Book 8: Chapter

Book 8: Chapter

(Andrea Parsneau, MouthyMaven, will be live-recording Book 3 of The Wandering Inn on her Discord server! Be sure to join the server if youd like to listen!)

Three days after the Summer Solstice, there was life. A heart began to beat. A body stirred.

In the city of Liscor, there was life where there had been so much death. Still, the mourning continued. Not just for one person; lives had been lost.

War between the Hectval Alliance and the city of Liscor had claimed lives. The city was both silent and noisy, and too much of each.

Yet there was life.

Beneath the city, bodies stirred in vast, semi-transparent sacs of liquid. Shapes that would have been called foreign, alien, disturbing to Humans or other species, began to move. Their heads were triangular, and they bore antennae. Their bodiesinsectile, a fusion of ant and beetle. They had rounded, tough shells on their backs, and four arms.

They were Antinium. And they were being born, as the Antinium understood it.

The luminescent liquid that was growing them was in fact, a being of its own. Albeit with no real conscious mind. Antinium called them Birthersand they were to their function what Workers and Soldiers were. These specialized Antinium produced each new generation at a speed unmatched by any other sentient species. A Worker or Soldier could form in a month at average production; less if need be.

And there were hundreds such Birthers, carefully contained in this environment, free from any foreign contamination or interference. The food they were given was specifically calculated and the Birthers accepted only liquid nutrition that another Antinium had to process to render into usable material.

It was another form of reproduction for a species that had decided manual labor sort of sucked and was pretty inefficient. This new generation would not emerge as infants in body.

In mind, perhaps. But as each Antinium began to drift upwards and be extracted from the sackor extruded much in the way most infants werethey did not cry or make sound. They stumbled only once; then found their feet.

To one of the new Workers, it was of course the strangest experience in its life. It had been vaguelyawarenear the end of its completion. But unconscious. What it had been processing was information.

How to walk. How to manipulate objects. Basic combat. Grab the enemy and kill it. Bite, tear. Pick up this object. Use a hammer like so. Nails go in point-first.

Clothing is to be worn thusly; without it is unacceptable. Beware of moving vehicles. Pronounce Antinium with the following syntax

A thousand different concepts, imparted into its mind from previous generations. Even as the Worker looked around the dim room and saw more forms rising, shaking off the nutrient-rich liquidwhich was running in grooves in the floor down to a sloping basin for repurposingit could have joined a construction team in hammering nails into pre-designated positions, or taken up a position in a battle, if only to charge the enemy and attack with bare hands and mandibles.

The Worker knew basic things; that was all. It could hammer nails, not construct a house or see the logic in tactics. The rest it would have to be taught. But it was still a rapid advancement on a Drake baby, whose only instinct after being born would be to cry, or grab the shiniest thing possible and stick it in its mouth.

This generation was not a vast army, just another addition to the Hive. Ninety eight Workers and Soldiers; the Birthers were not synced to all produce Antinium at once. It was a continuous rotation and even now, they were being prepared for more Antinium.

But what now? The Worker stood straight, opening and closing its hands, waving its antennae. Thinking and realizing it was consciously thinking for the first time. Yet it had no direction, no purpose. What

I am your Queen.

The thought struck the Worker and it froze in an instant. From somewhere elseanother position in the Hiveit felt a presence.

Vast, powerful, a mind reaching out through dirt and space to touch it. And the other Antinium. They froze as the Free Queen of the Antinium touched them, briefly.

I am your Queen. You are a Worker. You are Free Antinium. Your purpose is to defend the Hive. Your role will be given. You are to be a butcher of meats.

And thus it was done. The Worker received a second download of information, as well as understanding. It was a Worker. One of many. And it had just felt the presence of the Queen, for whom the Hive revolved around.

Certainty steadied the Worker. It was now a butcher. It would learn its job, but already it understood it would be using a meat cleaver to separate meats. Basic ideas like do not get dirt on this had been imparted.

Normally, it would then walk to a specified place in the Hive, and follow another Worker about for a week or two, learning the rest of the nuances of its craft. But two things were different with this group of new Antinium than the rest.

The first was that of the hundred Birthers and Antiniumonly ninety eight had risen. Two lay on the ground.

Dead. The Workers in charge of this section paused uncertainly over the bodies. The Antinium were whole in every way. A Soldier and a Worker, without defect or flaw, which normally would have been caught in their creation, at least visible ones.

But they did not move. Something was wrong. The Workers slowly began to remove the bodies. The other Antinium watched, not knowing what to feel or think. Deaththe idea of deathhad not been taught to them in more than an idea of what would happen if they were injured.

No one taught new Antinium to grieve or weep. Or no one had. But things were changing.

Go here.

The voice of the Queen sounded a second time in the butcher-Workers head. He jerked, and then began to move with the other new Antinium. It was the last time the Worker would directly hear the Queens voice, except to receive the briefest of orders to reinforce a position or change occupations.

But sound, audible sound, began to filter in as the Antinium left the space where they had been born. Their antennae twitched and their steps stuttered. But they moved smoothly and entered a tunnel.

And there were more Antinium. Hundreds. Thousands, marching in perfect sync. The new Antinium beheld how many of their kind there wereand fell into place into the moving lines without missing a beat.

That was what it was to be Antinium. Born and used and dying without ever leaving the Hive sometimes. With a lifespan of hours in times of war.

But it was not how it should be. Or so some said. And so, the second deviation from the experience of the new Antinium was this:

They were all going the same way. The butcher-Worker realized it was moving right behind an archer-Worker. It had caught a bit of the Queens transmission to the closest Worker, this one. Neither acknowledged the other. The butcher-Worker stared at the back of the archer-Workers head. But if there was ever a connection

They might never see each other again. Not with so many different Antinium, they looked quite alike even to their own kind. It made the butcher-Worker a bit glad they were walking together for a while.

The new Antinium filed into a side tunnel after leaving the main thoroughfare. They walked in a line of four, turned left, then right, following the Queens instructions in their head. And they came to a large room.

Just a tunnel of space. The Hive was compact walls of dirt and stone, primitive in construction, but made by experts who knew how to brace against flooding, earthquakes, and other dangers. This was a hollowed space, and unlike other tunnels or rooms the new Antinium had passed by, oddly inefficient.

In that it was not claustrophobically built so the ceiling was only a tiny bit above the Antiniums heads. This was a proper chamber. And more Antinium were gathered here.

Many more. And manystrange Antinium. The New Antinium had been born eight minutes ago, but already they were able to make that distinction. Normal Antinium looked like them. But these hadsomething strange on their bodies.

Color. Splashes of some vibrant substance. Andclothing? One of them wore a kind of loose robe. Another? An apron and an odd, white, floofy hat. The butcher-Antinium stared at it, and his mind confirmed this was another point of clothing. Not like the loincloths hed be issued; this was proper garb. It even had words.

He read the first words of his life haltingly, using the new centers of his mind to process the insignia on the apron as the other Antinium turned to regard him.

Hug the [Cook].

Now what did that mean? And what was the odd, pink-red off-triangle thing below it? The other Worker looked a bit perplexed by the appearance of the New Antinium too. It opened its mandibles.

And then there was a voice. An actual voice, the first the New Antinium had heard.

New Antinium? Ah. Stand there, please.

The New Antinium snapped to attention. They looked forwards, ready for orders. And what they saw was

A Worker. Like them. Dressed in robes, but wearing no paint. His body was more worn than theirs, bearing marks of existence. But he was notpainted.

Still, there was something to him. He stood behind a wooden thing. A lectern. And two of his hands were clasped together for no apparent reason. But when he spokesomething in his voice drew them. Surely, if they had tried to copy his words, they would lack some substance there.

Welcome.

That was all he said. But he meant it. The Workers and Soldiers filed into line, and saw how many Antinium were present. Thousands. They stood in this place, listening intently. Somehowintently, even for Antinium. With every fiber of their being. The Worker at the lectern leaned on it.

He looked tired. Andsad. His antennae drooped. His head hung. But then he straightened. And he gazed across his audience and spoke.

Who is Erin Solstice?

It was a question. The New Antinium stirred; they had no answer. There was no Erin Solstice in anything they had been taught. They saw the other Antinium stir; some knew the answer. But they also understood it was a rhetorical question, something else the New Antinium would have to learn.

The Worker speaking went on.

Who is Erin? Not who was Erin. New Antinium, in the days to come, you will hear her name often. To those of you who attend this sermon for the first time, who have lived in the Hive but never had the chance to meet herthe same.

He looked at some of the Antinium without paint then, and they stirred. They were oldsome perhaps as old as five whole years, but unpainted and thusdifferent. Summoned, like the New Antinium, for a reason. The Worker went on, shaking his head.

What you will find are things Erin did. Things she helped make. Me. The idea of Painted Antinium. It was not just her. But she was there at the start. We have become far more. But she was there. You must know who she iswho she wasto understand what we are. And then, you must know that she is gone.

Now, the Antinium stirred. The Painted Antinium shook as though a breeze had blown far underground. The New Antinium experienced a moment ofunease.

Something terrible had happened. The Worker leaned on the podium. His name was Pawn. He was a [Priest].

But he too had changed. The Antinium looked up at him, some uncertain, some with awe, having understood they were being chosen. Regular Antinium regarded him with wonder. The Painted Antinium?

Somewith fear. For he was Pawn. First of the Individuals. Leader of the Painted Antiniumif not in military might like Yellow Splatters, then in charge of their souls and great cause. Yet they looked at him with fear when they had not just a week ago.

[Doomspeaker Priest]. And by his will and hatred, he could conjure that which terrified Antinium.

[Summon Aberration]. The Skill felt dark and twisted in his mind even as he thought it. He had become wrath. Pawn spoke on, seeing the Painted Antinium looking at him.

Erin Solstice is lost. And she was a good thing. Not just good. The best that has ever happened to the Antinium. Because of her, you will become Painted Antinium. You will have names. A purpose beyond what we were. Because of Erin, you will see the sky and taste food and, perhaps, live far longer than any before you.

The Antinium looked up, hungry for his words. The sky. They longed for it, even the new Antinium. The thought that there was even more was an addictive drug. Once you saw the skyyou could not go back.

And yet there it was. Where once he had delivered the sermon with only one emotion, there was now nuance. Erin Solstice was

The Painted Antinium were silent. The [Priest] went on, slowly, painfully.

Yet Erin was lost. Is lost. She isshe was hurt. By terrible fools. She will be avenged. But she is lost and that is

Too much. The Painted Antinium susurrated with grief.

Three days. It had been three days since the Summer Solstice. Longer since Erin had been frozen. Too long. AlreadyPawn felt the beginnings of madness once more.

He had seen it once, when he had told the Soldiers of the idea of heaven. Now, he sensed it again.

Heaven exists. A better place for Antinium after death. Erin is dead. Or at least, not alive. In that case, logic made things simple.

This world has lost all that is good and right about it. Why not hasten that journey to a better place if one exists? Especially if she is there?

It was a terrible conclusion, but one that Pawn had seen Antinium come to. He had to tell them they were wrong. Sohis sermon was more important than his grief.

It is true Erin is not here. But she is not dead. And that is why you must not give up. Continue.

He looked across them.

There is more toto life than just Erin. She will return. Have faith.

They listened, believing his words because Pawn knew them to be true. Erin was so much.

But she was not everything.

There are clouds. They come in all shapes and sizes in the sky. You seeeach one is different. And flowers. There are more flowers than you could imagine. In every shape and color and size. I have not seen them all. Not even a tenth. There is good food; a [Cook] named Imani makes new ones every week.

The Antinium listened, hungry, as Pawn described these things. He tried to tell them what it felt like to pet a sheep. They licked your fingers, even.

All these things are good. All these things must be protected. We are at war with Hectval. Erin is dead. But she is not lost. She can come back. She will. So we must protect what matters. Her. Her inn, each other, the Hivethe city until then. Believe.

It was so easy to say that. And they did. Because he was Pawn, their [Priest]. Perhaps he even fooled the two [Acolytes] he had chosen, who began circulating with fresh bread.

Bread he had conjured with his Skill, supplemented with Garry-bread, both of which Antinium could eat, in sparing amounts. The Workers and Soldiers got a bit of honey with each. For the New Antinium it was almost cruel; it would be far more glorious to taste this than the food they would normally live with.

But that was what Pawn wanted to give them. Happy things. He couldsay it better than he practiced it. In his heart, he was still kneeling in front of the bier.

Lost. And whilst his sermon kept the Painted Antinium from falling into despair, there it was. Pawn looked at Garry as he prepared to induct the new Antinium who were ready into the ranks of the Painted Antinium. They would be given paints, and a day to choose their identities. They would have been thinking of it for the last week of course.

Those who were just beginning their journey, like the New Antinium, would simply mingle with the Painted Antinium and experience reading a book, or playing chess for a while.

That was what was new in the Hive of the Free Antinium. Pawn resumed his sermon, trying to tell his people to hold to faith. For Erin would return. Surely. Someone would help bring her back.

But it had been three days since the Summer Solstice. And nowa week and a half since she had been lost.

-

The sermon concluded. The regular Antinium were released to their duties. The New Antinium stayed, still savoring the taste. Foolishly, theyd scarfed down the honeyed bread, unlike the regular Antinium and Painted Antinium, who knew to savor each bite and make it last for hours.

The Painted Antinium remained, as did the Individuals. For instance, the Antinium with the poofy hat, Garry.

He was to the Antinium what a celebrity was. Garry, Bird the [Hunter], Pawn, Belgrade, and Anand. They were the Individuals, with an option on Yellow Splatters and Purple Smiles and so on as later Antinium of note. The other Antiniumeven Painted Antiniumhung back as he moved towards Pawn.

For Garry was grieving too. As was Belgrade, still shaking with it. Pawn went first to them, speaking quietly, touching Antinium on the way. Did they grieve the most? Perhaps, for they were first. They had known Erin longest. Therefore, their grief mattered more than lesser Antinium.

And if that were true, then the Worker who had refused to take bread or honey felt it must be a pain so intense you could barely stand. He did not want to feel that. This? This was bad enough. He watched as the Individuals gathered in the center of the room, with all other Antinium attending them. Yellow Splatters was moving towards them, Purple Smiles, even the foreign AntiniumTersk and Dekass.

The ones who mattered. The Painted Worker hung back. For he did not. He had paint on his antennae, and only there. Silver paint. And thus he was Silveran, or so hed been named.

A Worker with a nickname, a rarity even among their kind. He watched, enviously, as Pawn embraced Garry. His voice was audible even from here.

The New Antinium. We must hold on, Garry. We must

They were turning to the new near-hundred Workers and Soldiers. Silveran, who was one year old, knew that a lack of a full hundred meant this group of Antinium had had faults with their generation. Some defect in the Birthers?

Or something more insidious? He had heard the words from the scrying orb, spelling a third bad thing in this week. And bad things had happened, so much already that Silveran couldnt take it in.

The new Workers and Soldiers stood to attention as the others regarded them. They would probably be disoriented; Silveran remembered clearly how his first hour of creation had been filled with combat.

Slimes had broken through cracks close to his area and the Queen had ordered the Workers and Soldiers to fight with her first contact. Silveran had watched a Soldier engulfed by a giant Sewer Slime before tearing the mana core out of the slime and watching it die.

These would have a gentler introduction. For that, Silveran envied them. But they would not meet Erin, even if they were allowed a patrol on the surface. So he pitied them.

Something was different about them, too. It wasnt completely obvious to them of course since they had no idea, but Silveran detected a fluidity of movement in them. A slightenhancement around the legs?

Improved muscular design in the lower structure. Or so hed heard Yellow Splatters remarking. The Free Queen had implemented one of her upgrades to the Worker and Soldier designs and it was only now showing up in later generations. In a month? Theyd see a lot of upgrades. Perhaps deficiencies too. Sometimes a Worker or Soldier was created with a flaw in their process that manifested itself only when they were functional.

Pawn was walking to the New Antinium, reaching out to touch shoulders. Garry, meanwhile, had offered a pie around and was sharing slices. Belgrade was being supported by his aides, and there were the two Armored Antinium.

All important. Silveran was not. At least, not in the same way. He washad beenprivileged beyond belief. A Worker employed in The Wandering Inn, a job position beyond belief. But Erin was dead.

So Silveran waited a moment, and found Pawns sermon had done nothing to close the hole inside of him that he could not see, only feel. Then he left.

-

The city of Liscor was noisy and silent by turns as Silveran left the Hive. He walked the streets, listening, observing.

Was he allowed to do this? Debatable. Silveran was Painted Antinium, but even they couldnt do what they wanted. Only Garry, Pawn, Bird, Belgrade, and Anand were that special. Yet Silveran?

He would normally be above, already in the inn, sweeping floors, serving drinks, doing whatever was needed. Hauling water from the well; he was good at that. He kept very far back in case he fell in of course. That was his biggest fear. But he was always on time. Erin had told him he could not arrive two hours early the first time she caught him sweeping up before dawn, so he always came exactly on time.

It was such a good job. Had been such a good job. Silveran had been specially chosen for it. Over four hundred Painted Workers had competed. Erin had no idea when she asked Pawn for a Worker to try out in the staff that there would be competition of course.

But Yellow Splatters, Xrn, and Belgrade had all agreed with Pawn that the best Worker should be chosen for the job. They had reviewed each Workers levels, and settled on Silveran because he was a Level 7 [Sweeper] and he had participated in eleven combat-events with no injuries.

Yellow Splatters had wanted to make the finalist Workers spar. But Pawn had been content with Silveran and chosen him after seeing Silveran handle a knife.

First of the Antinium staff. There were two more, but Silveran had been there almost every day. Hed go at the crack of dawn and walk for thirty minutes, strolling really, to get to the inn on time.

Such a good thing. He would arrive and clean up and Erin would insist he had a hot breakfast first, and Miss Imani would say hello and he would see Erin first thing and work until his shift ended.

Even Pawn wasnt that lucky. Even Garry saw Erin only once or twice a week. Silveran had considered he was the happiest Worker in the Hive. Hed kept that to himself of course; it was as close toheresyas anything to say that he was happier than Pawn, or more fortunate than Bird or Belgrade.

But hed thought it. He saw how often Bird said hello to Erin. Statistically, the Worker did have as many Erin-contact events as Silveran, but he sometimes missed meals. So Silveran had more seconds of Erin-proximity by far than Bird, even if Erin had conversations or chess games with him.

And yes, he counted. Silveran had counted every day he got to work in the inn. He had the number scratched into his permanent sleeping-cubby in the Painted Antiniums barracks, and his money was carefully sorted by coin in a small space hed hollowed out himself. He hadnt bought anything with it; he would have given it to the Painted Antiniums funds, but Yellow Splatters had said it was his.

Silveran had even leveled more than all but the most active Painted Soldiers or Individuals. He was a proud, Level 15 [Server], having changed from [Sweeper] to [Server] and he had a Skill Erin had been very happy about[Remove Mess]. Silveran could just point at a small spill or mess and it vanished! She had said it was the best Skill ever with Mrsha around and Silveran had written it down on a scrap of paper.

He paused in the street to open it now. The little, discarded piece of paper with one of Lyonettes shopping receipts on front was legible in the morning light.

The best Skill ever with Mrsha around.

Yes, it said that. But it no longer filled him with joy. Erin was dead.

Shot with crossbow bolts. Even now, Silveran felt like curling up at the memory. He had been in the inn, weapons drawn, ready to defend the inn if anyone got past the hallway kill zone. When hed heard a shout andandhed run outside and she was lying on the ground.

Shed been shot with the crossbow bolts right outside the inn and he hadnt stopped it.

The Worker shuddered. He dropped the piece of parchment and hurriedly bent to pick it up. His fault. He was surprised Pawn and Yellow Splatters hadnt told him to walk into the dungeon. Or thrown him into a Shield Spider nest. Hed been waiting.

Because, clearlyall of this was his fault. Erin dying and being frozen, the war with Hectvaleverything was Silverans fault because he hadnt been outside to defend her. He should have been, even if he didnt know shed been right there when the Drake raiding party attacked. But he should have been. All Silveran knew was that he should have died, not Erin.

Ergo, his fault. The logic was clear. Silveran picked up the parchment and put it away in his belt pouch.

Like Pawn, he wore clothing. Robes were the Antinium style since few things covered their bulky bodies. However, Erin had done some experimenting and her outfit for Antinium staff was an apron over their fronts, and a kind of kilt-like lower half, so they werent tangled in robes. Silveran had a belt with pouches, a standard, for most people on top of that.

He was just closing the pouch when he heard another bell tolling. The Worker started. He looked around and saw

A procession. Drakes, heads bowed, carryingSilveran was hurrying to the side of the street at once.

Carrying a casket. This was a funeral procession. The bell rang again, and Silveran saw it was hanging from the casket being borne by the Drakes. A crowd was following and the Worker pressed himself against a wall.

He knew at once it was someone going to be cremated. Or perhaps the casket bore their ashes for interment in one of the cemeteries.

There had been many of these. Three days of it. Funerals for the dead in the war with Hectval. Silveran remembered that, too.

A soldier bursting through the door to the inn, shouting for the Black Tide at Olesms orders. People going to fightthe huge Minotaur with one arm charging through with a roar. Silveran, about to join the thousand-some Antinium when Lyonette had told him to stay, to guard the inn and Mrsha.

So he had. He had not witnessed the battle. But he had heardPawn had conjured Aberrations. He had cursed the Hectval army and they had been driven to retreat despite ambushing Liscors army. It was a victory against the odds, especially since Liscors army had rushed to attack Hectval without preparation and been caught by three armies in a pass.

Stillthey had taken too many casualties. The funerals were proof of that. Silveran hung his head as the weeping Drakes passed. They were silent; the pedestrians whod all stopped to take off hats or watch the procession were not.

Damn Hectval. And damn whoever thought it was a good idea to attack them!

A Drake whispered furiously after the mourners had gone. Silveran heard some murmurs.

Not the time.

Isnt it? That Earl from Terandria and our [Strategist] were all charging off and look what happened. Hundreds dead! Thousands! Why is he still a [Strategist]?

I didnt hear anyone saying to stop at the time.

A Gnoll snorted.

The Watch Captain did. But who listened to her? Anyways, unless you have a good [Strategist] in your pocket

The first Drake growled, adjusting his coat as his tail lashed the ground. Silveran crept past the group; they paid no attention to the Worker. Liscorian citizens seldom did.

Its not right. And where is the army? Weve needed them more this year than any other and theyre off south, fighting for coin.

No arguments there. In fairnessthis years been like no other.

Thanks to that Human. Oh. Wellperhaps it will be quieter.

The group fell silent. The growling Drakes face turned suddenly abashed. The others glared at him and he shook his head, coughed into a claw.

Just not right, thats all. Im not saying Hectval shouldnt be punished. But we dont have enough of an army. We need ours back yesterday. Not just for Hectval. If its war with Rhir

Silveran walked past the group as he heard murmurs and then them breaking up. They were angry. Distraught. And not just because of Hectval.

More bad things had happened too.

-

The Wandering Inn stood on a hill outside the city. Silveran walked up to it; he was used to foot traffic, people using the door and thus a constant flow of people in and out, using the outhouses, lining up to go to another city.

It was deathly quiet today. As it had been yesterday, and the day before. Silveran opened the door and saw

No one. The inn was silent. He looked reflexively left and saw a blank wall. Oh. Right. The magic door had been moved to the portal room. The door to that was closed though, and he heard no one moving behind it. No one wanted to visit The Wandering Inn today. Or if they did? No one was here.

He walked down the long, suspiciously smooth and empty hallway. Halfway across, he heard the faintest of sounds. A shiftingSilveran paused. The Worker looked around and heard a voice.

Antinium. Recognize it.

It was muffled. The Worker froze in place and heard it coming from a tiny crack in the wall. A camouflaged arrow slit. He looked at the gap and saw a crossbow bolt aimed not-quite at his chest.

It pulled back. The Worker hesitated, and then walked on. As soon as he came to the door at the far end, he opened it.

An empty common room beyond. The Worker stared about. He heard a faint voice from further in the inn; saw nothing but tables and chairs, sitting empty, everything perfectly clean. Someone was in the kitchen, but no one was cooking anything.

Curious of who had been speaking, the Worker turned right, towards a door set into the wall. He opened it and found a passageway that ran along the hallway. It connected to more private dining rooms and other points in the inn, but notably allowed those in this hallway to peek into the other one or even use the hidden doorways.

Or arrow slits. A pair of men with hats were sitting on stools by one of the arrow slits. They turned as Silveran opened the door. Both had the inns crossbows trained and they were justwaiting.

One of them tipped his hat slowly, cautiously, eyes on the Antinium.

Guard duty. Sir. Pardon the crossbow.

Silveran recognized the two Brothers of Serendipitous Meetings at once. He also knew the grizzled, older one. Crimshaw. Silveran hesitated, then nodded. The two Brothers went back to waiting.

So someone was in the inn. No staff, no guests, though. Silveran feltdisturbed. He had known The Wandering Inn had been empty at times, but never during his employ. There was always some regulars eating Erins food, playing chess, watching the play

He walked into the common room again. Turned.

The [Grand Theatre] of The Wandering Inn made this a venue that hundreds of people could enjoy at their leisure. In fact, the room was separated by a huge curtain that ran the length of the room. As Silveran ducked behind it, he felt the air go silent.

[Silence] spell. And normally, the stage would be illuminated by mage lights, and an [Actor] would be declaiming to the silent audience below, performing a play. Silveran would enter from the side, with a tray of some quiet food, maybe some drinks, moving around to give it to the person who wanted it

No one was here. The stage was empty, dark. The backstage clearly deserted. No one at any table. Silveran looked about.

All wrong.

But the wrongest part was in the garden. Silverandidnt want to go there. It hurt too much. On that hill with the mists was the frozen bier. And Erin.

To avoid it, he walked back into the main common room. Inspected a table for dust.

Dustless. No dirt to be swept. No dishes to be bussed. At a loss, the Worker wandered to the kitchen. Maybe he could clean up

He heard the weeping before he entered. The Worker stopped at the doorway. He heard Imanis voice before he saw her. She was in the kitchen, crying.

The Worker backed away. Palt was there, not smoking anything, eyes red. Imani was leaning against the counter and neither noticed Silveran as he retreated.

This was The Wandering Inn after the solstice. And Silveran felt like it was a terrible dream. He hurried away from the kitchen as quietly as he could.

So empty. Silveran had been here three days ago and he felt the inn hadnt changed. It was trapped by what had happened. He desperately wanted to turn around and

Silveran! My favorite Worker! Wait, dont tell the others I said that. Finger guns!

Erin Solstice gave him the finger guns, which was their new tradition. Two versus four, unless Silveran was carrying something. She laughed, and gestured to a bag on the floor.

I bought this huge bag of beans from Pallass. I think theyre beans. Can you help me get it into the kitchen? Imani, dont be upset, but these are magic beans, see

Silveran bent to pick up the bag as an outraged voice came from the kitc

No one was there. There was no bag. The Worker looked around and remembered. Oh. That was two weeks ago.

Ages ago. If he could have walked backwards in time, he would have. But he couldnt, and weeping continued. Palts quiet voice. Silveran turned away.

And saw that the common room of the inn was not empty after all. Someone was in it, but had been so still and camouflaged that he hadnt seen her.

A little white Gnoll sat under a table, leaning against the base. She didnt move. Silveran stoppedthen hesitantly lifted a hand.

Mrsha didnt move. She stared past his leg, blankly. Her tail didnt move. He barely thought she was breathing.

The Gnoll child was growing. Hardly as large as Gnoll adults who were taller than most species, but she had put on muscle and weight since she had first come to the inn. Lyonette complained about piggyback rides, and Silveran knew the girl well.

She was Mrsha. Mrsha the Brave. Mrsha the Wizard. Mrsha thethe child who was always running about. Sneaking food, playing tag with her little friends. Causing troublemore often than not, Silverans best Skill was used to clean up a mess she made, upon which time hed have to get Lyonette or Ishkr and shed cling to his leg, begging him with sign language not to tell. But he always did.

Today, she was motionless, silent, unmoving. So still he hadnt even noticed her, despite the pure white fur that so fascinated him. Gnolls thought it was unlucky, cursed. Silveran had always thought it was beautiful, like clouds. The color did not exist belowground. Except in chalk deposits. And chalk sucked.

She did nothing as he waved at her. Silveran hesitatedbut then moved on. The crying made him feel like he was intruding. So he walked out of the common room.

Not upstairs. He did not wish to pass by Erins room, which was first on the right. And besides, he only swept up there, changed beddinghe was used to working here.

Instead, he followed the second sound in the inn. The hallway on the left was just as long as the one the two Brothers were in. It connected to Stitchworks at the far end, as well as to other parts of the inn.

The Antinium-only rooms, the secret, door-less Earth rooms that Silveran had helped build, and so on. There was a weights room next to Stitchworks, one of the main attractions, and before that

The rec room was one of two, with some key distinctions. After her initial creation of the rooms, Erin had divided the dice, cards, darts, and billiards table into one room, and kept the other full of quiet games.

More chess tables, Go boards, Shogias well as some couches and places to just sit. For one of the main attractions of this room was the large, enchanted mirror on the far end of the wall.

That was what had been making all the sound. Silveran peeked his head in and saw another employee of The Wandering Innalbeit inside the mirror.

The scrying spell reflected Drassi and Sir Relz, both broadcasting Pallass News Network on the screen. Both Drakes were dressed in white, the color of mourning in Izril.

Compared to that, the Human man wore a dark violet, which was the style in his nation. He was speaking and it was that which faintly echoed through the silent inn, despite the closed doors.

Retaliation must be brought to bear against the Demon Kingdom on Rhir. Thats not under debate, Sir Relz. But the question is: how. If this Death of Magic really was responsible for thethe abhorrence that took place four days ago, it is entirely conceivable it might happen again.

Oh yes, the second bad thing. Silveran listened as the two Drakes shuddered. He read the written caption at the bottom of the screen.

The Demons spell, discussion with Lord Verqen of Ailendamus. Ongoing segment

Drassi spoke, and Silveran heard her familiar voice, normally so cheery, laced with emotion.

Are you saying wethat iswell, our young are in danger of a second spell of this magnitude, Lord Verqen? Please tell me youre not.

The Drake with the monocle, Sir Relz, looked uneasy at the very suggestion. The [Lord] instantly shook his head.

I wouldnt say that Miss Drassi. And I would hesitate to alarm anyone. I am simply

He broke off, and even the [Diplomat] looked pained. Because children had died. Across the worldit was the Demons doing, Silveran had heard. Everyone was angry. Grieving. Three bad things, then.

The war with Hectval. The Demons spell. And Erin was dead.

What I am saying isconcurrent to armies, retaliatory forcesanythingis finding out how a spell of such power could be cast. Using safeguards against this magic! It bypassed every protection across the world. Frankly, until we know how it was done, and how it can be preventedAilendamus will be safeguarding first. I think we all will, despite his Majesty Othius insistence. We have been wounded and that is a fact. But there will never be forgiveness.

Everyone nodded at that. These were the facts that were being reported. A terrible thing had happened. And the Demons were to blame. Childrenunborn children across the world had died.

It unnerved everyone, except perhaps the Blighted King, who was a pillar of terrible determination in these dark hours. He had broken the news, wrought with guilt over his inability to stop the Demons treachery. The rest of the world was outraged, grievingbut less committed to an assault than he was.

But there would be vengeance, oh yes. In time. But unease and loss were first, even more than anger. Rhir and the Blighted King were used to loss, to the Demons being their great enemy who would do anything, sink to any lows. It was one of the first times the world had suffered that feeling, though.

Someone had left what Erin called the television on. Silveran was about to turn it off when he noticed the mirror had an audience. He stopped, for he saw a familiar person watching the news.

Numbtongue? There was only one species with naturally green skin, so Silveran expected it was him. Then he remembered the other Goblin guests. Lets see. Snapjaw had left. So this was Badarrow.

Because Numbtongue was in the [Garden of Sanctuary]. He had been three days ago and he did not move. The terrible sword was on his knees and he stood watch over Erins bier, as if afraid ofsomething disturbing her.

That had suited Silveran. He blamed Numbtongue for everything as much as himself.

But was this Badarrow? Badarrow was thinner. And this Hobgoblin was heavier than both Numbtongue and Badarrow, who were rather lean Redfangs. AlsoSilveran was pretty sure it wasnt Numbtongue now, because he was fairly certain Numbtongue did not have mammaries.

He edged around the couch and saw her half-sprawled across it. She wore about as much clothing as your average Antinium, and could have actually fit in because her body was covered in glowing paints.

But such colors and style! Silveran had to admire that. The Painted Antinium could take lessons from this unknown Goblin. They were intricate drawings, and clearly magical. In fact, he was now certain this was not Snapjaw, who wore no such warpaint and had a big head and big teeth. This wasthe new Goblin.

She saw him at the same time as he finally remembered someone had arrived on the day of the Summer Solstice. Ulvamas eyes went wide and she let out a shout of surprise as she grabbed her staff.

Silveran fled backwards and she rolled off the couch, staff raised and aimed threateningly. She bared her teeth, her crimson eyes wide as Silveran froze. He raised all four arms.

Bug! Bug thing! Shoo!

Ulvama hissed at him. She was wide-eyed, but calmed a bit as she recognized Silveran. He stared at her.

This was the Hobgoblin who had come through the magic door on the Summer Solstice. The latest guest of The Wandering Inn. Lyonette must have let her stay. He had only seen her once, and she was clearly warier of him than he was of her.

Back!

Her staffs tip glowed warningly. Silveran walked backwards and knocked over a chess table. The crash of the wooden pieces hitting the floor made both wince. Silveran bent down as Ulvama stared at him. She lookedafraid? But her staff made Silveran afraid.

The door opened and someone appeared there. Silveran and Ulvama turned and he saw Er

Ishkr. The Gnoll had hurried over and he stared at Silveran and Ulvama both. He recoiled from the glowing staff.

Silveran? What are you doing here?

The Worker waved and began to sign that he had come to work, but Ulvama had already slunk down. She glared at Ishkr over the couch.

MissUlvama? Is everything alright? Did Silveran startle you?

The Gnoll hesitated and looked at her. He was [Head Server], and Silveran was used to obeying him. The Worker picked up the pieces as the Goblin [Shaman] didnt reply. Ishkr scratched at his forehead, sighed, and looked at Silveran, who was trying to set the board up to a pre-game state.

Silveran, leave the board. Come with me, please.

Silveran did just that. He walked out of the room, feeling the [Shaman]s eyes on his back. Ishkr closed the door, and turned to him.

What are you doing here, Silveran?

Working.

The Worker signed with his hands. Ishkr read the gesture; it was a copy of Mrshas language. The Painted Antinium felt more at home using sign language than speaking, mostly. But Ishkr still looked puzzled.

Silveran. There is no work. Everything is clean. And no one ishere.

Silveran hung his head. He knew that. Ishkr gestured.

Lyonette is not asking for staff. She cannot pay you, and there is nothing to do. You should go hgo to your Hive. She will ask for help if it is needed.

He knew that. But he wanted to stay. There was nothing to do in the Hive. No one had remembered Silveran had nothing to do now. He wanted to be here.

And yet, Silveran looked around the inn. Down the corridor to the common room where Mrsha sat like a stuffed animal. The faint cryingthe lack of Erin.

He wanted to be here. And he hated and regretted coming already. Slowly, he nodded. Silveran saw Ishkr hesitate, then reach out and pat him on the shoulder.

It wont be long before we need help. Miss Lyonette has orders while shes gone. She is leaving today, I think. But soonErin will be back.

The Gnoll was youngat least, young for his position but he had earned it by working hard and being the most reliable person Erin and Lyonette had hired. And he lied well.

Just not well enough. Silveran had heard the same thing from Pawn, Lyonetteeveryone. Soon. Someone was going to bring Erin what she needed. A potion, an antidote, a scroll. It would be soon. Erin had friends.

Slowly, Silveran left The Wandering Inn, and walked into Liscor, lost and even less happy. They said these things. But it had been close to two weeks now, and Erin was not back. The citys bells rang in the distance.

Silveran hated it. He hated the silent inn, the pain in the streets, and how lost everything seemed. Because if Erin were here, she wouldnt have stood for it. She would have hugged Silveran and told him it was all okay, then done something that would have made people feel better. It wouldnt have fixed everything. But it would have been something.

If she were here. That was the point. She was gone. Silveran walked into the city. People said she would be back. But people had been trying to bring her back already.

And they had failed.

-

Unlike Liscor, this city had not always been a city. Many settlements had a sort of evolution where a village slowly became a town, and slowly added things like walls, more buildings, and became a city at some stage.

Of course, some cities like Liscor were built as such from the start, as checkpoints between north and south, or great projects.

But this had been a village not so long ago. Yet someone had made it into a city over the last few decades. One persons presence had transformed it. And that was an extraordinary thing. Most people in Liscor would take umbrage to the claim that one [Innkeeper] had transformed Liscor entirely. It was multiple factors. But here?

It was a city-in-progress for all that, still expanding, still growing. It couldnt contain even half the actual population in the area, so the vast suburbs of temporary housing, tents, even buildings made by people who realized they would be staying for a while or taking over from previous tenants, sprawled around the actual walls.

It was they who really funded the city, so while the [Mayor] disliked them and the walls were high and the gates manned at all times to prevent them flooding the city themselves, the crowds were grudgingly allowed to trade and enter the city, if only for the day.

It was an odd economy system, even including cities like Liscor who had survived on a roaming mercenary army, or nations like Khelt, whose entire foundation was based on undead labor. Because at least both cities had a permanent income source! If the crowds ever vanished, this city would lose its lifeblood of coin.

But so long as they had the very person whom the city was founded upon, all would endure. So it was built around her. And such was her reputation that people came from all over the continent, around the world, waiting for weeks, months

Years, just to have the Healer of Tenbault lay her hands upon you once. Because that would cure you of all that ailed you, or so the rumors claimed.

The truth was different. The truth was that the city of Tenbault was always packed with supplicants. And that while people did see the Healerit was few per day. And those slots were always spoken for.

The young man who went sprawling in the street found that out the hard way. He was on his feet in an instant, but wisely didnt movethe spear one of the Healers guards was leveling at him was backed up by two more, and a look.

The look came from the leader of the inner citys defense force. He was a huge, barrel-chested man with dark skin and a prodigious voice. Even when speaking, it seemed as though you were being exhorted by the sheer suppressed volume.

No exceptions! I dont care if youre related to the King of Destruction himself! No one enters without a pass guaranteeing the Healers treatment! And those are nigh-impossible to get, even for a Gold-rank team. Try to get in again and youll suffer for it, boy.

He pointed at the young man. He hadnt even drawn the mace by his sidebut his left hand bore studded leather knuckles. A cestus; an old fistfighters weapon. He wore azure armor though, marked with the Healers sigil; a palm holding a bloom in white.

The guard occupied the gates to the inner city of Tenbault. The outer city was devoted to making money off the countless people seeking the Healer, but she lived in the inner cityand unlike the citys [Guards], her security let no one in, no matter the bribe.

And they were good. One of them had caught the young man trying to sneak past them in a moment, despite the [Invisibility] spell. He coughed, and then sniffed as he rubbed his bleeding cheek; a hair slower and they might have speared him through the head.

I merely wished to ask the Healer

You and everyone else. Back up. Now.

The mans voice was ominous. The [Necromancer]s eyes narrowed, but the silver-armed woman by his side grabbed him.

I told you it was a bad idea, Pisces. ListenI am Magnolia Reinharts niece. Yvlon Byres

Unless shes here, youre not getting in, Miss. And frankly, Ive seen enough desperate Gold-ranks try to take a run at getting in. You want to try it? The next time, not even the Healer will be able to help your friend.

It was not an idle threat either. The guards were not [Guards], but a team of adventurersnearly twenty strong. An irregularity among most adventurer teams, which tended towards small sizes, but these were paid by the Healer to protect her.

So they had achieved Named-rank status as a team. And their leader was a Named-rank adventurer himself. Even Elia Arcsingers team, Arcsingers Bows, had only her to boast of, not a Named-rank designation as a team.

They called him Crowdcaller Merdon. No guesses why; he exhorted the crowds gathered outside the inner gates to the city with the same speech every day. As he turned away from Pisces and Yvlon dragged him back, she heard his prodigious voice ringing above the demands, begging, and shouts for the Healer of Tenbault.

Attention to all those gathered to see the Healer of Tenbault! The gates are closed and no force of arms will open them! Any intruders will be dealt with without mercy! The Healer will only see those with a passwhich can be obtained in lottery if you have not one yourself! All those gathered, disperse unless you have proof of entry!

Of course, that didnt stop them. People came forwards, demanding to be let in because they were rich. Or famous. Or producing passes theyd paid for, or asking for clarification

Merdon dealt with none of them. He walked past the hired [Mercenaries] who supplemented the Shield of Tenbaults adventurers. The bored [Mercenary]-[Guards] dealt with the crowds. They were a law unto their own.

Thatthat arrogant man.

Pisces spluttered, touching the drying cut on his cheek. He was red-faced, but Yvlon dragged him back.

Well, youve tipped him off you want in. I told you to wait. Come on, it isnt safe.

Indeed, the adventurers on duty were watching Pisces like hawks, recognizing perhaps one of the real threats to their job security. Not that Pisces had even gotten close; one had nearly beheaded him as he tried to [Flash Step] past invisibly.

Yvlon pulled Pisces back. The [Necromancer] let himself be pulled away. He watched a wave of people trying to get forwards. Like yesterday, they pushed and pushed

And then someone made a fatal mistake. Like Pisces, they tried to get through. Only this time it was a [Trader], clutching what might have been a wife, or daughter. He tried to bull-rush past the [Mercenaries] with an escort of [Guards].

Back! Back!

The [Mercenaries] were yelling. But the [Guards] were pushing in. Not bearing steel; they were smart enough about that. But the crowd pushed forwards, encouraged. As if they thought they could overwhelm

One pushed past the first rank of mercenaries towards the adventurers guarding the sole gate. The walls were fortified with a magical barrier. He reached back to open the hole wider as the [Trader] fought forwards. Then an arrow went straight through his head.

The [Guard] dropped like a stone. There was a screamthen a roar of fury so loud Yvlon and Pisces clapped their hands to their ears. The [Mercenaries] had already put their hands to their ears.

Enough!

It was just a shout. But what volume! Yvlons ears rang and she had not been the actual target. Crowdcaller Merdons shout reduced the crowd, minus the mercenaries who were magically protected or immune to his Skill, to a group of writhing people on the ground clutching at their heads. Some began throwing up, or just lay, stunned from the vibrations in the air alone.

He just downed all those people. Some werent even trying to get in!

It was Yvlons turn to be outraged. Pisces shook his head.

Thats Named-rank for you. It was that or let them push their way into the inner city.

Dont tell me you approve of that!

Yvlons fists clenched. Pisces glared at her. Yvlon resisted the urge to hit himto hit something. He spoke, voice taut.

Im just being practical!

They glared at each other and then, abruptly, relaxed. Both their nerves were frayed to breaking. Yvlon saw Pisces hang his head.

I should have chosen my moment more carefully.

At least you werent killed. Come on. Lets find Ceria.

Yvlon mumbled. They walked away. They were the Horns of Hammerad, two of them, and they had journeyed as fast as possible to reach Tenbault, southwest of Veltras lands and just out of the shadow of the High Passes, seeking the Healers aid.

They were realizing it was unlikely they would get it. It had been four days since they arrived. Each like the last.

-

The inns in Tenbault werent great. They werent even amazing. They were definitely overcrowded and certainly overpriced.

For reference, Yvlon calculated that it would be three times cheaper to stay at the Tailless Thief for a night, and that was the most expensive inn in all of Liscor. And this wasnt even the best inn in Tenbault. Far from it.

They found Ceria in her room, which was better than the common room of the inn. But one look at Ksmvrs guilty ball of shame and Cerias condition as she tried to hide something behind her back and Yvlon knew.

Youre drinking again.

Am not.

I tried to stop her, Yvlon. But I have failed.

Ksmvr spoke from the floor. Ceria looked guilty as she took another sip from the amphora of something. Pisces wrinkled his nose.

We have to sleep in here.

Sorry. Ill cast a spell.

Ceria waved her hand and nearly went over backwards on the bed. The amphora spilled; Yvlon and Pisces both cursed as she sat up.

Damn. Sorry

Yvlon sat down and put her head in her hands. She resisted the urge to hit Ceria. One did not do that to a team captain. And if Yvlons instinct was to hit somethingagainCerias was to drink. Instead, she did the equivalent with words.

While you were getting drunk, Pisces nearly got himself killed trying to sneak through the gates. A hair slower and I would have brought back his head and body independent of each other. And hes not a good enough [Necromancer] to deal with that yet.

Ceria lowered the amphora at once. Ksmvr stirred.

Pisces! I told you

Were never going to win that lottery. I thought it was worth a shot. They were distractedbut their spells were too good. I dont think they even noticed I was [Invisible].

The [Necromancer] sat on the bed, eying the stain. Yvlon grimaced.

And now Merdon himself knows our faces.

Crowdcaller Merdon? You got to speak with him?

Right before he sound-blasted an entire crowd off their feet. They do not play games at the gates. I saw the team kill a poor [Guard] who was trying to get through.

Tree rot.

Ceria raised the amphora again, but Pisces had conjured it towards him. She wobbled, scowled, and put a hand to her head. Her skeletal fingers were coated in frost; even the spilled drink was beginning to freeze. Cold swirled around her, although you had to be within a foot or two to feel it.

Maybe we can find another way. Did you say you were

Magnolia Reinharts niece? Yes. It wont work. Ive heard members of the Five Families get turned away without a pass, Ceria.

But Magnolia Reinhart can. I meanshe gets in, right? Can you call her up?

No. Shes at sea, anyways, and Im not that close. I triedbut I dont even know who to ask to [Message]. I just left a note.

Yvlon hung her head. Pisces nearly spat out the wine.

This is disgusting.

Its for me. Give it back.

You have imbibed a large amount of wine already, Captain Ceria. Perhaps

Im fine, Ksmvr.

Ceria snapped and the Antinium went silent. Instantly, Yvlon kicked Ceria. The half-Elf went over the other side of the bed with a cry.

Sober up, would you? Were here for Erin.

The half-Elfs eyes flashed, but she pulled herself upright slowly. Yvlon tried to calm herself. She shouldnt have done that. It was just

Look at them. Ksmvr was miserable, now guilty about Yvlon and Ceria fighting. Pisces wasnt his usual cool, sneering-but-caring self, but taking risks that had nearly gotten him killedand he valued his life more than anything else! Yvlon had nearly been ready to go after Ceria for lying about drinking and the half-Elf was

Ceria hung her head. She let the dregs of the amphora sit. Then, pointed with a curse.

The entire thing froze into a block of ice. Ceria kicked it across the room. Then she grabbed her toe.

Aaah! I just split my toenail!

The Horns of Hammerad considered it was a perfect event to sum up their experience. They watched as Ceria sat on the bed and Ksmvr anxiously produced a potion and inspected the break. Ceria, wincing, put a drop on it.

We rode for five days and nights in the undead chariot for this. Four more days waiting hereis there any chance we win the lottery today? Ksmvr, whats our number?

#2301, Captain Ceria.

Ksmvr produced the carefully-marked lottery ticket. They were issued each week, and the winners were drawn per day. But there were thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of people with passes and there were sometimes only ten winners per week.

Is that lucky?

Ceria shook her head. Theyd lost three days in a row, but perhaps today? They would be listening as the numbers were shouted across the city, of course. Winners had an hour to present themselves at the gates.

How much does a winning ticket go for, Pisces?

Assuming someone is willing to sell it? Ive heard a hundred thousand gold pieces sometimes.

Youre joking.

More or less. Ceria, there are entire groups of people who make their living trying to get a winning ticket once. Upon which time they sell it.

An entire economy based on the Healer. Yvlon shook her head as Ceria swore faintly. The half-Elf rubbed at her toenail. Then she produced a dagger.

I need to trim them.

Youre disgusting.

Yvlon and Pisces both looked away as Ceria glowered at them. The half-Elfs oddities from eating bugs to picking her teeth in public somehow ranked below Ksmvr in terms of social acceptability.

Lets face facts. I doubt we even have a 1% chance of winning the lottery. Pisces?

I did the math with some people downstairs. It is in fact, zero point zero, zero, zero

Please stop.

Pisces did. He didnt look happy to deliver the news. Yvlon had often accused Pisces of being uncaring, dishonorable, and so on. But she remembered how they had learned about Erin.

Madness. They had been split on what to do. Go after Hectval and burn it to ash? Go to the inn and see? In the endthey had come here.

And much good did it do them. Ceria, wincing and cutting her toenails, muttered.

Okay. Lets say weget a pass.

If youre going to say we mug a winner

Pisces!

The [Necromancer] coldly met Cerias eyes.

I looked into it. The Shield of Tenbault tracks winners. Wed end up fighting them.

Damn. I was going to suggest that.

Ceria ignored Yvlons look.

From someone who didnt need it, Yvlon. One of those fake-supplicants, like Pisces was talking about.

There might be a lot of them. But there are more people in actual need than I ever want to see. Its

Disturbing. Yvlon saw Pisces nodding, lips pressed together. Tenbault was a thriving cityon people who genuinely needed aid. There were people who had lost limbs, who were sick of some unknown diseasethey were kept far away from the city, and indeed, illnesses did spread from guests, hence the Horns paying for an inn which was saferpeople who had taken head injuries, children who had gone blind

And those were people with long-term diseases. People died in the city at the gates, bleeding of wounds no potion could cure. Some who had taken poison, or anything a [Healer] and magical medicine had no answer for.

Tenbault was as much morgue as place of hope. It disgusted Yvlon. Ceria looked at the [Armsmistress].

What I need to know is: will it even help? We dont have Erin with us. And the rules state

She found the wadded up instructional and opened it. Yvlon saw Ceria go down the page and recite.

patients may be accompanied by no more than (2) assistants and/or guardians. Furthermore, the Healer of Tenbault will only administer her practice to those who appear before her directly. Infectious diseases, dangerous ailments of any kind, etc. are to be subject to further inquiry and may not be treated. The Healer of Tenbault does not guarantee success of any kind, no matter how a pass is acquired

Its a scam.

Pisces folded his arms. Ceria broke off reading. The [Necromancer] looked around as Ksmvr wiped at the spilled wine.

Excuse me? Pisces, all these people are here for her. It cant be if theyre here.

This seems exactly like a scam to me. The Healer is making a fortune. Note the wording? We dont have Erin. Our best bet is to convince her to help Erinwhich I do not believe we can do. But I was also not aware of how she conducted her craft. This seems like a scam. Perhaps she has a fake class and is fooling a few people with temporary relief each month

Ceria bit her lip. Certainly, this wasnt the saintly [Healer] they had been led to expect. The Healer of Tenbault was a name people talked about with the worst injuries. A distant hope.

Reality sucked. However, it was Yvlon who disagreed.

Its not a scam, Pisces. It may be that the Healer is less than the rumors say. But I know its not.

And how, pray?

The [Necromancer] snapped, and then swiveled to watch Yvlons foot. It twitched, but the [Armsmistress] contented herself to folding her arms.

Because my aunt, Magnolia Reinhart, made the Healer of Tenbault. I had hoped that counted for something, but apparently not.

The other Horns looked at Yvlon. Ksmvrs mandibles opened.

Imani stopped him. Palt still raised his wand. Ulvama backed up.

No hurt! Only want food, food! Nice Goblin, yes!

She gabbled, in a mockery of proper language. Thats right. Pretend to be a scared little Goblinwell, she was too big to pull off the trick entirely.

Its alright! Its

Imani recovered first. She held out an arm in front of Palt and spoke for both Ulvamas and his benefit.

Youre Ulvama, right? Did you want food? We didnt mean to scare you.

Scare her? I nearly died!

Palt exhaled hard. He fumbled for his cigar, staring at Ulvamas [Chameleon Skin] spell.

[Shaman] magic. I would have noticed it at once if Id been looking.

Hah. Ulvama rolled her eyes. But he wasnt, so she would have knifed him twice if shed been trying to kill him. [Mages]. She backed up.

Not hungry. Am fine. Sorry Goblin. Is go now.

She began to scuttle out of the kitchen. Thenstopped. Ulvama ground her teeth. She had to know. She looked over her shoulder and pointed at the door.

Broken Goblin with sword. He not eat?

BrokenNumbtongue? Nohe hasnt.

Imani looked at Ulvama, and then at Palt.

I tried to give him food, butwell, I think the plates still up there. Its not like its gone bad, but he hasnt touched it.

Yougive food to him?

Ulvama was surprised. Imani nodded, with something like actual concern. Blown away, Ulvama saw Palt nod.

I could try to talk to him againbut I dont think itll work.

He half-trotted into the door. Ulvamas eyes narrowed.

How do that, you?

Imanis forehead wrinkled. Ulvama might have been overdoing the bad speaking. But most Goblins spoke like this. Mountain City tribe was different.

Wewe can go through the garden. Oh. You cant. Erins Skill

She and Palt shared a look. That was the frozen Humans name. Erin. Ulvama hesitated, eying the Centaur.

I go through? I am Goblin. He is Goblin. I talk to.

She smiled, trying to look unthreatening as possible. She shouldnt have shown them she could blend with the walls. Palt hesitated.

I dont know. We cant just bring new people in.

They came for the wake. I guess the doors not letting anyone through? We couldbring her in? I dont know how, though.

Ulvamas smile turned to a scowl as Imanis back turned. Darn. She thought for a second, but the Garden didnt actually have much of what she wanted. Just that Sages Grass on the hill; Ulvama would love to cut a bunch of the plants. And truth be told

Goblins could live for up to a week without food. Twice as much if they had the right classes. Tremborag could probably have starved for a month. But without water? She hesitated. But that stupid broken Goblin

You give him food. Numbtongue. He eat. Food, water.

She urged Imani. The [Cook] looked helpless.

But he wont eat.

Ulvama eyed her.

So? Make him Hungry Hungry Stew.

Hungry Hungrywhat?

Did she not know what that was? Ulvama tried to translate.

Make him stewwith Skill. That makes him very hungry. So even sad Goblins have to eat. You have Skill?

She looked at Imani hopefully. The [Cook] blankly looked at Palt. He shrugged.

Must be a compulsion-effect. I dont know it. I could cast a spell on a dish. But do you know that Skill, Imani?

No

Ulvama cursed. Most Goblins got that Skill. Its utility wasnt just in making sad Goblins eat. It was generally to uh, make Goblins so hungry they ate stews with worms and mud and bark in them without objecting to the taste.

What other ways did you cheer up sad Goblin warriors? Wellshe thought Imani and the Centaur would object if she told her to go have sex with the broken Goblin. Getting a Chieftain to kick the sad Goblins into action and go kill something didnt work either since there was no Chieftain.

I go into Garden, I help.

Imani hesitated.

Im sorry, but I dont know how to do it.

Human poo.

Ulvama cursed. She leaned on her staff. Then she had an idea.

I know how to make broken Goblin eat. You have water? Food?

Theres a plate. But I could get uma regular stew.

Imani fussed with the bowls. Palt came back in and found her a large one, and a spoon. Ulvama nodded. She saw them fill up the bowl with a hearty broth; how fascinating that nothing began to rot here! Another useful Skill. Tremborag would have loved to conquer this inn.

You give to Numbtongue-Goblin.

He wont eat. He barely moves.

He will. I will tell you magic words to make him move. Special, Goblin-words. You must tell him exactly. Umyou.

She pointed at Palt. The Centaur blinked. Ulvama thought hed refuse. No Centaur shed ever met would have treated a Goblin with respect, much less taken orders.

But she was desperate. That broken Goblin should live. And he only hesitated for a moment before nodding.

Im willing to try anything. What do I say?

Ulvama beckoned him over. She knew roughly what the words should be. She whispered in his ear and Imani eyed them. Palts mouth opened.

Er

You say. It work.

Ulvama urged him to the door. Imani went after Palt as he trotted, bemused, into the garden.

What did she say?

Magic words? I dont know. It might work

Ulvama craned her neck as she saw him head up the hill. Imani followed and then turned to Ulvama curiously.

The female Hobgoblin couldnt see up into the hill with the mists where the frozen Human lay. But she could see the Centaur ascending most of the way at a fast trot. It was so silent she heard his voice.

Hey Numbtongue? Numbtongue, you have to eat. This is from Imani and me. And that female Hobgoblin. Ulvama? You need to eat, friend.

Nothing. Of course not. The Centaur tried a few more times, clearly trying to cajole the broken Hob. Then he sighed.

Okay. Listen. I was told to tell you this

His voice dropped to a murmur. Ulvama waited. She was almost certainImani took a few steps. Then she heard a shout.

Raaargh!

That was about right. Ulvama heard Palt shout.

Aaah!

There was a roar of fury, then a terrified bellow and Palt racing down the hill as Numbtongue went after him, in a blind fury. Imani shouted.

Palt! What did you say?

She looked back at the [Shaman]. Ulvama nodded, satisfied.

The words always worked. Palt raced past her line of view, pursued by a Goblin driven mad with rage. Numbtongue hadnt brought his sword; he just ran, practically frothing at the mouth, trying to beat the Centaurs brains in.

For about half a minute. Then he dropped as the rage left him, looked around, bewildered. Palt, his hindquarters to the wall, lowered his wand.

Wh-whall I said was

Numbtongue was breathing. He looked up, and Ulvama waved at him. He stared at her, then Imani. Palt bit back the words Ulvama had taught him. It wasclose to a magic spell.

Velan, Curulac, Ierlv. You have failed them all. The Goblins Kings die! Shame! Shame upon you, Goblin! You have forgotten your oath.

Magic words. Who needed an incantation when you could rouse any Goblin out of their funk with that? For greater effect, name more Goblin Kings.

Of course, it didnt last. Numbtongue was panting; he was clearly dehydrated, such that he didnt sweat. But he was ready to curl up.

Give stew. Go! Go!

Ulvama poked Imani into the doorway. Imani hurried over.

Numbtongue! You have to drink something. Eat.

Shes dead. My fault.

The Hobgoblin moaned. He curled up as Palt edged around him. He was shooting daggers out his eyes at the [Shaman], but she only had attention for Numbtongue.

Its not, Numbtongue. You have to at least have some water, please?

No point.

Ulvama smacked into the door again. She wanted to beat some sense into that stupid Hobgoblins head! She rubbed her nose and called out.

You! Broken Hob! Drink water, stupid!

He looked at her. She waved her staff angrily and switched to their language.

I am a [Shaman]! You stupid Goblin! Drink, eat food even if stinking Humans make it! Eat, to be strong! Protect! Cannot protect if you eat nothing!

His eyes flickered. He looked towards the hill and Ulvama pointed.

Human only frozen! Not dead! Eat stew and live, or protect nothing! Do not fail again!

Imani and Palt were looking at Ulvama, impressed. They had tried their own variations on that line. So had Lyonette, Selys, Drassieven Badarrow, who could at least move.

But no one had even gotten Numbtongue to blink. Ulvama had gotten him down the hill and now

The words registered. Numbtongue looked at Imani. Back at the hill.

Come into the inn. Have a seat.

I have to go back. Protect. Bad things

He muttered. But suddenlyhis stomach growled. And Imani knew how to pick her battles.

Then have a drink. Wheres that stew? Palt! You kicked it over!

I was running for my life!

The Centaur retorted. But he was already trotting back to get more, as Numbtongue let Imani help him back up. Food, waterUlvama saw him gritting his teeth.

It would taste like mud, but he would live. She sighed in relief. Then she scurried away before the Centaur could take his wrath out on her. She paused in the common room. The little Gnoll hadnt even moved. Ulvamano. No, only Goblins.

Only Goblins. She had to live. Goblins had to live. She hurried off. Little Gnoll would be fine. Probably.

Why did she remind her of Pebblesnatch so much? It was probably the fur. It reminded her of that stupid white hat.

-

Silveran the Worker was now jobless, and thus, the first Antinium to be laid off in the history of ever. Ksmvr did not count. He had been fired. Different, very different.

Silveran walked the streets of Liscor, lost. The bells tolled. The funerals took place, the people wept.

He could not weep. Nor was sadness the only thing in his heart.

Yes, he was sad. Yes, he was hurt beyond what he believed was possible that Erin wasbut more than that, he was longing. He was desperate, an emotion of longing, desperation, want that he had no word to fully describe.

Because he wanted to return to a month ago. He wanted Erin Solstice to bound down the stairs, with some crazy idea in mind, or run about the inn screaming about something like beavers in the bath!

He wanted her to be back when he woke. He wanted those pleasant days to return. And he feared, now. Feared that those days would never return.

That was death. That was what death did. It took things away. And yes, it was the first time the Worker had contextualized the idea of death thusly.

Silveran had never feared it before. He had seen death in the first hour of his waking and known it was his fate.

Only now did he hate it. Only now did he understand why it was feared. Not for him. But for what it took away.

And in that moment, he knew why Pawns vision of Heaven mattered. But still, even if Silveran now longed for Heavenwhat was he, Silveran, supposed to do?

He was not Lyonette, who was going to Oteslia. He was not the [Priest], or Garry the [Cook], or Bird. He did not have a grand vision for bringing Erin back. He wouldnt even know how to begin.

So the Worker wandered. He walked the streets of Liscor, knowing there was nothing for him in the inn while it lay silent. He walked and he walked.

Until he stopped for a small reason.

It was close to evening, when the Antinium Worker found the shop. Not an inn. And it was not a derelict shop. Although it was close.

The doors were open, but clearly, no clientele were present, not even the owner. There was a dirty front, made of crude, cheap glass with warps and bubbles, displayingSilveran peered at the display.

Dried local herbs and vegetables. Upon further reflection, he saw that this was intentional for the herbs; unintentional for the vegetables. This was a small, local shop that sold locally foraged or grown produce. A grocers, really.

But what really caught his eye, more than the nature of the shop itself wasthe dirt. The door was open, and the shop was dirty.

Look at it. Someone had tracked muck off the street inside. Ground it into the floorboards. And it had hardened into that calcified mess that made cleaning it so much worse.

Worst yetthis was not a new problem. Clearly, someone did desultory sweeping now and then, which meant that the really bad stains, sticky substances, and so on, got worked into the floorboards between the cracks, until it was practically part of the masonry.

It was horrible to behold. Mainly because Erins floors had used to look like that before she got a proper, full-time cleaner. [Basic Cleaning] only got you so far.

The Antinium began to drift on. But then he came back. Lyonette would have him cleaning that floor in a moment. And look at it! Even the dried mud and bits of grass and such were just scattered there, let alone the stuff that required soap, a mop, rags!

And there was a broom, lying against one wall. No one had even picked it up? Silveran hesitated. He looked around

Then scurried into the open shop. He grabbed the broom and began to sweep, furtively looking around. Someone had to do it. It pained him to see the floorboards so.

[Wide Sweep]. [Magnetic Pull]. And sweep! The particles collected around the bristles of the cheap broom, and without being left behind, he swept a good four feet of space clean out the door in one stroke.

That was satisfaction. You couldnt get a sweep like that without Skills. It was practically an art form. A lesser [Attendant] sweeping her storefront paused to gape at Silverans first mighty work of the broom.

Whoa.

The Drake girl of perhaps ten watched as the Antinium turned and repeated the motion. Dust and debris whirled out the door. The Drake girl leaned on her broom, a newfound appreciation for the art of sweeping suddenly instilled in her.

This was his craft. This was his art. Silveran barely needed five minutes to get the main floor cleanthen he went behind the counter, around the edges. Three more minutes and the floors were swept.

But not clean. He looked around the empty shop, noting the back door was closed. Still deserted, and no one had stopped him. So he looked at the floor and sawa bucket.

It held some dead leeks. But if you took them out and got a bit of water, why, you had water in a bucket. And there was some cloth hanging right there! Probably used to hold the fresh veggies.

Silveran knew where all the wells were in the city. He hesitated. He shouldnt be in here. But the floors

-

Twenty minutes later, the Drake girl watched as the Worker carefully put the cloth into the water. She observed, with the sagacity of youth, that he had no soap. And once again, she underestimated the power of a Level 15 [Server].

Silveran reached into his belt pouchand produced powdered soap-in-a-vial. An Octavia creation! He dumped half into the bucket and swished the cloth around inside. Then, he fiddled with the broomthe Drake girl craned her neck to see. What was he doing?

The impromptu mop only took some twine and two of the cloths. Silveran dunked it, placed it on the floorboards, and began to mop. Yes, this was how you did such things!

Of course, he was only going after the first level of muck. The trick was reducing the general smudge on the floorboards. First you went after the loose debris. Broom and sweep. That was easy, pleasurable, really.

Second? What water and soap could accomplish. It wouldnt get it all, but the Drake girl saw the Worker pick up just pure filth on the first swab of the floor. She and he were so disgusted, Silveran got a second bucket so the dirty water wouldnt contaminate his good source. He began emptying it into the street where it ran into the gutters.

Water and soap cleaned a world of sins. And yes, Silveran had more Skills, mostly devoted to cleaning. He saved his trump card, obviously. One did not simply waste a Skill where a minute of work did the job.

[Fast Drying]. The most important Skill, actually, was to dry the water before it could swell the floorboards. That was why you didnt splash water down; you were economical. Silveran moved down the shop like a hurricane of mopping, leaving behind cleaner floorboards in his wake. The Drake girl was so moved she copied him, giving her own floors an amateurs first attempt at a sprucing up.

But once again she did not have Silverans insight into the art of clean. Because even after the entire stores floors had been moppedafter three passes!he was not done!

The madman. The insanity of the Antinium! Now three apprentice shop workers were watching out of the corner of their eye. Because Silveran had cleaned the floorboards with soap and water, without letting the water actually seep into the foundation. He had swept the floors. And he was nowtaking a minute bit of metal and individually removing dirt from each crack in the floor! Scraping at sticky stains that had resisted soap without damaging the wood itself.

You needed the fine control of a [Bladesman] and the nerve of a [Battle Captain] to shave the tops of the floorboards so. The patience of a [High Mage] studying spells to individually lever out each crumb trapped between the floorboards, that they might finally join together in proper harmony.

And he did it. No apprentice Drake or Gnoll would ever have the patience to lie on the floorboards and make sure each was sparkling. They watched in awe, even horror at the dedication to the art of spotlessness this Antinium employed.

Silveran was in the zone. He was enjoying himself, and he had not for weeks. After this? Hed probably do a second mopping because of the micro-bits of dirt hed left from this removal of the crack-dirt. Then hed have to wax the floorboards, because, obviously, you werent going to leave them unprotected, were you?

Actually, you should probably apply a layer of varnish, use the [Fast Drying] to effectively dry that, then wax, and then obviously polish everything by hand. And then you could move onto the walls

He was so preoccupied with his craft, he didnt hear the outraged voice until it was right on top of him.

Whos there? Ill kill you, you little thief! Illeh?

The Antinium whirled as a female Drake burst from the back rooms with a meat cleaver in hand. He froze, throwing up all his arms and she stopped and stared.

An Antinium? What the

She was as astonished as he. Silveran looked around the shop and suddenlyrealized he had gone too far.

What was he doing? This wasnt his shop! He was cleaning on unauthorized grounds! He was in so much trouble. He got up to fleethen nearly ran over the gawking shop apprentices. They turned to run, and Silveran saw the Drake [Shopkeeper] interpose herself between the exit and him.

He froze, quaking. But the Drake had lowered the meat cleaver. She was looking around the shop, in awe.

Perhaps she had never actually seen the color of her floorboards. They were, in fact, beechwood, a light, blonde color. They had been dark brown just this morning.

The entire shop looked ten times brighter. The floorboards? Well, Silveran hadnt applied wax, but you felt like you wanted to step on them, and then apologize for making them dirty!

Dead gods.

The Drake breathed. Silveran trembled. She was clearly in the paroxysms of rage. He raised a trembling hand as she looked at him. The Drake blinked.

Hello, my name is Silveran.

He had a card. Mrsha had helped make him one. The Worker held it out, like a shield. He didnt have another. The Drake blinked.

Silveran? Wait. I know you. Youre one of themPainting Antinium. From the inn.

Her eyes were bloodshot and red. She lookedwell, not well. About as well as the average person in The Wandering Inn. She blinked at the meat cleaver in her hand, then put it on the counter.

What did you do to my shop?

I cleaned it. I am sorry. Do not kill me. I will pay for the damages.

Silveran signed. He saw the Drake stare, nonplussed at his hands and realizedshe didnt know Mrshas sign-language. He opened his mandiblesand she shook her head.

You cleaned my floors. Theyre sobright.

She raised a claw, almost to shield her eyes from the glare of the bright floorboards. She stepped back, wonderingly, and Silveran saw his chance.

He ran past her, out into the street. He heard the Drake call out after him.

Stop!

Silveran hesitated. There was a Watch patrol coming down the street! They looked up for the criminal at the shout. They saw only Silveran, so were perplexed. But he froze. He put his hands in the air

The jig was up. Nowhere to run. He slowly walked back into the shop, to face his fate. The [Shopkeeper] just stared at him.

You cleaned my shop?

Silveran nodded miserably. This was a fine fate. What would happen? Would he be executed? What would Pawn say? How much trouble would the Hive be in? The Drake blinked a few times at himthen looked around.

Well, you cant just run off after all that. Come with me.

Crime and punishment. Silveran believed in the justice system. He hung his head and walked into the shop. He stood before the counter as the Drake disappeared into the back room.

Everything alright here?

One of the [Guardswomen] asked the shop assistants as they watched the Worker. They peered around, but they still didnt see a [Thief] or anything. The ten year-old pointed.

Yeah. That DrakeMiss Pelessijust shouted at the Worker.

The Worker? Did it do something?

The Guards stared blankly at the Antinium. Then they grew worried. Was this the Aberration-event? Theyd heard about that kind of encounter. They steeled themselvesbut the Drake just shook her head.

He cleaned her shop. Look at it.

They all blinked. Silveran saw the DrakePelessireappear with his punishment. It was

Rock Crab bisque. She placed the soup in front of him, with a spoon attached.

Here. Have that.

Silveran peered at it. Was hesupposed to drown himself in the bowl? Tricky, but hed do his best. The Drake stared at him.

To eat. It must have taken hours.

That Worker was working for the last four, Miss Pelessi! He was digging dirt out of the floorboards!

A young Drake shouted. The [Shopkeeper]s eyes widened. Silveran hung his head. Then he raised it. Wait, eat the soup?

Death by poison was appealing. He took the spoon, took a sip. It even tasted good. The Drake watched, a bit warily. The [Guards] were admiring the floorboards.

Beech wood? Such a lovely color. Ive walked by here hundreds of times on my beat and I would have never thought. Some luck, eh, Pelessi?

They jested with her, gently. The Drake replied, scowling. Half-smiling. But the red eyes and tear tracks on her scales

Something bad had happened. Silveran ate meekly, seeing her gaze on him. And thenshe clapped her claws. He nearly dropped the bowl and ran.

A chair. Why are you standing?

Why was he standing? She fetched one from behind the counter. It was a stool, but Silveran didnt object to the improper taxonomy of the object. He sat on it and ate. Which was even better than standing and eating.

You cleaned my shop. Even my husband didnt do as good a job, when he was alive. I certainly never did.

The Drake marveled. She was touching the floorboards. Silveran wanted to apologize for the shoddy work. It was just a compulsion.

She looked back at him once. The Watch had apparently decided that Silveran was no Aberration, so they were walking on. But the Drakethey all saluted her.

Sorry for your loss, Miss Pelessi.

She gave them a stiff nod. Silveran saw her turn to him. And apparently his blank stare finally registered. She gestured.

There was something on her chest. The toga-like robes, a light yellow, had something attached. He hadnt noticed it since it was a white bloom. But Silveran knew what that meant.

My son.

She saw the Painted Worker stop eating. Pelessi blinked at his bowl.

You eat as fast as my boy. Do you want more?

Silveran didnt know how to respond. So the Drake got him some more. Workers could always eatbut it seemed to him the act of giving him food was just as much for her as him. She spoke as she came back.

He went out to fight them. Hectval. For her. Thatthatall because he had a mug of that Minotaurs Punch. That glory drink and he said it made everything make sense. Losing his sister. All the good times, the badhe kept wanting me to come and try it. Because he said it made him remember why she was beautiful.

So there had been husband, sisterdaughter, ratherand son. Silveran looked around and saw not a one.

Ah. He dipped the spoon into the bisque, unsure of what to say. The [Shopkeeper]s chin rose, as if daring him to. But Silveran said nothing. He just ate the bisque.

Ive seen your kind about. The new, Painting Antinium.

Painted. But Silveran let her talk. The Drake went on.

I voted, you know. For Lism. This is his district. I didnt have anything against the Antiniumnot much. But Goblins andit was all too much. My son agreed, until he visited the inn. I thought he was mad. Ive never involved myself with the Antinium, though. I never thought one would clean up my shop.

She hesitated.

Thank you, for that. Why did you do it?

Silence. The Worker hesitated. Then he gestured. Hed spilled a bit of bisque in his fright earlier. He pointedand the Drake saw the stain vanish.

Her eyes widened.

You have a Skill?

He nodded. He industriously used the rag to wipe some more off another bit of the counter. As if to say there is a mess. I clean messes.

Then he shrugged. Pelessi almost laughed.

Thats all? You saw a mess and cleaned it? Half the shops on this street would love you to do that. We can never keep it cleanthis is Clawgrass Way.

She said that as if it mattered. Silveran assumed it was the street name. The Drake explained, seeing another blank look.

We sell food. Vegetables, the butchers down that wayand whatever people pick. [Alchemists] come here for cheap herbs. Do you know how much dirt that brings in?

Lots? Silveran just ate the bisque. The Drake looked past him.

It was hard enough keeping the store clean with four pairs of hands. Now? What am I supposed to do now? They said were at war with Hectval. I hope the city burns. But what am I supposed to?

She looked lost. The dried produce, the shop in disarraySilveran put down the spoon. She noticed.

Keep eating. At least the storell be clean for a few days, thanks to you. I heardthe Antinium fought Hectval. Stopped them from killing everyone. Good.

That was all she said. Then, as Silveran put the spoon in the bowl, she whispered.

Thank you.

He had done nothing to earn her thanks, or so he felt. Silveran stood as she took the bowl. The [Shopkeeper] looked at him, then turned away. She put the bowl in the kitchenwhere she had made altogether too much Rock Crab bisque, forgettingthere was only one person to eat it.

The Antinium was gone when she opened the door. She was glad of it, somehow. She

Nearly tripped over him as he levered up a tiny pebble in the floorboards. The Drake stared at him.

What are you doing?

Cleaning. The Antiniums antennae waved. He was never one to leave a job half-done. She protested, but then stopped. The assistantsand [Shopkeepers]began to gather. They stared. What horrifying dedication to the art of the broom! And when he started waxing the floors?

The Drake objected. Then she just watched. Because at some point, she realized the cleaning was as much for him as the bisque had been for her.

-

The Horns of Hammerad walked out of the city of Tenbault. Ceria paused to raise a finger to salute the glorious city and the Healer. Ksmvr raised four.

No, Ksmvr. Its the middle finger. The middle one. You cant just raise four.

The Antinium lowered the four fingers on his upper right hand.

Ah, thank you, Captain Ceria.

So what now?

Yvlon felt tired. They had gone all this way, waited, tried their best. And for what? Another dead end. They were no closer to helping Erin.

It was Pisces whom they turned to. The [Necromancer] had been quiet. At last, he spoke.

I have an idea. I did not want to mention it so long as Tenbault was the likelier solution. Butyou are no doubt aware that I procured the information about the Healer from somewhere.

Ceria and Yvlon slowly nodded. Ksmvr shook his head.

Pisces turned to them. He looked as uncertain as they had ever seen him.

I have contacts. I would tell you more butI cannot.

It didnt matter to Yvlon what he was hiding now.

Just tell us, Pisces. Whats your idea?

She hung her head, her golden hair drifting across her silver arms. She stared at them, wishing she could use them to any purpose.

Erin Solstice was dead. What seemed like it had been a beacon of hope in the days after the dungeona permanent lighthousehad ended.

What was there now to look for? How did you bring her back, short of a miracle?

Pisces spoke.

When we left Liscor, Selys asked me if I would go on a quest for her. To find a missing piece of the Heartflame Set.

The Horns of Hammerad looked at him. Ceria walked into a bush.

What?

Did you just say the Heartflame Set, Pisces? As in, the other pieces of the armor?

The [Necromancer]s eyes glinted.

I did. She is an [Heiress] and inherited the armor.

I didnt know she changed her class.

He harrumphed mildly.

Well, she obtained a unique Skill in return. Hints as to where to complete the armor.

I am very confused. Do you mean to imply the breastplate was merely a piece of a greater set of armor? That would mean it isvery powerful.

Ksmvrs talent for understatement almost made the others smile. Pisces nodded. But he looked troubled.

I told Selys the odds of us reaching thedestination and recovering the armor piece were remote. We would need to prepare, even ally with other teams to get it.

You know where?

Yvlon was incredulous. Pisces shrugged.

She was given the hint in the form of a riddle. To find the helm of fire/Look to deaths ire;/That village without rest,/Where the Putrid One met his death.

The others looked at each other in shock. Ceria was trying to pull her robes out of the bush. Ksmvr opened and closed his mandibles and stroked his chin in an imitation of Pisces.

A difficult riddle indeed. One must look to the clues. A village narrows down the options from possible billions to perhaps only tens of thousands of options. However, by my deductive reasoning

Its the Village of Death. It has to be.

Ceria breathed. Ksmvr looked almost hurt.

This is an obvious deduction, Captain Ceria?

Yvlon nodded.

It is to adventurers. The Village of the Dead. I dont know about the Putrid Oneisnt that an old [Necromancer]?

The Necromancer before the Necromancer. And yes, I had the same thought. Any northern adventurer would know it; the clue was not exactly difficult for me to decipher. But

The Village of the Dead. That might be a Named-rank encounter.

The half-Elf breathed. She looked uneasy. They all knew that place. One of the truly dangerous zones you avoided. Not as large or memorable as the High Passesbut no one had ever found out what lurked in the center. And armies had tried

But its the Helm of Fire. Not a cure. Why are you bringing it up, Pisces? Im sure you didnt tell us because you wanted to inform us when we had a chance of getting it. Or just to be secretive.

Pisces blushed a bit at Yvlons gaze. But he met her eyes.

That was my intention, Yvlon. But things have changed. I promised Selys I would tryor bring the idea up to you. Now? I am suggesting we get it. Andtrade it for a cure.

The Horns of Hammerad stopped. Cerias head slowly rose and she stopped tugging on her robes.

You mean, to the Healer of Tenbault? That might get her attention.

Not to her specifically. I know of someone who mighttrade a cure for a relic-class artifact.

Your contact. Who you wont name.

Yvlon leaned on her sword. Ksmvr was opening and closing his mandibles. Pisces chewed on his lip.

Yes. But I would also say this: if that was where a [Necromancer] as powerful as the Putrid One met his end, there is surely treasure beyond compare there. The kind thatwould pay for the Healer. And the Helm of Fire? A Walled City might pay a fortune for it.

Any Named Adventurer would. Any [Lord]even royalty might. Yvlons heart began to beat faster. But Ceria had a thought at the same time.

But Selys was the one who uncovered the prophecy. Its not hers, but

I know. I am hoping there is more there than just the Helm of Fire. Yet I am still suggesting it. Ceria, Yvlon, Ksmvr. If it came down to it, I would trade the Helm of Fire for a cure for Erin. And I do believe it is the only solution. No matter what Selys thinks.

Pisces looked at them. And there was resolve in his eyes. Yvlon exhaled.

Are you mad?

He half-flinched. But the [Armsmistress] was straightening.

Selys would pawn the Heartflame Breastplate itself if she thought it would bring Erin back. WellI think she would.

Pisces smiled at that. But he raised a finger.

The Village of the Dead isan unknown threat. If the Putrid One really died thereit is certainly a Named-rank threat. We are not of that level yet.

But we are going. That is what you are going to say, arent you, Pisces? Ceria? Yvlon?

Ksmvr looked around. The Horns jumped. Ceria spluttered.

I didnt say that, Ksmvr! Its dangerous

But you will go.

We could die

But you will go.

You sound sure, Ksmvr.

The Antinium [Skirmisher] looked at Yvlon. And for the first time, he smiled.

Yes. Because I know my team. I do not mean to interrupt the decision-making process. But I find it inconceivable we would not.

Pisces blinked. Yvlon opened her mouth and Ceria scratched at her head. The [Warrior] had been going to say it was dangerous, and that they were taking a huge risk and that they neednt all go.

Then she was going to say shed go with Ylawes team alone if no one else wanted to. And to look at the supercilious expressions on Ceria and Pisces faces, they had been about to do the same.

I am simply expediting our decision-making process. Please correct me if I am wrong.

Ksmvrs shoulders hunched. But then he was embraced by a laughing Ceria.

Youre right, you silly Antinium. I was going to say

She looked around and took a breath. So did Yvlon.

The Village of the Dead. The Dungeon of Liscor had been one thing, Albez another. It had been a while since they had taken on a threat like this before.

Was it mad? Yes. Was it foolhardy? Even to suggest it.

But was it a plan where they had been drifting hopelessly? Absolutely. And if risking their lives meant a chance

It was she who put her hand out. Pisces, Ceria, and Ksmvr stared at the metal hand as the silver-steel skin flexed and opened.

Erin is gone.

Yvlon saw the others flinch. She went on.

But shes not lost. And if theres even a chanceno village full of undead scares me. Not with a [Necromancer] on our side. That already gives us better chances than most.

She looked at Pisces. He smiled. Actually smiled, and brushed hair out of his face.

Agreed. And obviously, for thetreasure and levels we might accrue, and knowledge, I would never sit this one out.

Of course not.

She elbowed him gently. He blushed, but put his hand on hers. It was warm.

I will go. This is a team effort and I owe Erin Solsticealmost everything. My team, the rest.

Ksmvr put his hand there, without hesitation. Ceria was last. She exhaled.

This is stupid. Even I know its stupid. Its so stupid that Calruz himself would have said lets think about this. You all know that, right?

Yes.

Yvlon looked at her. Ksmvr nodded. Pisces scowled.

My hand is getting tired, Ceria. Are you in or not?

The half-Elf glowered. But only for a moment. As Ksmvr had said, there was never any decision to be made. She reached out with her good hand.

One more adventure. A real one. The most important one. Whether it takes us to the Heartflame Armor orhowever far.

The Horns of Hammerad looked at each other. And then they laughed and nodded. It was done. To the Village of the Dead. They broke into a run, heading for their hidden chariot-wagon. Ceria ran, panting, after Yvlon, then Pisces, and Ksmvr. Death and glory, preferably one without the other!

For the [Innkeeper] of Liscor.

-

It was just a little thing. But the shop was gleaming when he was done. The Drake thanked him. She wanted to pay him, but Silveran refused. He only took the coins when she said that she couldnt let him go without it.

She looked so lonely there. The Antinium had cleared her displays, cleaned everything, set all the signs and polished every surface. But that was not enough. So he stopped at the entrance.

Miss Pelessi looked as the silver-antennae ant paused in the doorway.

Did you forget something?

She looked around, but the shop was spotless. He shook his head. The Antinium Worker gazed around the store, then at her. Then he opened his mandibles.

I. Will come back tomorrow. To sweep. I am good at sweeping. And put things in boxes. I am decent at that.

Her eyes went wide. The Drake started.

You can talk?

She stared at Silveran. He thought about this.

Yes.

Then he walked out of the shop, leaving the dumbfounded Drake behind. Workers could talk.

Hadnt everyone known that?

And he would come back tomorrow. Not because he wanted coin, or because he thought the Drake could make the shop that dirty in a single day. But because he was needed here.

He thought Erin would approve of that.

-

The inn was quiet after all. Great deeds had once been done here. Crowds of people, armies had come through these doors.

But it was empty now. Quiet.

The legend of the innhad become a wake. And a little Gnoll sat on the floor. Waiting. Waitingand despairing.

Her mother was gone. Erin was gone. All was lost. The others tried to take care of her, feed her. But they were all lost. Always. All the ones she

The butt of the staff nudged her.

[Slumber]. The Hobgoblin saw the little Gnoll yawnand then slide over and curl into a ball before she even thought about it.

Ulvama tsked. Then she tossed the blanket on the ball of fur. Stupid, silly, little children. Children were so hard to take care of. That was why she had never had any, although a lot of attempts had been made.

Anyways, she was only taking care of the little Gnoll because she was staying at this inn for a while. And if the Gnoll-child died, people might blame the Goblin. Yes, that was why.

Someone had to. The Hobgoblin stomped off, to go watch the scrying mirror for more entertainment. Thenafter a few minutes, she stomped back and tugged at the blanket so it only covered the little Gnolls body, not her head and everything else. Children could suffocate themselves. That was how impractical they were.

She accidentally touched the Gnolls paw as she adjusted the sleeping body. Tears had long since dried on the fur. Ulvama, grumbling, tucked the paw into the blanket. Then shouted.

She snatched her fingers back and did a dance of pain.

Ow! What was

Ulvama stopped. She eyed the strange, flicking thing on the end of her claws. Wait, she wasnt being burned byshe hurriedly blew on her claw tips.

There was a wisp of smoke. The [Shaman] scrubbed her hand on her side a few times. She blinked, then stared at the little Gnoll suspiciously.

Huh. Weird.

She gingerly poked the little Mrsha-child with her staff a few times to make sure she was asleep. Then she eyed her hand.

Fire? Gnolls were so strange. But it hadnt burned her. It was on her paw. Now, where had that come from? Ulvama backed up. But she still saw it flickering. It had leapt at her. The child still held it.

As the Goblin left, and the child slumbered, and the world changed, it continued to burn. The legend of The Wandering Inn was not ended. And the fire still burned.

It flickered like

Hope.

Authors Note: This is the first chapter of Volume 8. And Ive realized that the first chapters are harder than the last. Because I know exactly how the volume ends. But starting one? Harder. Because there are so many things to do, but how do you start?

I hope it was good. As I wrote at the top, Andrea is beginning to record on Mondayand I am writing!

And The Wandering Inn won a Stabby! It is the third and last we will ever win (because you cant win more than three in a category), but three more than I ever thought wed achieve! It was a huge honor, and I have you all to thank for it. The post is here, and I thank you for still voting and reading.

Hope, Snuggles, an alternate freezing-story and more by /illudanajohns

The legendary Trash Dragon, Pawns wrath, and Inkar by /auspiciousoctopi

Sad Numbtonuge by JackEnza!