7.31 (1/2)

Mrsha had failed. The Fortress Beavers—the last remnants of the Defenders of the Cave—now occupied The Wandering Inn. The [Garden of Sanctuary] was their home.

Lyonette had objected; Erin had overruled. The [Princess] had made many reasonable arguments. Like—giant rodents who lived to eat wood weren’t the best guests for a garden with minimal foliage compared to your average forest. Also—they could be dangerous.

A regular beaver could take chunks out of you; a Fortress Beaver could take off body parts with some biting. Yet, Erin had pointed out they could import wood; Mrsha could communicate the priorities of not eating the garden’s trees to the beavers. They were cute. And—

They were her responsibility. Mrsha had let them down. In days of yore, she had brought beavers and spiders together with the Healing Slime to fight Crelers. But that alliance had fallen apart because…they were different species.

It could have worked. If Mrsha had stayed. If—for some reason—the Healing Slime hadn’t vanished. If she had just visited once a week, something in Mrsha told her they would have been fine.

She was a [Druid]. What that meant Mrsha didn’t entirely know. Lyonette described them as ‘homeless vagrants’ who got into fights with [Woodcutters] in Calanfer. Nuisances who prized animal and plant life as much as any others. This had been before she learned Mrsha was a [Druid]. Now she described them as wonderfully powerful nature [Mages], if sometimes misguided.

She wanted Mrsha to be something else. Not even Erin knew that Lyonette was teaching Mrsha more etiquette, hinting about how nice [Courtiers] and [Princesses] had it. Mrsha took the lessons in stride and happily forgot everything until next time.

She had seen the Frost Faeries bringing winter to the bad Goblins. She had seen the Wind Runner. She was a Stone Spears child as much as Lyonette’s. And the magic of plants had saved her life.

It made sense to her. But Mrsha had forgotten her duties. Now—she strongly felt that these beavers were her responsibility. They could not die. So she combed the little kit’s fur and made sure the adults were healing—she’d even used her allowance on extra tonics for their healed wounds. She’d even slept with them at night; Lyonette had been very unhappy to find beavers in her bed.

A microcosm of responsibility. When one of the beavers got a splinter from the jungle biome, Mrsha pulled it out. She didn’t baby them. But they were hers.

And now—

The Fortress Beavers hid in the pond’s dam. The pond wasn’t that deep or vast. But you’d have hard trouble breaking into the dam from above. Sediment, plant matter, and of course, wood, some of it bought from [Carpenters] in Celum—had been turned into a rough dome.

The kits and few adults were sheltering in one of the main chambers. Mrsha anxiously stared into the pond and saw one emerge from the underwater entrance. A large Fortress Beaver—bigger than her—surfaced. It stared at her.

Stay. Bad things outside.

The beaver solemnly looked at Mrsha. It was…eerie in the way the beaver didn’t nod, or show any other signs it had heard Mrsha. She knew it understood because it looked around, baring it’s large incisors.

But it was not Human. Not even part-Human, like Apista. The bee was part-Lyonette after all, but the beaver had no Skills affecting it. It just understood—‘ally’, ‘enemy’, ‘danger’—and so on.

Mrsha padded towards the garden’s door. She heard loud voices, arguing. To her surprise—the beaver came with her. It didn’t like the noise, but it was protecting—her.

She tried to shove it towards the pond. The she-beaver refused to go. She, having determined that there was some danger to Mrsha, had decided to accompany the Gnoll child. Mrsha couldn’t overpower her without Lyonette’s blessing, so she gave up.

The two peeked into The Wandering Inn’s main room—Mrsha’s living room—and found her family and guests in conference.

“It’s a riot, Lady Walchaís. The local [Lords] have whipped the people into a frenzy. They’re marching on Lady Reinhart’s mansion—and smashing streets up as they go. The Mage’s guild, the Merchant’s Guild, even the Adventurer’s Guild—are all under attack.”

“But why?”

Erin Solstice stood there, with a young woman who sometimes felt very old to Mrsha—Maviola El. And with her was a [Lady] like flowers. Beautiful, but prickly. She stood with her husband, a tall man that had a rapier like Pisces, only, he wasn’t as stylish. Mrsha stared at them as the [Lady]—Bethal—turned to the pink [Knight]. He had cool armor too.

“One assumes they’re holding the Guilds to account for the Golden Triangle debacle. This is what it’s about, isn’t it, Kerrig?”

“As far as I could ascertain, milady. Many of those who have lost money are taking Lady Reinhart to account for failing to shield them or warn them. They want…her to reimburse them.”

A snort. That came from Maviola. The [Lady] shook her head.

“Give money to them? They lost it. Granted, it wasn’t their fault—but have you ever heard of a Reinhart giving away gifts?”

“Magnolia’s unlikely to do that. She doesn’t believe in charity. But which idiots decided they could storm her mansion? Are they mad?”

Bethal murmured. She looked around the room. Lyonette, hovering unobtrusively at the back, glanced around.

“Mrsha? Oh, good. Stay in the garden, dear. It’s…just a riot. I told you about them.”

In Calanfer, riots happened when the monarchy made mean decisions or some aristocrat did something stupid. Sometimes because something bad happened just by chance, but that was rare. In such times, you should hide with your treasure until people got tired and then send your [Knights] out. No sense in spilling blood; that just engendered bad will.

If they came for you—make sure you had a bolt hole, a few choke points, and loyal defenders. [Peasants] couldn’t kill [Knights]…mostly. Which was why you had good relations with adventurers and [Warriors].

–Lyonette du Marquin’s Lessons From Home, Lesson 13, on public disturbance.

Mrsha didn’t know whether Lyonette’s lessons applied here, but there were nobles, [Knights], and a riot, so she guessed Lyonette did know what she was talking about. Nervously, she peeked around. Erin was worried. Even Numbtongue was worried. The Hobgoblin was sitting at the bar, listening in to the conversation while eying the pink [Knights] warily.

But he hadn’t sipped from his drink in minutes, which wasn’t something Goblins did. That meant he was prepared to throw the drink in someone’s face and then stab them with the fork next to his empty cup before actually resorting to his sword or guitar.

Everything was a potential weapon. Rocks, grass, dirt—but it was better to have actual weapons. Hence, Numbtongue’s refusal to go anywhere without a sword or guitar nearby. He’d helped show Mrsha how to quick-release her wand for a fight. Also—how to make a garrote out of long reeds of grass. Garrotes were always nice. You could use them for sneak attacks, repurpose them as tripwires, snares, or to carry snacks.

–Numbtongue’s Combat Training, Series 2: Improvisational Combat

“We have to do something. They’ll get smushed if they go to Magnolia’s mansion. I’ve seen it! It has giant steel golems and magical walls and stuff!”

Erin was worried. She looked around, but didn’t get much support for the idea. The Players of Celum had entered The Wandering Inn. Jasi, Wesle, Grev, Emme, Kilkran with his excellent bald head—Mrsha liked his wigs, very adaptable—and all the others. Tonight’s play was cancelled.

“Do something? My dear Miss Erin, there’s nothing to do. I quite understand your reservations, but Magnolia isn’t a—an old-fashioned member of her family. She won’t even bother entertaining the rioters, let alone put them down Terland-style.”

Terland-style? Maviola grimaced. Lyonette did too. She whispered when Mrsha poked her leg.

“War Golems. They crush rioters hard.”

Bethal wasn’t worried about that anyways. The [Lady] waved a hand. She—like Rose and Galina—thought Mrsha was cute. Also—like a dog. Mrsha hadn’t smacked her, but only because she was a guest.

Drakes and Humans both have issues with our species. Many other species—no. We do not have enough contact with them. If we have allies, they are the Beastkin of Baleros, yes? They are traditional allies and some of them visit—like Hawk’s parents. But they are a minority.

If we hate Drakes, it is because we clash. They and we are very different. And too similar! Ah, but Humans…Humans can be as bad as Drakes, Mrsha. Worse, sometimes. If Drakes call us savage beasts, well, Humans do not as often. But see how they pat you on the head? To them—we are still animals. And animals are less than people. Yes, I’m talking to you cats. Shoo!

–Elirr’s General Lessons on Species, Anecdote #4.

Lady Bethal went on, her voice calm despite the tension in the room.

“Magnolia’s mansion is impregnable. If she’s even home—the rioters won’t get in. The gates are spelled.”

“Oh.”

Erin relaxed a bit. She looked around; the magical door was gone. Lyonette had ordered it put back in the hallway, but it was still open—to the Player’s Retreat. And from that inn, Mrsha could faintly hear the sounds of many people and loud voices. But Redit had the door and the other [Bouncers] were locking down the fancy inn.

“Still. Can’t we do something? We should. Riots aren’t good. I’m pretty sure of that.”

The others looked at Erin blankly.

“Why? Let them tire themselves out. This isn’t Liscor, Erin. It’s Invrisil.”

“But—what if someone gets hurt?”

“It’s not our job to stop that. Let the Watch deal with it. Erin. Don’t go out that door.”

The [Princess] scowled at Erin. And her words were accompanied by nods all around. The [Innkeeper] hesitated. Then she relaxed.

“Okay? So what do we do?”

“Nothing.”

“But—”

It went against everything Erin was. Mrsha thought Erin was like Apista and flowers. If there was a new one, Apista had to investigate. In the same way, if there was trouble, Erin wanted to go there and be Erin.

Mrsha wanted Erin to be safe. Riots…Gnoll tribes didn’t have riots. They had bad fights. The Stone Spears had once fought another tribe—not all of them, but Urksh had been very angry and there had been many talks. Two Gnolls had died from the skirmishes.

This was far bigger. So—Mrsha crept through the crowd. The Fortress Beaver helped her push people out of the way.

“Hey, what the—”

“Rat! Giant—”

The guests jumped away as Mrsha rode the Fortress Beaver forwards. She spotted a familiar duo, heard two voices.

“…Archmages didn’t predict this. Beza, have you heard from your faction? The Revivalists haven’t sent me new orders in a while. I’m worried Beatrice might know I—aaah!”

Montressa shrieked as Mrsha climbed up her robes. The Minotauress jerked and stared as Mrsha looked at her.

“Is that Mrsha?”

“Getheroff!”

“Here. What are you doing, child?”

The Minotauress [Spellscribe] pulled Mrsha off Montressa. The Gnoll found herself gently held in front of Bezale—at arm’s length. The Minotauress didn’t seem to know what to do with her.

“Where’s Lyonette?”

Mrsha tapped the Minotauress’ thick arm. Then she pointed. Beza and Montressa looked around.

“Erin, for you.”

The [Innkeeper] turned as Mrsha was brought over. She stared at the little Gnoll.

“Mrsha? What are you doing? I said go in the garden—well, I guess it’s safe. Is that…one of the beavers? We should give them names.”

They should not. But Mrsha just let Beza drop her into Erin’s arms. Then she hugged Erin. The [Innkeeper] held her.

“I’m not going anywhere, Mrsha. I just thought—the riots—oof! Stop hugging me! Maybe we can stop them?”

“You don’t try to firefight an inferno, Erin Solstice. You cut off its air and keep it from spreading. Even you, I, and Bethal couldn’t stop it with our auras.”

Maviola’s arms were folded. Bethal sighed.

“Again with the fire analogies…I quite agree. Thomast, dear, I think we had better stay here. Or at least in the Player’s Retreat. Ser Kerrig and my Knights of the Petal shall guard the inn.”

“Absolutely, Lady Walchaís. Innkeeper Veeid, with your permission we will keep the order around your inn.”

The nervous man with the chubby belly mopped at his forehead and brightened.

“Sir Knight, that would be a most welcome—of course! My permission and thanks! May I offer you a room, Lady Walchaís? On the house! Or—will you be staying here?”

He glanced around The Wandering Inn. Mrsha had to admit that Veeid’s inn was very comfy. She had peeked through the door a few times and even visited once or twice. It had sofas where you sat about them and ate. And—and big rooms!

“Hm. We may stay here. What do you think, Thomast?”

The [Chevalier] spoke up for the first time so far. Calmly, he looked around.

“The [Knights] will guard Master Veeid’s inn, dear. I think we should stay on the same side of the door, at least when resting.”

“Oh—very well.”

Bethal puffed out her cheeks, but sighed. Then she looked around.

“In the meantime, I suppose there is a silver lining! Do my eyes mistake me, or are the redoubtable Players of Celum here? I’ve tickets for tomorrow—I hope the show isn’t cancelled!”

The [Actors] started, and then Wesle swept a low bow. He had a charming smile and a presence. Mrsha still remembered the silly [Guard] that Erin called ‘Fuzzylips’. But it was harder to remember.

“Lady Walchaís, we are indeed the poor [Actors] of Celum! At your service! I regret that today’s play is cancelled—tomorrow’s as well, perhaps.”

“Depends on how badly they smash up the Solstice Theatre.”

Emme muttered. A few of the women accompanying Bethal made sounds of dismay. The [Lady] on the other hand waved that away.

“Understandable. But we are all trapped here—and better in Liscor than Invrisil one feels, yes? Would you oblige us by a small performance? I see what appears to be a stage yonder—and [Actors]!”

She pointed. Every head turned. And Maviola and Erin both looked at Bethal. The [Lady] smiled, and her eyes shone with real excitement.

“If it isn’t too bold—I should pay for a performance and consider it better than a public spectacle.”

“Of course! We’re all here, aren’t we? Let’s put on a show for Erin—you haven’t seen Elisial, yet, have you? Why, we could invite crowds from Liscor in!”

Jasi leaned out of the crowd and spoke, her voice melodious and measured. Her scales glimmered and Mrsha longed to touch them. She looked less like the weary [Washer] and more like a—star on the stage. The others cheered up, especially Emme.

“We could charge tickets. Why not? Dead gods, that magical door is a blessing!”

“But about the riots—”

Erin looked back at the door, but everyone else was happily following Bethal’s suggestion. Mrsha turned to stare at Bethal from the [Innkeeper]’s arms; she had Erin-energy. Mrsha liked her already.

“Oof, Mrsha. You’re getting heavy. Did you grow again?”

Erin had to put Mrsha down. The Gnoll child sighed, but she was relieved. The others were in a buzz, taking Bethal’s suggestion. A play! And Lyonette was hurrying to get people seated. The Wandering Inn itself had learned to create a moment even without the [Innkeeper].

She kept staring towards the door to Invrisil. But Ishkr walked over and changed it to Liscor and Mrsha poked Erin in the leg and begged for Erin to teach her chess.

Pawn to E3. That’s called the Van’t Kruijs Opening, you see. It’s an irregular opening and it’s not that aggressive, but you can transition into a reversed King’s Pawn—Mrsha, are you paying attention? You see, the idea is to control the center and blah blah, I’m boring and stuff when I play chess.

–A Symposium on Chess Opening, by Erin Solstice, [Innkeeper].

“Oh, alright. Let’s sit down. Hey, Maviola. You gonna throw more poo or teach me stuff?”

“I could. I should find Olesm, but what’s this about chess? I’ve been meaning to play you. Olesm says you’re the best player in the entire continent. Perhaps anywhere.”

Maviola’s eyes glittered. Mrsha saw Erin smile and Bethal turn her head.

“Chess? Why, I play that too. Thomast dear, this is wonderful! Don’t make that face. I won’t make you play chess.”

The Wandering Inn bustled and hummed, and Mrsha successfully distracted Erin. Which was her job, and everyone else helped her distract Erin from going out there and somehow turning the riot into a mega-ultra riot or something. After all—it wasn’t something that mattered to them. And what could you do about riots, anyways?

—-

Riots.

In a way, it was like Erin. What could you do about her? Well—a lot of things came to mind. Kill her, incapacitate her, drug her, imprison her on numerous and justified legal grounds.

The problem, to Magus Grimalkin, known as ‘Grimalkin the Fist’, or the Muscle Mage of Pallass—all monikers he had accepted because they disclosed the underlying truth about him—wasn’t in execution.

He could snap Erin Solstice’s neck in a moment. Unless she was prepared, the [Innkeeper] was very defenseless. He wouldn’t ever do that of course, but Grimalkin had lists of people who could kill him. He had thus, empirically, and logically analyzed everyone he had ever met to see if he could kill them.

No, you didn’t kill Erin Solstice. Like the damned riots; the [Sinew Magus] strode along Pallass’s 8th floor and heard the shouting. The Watch Captains had their claws full.

“Not riots yet, at any rate. But Wistram has done us little favors. And it will just take a spark. Riots…”

There was one in Invrisil. Grimalkin was keeping abreast and ahead of the news, mainly because Sir Relz and Noass were in Pallass. And they had just gotten word about the riots and were having a viewer-mage go there to suss it out. They’d tentatively cancelled his hour-long special report on weights for that.

The Drake was annoyed. But not just by that. He’d just received another complaint about Erin and this one—well—the [Senators] wanted her head on a platter.

And he wouldn’t be the one to pull it off. Indeed, the problem with Erin and riots was that killing people solved nothing. You could disperse a mob with a [Siege Fireball]. But where did that leave you? With dead bodies. Loss of citizens of Pallass. Lingering fury—a bad stench—

In the same way, Erin Solstice was an asset. Look what she had wrought. You couldn’t kill someone like that. Not unless you were certain she wasn’t on your side.

“And therein lies the question. Whose side? Liscor’s? The Antinium? No—before you can change her allegiance, I must know where she comes from. And that question…”

That question he was so close to unearthing. Grimalkin had all the pieces. He’d taken her innocuous statements, her little hints, the knowledge that shouldn’t be there, the ignorance—and put it together. In the way of a true Fissivilian [Mage], he had logically compiled it into a visual format. He had an entire room in his studio devoted to analyzing her.

But his conclusion was…extreme. Even for him. The Drake shifted uncomfortably as he walked and a passing Gnoll paused to stare at Grimalkin’s entire body ripple as muscles all moved together.

His conclusion was extreme. But the evidence supported it and there was no other…alternative. Grimalkin didn’t know if it was the truth. But if it was—

No one could kill Erin Solstice. And indeed, the truth might drive the Walled Cities to their knees. However—it assumes I am correct.

Either way. The Drake shook his head. He quickened his pace. It still didn’t excuse Erin Solstice’s actions. Regardless of her origins, she was still someone who meddled in Pallass’ affairs. Who had cost the city—helped it—and caused trouble. Today, she had dealt Pallass a major blow. But Grimalkin had spoken out in her defense against the Council and Pallass’ high command. Because of his suppositions. If it was true—they needed Erin.

He just needed to be sure. Sure…the [Sinew Magus] had to lean on a wall as he approached the magical door and checkpoint. When he saw the waiting room inside, he did have to sit for a second, in one of the chairs. He stared at the newspaper, the vase of flowers, and the drawings on the wall. His eyes narrowed.

It had to be true. Grimalkin the Fist Mage waited until the door opened. He knew what Erin was.

“Dead gods. Ancestor’s bones give me strength.”

He whispered. The [Guards] shifted; they couldn’t square Grimalkin with the nervous Drake that sat there. And when the door did open—Erin Solstice herself stood there.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m checking, Lyonette! I—oh. Grimalkin! Hey!”

The huge Drake stared at her. At the brass ring on her finger. At the young woman’s clothing—casual. Even bright. But he had observed the others, with their strange clothing. Outlandish designs. He had heard their whispers, looking at him. Calling him a ‘bodybuilder’. Also, a ‘narcissist’, but that wasn’t the point.

“Erin Solstice. If you have—no. There is a situation that requires your presence.”

The [Mage] stood up. Erin blinked.

“Uh—is this about this morning? I can put this stuff away. I don’t want to cause Venim trouble.”

“This morning?”

Grimalkin glanced around. He shook his head, distractedly.

“This is a minor inconvenience compared to—the Assembly of Crafts is in uproar, Miss Solstice. You will have to come with me. Now.”

“Uh oh. I didn’t do it! I think!”

Erin began to panic. Grimalkin saw another woman appear behind Erin. Who was this? No, wait, he recognized her.

“What is it, Erin?”

“Nothing, Maviola! I mean—what did I not do, Grimalkin?”

The Drake folded his arms. He spoke one word and saw Erin’s face change.

“Pelt.”

“Oh. That…might be me. What’s happening?”

“He’s leaving.”

Maviola gasped. Her eyes went wide. Erin? Grimalkin saw her half-smile and then cover it. Her face turned into innocent shock.

“Oh wow! I mean—that’s not my fault! But good for him, right? He’s not happy here, anyways.”

She peeked at him. The Drake said nothing, but his eyes narrowed slightly.

“The situation demands your presence. Now, Erin.”

“Fine, I’m coming. Maviola—”

“I’m coming too. This is exactly what I was trying to teach you about, Erin.”

The [Lady] looked excited. Grimalkin sighed but took it in stride. He stepped aside.

“Let’s go. 9th Floor. We may make it in time.”

“Okay. Lyonette! I’m going to Pallass for a bit! It’s not my fault!”

Erin shut the door. The two Human women began walking. Grimalkin followed them. Looking sideways at Erin.

“You don’t seem that remorseful.”

“I didn’t do it. M-mostly.”

She avoided looking at him. Grimalkin thought about the things he could do. The things the [Senators] wanted to do to her involved at least a public quartering. But they needed her. Dead gods, how would he convince even Chaldion of his hypothesis?

But it was true. Grimalkin was not an idiot. He exercised his mind like every other body part. He had noticed Erin’s inconsistencies. And over time, methodically come to the one logical explanation. He tried not to stare at her back, tried to make his silence feel like anger rather than—shock. Awe.

“How much trouble am I in, Grimalkin? Um…asking for a friend.”

He didn’t reply. The [Sinew Magus] followed Erin. Staring at her back. Yes. There was only one thing she could be. He had considered everything.

That she was the daughter of a Wall Lord of Salazsar. That she was a [Princess]. An adventurer. A Drathian—the disciple of Niers Astoragon?

A member of the King of Destruction’s court? A child of Rhir? Related to one of the Archmages—no—a descendant of a real [Archmage]? Nothing had been off the table.

But the truth was that there was no trace of Erin. Nor did she know enough about…anything. She knew too much, and too little. She had taught him about protein shakes. But she wouldn’t explain what a ‘protein’ was. He had no doubt she knew.

So—the Drake would learn. For now, he contained his awe. He worked on validating his theory. He looked at the back of the…time traveller. The girl from another era. It only made sense. The question he had to ask was simply: before, or after now?

It would make all the difference.

—-

Grimalkin was rather quiet as he marched them towards the 9th floor. Maviola was staring about, playing it cool. But this was her first time in the Walled City and she seemed—antsy.

“Something wrong, Maviola?”

The young woman jumped. She smiled at Erin.

“No—er. It’s just that this is something I never thought I’d see. My family hasn’t been to a Walled City…ever.”

Oh. Of course. She was Maviola El. This was probably the last place she wanted to be known. Erin had a crazy urge to mention her name to Grimalkin just to see his eyes pop.

But the Drake was already in a bad mood and that seemed like a stupid thing to do. Erin was tempted nonetheless.

“So…Grimalkin. Buddy.”

“Keep walking, Miss Solstice. This is a matter of high priority.”

Erin gulped. Grimalkin stared down at her.

“How mad were people…?”

“There will be a number of [Senators] present. I believe they were attempting to convince Master Pelt to remain. They also voted to censure your inn or even eradicate the doorway to block the move. The vote failed.”

“That’s a rel—”

“By six votes.”

“Ah. Um. Er…I’m sorry.”

Rather to her surprise, the Drake didn’t lecture her about responsibility, the consequences of her actions and so on. He just folded his arms as he walked.

“…I rather imagine you have no idea how close a vote like that is in the Assembly of Crafts since you did not grow up around Pallass, Miss Solstice. A democracy such as this…it was a close vote.”

“No, I know. I mean—I didn’t know about the Walled Cities.”

“Until you came here.”

The Drake glanced sideways at Erin. She shrugged, self-consciously.

“Uh—no. Not at all.”

His head drooped.

“Hm. Troublesome. One would have assumed the Walled Cities were a household name. When–wherever you were.”

Erin bit her lip.

“Well, I’m used to big cities. Buildings just as tall.”

“Oh? Well, names can change. But this kind of architecture isn’t unfamiliar?”

The Drake brightened up. Erin drew out her words slowly.

“No…er, but hey! I like Pallass! How’s the weight training going?”

“Oh, that? I have a lot of new apprentices. Most washed out, but there’s a lot of talent…enough about that. So, when you say buildings of similar architecture—”

The Drake cut off as they ascended the 9th floor. Maviola gasped.

“Craftsman’s hammers. So these are the forges of Pallass!”

Erin and Grimalkin both looked at her in some surprise. Of course. The 9th floor with its endless forges wasn’t anything new to them. But then they saw Maviola’s shining eyes. The wonder in her expression. And they looked again.

The pride of Pallass. Massive forges for working steel—and steel was what Pallass made. Enough industry to supply the entire Walled City and other Drake armies with Pallassian steel!

“There is no one place with equivalent industry. It’s a marvel. Why, if we had this in the north, we wouldn’t have to hire out to damn—”

Maviola El looked around. Grimalkin straightened in pride.

“Yes, well, Miss Maviola, isn’t it? Pallass is known for its metallurgy. We do not specialize in magical goods, but our steel is second only to Dwarf-craft. A fact Miss Solstice knows full well.”

She turned her head and pretended to whistle as he fixed her with a meaningful eye. Maviola broke out of her stupor and glanced about.

“That’s right. You had Pelt. W—er, I heard the Five Families tried to buy him.”

“Wait, you know Pelt too, Maviola? Small world!”

The [Lady] rolled her eyes along with Grimalkin. She turned to face Erin, exasperated.

“Erin. Everyone who wants to hire the best knows Master Pelt’s name. He is one of the best [Smiths] in the world. Or—was. There was a time when he was one of the Dwarf-masters of Terandria. His name was one you memorized if you wanted the best. Well, along with Cinadel of the Lapis Anvil, Doon of Invinctel, Forgemaster Taxus, and so on…”

“Uh huh. Okay. Pelt was a big deal.”

“Was. And now is again. Thanks to someone. Which also makes this moment even more inauspicious.”

Grimalkin pointed. And Erin saw—across the usually-busy 9th—every forge had gone dark. The hammers had stopped pounding. Only the smelters continued—burning, but unmanned.

There was a gathering around one forge Erin knew very well. She saw Drakes, a few Gnolls, Dullahans—a familiar giant of a [Blacksmith]. And some people in robes. [Senators]. But as Erin walked forwards, she saw a shorter figure than the rest, standing there, arguing with the ones in robes. Speaking with others. She felt it in the air, even over the angry chanting coming from the lower floors.

“Pelt.”

Erin breathed his name. One of her…special projects? Her allies? No—

Her friend. Someone she’d reached out to. The proud, broken Dwarf [Blacksmith]. He walked across the 9th floor. Past lines of [Smiths], ignoring the [Senators] and people trying to get him to stay. They approached, and now heard his voice, a roar that could have been heard over the sound of hammers hitting metal.

“Enough! I’m done with Pallas! I’ve been here over a decade; I repaid my debts. This is my choice! Shove off before I split your hands with a hammer!”

Maviola and Erin saw the Dwarf shrug off a pleading hand, reply with a rude comment that caused the speaker to recoil. He looked ahead—and his eyes met Erin’s for a second. The instigator. Then he wheeled, answering sharply to someone else.

This wasn’t the drunk Dwarf that Erin remembered. This one had fire. He was still sort of a jerk. But he walked between the [Smiths] and they made way for him.

“Look at him. You lit his fire.”

The [Lady] turned to the [Innkeeper]. Erin saw. She saw what Maviola meant. To her it was different, though. She shook her head absently.

“No. I didn’t. I just found the real Pelt and woke him up.”

Maviola’s warm hand gripped Erin’s arm. Her smile was wide.

“That is what you and I do. You see?”

Erin did. Now, they were closer, on the edge of the out lookers. Pelt walked past the ranks of silent [Smiths] until he stopped. He looked up at a kneeling giant.

Maughin the [Armorer]. The Dwarf looked up at him. Said something. The Dullahan, holding his head, smiled. But uncertainly.

The [Smiths] looked like they were afraid of what was happening. Of Pelt—leaving. But Pelt’s reply made Maughin stiffen, then nod. The giant Dullahan [Blacksmith] put his head on his shoulders, then extended his hand.

Pelt shook his hand. He smiled, one of the few times anyone in Pallass could remember the expression on his face. Then he turned away.

His voice was louder now. Erin caught a fragment of it.

“You’d never level with me anyways, Maughin. Not chasing my shadow. I was not the greatest smith of Deríthal-vel. Nor will I ever be. Even of those of us that left—I was only the second. Find a better way of forging and surpass me. If you don’t—I’ll put you out of business.”

He walked on, never looking back. Erin Solstice saw three apprentices follow the Dwarf. One of them was Emessa. The Drake apprentice didn’t hesitate as she left her home behind. She followed her master. And he had lit a spark in her soul. She walked taller now.

Erin hadn’t done that. It had been Pelt. Maviola saw flames igniting each other. Erin just saw—connections. Pieces on a board. But also her friends.

And then he was walking towards them. The Dwarf looked at Erin, and she was conscious of every head swinging towards her. The [Senators] hissed or growled or fluttered their wings at her. The Dullahans just stared.

“Uh. Hi, Pelt. What’s up?”

He grinned. The Dwarf’s teeth flashed in the sunlight.

“Heard that damn Golden Triangle thing caused protests. Decided it’d be a good day myself. I’m leaving Pallass.”

“He can’t. We hired him! We paid your asking price! Master Pelt—don’t listen to this—this lowly [Innkeeper]!”

Senator Errif howled. He chased after Pelt. Erin saw everyone following; to avoid being caught by the angry ones, she and Maviola stepped after Pelt and the apprentices following him.

“Who’s the other Human? Smells like fire. Keep away from my forge.”

Pelt grunted at Maviola. She bowed.

“Master Pelt? My name is Maviola—”

“Like that old crone who tried to hire me for the House of El? Gah. I already don’t like you.”

The Dwarf snorted. Maviola’s mouth slowly closed. She raised a fist and then punched Pelt in the back. He stumbled, swearing.

“Gah! What’s your problem?”

“That’s my—namesake!”

Grimalkin glanced sharply at Maviola and his claws twitched towards his belt and a quill. Erin saw Pelt snort at her. Something came out his nose.

“So? You can tell her what I said. Word for word. You another fire freak like she was? Feels like it. First you—then you—I almost joined El over Pallass since it was closer, but I got tired with her fire-talk after the first minute.”

Maviola turned pale. Erin had to actually hold her back from kicking Pelt down the stairs. He strode on.

There were protests. The entire fifth floor downwards was filled with angry people. Erin saw the Watch keeping them back, though. Pelt snorted.

“Just another reason to get out of here. At least in a smaller city I’ll have less idiots bothering me at my forge. Incidentally—”

He pointed at Erin.

“—That’s the reason I left. Not because of you.”

“Sure, Pelt. So—I guess people are angry about it?”

The second crowd chasing them seemed to be a good indication of this. But the [Senators] weren’t as fast on their feet and their robes slowed them down so that even Pelt could outdistance them. He jogged towards the door on the 8th floor, puffing.

“Don’t let them leave! [Guards]! Close the checkpoint!”

Sergeant Kel had a bad day. But Grimalkin put one claw out.

“Belay that order. Master Pelt is authorized to travel to Liscor.”

“Hey Kel. Tell Venim this wasn’t my fault either, okay? It was Pelt’s decision, right?”

Erin nudged Pelt weakly. The [Sergeant] stared at the master [Blacksmith] and then at Erin. Pelt strode through the gates. But the Assembly of Crafts put out one last desperate attempt.

“Master Pelt. We’d hesitate to stop you by force. You are a lawful citizen—”

“And you couldn’t stop me. I know my rights in your damned Walled Cities. You hold me a day and Dwarfhome will cease all trade with Pallass. And you lot still need our knowledge!”

The Dwarf glared. The [Senator], Errif, hesitated.

“—That aside. Master Pelt, we are all too willing to d—triple whatever Liscor is paying you. Consider it a signing fee for another—five years?”

Erin inhaled. Pelt only thought for a second then shook his head. The door swung open and Erin heard a commotion on the other side.

“He’s coming? Is it the Dwarf? Everyone line up! I can’t wait to see the looks on Pallass’ stupid faces—ahem.”

The Council of Liscor was on the other side. Pelt glanced up at them and then rounded on the crowd. He pitched his voice so they could all hear.

“You want to know why I’m going to another city? Easy. They made a better offer. Also, I don’t feel like having my work stolen by a thousand damn spies. I want to forge in peace and quiet. It was too much work to move before; this time it’s easy. Out of the way.”

He kicked a Drake [Senator] as he strode through the door. Erin covered a smile with her hand.

And Liscor’s Council was waiting there. They jumped as they heard Pelt’s words. But Lism bustled forwards, full of self-importance. Raekea and Alonna practically sprinted from the inn. Erin heard Raekea panting to Alonna.

“We have to get them to finish the woodwork! He didn’t tell us he was coming—where’s Master Hexel!?”

Inside the inn, everything was sunshine and gloating expressions.

“Of course. Master Pelt, your forge awaits. Free of charge, of course. Rent-free! And we’ll work out the particulars of your stay…”

Lism was rubbing his claws together, trying to bow and shake Pelt’s hands—both of which the Dwarf ignored.

The Dwarf looked at the Drake. And looked through him. At Erin. The [Innkeeper] saw him push through the Council. And the short man looked up at her. He paused a second there, contemplatively looking around Erin’s inn. Then Pelt grunted.

“Well, this is your fault. I told everyone that.”

“Um. Thanks.”

He grinned. But he was alive. Burning as Maviola saw it. But Erin just saw him put his hands under his apron and scratch at his stomach.

“Thing is. I always liked Scales and Tails. But you promised me drinks. And Lasica’s cooking isn’t that good. I drink my meals, so if you can replace Rufelt’s fancy stuff with a keg…think it’s a good idea? You told me to try.”

The [Innkeeper] looked at all the angry people. But that was a byproduct of almost everything she did. She looked at Pelt and saw the smile on his face. So she smiled too.

“Yeah. I think so. So—you’re coming here?”

“Hm. Let’s see.”

The Dwarf looked around. He narrowed his eyes.

“Too much damn wood. Flammable. But there’s magic here. Even if it’s channeled. Good ore comes from Liscor when it’s winter. Drake cities—there’s worse places to be. Nice security. I hate water, but it’s better than having Human gangs running the place.”

Everyone held their breaths. The Dwarf touched the hammer at his belt.

“I could make a masterpiece. With privacy. With proper apprentices, equipment—I’ll have to forge the tools myself, source the ingredients. But if no one steals my work, I could make proper blades.”

He spoke to shake Pallass and Liscor, as if everything before now, even the Grasgil axe, all his begrudging art had been just trash made in his sleep. The Dwarf inhaled.

“Yeah. A forge here…what do you think, Emessa?”

He turned to his apprentice. The Drake’s eyes were shining.

“We could make a proper forge, master. To your specifications. Even here…”

She gestured around the inn. Erin’s breath caught. The Dwarf nodded. Liscor’s Council looked at each other. The [Senators] looked like they were having strokes. Pelt looked around.

“Liscor. Hm.”

He walked down the hallway. Senator Errif ran after Pelt, through the magic door. The others fought to get through and it turned off, leaving only a handful with Maviola and Grimalkin.

“Master Pelt! Let’s talk about this! We can offer twice the space Liscor has! And far better accommodations—”

“Excuse me! This fine Dwarf has made his decision!”

Lism jostled with the Gnoll as the [Senators] and Councilmembers fought to get Pelt’s attention. Threats were exchanged—fighting broke out. Erin just followed Pelt.

The Dwarf walked back and stopped at the magical door again. It was open to Liscor. He looked back at Erin.

“Miss Solstice. I still owe you one favor. Despite the damn mithril thing. Not sure…”

He passed his hand over his face and his expression went perfectly blank for a moment. Then he shook his head. And then he smiled. For a moment, he looked at the magical door. Krshia had set it to Liscor. And he looked like a grandfather, many decades older than Erin, a young man remembering his passion, a [Smith] regaining his fire. He reached out—

And slapped the door shut. Erin jumped. Maviola blinked. The fighting Council and [Senators] stared as Pelt reached up. He was too short.

“Apprentice! Change the door!”

Emessa hurried forwards. She adjusted the dial. Everyone stared. Erin’s mouth opened.

“Wait a second. That’s—”

The door opened. Pelt strode forwards.

“Aha. I’m expected, am I? Is my forge ready?”

And the Human man on the other end bowed.

“Master Pelt—it is. We’re honored to have you.”

The Drakes, the Gnolls, stared. They looked in horror as Pelt walked forwards, through the door. He had been stolen. By—

“Humans?”

Lism whispered in horror. Errif’s jaw dropped.

“Invrisil?”

And Erin’s smile vanished. She shouted.

“Magnolia Reinhart?”

She looked at Pelt, her eyes bulging. Betrayed. The Dwarf looked back. And he laughed in her face. He laughed his ass off. He laughed—and Erin realized—she was wrong.

“Wait.”

The door had opened onto a street. Not an inn. And even if it had been moved—this was the wrong street. Her eyes narrowed. Then widened as she realized the trick Pelt had played on them. On them all.

It wasn’t Invrisil. It was—

“Esthelm.”

The small Human city of [Miners] situated north of Liscor was turned out to see the Dwarven [Smith]. Pelt walked past their Watch Captain and head of the militia, a man she’d met before—

Umbral. The man who had taken over the city’s security. He had helped Erin with a coup this one time. He was bowing to Pelt.

“Master Pelt, we’re delighted to have you. We have your quarters for your apprentices. And your forge. We even have a small celebration in your honor…”

“Good to hear it. But I want to make sure my forge is ready first. Save your celebration. Maybe cheer these idiots up with it.”

Pelt jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the speechless crowds. He smiled, in the best of moods and walked forwards.

Esthelm cheered him. The people turned out of the stone houses built into the city that lay in the middle of the High Passes and the road heading north from Liscor. The mining folk—who had suffered the Goblin Lord’s assault—were shouting Pelt’s name. And why not? Here was a master [Smith]. In their city.

Not Liscor. Not Pallass. Not Celum or Invrisil. It left the others speechless. But despite herself—Erin found a huge smile on her face. Maviola was crestfallen. But she didn’t get it.

Look at him. Pelt looked so happy.

“But why Esthelm? It doesn’t have anything!”

Lism spluttered. The [Senators] were just as appalled. It was Pelt who snorted.

“Doesn’t have anything? Esthelm provides all the damn ore in the region! They offered me iron for copper.”

And that was what mattered to a [Smith]. More than drinks. More than a Walled City. Erin marveled. Of course, someone like Pelt wanted those things. So it was a good thing he had a magical door.

“You brilliant jerk.”

Erin whispered. Then she was through the door like a shot. She hugged the annoyed Dwarf, but he didn’t brush her off for a good six seconds. Erin laughed until he shoved her off, growling curses.

They left behind the angry people in Liscor’s inn. Esthelm’s ruling body of Master Crafters—who had replaced the military leader that Erin had helped get rid of—cheerfully body-checked the [Shopkeepers] and [Senators]. Esthelm’s legislative body was made up of [Miners], [Shepherds], and tough people; in the war of knocking each other down, they were Gold-ranks.

“I hear there’s some good lots in Esthelm. Umbral, was it? [Sigilists]. [Gemcutters]. I want to talk with all of ‘em. Some of the magical metals take tricky things. You give me what I want—I’ll pay for it. No one spies on me but my apprentices. And I’ll cut Esthelm in their share of my sales.”

“Of course, Master Pelt. They’re all waiting to meet you.”

“They are, are they?”

That pleased him. Pelt walked past cheering faces, affecting not to notice them. But Erin saw him glancing at children waving little hammers, people who knew his name. His reputation. He smiled, and hid the expression in his beard.

“Grandfathers, but I never get peace and quiet anywhere. The price of being too good at my trade, I suppose.”

Erin snorted. Umbral gave her a mystified look as he nodded. Maviola, fuming, stomped back to the inn.

Someone else trotted after them. Erin turned her head. She saw Montressa—Beza—and—her face broke into an excited grin.

“Psst. Pelt. Pelt. I want to introduce you to some friends. [Mages] from Wistram.”

“Hm? Oh, fine. This parade’s for me, but ruin my day, will you? I suppose knowing a few decent [Mages] is important. Although I was going to work with Hedault of Invrisil. Who’s this lot?”

The Dwarf turned around. All three [Mages] bowed. Montressa lifted her staff.

“Master Pelt? I am Montressa du Valeross, an [Aegiscaster] of Wistram. This is Bezale, a [Spellscribe], and—”

Erin nearly shoved her aside. She grinned eagerly as she indicated the Centaur with two hands.

“Pelt. I want you to meet…Palt. Hah!”

The young woman looked around excitedly. She laughed, slapped her thighs—and realized no one was laughing.

Pelt blinked at Palt’s name, but the Centaur just bowed.

“Master Smith. It’s an honor. I’m an [Illusionist]. I realize our classes aren’t that complimentary, but we wanted to introduce ourselves to such an important [Smith]. All our factions would love to speak with you.”

The Dwarf looked at Erin, still waiting for someone to laugh with her. He opened his mouth to shout something insulting—then caught himself. He nodded at the Centaur after a moment.

“I’m sure they would. But I’m getting set up. Come by later, I suppose, Emessa will make an appointment. You want more of that thing, huh? Something’s odd about the insides. Crystal magic? Fine. But later.”

He pointed. Montressa jumped. Everyone turned to stare at the brass shock orb hovering behind her. Palt bowed. And the Dwarf went on.

“I don’t like Wistram. But a [Spellscribe]’s useful. You—Minotauress—we’ll talk. You’re staying at The Wandering Inn, right? Anyone who can put up with her deserves some sympathy.”

He jerked a thumb at Erin. She looked indignant.

“Hey! Is no one going to talk about the names? Pelt? Palt? Huh? Huh?”

The others looked at her. Umbral, Pelt, Palt, Montressa, Beza…the Centaur slowly puffed away on his cigar. He offered Pelt one; the Dwarf refused it.

“I pity you bastards. Alright, Umbral, show me my forge. And do me a favor?”

“Anything, Master Pelt.”

The man bowed. And the other leaders of Esthelm and craftspeople were coming forwards. Pelt jerked a thumb at Erin.

“Get rid of her. She’s bothersome to my work.”

Erin saw every head turn to her. She wavered.

“Hey now. Pelt, that was a joke, right? We’re best buds! Hey—don’t shove—Pelt, say someth—Pelt, you traitor! Traitor!”

—-

Pelt of Deríthal-Vel heard Erin’s voice growing softer in the distance. He had travelled far from his home. But he would always be from there.

The Dwarf was old. Old—and young. A lad, really. They called him a master. But he had seen masters. If he had stayed—

Perhaps it was better he’d left. As he had told Maughin, greatness came from challenging, not copying. If only he had known that and left with his head held high. Rather than disgrace.

The Dwarf’s eyes grew dark. He nearly stumbled and fell—in front of all the Humans. But though that blasted girl had—knocked the rust off him, he couldn’t confront the last.

This was enough. Pride in metal. Pride in your craft. Pride in yourself. What good is the quality of the steel if there was no heart in the hand the held the hammer? Damn that Dullahan.

Maughin would be a master in his own time. For now—Pelt murmured something as Umbral led him to the forge.

“You don’t have to kick her out of the city. That was a joke. Didn’t you say you owed her countless favors?”

“Of course, Master Pelt. But you said—apologies.”

The man bowed, flustered. The Dwarf saw him hurry off. And he sighed as he beheld his forge.

“Ah. That is what I wanted.”

The others stared. Some dismayed. Liscor’s Council, other [Smiths]—the aghast [Senators] made no effort to hide their disdain.

But the [Mages] were smarter than that. Out of the corner of his eye, Pelt saw the fiery-haired Maviola—much like the old woman he’d refused to serve—inspecting the forge.

“Hm. Interesting.”

The forge was—primitive. Not like Pallass’ grand forges ready to shape steel, or even Liscor’s new one meant for him. At first glance it seemed crude.

Oh, the people of Esthelm had worked hard. The stone and mortar made a large, large building. Three times larger than any other forge. And they’d built it carefully, leaving no flaws.

It just lacked pomp. Expensive wood, color—who needed that? It had more. Pelt stomped into his forge as his apprentices stifled their dismay.

“Living quarters. Good. Don’t care. Put my stuff in a room.”

He shouted at the apprentices. Then he turned to regard the forge. He found the smart ones already there. Palt, the Centaur, nodded to him as he trotted around an anvil placed in a magical circle.

“Sub-compartmentalized rooms. Each one blast-enchanted?”

“Good eyes, Baleros brat. You’ve seen smithies before?”

“Not like this.”

Beza murmured. The Minotauress eyed the multiple anvils. One was made out of stone. Another in the magical circle—and there were multiple forges. Mostly shells; Pelt would have to customize them.

“What is this, Master Smith? I have been in the House of Minos’ forges, but never seen this.”

“Bah. That’s because your lot doesn’t forge magic. This is magic. I’ll need to hire someone to make sure the forges can get hot enough. Stone melts, damn the stuff. You’ve never seen Wistram’s smithing halls?”

“Few smiths come to Wistram with the talent anymore.”

Montressa emerged from another room, brushing frost off her robes. Grasgil would be made there. Pelt grunted; he didn’t mind them looking. Wistram had stolen forge designs; they wouldn’t get his metals, though.

“What a waste. Alright. You lot clear out! It looks decent. But where’s the standard anvils?”

“Here. Master Pelt—”

There were mundane ones. Pelt chose casually; they were all alike.

“Get it out there. In the open. Huh. That one’s got a fucking crack. Get rid of it!”

He kicked the offending anvil. There was a flurry and other hands dragged his chosen anvil out.

The crowds were still there. Pelt strode past the annoying flies—people from Liscor and Pallass. He looked around.

“Apprentice! Emessa, damn it. Get your tail out here!”

The Drake appeared and Esthelm’s people murmured. But the Antinium had rebuilt their walls and she carried a hammer. She was familiar to them because of that.

An angry [Innkeeper] was dancing about in the street. But she’d brought a Gnoll and one of Terandria’s [Princesses] to see him. Pelt recognized the hair color. Also, the way Lyonette carried herself.

He didn’t care. The Dwarf looked at Emessa.

“Set up the outdoor forge. I’m not hammering hot; steel temperature. And get me the crystal.”

Her eyes widened. The others stirred. Maviola glanced at Pelt.

“You’re going to do some hammering?”

The Dwarf didn’t reply. He glanced at Maviola, and then narrowed his eyes. Grandfathers, it was her. The same flame! You couldn’t copy that. He shuddered. Magic potions and immortals. He was just a smith. He didn’t say a word though; he had kept far greater secrets than hers faithfully.

He only knew one thing. The Dwarf saw the [Innkeeper] approach. He made no sign he saw her. She had a big enough head already.

“Say. Centaur. Palt’s the name, right?”

The [Illusionist] jumped. He took the cigar out of his mouth.

“That’s right, Master Smith—”

“Enough with that. I don’t care. Nor do I care about Wistram. Or petty Walled Cities or anything else. I just move metal. I was happy enough to drink myself to death. Or so I thought. That damn Human. Just—tell me something. In her inn. She has a Hobgoblin, right?”

The [Mages] exchanged a worried glance. Maviola just narrowed her eyes and looked around. Palt nodded slowly.

“One. Numbtongue.”

“Right. I saw that bugger a few times. Uses a sword, right? Longsword? Decent steel but someone’s notched it a thousand times.”

“Yes…”

The Dwarf nodded. He’d known that before. He didn’t bother asking if it was the preferred weapon; odds were the Centaur didn’t know and Goblins used whatever they could grab.

“Where’s my crystal and fire, apprentice?”

He roared. The crowd jumped. Emessa, though, was used to it.

“Heating up, master! Any pick on steel?”

She had billets ready for him. Pre-made. Pelt knew the steel on each was perfect, but he still chose carefully, examining micro-fragments. The minutiae of the alloy material in the steel itself. He selected one, grunted.

“It’ll do. Heat it up. Now—I’m ready.”

There he stood. The crowd was murmuring. At last, one of them called out. She was a [Smith]. A Human woman, talented for her brief time. That was the thing. Smiths leveled faster the shorter their lifespans.

Ah, but true skill took decades. Centuries, even. That was the unfairness. Pelt felt for these young children. He had been born with an advantage—and he hadn’t squandered it. Every day of his youth he’d swung a hammer. And he had longer than them left to live, even with diluted blood running in his veins.

But don’t scorn them. The Dwarf inhaled. And then he bellowed.

“That’s right, Mistress Smith! Have you not heard of the tradition of every Master Smith who has mastered at least five of the great metals beyond steel?”

The crowd blinked up at him and shook their heads. From Pallass, the [Smiths], including Maughin raised their heads. Pelt kept one eye on the steel in the fire. He drew a hammer and looked for Erin again.

There she was. The Dwarf’s voice was no less loud, but more conversational as his apprentices laid out tools for him.

“Well, it’s simple. The custom is that a true master should—nay—must, upon moving to a new place, a new land, prove his worth. For great masters move seldom! They travel—ah, but when they move, they should demonstrate their craft. By forging in public some blade or work of art. Large or small. It’s no grand tradition like Terandrian kingdoms have. Just respect for the metal.”

“You never did that when you came to Pallass!”

A voice. Pelt threw his hammer. Senator Errif ducked as the hammer cracked the very flagstones of the street and then flew back towards Pelt. The Dwarf roared back.

“Well, I didn’t feel like it. I do now. Apprentice! Where’s my crystal?”

“Here, Master!”

And there it was. The Dwarf sighed as he drew something out. Everyone saw a long, long sliver of…red-gold crystal? Mrsha climbed onto Erin’s head and then leapt onto Maughin’s shoulder for a better look. The Dullahan tried to make sure she wouldn’t fall as he called out.

“Master Pelt! What is that?”

“Crystal. That’s all, Maughin. The kind that cuts sharp and hurts whomever it touches.”

The red was mixed with gold. Truegold—a ghost-killer’s blade. But the crystal could cut mere steel. And it would not break easily. Nevertheless, it was too costly; all he had was a tiny amount, stretched long.

An edge. The crowd murmured. Maughin stared at the beautiful, thin crystal. The Dwarf was taking care not to even lay the edge down on the anvil, lest it cut into the iron.

“Does it have a name, Master? It must.”

The Dwarf glanced up, irritated. But perhaps that was the act. He replied curtly.

“Everything has many names in smithing, you Dullahan pest! Some call this crystal Cridel. The deadly blood of Baleros! Others knew it of old as a different thing: Dragonblood Crystal.”

Silence. Someone laughed, disbelievingly. The Dwarf shrugged.

“The edge is good. I have little of it. But this would make a fine blade, even with steel to hold it. Steel and iron. So look, people of Esthelm. I am Pelt of Deríthal-Vel! And look, you annoying [Innkeeper]! You insane wretch of a girl!”

He bellowed as he raised his hammer and pointed it. Erin jumped. She saw the Dwarf raising his hammer high, as he grabbed the steel out of the forge at the perfect temperature. He bellowed.

“This is my art! ‘Let the world remember only what I have made!’”

Fine words, uttered by his friend. The Dwarf’s hammer fell. It struck the metal, bounced up, and came down again.

First, it was a single beat. Then—a ringing in the air. Then drumming.

Faster. Faster. Until each blow rang in the air and the watchers thought the anvil itself jumped with each blow. The steel moved like water under the hammer, but not without function. Shifting, changing.

Folding. Lengthening. Erin had seen the Dwarf do it once before. For her knife. He was using the same technique; folding the metal to create a sandwich. And there, a glittering edge waited.

But the difficulty of it was different. When the smith placed the glittering edge in his waiting sword—his thunderous hammering became as quiet as butterflies landing on the anvil. He refused to strike the crystal, melded the steel around the edge so gently that it seemed like each individual tap did nothing. But slowly, the metal engulfed the glittering edge.

A master’s work. He couldn’t have been at his work longer than an hour. Just one hour, to forge a sword. Insultingly short for anyone else. But before the hour was done, Pelt was removing scaling with a single motion, adding a design into the edge of the blade, fitting it to a hilt.

And when he was done? The sword had only one edge. The steel was polished, and it gleamed like a grey mirror. Beautiful with oil and polish.

But the red and gold shone like the very edge of the blade dripped with the blood of some magical beast.

Dragonblood Crystal. And Truegold. It was attached to a simple handle with a guard for the hand. And the smith regarded it thoughtfully.

“A simple piece. I had not the materials for anything greater yet. The edge—the rest of the blade is expendable. But the edge can be fitted again and again. And if treated with care, it shall last a year of war. A decade without. A century if only worn about and carried like a damn heirloom. While it lasts, it will cut down anything it touches. Like so.”

He turned the blade and brought it down. Erin saw something fall from the anvil.

The horn. The Dwarf sliced again, and another chunk came loose. The crowd gasped; the blade was beyond a razor’s edge. Pelt held the blade and Erin saw him smile.

“It will be long before I forge a blade worthy of legends such as I have seen. But for now—this suffices. So. Take it.”

He stepped out from behind the anvil. Erin saw him walking towards her. She looked around and stepped out of the way. But Pelt followed her. He held the blade in a cloth grip.

“Don’t touch the edges, girl. If you lose a finger, I won’t take responsibility for it. Don’t trip either.”

She blinked. Lyonette gasped and Mrsha stared. From where she stood, Maviola’s eyes blazed. The [Mages], the other [Smiths] were silent. Erin looked down at Pelt.

“Wait. Me?”

“Give it to that damn Goblin with the disgusting piece of metal he calls a sword. Yes, for you. Or did you think we were quits? I don’t forget my debts. This is better than the Grasgil.”

The [Innkeeper] looked at him. At a loss for words. She looked at the beautiful sword.

“Um. How much is it? I can pay—”

Someone laughed. It was Pelt. He laughed and threw his head back. He looked at Erin, shook his head, and laughed again.

The [Innkeeper] stared at him. Then she heard a giggle. Lyonette and Mrsha were laughing, the Gnoll silently, Lyonette trying to stifle the noise. Then Erin smiled. She saw the silly humor too. She laughed as well, and hugged Pelt, keeping away from the blade. She kissed his cheek and whispered.

“Thank you. Don’t stay away from the inn.”

“You can give me as much free drinks as you want, then.”

She hugged her silly, grumpy, friend. And he gently hugged her too.

The [Innkeeper] took the beautiful blade in a sheath back to the inn. A Hobgoblin got a new sword.

Just in time for the riots to get markedly worse.

—-

In Invrisil, a mob was marching on Magnolia’s estates. It had taken the [Lords] some doing—to get the crowds to move out of Invrisil and actually march to Magnolia’s mansion. Because it was several miles outside of the city, perhaps for that exact reason. Travelling salespeople, thieves, and mobs all had to walk and were conspicuously exposed on the approach.

But they’d done it. People were angry. Their money was gone. Lost to ‘The Golden Triangle’, which had turned out to be nothing but an idea. Words that stole your money and gave back promises.

What made them so angry was that the fraud had been exposed—but no one was held to blame. Wistram had ended the illusion. But they hadn’t cleaned up the mess. Now—people wanted to blame someone.

And why not Magnolia Reinhart? Lord Andel, Lord Ranga, and the other [Lords] had convinced thousands to move out of the city. Now they were marching on Magnolia’s mansion.

Chanting.

“Give us our money back!”

“Hold the Merchant’s Guild responsible!”

And so on. It wasn’t one idea. Some wanted the Mage’s Guild to be held to account since their [Messages] had been so instrumental to the scam working. Others blamed the [Merchants], who should have known about all this. Or the Adventurer’s Guild, because of the fake adventuring teams they’d been sold on. And many wanted Magnolia herself to pay them back. She was, after all, rich, and the [Lady] of Invrisil.

Anger ran in the streets. Desperation. It wasn’t just young men, but mothers, fathers—people who had nothing left because they’d put everything into this grand new thing.

Pain. Well, the Hobgoblin understood that fairly well. Numbtongue sat in the hallway, listening to the crowds passing by The Player’s Retreat outside. He knew Erin and the others were in Esthelm; he wasn’t keen on returning, even to watch the Dwarf.

The memories were too painful there. So the Hobgoblin listened to the riot. It sounded like pain to him. The angry voices were angry because they’d been hurt.

Not physically. But money mattered to Humans and other species like blood mattered to Goblins. Numbtongue understood. And didn’t at the same time. He understood from living here that if you lacked money, you could die. Suffer. Money mattered.

At the same time—they were alive. They had their health. They were angry that something bad had happened. And they expected someone to do something about it.

That was what made the [Bard] cynically amused. Darkly furious. What arrogance. He strummed harder on the guitar. If you could be helped by begging, Goblins wouldn’t die.

But that was a very Redfang thought to have. A very Goblin complaint. Numbtongue still felt bad for them, the sad and raging people. That was an Erin-thought. And in between the two emotions he just felt concerned.

“Thousands of people. Could probably kill everyone in that inn.”

He commented to Drassi. The Drake glanced at him as she checked the door for travellers from other cities. Veeid, the [Innkeeper], turned pale before the door flickered to a view of Liscor.

“That’s pretty dark, Numbtongue.”

“Just saying. No reinforcements on the windows, not enough [Bouncers]. Bad-bad. Needs good hallway like this.”

“Should we be concerned? Listen—there’s protests in Liscor.”

Drassi pointed. The door was set to Liscor now and both heard angry chanting. But not on the level of the riot. Numbtongue had seen people in Invrisil armed with rocks, sword—even bows. Even city folk had weapons on the level of daggers. Liscor’s crowds were, as yet, unarmed.

Dismissively, the Hobgoblin adjusted the guitar’s chords.

“No problem. Even if Invrisil crowds attack us, they have to get through the other inn. Same with Liscor. Then they’re here. Nice hallway. Could probably hold it forever.”

He approvingly looked around Belgrade’s trapped hallway. If someone held the doors they could take even a thousand people to bits. Their only fear was running out of acid jars and crossbow bolts to shoot through the arrow slits. And Numbtongue had helpfully ordered two thousand more bolts with the inn’s funds.

The Drake [Gossip] didn’t seem to understand Numbtongue’s satisfaction with a good kill zone. She gave Numbtongue a sidelong look as she switched to Celum.

“Why will they attack the inn, Numbtongue? They’re mad at other people.”

“Sure. But this is just in case. Right?”

“Uh…right?”

The Hobgoblin went back to playing his guitar. He didn’t like mobs of Humans. If you were caught outside, now—even a hundred Redfangs would eventually die to thousands of angry Humans. Riots were scary things. No one seemed to get that; everyone was behaving normally, as if the riot in Invrisil wasn’t bad. But he was concerned, which is why he was sitting here. A few lightning bolts would really help if the mob came calling.

Or a few [Deathbolts]. Why won’t you take my hand?

Reiss sat there. Numbtongue glanced up.

“I don’t like you.”

“That’s hurtful, Numbtongue.”

“Not you, Drassi.”

“Oh. Excellent.”

It was more that he was nervous. Numbtongue adjusted his guitar again. Pyrite, now—Pyrite was part of him. Which meant that Numbtongue had all his memories. He could think about thinking—he was a better fighter. And he had an inordinate amount of knowledge about rocks thanks to the memories of the Goldstone Chieftain. That was…fine. Pyrite had been a great Goblin.

But Reiss? Numbtongue feared what his memories, his personalities would do to him. Nevertheless, he hadn’t banished Reiss. The dead Goblin Lord was like a cursed blade. If Numbtongue needed him to defend the inn, he’d take Reiss’ offer. Until then—the Goblin Lord sat patiently.

Waiting.

They will never take Magnolia Reinhart’s mansion. My master, Az’kerash, told me about her. The Reinharts have a vast treasury of artifacts hoarded over millennia. She could crush them a hundred times. She also has an alliance with that Dragon.

“Mhm. Reinhart scary. Pink knights? Think I could kill one?”

Numbtongue glanced towards the common room. He hadn’t missed that Lady Bethal, the dangerous Thomast, and those [Knights] kept eying him. Reiss replied thoughtfully.

Enchanted warriors. You’d suffer. Their armor is top-class. Their Skills and levels—less so. I could. I have. But that [Chevalier] will kill you fast-dead.

Pyrite’s memories nudged Numbtongue. The [Knights] and Lady Bethal fighting Rags’ tribe in the forest. The [Bard] bared his teeth. He also remembered Pyrite’s conversations with that Ser Kerrig. However, he was disinclined to speak with them himself. Why were they here?

“Don’t attack the guests, please, Numbtongue. Lyonette and Erin will have my tail. Hey, anyone coming from Celum? Last call!”

A Human walked through. He started as he saw the Hobgoblin; Drassi reassured him.

“That’s Numbtongue. Read the sign, thank you!”

She pointed to the ‘No Killing Goblins’ sign. The Human stared at Numbtongue. He waved.

“Hi.”

“Er…hello?”

The man shuffled off quickly. Numbtongue went back to playing. Drassi sighed.

“I wish this could be automated, Numbtongue. I mean—it’s not hard, but every fifteen minutes? Okay, Wailant’s farm. Anyone here? No? Good! Now, Pallass…and then you can go back to watching riots.”

She switched the dial to the yellow gemstone, and the door shifted. The two saw the waiting room, now spruced up with decorations from this morning. And sitting in two of the chairs were—

Sir Relz and Noass. Numbtongue glanced up as the two Drakes jumped. They stared at Numbtongue. But then they focused on Drassi.

“Dead gods! At last! We’ve been waiting!”

Noass practically shoved his way through the door. Drassi backed up as Sir Relz and a Gnoll assistant holding a scrying mirror hurried through.

“Noass? Sir Relz?”

“Hm? Is that our sports-person? Drassi, is it? Excellent! Transport to Invrisil at once! We can pay. What’s it—eighteen silver for three? Here. Keep the change.”

Noass fumbled a gold piece into Drassi’s claws. She blinked.

“I—uh—I can do that. But what’s going on? Invrisil has riots, Mister Noass. I have to warn you—”

“My dear young Drake. That’s precisely why we’re going. We just got word. And we’re broadcasting this live!”

Sir Relz adjusted his monocle. Noass was rubbing his claws together.

“We’re broadcasting live the moment we go through. Scrying mirror set? How’s things on Wistram’s end?”

“Good, Noass. Wistram is preparing to broadcast.”

A voice from the other end. Numbtongue peered around the Gnoll holding the mirror and saw a [Mage] in a room filled with mirrors. The Dullahan jumped.

“Is that a Goblin?”

“What? Oh—yes. Numbtongues or whatever. Just part of the inn, Miss Beatrice. Miss Drassi, Invrisil?”

“I—okay. I guess I can let you through. Are you sure, though? There’s a lot of angry Humans.”

The [Gossip] hesitated. Both Drakes nodded, impatiently. Numbtongue on the other hand—eyed the mirror.

“I wouldn’t. Bad idea. You’ll get eaten.”

Sir Relz and Noass paused. It was, perhaps, the first time the Hobgoblin had ever spoken to them. Or they had acknowledge his presence beyond stares.

“Excuse me?”

Sir Relz peered at Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin had a feeling he was being appraised. He stared up at them from his cross-legged seat.

“Riots are bad. You’ll get hurt. Or make them worse.”

He glanced pointedly at the scrying mirror. Noass huffed.

“Thank you for the warning, Sir Goblin. I think we know what we’re doing, don’t you?”

“Nope.”

There was nothing to say to that. The two Drakes glanced at each other, then deliberately turned their heads and pretended Numbtongue didn’t exist.

“The door is open. But maybe Erin should—”

Drassi glanced at Numbtongue, but the two Drakes pushed through and their Gnoll camerawoman followed them after a moment. Numbtongue sighed. He heard Noass talking rapidly.

“Are we live? We’re live! Hello, this is Noass coming to you from Invrisil! We’ve just received word there’s a riot happening about The Golden Triangle fraud and Sir Relz and I are giving you the premium, exclusive coverage as-it-happens—”

“Idiots.”

The Hobgoblin called through the door. He was rewarded with a spluttering sound and his voice was broadcast, for a moment, worldwide. Drassi covered her mouth in horror.

“Numbtongue!”

But then the two Drakes were gone. Numbtongue sighed. He expected them to come back in pieces as he sat there, listening to the riots. But in that way, the [Bard] was wrong. He let Drassi go back to waiting tables and kept playing music. The shouting in the distance didn’t change as Sir Relz and Noass left the inn.

Meanwhile, the pink Rose Knights and Veeid were fortifying the inn—perhaps due to Numbtongue’s words. Boarding up windows, blocking the back door, and so on. The Hobgoblin watched with one eye, playing song after song to pass the minutes by.

But he heard the riots moving away from Invrisil. Towards Magnolia’s mansion. He supposed he was wrong; only one [Lady] was in trouble, and if Reiss was correct, not in much trouble at all. He got up, deciding that if it was all-clear, he’d go play on Kevin’s laptop or mine something.

That was when he heard a worried voice.

“Numbtongue?”

The Hobgoblin looked up. He saw Drassi peeking through the door at him. The Hobgoblin tensed.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think—you were right. Numbtongue, the riots—”

The Hobgoblin stood up. He checked the sword at his side—glanced through the door and shut it. Then he realized something.

The shouting didn’t stop. Slowly, he turned his head. The shouting was coming from the other door. The one leading outside. He stared at Drassi.

“Liscor.”

She slowly nodded and pointed. Numbtongue followed her. Into the common room. There he saw Lady Bethal, Thomast, and some of the guests staring into a scrying mirror the [Lady] held.

“We’re—we’re seeing the crowds marching on Lady Reinhart’s mansion! There’s fury in the air, right, Sir Relz?”

“That’s right! People are incensed! And—and rightly so! The devastation this Golden Triangle fraud has brought about is unconscionable! People need to hold someone to account! The question is—stop pushing—is it Magnolia Reinhart?”

The mirror was showing Sir Relz and Noass in the middle of the riot. People were shouting. Screaming. Some—were fighting to shout into the mirror. Numbtongue saw a mass of angry faces. He felt a prickling down his spine.

The air was electric. Even just seeing the mob had an effect. On Numbtongue—it was the prelude to a fight. But that was because he was a Goblin, he had no stake in this matter. In the inn—it was different.

“They’re right. Those bastards at the Mage’s Guild did this!”

Menolit pounded the table with one fist. The [Veteran] was simmering. And his mood was being echoed and amplified by the scrying orb.

“They’re broadcasting the riots. I hope Magnolia doesn’t deal with them too harshly.”

Bethal was calm. Unconcerned even by the people moving on the distant mansion. But Thomast had another take. He glanced at the scrying orb, around the room. He noticed Numbtongue, but then looked at the orb.

“They shouldn’t be broadcasting this.”

“Whyever not, Thomast? It’s topical.”

The [Chevalier] glanced at Menolit’s face. The Drake had lost money to the Golden Triangle. And there was more simmering in the room.

“They’re making this worse.”

—-

Riots were like wildfire. To use a Maviola-expression, the anger spread from person to person. But until now, riots were still contained to a city, a region, a nation at worst. What no one had predicted until now was the effect of something like…the world’s most popular and only news show broadcasting that kind of fury to other disgruntled cities.

In Liscor, people watched Invrisil’s protests. And the fury there amplified. Spread. If the Humans were rioting, well, why in Rhir’s hell shouldn’t we? The fury that had been suppressed by the Watch bubbled up again. And this time it ran hotter.

Pallass too. Chaldion emerged from the [Healer]’s clinic on a crutch, snapping orders.

“Stop those broadcasts! Someone go to Invrisil now and get those two idiots to stop! Send a [Message] to Wistram!”

Too late. Pallass’ protests on the 5th floor turned ugly so fast Chaldion saw the relatively peaceful crowds turn on the Watch. The [Guards] holding back the crowd from the Merchant’s Guild were hit by something. Chaldion saw an explosion, heard screaming—

Flashpowder Orb. Someone had tossed an alchemical weapon. The [Guards] reached for their weapons. Which was a mistake. The instant one of them drew a sword, covering his wounded friends, the crowd reached for their weapons. Chaldion pointed.

“[Long-Range Command]. [Rapid Retreat]. By my order as Grand Strategist, do not engage the crowd you idiots—”

Too late again. Someone leapt forwards. A hothead Garuda with a dagger, brandishing it. Chaldion saw, with his one good eye, a Drake whirling. The Garuda youth was fast, but the [Guard] was quicker. The sword came up—the Garuda blinked. Everyone stared at the sword buried in his gut.

In the silence, the Grand Strategist cursed. And then—Pallass erupted.

—-

By the time Erin returned with the sword—things were very bad. An hour, or even a minute could change a lot. And the noise from the city—Liscor—had taken on a bad tone.

“Uh oh. Uh oh. Uh oh.”

From his tower, Bird saw bad things. He heard bad things. He felt bad things.

Liscor was on fire. He counted seventeen separate sources of smoke. And he heard very many angry people.

The Antinium Worker saw no birds. That was always a sign. You had to watch the Birds. He always told Mrsha this.

Look up. There are probably birds.

–Bird’s Observation on Birds

Usually, they flew around the Floodplains, even if they kept out of his range. But right now—everything was hiding. Animals sensed moods. And accordingly—so did Bird.

It was like an entire Hive of angry people. Bird listened.

“—they’re fighting with the Watch! Erin, what’s that sword—”

From his tower, he heard Drassi’s voice. Bird was always in his tower. That did not mean he saw or heard nothing. In fact, he often saw and heard more than everyone else. Just from a different perspective.

“Bad, bad. Uh oh. You stay here.”

The Workers who had been helping make his tower looked at Bird. The [Bird Hunter] waved at them.

“No going to the Hive. It’s bad-bad in the city.”

“Bad, Hunter Bird?”

One of the Workers looked at Bird. The communication between them was—odd. Workers didn’t usually ask questions. But these ones had been at Erin’s inn. They had experienced luxuries like time off, snacks, and so on. Bird nodded.

“Bad. Stay here.”

“We may use the secret passages, Hunter Bird.”

The same Worker pointed out, speaking for the others. Bird looked at him. The [Hunter] shook his head.

“No. Silly Worker. Be sh—be quiet. That is not the point.”

They looked at him. Bird glanced around, counting.

“You stay. So we can fight. If needed.”

The Workers went still. Bird remembered other Workers. An inn under siege. Right now—he felt the same tension in the air. But instead of undead—it was Drakes and Gnolls. All of them turned towards the city. Bird whispered.

“Can you feel it?”

They looked at him. Bird’s antennae were waving rapidly. He turned his head. He could hear Erin below, demanding answers of Drassi. Other people—Lyonette telling Mrsha to go into the garden again. But his senses reached beyond sight, smell, hearing. He looked towards Liscor.

“Bad things are happening. To us.”

—-

What did people in Liscor have to be angry about? So many things.

Monster attacks. The Golden Triangle. The damn sewer stench. But that was just backdrop. There was more.

The Antinium. The Humans coming into their city. Goblins. Some people didn’t care. But Liscor’s election had been fraught. And of late—the Human population had swelled. The Antinium’s true numbers in their Hive had been exposed and Lism had run on a campaign of distrust.

It just took angry people. People who had lost gold. People who really didn’t like Antinium.

There had been mobs on the day The Golden Triangle fell apart. But the Watch had suppressed them fairly effectively. Now, though—they looked at the images of Invrisil and when they took to the streets this time, the people were armed.

“Disperse back to your homes! This is an unlawful gathering!”

Watch Captain Zevara bellowed as a line of [Guards] advanced. It wasn’t martial law—yet. But the armed crowd had converged on the Mage’s Guild and the Council had ordered her to protect the building.

A hundred [Guards] blocked the streets. More were surrounding the Merchant’s Guild, other sources of fury. The crowd shouted; some people threw rocks, bricks; there was a surplus of ammunition with the new district under construction.

“Hold ranks! No one is to return fire!”

Zevara shouted at the Watch hiding behind shields and barricades. She wasn’t about to risk a clash. And indeed—the crowd wasn’t about to charge a line of [Guards]. Zevara saw people milling about. Her eyes narrowed.

“What are they doing? Are they pulling back…?”

That was when she saw the first smokestack rising. And she realized—

No crowd of people attacked a line of [Guards]. They weren’t mad. They were furious. And since the Watch was guarding this street—the riot just moved to the next street.

Market Street began to burn. Zevara’s head snapped up as the first report came in.

“Watch Captain! They’re torching buildings!”

“What? Why?”

“Residential apartments! Places where members of The Golden Triangle were!”

The Watch Captain cursed.

“Get me a squad of high-level [Guards]. We’re taking everyone who was part of The Golden Triangle under protective custody! Move!”

Then she had a thought. Relc. Zevara turned her head. She left her line of [Guards] behind. Took a squad of forty into the city.

The first thing she saw was Humans on the street. Refugees from Celum—fleeing. They’d been evicted from their homes. Then Zevara passed by a burned shop front.

“A member of The Golden Triangle. Find them.”

Jeiss took a second squad. The Councilmember had left the rest of the Council in City Hall. Zevara ordered her [Guards] to speed up.

They came upon the first mob attacking another target. The Drakes and Gnolls saw Zevara’s squad coming around the street and fled. She saw a shape lying on the ground. The Watch Captain pointed.

“Guards! Arrest that group!”

The [Guards] pursued—but the mob was too fast. They just ran. And Zevara saw the shape on the ground huddled into a ball. She approached. And saw blood. But not red.

Green ichor. The Worker lay on the ground. He had tried to protect himself, but without fighting back. He’d managed to shield his face, body—from the worst of the kicks and blows. But his antennae were torn off.

“Healer!”

Zevara shouted. She approached the Worker.

“Worker. Hello. Are you—”

The Antinium jerked away from her. The Worker scuttled away, running. Zevara turned. Her view of the mob changed again.

“They’re going after the Humans and Antinium. As well as members of The Golden Triangle.”

“Watch Captain? We lost the mob. What order, Watch Captain?”

A [Guard] panted, coming back from chasing the crowd. Zevara hesitated. Her instinct was to tell them to fan out, secure any Workers and escort them back to the Hive now along with the Humans. But then she heard a roar.

“No more outsiders! No more lies!”

A distant shout. Magnified hundreds of times. Zevara and her small squad looked about. They saw torches, armed Drakes and Gnolls. They filled the street, some hurling objects. Others were taking advantage of the confusion to loot shops.

Here they came. The squad of forty saw a flood of angry people coming at them. Zevara didn’t even pause to think.

“Back to the Mage’s Guild! Move!”

The Watch retreated. The mob spotted them and broke into a run. There was no individual person there—who might respect the Watch, know a few [Guards] personally. It was just angry people whose every grudge was out in the open. The Watch retreated. The injured Worker hid in an alley.

Bird felt the Worker’s fear.

So too did the Free Queen. And Xrn. In the Hive, Yellow Splatters looked up as the first Workers began to flee into the Hive. Pawn ran for them and saw the blood.

—-

Erin had thought it was bad before. Now—it was worse.

Pelt’s sword was almost an afterthought as she returned to The Wandering Inn and found that things had escalated without her knowing. The Invrisil broadcast had lit sparks. For once, Maviola’s analogies were appropriate.

“They’re kicking out Humans. Attacking Workers. But they’re mostly after members of The Golden Triangle. I should have stopped Noass and Sir Relz! I just thought they were going to report what was happening! But people saw the riots in Invrisil and—it got bad, Erin.”

Drassi was panting. She’d gone into Liscor but fled after only a few minutes. Ishkr was missing. He’d been allowed to go home early.

But that was a bad thing, now. Numbtongue was inspecting his new sword. He grunted.

“Inn’s safe. No one else. Don’t go into hallway.”

He sat by the door to the common room. Ironically, the magic door had been moved to the common room. The danger wasn’t something coming through there—it was a mob converging on the inn. Erin looked around.

“What’s Zevara doing?”

“Holding parts of the city. Economic districts, the Watch House—only a few streets. There aren’t enough [Guards].”

Drassi answered for Erin. The [Innkeeper] looked askance.

“What about the rest of the city? She has to protect the Workers! People are attacking them?”

“Yes.”

Bird had come down from his tower. He had brought his bow. He was, Erin realized, handing out crossbows to the other Workers. She saw Numbtongue nodding.

“No. What are you two doing?”

Both Worker and Goblin looked at Erin.

“Preparing.”

“For a riot? No. We’re not killing people. We can still do something. Maviola. You have your aura! I have [Crowd Control].”

“Don’t be an idiot. You can’t control a riot. Even a [Queen] hides when the mob marches on her palace!”

Maviola snapped. Erin shook her head. She looked around.

“Palt! Get over here! And my lanterns! Where are they?”

She had an idea. The [Innkeeper] marched into the kitchen. When she came back—she was holding something.

The cold-fire lantern. Maviola eyed it.

“What is that?”

“Depressing fire. Palt—come with me. Montressa, Beza, do you know any spells like Palt?”

The Centaur [Illusionist] looked up. So did Montressa and Bezale. They blinked to be addressed by Erin.

“Us? Well—sure. But why?”

“We’re going into Liscor. To stop the riots. Palt, you know [Calm], right. Can’t you cast it on…?”

Erin waved her hand at the door. The Centaur frowned worriedly.

“I have a lot of spells, Erin. But mass mind-control spells aren’t a good idea.”

“I don’t want you to control them. I just want you to stop them from attacking people. I’ll use this.”

Erin opened the shutter of her lantern. Maviola shaded her eyes as the depressing, cold flame washed over her. Montressa shuddered.

“Hey, that’s—wait, you’re going into Liscor?”

“Yeah. And you’re coming too.”

“Erin. This is not a good idea.”

Lyonette began. But the [Innkeeper] whirled.

“I should’ve tried this on Invrisil’s riots. Palt, Montressa, Beza—Maviola? Uh—Lady Bethal?”

The [Lady] looked up blankly from where she sat with Thomast. Maviola just shook her head.

“No. Absolutely not. Erin, your Skills aren’t going to work like you think.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Stay here!”

Half the inn chorused. Palt shook his head as he trotted over.

“Erin. Even the Elusive Lot would have trouble with this. I don’t think—”

He halted as Erin turned to face him.

“Palt. I need your help. Please help me. Montressa—Beza. Please.”

The Wistram Mages looked at each other. Doubt was written across their faces. But after a second, Beza nodded.

“Better than sitting around.”

“Beza!”

Montressa looked worried, but Erin took that. She yanked the door open.

“Let’s go!”

“Erin! This isn’t a good—”

Lyonette didn’t reach Erin in time. Something slowed her on the way to the door. Maviola cursed; of all the times for Erin to learn—

Beza strode after Erin and then Palt and Montressa followed. Erin found herself in the streets, suddenly surrounded by noise. She looked around.

“Okay. Okay—let’s do this.”

“Erin. This really isn’t going to w—”

The [Aegiscaster] was cut off by Palt. He blocked her with one hand. Erin wasn’t listening. She had to do this. She’d caused crowds to appear. She could force them to stop, right?

It wasn’t hard to find the mob. Erin just had to follow the shouting.

She found them outside of City Hall. A group of Drakes was surrounding the lines of [Guards], throwing things at the building. A few had made primitive firebombs out of alcohol or alchemical items. Or just oil.

“Stay back!”

Senior Guardswoman Beilmark was leading the [Guards] holding the doors. They weren’t advancing and the crowd wasn’t getting closer. They were chanting, Erin heard.

“No Lizards! No Lizards!”

“Give us the Minotaur!”

Erin’s blood ran cold when she heard that. She counted; there were hundreds filling the square. The [Mages] looked worriedly at each other.

“That’s a lot of—”

Palt raised a finger to his lips. He pulled out a black cigar, but didn’t light it. Montressa du Valeross watched as Erin Solstice surveyed the crowds.

Montressa liked Erin. Despite it all. The [Innkeeper] was extraordinary, besides her nature as someone from Earth. She was the most accomplished, highest-level Earthworlder that Montressa knew of. She was also—insane.

Not just about this. She made friends with Goblins, liked the Antinium—but she had the same kind of mad genius that some of Wistram’s best [Mages] had. Montressa could respect that. But in this—Erin was over her head.

“Okay. Cast [Calm] and spells when I start talking. Got it?”

“It’s not going to work.”

Montressa’s voice went unheard. Erin didn’t understand! The [Mage] looked at Palt; he should know more than anyone!

Mass-control spells existed. [Mass Calm], for instance—Montressa knew it. But her lessons in illusion magic told her this was not the crowd to try it on.

Then again—this was Erin Solstice. The [Innkeeper] strode forwards. The Crazy Human of Liscor raised her lantern.

“Hey!”

Her voice was louder than the crowd’s. They turned. They saw the blue flame. The young woman concentrated.

“What are you all doing? Who’s killing Calruz? Who’s attacking Workers?”

The Drakes and Gnolls turned. They saw her. Erin Solstice. The flames washed over them and they faltered. Montressa heard the chanting falter.

“The flame.”

She breathed. She remembered it. What a dirty trick! But she remembered Erin’s instructions.

“[Mass Calm].”

“[Calm]. [Calm].”

Beza was casting the spell on individuals. Montressa saw a group of twenty lower their weapons. She grimaced. This was not her forte. Then she heard Palt murmur.

“[Calming Winds].”

The Tier 4 spell conjured a breeze. Montressa felt her own heart beating slower as the wind blew. For a moment—before her natural spell resistance took over—she felt herself draining of the worry, the fear and anxiety—

And Erin was speaking. She waved the lantern. The saddening fire burned bright.

“Hey! Listen. Who’s attacking Hexel? He’s my guest! And Calruz? This isn’t right. I know you all! You know me! Who’s angry at Humans? The Antinium aren’t bad! Let’s all just put down our rocks and stuff, okay? I know you’re mad. But…why don’t we go to my inn? Free drinks! Free cookies!”

The crowd stared at her. The [Mages] kept casting; Montressa saw faces slackening. Staring at Erin. She saw Erin smiling.

“Let’s play some football! Hey—hey, Palt. We’ll get Joseph and Kevin to set it up. A few tactical sports games and everyone will forget about this.”

She turned her head. The Centaur glanced past her. He had the black cigar in his mouth.

“Maybe. But Erin—”

“Hey everyone! Let’s play some soccer instead of smashing things, huh?”

The [Innkeeper] turned back and shouted at the crowd. Her cheerful voice rang out. And Montressa felt something snap.

“Soccer?”

A Drake near Erin blinked. He passed a claw over his face. And Montressa saw—Beza’s [Calm] spell fading from him. He looked at Erin. She smiled.

“Sure. Free drinks, soccer—what about it?”

The bronze-scaled Drake looked at Erin. Just—uncomprehendingly. He stared around. And then his brows crossed.

“Will soccer pay for my rent? I have no more money. What am I supposed to do? I won’t have a home in a week.”

Erin’s smile faltered.

“But—that’s bad. But breaking things doesn’t solve anything. Let’s all calm down.”

The Drake was breathing heavily. Montressa pointed at him.

“[Calm].”

But it didn’t work. Illusions spells lost their potency the more you used them in rapid succession. The Drake’s eyes flickered. Then he stared at the flame. In Erin’s lantern.

He was quicker on the draw. And Erin was being far less subtle about it than when she’d used it on Montressa and Beza.

“What are you doing? That fire—what’s that? You—you think everything’s going to be better if I have a drink and eat a cookie? And kick a stupid damn ball around?”

The other Gnolls and Drakes started. Montressa felt sweat running down her back. She heard Palt muttering.

“[Fog of Apathy]—”

This time mists began to coalesce. Dampening emotion. And it worked—but more and more people were beginning to notice. They pinched each other, gritted their teeth.

And the air became electric. A Gnoll stared at the fire. And then at Erin. He focused on Palt and spoke.

“They’re using spells on us.”

Erin’s face froze. The murmur was muted. People blinked. And then—they all realized it at once. Erin Solstice raised her lantern.

“Listen to me—”

The blue flame went out. The [Innkeeper] stared at it in horror. Palt’s fog tore to wisps and dissipated. Montressa felt her spells fizzling out. She couldn’t even cast [Calm]. In a moment, the air grew hot.

Beilmark cursed as she saw the crowd swing around. Erin Solstice stood there. She focused. Trying to make the others calm. She concentrated—

The dam burst. The Drake screamed in fury. He ran at Erin, a fist raised. Erin dropped the lantern. She was faster. She decked him.

[Minotaur Punch]. The Drake went sprawling. The crowd stared at Erin. The [Innkeeper] looked around. Montressa was backing up.

“I think—”

“Kill them.”

The roar came from dozens of voices. And the mob rushed forwards. If they had been angry before—the calming spells had doubled their fury. Now they tore forwards at Erin—and City Hall.

“Guards! Hold them back! Clubs only! No blades!”

Beilmark snarled. The [Guards] had a chokepoint. But Erin and the [Mages] were on the streets.

They ran. Erin just stared for a second in horror as her plan backfired. The first rank of the mob came for her, reaching, cursing—

They smashed into a barrier in the air. Montressa raised her staff.

“That won’t hold them for long! Run!”

“Damn, damn—”

Beza grabbed Erin. The [Innkeeper] turned and ran. Palt was already pointing.

“Back to the inn!”

All three [Mages] ran. They had ten seconds before Montressa’s [Forcewall] failed and the crowd streamed after them. It could have blocked multiple [Fireballs], but the sea of people pounding on it was just as effective. Erin had dropped her lantern. She ran—but Gnolls and Drakes were in the crowd. Only Palt was faster than them.

“Dead gods—”

Montressa saw someone leaping at her. She raised her staff; a wall of stone knocked the Drake flat. The others just boiled around them. They had bows! Erin saw Beza stagger as something hit her. A brick!

“Stop! I said—”

“It’s not going to work. Get behind me.”

Palt turned. The three passed him. Erin turned.

“Palt!”

The Centaur stared at the mob. Slowly, he lit the black cigar. Black smoke rose from it. He inhaled so hard nearly half of it ashed in a moment. Then he exhaled.

“[Volcanic Smokescreen].”

Black smoke rushed forwards. The entire street was consumed in an instant. Erin heard panicked voices, screams as people collided. She slowed—Palt turned.

“Run!”

He galloped past her. Erin didn’t understand why at first. Then—she saw the first high-level member of the mob racing out of the smoke.

A furious Drake with a block of wood in one claw. She didn’t know his class until he tossed the log of wood. Then she realized.

He was a [Thrower]—

Montressa’s barrier blocked the block of wood before it hit Erin’s face. The piece of wood exploded. The sound was like a thunderclap. The Drake cursed, picked up a stone.

“[Stone Dart]. Run!”

Beza pointed. The stone bullet hit the Drake in the chest and he vanished into the cloud. But more people were coming out of the smoke.

This time all of them ran. They went for the door. Erin was gasping, clutching at her side and Beza was shouting for Montressa to run faster. The [Aegiscaster] gasped.

“[Haste]—”

She sped up. Erin ran for the open door. She saw Palt urging them through.

“Hurry! Get through! Get—”

His eyes widened. He pointed.

“[Air Sh—]”

The brick hit him in the chest. Erin saw the Centaur hit the ground. She turned around.

The mob was on them in a second. Someone yanked Erin off her feet. She punched a snarling face, heard Montressa shouting.

“Palt! [Five-Fold—]”

Her voice ended in a strangled noise as something hit her. Beza rose. Of them all, the Minotauress was fastest.

[Iron Skin]. [Haste]—she laid about her, knocking people off her feet. She grabbed Montressa and was covering Palt as he struggled to rise. Erin was surrounded. She felt someone yanking at her hair.

“Stop!”

She hit someone else. [Minotaur Punch]. Then Erin’s hand was on her kitchen knife.

A claw raked her down the side of her face. The [Innkeeper] felt the burning pain. She closed her eyes.

No, please no.

She drew the deadly blade. Erin felt the air grow hot. Then—the person holding her burst into flames.

She heard screams. The air turned to fire. Erin froze, blade ready to stab. She saw people stumbling back. Then she heard something else

“[Fast Fireball].”

A [Lady] pointed. From her finger a [Fireball] spun up, a bolt of fire. It detonated just over the heads of the crowd. They all ducked. Maviola pointed.

“Burn.”

Her aura reached out and a Drake was covered in flames. Shouting, screaming in alarm, the crowd backed up. They grabbed for Erin—still enraged. Someone seized her—

“[Power Strike].”

Pyrite kicked the Gnoll into the air. He grabbed Erin, grunted.

“Bad idea. Let’s go.”

He towed Erin back. She saw a blur—another [Lady] stood at the door. Bethal and Thomast, his sword drawn. Palt, Montressa, Beza—Maviola was last. She slammed the door shut as her fire winked out.

“Change the dial.”

Lyonette swiveled the dial and the sound cut off. Erin lay in the hallway, panting. The other [Mages] collapsed. Numbtongue blinked as Pyrite vanished. Maviola stood there. Her dress wasn’t even singed by the fire she’d called forth. She looked around, counting, and then stared at Erin.

“That. Is how you use an aura. You cannot stop a riot with just spells.”

“Not at our level. It was worth a shot. I’m bleeding.”

Palt groaned. Erin rose.

“Palt? Are you…?”

The Centaur looked up at Erin. His chest was torn open. Lyonette bent.

“A potion. You’re bleeding. Erin—your face.”

The [Innkeeper] had been raked across her face. She let Numbtongue apply a bit of potion. Then she stood there.

“I’m sorry. I thought—”

Her confidence was gone. She’d thought she could stop them. She knew Liscor’s people. But that had been—Erin looked around. Montressa wouldn’t meet her eyes. Beza shook her head.

“Never in the House of Minos. Madness.”

“I thought that might happen. But it was worth a shot. A lesson.”

Palt shakily got to his hooves. He looked around. Maviola nodded at Erin.

“Your plan was flawed. I told you, Erin.”

Her gaze was accusatory. Erin wilted.

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“It was a good effort. Wuvren might have done it, with help. She can charm a crowd. I have seen it done. My mother once halted a riot.”

Lady Bethal spoke distantly. She looked at Erin. The [Innkeeper] inhaled.

“I guess I can’t. Okay. Okay…Numbtongue? Thank you. Maviola, thank you. Palt—I’m so sorry.”

“What are allies for? Let alone friends? My Master would be disappointed in me. I should have prepared [Invisibility], but that’s hard to cast in quick succession.”

The [Illusionist] grinned weakly. Erin stood there. She rubbed at her face.

“I understand now. I guess…Lyonette? Is Mrsha in the garden?”

“Along with the beavers and Apista. Should we go there too?”

Erin Solstice looked at the [Princess]. Blankly. Then she shook her head.

“Not yet. How many people are in the inn, Lyonette?”

“I don’t know?”

“Feels like…eighty. The Players of Celum…the [Knights]? Lady Bethal, right?”

“That’s correct. They’re in Invrisil.”

The [Lady] was watching Erin. Not without sympathy. The [Innkeeper] had blood on her face. Erin looked around. She rubbed at her face.

“Palt. Beza. Montressa. I owe you one. But I might need another favor. We should—pass out those crossbows. Loaded.”

Maviola stirred. Lyonette slowly looked at Numbtongue.