The Wandering Inn

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Now came time for action. Now came flame in cold winter. Now began the Order of Solstice.

But it was not going to be easy.

——

A crack ran straight through Izril. Not the one caused by the Gnolls at the Meeting of Tribes. The crack was called ‘competency’, or perhaps ‘levels’, and it had always been there.

The Humans of the north, the Drake cities of the south, and the Gnolls, now. Was it…wrong that he had been proud that his people had been on the upswing?

For the first seventeen years of his life, Yelroan really had thought Plain’s Eye was the future. He had heard the stories of how his people had been depleted, seen how they were forced into lands the Drakes didn’t want, on the back-foot, but the Antinium Wars had not touched them half as hard as Drakes.

He had felt like, in a generation or two, perhaps even his, Gnolls would begin to reclaim more authority in the world. After all—their competitors on the continent had both suffered grievous setbacks.

For the Drakes, the Antinium Wars had been devastating both in lands lost and their authority. For the north, the Goblin King had wiped out far too many noble families and destroyed what was essentially their entire system of management.

Nobles collected taxes, patrolled roads, enforced order, built great projects…their absence could not be filled by Magnolia Reinhart and the new generation alone. This was the moment for Gnolls to rise.

Then he had seen how Plain’s Eye did not want to even consider a class like his. Then—he had seen that Gnolls too were waning. Of course, it was only recently that he had found out why and the shame and guilt became his.

The Wandering Inn was a chance to redeem himself. A chance to do what he loved.

But the crack was still there. Yelroan had no other way to describe it. A crack in the world was how he saw it. And you see, it was in him.

He had a critical flaw. A weakness, and it was this: he was a [Mathematician]. Not an [Organizer]. Not a [Secretary] or even a [Princess], who had Skills that were directly tied to management. He was good at his job, but his class had always been more than doing income sheets.

Yelroan knew it. He had learned how to be good at his position because someone had to be—but he was no legend of Salazsar. Now, sitting in The Wandering Inn during the morning after Erin Solstice’s proclamation that the Order of Solstice would take on a great charge—sending food and firewood to people who needed it—the blonde Gnoll was sweating.

And not just because Mrsha was poking up the fire and tossing logs into the fireplace beyond what was comfortable. She and Nanette squatted around the fire, trying to make it as hot as possible, children enamored with a game.

The [Knights], Lyonette, Erin, were all running around, sometimes at cross-ends. They were also arguing.

“What do you mean you don’t have a horse, Ser Dalimont?”

“We sold them.”

“You sold your warhorse?”

Lyonette was apoplectic, but Dalimont defended himself.

“Your Highness, half our steeds were wounded at the Meeting of Tribes. Once we determined we would be here longer than we anticipated, we sold the other horses. And they were not proper warhorses—the cost in feed and housing was too high, and we could hardly ride them around. None of us are dedicated lance-experts; we bought decent horses in the north. We will simply have to acquire more.”

“At this time of year?”

Lyonette was fretting and for good reason. The winter and everyone heading to the New Lands meant now was not a good time to buy horses. Yelroan, one ear twitching, wrote that down on his growing list of concerns.

I think I have a file with all the stables. We could run the market. Celum, Pallass, Invrisil, Liscor, and see what deals we get, but we’ll be paying out the nose for it anyways. Who can do that? Me?

Here was his great flaw. The Gnoll was not panicking.

Oh, there was a lot to panic over. Erin Solstice said, ‘we must give food to this village’. And the questions popped up instantly.

How much food? How was it going to get there? Who would bring it? What about protection? How were they going to pay for said food? Was it all one food, like Yellats? What about the issues of preserving it?

Also—where was this food coming from? Food did not just appear on trees. Well, it did, but you had to get it down from there. In the winter, you had to have a market with enough of a surplus to let you have it.

There were even more issues than that, and those were just with the simplest things like food. There were roads made inaccessible by snow. Some villages wanted for firewood.

He could handle it. He could! Yelroan had the experience of running one of the Great Tribes from behind the scenes. He had seen the numbers, helped prepare groups or even sub-tribes for marches.

He knew how to do this. His weakness was that he could not do it well. If that made sense.

“All the power of math in me and I can’t enforce it. Mrsha. Mrsha? Don’t touch that.”

The Gnoll was lifting an ember out of the fireplace with a pair of tongs. She and Nanette jumped, and Mrsha nearly burned her friend, who had a little burlap sack in her hands.

“What are you doing?”

Noooothing. What’s up, Yelroan?

Mrsha wrote back innocently. He gave her a long look, but leaned down and whispered to her.

“Is there anyone good at haggling in The Wandering Inn? Do you know anyone who’s good at…sourcing quality provisions? Analysis Skills? Any animal experts?”

Mrsha cocked her head from side to side. She wrote a reply slowly.

Forsooth, I believe Lyonette is the best haggler. As for food-people…Calescent? Garia? Ulvama eats a lot. And I believe the leading expert on the matters of nature is me!

She puffed out her chest. The Level 11 [Druid] gave Yelroan a significant look, telling him he’d come to the right place.

Yelroan put his head in his paws and groaned.

“Great. I guess we’re going to have to call on Erin’s friends and hope they can lend a hand.”

Mrsha’s indignant look was also hurt, but Yelroan was just speaking the truth. Here was his issue: he knew what to do, but the implementation was beyond him.

A Level 50+ [Secretary] like Salii could have done everything herself. She had the breadth of Skills and training to do it. Yelroan? He could find you a stable that had horses for sale.

But he had no sales Skills. And he couldn’t tell good horseflesh from bad. Any Level 30 [Hustling Horse Handler] would take him for a ride. He could send Lyonette out, but she was a [Princess], and besides, she wasn’t the best.

“What is the problem, Yelroan? You need someone to get the best deals? Do we even have enough money for what Miss Erin wants?”

Nanette was more perspicacious than Mrsha. The Gnoll girl had gone back to poking at the fireplace, and Yelroan tried to explain. When the little witch got it, she shook her head.

“I can help. I learned how to haggle—and it’s good to learn everything, Mother says. A witch should. But you need the best deals. Do we even have the coin for…”

She waved a hand at Erin. The [Innkeeper] was making Numbtongue tack up a map to one of the walls and putting pins in it. Erin was telling him how to set it up.

“Red pins mean they need something. We do green ones for places that we’ve fixed.”

The Goblin nearly stabbed himself with one needle.

“So…all red?”

“No, you put the silver ones into places Magnolia and Lord Lance-a-lot can help with.”

She did have a system. And she had her own style of organization. Yelroan murmured out of the corner of his mouth.

“Actually, the funding is the least of our worries, Nanette. But—you can waste a fortune very easily, and I don’t think we’ll get a second chance if we do.”

The little witch’s eyes lit up. Erin Solstice was standing back, staring at the board being filled with red pins, and hyperventilating a bit.

“Okay. That’s a lot. A lot of…Yelroan? Yelroan, let’s get started. And Lyonette! I want to send Normen out today. At least one place!”

She sat back down in her chair. Normen strode over.

“I’m ready, Miss Solstice. Where am I going?”

Erin turned to him and lifted a hand.

“Hold on, Normen. We have to get you a horse or transport. And we don’t have the food or…how are we going to transport it? Is there a bag of holding big enough? And Mrsha, what are you doing? Put that down!”

Everyone turned, and Mrsha froze. She was—Yelroan twisted in his chair and nearly dropped his quill.

Mrsha was holding a glowing ember in her paws. Lyonette rushed over with a shriek of alarm.

“Mrsha, put that down! Put that—huh?”

Mrsha wasn’t burning her paws. In fact, she was holding the ember with a great deal of satisfaction. The [Emberbearer] gave everyone a hearty smirk.

Look at my powerful Skill!

[Hold Ember]. She was a Level 2 [Emberbearer], and all this business about cold roads had reminded her of her powerful class.

“Mrsha, put it in the sack, the sack! Look, Miss Lyonette! Mrsha is going to bring some warmth along.”

“She is not going on those cold roads, Nanette. And—when did you get another class, Mrsha? Not [Princess]? Not [Lady], even?”

Lyonette was dismayed by Mrsha’s lack of ‘proper classes’ as she saw it. But Mrsha looked horrified, and so did Nanette.

“We’re not going? But I’m a witch!”

And I’m a good girl! We’re going with Normen!

“Absolutely not! This is no business for you two! It’s freezing cold and—and someone has to protect the inn. Erin isn’t going.”

“I’m not?”

Lyonette ignored Erin as she took on a more cunning tone. She bent down, nearly burned her hand on Mrsha’s ember, and whispered to the two as Yelroan listened in.

“The Thronebearers have to stay, and so do you two. And me and Erin, for that matter, Mrsha, Nanette. This is a matter for Normen and the Order of Solstice. You see?”

The two girls gave her a suspicious look, rightly suspecting she was finding an excuse for them not to go out. But on the other hand…they looked at Normen, and Mrsha hesitated.

This was the very reason that the Order of Solstice existed. In a sense, this was their first test. If they could not handle this, what was the purpose of the [Knights] existing?

When you phrased it like that—the conversation in the inn became less about how to manage this great affair and more of how to empower a single [Knight] present at the inn to take on so many responsibilities. What Yelroan concluded was…

They needed to recruit. Now.

——

“We’ll call them ‘probationary knights’. Or prospectives. Volunteers. It doesn’t matter what, but Runner Herove, Menolit, anyone who has time and the will—they’re the ones who will have to run deliveries, Erin. And we’ll need every volunteer we can get, from Krshia to…Ysara Byres. They’ve volunteered their time.”

For once, Erin didn’t object as Lyonette laid out the plan. The [Innkeeper] glanced over, and a beaming young man she didn’t really know, Herove, was standing next to a few people who had inquired into becoming Knights of Solstice.

She didn’t like it, but the lack of manpower was beyond evident when it came to delivering to a single village.

“Okay, but Normen’s the only guaranteed [Knight].”

“And the only one with armor. I’ve figured out how we’re going to do this, Erin. Plotting a route isn’t too hard. The Driver’s Guild can tell us which roads are clear—or which ones we have to take to get to each village. We send a [Message] telling them we’re coming or just go if they don’t have a [Mage]. Since Normen can’t ride and because there’s so much, we take a wagon.”

“One wagon?”

Lyonette nodded reassuringly.

“Loaded with a huge Chest of Holding, Erin. It’ll have the capacity of three. And three wagonloads of anything is as much as we can spare.”

“Some villages are starving. Their fields are burned—”

“Erin. Three wagonloads of grain is better than none, and you can either budget for one village to get everything or spread around as much as you can. Speaking of which, you don’t have me to thank for the Chest of Holding or that organization. Chaldion sent his recommendation for how to best deliver the goods, and he has offered us Pallass’ storehouses. At a price.”

Erin’s face turned dark, but Yelroan took over.

“You need to accept, Miss Erin.”

“Why? We can buy from Liscor and Invrisil…”

“You can, but at what cost, Erin? [Merchants] have been buying up all the food and firewood and supplies for the New Lands. Everything from water flasks to stamina potions to camping gear is at a premium. Food?Fuel?”

Erin bit her tongue and knew that was the exact reason there was a crisis and people had written to Santa or her.

“Well—how does Pallass have so much?”

Lyonette gave Erin a look as if it were obvious.

“Why, they’ve stockpiled. In case of siege. Pallass has vast reservoirs. And the fact that Chaldion is willing to let you have any is amazing.”

Now their conversation from yesterday made a lot of sense. Erin was both amazed by Drake city preparations—and dismayed. Because the fact that they had enough to sell her was an indication that they hadn’t used it before.

Hoarding Drakes.

“Okay, how am I going to pay for it?”

At this point, Lyonette, Yelroan, and Erin got up and moved the conversation to the private dining room. The [Princess] had one of the Thronebearers guard the door, because this touched on secrets. The [Princess] even lowered her voice.

“Firstly, by telling everyone the food comes from Pallass. Chaldion also says he’ll take the entire lot on credit unless you have something to give him…”

Erin’s face turned darker, and Lyonette whispered.

“We’re not going to get a better deal, Erin. Do you have something to entice him with? A fortress or something?”

She gave Erin the look many people did, of someone expecting miracles. Erin hesitated and whispered back.

“Lyonette…I know I did the mysterious act, but I don’t have unlimited secrets to go around. I have some like—squids. A lot of secrets and gossip. But I don’t have even three dozen <Quests> and—free wonders to give out.”

“You don’t? But you said you spoke to legends!”

Lyonette had fallen for the same act as everyone else, despite knowing Erin for a while. The [Innkeeper] gave her an unhappy look.

“I spoke to thousands of ghosts, Lyonette. But how many knew where buried treasure was, even if the world looked the same? How many had a legacy to give, rather than regrets? Only the greatest ghosts, and some of them didn’t tell me even if they knew. I spoke to the King of Destruction’s grandfather, and he had nothing. They were ghosts.”

So that was why she wasn’t posting a <Heroic Quest> every other day. And here, Lyonette had thought Erin was being coy. What Erin did know was hard to get to.

“…Well, Chaldion will give us what we need in expectation of something in the future. That’s good enough. And we can fund the rest of it.”

“How? Is the inn that profitable? I know Liska’s, like, earning half our profits by the door alone.”

Liska was, in fact, the star employee of The Wandering Inn right now and accounted for more sales via the door than her brother. It was a fact that Liska had brought up every day for the last month to Ishkr.

At this point, Yelroan broke in.

“The same way you’re going to fund your inn, Miss Solstice. And I may say that, at some point, you need more profit incentives. This is going to wipe out all the money I was earmarking for your new inn.”

“What, three hundred thousand gold pieces to start the inn? That was never going to happen.”

Erin waved that away. But Yelroan cleared his throat.

“We could have begun that this month. You mentioned wanting to get ready for the Winter Solstice. I’m afraid you can spend money on the inn—or spend it on all this Christmas funding.”

“How? How much money is The Wandering Inn making?”

Erin whirled around, and Yelroan consulted a sheet.

“Last month? Eight hundred and thirty-seven gold coins in net income. Not gross income. Wonderful terms, by the way. Gross income was two thousand five hundred and two gold pieces.”

Lyonette almost shrieked in horror.

“We’re spending over a thousand gold pieces each month? On what?”

Yelroan ran down the list.

“Well, you were buying supplies for the kitchen, which isn’t that expensive…but the markups on food bumped up prices a lot. Buying Ashwheat from Noelictus, Miss Solstice’s rare materials for cooking, accounted for almost a hundred gold coins of the budget. You’re paying employees, including the Thronebearers’ stipends, which is four hundred gold coins on a full staff.”

“Four hundred—”

“Allowances for Lyonette, Erin, Numbtongue, Bird, are also included in that number.”

“Oh. Well…Mrsha needed new clothing. For the winter!”

Lyonette turned red, and Erin gave her a sharp look, wondering how much of that four hundred had gone into Lyonette’s expenses. The [Princess] hurried on.

“And the other half?”

“Free food for your guests—which ended this month. Donations to Garry’s shop. Erin Solstice’s funding for Zeladona’s injured—”

“Her what?”

Erin Solstice saw Yelroan glance up at her. The [Innkeeper] turned to Lyonette.

“I gave everyone who lost a limb some gold, Lyonette.”

“You—Erin. Some of them surely had—the Pallassians too? I’m sure the army took care of them.”

“I know. And I gave them what I could. To adventurers, too. Ceria gave me names of the ones who went to the Village of the Dead. Yelroan’s been helping me give them something. Only a few gold coins. Ten.”

But there were a lot. Yelroan saw Lyonette and Erin exchange a look, and the [Princess] backed down slowly.

“Alright, alright. We are making a profit and…but where is all this extra funding coming from, Yelroan? Especially if Erin’s giving money to…adventurers? Why is Captain Stan’s family listed…oh. Captain Stan’s family. Oh, dead gods.”

She put a hand over her chest, and Erin nodded. There was another marker on that list that said ‘Gerial’s family’ as well. Yelroan had actually helped facilitate getting the money to people that had been hard to reach. Yvlon’s former teammates…

“There are substantial backers of The Wandering Inn. I have a shortlist of names, Miss Lyonette, Miss Erin. To name the most generous—it would be the Horns of Hammerad, who have left gold with Erin for a number of reasons. The Players of Celum, who have sent a lump sum at the Merchant’s Guild from First Landing. And…the Forgotten Wing Company and Khelt.”

Lyonette swallowed hard suddenly, and four big, big names suddenly equalized the massive deficit of Erin Solstice’s expenditures.

“K-Khelt? And the Forgotten Wing company?”

“They’ve both indicated an interest in funding Erin’s new inn. If she asks, I believe Erin can get funding for her projects. But she will need to come to a formal arrangement.”

Yelroan peeked at Erin above his lists. He had made a budget, and Erin gulped at the number. She had never, in her life on Earth or here, seen a six-digit bill before.

But if that was what it cost—she nodded.

“I’ll chat with Niers.”

“No.”

“No, Erin—”

Both Yelroan and Lyonette interrupted at the same time and grinned at each other. Lyonette put her hands on the table.

“We’ll have a formal request for something like this, Erin. To King Fetohep and the Titan. To Three-Color Stalker, actually. Let’s do that now. As for Normen—”

Yelroan raised one paw as Erin turned to him.

“Can he get moving if we have gold on hand, Yelroan? Just one village?”

He thought about it and nodded slowly.

“I’ll ask Ser Sest to find horses, then. And charter one of the Driver’s Guild wagons. Chaldion can get a first shipment done, or rather, his people can. We will have them roll out on the way.”

Erin took a huge breath.

“Then let’s do this.”

——

They had to move fast. Erin knew that the moment she got the Santa-letters, but her hurry became a full-on sprint as the day began in earnest.

She hadn’t realized the urgency of her task. Of people starving or facing freezing weather, but the import was rammed home in her first meeting with an actual expert on relief aid.

“Erin! Hurry up and send your [Knight] if you’re going to! You’re not getting help from me. Need any warming potions? Right, you have your lame soup. But I’m not going to help, got it? I’m going on a cold trip right now. Are you meeting with the old man about—”

Saliss kicked open the door to her private rooms, and the completely naked Drake stopped. He had no clothing on, but he’d put on a stupid red hat, and he looked like he was ready to head out.

He was an expert on this kind of mission. And so were the duo who gave him a long look. Niers Astoragon and Foliana of the Forgotten Wing company were having an official call with Erin Solstice.

“Huh. Those are not the nuts I’m used to. And I do hang around with Foliana.”

Niers Astoragon commented after a pregnant pause. Even Saliss hesitated for a long moment, and Foliana nibbled on a baked muffin.

“Mm. Saliss of Lights. Hello.”

“Well. I seem to have intruded on a delicate meeting. Hey, Erin. I’m off. Hi…Titan. Three-Color Stalker.”

Saliss slowly waved a claw. Unlike most people, his cheery grin didn’t really appear in the face of the two mercenaries. The Titan lifted a cup.

“Going out to those villages? Good fellow. We’re discussing funding. I’d like to send you a [Message] sometime, Saliss. Maybe when you get back?”

“Yeah, sure. Good luck meeting with the Smallest Warlord and the Nibbler of Lives, Erin. Hey, Foliana. What’s your favorite food?”

The Squirrel Beastkin woman blinked and looked at Saliss as he jabbed a claw at her. She thought about it.

“…The tears of my enemies?”

Saliss almost grinned, but he turned to Erin. His eyes were serious as Erin half-rose from her wheelchair. She hadn’t even asked, and the Named-rank adventurer had begun moving the moment he’d heard about the crisis.

“Hurry up. There’s no time to waste.”

Then he was gone. Erin turned back to Niers and Foliana.

“That was Saliss. Sorry, guys, but he’s—”

“Entirely right, Erin. You should try to get your [Knight], Ser Normen, moving as fast as you can.”

“Why? I mean, I know some places are in trouble. I have a first village for him to go to that needs food. Um…Rheirgest, and it’s not far. But if you’re helping pay for it, we can do—”

Niers was consulting a sheaf of notes, and he was organized, even more than Yelroan. More importantly, he could do things the [Mathematician] could not, and he politely lifted a hand.

Unlike when they played chess, Niers was all business.

“It’s 9 AM, Erin. If you can, have your [Knight] on the road in three hours. Less, if possible. I wish you had better vehicles. A chest of holding in a wagon’s slow…but you can’t do a string of horses loaded up with bags of holding, by the sound of it.”

“Mm. They’re not rich yet. The Wind Runner is fast.”

“Ryoka’s doing another delivery. Why am I hurrying, Niers?”

The Titan looked up at Erin.

“A storm’s blowing in. A bad one. It’ll shut down your roads, and it looks like it’s hitting everything from Invrisil down south.”

“It is?”

Suddenly, the time crunch intensified. Erin hadn’t known about the weather—it was snowing hard when she glanced out the window, but the Titan exhaled slowly.

“Whatever it is, it’s fast. Not natural—and it’ll make travel even harder.”

“I—I was going to spend all day getting Normen ready and send him out tomorrow.”

“Well, you have three hours. If you need me to, I’ll arrange as much as I can on our end, but we have limited agents in Invrisil.”

Foliana nodded. She wasn’t doing much of the talking, but she was adding in details now and then.

“That we trust, after the last one tried to kill Niers.”

“We—we can do it ourselves, Lord Astoragon.”

Niers looked at Lyonette, and the [Princess] bowed nervously. She felt very intimidated, and Niers opened his mouth—then nodded.

“It’s good practice. Alright. We’ll have the gold via the Merchant’s Guild, and we won’t take up your time. Foliana, you’ve approved this budget, right?”

They were offering Erin gold without much quibbling. In fact, they’d spent most of the ten minutes just asking Erin about her theatre. Foliana blinked her odd eyes at Niers.

“What budget? Oh…”

She looked disinterestedly at the number Niers pointed at.

“Yep. Whatever. Mm. Do you want more help, Erin? It’s hard to help over there, but you helped me with the curse, so you can have money. This is for Santa?”

“Yes. Thank you—I didn’t know we had to hurry. Lyonette, can you tell everyone to go now?”

Erin was feeling even more anxious with Niers’ warning. The Titan smiled.

“Just remember, it’s haste and pragmatism, Miss Erin. I quite agree that Normen is a good trial case. Launching a dozen efforts and losing them is just wasting gold. See how he shakes down the first route. Do you have snow-capable vehicles? How about winter protection?”

“I have…Corusdeer Soup. We’ll manage. I’ve sort of got to go, Niers…”

He was glancing to one side and grimacing.

“So do I. But I’ll be able to answer any questions you do have. Foliana, anything to add?”

The Squirrel Woman was resting her chin on her paws and inspecting Erin’s worried face.

“She’s starting a company. Reminds me of when we were young. Mm. Going to be very hard.”

“Knight Order, Foliana.”

Niers corrected Foliana, amused. The [Rogue] shrugged, unconcerned.

“Same thing. Paying people in armor to beat up other people you don’t like. Or monsters. Good luck. If you need help, I can send…a reindeer. Perorn. She’ll take maybe a week to get all the way north, but I can tell her to wear antlers.”

Niers almost snorted his coffee out his nose at the image and the thought of how Perorn would respond. But Erin just gave Foliana a distracted smile.

“Thanks! But I’ll, uh, hold off on that for now. I’ve got to go! We’ll get Normen out today, Niers. Sorry! Thank you for the help! Just—got to roll!”

She began to head out even as Ishkr leaned over to turn the scrying orb off.

Now they really had to hurry.

——

The inn’s preparations became a flurry, now, and their sourcing of goods, proper wagons, and everything else turned into a focused effort. What could they get by today?

A winter storm? The snow was coming down harder, big, fat flakes, but if Niers was right—it wouldn’t be mere snow for long. So Erin was now rushing to do what had to be done.

The irony for all of this was that Normen was not doing much. When he heard he was heading out soon, he was ready. But—

“Sest will get the horses. He knows horses, and they’re going to have a wagon. You’ll just deliver the goods, Normen. We might even get a [Driver] to get there fast enough.”

“Very good, Miss Lyonette. What will be my job?”

The [Princess] hesitated and turned to him with a smile.

“…Delivering the food, Normen. Make sure it gets there on time. There might be bandits. We’ll have to load the carts, pack everything properly, maybe put a preservation spell on it—but you just worry about the journey. It might be difficult.”

It might be very difficult. And yet, Normen found himself standing around while a bunch of people rushed around and assured him he would be needed. He felt out of sorts—and because he did, and mindful of what Erin had said to Lyonette yesterday—

He began to inspect the potential recruits for the Order of Solstice.

He might be the one who decided who became a [Knight]. What a terrifying thought. So Normen went straight to the first candidate.

“Runner Herove, right? May I ask you what brought you here? Just to ascertain why you’re here, as it were.”

Normen awkwardly strode up to one of the people helping haul boxes of dried grain from Pallass’ door. Liska was shouting with annoyance at having to deliver so much via Pallass, but it was already coming through. The Cyclops of Pallass was organized, even if no one else was.

“Me?”

Herove jumped, nearly dropped a box, and Normen helped him carry it down the hallway. They’d have to stack up a wagon in Invrisil, so it had to come through from Pallass—and then go back out the door to Invrisil.

No wonder Liska was grumpy. But there were hands aplenty. Word of what Erin wanted to do was spreading, and people had come to help.

“Reminds me of when we gave things to Esthelm. I just wish I could leave the company. If you gave me more notice—I’d be able to go!”

One of the Drakes was hauling boxes over and laughing. Menolit could only put an hour in before the next Liscor Hunted operation, and Normen gave him a frown. If he wanted to be a [Knight], would he still run a company?

“It reminds me of when you gave things to Esthelm.”

Another Human woman laughed, and Menolit blinked at her.

“Who’re you?”

“Anthese. From Esthelm. I remember when the Antinium came marching at us. We thought it was an attack! Now, here we are.”

She had come from Esthelm to lend a hand stacking boxes. She and Menolit began chattering as Normen continued his conversation with Herove.

“What brought you to the Order of Solstice, Mister Herove? A number of folks have reached out to me about joining—but you came from farthest.”

So certainly, too. He’d said it was his destiny. Normen tried to smile at the young man, but something rubbed him slightly the wrong way. Because Herove gave him a huge smile, and he looked so confident.

“It’s hard to explain, Mister Normen. I mean, Ser Normen. I should learn how to speak like a [Knight] if I’m going to be one.”

“…You’re very certain.”

“I saw it in a vision. There was this—[Soothsayer] who showed me a bunch of my possible futures. And one showed me being knighted. When I saw it—I knew that was the future I had to seek out. So here I am.”

A soothsayer? Normen’s brows rose. He’d heard of the class, but never met anyone like that. He got an abridged tale of how Herove and a few friends of his had met a real [Soothsayer] at a traveling carnival.

That explained his confidence. But what Normen didn’t like was the way Herove took it for granted.

“It might be dangerous, Runner Herove. And Miss Solstice has expressed great fears her [Knights] might be challenged dearly. We don’t have any armor for you at this moment.”

“Not a problem. I’m a City Runner, and I’ve seen a few scrapes.”

“Killed your fair number of monsters?”

Herove gave him a flashing grin.

“Over a dozen! I’m a fairly good shot with a wand, and I can outrun anything.”

Normen opened his mouth.

“—Could you take on a group of [Thugs], sir? Say, five? Have you ever taken on a group like that?”

“Five? I could take five with a bit of luck. And armor! But I’ll get a sword first, right?”

The young man laughed nervously, and Normen stared at him too long before adjusting his helmet and lifting another box up. His reservations increased because…

He didn’t like that answer one bit. If he had been gratified by the idea of someone coming all this way just to try and join the Order of Solstice, two things bothered him. The first was Herove’s presumptuousness that it was a given just because he’d seen it.

The second? That conversation had just established something in Normen’s mind. It got worse when he interviewed Roreh, the Gnoll [Guardsman].

“Monsters? I could handle a few. I saw fighting when Skinner attacked. I could kill zombies, at least.”

“How many? What about Ghouls and if you had armor, do you think, Guardsman Roreh?”

“Three? With good armor like yours, Mister Normen. But give me an enchanted sword and I’ll get at least five!”

The young Gnoll laughed nervously, and Normen saw the older Drake with a missing tail, Menolit, glance up and scoff silently. Someone passing down the corridor also glanced over.

“Hey, Roreh, get to Senior Guardsman before you run your tongue about killing Ghouls. Remember, the Watch doesn’t want heroes.”

Senior Guardsman Relc frowned as he strode out the door to work. Roreh raised his paw.

“Sorry, Guardsman Relc! Wait, is it time to sign in already? I’ll be right there! Mister Normen, I’ve got to go—but tell me when you’re doing your delivery! I can go if I ask for time off!”

“Me too!”

Herove looked excited. Normen nodded to Roreh and stepped back. He began to see what Erin had feared. And clearly—what Relc and Menolit had noticed.

They were failing a test. And it was not a test of the Order of Solstice, but a test that the Brotherhood of Serendipitous Meetings ran.

It was a test to keep young men from dying.

The question ran like this: you went up to a young fellow wanting to put a hat on and make a difference. You asked him questions about honor and right and wrong, and obviously, he could learn and he’d smarten up and be quick or be dead.

But one of the things that Crimshaw had once asked Normen was whether or not he could take three lads in a fight. He had said yes, if need be, he’d do it right now; Crimshaw had looked him up and down, smiled, patted him on the shoulder, and said he was an earnest young man.

Then he’d walked off. Normen had waited for more news for nigh on a month before he realized his application had been rejected. The next year—he’d been a lot humbler and had more scars from running alone. When Crimshaw had asked, Normen had vouched that he could take on one fellow on a toss of a coin. Then he’d been accepted.

It wasn’t their fault. But every young man, in the back of their head, no matter what they said, thought that in a fight, if they were lucky, they could take down five blokes if they had a hammer.

Two with your bare fists, assuming you got the right shots in. At least one Ghoul, even if you didn’t have armor. With armor? Five, Roreh had said.

Normen wondered if Herove or Roreh had ever had to punch someone out with their bare fists. Not with a wand or with a club or in a squad, but physically lay out another man or woman just with your bare knuckles.

It wasn’t easy. A grown man could punch himself tired before he could knock someone else down for good. Fighting was hard work. And—taking on five men?

Normen, at Level 28, in full armor, would not take on five men without levels if he had the choice. That wasn’t cowardice. That was the kind of thing that came from being that overconfident young man—until you saw someone being held down and stomped into the ground.

Taking on a group was the kind of thing a [Spearmaster] like Relc did. And he didn’t brag. Five Ghouls?

Five Ghouls might kill a Gold-rank adventurer if they got the drop on him. In fact, one of the men lifting boxes without a word—who hadn’t stopped and had shown up the moment he heard it was going to the people in need—grunted.

“No one can take on five Ghouls easily. They’re stronger than everyone thinks. Bronze-rank teams get cocky, pincushioning them from afar or taking them on together. Then one gets close and pulls the head off their [Warrior], armor and all. They’re strong.”

“Seen that happen?”

Menolit grimaced as the [Bowman] placed another box on top of the others. Halrac, Captain of Griffon Hunt, turned.

“Yes. And I’ve seen [Knight] corpses in caves filled by low-level monsters. No one should fight alone.”

He gave Normen a side-long glance, and the [Knight] ducked his head slightly.

“Just as you say, Mister Halrac. Do you have any advice for any recruits or this delivery, as it were?”

Halrac thought about it, then grunted.

“You’re going down snowy roads? That wagon better have good wheels. The hardest part might be getting to villages. My village of Windrest was…I know what a bad winter delivery is like. It won’t be [Bandits]. But it might be monsters. The hardest thing will be the cold. Make sure you don’t lose the road.”

Normen nodded slowly. He hesitated.

“Would you—be interested in helping deliver the goods, Captain Halrac? I know you’re working under contract—”

But having an expert like him would be a huge boon. Halrac hesitated one long second before shaking his head.

“I’m already committed. I can’t.”

“Of course, sir—”

The [Bowman] clarified.

“I’m running another delivery. The Unseen Empire has been doing the same thing as The Wandering Inn on a local scale. Emperor Godart is sending my group out. Durene, Beniar—we’re all going. Even Witch Alevica. If we finish our routes, we’ll come to the inn.”

“Oh. Oh. Thank you, sir.”

Halrac waved it off, embarrassed. He met Normen’s eyes again, and his gaze lingered on the door to the common room.

“Erin is doing a good thing. Just don’t die out there.”

Menolit joined in, smiling. He nodded to Normen, and the Drake was grunting as he lifted another box.

“Ancestors, what’s in here? Rocks? Oh. Potatoes. Miss Solstice is on the right track. And if she wants a [Knight]…if I was younger, I’d say I could take at least two Ghouls. In armor. With an enchanted blade. But that’s still probably one too many.”

He laughed ruefully and swept his neck-spines back as he straightened, rubbing at his back. Then he turned to Normen.

“If—if she’s looking for the best, I might not be the one. But this is the kind of thing I like. Is she worried about coin for the wagons and such? I can give some money from Liscor Hunted. Should I give it to Yelroan? The glasses-Gnoll?”

“I…that’s very generous, Mister Menolit. But you’re doing a lot already with your time.”

The [Veteran] looked embarrassed and waved this off.

“It’s not much. I make a small fortune with Liscor Hunted, you know. We have nearly a hundred [Hunters] running ‘tours’ every single week, even in the snow. In fact, we’re scouting other miserable places. The worse, the better. That’s our motto. Our clients love freezing their tails off because they can say they survived a real experience.”

“Really?”

Normen had heard of Liscor Hunted of course, but he wasn’t much of an outdoorsman, and he had only heard about Sir Relz and Noass nearly dying to a Rock Crab, which had popularized the entire thing. Menolit grinned, somewhat sadly, and looked at the inn again.

“Well, when Erin…passed…I had to do something because the inn was closed. I was sitting in bars, listening to a bunch of out-of-work bastards like me. [Hunters], you know. It’s a common class around Liscor with the Floodplains, but it’s not steady work, and the Rock Crabs and Shield Spiders make it dangerous. So I thought—‘why not give them a more profitable job’? This way, even if we don’t bag anything, we’re making coins. And then I hired more people, and now it’s a hundred folks with jobs. Two hundred by the spring.”

“Two hundred?”

Halrac was deeply impressed, and Menolit looked embarrassed.

“That’s an estimate. Don’t spread it around. It’s all Pallass and now Invrisil. The nobles want to feel like they’re in the wild, fighting like adventurers or [Hunters]. Of course, it’s hell on us because we have to be ready to drag them out of a Shield Spider nest or chase off a Rock Crab. No one’s died…yet. By the way, I could afford my own armor if Erin was willing to give me a shot.”

He turned anxiously to Normen.

“I think I could make a good difference. I really could. I’m not the best fighter, but I saw that Knight, Ser Solton, and that guy’s pushing close to fifty and not that fast with a sword. If he can do it…maybe I can be worthy of it. Do you think there’s a chance?”

Normen looked in Menolit’s eyes for a long moment, and the [Veteran] looked nervous and hungry like Normen. The [Knight] smiled and nodded.

“I’m sure, Mister Menolit, that if anyone had a shot, it was you.”

The Drake’s smile bloomed—and Normen bit his tongue on the first lie he’d ever told as a [Knight].

——

He went for a walk after that. It was disgraceful to abandon the job of loading boxes, but Normen had been told to save his energy.

And he had to go for a walk. Because he had met three prospective [Knights]…and none of them would do.

He would choose. He and Rabbiteater. Now, Normen dearly wished the other [Knight] were here. Because he had just realized that Menolit, Herove, and Roreh were not ready.

And Menolit might never be.

Was he crazy? He paced down the hill, stomping through the snow to the gates of Liscor. The [Guards] let him pass, asking about Erin’s crazy Santa initiative. They seemed supportive.

There was a crowd at the gates, preparing to head out. They were laughing, a bunch of Drakes with their odd helmets.

Oh, Yoldenites. Normen stood to one side, thinking. It seemed the Yoldenites had decided to return home, and they were chatting loudly.

“Yayde Re, what a fun city! Everyone got everything? We’re not leaving stuff behind? Everyone got your helmets?”

“Doine! I forgot my souvenirs! Wait, I need to buy something!”

“Buy one of them acid jars on the way out. No dawdling! We’ve got to get this to Big Wall so the settlers can head out! Alright, ten minutes and then we’re rolling, and anyone who’s left behind gets to walk! Let’s have a song!”

They began singing their anthem, somewhat to the chagrin of passersby, but the Yoldenites had a fanbase. Including at least one Antinium who joined in singing. Normen smiled mildly and thought they were hardy, tough Drakes.

If one of them had volunteered to be a [Knight] of Solstice…in fact, Major Voita strode over.

“Yayde Re, Mister Knight! Are you the fellow recruiting for that Order of Solstice? Can Drakes join?”

“Are you interested, Major Voita?”

The leader of the Yoldenites shrugged, and her insanely tough helmet moved slightly as snowflakes accumulated on top of it.

“Ah, meriden, it sounds fun. But I’m an officer, and…some of the lot here were interested, but it’s New Lands or the Order of Solstice here, and a big thing. They’d have to talk it over with the families—but if we come back, would we have a chance? We’ve got nice helmets, but not so good armor everywhere else.”

“If you come, I’m sure Erin Solstice…we’ll think it over seriously, Major Voita. Species doesn’t matter.”

Normen felt unsure, speaking for Erin, but he was sure she’d back him on everything. Voita’s eyes lit up.

“Even us Yoldenites?”

“You’re all Drakes. I, ah, just meant…”

But she smiled hugely at that, and some Yoldenites shouted.

“He gets it! Hey, that’s right! We’re all Drakes! Pallass’ folk ain’t so different from us! And Liscor’s practically like neighbors!”

Councilman Lism, who was seeing off the Yoldenites, had a sickly look at that, but Normen just smiled. He watched the Yoldenites preparing to set off.

Yes, it didn’t matter which species they were. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was…

Herove and Roreh were not ready. They were not ready for a fight. Normen didn’t think he was, but he knew it.

Erin was right. A Knight of Solstice had to be a good fighter. Maybe there was a…[Squire] or someone who could join the Order and train up, but Normen thought of trusting his back to those two on the road if a [Bandit] group attacked.

He felt it would get him and them killed, just like how the Brothers would die if they took untrusted new blood into a proper fight with hats off.

Not them. Not yet. Perhaps not ever, but not [Knights].

That was one thing. But why then did Menolit not fit? The Yoldenites set off, singing and laughing in their wagons, and a few people trailed out after them as they began to head home, the long way across the Floodplains down the Bloodfields and into the foothills.

The reason for no Menolit was simple: Normen had thought he fit until he heard what the Drake had said about employing so many people and being so…successful. Liscor Hunted was a fine organization.

In fact, Normen poked his head into the building that they operated from in the 3rd District of Liscor with all the new buildings going up. Well, many were already up, and the Human population was swelling even more than ever.

There were lines, even in the cold, and Menolit was at least as capable as Niers in forecasting weather.

“There’s a blizzard coming in! It’ll be hell—so we’re offering a 20% discount to anyone who wants a hunt today! We’re not holding your tails when it comes to sleeping bags and gear, though. You bring too little, you freeze. Note the fees on if we have to rescue you. Here’s a tip—you want cheap warming spells? A certain inn might have a soup.”

The group of merry Pallassians, Liscorians, and even some people from the north were chattering away as they treated this like…a game. Or rather, as a miserable challenge they were allowed to prepare for. You had noblemen and women, including even a [Lady] and her husband.

“Ooh, Thomast! Maybe it’s that soup! Let’s go to the inn and see.”

Lady Bethal Walchaís was the kind of woman who liked the idea of Liscor Hunted. She had signed up to ‘hunt twelve Shield Spiders’, like it was an Adventurer’s Guild. If she succeeded over the course of two days, in the middle of what sounded like a winter storm, camping outside, she’d get a trophy plaque as a commendation and an entry in Liscor Hunted’s registry.

Menolit had discovered that everyone loved trophies, so he’d done a system like the Adventurer’s Guild, but more fanciful. There were Bronze, Silver, and Gold-rank challenges where you could take on hard requests. ‘Gold’ was killing a Rock Crab. But there was also Platinum-level difficulty, and he was weighing adding more in.

The gamification of this entire company was highly cynical, and the guests were rich and doing this for fun with people to mind them and, often, armed with emergency potions and artifacts.

Chevalier Thomast looked resigned to his wife’s whimsy, but in her defense, Bethal Walchaís had actually prepared for this trip herself.

“We’ll go to the inn and see if Miss Erin has some soup to sell, Thomast. She might give us some even if there’s a queue. We are sending…how many [Knights] to those people? Magnolia’s coordinating it. Pryde, Wuvren, even Ieka is making moves.”

“We’re sending twenty-four [Knights], Bethal. Are you sure you won’t freeze in the cold?”

She shivered ostentatiously and clung to his arm.

“We will have to stay together for warmth, Thomast. Perhaps freezing side-by-side in a tent! Huddling together, naked, for warmth. Oh, how terrible.”

Normen was so embarrassed by the two that he turned away from the two guests—and inspected the company instead.

You might think that the staff of Liscor Hunted would be unhappy, catering to richer guests. But they seemed remarkably pleased. A Drake with a patchwork of scars over his face was pointing at them as he lectured some respectful guests.

“—Got this from fighting Shield Spiders, actually. Liscor’s 1st Army, 6th Company. Monster Limbs. You might think an army’d never struggle with them, but we had to clear out a nest of a thousand Shield Spiders sometimes. I was in the front rank. Don’t let them swarm you.”

Normen strode over as the Drake clapped the nervous Gnoll couple on the shoulder and laughed.

“Excuse me, sir. May I ask about the company?”

The Drake recognized Normen and grinned.

“Are you that [Knight] that Menolit can’t shut up about? You’d better not steal him. I’m Craus. [Veteran]. Liscor’s army.”

He looked interesting. Normen knew the type of former soldier that Craus was. But the Drake had an odd feel to him. He had definitely seen better days. He might be pushing sixty years old, and he had looked like time and poor living had worn him down.

But it seemed like something was pulling him back up. He had newer muscle that was bulging in recently bought clothing, and he’d groomed himself for today.

“What about?”

“Did Mister Menolit hire you for Liscor’s Hunted, perchance?”

Craus’ eyes lit up. He pointed to several other Drakes and Gnolls in uniform, many of whom had the military stance of men and women who had the training. And the scars.

“That’s exactly right. Nearly a third of the staff here are [Veterans] or people Menolit knew. Most of us older than him! Either we got out of the army or had to leave because of…politics. Or we’re just too beat up to keep fighting. Did that bastard tell you he dragged me out of my cups when he first started? I was about to take a walk off Liscor’s walls, and now I’m watching people jump into Shield Spider nests and getting paid for it!”

He laughed hugely and then pointed out a bunch of [Hunters] showing routes to people.

“And we have [Hunters] too. It’s a nicer job than hoping you can bag a Corusdeer, even if you pay to hunt around Celum from Miss Solstice’s doors. Now Menolit’s eying being a [Knight]? He keeps saying it’s what he should do. Once a soldier, always a soldier. I’ll vouch for him if you want.”

…But the Drake’s eyes were appraising Normen, and the younger man hesitated. He looked around Liscor Hunted, and his feeling that Menolit was not right for his Order grew into a certainty.

Look at this place. Former [Veterans]? [Hunters]? There was gold here—all the counters were glossy, and the fake medals, the hall of fame, and the scrying orbs replaying moments that had been broadcast on Wistram News Network—

This was a success. This reminded Normen of Erin’s inn. What the [Innkeeper] had helped Menolit do, the Drake had taken and replicated for hundreds.

Had Erin ever set foot in here? Did she know? If not, he should tell her to come here, and she would be as proud of this as she was of Garry. And that made Normen realize…

“I don’t think Mister Menolit’s right for the Order of Solstice, Mister Craus. I’ll tell him myself. He’s the right sort. He’s a good fellow. Too good.”

The Drake exhaled, and Normen was relieved that he took his meaning. Then Craus tightened his claws on Normen’s shoulder.

“It’s good you see that, Mister Human. Yeah. Yes. Thank you.”

Neither man was being cruel towards Menolit. It was just that when Norman weighed what the Drake had created with another member of the Order of Solstice…

Should Menolit abandon Liscor Hunted to become a [Knight]? No. No…it seemed to Normen that Menolit didn’t fit because he’d already found something fine to do. If he died fighting a monster in the back end of nowhere, what a loss for Liscor.

This was something for people who needed a purpose. It was a calling. It was…a chance. While it might hurt Menolit, Normen felt like the Drake was doing more good where he was.

This was his conclusion, and he would stand by it with Erin unless she had a better conclusion than he did. Normen looked south towards the inn, pacing back and forth in the cold snow. He sneezed; his armor was freezing already. He needed to ask for a cloak or something.

It looked like a storm was coming across the High Passes, billowing snow. Wonderful. And if it was coming this far, how much snow had it dumped already? He cursed the Winter Sprites under his breath. But nothing would deter him.

He had to go. But at least he wasn’t alone. Normen just cared whether or not he could make a difference.

——

The thing to remember was that the Order of Solstice’s challenge was not upon them alone. As Lyonette du Marquin had said to her daughter, The Wandering Inn was not equipped to deal with a crisis of this magnitude alone.

But—they wanted to be, and so they were joining a kind of competition. It was not actually a competition. It was…a unity of purpose that sometimes showed them they could do better.

From the City of Adventurers in Invrisil, more of Erin Solstice’s friends, acquaintances, and enemies she kept alive were moving.

The first was the Wind Runner of Reizmelt. People pointed up and waved as the Wind Runner of Reizmelt, the Courier, the Windy Girl of Ailendamus took flight.

She was bundled up like a sausage attached to her glider, and her bag of holding was loaded with as much as she could fit in. She would have to make dozens of trips, even so, to keep up with what a loaded wagon could accomplish.

But she would be able to arrive there fastest and, crucially, assess villages and prioritize them in order of need. The fastest of Erin’s friends was on the move.

Almost coincidentally—the frozen roads being buffeted by tremendous winds and snow churned up. Few people wanted to be out, but a column of riders plowed into the snow—

Then began running on top of it. That ridiculous sight—and the rider in front, pulling an entire carriage behind him—was a [Lord]. Unlike usually, though, his two boys were not in the back seat.

It was too cold and potentially too perilous for Sammial and Hethon to join in. Ullim had charge of them. But Jericha was riding behind Lord Tyrion Veltras as he followed Ryoka Griffin out of Invrisil.

She made a hand-gesture from above. She pointed right—then gave him a thumbs-up before turning her glider and peeling east. Tyrion Veltras raised one gauntleted hand. Then he sped up.

The carriage he was pulling was filled with necessities, and his entire escort had bags of holding they’d loaded full to capacity. There was no way Erin Solstice’s Order could match that in terms of mobility or storage.

Same with the carriage that the shivering [Butler] was pulling, also loaded up. Reynold was cursing the inferior vehicle, but Magnolia Reinhart had sent five more, each painted pink, and he had his own route.

“Veltras is on the move, Miss Bekia! And the Wind Runner!”

He shouted at another driver, the Gnoll [Maid]. Bekia glanced up at Ryoka Griffin.

“Hrr. Yes, and they flirt like children. Let them go ahead, and stop racing them, Reynold. Let’s hope we have enough flame spells for the roads if we hit a snowdrift. I miss the enchanted coach.”

Reynold sneezed into a gloved hand miserably.

“Me too. It could fly.”

Nevertheless, he looked after Lord Tyrion Veltras and had to think—whatever you made of Ryoka Griffin and his acquaintanceship, she might well be helping him change for the better. A younger man, better in tune with his sons and responsibilities, perhaps, rode at the head of his convoy.

What no one would have expected was the red hat with the poof ball tip on his head. Someone had even bullied him into wearing a white beard, which whipped in the breeze. Despite the man having had a goatee for decades—it was the stupidest looking piece of fake hair that Reynold had ever seen.

The [Butler] wondered if people would even recognize him as Tyrion Veltras in that getup. But thence the [Lord] of House Veltras rode. Doing deliveries like a Runner.

Levelling as a [Lord].

[Diligent Lord Level 29!]

[Skill – Unit: Snowcover Riders obtained!]

——

Not everyone saw this as a good thing. Tyrion Veltras’ passage on the scrying orb was not international news.

Wistram News Network had had enough of Santa and Christmas for now, and this was a local broadcast. A scrying orb reflected the Wind Runner, then focused on Lord Tyrion as best it could.

But the man could not be individually scried, and soon, the coverage was lost. The restaurant, Djinni’s Spoon, one of the most famous in Invrisil, flicked back to a more boring news coverage of King Fetohep roundly shaming a Dullahan city for not having adequate housing for transient individuals.

Thence, a lot of the diners lost interest and resumed dining. Yet one man’s eyes followed the scrying orb, as if he could still see Lord Tyrion.

“Of all the men to turn traitor and forget his enemies—I never expected it would be Lord Tyrion Veltras. But then, love makes fools of us all.”

Lord Xitegen of House Terland sat there, eating his third plate. He didn’t lick his plates, but he did use a finger to mop it clean.

That was somewhat horrific to dining sensibilities, but there were good [Lords] and bad ones…and he was paying for the food. Xitegen certainly had an appetite, and he weighed twice or maybe even three times what the woman sitting across from him did.

As if conscious of the difference between their sizes, the [Lord] wiped his hands with a handkerchief. His Golem servants produced the bit of enchanted cloth; he only had two, but they were deadly and capable.

He was a strange man. One of those [Lords] who didn’t tend to the spotlight. Son of one of the great Five Families, but until now, Capoinelia had never heard of him.

Capoinelia, a recurve bow hanging off her chair, was the model of a half-Elf. Her blonde hair shone almost as brightly as her armor, and she sat in the company of a famous team of adventurers.

But every eye was on the woman who sat across from Xitegen. Elia Arcsinger, the Named-rank adventurer. Slayer of the Goblin King.

She was far too important to be summoned by any mere [Lord], but to Capoinelia’s surprise, Xitegen had known her personally.

“You have not changed a day, Lady Arcsinger. Ah, apologies. There are two Arcsingers now. Adventurer Elia sounds so…informal, though.”

The [Lord] nodded at Capoinelia, who floundered for a response, but Elia replied with the barest hint of a smile.

“It is quite appropriate for a man who knew me before I was a Named-rank adventurer, Lord Xitegen. Does Lord Veltras have some quarrel with you?”

Elia Arcsinger had a very quiet voice to people who didn’t know her. Often, she let her teammates, like Toreel Branchwrath, the [Elfwood Ranger] from Gaiil-Drome and their acting strategist, do negotiations.

But Xitegen seemed to put her more at ease. Elia’s team, Arcsinger’s Bows, were made up of bow-users with heavy warriors to block their enemy off and a few [Mages] at any given time. At the moment, they were a team of nine, and they’d been hunting down monsters in the cold and waiting for all the funds from the Village of the Dead raid to come through.

And they’d been robbed of what they should have gotten, like the Helm of Fire! Capoinelia was still angry about that, but no one had been able to argue with Elia’s decision. Why had she let that half-Elf, Ceria Springwalker, make that deal, though? Even if they were the same species…

“Veltras? We’ve barely talked. He’s a single-minded man. I just never thought he’d ignore Goblins. Especially after he dealt with the Goblin Lord. He was there when the Goblin King attacked…ah, how old was I when we met? The Goblin King…eleven years ago almost to the day. So I was thirty-three. You needn’t say you remember me. I quite remember you, and the cheering, though.”

“You’ve—recovered since then.”

Elia managed, looking faintly awkward. And Xitegen laughed deep in his chest. He looked oddly mobile in his chair. Capoinelia expected a fat slob, but he wore an archer’s bracer—without the bow—and he was spritely enough to walk around the city on his own legs.

“I weighed less than you did when you finally broke the siege on Terland’s keep! Which reminds me, have you had your fill?”

Elia raised her glass and smiled faintly.

“My team…has been visiting the Djinni’s Spoon often. I am well set, thank you.”

She hadn’t had more than a single plate, but the wine had been flowing freely, and Xitegen shuddered.

“Only a Named-rank adventurer can claim to visit Invrisil’s finest restaurants on the daily. I patronize the Haven, and I will be feeling at my money pouch…well, for personal finances. Nevermind. I’m not House of El. To business. Lord Tyrion Veltras is not acting, but you, Arcsinger, are fortuitously here. Will you take my request? It has the backing of more than just myself and the gold to match.”

A Golem produced a slip of paper, and Elia leaned over and inspected it with Toreel. One look at his brows told Capoinelia it was a lucrative sum. Yet her mother was uncomfortable.

“What about…complications? This is not under Erin Solstice…the [Innkeeper]’s direct aegis, but I have been staying away from her inn for this very reason. And I understand there are physical defenses as well as a number of fairly high-level Goblins. These are all obstacles.”

Xitegen patted at his mouth. Not dismissively, but with a keen eye towards the golden bow that Elia carried. Awarded to her by the Five Families, no less, for her deeds. Her class was another example of her deed, as was her greatest Skill.

[Line-Ender Shot]. Xitegen met her eyes directly.

“I expect you of all women can shoot through them. You have our backing. The fee is to do what must be done. If the [Innkeeper] comes after you, or there are reprisals from Magnolia Reinhart or any other traitors…let them stand up and be told. Ignore the [Emperor], too. He might see all, but eyes are useless without the limbs to enforce will. Move fast once you cross his borders. Times are changing, but we must make a point—”

He stabbed at his plate and came up with a fried pawn.

“—of things. I, myself, just finished a screaming match with Aunt Ulva for two hours. You will have my backing in two days. Plenty of time to perform reconnaissance or prepare.”

“You were shouting at the head of House Terland? Why?”

Capoinelia was so fascinated by that she broke in. Her mother gave her a sharp look, which the younger half-Elf pretended not to notice. Xitegen didn’t take offense and smiled.

“Oh, it was mostly egos, Adventurer Capoinelia. You see, for the first time since the Goblin King’s invasion, Golems are leaving Terland lands on the coast. As if they can’t be brought back if the need arises. We have Golem Knights and Battle Golems aplenty to maintain Terland security. My aunt has a literal army surrounding her. I am just taking my own, personal Retainer-Golems south where they will be far more useful. Especially in case Lady Arcsinger needs…backup.”

He made that sound so casual, but then he swung his eyes to Elia.

“To prevent an attack on a good Named-rank adventurer. The deed is to be Arcsinger’s Bows alone. A fine distinction, but one I am sure you understand, Lady Arcsinger.”

That, at least, was politics the adventurers got. Nobles and influential people could not war openly. This was a step removed, a cold war by proxy. Ugly—but the mention of Golems made them feel better about any reprisals. Elia raised her brows, interested in Xitegen’s personal Golems.

“Are those the ones I remember seeing guarding Lady Ulva during the siege of First Landing? More like the ones you have?”

She eyed the bodyguards, and Xitegen hesitated.

“Ah. Yes and no. Retainer-Golems is just a term to refer to personal Golems allotted to each family member. You could say they’re akin to heirlooms. House Terland owns them all, and in theory, Lady Ulva could demand them, but she has no real reason. The ones I am referring to are the kind that went with Lord Veltras. In fact, that was dear Tovestin Iectore herself—the name of the Golem. Ulva was fine sending her to war, but I can’t even take her cousins with me without her chewing me out like her [Food Tasters] eat her dinner. That’s politics for you, and I needn’t bore you.”

Xitegen said this as if all of Arcsinger’s Bows weren’t listening and figuring out if they could sell or use this information. Being an adventurer at their level was all political. You could run around like a lesser team or sit, wait, make an alliance, and earn ten thousand gold pieces cheap.

In this case, they might stand to earn that for an easy contract. Elia ducked her head.

“You have a deal, Lord Xitegen. But we will need…to scope out the issue. Two days may be enough time.”

“Excellent. You needn’t kill all the Goblins. Just make a point. Leave no home for them, more importantly.”

Xitegen stood, and he checked a watch-like object on his wrist. Capoinelia’s sharp eyes saw it was a tiny scrying orb, embedded in expensive leather. The image of a moving Golem, one of the war-Golems, showed them marching over the roads, followed by a huge Golem with a gigantic bow. He smiled tightly at Elia.

“I will be waiting anxiously for your results. And don’t worry about Lady Reinhart, assuming she actually wants to back madness outright. The Circle of Thorns was a gathering of damned fools. Proper [Lords] and [Ladies] should have taken them to task a long time ago, but I have not strayed from First Landing until the Haven went south. Now—it’s time to turn our eyes back south and away from scrying orbs.”

He strode out of the restaurant, his Golems pausing only to settle the bill. Capoinelia sneered at his back.

“What a pompous pig.”

“Capoinelia, be silent. He’s more dangerous than he looks. And he survived the Goblin King.”

Elia patted at her lips and glanced at the table.

“I’ll have another glass of wine if Lord Xitegen is paying. We should have funds for…”

She gave Toreel a quick look, and he hesitated. The lion’s share of profits went to Elia, but she did pay for the entire team’s salary.

“Enough for at least a month in Invrisil. More than enough if we travel to another city.”

Angest, their [Battle Mage], leaned forwards excitedly.

“Invrisil is almost dried up. New Lands? Is Elia Arcsinger going to take the new lands of Izril by storm?”

He was a half-Elf from Wistram. Elia hesitated.

“Not unless the price is right. A month you said, Toreel? I suppose we had better get to work. Have the area scouted, and we’ll come up with a plan. It should be quick—or it will be political.”

He nodded.

“There’s a few people we might have to get out of the way. At least a few adventurers, but the Goblins aren’t that dangerous. It’s just getting to them and getting out.”

Elia nodded and relaxed. She lifted a hand for the waiter, and her team sat back, asking for more details, debating a plan of action—and her daughter was excited.

No one noticed Elia’s look of discontent. She had a very good poker face—but she glanced at the sum Xitegen had written down.

He knew she was expensive and this was political, so Xitegen had pooled the cost of this action among fellow noble members to pay for her services.

Fourteen thousand gold pieces, rounded into a nice, even number.

A month in Invrisil? Things cost far…Elia sighed. At least it was easy.

All she had to do was kill Goblins.

——

These were the changing days of Izril.

As Major Voita rode away with the singing Yoldenites, they paused only for a moment, nigh on a mile out of Liscor.

There, they had a diplomatic incident. Voita wasn’t aware of it—everyone was singing their anthem loudly.

“They’ll look high and then look low—

But we’re higher than you know—♬”

And laughing. The Yoldenites had quite enjoyed their time in Liscor, and they’d bought plenty of good steel and all the things they had on their shopping list, both for home and their journey to the New Lands.

This alliance with Liscor had turned out well, hadn’t it? The Antinium hadn’t been as horrifying as everyone said, and they’d put Big Wall on the map. Doine, but the other Drakes were a bit stuffy! And the [Innkeeper] was lots of fun.

Voita was looking forwards to speaking with the intimidating Commander Olesm and asking if he had a plan—the Hekkies wouldn’t be licking their wounds forever, and Yolden had more interests than just the war with them.

But someone came up to her.

“Hey, Lieutenant! We’ve got a problem.”

“It’s Major, now. What’s up, Mithm?”

One of the Drakes ignored her fancy rank and pointed over his shoulder.

“We’ve got a…tagalong. He won’t go. What’re we going to do?”

Voita slowed on her pony and looked back. She had to ride back through the singing wagons, and she heard voices as she neared the tail end of their convoy.

“Go back, go back!”

“He’s not going. Doine! Is it a he? Isn’t that the one who sings with us?”

There, trundling along behind them, was an Antinium. It was jogging to keep up, but it had a pack on its shoulders, and…the Antinium was singing along with the Yoldenites.

Voita recognized him, of course. It was the odd Ant who sang, one of them Workers. The Yoldenites had been taken by the singer, and so it had been funny to let the Antinium sing with them.

…But why was it following them?

“I think it wants to come with us, Major. Should we let it run with us until it gets bored?”

Voita hesitated. They’d gone a mile already, and the Antinium was keeping up. Unlike her amused friends—

“What if it actually follows us back to Big Wall?”

“Hah! That would be—bad?”

Some of the laughing Yoldenites stopped guffawing and took the suggestion seriously. The Antinium had never actually come to Big Wall, as it was not a strategic target during the Antinium Wars.

But every Drake knew the Walled Cities’ stance on Antinium, and in general, being an ally to Antinium was dangerous. Each town’s [Mayor] had actually debated hardest on joining Liscor because they might make enemies for being ant-lovers.

“We can’t have that. Someone might scry us and think we’re letting Ants form a Hive. Hey, you, go back! You lot, stop singing! Slow the roll! Slow the—”

Voita galloped up, and the Yoldenites stopped singing as they heard what the problem was. They slowed, and the Antinium looked up as Voita shouted at him.

“Go back to your city! We don’t want you! We can’t let you come with us!”

“Here, what’s his name?”

“I don’t know. We just called him ‘Singy’.”

They could hear ‘Singy’ still singing as he marched after them.

“♪ Yayde Re—keep a helmet on your head!”

He wasn’t even the best singer, but he had a passion to it that made you want to listen. And the class, Voita guessed. But what made her focus on him was…he had a little fluffy cap for the winter on his head.

Just like the Yoldenites. He might be the first Antinium to wear nothing but a helmet on his head. He was raising his mandibles and waving his arms.

“Speed up, everyone. Speed up. Hey, you Ant! Listen, you can’t come with us!”

But Singy just ran faster when he saw the wagons rolling. He didn’t even seem bothered by their apparent attempts to leave him. And when they shouted and pointed, dozens of Yoldenites now—

He just sang louder.

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand. It was that Singy didn’t want to go. Now, Voita was sweating. The Antinium Worker would die in the cold or to monsters, and she was not going to have that on her conscience—or relationship with Liscor.

“We could ride back to Liscor and tell them to take back their Ant.”

Voita looked over at one of her [Soldiers].

“That’s a good idea! Send a [Message]! The rest of you, keep telling him to go back.”

Now, the other Yoldenites were understanding the potential gravity of the situation. So they climbed up on the wagons, cupping their claws to their mouths and shouting.

“Go back! Get out of here!”

“Get lost you—you damned Ant!”

This time, Singy slowed. His raised mandibles lowered slightly, and Voita seized on it.

“That’s it! Keep shouting!”

He hesitated—then picked up speed. Running harder as the ponies now tried to leave him behind. Voita looked around for something else—then someone leaned over the wagons and picked something up.

“Here! Maybe this will make him figure it out!”

The first snowball missed the Worker by a mile, but he flinched. Then the other Yoldenites leaned over and, with their slings, whirled more snow at him.

“Go back! Go back!”

Snow hit the Worker, and he slowed, then tried to protect his face. And still, he kept running. Now, he wasn’t singing. But the Antinium shouted.

“Let me come! I’ll sing! I can clean! I want to come!”

I want to—Voita saw a few whirling slings slow, and it was barely a dozen throwing snow. One of the [Soldiers] glanced over.

“I thought they didn’t say ‘I’. I feel bad.”

“Shut up and throw snow!”

She packed snow into a sling and whirled a ball straight into Singy’s chest. Instantly, the Antinium fell over and landed on his back shell.

Voita hadn’t felt that bad in—the Yoldenites’ snowballs slowed, and a great silence fell over the convoy. The Antinium was flailing on his back—and he was crying out.

“Wait! Wait! I want to—”

“Lose him. I can see someone coming out of Liscor.”

Voita ordered, and the Yoldenites moved almost into a gallop, urging the poor ponies over the frozen road. A deep, disturbed quiet fell over them, not their usual singing. Someone muttered ahead of Voita as she rode, half-turned in the saddle.

“He wasn’t that bad. Never bit anyone’s face.”

“I feel bad.”

“Shh—”

Still, for a good long while, they could hear the little Antinium shouting and running after them. Tripping and falling—until they finally saw his people catch up. Voita couldn’t meet the eyes of the [Guards] who halted in the distance. She stared ahead.

Too ashamed to look back.

——

The Antinium changed too quickly to keep up. One of the things that changed about them, individually and as a whole, was their ability to be hurt.

It was easier when they were faceless bugs who bled green. Harder, far harder, to hear Singy crying.

“Wait. I want to go. I want to…”

He struggled, but the pair of Antinium [Soldiers] had his arms, and the [Guards]…the Drakes and Gnolls who’d ridden out with the Antinium they’d asked to help them looked uncomfortable. But if they were uncomfortable…

It had just been the nearest Antinium, not any actual chain of command. So the ones who’d come over were off-duty soldiers in Liscor’s 2nd army.

As coincidence had it, Antherr was there with the Beriad, who were holding Singy back as he tried to get free and hit them with his free hands, and so was Battalion Commander Embraim.

Antherr could not talk, but he could hand-sign, and the Beriad were telling Singy he couldn’t go with the Drakes. It was Embraim who gave orders.

“Drag him back to the inn. Do it gently.”

The Worker was sympathetic, but he was a [Soldier]. An officer, and the [Guard] gave him a salute that looked half-genuine.

“Thanks, uh, commander. Heck of a strange thing. Who’d want to go with the Yoldenites, anyways.”

“Right?”

The other Drake grinned uncomfortably. Embraim just inclined his head politely.

“It beats living in the Hive. But Singy can’t go. We will take it from here. Thank you. Beriad, halt!”

He snapped as four members of the Beriad began to head off after the Yoldenites. The four, including Antherr, turned reluctantly. The [Guards] raised a hand.

“The Yoldenites are out of here. No need to tell them we have it handled. We can send a [Message].”

Embraim pointed, and the Soldiers slowly walked back. He turned crisply in the falling snow to the [Guards].

“And challenging them to duels of honor would be a diplomatic incident. Even if they deserve it. I understand. Thank you, guardsfolk.”

“…Huh?”

One of the two Drakes looked blank, and the other hesitated, mouth open. But the Antinium began to move back to the inn. Singy was still crying.

Antherr’s hands were clenched. Embraim strode next to him and admonished him.

“You are [Crusaders] in 2nd Army, 6th Battalion. You do not pick fights off-duty. The 7th Hive might be independent from the Free Hive, but it is also a place of command.”

“I’ll punch them.”

Antherr signaled back. Embraim tilted his head. The leader of Glory Battalion spoke quietly.

“The law is the law, and we are soldiers. I would have to stop you with all my available soldiers if you tried.”

“I’ll punch you, too.”

“You’re hot-headed, Soldier. Go have a honeyed milk and rest.”

Embraim turned away, but Antherr was angry.

If this was the Great Plains, he was sure Theikha would have said something. He missed his voice. He still remembered fighting all of Zeres. 

He had half a mind to catch up with the Yoldenites and fight after all. But he was angrier at Embraim. He seized the Worker’s shoulder, signing furiously.

“You do not care because you do not see the honor lost. Singy is hurt. This is not fair—”

He was about to yank Embraim off his feet, and the two Antinium looked like they might start one of the first actual brawls between Antinium in history. A slim Antinium with two silver swords was watching them, hands on his hilts.

But they were ignoring him. And Embraim? He grabbed Antherr’s arm with a too-tight grip. And the [Immortal] saw a glow appear.

“I don’t care? Watch your misinformation, Antherr Twotwentyonethree Herodotus. Go back. Drink milk and be silent. Save it for when it matters.”

Then there was flame. Pink flame. Glorious flame. It sprang from Embraim’s grip and burned Antherr’s hand slightly. So even he felt it.

The [Immortal] let go. And stepped back. Embraim’s hand was aglow with flame. It burned in the Worker’s blank, multifaceted eyes. No pupils…but there was a being in that gaze that was so foreign to other species.

“Fighting will do you no good. Nor Liscor’s relationship with Yolden. If it did, I would lead a charge like we did against the Gargoyles and Eater Goats. Think about when to hit things. The Minotaur does.”

He strode past Antherr, almost close enough to bump shoulders. Then halted. Embraim turned, walked into Antherr hard enough to smack into him—stopped—turned again, and walked off.

“Hmph.”

The Beriad, Singy, and other Antinium under Embraim’s command all stared after the Battalion Commander and then Antherr. The silence was long and, somehow, ‘ugly’. Now, Antherr understood how silence could be a thing. The only voice that interrupted them was the idle, amused tones of Klbkch the Slayer.

He was chewing on a hamburger from the stalls, displaying his ability to eat gluten without issues. He sounded amused, and he had free time since he was no longer a Senior Guardsman.

“Once again, I am glad that Xrn and Pawn and others have taken the duties of managing the new Antinium. What a silly mess.”

He smirked with his mandibles, self-satisfied, nevermind the fact that he enjoyed telling stories from his past to the inn’s staff. He missed the pair of [Thieves] watching him from an indoor café.

But Klbkch didn’t miss Antherr, the Beriad, and even Singy all raising a middle finger to him. Then they walked off as one for some hot milk at The Wandering Inn.

Crusader 57’s methods were also catching on.

——

Normen didn’t see the Antinium’s anguish in its entirety. He had certainly seen the Yoldenites departing and noticed Singy running to catch up—but he wasn’t able to have a word with the poor fellow when he returned.

If he did, he would certainly have brought the Worker to the inn so Erin could have a word with him and perhaps lift his spirits.

Unfortunately, he was embroiled in a second fight. And this one had actually gone to the dirt.

Remember that conversation from earlier about young men overestimating their abilities in a fight? Nothing was as emblematic to Normen as the sight of another young man, slimmer, a Drake, getting the royal shit kicked out of him on the cold streets. Him and two buddies.

Every time one tried to get up, they got a boot to the chest or face. It was dirty fighting, and Captain Todi of Todi’s Elites was watching approvingly.

“Excellent form. Look at that shit. Did you see that tail stomp before she knocked him over? That’s how you fight Drakes.”

Of course, he was a master of dirty fighting, and so was Normen. The person doing the kicking was more like a talented amateur, but Normen had to haul her off the Drakes.

Her companions had been trying, but half had been inclined to let her continue. One, a Gnoll, eventually helped Normen yank the angry Gnoll off the Drakes.

“Gna. Gna! Enough! You’ll get yourself locked up—they’re allowed in Liscor. We’re technically at peace! They’re not even enlisted [Soldiers] anymore!”

The furious [Captain] had blood on her boots, and she rounded on Captain Wikir of 4th Company, Liscor’s soldiers.

“Peace? These bastards killed more of the Antinium in their cowardly attacks than anyone else! You recognized this one from Commander Olesm’s tent! He was the one with the Antinium they kidnapped, remember?”

“Yeah, well—so what?”

One of the other [Soldiers] was from 11th Company and backed up at Gna’s glower. The rest of 4th Company off-duty shifted, and Wikir lowered his voice.

“A [Soldier] of Liscor is a [Soldier]—but she’s right. Ease off, Gna.”

“Hectval turds.”

She spat one last time before a [Guardswoman] finally sauntered over.

“Alright, break it up, break it up. Thanks, Ser Knight. Serg—Captain Gna, you can’t start a fight with citizens of Hectval.”

“What about former [Soldiers]?”

Gna went for another final kick, but this time, Normen blocked her foot. She glared at him—but decided not to go for a man in armor. One of the other [Soldiers] who hadn’t served alongside the Antinium was whispering.

“We should thank them for getting the Ants. But our bugfriend here—”

“Shut up and get back to barracks.”

Wikir howled, and the voices stopped. Gna stomped off ahead of the others, and Normen caught his breath.

He hadn’t even had a chance to say hello. His friend from the Fellowship of the Inn looked—well, a bit unhappy. She had returned to her army, but it seemed like her class, or association with the Goblins and Antinium, had got out.

Even so, she was a fine example of the ability of someone who could actually back up a boast about taking on multiple comers at once. But as Todi had observed—Gna fought unfair.

“Ancestors damn this city! We never should have come!”

One of the angry Drakes was on their feet. They turned away from the rather unsympathetic [Guardswoman].

“This…this city is just as damned as everyone said. I’m going to Pallass. Damn Liscor. Damn home—look what we get for following you, Vess.”

“Wait—”

The Drake who’d gotten the worst of the fighting croaked, but the other two Drakes were already getting up and leaving him behind. He sat up, and the [Guardswoman] squatted down.

“Are you okay, sir? Can you focus on me? We may get you to a [Healer]’s if you need it. And I can write a report up and submit it for a potential fine. Though I will note your friend swung first.”

“She spat on us.”

“Mitigating factors, sir. I’ll have to run it through the Watch. Would you like to press charges?”

The [Guardswoman] was clearly unsympathetic to a Hectvallian…soldier? Normen had no idea who the kid was.

He was certainly a young Drake, but he looked woebegone and hadn’t put up much of a fight. Then again…Gna hadn’t let him pull out the wand at his belt.

“I’m okay. Am I going to get hit just for being from Hectval? I quit the army.”

“Maybe it’d be better not to bring that up, sir? Hectval must be at peace if you made the journey.”

The young Drake rubbed at his head.

“Liscor’s army lets civilians through. It’s not like we had any other choice but to go. It was north or south…and they cordoned the south roads. Hey, Mister Knight. Thank you.”

He turned to Normen with relief, and the [Knight] touched two fingers to his helmet.

“Not at all, sir. I think you didn’t deserve those last few kicks.”

Which implied he thought Vess deserved most of the other ones. The knowledge this was a Hectvallian [Soldier] made Normen regret his help—but only a bit. It wasn’t as if this was the Drake who’d shot Erin.

They were all dead.

“Why would you leave Hectval? Sir? Much less trust Liscor’s army for safe passage? Can we expect more of you pieces of—visitors?”

Vess gave the Drake [Guardswoman] an odd look. She was writing down notes for the Watch. He answered slowly.

“Why? Because the Alliance wanted to put me back on the front. Or in the army, at least. They’re drafting. This was the only way out. Not that everyone trusts Liscor to let them through, but I’ve been a prisoner before. In the war.”

“Another thing I would advise you not to say, sir. But thank you for cooperating with the Watch. Don’t fight Antinium in this city. Oh—and if you need a job, there are listings. We always need [Builders] and whatnot. Have a horrible day.”

The [Guardswoman] walked off, and Vess hung his head. He looked for his ‘friends’, but they had already stormed off.

“Wow. This was a mistake. Maybe I should have gone south. But then I’d be a [Conscript] in the front.”

He wiped at his bloody nostrils, and Normen felt compelled to extend an olive branch of mercy to him.

“Did you say you were a former soldier of Hectval?”

“Luldem, technically. But the Alliance is the Alliance…I quit. I’m definitely not fighting Liscor again.”

Vess shuddered. He stared at a group of Antinium in one of the Watch patrols who had come over to investigate reports of a fight and almost hid behind Normen. The [Knight]…thought that the Watch would stop him if he laid Vess out right there and then.

But that wouldn’t be the right thing to do. Normen distinctly recalled the Watch standing by when a few citizens wanted to teach him a lesson for trying to mug someone. He had deserved that—but that same lad had also become a [Knight], deserved or not.

What would Erin Solstice do? No…what would Ser Solstice do? 

“…Probably kick you in the nuts. Maybe that’s our signature style?”

Vess looked nervously at Normen muttering to himself. Before he could edge away, the [Knight] had him in a steely grip.

“Come with me, sir.”

“Wait! Wait, I don’t want any trouble! Please? I’m sorry! Don’t hit me! Don’t—”

——

Even when the bowl of soup was put in front of him, the Drake still flinched and expected someone to hit him.

Then again—Nanette did have Mrsha in a headlock, and the girl kept trying to swing on Vess’ legs. He was getting a huge glare from several guests, including Menolit, but Erin Solstice herself had okayed Normen’s choice.

“If anyone touches him—Tessa, punch them.”

“Okay.”

That stopped half the inn’s guests and made them reconsider. Lyonette threw up her hands.

“Honestly, Erin! He’s from Hectval!”

“Luldem, actually—”

Vess flinched, and Erin put her hands on her hips. She winced and felt at her front.

“My chest hurts, Lyonette. I know he’s from there. I’m not exactly thrilled, but Normen brought him in, and it’s a very honorable [Knight]-thing to do. Maybe Normen will level. Let’s focus on poor Singy. Oh, Normen, we’re almost ready to send you out. It’ll probably be as late as 3 PM when you get going, though. Hopefully you can find an inn along the way.”

“I could drive all night, Miss Solstice.”

She hesitated.

“It’s really snowy north of the passes. Even one of the Winter Sprites was warning us when Ryoka was leaving. You’re bound from Celum—we’ll try to get you somewhere close by for your first voyage.”

Normen straightened his back and nodded. Vess glanced up from blowing on the hot soup, looking blank, and Erin shook her head. Then she walked over to Singy.

In truth, Normen hadn’t known if Erin’s inn was the place to take Vess, but he’d gotten approval from an important source: the Thronebearers.

They looked approving, and the cost of a bowl of soup wasn’t that much. Erin had really been the person Normen was worried about, but as he went over to her to apologize, she confessed to him.

“Really, Normen. I’d rather let some kid from Hectval in the inn than Tyrion, so there’s that. He said he was a former [Soldier]?”

“He…might have killed some [Soldiers] from Liscor’s army, Miss Erin. Gna seemed to think so. I’m sorry. I can have him out as soon as he eats.”

Erin’s hands clenched, but she gently finished putting a candle in a cupcake for the sad Singy. She lit it with a little flame.

It shone blue with such sadness Normen looked away. A sad candle for a sad Antinium.

“It’s okay. He’s a kid, and [Soldiers] are soldiers. Is that heartless of me? Maybe it is, but I heard how badly Olesm slaughtered them. I have more pity for a [Soldier] under Tyrion Veltras than the man himself. And our wonderful allies, the Yoldenites, aren’t great. Here, Singy. Have a sad cupcake. Go ahead and cry. We’ll make sure you have a lovely place to sing. What about…what if you joined my inn’s staff? You can sing all day if you want.”

Singy almost refused the Garry-made cupcake, but he eventually took it and stared at the candle.

“I wanted to be a Yoldenite. Why did I have to be an Antinium?”

Poor lad. Normen rocked backwards on his feet and took a step back. Erin didn’t run, but Normen felt like he’d taken one to the jaw.

He’d heard that same sentiment before. Not in the same words, but that was why Erin Solstice was here. Now—Normen looked at Vess and felt it.

It was time to get out there and do something.

——

The inn was abuzz with regular business and normal guests. It had helped load up a wagon in Celum, and Halrac was warming up as a Gnoll pestered him.

“So do you want to team up? Jelaqua is getting married.”

“…She’s what?”

Halrac stabbed himself in the cheek, and Lehra Ruinstrider blew out her cheeks.

“She’s getting married. Engaged. Whatever. So her team is, like, kapoof. And Shriekblade is loyal to the inn. I went to Invrisil, but Elia said she’s only interested in searching for the Crossroads or the City of Stars if I know exactly where it is. And she wants thousands of gold pieces each month. I can’t afford it! But your team is good. How about it?”

“I’m committed to the Unseen Empire for a period. Speaking of which…I have to go soon. We have a delivery. Apologies, Captain Lehra.”

“Aw!”

The Gnoll sank her chin onto the table. She looked at Suxhel, Elgrinna, and Emper and called out after Halrac.

“—But I need help. We can’t do this alone. We’re not ready to go solo as a team. Not yet.”

Stargazer’s Promise looked up, and the Named-rank Gnoll seemed to have come to a kind of conclusion. They weren’t ready to take on another Dragial or Erin’s quest. She needed allies. The problem was—the only willing volunteers were Mrsha the Wizardly and Nanette the Witch.

Lehra ignored the duo posing next to her table and stared hopefully at Shriekblade. But Tessa didn’t move for anyone. Just like Saliss—she had her own priorities.

In fact, even Erin Solstice couldn’t get her to run Santa deliveries. They’d had a short conversation, and the Named-rank adventurer had refused.

“I don’t want to. I’m not good at guarding things. I get lost. I kill things.”

“You don’t…want to help people, Tessa? Please? I know we don’t really pay you, but the Faerie Flowers—”

“Don’t take the flowers.”

The scarred Drake with black scales had snapped at Erin. Then—she quivered as she sat in a chair across from Erin in the [Innkeeper]’s rooms. Tessa spoke, slowly, with an edge to her voice.

“I’ll—protect the inn. Okay? Deal? I don’t want to be sent on missions.”

“I totally get it. I’m sorry. Are you…doing okay? Do you want to have another chat?”

“I don’t want to talk about my past. I’m fine. I’ll be guarding, okay?”

Tessa vanished, and Erin’s eyes traced someone going out the open door.

“Okay. But I want to speak with you at least tomorrow, Tessa. Don’t hide. And—let me know if you’re doing bad, okay? I wasn’t going to take the flowers away either way.”

Her greatest, unseen protector was her least-controllable asset. Which would be fine and dandy normally. In truth, Tessa could see doing whatever Erin wanted. She was free of her worries. She had been completely, utterly cured by the Faerie Flowers.

No more…pain. No more blankness. She felt again, and she had begun wanting things. She had begun eating more and enjoying sleep.

So what had provoked this sudden change in mood? It was unexpected. Unforeseen.

A letter. And the letter would have never been sent if it weren’t for the actions of one Goblin. But more specifically—Archmage Valeterisa.

You see, the Archmage of Izril, who was working on her transportation service, was starting up a number of endeavors. One she was offering and hoping to make widespread was—

Valeterisa’s Restoration Services. She and Montressa were trialing the spell for now, and since only Valeterisa could cast it and it took a considerable amount of mana, they were working out how to use it. But word was spreading.

That was a slow, slow shift in the way healing worked, and it would always be limited by magical power and access. But the immediate, real-time effect was that a certain Healer of Tenbault had returned to her city and realized a few things.

1. Magnolia Reinhart did not have her back. She had been kidnapped once. It could happen again.

2. Her security, even the famous Crowdcaller Merdon, was not enough.

3. She might soon be facing competition from multiple sides, especially if that spell was leaked.

The word on the streets was that the Healer of Tenbault was accepting twice as many people per day, but prices had also gone up. She had also been reaching out to her most lucrative clients.

One of them was Shriekblade.

In truth, Erin Solstice didn’t know much about Tessa, who refused to really share a lot about herself other than how she had killed her myriad foes. Nor did Erin know about Healer Hekusha, who, ironically, was a small part of Erin’s return to life. Rags had only mentioned her as being ‘underwhelming’.

But if Erin wanted to get a good idea of Hekusha’s entire personality and character, the letter that Tessa had finally opened would explain everything, from the Drake’s mood to who the Healer was.

Here was what it read. It was a simple letter and attachment, a literal attachment.

Dear Adventurer Tessa,

It is I, Hekusha, the Healer of Tenbault. I hope you have been keeping well in (Salazsar). I have been recuperating from my abduction, but I am pleased to let you know that I am offering my services half off for such a valuable customer.

I know you have been saving up for my services. By all means, come over to Tenbault, and we can discuss regular treatments even if you cannot afford the entire service constantly. I know how much you struggle, Tessa. But my magic is capable of curing all your woes.

In fact, I have even prepared a few of the recreational substances you like to partake in after being healed. My spells can undo any damage or addiction. Consider this a reminder that I am always waiting for you with open doors.

No matter how many times you fall, I will heal you.

—Healer Hekusha.

The pouch of powder was the kind of stuff that Palt refused to sell. Tessa had debated throwing it in the fire or, more responsibly, hurling it into a monster den for the last week. But she couldn’t…do it.

The reddish powder was called Selphid’s Dust, which mimicked a Selphid’s Rampage in many ways. It could ruin you, but it was also so effective—she had been thinking of it. Constantly.

The flowers had cured her. What would it feel like now? She had to throw it away. But the Drake’s claws were shaking, and she—

She barely noticed the [Knight], and the [Innkeeper]’s concern with her was split between the woes of Izril. Tessa hid in a corner of the inn’s common room and rocked back and forth, trying not to re-read the letter.

——

Sometimes you could distill things in the world down to good and evil.

At least, Normen liked to believe so. What Erin Solstice wanted to do was good. As simply as he could define it. If he could have read that letter Tessa clutched in one claw—he and Erin would have agreed some things, some people deserved a crusade on their doorstep.

But he wasn’t at the inn. He was freezing in Celum, and an anxious girl was offering him a second cloak.

“T-thank you, Mrsha.”

Dame Ushar was inspecting the wagon critically as she eyed Normen’s armor situation.

“We should get your armor lined with fur or something warm, Ser Normen. For now—you’ll have blankets, and let’s get you two cloaks. Miss Solstice has a [Driver], and it won’t do either of you good to freeze in the winter.”

“No, Miss Knight, it won’t! And I’m pleased to run a delivery for Miss Solstice! Just a shame the big rollers couldn’t do it for you.”

The [Driver] was a cheerful fellow, but he was no Termin or even a Rhaldon. He sneezed into his gloves as two horses waited, pawing at the ground.

Termin wasn’t able to do the delivery? What a shock!

Mrsha held up a card, and the [Driver] blinked at it.

“Right? Termin’s almost always everywhere, but I guess he’s getting old. And Chaoisa the Contempt of Man herself is rolling elsewhere. Good thing, maybe. She’s fast and tough enough for a blizzard, but she might kick your [Knight] into the snow.”

We can do this ourselves. Right, Normen?

Mrsha’s faith in Normen was boundless. But the cold [Knight] just looked at the road and bowed to the [Driver].

“It’s all Driver Zanze, Miss Mrsha. I’m just here to see things go well and fight. I feel rather useless.”

“Ah, you’re the man I need if we run into bandits. It’s an honor to do this for the Order of Solstice. Hey, can I get a knighthood if I do a hundred deliveries?”

Normen didn’t laugh at the joke, but he was ready for the journey. It would be two days from Celum—an ‘easy’ delivery. The village of Rheirgest was one of the first letters that Erin had read. The girl had asked for wheat or Yellats, even, for her Christmas present.

Erin would send her food—and she had hand-wrapped one cake on top of the rest. Mrsha was busying herself, checking the loaded crates and Chest of Holding.

“Miss Mrsha, don’t fuss around the wagon. And no hiding. I can’t take you with me or Lyonette will ride after you herself.‘

Mrsha sighed gustily, but nodded. Zanze nodded as he shivered again.

“The road’s not fit for a girl, even one with fur, little Miss. Dead gods! I need to step inside the inn a bit, Mister Normen, and get another layer and something hot in me. Look at that blizzard!”

He pointed ahead, and it was blowing over Celum. Normen eyed the snow, which blocked out the sun to the south. It was sweeping over the landscape, and all he saw was snow. The road leading east was only visible as a lower section of snow. There weren’t even wagon tracks.

“What’s causing a blizzard now?”

The [Driver] dropped down as a few more boxes were shoved onto the wagons. The gates were practically empty, waiting for them to leave. There was only one other wagon being loaded up.

“I don’t know. I’ve heard the Mage’s Guild claiming someone’s casting weather magic and throwing a blizzard across the region. Bastards. I hope they get lightning bolted. Who wants snow? Maybe it’s the same bastards who’re causing trouble around here. As if Celum needs more, after the Bloodfeast Raids.”

Mrsha and Normen looked up. Mrsha wrote furiously.

There’s more trouble? Like what?

“Graveyards being plundered. It happened last month—maybe some [Necromancers] are about. Celum ran off a bunch of figures, and now they’re hiding somewhere around here. But there are undead and Snow Golems on the roads.”

“Wonderful. Rogue [Necromancers].”

Normen muttered. Mrsha nodded—then held up a paw.

Wait, do any of them sniff? Are any of them cool, redeemable characters?

“Sniff? I’ll let you know if I find any, Miss Mrsha. I’ll be back, Ser Normen, and get another few blankets for the road.”

Shivering, Zanze ran for Erin’s door. He was a faster [Driver] than some, but he didn’t have weather Skills, and the two horses looked miserably cold. Normen was shivering in his armor, and Mrsha glanced around.

Who’s the other wagon?

“I don’t know. Perhaps Miss Solstice wants to send out Runner Herove and a few others of the Order of Solstice? I think we only planned one wagon—but we’ll need to run dozens, even with help.”

This was why completing this first delivery was crucial. Normen stamped his feet, and Mrsha gave him a solemn look.

Well, I wish you best, Normen. And to give you luck—I present you with my finished work of art! Tada!

She held something up, and Normen accepted…

A lantern.

It was one of the simple ones from the kitchen. Unlike the ones that Erin used with her depression fire to chill food, this one was filled with a tiny bit of warmth. He blinked and recognized the ember from this morning.

“Is this for me, Miss Mrsha?”

The little ember was providing a bit of warmth, and despite the cold, it wasn’t going out. The [Emberbearer] puffed out her chest.

[Lasting Ember]. Along with [Hold Ember] and [Increased Warmth: Ember], the Level 2 [Emberbearer]’s class really wasn’t that much of anything, nor had she used it markedly.

I was going to take it with me, but you should have it. It will keep you warm in any cold!

The wind blew harder, and Normen nearly froze his hand off despite the lantern. Mrsha shivered.

“—It’ll keep you slightly warm! It may be a welcome distraction as you freeze! Good luck!“

She hopped off the wagon, then hesitated. Mrsha stared solemnly up at Normen, then wrote a note and handed it to him.

You’re a brave, good [Knight] doing a good thing. Like Santa. I hope you bring everyone lots of food.

Touched, he smiled at her and then found a place on the wagon for the little ember-lantern near the front.

“And you are a little heroine, Miss Mrsha. Take care of the inn for me.”

She saluted him. And a little bee buzzed out the door standing in the snow.

Apista nearly froze her wings off in the first second, and the yowling cat, Reagen, leapt onto the cold street and tried to run back the way he’d come.

Both smacked into the door that Liska had closed so she could make more transfers. Reagen rolled in the snow, then sat up. Snow covered his orange fur, and he gave Mrsha, Apista, and Normen a look.

As if to say—it’s so cold. Why did I do that?

The [Druid], [Knight], and Ashfire Bee gave him a blank look in return. But Normen realized, to his increasing envy as he shivered with his arms folded, that Reagen was even warmer than Mrsha with her own coat of fur.

“Is t-that a sweater? Miss Mrsha, can you get me another cloak please? Even the one Zanze is going to get might not be enough.”

The orange tawny cat was wearing a sweater! A tiny cat-sweater, and he even had mittens on his paws! The knitted vest of green even had a cap to match.

So did Apista! Mrsha did a double-take as the bee landed on the wagon to inspect the ember.

Nice flame.

She gave Normen her own salute with an antenna, and she had the tiniest red wool vest on.

“Who’s knitting coats for pets?”

The answer came as someone opened the door to Liscor and grabbed both Apista and Reagen.

“You silly pets. It is too cold for you. Oh, poor horses. I wish I had a big knitted scarf for both. But I am only a low-level [Knitter].”

There he was. The monster, the evilest member of the Free Antinium himself. Beloved by pets, even more than their owners! Like Numbtongue, who tried to reach for Reagen and got a swat on his hand!

Furfur! And he had knitting Skills? Mrsha raced inside for Normen’s jacket. Numbtongue kissed Reagen, and the cat reached for Furfur as Apista buzzed into his arms.

“I’m almost ready to go, Mister Numbtongue. Can you ask Erin to send us off? Or else we might freeze for waiting.”

“Will do. Come on, Reagen. We have hot chocolate.”

Numbtongue towed the yowling cat back inside, and Furfur vanished with Apista, who realized she was not going to be Apisdolph, the red-flaming Ashfire Bee on Santa’s sleigh.

——

One man showed up as Normen was waiting, and he was a reminder.

A reminder that there were good folk and bad. Ser Solton of the Order of Haegris came striding down the street and did a double-take.

“Ser Normen? Are you about deliveries yourself? I’m afraid you’ll find little to buy up in Celum. It’s Invrisil or bust. Damn. I’ll have to go from there. Excuse me! We’re going to need to go from Invrisil.”

The wagon driver in the other wagon groaned and hopped down. Solton halted, and Normen glanced at him in surprise.

“I thought you were going back to Terandria, Ser Solton.”

The Haggle-Knight grimaced.

“I was. But I heard parts of Izril were in desperate times, and a conference with the Order determined I have a mandate here. I am aware the Five Families are rendering aid, and so is Miss Solstice? Of course she is. I’d expect no less from a woman who could found a Knight-Order. Intention springs from words spoken truly. I can’t do much, but I will be running deliveries from Invrisil. As many as I can.”

“By yourself?”

The [Knight] grimaced and shivered, despite the thick jacket he was wearing over his armor. His rosy cheeks and slightly balding pate under his armor—and own hat—had a serious look despite the frost clinging to his mustache. How long had he been out for that to appear?

He was in his forties, and he put Normen to shame. All Normen had done was wander about thinking about his Order while, apparently, Solton had been sourcing everything that Erin and her entire inn had found all day.

“I know the business, Ser Normen. I wish we’d pooled resources now I see you ready to go. You have food aplenty? Damn. My [Squire] would have truly helped if she were here. Young people can run about while I’ve lost a step. But not all my steps!”

“Maybe we could let you run a delivery. Pallass is supplying some of the food and goods.”

Solton hesitated and wiped snow from his mustache.

“Is it? Good on the Drakes, but that’s a bit political. I tell you what, if I can’t find anyone willing to sell me enough to load up a wagon, why don’t I take you up on the offer? Are you leaving now?”

Normen cast a glance around, and his [Driver] and Erin weren’t ready yet. She might be talking to Niers Astoragon, in which case he waited.

“I think I have at least thirty minutes…”

“Thirty will do! Follow me, and let me show you a Haggle-Knight at work, Ser Normen. You may benefit from this if you need to source anything for these missions of dire need.”

——

It was his first real lesson from Ser Solton. Normen told Mrsha that he was in Invrisil as she rushed back with a cloak, and so she insisted on following them.

In fact, so did Nanette. The endlessly curious little witch and Mrsha came into Invrisil and almost got away with it—but Ser Sest charged out the door just before it closed.

“Miss Mrsha, you can’t run off like that! Why, Ser Solton! What are you doing here?”

They caught him up as Solton marched into the marketplace and found the first likely [Grocer] with enough food to load his wagon up. He chose a large [Stockpiler] who seemed to have a vast inventory.

“I have a storehouse, Ser Knight. It’s a long winter, and I’m prepared to make a small fortune holding onto my goods. I could fill your wagon, but I’ve had offers for the New Lands expeditions as well as everyone else. Then again, for a [Knight]…I could sell you a bag of potatoes at four silver.”

“Bastard.”

Normen thought he’d said that under his breath as a rather self-satisfied man with too-long fingers rubbed his hands together, smiling at Ser Solton’s blank face. Four silver on a bag of potatoes? Even assuming winter prices, it was probably double what you could demand at most.

And to look at the size of the warehouse he’d pointed out, the man probably had ten thousand bags of potatoes alone.

As evidenced by every part of his personality, Normen was a polite young man—who had a temper fit to punch a bull out when he was roused to it. Most Brothers did. He had the urge to pull a Crimshaw—and haul the other man up by the lapels and threaten to turn his nose into a single nostril.

But that was not knightly. However, Sest’s careful study of his nails showed he was not impressed by the price-gouging either.

“But Master Realday, you must understand this is a mission of mercy.”

“I could do…three silvers and two coppers.”

“Creler-kissing goldtoad.”

The muttered insult was too quiet for Stockpiler Realday to hear, but it turned out to be Nanette. Mrsha looked very approving, and the two began roundly insulting the man behind his back.

However, Sest made sure the man couldn’t hear, for fear of fouling Solton’s sale. The [Knight] was looking right and left, sighing, his helmet off his head.

“How many [Merchants] might have enough to spare that you know, Master Realday…?”

The man gave Solton an unpleasant smile.

“Unfortunately, most of my competitors have sold a lot of their stocks. It’s a seller’s market, Knight Solton. By all means, come back once you’ve inquired around. We can haggle, but that’s where the price starts.”

“I could do one silver coin per bag, Master Realday. One—and consider each bag a life potentially saved.”

Solton wasn’t even really haggling but making an appeal to Realday’s heart. Which was looking like it was more and more of an unrealistic expectation by the way Master Realday laughed in his face.

“I think you don’t have a grasp of the market, Sir Knight. Come back later. And the Merchant’s Guild themselves would say I’m offering a realistic price.”

The streets of Invrisil, at least, were more crowded, despite the snow coming down. All the people in the packed City of Adventurers generated enough body heat to at least turn the ground to a treacherous slush. Solton looked around, but his armor and class had no respect in Realday’s eyes.

Solton slowly put his helmet back on his head.

“Not even for the children, Master Realday?”

“Business, Sir Knight. And I have customers. Excuse me—”

Realday strode off, or tried to. But Solton raised his voice as he slowly walked over to Realday’s store.

“Not even for starving children,Master Realday? I know I, a poor Knight of Haegris of Terandria, cannot offer much. But please—you cannot offer your food for starving people of Izril?”

His voice rose—and Normen, who had been considering letting go of Mrsha so she could punch Realday, looked up. Master Realday turned around.

“I’m—I’m sorry, Sir Knight, but my prices are my prices. Thank you for asking, but…”

He backed up to his store, looking annoyed and startled by Ser Solton’s voice. But the [Knight] was suddenly leaning, leaning against a wall as if he were having a heart-attack. He clutched at his chest, then looked up as some people turned, and his voice was even louder than before.

“Minarthe village will not last a week without provisions. And I see you have a bounty but none to sell me, Master Realday?”

“I said I would sell you, Sir Knight.”

“At four silver coins a bag of potatoes! I fear I cannot afford it!”

Ser Solton raised the bag of potatoes up as people looked around, and Normen frowned. The bag was half-empty. He glanced down—and Mrsha and Nannette were hiding potatoes behind their backs with sudden, huge grins. That tiny bag of potatoes at—four silver coins?

“That’s not a full bag of—”

The passersby were looking around, and some were asking what was up. Solton glanced around. Then he got down onto the street and, to Realday’s growing horror, put his head on the ground as he got down on hands and knees.

“Master Realday, I am on my knees, begging you for some charity! I realize it is difficult, but just—just enough that the children might make it.”

His voice wobbled, and Realday realized he was at the center of attention. Starving children—Nanette stomped on Mrsha’s foot so hard and pinched herself so that both girls burst into tears. The witch was entirely approving, and so was the little Gnoll girl.

After all—this was the same thing Erin Solstice knew so well. Only—Solton was a master of his own methods. In fact, he had more than just style.

[Virtuous Shame].

People were gathering in real time as Realday protested that he was just offering the prices he could afford! He could go down to two silver coins and a half, but—

Then Solton leapt to his feet.

“Ser Normen, hold me back—hold me back—you cannot. My class impels me to—stand to, Watchmen! Stand back, good folk! Whether I am locked away for this or not, I must do it!”

He threw off Normen’s hands, then drew his sword. Master Realday was suddenly backing away as Ser Solton aimed his sword at him.

“Wh-what are you doing? Someone, help! He’s gone mad!”

“Sir Knight, what are you doing?”

The Watch had arrived, but they were watching as Solton turned, like an [Actor] on the stage. Normen saw the twinkle, and his mouth was open.

With admiration. With respect. With…a question.

Was this what being a [Knight] was? Ser Sest looked horrified—but Solton clearly had no problem with anything he said, and his eyes glimmered like truth stones.

“Watchmen, I pray you, hold back until I am done, then I will let myself languish in jail. But I see no other way. For the starving folk—I must offer you, Master Realday, a challenge to a duel. I will give you a sword if I must, but I can see no other way to get food to those good people. En garde! For the honor of Terandria and the Order of Haegris, I will see them fed or this winter be my last!”

He advanced a few steps, and Master Realday looked around. Even the Watch seemed inclined to have Solton’s back, and the people were pointing to his shop and whispering about his prices. Four silver coins to a [Knight] for half a bag of potatoes? For a starving village?

His reputation and personal wellbeing were on the line. In a moment like this, when a [Stockpiler] was sweating and everyone was staring…

A wagonload of potatoes and food wasn’t that much, was it? Why, it was even half-price. Beyond a fair price! And then Ser Solton was hugging the man and lifting him up, extolling his virtues for the street to see. People threw Master Realday up and down like a hero and applauded him so much he found he had more to give.

That was how a Haggle-Knight worked. Solton walked over to Normen and clapped the stunned [Knight] on the shoulder.

“I’faith, Ser Normen, I could have probably paid six silver to the bag, but I would not be able to afford the next village. Some battles must be fought with words in civilized streets. That is what the Order of Haegris believes.”

“It was amazing to see, Ser Solton.”

“Yes, well, it works best when we’re not well-known and our tactics are unheard of. Though we will literally hire folks to harangue miserly hoarders day and night. There is a fine line between bullying and virtuous need. I’m off. You have your delivery to make. Let us meet again—but take a care to bundle up, Ser Normen. The snows pile high.”

Then he was off, riding on his own wagon into the snowdrifts and blizzard coming down, and Normen practically ran to his wagon where Zanze was waiting. Nevermind the cold. And Erin Solstice had a hot bowl of Corusdeer Soup for him.

“Sorry! I was making it up, Normen. This’ll have you for six hours! After that—bundle up. Do you feel [Knight]-like yet?”

She looked at him as the wagons began to roll, and Normen looked around.

“Not always, Miss Solstice. But I’m beginning to believe I could actually be one.”

She laughed—and waved him off as he watched the sun setting fast. They’d have to ride day and night to get there, and it might be best to wait till dawn—but they were upon great urgency.

“Go forth, Knight of Solstice!”

She cheered him, and Normen smiled. He lifted a hand, spirits rising.

Then the cold winds began to blow and blow.

And the snow rose higher.

——

Normen had never seen the wilds of Izril in its bare harshness before. He was a lad who’d bounced from city to city, town to village, scrapping in back alleys and claiming land without a flag.

He’d seen the road more than most folks, and he thought that Izril was settled. Certainly, it was no frontier—the wildest parts were just lands not fully settled. The High Passes, parts of the Vale Forest, the Ogres in the hills, but he would have laughed if you said that parts of Izril could be as wild as the New Lands.

The Great Plains, he might have said, were the most unsettled parts of Izril, because the Gnolls had kept it that way. But what the lad of Izril forgot was that he had never really gone far from settlements.

He had not stayed on those open roads during storms. He had never, really, seen a storm tearing a paved road to pieces, like white fangs sinking into flesh and flaying it to the quick. He had never heard a howl in the distance and stood with a fire at his back and a flaming torch in the other hand, watching glassy eyes stalk through shadows.

Today, Normen saw a winter storm without a roof to shelter him. It was the kind of thing only adventurers and [Drivers] regularly saw.

“Rhir’s hells! It’s coming down like a torrent! Ser Knight, we might have to turn back!”

Barely an hour from Celum, Zanze began to look alarmed. He was staring at the roads that the horses were trotting down—and it was getting hard to see them. The [Driver] was navigating via old wooden signposts stuck to the side of the road, which told you where it was supposed to be.

A bullseye lantern hung from the front of the wagon, swinging, as the man shivered with a blanket and a cloak over his two jackets, sweater, and thick wool shirt.

Shivered—Normen was feeling the cold, too.

Despite the Corusdeer Soup? If anything, that was the only thing keeping him from frostbite. He was realizing, for the first time, that Erin Solstice had made a mistake with some of her magical food.

She had been so concerned with getting it to a palatable, portable state that she had never actually needed to up the intensity of the effects. Few of her friends had ever needed to brave more than the snow in lighter armor.

——

The temperatures that a worried Kevin was measuring back at the inn had started well below 0º Celsius. He was guessing from memory…it was below -20º already, and wind chill was making it worse.

And it was going to get colder when the night came on.

Kevin was shivering to hell with the Corusdeer Soup active, and he was realizing that Normen would be in trouble. But he was trying to calculate how cold it was.

“Does no one have a thermometer?”

“That’s one of the things they don’t have. Can you calculate how cold it is, Kevin?”

He almost snapped at Ryoka, who had run two deliveries before the cold had forced her back to the inn. It was dangerous to fly in darkness too.

“I don’t know! Maybe if we put a cup of water at, like—one hundred degrees Fahrenheit out and did a calculation of how fast it froze? Do you know the math on that?”

Yelroan’s head rose as Ryoka shrugged helplessly.

“How would you even calculate that?”

Both turned to look at Yelroan as the math Gnoll got to his feet. A challenge at last?

Erin was busy banging away in the kitchens, trying to upgrade her Corusdeer Soup in a hurry. She was telling Calescent, audibly, to put something hot in there. But first—Kevin grimaced.

“Is it Celsius or Fahrenheit?”

Ryoka hesitated and scratched at her head.

“It’s probably Fahrenheit. They use American measurements. Except where it’s really stupid.”

“Oh? I thought everything was imperial. What don’t they use…?”

“Ounces.”

“Huh. So they don’t use it here like we do in the good old USA? So [Alchemists] and [Mages] use…”

“Grams.”

Kevin thought about that.

“Yeah, that makes sense. Ounces? Isn’t it a weight and a volume? But then—Yelroan. Do things ever get above a hundred degrees?”

The [Mathematician] was edging closer with a notepad, and Kevin was searching his laptop for information on how to calculate…cold via observation like how fast water freezes. Yelroan raised his brows.

Fascinating. Their unit-system diverged from Ryoka and Kevin’s in one area? It sounded like that was because it got confusing with the same unit being used for multiple purposes. But then the burning question neither Ryoka nor Kevin seemed to ask was—

Who had decided ounces were stupid? More crucially, who had known grams were the standard unit of measurement since…the earliest known writing?

Questions. But he answered Kevin, trying to remember all the salient facts on temperature.

“I don’t often hear people measuring how hot it is, other than expletives. But there are a few [Mages] who have unit-systems. [Alchemists] definitely use them. I think things get above two hundred degrees when they…boil?”

Kevin and Ryoka nodded instantly.

“Fahrenheit. Okay, so how cold is it in that, Kevin?”

He did some rough math and sneezed.

“Below 0º Fahrenheit—and it’s getting colder. I hope Normen’s okay.”

——

Thirty minutes later, they were out of Corusdeer Soup.

It wasn’t an accident. Normen swung himself down from the wagons and realized the horses were freezing.

Their coats were frosting over, and they had slowed, despite Zanze’s Skills. The [Driver] swore as he jumped down.

“It’s the snow!”

It was already up to their ankles and piling up higher. And this was the road. It was making the poor horses even colder, and Normen realized they were beginning to shiver.

He didn’t even know horses got that cold. Zanze felt at one worriedly.

“Damn. They’re too cold for this! I even got a covering for them, and they’re freezing beneath it.”

“Could we give them—Erin’s soup?”

The [Driver] blinked at Normen, then the two were rushing to get the Corusdeer Soup out. The horses barely wanted to have any, but once they felt the warming effect, they were drinking it fast as could be.

That got them moving, but now, Normen saw Zanze looking over his shoulder.

“Can we get to a rest stop, Driver Zanze?”

“Ye-es…it’ll be six hours away. There’s a waystation that’s good for it. But Ser Knight, we might want to turn around and do this in the morning!”

Normen considered it, but then he thought of that letter. How long ago had it been sent? How long…could people starve?

Would he wait a day or two and then arrive and find…

“If you think we can make it to the waystation at least, we go!”

He put a hand on Zanze’s shoulder, and the [Driver] shivered. But he was urging the horses forwards.

“Onwards!”

——

The sun was already gone. The blizzard was getting worse, and now, Normen and Zanze were howling insults at the [Mages] who had called this blizzard.

“It’s like the hurricane! This is magic in the air making the storm worse! Damn them! Damn the Winter Sprites! We have to turn around, Ser Normen!”

“Are we closer to the waystation or Celum?”

The [Knight] still thought they could make it, but now Zanze’s head was swinging back and forth, and the [Knight]’s hand on his shoulder was doing nothing to reassure him.

“Ser Normen—”

“There are children starving out there, Zanze.”

Normen tried to use Ser Solton’s tactic, but the [Driver] was trying to urge the horses around.

“We’ll never make it to them today! Even Termin and Chaoisa would think twice about this drive! Normen, I’m losing sight of the road!”

Then Normen caught the real note of panic in his voice and looked around. The wooden markers that Zanze was staring at…

They were beginning to be buried in snow. And each one was around six feet high.

These were not the Lantern Lands or a place with powerful lights to keep travellers on the straight and narrow. This was a poorer road, branching from Celum outwards. And the blizzard was so bad—

——

Salkis barely made it to the gathering point. When she arrived, she was freezing, despite the Corusdeer Soup. She’d given herself plenty of leeway too, and the horse rushed into the stables.

She arrived to find less than a third of the Bloodfeast Raiders had arrived, and there was a row brewing between the rest.

“How many of you cast weather spells? Six? Eight? I told you we had a [Mage] on it!”

One of the senior Bloodfeast Raiders was shouting at some of the ‘young’ [Raiders]. Their fearless leader was sitting next to a fire, and he just turned and motioned Salkis over.

She approached apprehensively, and another [Raider] shivering by the fire drew a sword.

“You caused this storm? We nearly crashed out of the damned skies! That flying carpet froze under us! If Siroi hadn’t landed us in a snowdrift—”

A fight began in earnest, and Salkis nearly jumped into it—but the [Bandit Lord], Korizan Reeles, lifted a hand.

“Let them fight. Salkis. You have some explaining to do.”

“I found out a lot, boss. And I didn’t reveal anything. It was all just me—”

“Lady Salkis, flashing around her daggers in the middle of a Drake-Gnoll war. Fighting with Goblins and the Titan.”

His voice was flat, and Salkis couldn’t keep her claws from touching the daggers hidden on her arms. But the [Bandit Lord] didn’t move from warming his hands at the fire.

“Stop flinching. You vanishing draws too much attention. Discipline? That’s another matter. Do you have anything to give us other than a story of how much fun you had? Because the Raiders have been cooped up all winter with The Wandering Inn causing trouble for us. And this raid is delayed until at least tomorrow, possibly until the storm breaks.”

His tone was warning. Salkis was sweating because discipline was almost as bad as being hunted as a traitor. She had been on the giving end of it—and so she tugged something out of her bag of holding far too quickly.

“I—I have this. It’s huge, a big discovery. You know the Wind Runner and her sword?”

“If you stole that—”

A note of actual anger entered the [Bandit Lord]’s voice—until he saw what Salkis was holding. The Drake grinned nervously, but with some confidence.

“Better. Remember when we ran into her at Celum? Take a look at this, boss. We didn’t pay much attention to it since it didn’t work, and I couldn’t unlock it for the longest time. But I found…”

A glow shone brighter than the firelight as the leader of the Bloodfeast Raiders motioned his subordinates back. Then he glanced over.

“Get Salkis a seat and something to eat. It sounds like she’s a beloved member of the pack after all. Tell everyone else to hunker down and get to us tomorrow. I’m not rescuing anyone in this cold.”

——

By the time night was fully struck, even Tyrion Veltras had decided to wait until morning. Only fools abounded on the road.

Or desperate [Knights] trying to reach people. Now, Normen was relieved about one thing.

I’m glad we didn’t send the others on this mission and tested me first. 

Also—

Is Ser Solton alright?

He was on Invrisil’s roads, and it might be better that far north. It had better be. Because right now, he and Zanze were fleeing for the waystation as fast as they could.

Not Celum, incidentally.

The road was gone. The snow was piling up six feet high, and the horses were fighting through the drifts. Zanze had broken out an emergency wand, and he was shooting [Flame Jet] spells ahead at the snow to help break it up and warm them.

Zanze had calculated they were actually closer to the waystation than they would be to Celum if they turned around. But faced with a cold waystation where they’d have to start a fire and Celum…

There were two reasons they had gone on ahead. One was because they had a guiding light forward, not back.

“Hurry, you idiots! ‘Tis only ten miles ahead!”

“Ten miles, she says!”

The green faerie was shouting at Zanze and Normen. Both men were too cold to wonder how Shaestrel had found them, but the faerie was taking them to safety.

The entire event was being watched by a young woman in a wheelchair. Erin Solstice, via the [World’s Eye Theatre], was seeing their journey. Even her voice was—

Fragmented. As if the magical storm were interfering with her. Her image would…glitch, fade out, or twist in an unsettling manner. Normen was deeply unnerved by it, but Erin had described the effect like a bad piece of technology from her world. She was shouting, cupping her hands to her mouth.

“…Normen! Are you going to make it? Ryoka can’t fly—sending reinforcements?”

“You’ll never make it down the road! We’ll wait in the waystation, Miss Solstice! We’re fine!”

Normen shouted back.

“—maybe!”

That was hopefully a reference to the reinforcements. Not their wellbeing. But as Normen turned back—he saw something that made him wish he had asked for reinforcements. The horses sloughed on faster, blowing desperate clouds of steam in the cold. Because they had seen what was behind them.

“They’re coming! Stay back! —mn it!”

Erin rolled over, shaking her fist, and Normen glanced over his shoulder. The [Innkeeper] made the advancing figures hesitate…but they had figured out she was just an illusion a while back.

What a cowardly thing for a [Knight] to flee from. All his big talk about fighting men and being worried if he could battle monsters. And here he was, running from a threat that even Bronze-rank adventurers could tackle.

…But there were hundreds of them. They were marching, dragging lumpen bodies out of the snow. No neat, cylindrical forms, these. One had an arm as wide as Normen’s torso and used it to propel a misshapen face of stone and icicle teeth forwards. It had no unearthly glow to its eyes like undead—that was the worst part.

It was just snow.

Snow Golems. The naturally spawning Golems were out in force, and Normen and Zanze had run straight into an army of them.

“Faster, faster, you two! That lot will kill us! Dead gods, they’ll bury us and let us suffocate or freeze, whichever comes first! They’re not supposed to be able to catch us! They’re slow!”

Zanze’s eyes were showing their whites with terror. It was true that even an army of Snow Golems would be easy to outrun unless they were huge—but in this blizzard, they were catching up.

Erin Solstice appeared after ten minutes. She had vanished and come back—Normen hadn’t noticed. He was holding the Demas Metal mace in hand, and he had taken his shield off his back.

He was so cold. The Corusdeer Soup was losing a bit of power or it was getting even colder.

“Normen! Keep going straight!”

“What? What about the waystation?”

“…gone! Snow Golems…survivors!”

Survivors? Dead? Alive? Erin flickered out, and Normen couldn’t ask for more clarification. Then he looked ahead—and saw more figures emerging through the blizzard. Slowly, he stood up in the wagon as it slowed, and Zanze’s mouth opened wide with horror. The [Knight] looked around. He hefted that mace.

He thought there were at least two hundred of them.

“Wh-what do we do, Normen?”

The [Driver] looked around. Normen replied slowly.

“Keep to the road. It’s the only road we can take. Keep going—I’ll fight any of the ones who reach us.”

He didn’t move. Not yet. Normen just sat back down, tensed. His head felt too light. He needed a hat. Now he was looking ahead and behind, holding his mace in hand. It might be more costly a weapon than he knew, but it was heavy. The shield gleamed, and his armor had caught a covering of snowflakes across it, as if he were half snow himself. He just waited—as the first figures tried to catch up to the wagon.

Normen leapt off the wagon and into the snow eight minutes later. He brought down the mace on a lumpy head and smashed into snow and ice. Then he realized he was practically mired in the snow. Zanze pointed the wand, and flames struck a Snow Golem as the horses screamed.

——

Hindsight. Hindsight was a wonderful thing.

In hindsight, the wagons were a stupid idea. You should have paid for a team. Twenty, thirty with shovels, flame spells, to clear the roads, and [Winter Guides].

A shame all these people were heading south. But they were needed here. Hindsight.

It shouldn’t be a single [Knight] on the road. The Wind Runner, Tyrion Veltras, and Magnolia Reinhart knew how to deliver goods across Izril. Perhaps you had to leave it to them, high-level people with artifacts aplenty.

Arrogance killed. And they were an arrogant lot, [Knights]. They thought they could do what was needed. Virtue and arrogance…just like haggling. There was a fine line between being the man saving coins so he could spend it elsewhere, where it was needed, and a bully using altruism to steal from someone else.

Ser Solton thought of these things as his wagon slowed and his [Driver] slumped. The [Knight] leapt into the driver’s seat and felt for the man’s…he looked up and shoved the man aside, urging the horses onwards.

The blizzard wasn’t so bad, here. But he was facing something worse. Arrogance. Hubris…the horses screamed and ran faster.

The [Driver] was grasping for his hand, and Solton reached for a healing potion—and looked over his shoulder. Glowing eyes in the darkness. He tried to uncork the bottle with one hand, then smashed it and let the liquid trickle down onto the [Driver]’s chest. Behind him—more arrows flew.

Poor shots. But—Solton counted. He saw sixteen glowing pairs of eyes and wondered how they had sprung forth. They were not—normal undead, either.

Frostmarrow Skeletons. They looked like they were made of ice, and they were in pursuit. He could lose the archers, perhaps. But the [Knight] stared back and saw the horseman, the grinning skull and pale blue ice head turning his way.

A skeleton rider lifted a sword, and Solton urged the horses onwards. Then he let the [Driver] grasp the reins and went for his shortbow. Undead in the cold.

The Haegris Knight said nothing as he nocked the first arrow, knowing how hard it would be to slow a skeleton with a bow. He feared he might never get to tell Normen what a fool he felt like.

——

But if you had to go—Normen shouldn’t have gone alone. He should have had…the horses were not able to move in the snow.

They collapsed when they reached the waystation. Just collapsed—and Normen and Zanze had to haul them indoors.

“They’re coming. We have to barricade the entrance.”

“With what?”

The waystation had already been breached. There were two holes in the walls where the Snow Golems had fought through.

Normen had heard of zombies doing this, but—the Golems? He was panting, wild-eyed, and sweat was freezing on his skin.

He thought he’d killed nine golems. Nine, after nearly forty minutes of fighting.

A poor record for a Brother who knew how to kill—but only a blow to the head that destroyed the truesnow would kill them. And they were tough. He was literally trying to bash through solid snow and ice.

However, his armor had saved him. Twice, they had tried to bury him in snow, literally falling on him because their blows hadn’t done more than make him stumble.

Suffocating in the snow was a bad way to die. What had really equalized the battle was the fact that Normen was unable to move fast in the snow—and the fact that he was so cold. His arm was frozen, and they should have kept moving.

Erin had been right. The waystation was breached. The warm, safe walls were letting the wind through. But the horses just collapsed onto their sides.

“They might have frostnip. They can’t move. We need a fire…”

“Golems are coming. You get the fire started.”

The waystation was a mess! It was dark, tables overturned, and Normen saw tangled bedsheets and a frozen mess on the ground. Zanze was swearing.

“This is supposed to be in good order!”

Waystations were a haven for travellers just like them. This one hadn’t been kept up. It was the duty of travellers to at least make sure the waystation was in as good a position as they had left it.

However, this one had been a mess before the Golems broke in.

The beds were all used, and to look at it—Zanze was howling curses.

“They’ve been chopping up the walls for firewood! That’s why the Golems broke through! Half the floorboards here—if I find who did this, I’ll kill them.”

Normen said nothing. At least the lack of bodies proved whomever had been here had made it out. At least, he hoped they were alive and not frozen or buried under the snow. If he had known where they were…

Right now, they needed to live through this themselves. Normen was wrestling a bedframe up—and he heaved it across one opening just before a snow-covered hand tried to grab him. The Golem began smashing against the wood barricade. Zanze hauled more frames against the other.

The stupid Snow Golems were less intelligent than undead. That was a mercy; when they reached the waystation, most just began hammering on the walls or trying to climb up with no success.

“I’ll start the fire.”

“Do that.”

Normen was walking over to the door. Zanze looked up, eyes wide.

“Wh—put that back! What are you doing?”

Normen was lifting the doorbar. The [Knight] turned at the door.

“They’ll get in sooner or later. There was a fight here, Erin said.”

He hadn’t seen her since her warning about the waystation. Either her [World’s Eye Theatre] was out of power—or the storm was so bad that even her Skill couldn’t get through. Either way—he was glad.

He didn’t want her to see this. The Brother lifted the doorbar and swung the door open. The Snow Golems were so stupid they didn’t even realize the door was an entry point.

Cold snow blew over him, and the [Knight] turned, wearing his Demas Metal armor.

“I’ll distract them. Get the fire started.”

——

The [Innkeeper] wasn’t sitting still. But her friends had physically kept her from going to Celum. She…could only wait. She had placed her pieces poorly.

Her [Knight] was fighting alone for a moment.

Hundreds of pawns surrounding him on a white board of falling snow. Black skies. And only the burning in his chest.

He begrudged her nothing. He had always known he would be alone.

Normen knew he was a poor [Knight] in deed and composure. He had no elegance to him, he was not a thoughtful man.

He was not the best fighter.

His mace bounced off a ‘helmet’ of frozen ice. The snarling man grabbed a shoulder as teeth of frozen ice tried to bite through his wrist. He steadied himself—swung.

[A Heavy Blow].

This time, the mace cracked a skull. Like brains, the truesnow fell out and melted. He had done that to a head. Felt the life leave a man as he looked in those eyes and saw someone die.

This was better. This was just snow. Normen stepped back and shouted.

“Who’s next?”

His helmet felt warm. The only thing about him that felt warm. He was freezing, and it seemed like there were shapes everywhere. Lurching towards him.

It felt like Erin’s voice was speaking to him. He heard it, in between his labored breaths. Normen lifted the Demas Metal mace up, and his arm burned already.

“Old ways knew times when all that there was were memories. Shattered thrones. Dark skies and no kingdoms.”

He whirled, in the darkness, as one of them threw something at him. A snowball? It was two feet wide, and ice and rocks struck him, nearly sending him over. He lifted the mace, snarling—

——

No kicks worked on them. They barely felt his off-hand, punching and elbowing them. But he was a Brother.

[Brutal Headbutt].

His helmet made one reel. Every time he struck their truesnow center—or the mana crystals, their ‘hearts’ in their bodies—they suffered. Normen was shouting.

“Zanze! Can you ride?”

The [Driver] was throwing pieces of flaming wood from a window. The man looked out at Normen.

“Ride?”

“To the village!”

“The—”

A blow from the back. But Normen was used to unchivalrous blows. They tried to drag him down, three small ones at his waist. He brought an elbow down on one’s head, planted a thumb into another’s eye, and gouged out snow.

He was still thinking of the village. Rheirgest. They had to reach…

“A [Knight] is an idea. It is honor and duty and valor. It is a calling and a responsibility.”

Why was he wasting time here? He was cold. Beyond cold. But the [Knight] was still moving.

Normen was getting…

Angrier. It bubbled in him, the same rage that Crimshaw knew. Every Brother’s fire that took his hat off. But this was a purer thing.

At last, I have a cause. And I will—damn—you all before I stop—

This wasn’t for gold. Normen hammered his mace down on a shoulder, punched a frozen face. Twenty-one. So many more. This wasn’t for honor.

If only he had the strength to do more. He felt at his helmet, but he wasn’t angry. His hat held little wrath. Just…the burning desire not to fall. Then Normen tried to raise his arm, and it was harder than he could ever remember.

He was getting colder.

——

Zanze pulled him inside, and his wand was spent as it spat flames into the retreating Snow Golems. They flailed, afraid of the flame and the torch—but advanced as soon as they realized the flames were gone.

Normen was barely moving. His armor was covered with snow, and Zanze dropped him next to the sputtering fire.

“C-cold magic. They’re snuffing the flames. I’m trying to…”

He ignored the hammering on the walls and a hand of bent deadwood trying to push the barricades aside. Normen lay there as Zanze bent over the fireplace and blew, blew as hard as he could, adding more tinder and trying to rescue the flames.

Magic had its own law. Nevermind the cold—the Snow Golems’ presence was literally nullifying the ability for fire to burn.

So that was why the last travellers had fled the waystation. They had clearly put up a fight, but the presence of so many Snow Golems had forced them out. Cold had done what the Snow Golems themselves could not.

They’d fought for a long time by the look of it. No corpses. But lots of frozen footprints. Even what looked like gashes on the windows from claws. Gnolls?

Normen was so cold.

He tried to sit up and lift the mace. He’d begun swinging it two-handed, because he had run out of strength for the shield. But his fingers were physically incapable of gripping properly. He rolled close to the fire—the wagon’s goods were spilled over.

“Eat something.”

Zanze had plundered some of the food meant for the village, and he shoved a burnt Yellat at Normen. The man tried to eat. He wished it scalded his mouth. So cold…

Then the fire winked out. The [Driver] blew—and then saw smoke rising. He spoke as a horse shifted and whinnied in the silence.

“Too many Golems. The fire’s out. We might have a chance if they don’t break in, but we’ll freeze. If we take the horses—we might ride out. They’ll freeze before we do, but we could get ahead of the Golems. That’s what the last group did, I bet.”

Sacrifice the horses? Normen tried to push himself up.

“…The wagon will never get to the village without the horses, Zanze.”

The [Driver] turned. He had a terrible look on his face Normen knew, but he actually grinned. His hair was laced with ice, brown, and his eyes were a flint-and-violet mix.

“You’re really something, Ser Normen. You know—I took this delivery despite the danger because I wanted to help that Order of Solstice. I’m glad it weren’t for show.”

“Never.”

The two men looked at each other, then Zanze nodded towards the pounding on the door.

“Those idiots found out we have a front door. But the back sounds like not many are around it.”

“Could you take both horses out? If I distract them—I need a few minutes. To warm. Maybe you can leave, circle back.”

It’s a cold night. Normen had no idea what time it was, but even all the fighting he had done—he doubted two hours had passed.

Was it only ten at night? It’d be eight hours until dawn. Eight hours in freezing cold for Zanze and the horses.

But this waystation was getting colder—and it was a deathtrap. Zanze looked out the window.

“I can try. But they’ll be all over you, and there’s no way you’ll make it out without a horse—”

“Both need to be alive. Bring them back for the wagon come day. Miss Solstice will send someone.”

Yes, that was it. Normen was shivering so badly now—he looked around.

The Order of Solstice was more than one [Knight]. It wouldn’t end with him.

This was just the beginning.

“I need you…to do something for me, Zanze.”

“What?”

“Tie my mace to my hands. I can’t hold it right.”

Freezing. Numb. He was reaching for that righteous feeling, but Normen…he realized the Snow Golems were freezing them to death. He had to get out there and make an opening.

Both men stumbled over to the wagon’s contents, fumbling around for…for linen. Zanze wasn’t saying anything.

“I think…I should stay, Ser Normen. I won’t last eight hours. Nor will the poor animals.”

“…Maybe.”

He wanted to lie down. Ah, Miss Solstice. What would she say? How would she look?

She’d weep for him, and he wanted to…was there paper for a note? He wished she’d return so he could tell her to her face that it wasn’t her fault. This was his for not being ready.

She needed better warriors after all. She’d blame herself. Normen muttered.

“Every Brother will take my place, Miss Erin. Don’t you worry. Don’t you fret. I didn’t say it to you, not yet, but I wanted to recruit from them. They’ll be your [Knights]. They want to believe they’re good men. And you can make it true.”

Normen almost began to hum. He stopped himself—then decided he still was a Brother. He was also a [Knight]. It was no good, pretending he was one or the other or neither.

“The night’s been long and the bodies are wet,

But don’t you fret; be quick and ain’t not a guard who’ll be upset…”

He just wished he were warm before he went out. Normen had heard a man got warm before the end…and he feared this was it.

Because his freezing hands suddenly felt warm again. Just the slightest bit in the eternal frost around him. The dark waystation…Zanze’s quiet mumbling to the horses, trying to get them up so they’d have a chance on their hooves—

He even thought he saw light. Then Normen realized he wasn’t hallucinating. His fingers closed as he slowly lifted something out of the wagon’s contents.

“How…?”

A little something was still burning in the cold night. It was…

A lantern. A tiny, faded ember was still glowing in its wooden cage. It was Mrsha’s ember. Normen’s hands closed over it, and he felt his frozen skin warm ever-so-slightly.

“What’s that light? How—?”

Zanze turned and saw Normen holding the lantern in his hand. The [Knight] slowly turned, and he thought of the little Gnoll offering it to him. He saw her—and wondered who had written that letter to Erin Solstice.

Dear Santa,

Please send my village food this winter.

The words sounded loud as thunder in his ears. The [Knight] slowly lifted the lantern up and began to clip it to his belt. But it was warm—so he held it with his off-hand as he lifted the mace.

“It’s a sign, Zanze. Are you a good man?”

The [Driver] was shivering, but it felt like just the sight of that little light was warming the two. He was lifting a crude club, a [Driver]’s last resort, in his hands.

“I…who calls themselves a good man, Normen?”

He looked at the [Knight] and was about to say only Normen could claim that. Then he saw the delighted smile on Normen’s face. The Knight of Solstice turned to the door.

“Exactly. I’m sorry for putting you in this spot, Zanze. But there’s always a chance. We’ll fight here. And I’ll let you in on a secret: no man gets to know if he was a good fellow.”

He turned his head, and his ordinary, brown eyes seemed to gleam with the light of that little ember, a different color. Like a [Witch]’s hat.

“…but we can know if it was a good death.”

Zanze’s shivering grew terribly strong—then stopped. He smiled—and Normen lifted the latch of the door. He invited winter inside. He shouted, a roar, and the lantern glowed in the night. And he could hear her.

“I ask if you are willing to be a guardian of those in need. A protector of the small.”

They came in, frozen bodies shuffling forwards, seeking to drown out the disturbance to their icy homes. Two men, two animals.

But it was hard. One of the men had a light that refused to go out. It seemed like he was trying to warm this world with passion alone.

Water ran across Demas Metal as he broke ice with that mace. It coated his armor, clinging to the magical Demas Metal.

But it was just water. Extra weight, and he had no idea how the metal was supposed to work. The [Knight] stumbled as a blow struck his helmet, and he almost fell until a [Driver] tackled a Snow Golem, swinging his club into its side.

Even the horses were on their feet, kicking and biting and screaming. The waystation was so cold.

Everyone outside it was freezing. The fled travellers—the road—

You couldn’t even find the waystation in the covered snow, even if you were trying. The lantern’s light was dying.

But the [Knight] got back up and kept fighting. He was hugging the lantern close, now, swinging the mace around in the darkness. Shouting Zanze’s name.

He didn’t want it to go out. He wanted to die in the light.

It was from the inn. It reminded him of…the [Innkeeper]. A little ember. And he knew it came from the same woman who had set him on this great path.

She had magical flame. They burned like memories. Erin Solstice had so many flames. He had seen them as she died. The painful blue, glorious pink. There were more that he had never seen, reflected in her smile.

I was so happy.

It brought him up off his knees. It gave him the strength to heave hundreds of pounds of ice off his back. He had held her hand.

The flames had touched his hand. Just like a little Gnoll—

He had never stopped burning. He just couldn’t see that flame.

The little lantern was lying on its side. The ember was almost out, and even the prayers of the little [Emberbearer] did nothing. It had no fuel. But the reaching hand of the [Knight] touched the little ember in its case at last, clutched it in his hand.

At last, the dying ember found something to burn.

——

A flame rose in the shadows. Zanze was lying on the ground—and he thought he was hallucinating. He was so cold he’d just fallen over. Normen was down…the horses were backed into a corner.

The ember was out, he’d thought. What was that…flame?

It was green. It was the color of a blade of grass in spring. It was a ripe apple, hanging sour upon a tree branch.

It was the bright color of flame. It was…erin green, the color ‘erin’ and the name. And it was more than a color.

The flame burned like the idea of honor. An uncertain glow that was lost, almost extinguished at times. Other moments—it was so clear and vibrant that only the man who held it couldn’t see it.

Normen’s head slowly rose as the flames made the Snow Golem trying to smother him recoil. It tried to smash the flame, and it covered his hand.

Even magic could die. But then something unexpected happened. The flames…spread.

They were burning brighter. They had a fuel that defied the ember or mere wood. They were burning—

On the [Knight]. Normen’s armor, the azure metal, was glowing. It caught the flames.

Demas Metal. The flames began spreading over the armor, as if Normen were a piece of wood being consumed by the fire of honor.

[Like Fire, Memory]. But the man was not being consumed by this flame. He slowly rose, and he felt…

Warmer. Now, his armor was aglow, burning from helmet to breastplate with green flames. When his mace rose—it was a torch of honor. The Demas Metal was alight with flame.

He was so warm that Zanze crawled towards him. And a bit of fire—caught—on the [Driver]’s hand. He didn’t even care that it burned.

It was more painful than glory, hotter than sadness’ blue flame. But it was so warm.

——

Then a flaming [Knight] was on his feet. The Snow Golems, fearless of his wrath and armor and weapon—they were backing away from the flame.

One swung an arm of dead branches at his face, and he parried it. He had his shield—and the sparks of green rose as he blocked the branch. The Golem retreated, trying to lurch backwards—

He buried the mace in its head, and the snow melted. Normen lifted the mace and glanced around.

“Flames.”

It was doing something to his eyes. He was burning hot—but the flames weren’t immolating him. They were…they made him feel alive.

As alive as when he threw his hat down for the right cause. To defend what mattered. Normen saw Zanze was rising—then the [Knight] looked down and saw the ember, which had all but died, on the floor.

Green flames were growing from the floorboards. Normen had an idea. He slowly put his mace to one of the walls. The waystation, made of wood and stone—began to burn.

The flame of honor cared nothing for whether the wood was wet. It only required its true fuel. And Normen…he was gratified to learn he had an abundance.

But the flames were doing more than just warming him up and coating his armor in a flame. The fearful Snow Golems attacked, trying to drown out the heat and light before it could spread.

They came at him like a swarm, and the [Knight] bearing flames, the green knight—swung his mace. But he was staring out into the distance.

His eyes!

He thought he could see something. As if—the flames that coated him were lending him a kind of sight.

That oblivion of night. That snowstorm ate all vision.

But the flames illuminated something, despite the snow and distance. He thought he saw…hundreds of tiny flames ahead of him.

So far it would take a day of travel. They still burned, some banked low, others bright. In a few—there was nothing at all. Just ash.

The flame of honor burned like a lighthouse from the [Knight]. On the unlikely [Driver] who had not run, Zanze, it was also bright. On some, it was a forgotten thing, bitter smoke. In this cold winter—some had found it, and the flames revealed themselves to Normen.

Honor was something you could find again. Again and again. It was something that provoked when you saw it.

It was a choice. If you saw it burning on a [Knight], fighting alone in a waystation—

It did not belong just to [Knights]. It sputtered out in a group of six hiding just half a mile away. Normen blinked as he saw six little flames, all tiny. Two ran, and their fires winked out.

The other four hesitated—and three stayed behind. But one grew as it came closer. He turned his head—and more flames were burning in the night.

Seeing the fire at the waystation. They were coming.

——

“It’s him! I see it! Go!”

The other teams had lost the road completely. But one group of volunteers saw the flash of green—and knew what it had to mean.

There were Golems everywhere. In the snow, hundreds of them. The blizzard had made them pop up, and they were dangerous in their element. One of them was actually spitting icicles, like an [Ice Spike] spell.

—But a glowing arrow blew apart one shard of ice before it could hit the woman running at it. Another trio of light spells sent the oversized Golem reeling, and the quasi-elemental shaped like a kind of Drake raised a crude fist.

Then—Jewel’s blade slashed the top of its head off. The [Swashbuckler] landed and pointed.

“That way! Go!”

Three figures ran through the snow without going back for reinforcements. Another Snow Golem tried to block their way—and charged with surprising speed at the group. A second figure ran at it.

The two collided—and Antherr Twotwentyonethree Herodotus smashed through the figure of ice. The [Immortal] staggered—and then kept running.

The Drake with the wand flinched at the sight of the Soldier, but then he was firing spells from his wand again. Vess didn’t know why he was here. But the [Knight] had helped him.

He was returning the favor.

This group of three was making their way to the waystation in the distance. Three volunteers who had been searching half the night for a trail, going farther and farther from Celum and following what they thought was a road.

Antherr, Vess, and Jewel. Each one had volunteered when Erin Solstice asked. She had made teams of people willing to help. Relc, Embraim, Klbkch, Grimalkin—each one was elsewhere. Jewel’s group was the one who had spotted the flames.

It should have been all of Glitterblade. But Toimt and Hilten had asked if this was a paid job, and Jewel had told them it was volunteer work. So she was here alone. Jewel had been worried she would let Erin down again. She hadn’t been able to spot the waystation until she saw that flash of green fire.

Now, the building was properly aflame. The Gold-rank adventurer pointed to it.

“Is that…Erin’s fire?”

Jewel was panting. She lifted her sword, swung it—

“[Light Arc]!”

Her sword flashed, and an arc of light slashed through another Golem’s arm. The three ran ahead.

They should have gone back for help, but Normen had been out there for hours, and Erin had lost him in the blizzard. So Jewel pointed.

“Get to the waystation!”

Vess wailed even as he shot more [Light Arrows], frantically keeping them from being caught.

“There are hundreds! We’ll be surrounded!”

Good. More to hit.

Antherr smiled. But he was aware of the numbers. Normen and Zanze plus these three made five. Five versus two hundred…

Or was it six? 

Someone else was fighting around the burning waystation, having seen the [Knight]’s desperate stand. The travellers who had fled had come back.

At least, one of them had. Jewel stumbled and nearly stopped as she saw the strangest of sights.

A leaping, snarling cat was biting the Snow Golems, ripping their heads off. A…

No, it was made of bone! The [Necromancer] hitting the other Snow Golems with weak flame spells was hiding behind one of the horses.

Ama and her cabal appeared out of the blizzard. They had come to Celum and been lurking here when the winter blizzards had led Snow Golems to attack the waystation they had been using as a base.

Half her coven had fled rather than fight. But more undead were appearing, a Gargoyle skeleton trading blows with a huge Snow Golem eleven feet tall.

Jewel took all of this in as Normen appeared, trading punches with an Ice Golem with cracks running all over its body. The Ice Golem was fast, belying its material, and Jewel saw more dangerous Golems appearing.

“Get to the waystation! It’s a giant Snow Golem shaped like a spider! I have it!”

The Gold-rank adventurer charged at the strangest Snow Golem yet and went for one of its legs. Her silver bell rang, and she almost sounded like she was laughing in delight.

At last, a chance to prove herself! She leapt—

[Swordswoman’s Dive]!

—And a blade cleaved through one of the legs, forcing the Snow Golem to lurch and try to attack her. Then Jewel was retreating, the Spider Golem floundering with two legs severed—and six figures were standing in the flaming waystation.

“What are these things? Snow Golems? I’ve never—”

Vess’ claws were shaking. He’d seen Snow Golems, but nothing like the army of them. They were terrifying, not the occasional Snow Golem that came to life when someone forgot to put a hat on it! He unloaded [Light Arrows] into one’s chest, and Jewel snarled.

“Rookie, hit the head! Hit the head or blow off a limb! They don’t die! Zombie rules!”

“Oh! Sorry!”

Vess shifted aim, and the [Swashbuckler] leapt past him. She was constantly on the move, leaping from foe to foe. A flying kick knocked one of the Snow Golems off Zanze.

“[Launch Kick]! [Whirlwind Followup]—[Piercing Combo]!”

Her sword slashed through another arm of branches, and she finished the string of slashes with a lunge that took another Snow Golem through the head. She was—grinning. Normen looked side-long at the miserable Gold-rank adventurer who had been full of doubts and nerves at the inn.

And he saw the Captain of Glitterblade in her element. She was scything around, drawing foes to her, then leaping away. Attacking another Golem menacing Vess from behind. The Drake yelped and dove behind a counter.

He might have been a weaker fighter, but he rolled up—and was bracing the wand on his other forearm to steady his aim. When he began snapping spells off, he looked like what he was. A sharpshooter who had seen combat. He ran out of the way of another Snow Golem lumbering at him.

Ama and Zanze were not so capable.

“Sillias! Save me!”

The [Necromancer] screamed as her cat turned from trying to bite a towering Snow Golem in half. She screamed as a Snow Golem dragged her out from a table. She had been shooting weak Tier 2 [Flamespray] jets out, and she froze up as she shielded her face.

“Krekh.”

The sound made Normen twitch. He was charging over—but Antherr got there first. The screech-click coming from his mandibles made the Snow Golem dragging Ama over pause—and his greatsword rammed through its chest a second later.

But not a killing blow. It let go of Ama, and another lurched over.

“Watch out!”

Jewel leapt over—and the Snow Spider came crashing through one of the walls. She and Normen turned and began hacking through its legs, trying to keep it back. Normen turned—and the second Snow Golem, shaped like a hunchbacked Human, raised a club-fist. It punched Antherr from behind, and a shield appeared, blocking the blow.

[Honor’s Shield]. But Antherr still stumbled a bit—straight into the first Golem’s swing.

A block of ice for a fist hit the Antinium in the chest. Antherr stumbled—then raised his greatsword in all four hands and brought it down.

[Honorable Immortal]. He bisected the first Golem and turned. The second Snow Golem backed up, still throwing heavy punches. Antherr caught one fist—and his sword cleaved off a second head. Then he struck his chest with his fist.

Come at me. [I Challenge You]!

Jewel dove sideways as the Snow Spider climbed further into the waystation. Every Golem was suddenly heading at Antherr.

“No! Don’t take them all on! Back off—”

She slashed with her sword, giving orders, but Antherr just stood there in the center, stomping on the ground.

They’re all coming at me? Good. No one else gets hurt. 

I won’t die.

Normen couldn’t hear his voice, but he saw his intention as the [Immortal] planted his feet. The Snow Spider was almost on him, dragging its torso with its remaining legs as it opened huge ‘fangs’ made of ice.

Then a cat landed on it. A huge cat—and the Snow Spider found the bone-claws digging into its icy brain from above. It tried to fight back—but it had no real way to attack above it aside from trying to shake the undead off.

Ama’s cat. Sillias fought as fair as the [Necromancer]. She and Vess had piled up a bunch of chairs and tables and were standing on top of them, shooting down at the Snow Golems.

“Get that horrible spider, Sillias! But don’t get hurt, my dear!”

The cat leapt away as the Snow Spider collapsed. Antherr looked disappointed—but then Zanze was stumbling back from a Snow Golem, a green torch of flames in his hands.

“Watch out! They’re spitting ice spikes and forming up! What’s our orders?”

Vess knocked Ama out of the way of an ice spike, and it cut the scales on his shoulder. They hunkered down as Ama stuttered.

“T-thanks!”

Jewel looked over, and thirty Golems were making a push through the opening the Snow Spider had made. She looked over at Normen and hesitated. She eyed Antherr, Vess, Ama—none of whom she knew as well as her team.

“They can’t hurt us. You, [Driver], get back and cover the ranged support. Keep those horses safe! Funnel them into the gap. Snow Golems are stupid. Hold them here. Can anyone wall?”

“I can do a [Bone Wall]!”

Ama shouted. Normen saw Jewel calling out, indicating the spot. Antherr turned to Normen, and the [Knight] found his breath. He was exhausted, but he pointed the mace forwards.

“We’ll hold them here. Hats off.”

Hats…? Antherr looked at Normen, and Jewel blinked. But the [Knight] was already running.

“Don’t leave anything left for the [Gravekeeper] to bury. All I see are dead men! GET THEM.”

Vess’ mouth opened as the most angry [Knight] he’d ever seen launched himself at the Snow Golems, the [Immortal] and [Swashbuckler] right behind him. Normen smashed into one face and then kicked another in the groin. It didn’t work—but the headbutt made the Snow Golem reel. Then the mace smashed its brains straight out the back of its head. And then the Drake and [Necromancer] were hurling spells behind them.

That was what the Snow Golems saw. Green flames were licking over the waystation, warming it from the freeze. They advanced into the waystation—then hesitated. Because it didn’t seem like they would be able to freeze the six figures fighting there. Even the cold animosity of winter faltered.

There they were. A [Knight] swinging a mace coated with green flames. A [Swashbuckler], fighting back-to-back with an Antinium [Immortal].

An [Arcane Warrior] and a [Necromancer], shooting spells through the gaps of the building, and a [Driver] laying about him as two horses kicked and bit. All of it engulfed in green flame.

Until the sun rose.

——

Ser Solton wondered if Normen had made it. He stood with his back next to the broken wagon, trusting the wood to have his back.

His breath was sprawling up into the cold night air. The storm…was making it so he couldn’t see more than fifteen feet ahead at most.

[Arrowguard Shield]. Another arrow curved and hit his shield. A small mercy that his foes had no Skills.

But their aim was good. And that was not what he feared. Solton was braced for another charge. They came in, fought, retreated.

They were trying to bleed him out. Letting the cold do what their frozen blades could not.

Undead.

Frostmarrow. He had heard they appeared in the cold. Elemental undead. But only Cenidau fought them regularly.

Had a [Necromancer] made them? Were they natural? It didn’t matter. Solton pivoted—

A skeleton came out of the dark, swinging an axe. It was coated with frozen blood.

The [Driver]’s. The poor man was lying somewhere in the snow, headless.

My fault. I should have hired guards. I was so focused on going fast that—

Solton only realized he was thinking, not swinging his sword when he felt snow on his face. He—pulled himself up—saw the gash on the skeleton’s frozen skull.

They’d traded blows. Solton had fallen over, but slashed the skeleton as it caught him on the chest. His chestplate felt a bit dented.

It was so much stronger than a regular skeleton. Tougher, too. He should have cleaved the top of its head off. But the icy bones were knitting in the cold.

And there were more.

The [Knight] plucked another vial from his belt. He had already used his potions. The last stamina potion was coursing through his veins—now, he hurled a flaming vial straight ahead.

The alchemical fire engulfed the skeleton, and it began to melt. Yes! It was weak to flames! Solton saw it collapse and almost smiled.

Then an arrow hammered his shield, and he flinched. He saw a glow of two yellow flames in the darkness.

“Kingdoms stand!”

He screamed—and the horseman rode down; the impact as it swung its sword sent him crashing into the wagon. The undead horse reared and kicked his chest. Rider and steed had no fear of his blade and only retreated as his last flaming vial bloomed.

It burned Solton, but it forced them back. He slowly got up, sagging against the wagon.

Undead. He had gone to Chandrar, prepared to fight undead. A Crusade against evil…now, he felt the fool.

Those yellow flames…had not a shred of honor, not even a hint of kindness or intelligence. They were nothing like the gaze of King Fetohep of Khelt after all. There was only a thoughtless hatred towards life.

The Haegris Knight heard clattering in the snow, muffled, but from around him. He thought there might be twelve. He had accounted for five, even surrounded. Was that a fine tally or poor?

It didn’t matter, did it? Slowly, Solton set himself for the final attack. He shouted into the cold.

“I am Ser Solton of Haegris! I have sworn to render aid or die trying. Come, foul undead. I will sell my life dearly.”

They did not fear his shout. The [Knight] saw them charging. Here he stood, a [Knight] dying in the cold for a wagon full of potatoes.

A worthy cause. Any man or woman who refused to clean their plate had never seen someone starve.

So few [Knights] saw it that way, though. Ser Solton fell back as a spiked club smashed across his helmet. He was on his back now, trying to get up, kicking as that horse trampled around him, a jabbing spear trying to find chinks in his armor. Skeletons hacking down and the thump of their footfalls around him.

For potatoes—

Solton stared up at those yellow flames in their sockets as the skeleton held his helmet and angled its blade to aim between the gaps in his visor. He tried to lift his arms, but—

A footfall like thunder he felt in his bones. Was it an undead giant? Solton saw the skeleton rider’s head turn—

A club hit the skeleton’s head, and it imploded in a shower of ice, magic, and bone. Solton’s eyes widened—and he heard a voice.

“Have at you! Are you alive, Mister Knight?”

He was gasping, unsure of where the voice was coming from—then a hand reached down and yanked him up without effort. The [Knight] was on his feet and shouted.

“Behind you!”

More skeletons. Solton raised his shield, and another arrow curved away from its target. He raised his sword, but the figure swung around.

He thought he saw a massive club, a greatclub, swing—and another skeleton vanished. Another skeleton charged forwards with a spear lowered. The metal speartip rammed straight into a plank of wood.

A tower shield, practically a door! No, it was a door, just reinforced with steel. That club swung again, and the third icy undead met its fate.

“Who…? Dame Merila?”

He thought, for a second, that it was the Dame of the Hills, the mighty [Knight] of Ailendamus herself. And that was impossible because she was on Terandria.

It was not her. The figure was far shorter—though she still towered head and shoulders over Solton. Her armor was less radiant, and it was a tower shield and club she carried. It was—

A Troll? No, she seemed more Human than that. Ser Solton stared as the young woman with skin that looked like granite smiled behind her own helmet. Then an arrow struck her in the arm.

“Argh! That hurts! Are you alive, Mister Knight?”

More arrows were flying, and Solton rushed forwards.

“[Arrowguard Shield]! Behind me!”

He took on the arrows, and the unknown warrior gratefully took cover behind him.

“They’re everywhere. I nearly didn’t make it in the snow—you’re lucky I was in another village when Laken spotted you!”

How could anyone spot him? Solton had no idea how this woman was here, but she had the strength to send another skeleton with a shield reeling back with a single blow.

“What is your name, stranger?”

“Durene! [Paladin]! Now—if they’re shooting arrows, it’s my turn. [Shield Art: Shockwave Slam]!”

She lifted the huge shield overhead—and brought it down. A rank of the Frostmarrow undead advancing on them braced—but the tip of her shield struck the ground, and the snow and ground heaved.

The undead fell back, stumbling, falling over, and Solton was running. Charging forwards, shield smashing into the first skeleton’s chest next to the [Paladin]. Two [Knights]. And he breathed and almost wept in the cold night.

He had almost forgotten. Even in Izril—so long as he drew his sword for what was right—

A [Knight] never stood alone.

——

The last Snow Golems didn’t flee as the day dawned. The blizzard was still coming down. They just came on with the single-minded intensity of an avalanche.

But there were fewer of them. Stragglers as opposed to an army.

Normen woke up from less than an hour’s sleep and watched one slowly hopping towards him. This one looked like a proper snowman. No one had put clothing on it, to prevent wild magic from animating the snow. Or maybe the clothing had been pulled off by a prankster or just blown off by the blizzard.

The less-than-intimidating shape of a snowman minus the carrot nose made him reach for his mace. But it would take another six minutes to hop close enough.

And the group at the waystation might be gone before that.

“Light enough to see by—but the roads are hell.”

Zanze reported. He was wild-eyed from lack of sleep, and he had terrible scratches and cuts and a black eye from the fighting last night. No potions for him—but he looked triumphant.

Normen himself…stood taller. He exhaled as he got to his feet and pushed the blankets off him. His green flames were extinguished—but it didn’t matter.

“The Snow Golems are still coming. We’ll have to fight them as we go. I’ll do that.”

Zanze looked at the [Knight] as he rose. A green flame glimmered on Normen’s mace as he picked it up. There was no ember, but he didn’t need it.

[Knight of Honor’s Ember]. Level 30.

He felt like he could take on another legion of Snow Golems—until he felt his aching shoulder. But the will was there.

Unfortunately, Zanze had to correct Normen.

“We have to go back, Ser Normen.”

“What? But we beat all the Golems! Argh. My back!”

Jewel was clutching at her shoulder and back. She’d swung her sword so many times that she looked exhausted. Vess was inspecting his wand anxiously; he was afraid he didn’t have much magic left even with his Skills.

Antherr was patting the horses as Ama pet her skeleton cat. The [Necromancer]’s undead were almost all smashed from the fighting, but a pair of skeletons were duking it out with some Golems still trying to get them.

She looked rather self-satisfied by her heroism, nevermind the fact that she was the reason the waystation had been in such bad shape. But in this moment, Normen considered them all great heroes.

“The roads are iced over and covered in no less than four feet of snow, Normen. Our brave horses won’t make it, even if we had Corusdeer Soup. For their sake—we need to let them get back. Unless we can shovel this lot or melt it.”

Normen groaned as he realized the issue. The horses! They looked miserably cold without the Corusdeer Soup, and after last night, he didn’t have the heart to push them to their deaths.

“Can we even make it to Celum?”

Jewel looked nervously out the window, because it wasn’t like the roads back were any clearer.

“Miss Solstice is asking for help melting us a path. Besides, once we get to Celum, we’ll warm up. I’m sorry, Mister Normen.”

“That’s the problem with living horses. Zombies and undead are so much better, especially in the cold.”

Ama laughed, and Zanze whirled towards her.

“You’re the reason why the waystation was destroyed, Miss! I’ll have the Driver’s Guild on you!”

“Hey, we helped out! It’s not like we were holding anyone up! We even fed two [Drivers] who came through and pretended we were running the spot! It’s not our fault all the damn Golems came at us!”

Ama defended herself as her coven, who had sheepishly arrived and begged for shelter after the fighting, hid behind her. Zanze spat.

“Are you the reason there’s ice undead around Invrisil?”

She gave him a huge scowl.

“No, that’s why we left. We tried to control them, but they’re too powerful! They’re Frostmarrow Undead. And I don’t do ice magic. We barely got out of there, thanks to Sillias.”

She looked vexed as she petted her giant skeleton-cat. Normen shook his head, then had a thought.

Ser Solton. 

He would ask Erin to check on him once they got to Liscor. But they were only a day away from the other village…!

There was no hope for it. Normen hung his head. Ama was right. Living animals wouldn’t have a shot in the thick snow. They’d freeze or just get exhausted. And it…

His head rose. He eyed Ama, who was trading barbs with Zanze. He stared at her cat so long she protectively shielded it.

“What? Coming after my cat, Mister Knight? I only helped because I felt a bit guilty, and I was cold. But I know your type. I’ve done noth—I’ve done very little wrong, and I have powerful friends. Mess with me at your peril!”

She drew herself up even as she held onto Sillias’ shoulder. She was clearly ready to flee, but Normen hesitated only a second.

It wasn’t knightly as Ser Sest or Solton might see it—but Erin had told him he could decide how the Order of Solstice worked. And Normen hated riding horses.

“…Can that cat pull a wagon, Miss Necromancer?”

Ama hesitated. Normen slowly dug around in his belt pouch and found some gold coins. Erin had said he needed to be paid, even if a [Knight]’s life was charity. How had Solton said it again?

“I’d like to buy your services, Miss. Er—won’t you think of the children?”

——

The village called Rheirgest had survived the first day and a half of the winter storm and the Snow Golem assaults very well. The Snow Golems had attacked here, too. But Rheirgest, at least, knew how to hold them off.

They were set up on the highlands, which rose upwards towards the mountain range that separated north and south. Their method of dealing with Snow Golems involved gravity.

Snow Golems would try to cross a suspension bridge and promptly drop through the air where they hit the ravine far below. It was nearly half filled up from falling snow and Snow Golem bodies.

And not because Golems were incapable of crossing a bridge—this particular bridge was so treacherous that most monsters and [Bandits] gave up on crossing it.

It was rope. All of it. Two long handrails, which doubled as supports for the lattice of old fibers that created footholds…and left huge gaps for you to drop to your death.

It wasn’t that hard to cross, and you could do it with one hand on the ropes the entire time. But for a Golem or less-nimble monster, it was easy to plummet to your death. Children of Rheirgest would run across it without fear.

They were a hardy village at the edge of the north in a pocket of the mountains. Like Yoldenites, in their way. Though Rheirgest would have resented the comparison. They didn’t have a funny accent or weird helmets.

Everything here was compacted, for space. They had terraced farms in the old style of things. Big ridges where they could grow plants without wide, open farmland. Why would anyone live like this, rather than a plentiful lowland? Well—safety. They were higher than most monsters would like to climb and lower than the threats that lived higher up. While this was technically the High Passes, this part of the mountain range didn’t have the abundance of threats the central area around Liscor and the other pass through the mountains did.

Like many such places, they made a living on a natural resource no one else was willing to mine. Instead of magicore, which Yoldenites mined, Rheirgest exported bones.

Old Bone Mine was where they would carve away ivory, which was good for alchemical purposes, fishhooks, all kinds of tools—it wasn’t better than steel or some kinds of wood, but it was exotic.

And people liked ivory. They didn’t like people bones, but Rheirgest’s bone mines didn’t come from people or even monsters.

It was a ribcage. A big one, buried in the stone and cliffs. They were on the sixteenth rib, and the village had been here for eight generations. They had an entire other side to go.

Rheirgest had a complicated history with [Necromancers]. They remembered a time when [Necromancers] had come here and paid well for samples of the ivory, or tried—without effect—to raise the skeleton.

Even the Necromancer hadn’t bothered trying. But that might have been because the Goblin King’s rampage had met him before he got here.

It was supposed to be a lively, cheerful little village. Nevermind that Celum thought Rheirgest was full of weirdos—they bought the ivory. Times were harder of late. Drakes didn’t like ivory as much after the Antinium Wars, and now all the older folk were worried about Dwarves.

The damn Dwarves and Drakes were both exporting steel, and everyone knew there was a magic door at Celum that was making trade less profitable. Someone had suggested that after the next [Trader] arrived, they should send someone to Celum to see if they could sell the ivory for a higher price.

That was as much as Rittane had thought on the matter. It was a cold winter, and she spent most of her time peeking at the scrying orb they’d bought, which showed all the amazing parts of the world.

These days, it had been tuned to King Fetohep’s channel. No one said it, but Rittane had known there was a fun undead.

No one was a [Necromancer] here. Definitely not. People had checked, from Clairei Fields [Knights] to multiple nobles. And no one was a [Necromancer]…but Rittane knew her father was a [Corpseman] and her mother had a spellbook with a few basic death magic spells. It got cold up here. You could go outside, climb the terraces, and hoe the tough dirt and plant stupid wheat or potatoes, or your friend Alfren could do it.

He had a hat and overalls, and if a foreigner came to the village, Alfren would never be seen. Especially if the [Trader] noticed that ‘Alfren’ was bald. And skinless. And had glowing eyes.

That was Rheirgest, a city that most citizens of Celum, including Wailant, only knew as a place on the map. It kept to itself for safety as much as anything, and only Lord Deilan El or someone who wanted to know where their ivory came from ever bothered to investigate.

Then they conveniently forgot and harbored no suspicions because they needed nice ivory, damn it. Rheirgest ivory on the handle of your Marksman’s Automatic Reloading Crossbow, Mk. IV from the House of El had to be good, embossed with inlays, and have no faults or the Noelictus [Hunters] would throw a fit. Poor quality ivory cracked or couldn’t take the heat treatments or…

None of this reached Rheirgest. It was humble, but did well enough for itself. It should have been a fun winter, with the scrying orb. It should have been…until a stranger had come calling.

He had been friendly, at first, and no one had paid attention to him. Rheirgest got all kinds of visitors, and the half-Elf might have been a temporary guest like the folk who didn’t quite like the law.

As long as they behaved and paid, they could get a room. But the half-Elf had been friendly. Complimentary, even—until he saw the bones.

Then he had heard they had been carving it up and called them thieves and scoundrels and cursed them until he was driven off. The burning of the fields had happened the next morning, and no one had seen who did it.

But they did not exactly need to guess.

Now, Rheirgest, which should have been full of happy laughter and clattering of bone sandals on the streets—was silent.

The fields were being resown, and someone had tried to cast a heating spell to warm the soil enough for Yellats to live in, but only the dead could bear the cold.

Only the dead had the energy to go out.

Rittane, who was seven, slept a lot. She drank boiled snow water, which made her forget she was hungry. The flames had eaten both fields and warehouses, nevermind it had been bone housing their food.

Her parents didn’t say a lot loudly. They just checked on her and made sure she had ‘breakfast’ and ‘dinner’. That was water with a bit of…something. Flour or whatever they could boil up. Edible weeds like thistles or salt.

But they’d run out of salt. And they’d eaten the leather off all the gloves and boots they’d had three days ago. Then drunk the water from the boiling.

Rittane didn’t say anything about food. Her parents were looking thinner than she was. And her father had passed out yesterday. No one said anything, but Rittane had heard, between watching the scrying orb, them talking.

They had gone out and sold all the magic items and valuables they had to bring back six sacks of wheat, but theirs was not the only place with burned fields.

Now…some of the older members of the village were saying they should ‘go to Celum’. But they had not enough coin. So they had asked to take the field workers. It wasn’t as if they could grow anything.

If they ‘went to Celum’, there would be no going back. That was how these things began. The blizzard had cut short any thoughts of travel, though.

By the time it ended, there might not be enough people to go anywhere at all. But Rittane kept thinking there was a chance.

She’d sent a letter via a City Runner three weeks ago, in secret. She didn’t have any coins since the village had pooled their coins, but the Runner had taken her letter for free when he saw it was addressed to Santa. His name was Fals, and he said Santa might read it.

Christmas was a long time away. Fifteen more days…Rittane figured she could sleep for another week. It was just mid-morning, and she was too tired to get to the scrying orb to watch.

Snow was falling and falling, and she was drifting off into a hazy world where she wasn’t hungry. It felt like she was floating. Or slowly falling up into the sky. That was…pleasant. A hazy pleasantness instead of the pain that was eating her stomach away.

——

As the girl lay there, curled up in her blankets, a man sat at a table. He glanced down at her odd smile occasionally. But he was trying to…concentrate.

His hands were shaking. They were trying to hold a feather quill steady as he dipped it into the ink and wondered if either were edible. Cotton blankets, books—they’d even taken the leather bindings off them, nevermind the glue. There were…so many things you could try to eat if there was nothing left.

Rittane’s father was drafting a letter. He was marking it in an envelope for the City Runner, if he returned. Explanations needed to be made. Perhaps someone could identify the half-Elf. He finished writing and signed his name. Then, he spoke, in a voice that was too low.

In a house that seemed to be drowned by creeping silence.

“Rittane? Wake up.”

She didn’t open her eyes. The girl was smiling and sleeping, with light faintly coming through a window. Her father glanced over with a kind of quiet dread falling over him. He half-rose, and caught himself on the table. It took him more strength to rise, and he felt like he had to draw it from his bones.

Just to stand. The man placed the letter on the mantle over the fireplace, over pale, carved ivory that his grandfather had set there.

It was addressed: To whom it may concern. The first time he had ever written a letter like that.

The man looked over for his wife. She had been eating most—she had to, to keep the undead moving. But Rittane’s father was lightheaded. He heard…a great rushing in his ears. The snow falling and the blizzard outside, a downpour of silence, had turned into shouting this morning.

It sounded like shouting. Faint…and he was sagging against a wall as he tried to walk over. The last vestiges of his mind…?

Rittane’s father caught his breath as something odd happened. Unlike a regular voice in his head…the shouting had the spatial quality that made him think it was coming from outside.

Was it a visitor? The City Runner? It couldn’t be. Not in this snow. But—he hesitated and fumbled with the latch of the window. Then just went for the door. He walked past that still shape, and his wife whispered to him.

“Dorkel? Dorkel…I’m going to Celum. It’ll take three days.”

A woman raised her head in the kitchen, scoured clean of even salt and pepper. She gazed up as the man opened the door slightly, and her eyes were black. The pupils were wide, but glowing with death magic. And now, she had the look of the Necromancer about her. A woman who might do whatever it took.

But she would be too late. Even so. Dorkel said nothing to stop her. If she could have gone before the blizzard hit…he would not have stopped her. But he was chasing that sound as he opened the door and a freezing gust came in.

“…ello? Hello?”

“Who’s shouting that?”

“It’s coming from the bridge. Is it a Snow Golem? A large one?”

That was their first instinct. A Snow Golem, now? Normally, the largest ones appeared by the sixteenth month of the year, and some could literally step across the chasm. If one was here—

They were already dead. So Dorkel stepped out of his home, not even bothering to put on a coat. A street of ivory was almost covered in snow. But he thought he was definitely about to die.

Why else would he be seeing green? It seemed to be a burning flicker he saw through his neighbor’s house. Dorkel rubbed his eyes, then heard another shout.

“I’m falling! Save me!”

That moved him forwards. Perhaps one of the others had gone to check the roads and had slipped on the bridge? Faster now, the man stumbled forwards, and he saw something strange as he got in sight of the bridge.

It sat below the village, a perfect spot for someone to cut the ropes or shoot at monsters or dangerous visitors from. What the man saw, far below him, made his heart beat.

For he saw a wagon, parked at the end of the bridge. And there were…six people.

A young woman with a bone cat harnessed to the wagon, waving her arms as a [Driver] unloaded boxes. There was another young woman with a sword and an…Antinium? It had to be—they were trying to pull up a young Drake who was clinging to the ropes of the bridge, feet dangling.

The last member of the group had dared the rope bridge and, ignoring the swaying, was marching across. He had a bag of holding lashed to one of his arms so it had no chance of falling into the ravine. His expression seemed to indicate that if he dropped it, he would jump off the bridge to get it back. There was a desperate look in his eyes. Of a man fearing he was too late. He had fought through a blizzard and Snow Golems for this.

He was the flickering green flame who Dorkel had seen. He was…glowing.

Green flames were upon his armor, burning on the bright blue, azure metal. Dorkel feared he might burn the bridge, but the flames seemed to cling only to him. They burned without any apparent fuel, and the [Knight] strode faster as he saw Dorkel.

“Hello up there! We come in peace!”

“…Who are you?”

Right now, Dorkel didn’t care. He looked down and thought—traders. Or travellers. They had to have something to buy or purchase. But then he stared at the wagon and saw the crates…and the [Knight] broke into a jog.

He had something on his hat. A helmet, but he also had a stupid red hat—and it blew off his helm as a gust of wind struck him.

Even so, he tried to keep to Erin’s silly script for another second.

“We’re delivering something early on behalf of Santa to a little girl named—dead gods damn it, nevermind. Is Rittane here? We got her letter. I am Normen of the Order of Solstice, a [Knight]! We’ve brought provisions!”

Dorkel thought he was dreaming. He looked down, and he had no idea why his daughter’s name was coming from the [Knight]’s lips. Then Normen was running up the path. Running—he could have walked.

But he ran because it might matter. Ran, as that silent village stirred. A living voice, shouting as he came up the road, with more force than Dorkel had in his entire body.

Doors opened, and gaunt faces emerged. Terribly burdened gazes contemplating choices with no good alternative—gazed outwards. And there was a [Knight].

Not a friend. But in this moment—he was panting, removing his helmet, fumbling with his bag of holding as he came to a standstill. Then he set the bag of holding down and pulled something out.

It was a big crate, and he set it down in front of the man, who bent down and almost fell over.

“What Order did you say…?”

The skeletons were in the fields. He jerked upright, in worry and fear, but the sight of that lid—Normen looked around and seemed taken aback by the village of bones. But then he pointed back over his shoulder.

“Solstice, Mister…?”

“Dorkel. I’ve heard of that name, somewhere.”

The two men were working at crosshairs. Both tired, both…frantic. Dorkel began to pry at the lid. He had to see what was inside. He nearly snapped a nail on the lid, and Normen bent down.

“Let me, sir. It’s a new Order. I’m a new—[Knight]. We’ve brought provisions. We got Miss Rittane’s letter.”

“My daughter sent a letter?”

Normen glanced up.

“She’s your daughter? We just arrived, sir.”

“Through the blizzard?”

Dorkel looked around. It was still snowing—and this [Knight] looked like he had bruises, now that the man looked closely. His armor had scratches, though it was still beautifully bright, and he had cuts all over his visible face through the helm. But Normen just pointed back.

“We have a wagon, but we’re unloading—don’t panic, Mister Dorkel, but there is an undead cat who pulled it here. We couldn’t make it through the snow. It is completely safe, and we’ll keep it far from the village, I promise.”

He looked so worried that Dorkel would panic about the—the undead that the man almost laughed. But then, Normen finally pried the lid up a bit and cursed.

“Nailed shut. One second—”

He pulled, and at last the lid came up. Dorkel and his wife, who had emerged from the home, saw what was inside.

Of all the crates that Normen could have carried from the wagon—this one had stood out to him because Erin had scrawled on it and painted an edge red. It was not filled with packed goods labeled with Pallass’ internal sorting system from their silos.

This one…was just a box packed in straw. It had a note on it.

To: Rittane. From: Santa.

Slowly, Dorkel lifted the lid. He saw a banged up, frozen object sitting there. All the icing had been messed up from the fighting with the Golems. And there were a bunch of candles ready to be lit.

But it was still, unmistakably—the cake. Normen looked embarrassed.

“Oh. It’s been knocked about. I’m so sorry, sir.”

“A cake?”

“We’ve brought a wagonload of supplies. From Pallass.”

Rittane’s father just held the box as he smelled the sweet pastry. It smelled heavenly, like a dream, but so real his mouth tried to water and his heart flipped and flopped and…he turned to Normen. Dorkel almost dropped the cake—then carefully put the box down. The [Knight] was still trying to apologize.

“I’ll bring the rest over, but the bridge is treacherous. I’m sorry about the cake—”

Normen stopped as Dorkel put his hands on him. It was a weak gesture, but the man embraced Normen silently.

“Thank you. Thank…you.”

Only then did Normen look around and see people coming out of their houses, take in how thin the man looked. He halted—and someone called out.

“Is that…food? Please, won’t you sell it to us? We’ll give you anything we can.”

There were wands aimed at him. He could see them hidden behind robes, concealed in the doorways. And not once did the [Knight] reach for his mace or shield. He understood. Rittane’s mother called out, lifting her hands.

“He says he’s a [Knight]. He’s brought food. From Pallass?”

Voices rose, utterly confused. Then Dorkel was picking up the crate. He could barely lift it, but he looked at Normen as the man bent.

“My daughter’s in…”

The door to his home was open. Suddenly, the two were stumbling through the snow, lifting the box. Normen felt like he was swimming in slow motion.

He had to be on time. The [Knight] willed himself to move faster, and his desperation was only second to Rittane’s father.

“Rittane. Rittane!”

The girl was asleep. They shook her desperately, and she didn’t move.

Rittane was smiling, her cheeks pale, eyes closed, staring at a dream without end. Someone slapped her cheek, and she made not a sound. The silence crept from her. Not a sound.

“Rittane.”

Normen bent over her. The [Knight] knelt with her parents and wondered why he hadn’t run the moment he saw the village. Why he hadn’t been faster. He closed his eyes, then shouted—and his voice didn’t reach the girl. But he tried again.

Normen didn’t realize there was someone else watching as the [Knight]’s hands began to shake.

Someone else had appeared, halting the villagers of Rheirgest in their tracks. In surprise. Awe.

Fear?

A young woman. Her body was semi-transparent. She had appeared as silently as…a ghost. Now, she slowly walked into the house. And her face held that quiet knowledge of what she would see. A girl, being held in her parent’s arms.

Perhaps she had been ashamed to show herself first. But she had been watching. Of course she had.

Erin Solstice’s projection halted in the home, and she looked down with a terrible expression on her face. The girl wasn’t waking up, no matter how hard her parents shook her.

Her [Knight] was on his knees. Praying. Tears were running from his eyes. He had been too late. Too late…he had fought through the night. Stood against a storm.

And he was too late? Minutes, seconds? Impossible. That wasn’t right.

None of this was. Erin Solstice’s breath caught. She looked down at the girl, and she closed her eyes. Then she bit her lip so hard her teeth nearly met.

Somewhere, over a hundred miles away, an inn trembled as Erin pulled every strand she had to her. Her eyes opened, and hazel flashed. A hat made of flame burned over her head—and she lifted her hand.

Silence. She said not a word, and no one but Normen in that silent house looked back. He couldn’t have said why. Only that the [Knight] felt like he was standing before a great, warm fire. Normen turned—and the [Knight] saw his [Innkeeper] take a deep breath.

Then—Erin Solstice’s eyes flashed. She pointed—and reached across the distance between her and the girl. She pointed at the girl’s chest—and used a Skill.

[Boon of the Guest: Mrsha].

It felt like thunder without the sound. The Skill burned across the world and passed by a dead god reaching for a single soul. It glowed in the eyes of the Grand Design, and if it could have smiled—

It would.

——

Kasigna’s hand closed over nothing at all.

——

“Rittane. Wake up. Santa has a present for you. Good girls shouldn’t lie sleeping.”

Erin Solstice’s voice filled the cottage as the boon with the gift from the [Last Survivor], a guest of her inn, flashed from her fingertip. It touched the girl, and her parents looked up.

Normen held his breath and—he slowly saw two bewildered eyes open.

Rittane opened her eyes. She sat up, cheeks flushed. Gasping, as if she had been given a second breath before her end.

A gift from another girl who had known a terrible winter. Rittane stretched.

“I’m hungry. Is it time to eat? What smells so…good?”

She turned, and suddenly, her stomach rumbled. She fixed on Normen and recoiled. Then her mouth fell open.

“I know you! You’re Ser Normen! From the scrying orb!”

She rubbed at her eyes. Her parents looked at Normen, but he was holding that box in his hands. He slowly, timidly looked over.

“I—it’s an honor to meet you, Miss Rittane. We got your letter. Santa has sent me—”

He flubbed it. He didn’t have Ser Solton’s style, nor the smoothness of a lying [Knight]. The girl’s eyes went round nevertheless as he showed her what was in the box.

“Santa came?”

“Not just him. It was…”

Normen turned to Erin, so the [Innkeeper] could explain and be…he glanced around.

She had vanished. It was the first cowardly thing that Normen had ever seen Erin Solstice do. She abandoned her [Knight] so he had to be there. The little girl sat up and stared at the box of cake.

Then she began to cry.

Normen bent over, flustered, and she grabbed his hand—and her father found a knife and cut a slice of the cake. The biggest slice you could dream of. And Rittane asked if she was dreaming.

Then Normen felt water leaking from his eyes. And he realized he had made it just in time.

Author’s Note: I am going to say one thing here, and it is what I feel very strongly after writing this chapter.

Normen’s level ups did happen. You got his class—but I am not showing them. Because the level ups would trivialize his moment, if that makes sense.

I am writing a web serial in the Game Literature genre, and it has numbers and classes and Skills. But the thing about this medium is that it cannot be about numbers. That is the mistake many stories fall into, I think.

There is a joy to ‘watching number go up’. But that would reduce every video game to a cookie clicker experience. Sometimes it’s fun, but even games like World of Warcraft aren’t really about just numbers. It is about stories and characters. Or it’s at its best when it is about everything but the numbers.

So. I am going to write an Interlude – Levels chapter between Pt. 2 and Pt.3 of this Order of the Solstice arc. I really should have called it that, instead of 9.41 (Pt. 2). My chapter titling isn’t perfect. But we’ll focus on levels and…things then.

Then, I’ll take my break and be full-power to write Part 3. And Part 3…is going to be a hell of a chapter. This one was ambitious, but it was a lot shorter than I thought it’d be because the big events are waiting for the third chapter. We’ll see if I can do it, but I am organizing my best.

Thank you for the patience. I hope you have enjoyed this side story arc, which has essentially been all of April. It’s been harder than many chapters, but I have to say, I felt some parts, at least, were good. A huge thanks to everyone…

And to MrWiggles, one of the typo-murderers, who is currently dying of the rona. And they’re still killing typos and refusing to rest. Have a good rest, everyone. See you Saturday, then I’m on my monthly break.

PS: Thanks to our web dev, Mrsha now has a font to denote her ‘dialogue’ from others. Do you like it? Too much? Give notes but it’s helpful for the many forms of communication we have in the story.

Stream Art, the Knight of Honor’s Ember by butts!

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Mrsha and Gire, by wowzabublord! 

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Solar Cycle, Bird, Potions, and more by qTheBird!

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