His Master, one of the Elusive Lot, had told him to try and find out where the Golden Triangle had originated from. Palt was motivated because it was an important assignment—

And because he’d talked with Erin and Ryoka. The Golden Triangle made him sick. He liked pranks as much as anyone else. But this? This was too large. Ryoka Griffin—who he regarded as a prize for his faction as big as Erin—had spoken about the kind of devastation this scheme could bring. Rich people? Well, they’d lose money and that was terrible and all that. But poor people would lose everything.

It could devastate an economy like a Walled City. And Pallass was an early adopter of the Golden Triangle. It was on everyone’s lips. Palt picked up the pace. He hurried to find the Adamantine-level member of the Golden Triangle, the only one in the city. This was where he excelled. Subterfuge, making connections.

Palt was a mediocre duelist in straight-up combat. But who fought in duels these days? He put a second cigar in his mouth and began to chain-smoke two. He was going to need to be very persuasive to get this Dullahan to talk. They hated smoking.

—–

At the same time as Palt moved and a Drake ambled towards The Wandering Inn, a Gnoll was in distress. Or rather—she was angry and that put those around her in distress.

Bearclaw snarled from one of the safe houses Mr. Soot owned. The Gnoll woman—a specimen of physical danger even by Gnoll standards—paced back and forth as she clenched her paws.

“Who are the Gentlemen Callers? Why are they guarding the damn inn?”

She snarled at Soot. The Drake was pale. His bodyguards shifted as they stood behind him, but the Drake kept his seat. He never visited Bearclaw without at least eight bodyguards these days.

She wasn’t alone. She had a gang, comprised of Liscor’s most violent criminals. And Bearclaw was a lion among cats even then. They waited for their boss’ orders. She had taught them a new level of violence. She’d killed two Senior Guardsman within a week of visiting Liscor. Now she was hiding out, avoiding attracting the Watch’s attention since she was tailed whenever she left the safe houses.

But you couldn’t keep a thing like Bearclaw caged for long. She had a mission. Abduct the white Gnoll child, Mrsha. Kill the Crazy Human of Liscor—or kidnap her as well. Erin Solstice. Steal the magic door…

The bounties through the underworld had been enough to attract Bearclaw’s attention. And the money offered for each was going up over time, not down. All things being equal, she should have been happy about that.

However. There was a point at which any [Gambler] knew it was time to make a choice. Where the betting pool got too high and you grabbed what you could—or you waited a moment longer for a bigger reward.

But wait too long and you’d get nothing at all. Bearclaw did not like how much attention The Wandering Inn was getting.

“That’s four, five Gold-rank teams, even if they’re not all there. Plus any number of high-level irregulars. A [Grand Mage]? We should call this off—”

He flinched as Bearclaw spun on him. Her steel claws and her actual claws were both out.

“No one scares me off. I’ve killed Gold-ranks before. Tell these—these Gentlemen to back off.”

“Bearclaw, please. No one tells the Gentlemen Callers—”

The Gnoll woman slammed her fists on the table. The thick wood cracked. The [Bodyguards] tensed, reaching for their weapons as Mr. Soot recoiled. The Drake [Mastermind Criminal] stared at Bearclaw.

“Tell. Them. They get in the way and I’ll deal with them personally. I’m Bearclaw. You think my gang is afraid of a Human gang from the north?”

She straightened.

“We’re running out of time. I’m not sticking around for the inn to get even hotter. We’re acting.”

“I thought you were going to wait—”

The Drake put up his claws as Bearclaw pointed at him.

“I changed my mind. Listen up! I want you to put together a big raid. On the inn. They get that door. It’s just sitting there. I’ll handle the other targets.”

“What—what will you do?”

The Gnoll woman smiled unpleasantly.

“I don’t have to get them all. The Gnoll child is ‘kidnap’. The Human? You can arrange her death if I can’t grab her. I even know where she plays. So listen. When I give the signal…”

She was growling at Mr. Soot. And he was seeing his tenure as a gang leader in Liscor reaching its end. Because if they went after Erin Solstice, who had ties to Liscor’s new Council—if they went after Mrsha, or stole the magic door that was making Liscor so famous? Zevara would have his head.

“Bearclaw, can’t we wait? Let’s look for an opportunity…”

Mr. Soot saw the Gnoll woman’s eyes narrow. As if she could see his second thoughts. But she only smiled then, hugely, with all her teeth. She reached out and grabbed his shoulder. Soot felt the bodyguards stir, but he signaled them with his tail. He was holding his concealed wand very tightly as Bearclaw leaned in. He could smell her last meal—meat.

“Soot, you and I are partners. We do this and I’ll cut you in on the profits. Who needs Liscor after this? You can set up in another city, and live like a [Prince] off the money. We’re not going to risk anything. It’s a nice mission—”

“Mr. Soot. A [Message]. Big news from the Invisibles.”

The Gnoll woman broke off. Mr. Soot looked up, grateful for the reprieve. One of his assistants was staring wide-eyed at a [Message] scroll.

“They’re putting out a…big offer. They want anyone connected with the Golden Triangle taken out. And they have a list. Ancestors.”

“What is it?”

The Gnoll woman saw Mr. Soot reaching for the scroll. He blinked, swore, and then showed it to her.

“The Academy—a faction of them deals with us, Bearclaw. They’re offering lots of money to take out these targets.”

There were only four names for Liscor. But one of them made Mr. Soot just shake his head.

“They must not know the levels of their targets. We can do the other three…but that one?”

Senior Guardsman Relc Grasstongue. Bearclaw’s eyes widened. She looked up—then she smiled.

“Why not?”

Mr. Soot and the others froze. One of them began.

“He’s a Senior Guardsman—”

Then he remembered who Bearclaw had killed. The Gnoll fell silent. Bearclaw looked at Mr. Soot.

“I remember him. Big Drake. Spear?”

“A [Spearmaster]. Bearclaw, he’s the Watch’s finest. It wouldn’t be wise to—”

Mr. Soot saw the dangerous look in Bearclaw’s eyes. He paused. And then—something went off in his head. The [Mastermind] steepled his claws and gave her a worried look.

“It wouldn’t be wise to tangle with him. Not worth the effort. He could hurt even you—”

“You think he could beat me? Me?”

The Gnoll snarled. Mr. Soot suppressed an inner smile.

“I didn’t say that! I just said—”

“I remember him. Him and that Ant-monster. He challenged me. And the Ant-thing’s gone, right?”

Bearclaw checked the reward again. But the number didn’t matter. She was smiling, now.

“Change of plans. Soot, I’ll send my people after the other targets. But this? I’ll do this for fun.”

She waved the contract at Soot. The Drake hesitated. The other targets.

“Shouldn’t we wait for—?”

And then he realized he’d made a mistake. Because Bearclaw put one huge paw on his shoulder.

“No, Soot. We’re doing this together. Just in case you have any doubts. You’re going to wait right here while this all goes down. So if we fail—we do it together. The door, the Gnoll, the Human. And this Relc. I want them all.”

She smiled hugely. And Soot cursed. Because Bearclaw was insane. But he also couldn’t run. She was holding his shoulder. So when you were this deep in the water and air was running out—you kept diving. Hoping there was a pocket of air below.

The problem was that Soot felt like Bearclaw was a big fish. Bigger than he was, certainly. But she still came from a lake. Liscor was a pond, a puddle. But some things swam in the sea.

—-

The Wandering Inn put a smile on Relc’s face. It always did. He liked it here.

“Hey! It’s me! Did anyone miss me?”

He shouted into the common room as he entered. It was one of his lines and unlike some pubs or bars where they’d groan and put away the expensive breakables, here he got a smile.

“Relc!”

Erin Solstice looked up from a table where she was sitting with Ryoka. Relc grinned and walked over to her. It was a good day, a great day. Money jingled in his coin pouch and he was in the mood to eat, drink, watch plays…

He was so glad he’d been allowed back here. The Drake could remember the time he’d been banned. Actually—he remembered that Relc. The one who’d killed some Goblins because of course he did.

Strange. He felt guilty about it now. Even though he’d killed more Goblins than he could count in war. But…

The Drake passed by a table where a Hobgoblin was drinking and sharing lunch with Bird. They were both having a chicken. Relc paused and nodded.

“Hey, Numbtongue.”

“Hey.”

The [Bard] grunted back. Relc extended a fist and the Hobgoblin touched it with his. Just that. But Relc grinned and walked past him. He’d made an effort, again.

He still felt guilty. It was—so hard to wrap his mind around. Goblins. The same ones who were monsters in Liscor’s army’s handbook. In his. They’d killed his parents. They were monsters.

Except some of them weren’t. He’d been so angry at Erin, a long time ago, it felt. But he’d changed. The Drake walked on. He’d had to change. Erin had helped him with that. He owed her a lot.

As Relc walked, waving at people, at Menolit, who was a fellow ex-[Soldier], slapping Ishkr’s shoulder and nearly making the Gnoll lose control of his tray—he passed by Lyonette and Pawn. The [Princess] was sitting with the Antinium.

“Pawn, here’s some food. Are you…okay?”

Lyonette stared at Pawn anxiously. The Antinium looked at her.

“Hello…I am Pawn. But you know this. Hello, Lyonette.”

“Hello, Pawn. I think you had too much of that stuff Palt gave you. Here. Eat food. He said that helps.”

Lyonette worriedly offered Pawn some of Garry’s special acidfly-bread. The Antinium nibbled at it and then looked around.

“I feel good. Is this…what Heaven feels like? Whee…I feel as though I am flying…”

He waved his arms lethargically. Bird looked around instantly. Lyonette sighed. But she felt fairly mellow too.

Relc just grinned. He saw dreamleaf’s effects on Pawn—heck, he could smell it coming off Lyonette from the times he’d had to confiscate the stuff. And he didn’t care.

There was being a [Guardsman] like Klbkch did it, and being a [Guard]. You had to let things slide for friends. Relc understood that. He followed the law. But you could…finagle things. Like a wire puzzle. He waved at Erin as she smiled at him.

“Hey Erin, what’s happening?”

“Relc! Well—it’s been sort of a quiet day. I was just chatting with Palt about this thing—come on, sit down. Do you want anything to eat?”

“I haven’t eaten much today. What do you have?”

“Uh—uh—howzabout some stir-fry rice stuff? Ryoka made it.”

“Because you had rice, Erin. I need to take some with me when I go north.”

Ryoka Griffin was sitting with Mrsha. The Gnoll was happily noshing on the rice dish Ryoka had insisted on making upon discovering that rice existed and that Erin had acquired some through Palt and Lasica. Ryoka fed Mrsha another spoonful as Relc brightened.

“I like both those words. Stir and fry, huh? Isn’t rice that chewy stuff? Let’s have it! And some—some ice cream?”

“Ice cream for lunch?”

Erin raised her brows, smiling. But she was already flagging Ishkr down. Relc chortled.

“And blue juice! I can pay for it all, Erin. I’m rolling in the coins today!”

“Wow! Did Zevara pay you more or something? Ishkr, the stir fry, a big plate, ice cream…”

The Drake snorted.

“Captain Z? She never increases my pay. No, it’s this great thing—but wait. How’ve you been?”

Normally, when Erin asked what was happening, Relc didn’t have much to say. He did his job. New blacksmith puzzles weren’t interesting. He could complain about Klbkch, or talk about interesting little events in his job. But his life was just that. Erin was usually the person with new stuff.

“Well…work in Celum is continuing. But Magnolia sent like…tons of people to help. So Liscor isn’t as needed. I suppose she’s good at that. Joseph is teaching people how to play soccer—football. They’re actually outside of Liscor. Ekirra’s part of the kids team. I think Kevin’s helping with that. Uh—uh—oh! There was that thing with Palt! Some jerks are making this evil scheme…right, Ryoka? Hey, you know Relc, right?”

Erin twisted in her seat as Ryoka looked up dourly. Relc vaguely recognized her. He waved.

“I think I’ve seen you around. Did I arrest you or something?”

She actually looked like someone he’d tried one of his world-class pickup lines on. But Relc hoped that wasn’t the case. Because he was fairly sure she’d shot him down if that was the case. He’d never impressed a Human—what few of them had come to Liscor before Erin.

Ryoka stared at Relc.

“No, you raced me. Ryoka Griffin.”