《An Arsonist and a Necromancer Walk into a Bar》


 Prologue

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    It happened an age ago.


    The story began as many others did. The land was peaceful, ruled by a just and powerful Emperor. His lands were rich and plentiful, and his people happy and vibrant. Had it been any other time, in any other life, it would have been declared a Golden Age to rival even the ancients.


    But it was not to be. For from the depths of Hell came a Demon bearing the mark of a King, and following him were his vassal lords, each a devil in their own right. And so, at the turn of the millennium in the heart of the Second Empire, the Demon King revolted against life itself.


    At first, the brave soldiers of the Empire fought valiantly, holding off the endless flow of Demons. For every one man felled, ten demons fell with him.


    But as time crawled ever onward, the trained men of the empire slowly died, replaced again and again by green recruits, each younger than the last. And for every ten demons killed, a hundred took their place.


    Soon, it became clear the Empire of Men could not hold back the demons any longer, and so the Goddess in her infinite wisdom sent forth a champion, a Hero plucked from a far off land who could surpass any other and, eventually, kill the Demon King himself.


    And, after three years of constant war, the Hero met the Demon King in his Palace of Sin, and plunged his holy blade into his heart, ending him for all time.


    And perhaps here the story would end. The Hero victorious, and the Demon King dead. But while the Hero was successful, he was not thorough.


    For though the Demon King is dead, his vassal lords do still draw breath;


    Edda the Woman-Serpent, who has conquered the six seas, sinking any ships which pass through her territory and waging war against all who live on the land;


    Nytheloph The All-Seeing, whose countless eyes witness all that has been and all that could be;


    The Black Knight Laurence, The Traitor of Mankind, who hides away in the old Capitol, acting out a pantomime of his lost humanity;


    And The Lich-King Aethric the Undying, whose undead legions slaughter any who would dare set foot into the new realm of the demons.


    For though their lord may be dead, these devil kings refuse to follow, pushing back the warriors of the righteous further and further every day. And as the years go by, defeat after defeat pile up, and even the few victories achieved only delay the inevitable.


    Alas, the Hero is dead, and the heartlands of the Second Empire along with him. And though Mankind still eeks out a living in the south, it is only a matter of time before the demons return to finish what their Lord started.


    And this time, there might not be a Hero to save them.


    -<X>-


    ?


    The city of Occia had once been one of the largest cities in the world. It sat near the southern edge of the Second Empire, growing fat and bloated off Nostratum Sea trade. It had been the seat of King Aster, the grand-uncle of the last emperor, under whose rule it had sprawled to the greatest heights it had ever seen.


    Now it was a tomb. The entire population¡ªtens of thousands of people¡ªkilled in a mass sacrifice by the Lich-King in the final years of the Demon Wars. Their corpses were then raised in turn, becoming an undying garrison which had held the line against any attempted reconquest of the Heartlands for the past thirty years.


    But today that would change. Today, after decades of constant warfare, the Lich-King would die.


    And it would be Sinbad the Paladin who would make sure of it.


    Brandishing his holy sword ''Heilige S?uberung'', Sinbad roared, burying the blade into the throat of an undead knight. Once the blade came free of the corpse he twisted, spinning around and cleaving through the skull of the next zombie in his path, not wasting a moment in his onslaught.


    He fought in the narrow streets of the abandoned city, a horde of undeath before him and his few remaining allies covering his rear. As he ducked under the wild swing of another zombie he winced, his vision flickering for a moment. Biting his tongue he forced himself to stay conscious, as the days'' worth of constant warfare started to catch up to him.


    He''d come too far to collapse right at the finish line.


    "Move!" Geronimo roared, the Dwarven warrior swinging his battle hammer in a wide arc. Sinbad had barely a moment to drop to the dirt before the hammer flew over his head and pulped the zombie behind him, followed a half-second later by a wall of concussive force that tore the shambling horde behind it off their feet.


    Without blinking the Paladin rolled back to his feet, knowing that even a second of hesitation would lead to his death. The three straight days of combat after they''d broken the siege had drilled that into him more deeply than a decade as a career adventurer.


    Using the momentum of his roll he cut another zombie in half, before turning to face three more bearing down on him.


    There''d been an army with them, when they started this fight half a week ago. Now, Sinbad stared impassively as he cut down the corpse of a man who''d helped them breach the walls yesterday. Only three adventurers¡ªSinbad, Geronimo, and Rosalina¡ªhad survived long enough to make it this far. And as he cut down another former ally, Sinbad swore they''d make every sacrifice that got them this far worth it.


    Hours passed and he began to lose track of time, killing and re-killing a seemingly endless horde of the undead. His exhaustion slowly began to catch up with him, his arms shaking with each swing and each step becoming more of a stumble, when suddenly his ears popped and the faint smell of the sea flooded his nostrils. He turned, and only got a faint rumbling as warning before the street was flooded, a sudden tsunami overtaking everything.


    And yet as the waters reached his group they suddenly split, the rushing waves dodging them completely and instead taking out only the zombies around them. Sinbad barely blinked before both the waves and the undead army were gone, leaving only the grinning face of a scaly Drowned-Man with them in the street.


    "David!" Rosalina sagged in relief, leaning on her stave in support. She looked like she was about to cry in relief.


    Sinbad sympathized. They''d been one wrong move from being overwhelmed there. "Where have you been, you damn show-off!?" He grinned, reaching forward to clasp the Drowned-Man''s arm. "We were worried you were dead when you didn''t show up last night!"


    "I thought I was too!" David grinned back, showing off row after row of jagged teeth. "Luckily for me it turns out Fleshwalkers fall apart when you blast ''em with enough saltwater, else¡ª"


    Their short reprieve was instantly cut off as the earth suddenly shook. The overgrown cobblestone streets before them suddenly exploded as giant, skeletal hands erupted from their earth, rotting flesh still clinging in chunks to the yellowing bones. The hands numbered one¡ªtwo¡ªfour¡ªeight before they grabbed the surrounding buildings and heaved, bringing the rest of their bodies out from the depths.


    Or, rather, body.


    "What in the Lady''s name¡ª?" Sinbad whispered, as the full demon came into view.


    Eight rotting limbs, each the equivalent of an ancient oak tree in girth, connected to not a body but a titanic, jawless human head, pulsating with dozens of misshapen eyes and hacking up liters of black toxic tar with every agonized gasp.


    The eyes as one turned to glare at them, and the thing let out a garbled, anguished scream, before skittering towards them like a spider with its oversized hands.


    "Go!" Geronimo screamed, before letting off a shockwave of power that knocked the thing back a few blocks. It immediately got back to its feet (hands?) and charged again with its horrible cry. "I''ll hold it off here!"


    "But Geronimo¡ª!"


    "Don''t worry about me!" he snapped back. "Just make sure you get Rosy to that damn Lich! It''s taken decades to get to this point, but if we fail here it might take decades more! And I don''t know ''bout you, but I''m not that patient!"


    Sinbad set his jaw and nodded, grabbing Rosalina''s arm and dragged her away, the half-elf only resisting for a moment before following.


    "He''s going to die," she whispered.


    "Probably," Sinbad grimaced. "He''s strong, though. Remember, as the Goddess says, have faith."


    "¡­Faith, huh?"


    They didn''t speak anymore, instead focusing on their mad dash through the city. Sinbad took the lead, with Rosalina behind him and David taking up the rear. They didn''t stumble across another undead at any point in their run, though they may all have decided to consolidate on the battle between Geronimo and the monstrosity that was causing skull-rattling shockwaves further back in the city.


    And before they realized it, they''d made it to the center of the city.


    It was a cathedral. The Cathedral. The seat of first Lady Pontiff and the old heart of the Faith. Before the demons came, this had been where pilgrims flocked to, where the Lady Pontiff appointed her bishops, where the Goddess was said to have anointed the first Emperor as Saint.


    And yet, now¡­ it was underwhelming. Little more than a ruined husk, far smaller than he''d expected. Really, even in ruin, it was underwhelming. The Cathedral of St. Alexia in Vola was grander, and it had been abandoned centuries before this city had even been founded.


    Sinbad shook away those thoughts. They weren''t here to sightsee¡ªthey were here to kill a demon.


    Still. It was a bit disappointing.


    At least that meant he wouldn''t feel bad about what happened next.


    Raising his sword above his head, Sinbad channeled the holy energies of the Goddess, and with a single swing let off a blast of holy energy, blowing the grand, ancient doors of the ancient Cathedral off their rusted hinges.


    The three of them burst into the Cathedral, power thrumming in their hands and righteous fury in their eyes.


    "So, you''ve made it past my spider."


    And there, standing at the crumbling altar, was Lich-King Aethric himself.


    And for the second time today, Sinbad was surprised. For the Lich-King, the great Demon of Death, looked surprisingly¡­ human.


    Clad in only a black battle skirt from the waist down, the Lich-King had lively bronze skin that accentuated corded muscles and a wide, powerful physique. A mane of vibrant red hair fell neatly combed from his head and was matched by an immaculate beard. The only part of the being in front of them that showed the creature''s true nature were the eyes.


    Those black, soulless eyes, that pinned him to the spot even from across the cathedral.


    "I''ll admit to being surprised. Even the old Hero struggled against my abominations, and yet here you stand, nary a hair out of place. Why, it''s almost as if¡ª"


    That was as much as he got out before a ball of holy fire nearly the width of the whole Cathedral bore down on him, consuming the Lich with an explosion of light.


    For a moment nobody spoke, the three of them wondering if it really could have been that easy, but none of them having the courage to voice such thoughts aloud.


    "How rude!" the voice of the Lich boomed suddenly, and with a wave of power the lingering dust from the explosion was cast aside, revealing the Lich standing at the center surrounded by flickering purple barriers. With a wave of his hand they dispelled, and the Lich sighed, placing his hand on his cheek. "I was in the middle of my pre-fight monologue, too! I mean really, what has this world come to, where adventurers refuse to even let me¡ª"


    Another holy fireball slammed into him.


    "Fine," the Lich snarled, "If you want to play it that way."


    Sinbad blinked.


    And suddenly the Lich was right there, a wicked dagger in his hand that he jammed into his helmet, bending metal with ease before¡ª


    Sinbad screamed in agony as his right eye was carved out, one hand reaching up to grasp at his helmet while the other¡ªthe one holding his sword¡ªthrust forward on instinct, forcing the Lich away with a clumsy swing.


    The Lich barely made it a step away before being blasted by briny saltwater, the pressurized blast knocking him back several feet, far enough for Rosalina to slam him with another holy fireball, though this one was much smaller than the last two. The Lich knocked it aside as the two flanked him, hitting him with holy fire from one side and salty seaspray from the other.


    It gave Sinbad enough time to regain his bearings, lunging with his sword at the unprotected Lich''s back only to be parried by a skeletal arm coming from under the Lich''s skirt, knocking his sword away before a second arm¡ªthis one still rotting¡ªappeared and shoved a second dagger at his waist, forcing him to back away or risk losing a leg.


    Grimacing, the Paladin changed tracks, focusing instead on cutting off the many (many) undead limbs hiding beneath the Lich''s skirt while Rosalina and David held his attention at range.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    And eventually, after what felt like hours of strained combat, Sinbad''s good eye widened as he saw his opportunity, and with a leaping thrust that shattered the ground behind his feet, Sinbad roared forward, slamming his sword into the Lich-King''s elbow. The blade sliced through bone and flesh like a hot knife through butter, cutting off his arm and leaving just a bloody stump in its place.


    Sinbad had only a moment of vindication, before his eyes widened as a deluge of maggots, flies, and other insects he didn''t care to name erupted from the Lich''s new stump, flying towards him like a cloud of horrible death before a blast of holy fire from Rosalina incinerated them.


    The Lich-King stumbled back, and was further pushed back by a blast of seawater from David, forcing him even further off balance. He raised his head, only having time to widen his eyes as Rosalina raised her stave high, another prayer on lips and flames burning on her fingers.


    With a wave of her stave holy flames barreled down on the Lich-King, but just before it reached him something crashed through the roof, landing between them and blocking the attack before the holy sacrament could turn him to ash.


    Sinbad swore, as the skeleton of an ancient Drake unfurled its wings between them, the holy flames cast aside with a single flap of its rotting wings. Then, without wasting a second, the Lich-King slipped into the ribcage of the undead beast which then took off, exploding out of the altar through the same hole it had entered through.


    "He''s escaping!" Rosalina yelped, raising her stave.


    "Like Hell he is!" the Paladin roared, chasing after the two of them. Kicking off the ground with a dull boom he leaped several stories into the air, following the drake through the hole it''d left in the roof.


    Landing on top of the old cathedral he snapped his head around looking for the Drake, only to swear again as he saw it already halfway across the city, flying far over the undead hordes beneath them. Raising his sword up Sinbad prepared to throw the weapon, aware that even if he hit it likely wouldn''t do any real damage, before something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.


    Not giving it a second thought he burst across the molding tiles of the ruined Cathedral, slamming to a stop in front of the old bell tower. The erect spire had once stood proudly at the crown of the holy site, but was now a ruined, crumbling mess, with only a rusted chain as evidence it had ever housed a bell at all.


    But none of that mattered for what he was about to do. Reaching down to the crumbling base of the cathedral''s spire he dug his fingers in, and with a single grunt of exertion tore it straight off its foundations. Not sparing another second he used the momentum of his heave to twist around and, with a roar of defiance, launched the old cathedral''s spire like a javelin after the fleeing Drake.


    It rocketed across the city, far faster than it had any right to, crumbling bricks and mortar falling in its wake. It gained on the Drake in an instant, the undead beast and its master barely having time to turn before the spire slammed into them, exploding on impact and shattering the Drake in two.


    Then Sinbad, who had never let go of the spire in the first place, leaped over the shattering bell tower to the Drake, grabbing onto the massive ribs of the beast as it fell from the sky.


    The Lich-King had barely the time to widen his eyes before the Paladin swung his sword, barely missing his heart but cutting a deep gash through his gut.


    Then the three of them crashed into the city below, plowing through an abandoned house before skidding to a stop in an overgrown plaza. The skeletal Drake let out a soundless wail as it slammed into an old fountain, sending shattered bone in every direction and dropping its passengers onto the overgrown cobblestones.


    The two warriors wasted no time, both leaping to their feet and attacking in tandem. The Lich snapped his good hand forward, a bolt of inverted lightning crackling forth from his fingers while the Paladin let out a roar and thrust his blessed sword towards the Lich''s heart, determined not to miss this time.


    Unfortunately, in their zeal to off each other they had both forgotten about the undead Drake that had fallen with them. The two halves of the Drake squirmed frantically, a soundless roar loosed from its cracked jaw as shattered bones flew forth from its undying body.


    Sinbad only had enough time to bring his sword protectively in front of him before the leg of the back half kicked him, launching his body away, while the Lich got hit in the head with a flying shoulder-bone, knocking his aim off and causing him to fire the lightning bolt into the sky instead.


    Sinbad slammed back first into another building, rolling to his feet just in time to dodge a follow-up lighting bolt from the Lich. He ducked down, keeping his body low as he charged again, using the time the Lich had to waste dodging his flailing construct to gain ground¡ª


    It was warm. And it was bright.


    That was all the warning Sinbad got. It was all the warning he needed. He broke his charge immediately, slamming a foot on the ground and launching himself back as fast as he could.


    The Lich-King, unfortunately, was not so lucky. He had just enough time to look up in the sky and stare his death in the eyes before it descended.


    A second sun blazed above the rotting city, a ball of pure white flames so large it blotted out the sky, radiating heat and light and holy miasma enough to wipe a city off the map.


    Which it was going to do. Right on top of him.


    Sinbad had only a second to be grateful he was a paladin before his world was consumed by white.


    -<X>-


    ?


    Sinbad kicked open the doors of the ruined cathedral, noting at some point the roof had caved in. Probably after he used it as a launch pad, now that he thought of it.


    "Hey, Rosy!" He coughed, wincing as the burns along his neck tore further at the action. "I need healing! Before I end up like this sorry chap!"


    With that said he chucked the corpse he''d dragged all this way back before him, the charred corpse of the Lich-King rolling twice before slumping to a stop before the altar.


    "Oh, Sinbad!" Rosalina yelped, running up to him. "I''m so, so sorry, but I saw the opportunity and I just¡ªit might have been our only chance and¡ª"


    "Hey, hey," he coughed painfully again. "Healing first, apologies second."


    "Right," she nodded sharply. Bringing her stave to bear she recited a short prayer, and Sinbad sighed in relief as he felt his burn scars start to fade away. "I''m sorry, again. Truly."


    "You did what you had to," he told her, rolling his healing muscles experimentally. You had to keep moving while healing, lest your body heal too far and turn you into an invalid. "Killing the Demon General was more important than any of our lives, and the fact we succeeded is all the victory we need. That said. Please never do that again."


    "Of course," she nodded firmly, before glancing down at the corpse he''d dragged along with him. Her face soured at the sight. "How is that still here, though?"


    "What do you mean?"


    "That should have turned it to ash, not simply killed it. Every other undead I used it on simply ceased to exist afterwards."


    "Well," Sinbad hacked, coughing more ash from his lungs, "It certainly got the Drake."


    She frowned at him.


    "Look," he sighed, "I brought him back here to make sure either way, see? Just burn him again if you''re so worried. Regardless, where''d David go? Please tell me you didn''t let him start looting the cursed treasury of the Lich-King alone, did you?"


    She scowled at him. "What do I look like, his mother? I told him to wait until you got back to go down there, but no~ he had to be the first to the loot every time. I''d think him avaricious if I didn''t already know it."


    Sinbad sighed, rolling his newly healed shoulders. "Whatever. At least he''d get himself cursed now instead of before the fight."


    Rosalina scoffed, before glaring down at the Lich-King''s charred corpse. She slammed the butt of her stave as hard as she could into its gut, and instantly it lit up in holy flames again.


    Sinbad frowned at the uncharacteristic sight. "Hey, are you okay? You''re not usually this¡­ grumpy. Did David say something?"


    "It''s nothing," she shook her head. "Or rather, it just¡­ it doesn''t feel real. I mean, I know killing the Lich-King is what we came here to do, but¡­"


    "¡­Yeah, I get it," Sinbad grasped her shoulder in solidarity. "A decade of planning, and we succeed at only what the Hero ever managed to do¡ªkilling a Demon Lord."


    "¡­Yes. We did."


    Sinbad gave her a relieved smile, before clapping her shoulder once again. "I''ll go find David before he actually gets himself cursed, if you''re fine up here?"


    At her reluctant nod, he gave her one more reassuring smile before descending down into the former Lich-King''s sanctum after their friend.


    Rosalina stayed behind, staring at the holy flames, snapping and crackling and roaring as they purged the unholy creature before her. Glancing back at the defiled altar behind them, she worried her bottom lip, something ugly building up within her heart.


    "Yes. We did," she whispered. "And yet, even after he died, the Goddess had yet to reclaim her old home. Almost as if it has been abandoned."


    She glanced back at the corpse before her, burning merrily at the foot of the altar.


    "Or, perhaps, because even in death the mere memory of the Demon King holds our hearts far tighter than the Goddess ever could."


    -<X>-


    ?


    "David!" Sinbad shouted as he descended further into the crypts of the Lich-King. "David! If you aren''t dead, shout back already!"


    "Oi, Sinbad! You''re still alive!" David''s cheery voice echoed from around the corner. "Come check this out! I think I found something!"


    With a roll of his eyes and a sigh, the Paladin marched around the corner and, as he expected, found his friend half-buried in a chest, gold and silver trinkets scattered around his feet.


    The Drowned-Man pulled himself out of the chest, grinning at him with his too-sharp teeth. "I think I found the bastard''s treasury!"


    Sinbad didn''t respond, simply marching up to the Drowned-Man and slapping him upside the head.


    "Ouch! Hey, what was that for?!"


    "That was for being a greedy idiot!" Sinbad shot back. "What is the first rule of adventuring!? Don''t loot obviously cursed objects by yourself! Especially not the Lich-King''s cursed objects."


    David huffed, rolling his eyes. "Yeah yeah, I know. I''m not that dumb," he raised his hands, covered in thick dragon-hide gloves and engraved with holy scripture. "See? I''m not touching any of this stuff until we get it appraised."


    "¡­Fine," Sinbad sighed, rubbing his forehead only to wince as the new flesh tore slightly. "What did you find in this thing?"


    David shrugged, moving out of the way to let him look in the chest himself. "Eh, nothing much, I don''t think. Just that thing."


    Sinbad raised an eyebrow, glancing in the chest. ''That'' was a necromancer''s staff, a long stick of decorated wood with a human skull attached to the top. It looked well-made, but unused, if the thick layer of dust and cobwebs covering it was anything to go by.


    "Think it''s important?"


    Sinbad grimaced, looking at the rest of the chest, covered in dust and filled with broken weapons and shattered artifacts. It didn''t look like anything in there had been touched in an age.


    "I think you found the demon''s junk drawer," Sinbad told him dryly, rolling his eyes.


    "Damn, and here I thought I''d struck gold."


    "Well, we might be able to sell it for gold if we find a buyer gullible enough. More likely, though, we''ll just chuck it at the guild and hope for a finder''s fee."


    David groaned. "So we kill one of the most dangerous demons known to man, and yet we only get paid enough to afford dry pasta? Something about that doesn''t add up, boss."


    "That sounds like a problem for future us," Sinbad told him, grabbing the Drowned-Man''s arm and dragging him back to the surface. "Current us, however, should make sure Rosy hasn''t burned down the rest of the city without us. You can loot to your heart''s content later, got it?"


    "Ugh, fine."


    And as they turned their backs, unseen by any of the adventurers, the skull''s eyes began to glow faintly, the powers of the cosmos swirling in their depths.


    Then, as quickly as it appeared, the glow faded, once more becoming nothing more than an inert skull.


    It wasn''t time.


    Not yet.


    </article>

 Chapter 1 - A Bargain Bin Witch

    A Bargain Bin Witch


    The city of Firozzi had a long and sordid history. Beginning as a small town during the reign of the First Empire, it gradually grew over the centuries, expanding into a bustling metropolis by the turn of the last millennium. And, unlike the rest of the continent that had suffered greatly during the Demon Wars, the city''s remote location allowed it to flourish, becoming a hot spot of mercantile trade and religious refuge. Following the end of the Demon Wars, with the Heartlands of the Second Empire becoming an uninhabitable wasteland, the city became a prime spot for refugees fleeing demonic oppression, whose people now made up around a third of the city''s population.


    One of those refugees was a young girl named Palmira, an orphan who''d made her way to Firozzi many years ago. Not that someone could tell at just a glance¡ªwith chestnut brown hair, tanned skin and a round face, she could easily be mistaken for a local. A fact she took full advantage of, dressing in local fashions when she could and copying the local accent in the hopes of passing herself off as a citizen.


    She, like most of the refugees who''d failed to find stable employment after the wars, lived her life on the streets of Firozzi. In the mornings she helped out one of the many shanty towns that clung to the edges of the city, while in the evenings she sat in one of the city''s many plazas, begging for scraps from a mostly indifferent population. And at night, hidden far from the city watch''s eyes, she practiced her magic, letting flickering flames burn to life across her skin.


    Today, however, Palmira would be doing something she''d never done before.


    She''d be buying something from a store.


    The Armamenti Ambrosiani seemed to loom over her, the high-end armory feeling almost too fancy for her to enter. The sign above the door showed a golden rose, the symbol of the Ambrosi Famiglia, denoting its goods as being high quality enough for one of the richest Famiglias in the city. The outer walls were freshly painted, and the shop even had glass windows for crying out loud! Could she even afford anything in here!?


    She felt herself begin to heat up, and started breathing through her mouth to cool down. Almost absently, sparks began dripping from her fingertips, and she had to clench her hands to stop anymore liquid fire from spilling out.


    A sack of piccoli sat heavy around her waist, the few dozen copper coins being the most money she''d ever owned in her life. Every few moments she would reach out and touch it, just to make sure it was real. She glanced over her shoulder, paranoia telling her that any second now a street urchin would dub her an easy mark and try to steal it off her. The Lady knows she''d done the same enough times to deserve it.


    She let out a nervous breath, a puff of smoke pouring from her lips. Giving her cheeks a quick smack to psych herself up, she entered the store. A small bell rang above her as she entered, and she glanced around, taking everything in.


    On one wall sat spears, swords, and staves, all of superb quality, while along the other stood armor stand after armor stand holding up polished, glimmering steel. On display was everything from the riding leathers of eastern Janissaries, to the poofy outfits of landsknechts, to the classic steel of a western knight. A barrel of pikes sat in the center of the store next to a rack of swords and a pile of shields, each individually worth more than she''d ever owned in her life.


    She took a moment to take it all in, the armory sat in the middle of the city, filled to the brim with armaments of unmatched quality.


    All of which were far, far out of her budget.


    Luckily those weren''t the only things the shop sold.


    Skirting the edge of the store (and ignoring the wary gaze of the shopkeeper on her back) she came up to the back, where piles of mismatched weapons and armors sat haphazardly under a large sign that read ''SALE''.


    Kneeling down she started looking through everything, eyes scanning over each of the minimum prices scrawled beneath the armaments.


    As her eyes alighted on the price for staves, she couldn''t help but grimace. Three silver grossi was the cheapest. Three silver grossi. She only had forty and a half copper piccoli! She couldn''t even afford the minimum asking price!


    A quick glance over at the other armaments showed a similar story¡ªonly the daggers fell below a single grossi, and even they would bankrupt her!


    Her grimace deepened as she shuffled through the cheap iron swords and tattered travelling cloaks, looking for something, hoping by some sort of miracle that there would be something in the piles of crappy armaments that she could afford¡ª


    There!


    It was a box, sat off in the corner. A crate, half falling apart, with four wizards staves sticking out of it and 10 piccoli in faded red paint on the side.


    She launched herself at the crate like a drowning man at a raft, leaning over the edge to look inside.


    Only to be immediately disappointed.


    The first thing she noticed was that there were not four staves in the box, but two staves and two halves of a broken one. The second thing she noticed was that one of the staves had a human skull attached to it.


    She shuddered as its eyeless stare bored into her.


    She turned to the last one, hoping beyond hope that it was just a normal staff.


    It was simple, little more than a long wooden stick, barely even polished. It looked like it might have been oak. She frowned when she noticed it didn''t have a catalyst though, and reached out to prod it with her magic¡­


    Her face went blank. There wasn''t any magic in it! This wasn''t even a staff! It was just a big stick!


    She almost slumped over the edge of the box in defeat as she realized that only left a single staff.


    She turned back to the skull staff with a grimace. It was¡­ it was creepy. And gross. And had probably belonged to an evil wizard or something before it''d been shoved in the back of this shop, but it was a working staff. The only one she could afford.


    And it wasn''t like the Ambrosi would be selling an actual cursed staff. It just looked creepy! Probably why it was on sale.


    If she bought it, she''d be fine. She''d be fine.


    Repeating that mantra over and over in her hand, she reached forward and grasped the cold, wooden neck of the staff.


    She froze, suddenly terrified, waiting for that moment when the staff would curse her into oblivion for daring to lay a hand on it.


    Nothing happened.


    Palmira was starting to feel a bit silly.


    Swallowing her unease, she lifted the staff out of the box, prodding it with her magic. It had a polished mahogany hilt, leading up to a white stone (was that marble!?) catalyst where it attached to the human skull at the top, which seemed to be filled with some sort of dark, purple crystal and had thin lavender strips wrapped around bronze rings hanging from its jaw.


    She was a little bit in awe of the casual wealth on display in the staff. It probably would have been worth a fortune if it weren''t so obviously evil.


    With her staff chosen, she also grabbed a small, chipped dagger before making her way to the counter, where the clerk was still staring at her.


    She placed the dagger and the staff on the counter awkwardly, staring a hole into the clerk''s shoulder.


    The clerk, for his part, glanced down at the human skull she was buying, before pinning her with a judgmental stare.


    She flinched, shame filling her, but she forced it down. "It was on sale," she squeaked out, as if that could justify it.


    The clerk stared at her for a moment longer, before sighing and shaking his head. "Whatever, I guess we don''t have room to talk considering we''re selling it. Not like I get paid enough to care anyway. That''ll be twenty-two and one eighth piccoli, no less."


    Palmira nodded and handed over the coins. There was no bartering in these types of shops.


    The clerk gave her one more look as she gathered her weapons, seeming to be debating something with himself, before he leaned under the counter with a sigh.


    "Here," he startled her, shoving a burlap sack into her arms. When she gave him a confused look, he nodded at her new staff. "So that people don''t give you odd looks on your way out."


    Oh. Oh, right. She was going to have to walk home with that thing.


    "Thank you," she rasped. The clerk just shrugged, going back to ignoring her.


    And so, with a dagger on her hip and a staff in hand, she began making her way back home.


    It hadn''t gone exactly how she''d expected it to, but¡­


    She''d succeeded. And that was all that mattered.


    -<X>-


    ?


    Walking through the streets of her home had never been as nerve-wracking as it was now.


    Where once she could have slipped between the crowds with ease, she now walked stiffly, her new staff now matching each step she took with its own ''clink.'' Anxiously she turned her head this way and that, her paranoia skyrocketing with every person who so much as glanced at her, worrying that any minute now someone would call the authorities on her and she''d be arrested and burned with holy fire as a necromancer.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Well, not that the fire would work on her, but that just meant they''d get creative.


    She shuddered, another puff of smoke slipping past her lips. She sped up, wanting to get home as quickly as possible.


    As she made her way past a marketplace one of the city watch pinned her with a look, and for a moment she worried he could somehow see through the burlap covering her staff. Then she realized that he probably saw the street rat carrying a wizard''s staff and assumed she must have stolen it.


    Well, she knew how to deal with that. Turning her head she looked him in the eye, tilting her head in a pantomime of confusion. The routineness of the act calmed her down, allowing her to keep up the confident act long enough for the watchman to decide she wasn''t important and move on.


    A small smile spread on her face, and she rode the high of that victory all the way home.


    It was only once she arrived at her home that the tenseness of her shoulders loosened. She side-stepped her way down a thin alleyway. It was barely large enough for even her to squeeze through and was crammed between a candle shop and a butchery. Its location was superb, as besides being in one of the better parts of the city, the stink of the two stores helped chase away anyone who would''ve otherwise looked too closely at the small crevice between the shops.


    Halfway down her alleyway sat a section of the old sewer¡ªbricked off, overgrown and a little damp¡ªbut wide enough for a fifteen-year-old homeless girl to lay down in without needing to worry about anyone finding her. On the floor she''d laid out a ratty old tarp¡ªwhich while itchy was dry and softer than the dirt¡ªon top of which sat all of her worldly possessions; half of a broken abacus she''d taught herself numbers with; a fraying basket filled with stale breads and cheap pasta; a metal pan filled with water she used to boil said pasta; and an old stuffed cat named Signor Baffi, who''d been by her side for as long as she could remember.


    Slumping, Palmira let herself finally relax, pulling the cloth cover off of her new staff and setting it and the dagger next to the rest of her collection. That done, she cracked her back, getting ready to start on dinner¡ª


    "Nice place you got here. A bit wet for my taste, but hey, beggars can''t be choosers."


    Palmira jumped, smacking her head on the roof of the old sewer grate. She let out a low whine, but didn''t stop moving, stumbling to her feet and spinning frantically to find whoever''d spoken. Fire instinctively danced across her fingers¡ªa cantrip, the best she could do, but enough to scare away the average mugger or worse who stumbled into her alleyway looking for a soft target.


    However, no matter how much she looked, she didn''t see anyone.


    "Who''s there!?" she spoke loudly, but didn''t shout¡ªshe still had enough presence of mind not to alert the city watch. She crouched down, putting her back to the wall and didn''t move further. If it came down to a fight she''d¡ª


    Palmira blinked, suddenly feeling foolish, and leaped forward, grabbing her newly purchased staff off the ground and jumping back to her feet. "Show yourself," she called out, pushing her magic into the staff. Despite the tenseness of the situation, she couldn''t help but feel a little giddy at seeing the flames spawn into existence around the skull''s head, far brighter and hotter than anything she''d be able to accomplish herself. "Whoever you are, I''m armed! Do not test me!"


    The alleyway was silent.


    Palmira grit her teeth, wondering if whoever it was had just up and left once they saw she was a mage. It''d happened before, but if she didn''t know for certain it would just be another sleepless night waiting for¡ª


    "Psst. Hey! Down here!"


    She looked down, and came face to face with the grinning skull of her staff, its eye sockets glowing with ethereal power.


    "Hello, little lady! Nice to properly meet''cha."


    The voice was coming from her staff.


    She screamed.


    She fell backwards onto the ground, chucking the talking staff as far from her as she could, the staff shouting out "AH!" "URGH!" and "OOF!" each time it hit the ground, before it finally rolled to a stop at the other end of the sewer.


    "What¡­ what¡­" Palmira muttered, staring with wide eyes at the staff which had¡ªsomehow¡ªrolled to a stop in such a way it left the skull staring directly at her.


    "Ouch, kid. Don''t you know you''re supposed to respect your elders? If I still had a brain, you could''ve given me a concussion!"


    Focusing on it now, she realized she wasn''t actually hearing anything. Rather, it felt like the staff''s voice was being transmitted directly into her head. It''s rough and scratchy voice pushed and wheedled its way into her mind, making her think thoughts not her own.


    "¡­What are you¡­?" she whispered, terrified.


    "Hm? Oh! Right, I forgot you were broke, not evil. Ah, this is gonna be a harder sell than I thought," the staff hummed, amusement coloring its words. "Well, to answer your question, I''m your fancy new necro¡ªwizard''s staff. Yup, definitely a wizard''s staff. And do I have a deal for you! See, here''s what I¡­"


    She ignored everything else the staff was saying, picking up on what the staff almost said. A necromancer''s staff. A banned weapon in all of the civilized world. Each staff was cursed beyond belief, and only wielded by those who were arrogant enough to defy the Goddess.


    Had she really wasted all of her money on a cursed staff!?


    "¡­yes, I am very scary. However, that''s just surface level stuff, and really, isn''t it what''s on the inside that counts¡­"


    And what if the city watch found her? What about the guilds, how would she join one now? Necromancy was one of the worst sins in the world! Wait, did owning a necromancer''s staff make her a necromancer?


    "¡­that''s why¡ªwait. Uh, kid? You listening?"


    Was her soul already forfeit? Would this one mistake rob her of even her afterlife!?


    "HEY! KID!"


    Palmira jumped, snapped out of her thoughts. "What are you going to do to me!?" she yelped, pushing herself harder against the cold bricks of the sewer. "I¡ªI pray to the Goddess every day, you know! Nothing¡­ nothing you do can hurt me, demon!"


    The cursed staff seemed to give out a long sigh. "Look, kid, I''m not going to hurt you, okay? I couldn''t even if I wanted to¡ªmy creator designed me so that I could never harm my user. The worst I could do is talk your ear off. Which I will! My creator shoved me in a chest some twenty odd years ago for that very reason!"


    Palmira scowled at him, as anger began to war with the fear in her heart. "How do I know you''re not lying?"


    The staff let out an affronted gasp. "Are you saying you don''t trust me? You think I, the human skull taped to a stick, is untrustworthy?"


    "Yes."


    "Then you''re smarter than most!" the skull cackled. "All I''d have to do is offer unlimited power, wealth, or women, and countless fools would wield me without a second thought!"


    Palmira felt her face sour. The anger was winning. "Stop laughing at me! Or I''ll¡­ I''ll turn you into the guilds!"


    "Haha¡­ Ah¡­ Kid, I''ll level with you. We both know you aren''t gonna do that. You live in an alcove in an alleyway and grabbed me from the bargain bin. You don''t have the cash to replace me." In the low light of the alleyway, the skull''s grin almost seemed menacing. "So I''ll cut you a deal. I''ll be your mage''s staff. No fuss, no muss, just a witch and her magic stick against the world."


    Palmira licked her lips nervously. She couldn''t believe she was considering this, but¡­ he was right. She couldn''t afford a new staff, and the guilds would sooner arrest her than accept she''d just accidentally bought a cursed staff. "And what do you get out of it?"


    "Someone to talk to, of course!"


    "¡­That''s it?"


    He laughed at her shocked expression. "What''s the matter? Not willing to chat with old skullface over here? Is it the lack of skin? I''ll have you know I haven''t had a decent conversation in, what, twenty years now? Thirty? This old man is lonely, I''ll have you know!"


    Palmira stared at the skull warily, turning the offer over in her mind. If he were telling the truth, then she''d be able to fulfill her dream.


    But she was pretty sure he was lying.


    "Oh? Cat got your tongue?" the skull goaded her. "C''mon, it''s a good deal, don''t you think?"


    "Quiet! I''m trying to think!" she huffed at him.


    Shaking her head, she forced herself to ignore the talking staff that wouldn''t shut up.


    Her choices were either make a deal with a cursed talking staff¡­ or lose her one chance to get off the streets for good.


    Grimacing, Palmira realized there was only one real option.


    With a sigh, she glared at the skull with all her might. "Fine. Fine! I''ll accept your offer. But you''d better not be lying to me, got it?"


    Despite being inanimate, the staff''s eyes seemed to glow with eerie delight.


    "Lying? Of course not! Swear on my very soul," the staff cackled, making her feel that oath wasn''t as binding as it sounded. "I, the great¡­ ah¡­ Morte, swear to serve you as your loyal wizard''s staff, from now until the end of time."


    Palmira swallowed, and prayed that she wouldn''t regret this.

 Chapter 2 - An Arsonist and a Necromancer go Job Hunting

    An Arsonist and a Necromancer Go Job Hunting


    Palmira awoke to the sounds of someone singing.


    Nato Cavaliere, nell''antica citt¨¤ del sale~


    It was the woman who owned the candle shop next to her little alcove. Some mornings she left her windows open, allowing her songs to flow out onto the street.


    E giuro che, vivr¨° come tale~


    Palmira simply laid silently for a moment, allowing the music to wash over her. Sometimes, if she was tired enough, she could almost pretend it was her mother singing to her, like she''d always done back when she was alive.


    Ma un giorno il Re venne da me~


    "Does she sing often?"


    Palmira jumped at the voice, jerking into a seated position, before remembering what had happened last night.


    E mi disse, che sarei morto come tale~


    She sighed, rubbing her eyes. Looks like she wouldn''t be relaxing this morning.


    Belatedly, she realized she should probably answer her new¡­ weapon? ¡­partner?


    She shook her head. It didn''t matter that much. "Not as often as I''d like," she settled on telling him.


    Cos¨¬ lasciai la mia casa, la citt¨¤ del sale~


    Getting up from her ratty sheets, she began getting dressed, before she paused.


    First she pulled the burlap sack back over Morte''s eyes, then she continued getting dressed.


    Per trovare la gloria della mia vita~


    Clothed in her best garb¡ªa red tunic that had only been patched thrice¡ªand clean sandals, she gathered her supplies. Her dagger went on her rope belt, her coin pouch under her tunic, and she picked up Morte''s staff, before heading out.


    E la gloria mi trov¨° rapida e acuta~


    She paused at the entrance to her alleyway. She closed her eyes, letting the woman''s singing wash over her one last time. She didn''t know the woman''s name, but her voice had been a constant companion for years. She would miss it, once she left.


    Nel cuore della vecchia Parigia~


    She opened her eyes and, with a steadying breath continued out onto the street, ready to begin her search.


    -<X>-


    ?


    "So, what are we doing?"


    Palmira jumped, glancing around the street fervently. Luckily, it seemed nobody heard him, but still. "Be quiet," she hissed, "Do you want us to get arrested?"


    "We''ll only get arrested if you keep acting so suspicious," Morte projected his amusement at her. "Still, you needn''t worry. Nobody but you can hear me. ¡­Ah, but they can hear you, so keep your voice down, would you?"


    Palmira huffed, but felt her shoulders relax. She wasn''t sure he was telling the truth, but it''s not like there was anything she could do to stop him anyway.


    "I''m looking to join an adventurer''s guild," she told him quietly. "Once I''ve done that, I can start taking jobs as a mage, and then I''ll be able to start making some real coin."


    "A guild, you say? Are there many of them?"


    "Mhm."


    There were dozens of adventurer''s guilds in the city, each owned by a different Famiglia. The Famiglias competed for jobs, funding, and resources through their guilds, the conflicts between them ranging from backroom deals to bloody conflict in the streets.


    Palmira had been witness to more than a few of them.


    That said, adventurer''s guilds were very different from mercenary guilds. An Adventurer''s job was to kill monsters, while a Mercenary''s job was to kill men. Adventurers fought demons, Mercenaries fought wars. Therefore, no matter how bad the conflicts between guilds got, they rarely blew up into something bigger. And if it didn''t resolve itself within a couple days, the bigger Famiglias got involved, and the Adventurers were told to quiet down or else.


    "I''ve never been inside one, before," she continued. "But I know they take orphans off the street all the time, so they''re my best shot at getting a job right now."


    "You aren''t filling me with confidence about these guilds, kid. Why are you so certain they''d accept you right off the bat?"


    "Well, I make fire. And I like to think I''m pretty good at it, too. There''s not a lot of mages in the world, at least not compared to more physically inclined warriors, so the guild''s will be more open to hiring me."


    "You sure about that?"


    "¡­Well, no. But if I start second-guessing myself then I''ll just sit on my bed all day doing nothing but making myself feel awful. And I did enough of that last year. So now I''m just going to jump in feet first and think about sticking the landing later."


    "Ha! Fair enough."


    She shook her head as she crossed the Rozzi¡ªthe river which ran through the middle of the city¡ªinto the busier streets. The south side of Firozzi was where all the guilds, shops, and marketplaces set up, catering to all the foreigners making their way through the city. She didn''t really know why that was, but it probably had something to do with the giant dragon skull she could see poking over the rooftops.


    She planned to make her way down the river over the course of the day, visiting as many guilds as she could and applying to every one she entered until one of them accepted her. Optimistically, that would take about an hour and she''d join the first guild she visited.


    Optimistically.


    Eventually, she found herself nearer to the edge of the city, looking up at the sign for the largest guildhall in all of Firozzi. The Rovina Guild.


    Rovina was the first guildhall in the city, one everyone knew the name of and the one all the tourists came to visit, spending their coin on all sorts of dumb commemorative trinkets. She''d made some good coin back in the day, selling charcoal reliefs with her childhood friend before the two of them got caught.


    The only reason she still had her left hand was because scamming tourists wasn''t technically theft. (And because the authorities went easy on the homeless eleven-year-old girls.)


    The Rovina Guild had been founded before the city even existed by the ancient hero Ammazzadraghi, who slew the dragon Vesuvius back in the Age of Heroes, and had then gone on to facilitate the founding of Firozzi itself. It was said he battled the dragon for seven days and seven nights, before killing the beast with its own severed toe.


    The guildhall itself was as striking as the story of its founding. The guildhall was built under the shade of one of the ancient Volan floating coliseums. The great coliseum had fallen sideways sometime in the ancient past, forming a massive half-circle jutting out of the ground, under which the ancient hero had founded his guild. A massive wall had then been erected to seal off the open end of the building, showcasing ancient marble carvings of all of the ancient hero''s exploits. The monument was said (by the Firozzi people) to be one of the greatest wonders of the world.


    Standing before it for the first time in years, Palmira felt the praise was warranted.


    The lip of the ancient coliseum was so high above her head that it towered over even the tallest buildings in the city. And as she walked closer to the entrance, she realized that the carved statues she''d always seen from afar were far bigger than she''d thought they were. Stepping past the hundreds of people pouring in and out of the dozens of grandiose doors, she walked right next to a carving of the hero holding his spear high, and yet standing right next to it she could only reach up to his knee.


    It was an awe-inspiring sight. Even in ruin, it was greater than anything modern man could make.


    She forced herself to tear her eyes away. She wasn''t just another tourist here to sightsee. She was here to apply.


    Shoving her way through the hordes of people she made her way to one of the entrances of the guildhall, a set of double doors decorated with carved marble vines and flowers. They were wide enough that six people could walk side-by-side through them, and tall enough a giant wouldn''t hit his head. Even then, they were barely big enough to accommodate the crowds.


    Soon she found herself inside, which opened up into a grand foyer. She found herself shocked at the sheer wealth on display. Massive pillars topped with sculptures of angels held up the curved roof, with paintings by famous artists sitting between them. She even saw a work by Lenna, which was surprising, as she hadn''t expected her to be good enough for the guild to buy. Far beneath those paintings, looking miniscule in comparison sat the receptionist''s desks, dozens of humans and elves and others sitting behind walls of glass with endless lines streaming before them.


    Despite her being a fire mage, Palmira found the hall unpleasantly hot. She tugged at her collar as hundreds of voices washed over her, the shouting and haggling and cajoling so loud it made it impossible to hear anything, becoming little more than a wall of sound that disoriented her the second she entered. She found herself being pushed along with the crowd, losing her bearings and only coming back to her senses a few minutes later when she had to slap the grubby hands of a kid half her age off Morte''s staff.


    Huffing, she shook her head, hoping that would help calm her mind. When that didn''t work she started knocking Morte''s staff against the marble floor, only to accidentally slam it into her own toes instead.


    She hissed, biting down on her tongue to keep sparks from flying out. At least the pain helped her concentrate, if nothing else.


    Feeling disgustingly sweaty and overwhelmed, Palmira made her way over to the shortest line she saw, which grew by ten people into the longest line in the time it took for her to get there. Three more people cut in ahead while she was waiting.


    "This feels like it''s going to be a while," Morte''s voice was like ice in her brain, grounding her in the disorienting sea of people. "Don''t worry! I have plenty of experience with entertaining people during long and boring waits. What do you want first¡ªknock-knock jokes or obscure facts? Or perhaps you''re feeling spicy, and want some impromptu-therapy? I charge by the hour, I''ll have you know."


    Palmira stared at the line in front of her forlornly. "¡­Surprise me."


    And, finally, after what felt like hours of listening to probably fake facts from Morte¡ªthe one about bananas being more closely related to humans than elves had to be a lie, right?¡ªshe made it to the front of the line.


    "Hello, and welcome to the Rovina guild," the receptionist gave her a practiced smile that didn''t hide how empty her eyes were. "How can I help you today? Are you looking to post a job, or are you perhaps a freelancer looking to sell us something? In that case, could I point you to the desk at the far right of the hall, and Gustavo will speak with you shortly."


    "Actually," Palmira cut in, "I''m here to apply."


    "¡­Ah," the receptionist pursed her lips, her eyes roving up and down Palmira''s dress. "I see. In that case, would you please make your way off to the side? I''ll send someone over to talk with you in a moment."


    "Oh!" Palmira shuffled out of the way, "Of course. I''ll, uh, go over there now. Thank you."


    Pushing her way off to the side (and smacking away the hand of a Vagabond that tried to steal her coin purse) she sat at one of the benches lining the side of the room. Holding Morte''s staff between her legs, she settled in to wait.


    And wait she did. For what felt like hours she zoned out, nervously rotating Morte between her fingers as he regaled to her the story of the time he killed a hydra (something she doubted, as the him in his story was both divinely handsome and had hands).


    Before, finally, a person arrived bearing the crest of the guild.


    It was an elfish mage, with long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. "Right," she grunted, barely loud enough to be heard over the crowd. The elf gave her a once over, scowling. "I can''t believe I have to do this. Right, girl, how much experience do you have?"


    "Oh, uh, I''m Palmira," Palmira bowed her head awkwardly. The Elf made a ''get on with it'' motion with her hands. "I don''t have any experience adventuring, but I''m a capable mage and I''ve spent a lot of time traveling between cities in the past."


    "A mage?" the elf sounded like she''d really rather be anywhere else but here, something which was starting to annoy her. "What magic do you use?"


    "I''m a fire mage," Palmira stated confidently, using the budding anger to steady herself. "I''ve been practicing since I was young."


    "Of course it''s a fire mage," the elf scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, I''ve heard enough. We aren''t hiring you, girl. Just because some holy fire mage went and became famous doesn''t mean all fire mages have what it takes to work with the big leagues. If you wanted a chance, you should''ve been a water mage instead¡ªbecause Lady knows we could use one of those¡­"


    With that the elf turned and marched right back out of the room, leaving a spluttering Palmira behind.


    "Hot damn," Morte sounded just as shocked. "I don''t think I''ve seen as fast a rejection since the time S?o¨½ce got rejected by that busty elf in the Hausa."


    Palmira saw red, a puff of smoke pouring out of her mouth. "I''m leaving," she declared, standing up. She couldn''t stand being in this damn guildhall any longer.


    Morte, perhaps sensing her mood¡ªor hopefully even agreeing with her¡ªdidn''t do anything but hum in agreement.


    As she pushed her way out of the guildhall, she was hit at once by how quiet it was. The echoing of hundreds of voices still spilled out of the massive doors, but now she could at least hear herself think. The sun hung high in the sky above, showing it to be far past noon, and yet it felt cooler outside than in.


    She took a deep breath, luxuriating in the smell of fresh air. She''d lived in the city all her life, but she''d lived out in the open streets and open skies. Even in the busiest markets, there were at least sights, sounds and smells beyond sweaty people waiting in endless lines.


    She''d never take the mildly polluted air of the city for granted ever again.


    "I don''t think I would have wanted to work there anyway," she said out loud, feeling her shoulders relax.


    "You''re telling me!" Morte huffed. "Please tell me you noticed the¡ªat least¡ªthree separate people who tried to steal me while we were shoving our way through that crowd."


    She had. "They were probably hoping to sell you for some quick money. I wonder if that''s a common thing, in big guilds like that?"


    "Oh, it is," the staff scoffed. "Granted, it''s normally by the less moral guildmembers than strangers off the streets. I mean sheesh, what''s their security like that they just let random criminals steal from their clients! At least back in my day, it was the guilds themselves that were robbing you."


    Palmira snorted, remembering the days she was one of those criminals. "They probably knew it was happening, they probably just didn''t care."


    "Well that''s even worse! What kind of business do you run where you just let vultures like that hang out on your front porch!?"


    "I dunno. Probably a pretty bad one."


    "One that''s let it''s fame get to its head, that''s for certain!"


    "Whatever," she shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Let''s just move on¡ªsurely the next place won''t be as bad, right?"


    -<X>-


    ?


    "I''m sorry," Drowned-Man in front of her frowned apologetically. "We aren''t hiring any mages right now. We''ve had a glut of them coming in recently, half of them even fire mages like yourself."


    Stolen novel; please report.


    This guild, the Prateria guildhall, wasn''t anywhere near as busy as Rovina. The building was a quarter the size and sat on the corner of the street next to a bakery, overlooking the river. The Drowned-Man was the only receptionist, and there''d only been one person in line before her. It made her feel much more confident as she walked up to the counter, only for the rejection to shatter that confidence right then and there.


    "Oh," she deflated. "I see. ¡­Are you sure? I''m fine working part-time, if possible¡­?"


    "Again, I''m sorry," the Drowned-Man shook his head, the light reflecting off his scales blinding her as he did so. "I know it''s not what you want to hear, but we can''t make exceptions. Ever since the Lich-King died the guildmaster''s been wanting to cut corners on the staff, so I''ve been forced to turn away more people than we''d like. You know how it is, I''m sure¡ªadventurers live off of supply and demand like any other artisan, and when too many monsters start dying and too many newbies start applying, the demand goes way down."


    "Damn," Morte''s shock flooded into her mind. "I didn''t think we''d ever live in a world with too many adventurers, but it appears I''ve been mistaken."


    Palmira just sighed and, after thanking the receptionist for his time, left to check out the rest of the guilds.


    There were dozens in the city. Surely at least one of them would accept her, right?


    -<X>-


    ?


    "So yer a fire mage, eh?" the old dwarf of the Vero Piombo guild scoffed. "Then we ain''t gonna take ye, sorry kid."


    Palmira slumped against Morte''s staff, wincing. "Oh. I''ll, uh, I''ll get going then."


    The dwarf sighed. "Look, kid, it ain''t anything against ye. But fire mage''s are ah ducat ah dozen these days. ''Specially after that one fire mage went and killed ah Lich. We''ve already got three in our guild and, I''ll be straight with ye, ye ain''t even the first fire mage te apply this week."


    That didn''t make her feel any better.


    "I don''t know who that famous fire mage is," Morte hummed, sounding disgruntled. "But she sounds like a right bitch."


    -<X>-


    ?


    "Oh, I''m sorry," the receptionist to the Mela guild plastered on a fake sympathetic smile. "But we only accept applications for starting positions from adventurers who have at least three years of experience already. But we do have a position for an internship with the guildmaster, if you''re interested! It''s not paid, but you''ll get a lot of real-world working experience, and we here at Mela value that more than gold!"


    Palmira grimaced, declined, and checked another guild off her list.


    -<X>-


    ?


    "Why are you so adamant to join a guild, anyway?"


    Palmira glanced at Morte, before turning her eyes back to the street. She didn''t really feel like talking right now, her pride smarting over the constant rejections.


    But she also needed a distraction, so with a sigh she responed, "Isn''t it obvious? Adventuring on my own will only get me killed. If I''m lucky."


    "I get that. But surely you could find a job elsewhere? You have some aptitude as a mage. I know I saw you create that fire last night, even without my help! That must be worth something, yes?"


    "You''d think so, wouldn''t you?" she growled, tightening her grip on the staff. "You don''t think I tried other jobs before? But connections are everything and there were only two people who were willing to give the dirty street rat a chance¡ªone of them just so they could have a slave in all but name that they paid in nothing but crumbs, and the other was just stringing me along so they could sell me as an actual slave! After that I realized I wasn''t going to take my chances with people ever again."


    The staff hummed, shuddering lightly in her hand. "And so you''d throw yourself into the only government sanctioned job you can get. I don''t agree, but I do understand. However, I hope you understand, getting a job at a guild isn''t going to be all looting treasure and seducing dragons. There''s a lot of combat involved. A lot. The reason the homeless child Palmira can get a job at a guild isn''t because the Famiglias are kind enough to just hire people off the street, but because the powers that be see you adventures as expendable. Whether you live or die, it''s all a statistic to them."


    Palmira grimaced, but didn''t disagree. "I don''t care. This is all just a means to an end, anyway."


    "Oh? Pray tell, what ends are you looking to achieve?"


    She took a deep breath, buying time to find the words for what she wanted. She''d never actually spoken her goals aloud before, she realized. "¡­Once I make enough money adventuring, I''m going to pay for a tuition and get a degree at the Universit¨¤, and leave adventuring behind forever to go become the family mage to some rich Famiglia somewhere out in the countryside where I can sleep in a fluffy bed and get fat off pastries and never have to worry about starving ever again."


    The two of them went silent after that, as Morte took in her words. Palmira found herself looking away, wondering if perhaps he''d expected something¡­ more.


    Finally, after a long moment he spoke up. "¡­What a wonderfully sane idea!"


    "¡­eh?"


    "Oh, don''t ''eh'' me! I''ve met a great many adventurers in my time. Most of them were idiots! In fact, all of them were idiots! Adrenaline junkies, the lot of them, hoping to find adventure and riches in some dank, dark cave as far from civilization as possible! But you know what they found instead?"


    "Um¡­"


    "Death! Even the best adventurers die eventually. The average retirement plan for adventurers is to cash in their life insurance by thirty! Fools, the lot of them!"


    Palmira stayed silent. She felt this was something he''d wanted to get off his chest for a while now.


    "But you. You! You''re choosing not to be a fool! To get an education! How could I be anything but supportive of that!? Sure, you''re getting the money for that by adventuring, but it''s not like you have many better options. It''s not like you''re some rich pampered baby throwing all that away to play at being a knight, after all. Yes, yes! I, the great and powerful Morte, shall support you in this wholeheartedly!"


    Palmira stared at her staff for a long moment. "¡­Uh, thank you?"


    "You are welcome!" Morte''s skull seemed to grin at her from beneath the canvas bag covering it. "In fact, in order to help achieve your goals, I shall start tutoring you! You may thank me again, my young apprentice, for I shall grant you knowledge far beyond what anyone in this world could possibly teach you!"


    Palmira blinked, her eyes opening wide. "That¡­!" her eyes darted back and forth, before finally landing back on her staff. "What do you mean by that? What would you even teach me!? You''re a staff!"


    "Ah, is that skepticism I hear? You wound me, my apprentice, but I shall ignore it for now! You know nothing of me, after all. However, I believe a demonstration is in order, so that you know I am not all talk. Very well, we shall begin our first lesson now!"


    "Wait, now!?"


    "Yes, now! You can use fire magic, yes? In that case, tell me, what is fire to you?"


    "Um, it is¡ª"


    "Wait! Wait wait wait! Calm down and think about your answer. A gut response is good, but I will not accept one today. So, my apprentice, answer truly; what is fire to you?"


    Palmira took a deep breath, calming her racing heart. That conversation had been moving far too fast for her liking.


    After taking a moment to calm down, she began to consider Morte''s question.


    What was fire to her?


    She knew instinctively what it was. Fire was death. Her first memories were of that blaze, of everything she knew burning down around her. The flames claiming everything they could and leaving nothing but ashes as they passed. Fire was death and destruction that consumed all. It was an end.


    She opened her mouth to answer, but something stopped her.


    Because she never thought of any of that when she used her magic.


    She closed her eyes, centering herself again. Fire caused death and destruction, but a man who killed wasn''t death itself, just an avenue for death. So what was fire? Not what is caused, but what it was.


    What did she think of, when flames danced across her fingers? What did she think of, when the rats she skewered popped and fizzled above her hands? What did she think of, when sparks dripped from her fingers as dewdrops, lighting up her alleyway with her own little fireworks show?


    What was fire, to her?


    "¡­Fire is movement." She said at last, the words spilling from her lips without conscious thought. "Fire is the constant flickering of flames, their burning tendrils constantly reaching for the heavens. Fire dances and it jumps and it flies. Fire is the billowing breath of a dragon that scatters armies, the crumbing of logs into the firepit that sends sparks into the air, the inevitable changing of this into that. Fire is Movement, for a flame cannot be still¡ªfor in stillness is death, and fire is life."


    And as she finished speaking she felt something click into place. An instinctive understanding of her magic suddenly becoming conscious.


    She raised her hand, watching in awe as flickering flames danced across her fingertips in a way that she could always instinctively do¡ªbut now she understood how it did so in a way she never had before.


    The invisible world shuddered, and movement turned to heat turned to flame.


    "How¡ª" her voice cracked, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. The flames caressed her fingers, its crackling and popping almost sounding like purring. "How did you¡ª?"


    She more felt than saw Morte''s grin. "Such is the first lesson of magic. The first of the three P''s!"


    "¡­Three P''s¡­?"


    "Indeed! Magic can be divided into three aspects¡ªPhilosophy, Precedent, and Physics! Remember those three P''s, and you can learn any type of magic with ease!"


    "¡­I think I see," Palmira whispered, clenching her fist to snuff out the flames, "and¡­ thank you."


    "Of course, of course! You''re my apprentice, are you not? It is only natural you''d be getting the best education in the world! Now, raise your head with pride and show those guilds foolish enough to reject you how incredible you truly are!"


    With a nod, Palmira gathered herself. Squaring her shoulders she set out again, ready to find some guild that would accept her, no matter what!


    -<X>-


    The elf at the receptionist desk glanced up from the book he was reading, gave her a single look, and then turned back to his book.


    "Get out."


    She got out.


    -<X>-


    ?


    Palmira groaned, slumping down against the Ponte Mattoni, one of the many bridges spanning the Rozzi. Laying Morte across her lap, she leaned back, closing her eyes as she let her head rest against the cool brick.


    Not a single guild had accepted her. Barely any had even given her the time of day.


    "I''m shocked," Morte murmured, the staff having grown quieter and quieter as the day went on. "I would have thought at least one of them would''ve accepted you. Since when have the guilds grown so picky? It may have been decades since I last stepped foot in one, but the guilds I remembered accepted anyone and everyone to their banners."


    Palmira huffed, rubbing at her eyes. "Then maybe I should''ve been born a century ago¡ªI might have had a chance, then."


    "Perhaps," she had a mental image of Morte nodding his head. "But if you had been, then we might not have ever met! And really, what are a thousand guilds compared to the glory of moi?"


    "I would''ve taken one over meeting you."


    "Ack! You take that back! Or at least up the amount of guilds! I''m worth at least three, yes?"


    Palmira chuckled wetly, taking a deep breath. Reaching into her knapsack, she dug through her few coins to pull out a stale chunk of bread. She began to gnaw on it as she considered her options.


    There weren''t that many official guilds left in the city. Maybe a dozen, unless she''d missed some somewhere. She''d spent the last month searching the city for every government sponsored guild she could find, visible by the coat of arms of one of the city''s powerful Famiglia''s stamped on their doors. When she''d set out this morning she''d expected¡ªshe''d hoped¡ªthat at least one of them would be willing to accept her.


    Apparently, that had been too much to ask.


    "Crackaw!"


    She jumped, startled from her own thoughts by a sudden cawing in her ear. Snapping her head to the side, she came face to face with a drakeling. The miniature dragon''s rusty red body squatted low on the railing next to her head, while its slitted eyes were wide and begging.


    She snorted, relaxing a bit at the sight. A distance behind, she saw two more yellow drakelings waiting patiently for their leader to bargain.


    She glanced down at her stale loaf, before sighing and tearing off a small chunk and holding it out in her hand.


    The red drakeling squeaked happily, before spitting out a small gout of flame, toasting the bread and warming her hand pleasantly. It then leaned down, gulping down the charred crumbs.


    She giggled at the feeling of its tongue across her palm, and then giggled some more when the drakeling''s yellow compatriots suddenly showed up, boxing it in on either side and causing it to squawk angrily as they shoved it aside to get at the food, only to slump in disappointment at her empty hand.


    Biting her cheek to hold back her laughter, Palmira pulled off another chunk of bread, holding it out for them to toast themselves.


    Popping the last of her loaf in her mouth, she smiled as the three tiny dragons licked the last of the crumbs from her hand, tickling her hand with their tiny forked tongues.


    Once her hands were clean they looked back up at her again, their eyes wide and begging, but she simply raised her empty hands to show she was all out.


    "Sorry," she smiled ruefully at them. "That''s all for today."


    The drakelings whined pitifully, before the two yellow ones turned and scampered off, running along the railing of the bridge for a few bounds before leaping into the air, flying off, probably to find someone else to beg food off of.


    The red one however stayed behind a bit longer. It sneezed, letting off a small gout of flame, before it choked once, twice, and then spat something into her waiting hand.


    Its duty done the red drakeling snuffed, shook itself, and then gave her a parting squawk before flying off after its friends.


    Palmira smiled after them, before glancing down at the half a coin the drakeling had left in her hand.


    Half a piccoli, more than enough to replace the crumbs she''d given. But not enough for much else.


    ''Another decade of feeding the drakelings, and maybe I''ll be able to buy a real wizard''s staff.''


    She snorted, shaking her head. As if she''d even make it that long on the streets.


    Still, she always felt somewhat lighter after those encounters. So, with a smile on her face and a spring in her step she rose back to her feet


    She''d check out one more guild today, she told herself. Just one more.


    This time, it would be different. It had to be.

 Chapter 3 - An Arsonist and a Necromancer Find Their Bar

    An Arsonist and a Necromancer Find their Bar


    Despite being an ancient city, most of Firozzi was relatively new.


    Most of that was due to the recent influx of refugees. From both east and west thousands of refugees had been flooding into the city over the past half-century, leading to rapid and constant expansion. She''d heard from some of her older homeless friends that decades ago the outskirts of Firozzi had been ringed by an overpopulated slum, but then a bit before she''d been born the Capparelli Famiglia had started a public works campaign to clean up the city. They built hundreds of new houses and apartment blocks throughout the city, and the lingering goodwill from the act had won them the popular vote for the past twenty years.


    However, while much of the city was new, the Old Quarter to the south was different. Older than even the crumbling walls of the Duke''s Quarter where she lived, the Old Quarter was the cultural heart of the city and the heart of the Ambrosi Famiglia''s powerbase.


    The roads were thinner and less well-kept there, connected by dense, winding alleyways. Filled with old blood and old money, this part of the city was always darker and less populated then the rest, though she wouldn''t call it dangerous. The Ambrosi were one of the most powerful Familgias in the city, and they wouldn''t suffer any crime in their territory.


    Still, it was late enough in the day that the shadows of the apartments above darkened the streets, making it hard to see. So as she made her way through the alleyways of the Old Quarter, thin yet bright flames clung at her feet, lighting up the alleyways as they bounced after her every step. Some people gave her wary looks¡ªand she had to put out the flames at one point when she passed by a cafe that spilled out onto the street¡ªbut she stayed to the center of the road and made sure nothing caught on fire.


    Eventually though she left the winding alleyways, and the city suddenly opened up into a massive plaza, the Piazza del Drago. The core territory of the Ambrosi and the final resting place of the ancient dragon Vesuvius.


    She paid her respect to its titanic, eternal corpse which laid forevermore at the center.


    The skull of Vesuvius loomed over her, the skeleton of the ancient dragon towering over the rest of the city even in death. The ancients had apparently painted it, but now only the occasional splotches of color clung to its bone-white surface. Far up in its empty eye sockets sat nests of hundreds of drakelings, the tiny dragons fluttering about the corpse of their progenitor.


    She squinted up at it, keeping as much space as she could between herself and it. Even after years of walking past it''s corpse, she still couldn''t understand how anyone could''ve killed it.


    Below, the Ambrosi Famiglia had inhabited the titanic skeleton for over a thousand years, building their villas from its scales in its shadow. Their house guards marched around the gated villas, some of them eyeing her warily as she passed. The Ambrosi claimed descent from the ancient hero who''d slain it, though she personally didn''t believe them.


    If they really were strong enough to kill a dragon, they would''ve been the ones in charge of Firozzi, not the Capparelli.


    As she walked past, some of the drakelings fluttered over, circling over her head before they realized she didn''t have any food. They squawked forlornly before flapping away in disappointment, though one of them plopped itself on her head and rode her down the streets until it got distracted by a street vendor selling kebabs.


    She shook her head and continued on, eventually making her way to the edge of the Old Quarter, and her final objective for today.


    An old villa sat squeezed between two apartment blocks. Despite its age it looked to be in well enough repair, with marble columns and faded yellow paint decorating the fa?ade. As she got closer she could make out the name of the guild¡ªRosa Dominae¡ªemblazoned in gold above the door, with the symbol of the Cadorna Famiglia¡ªan upside-down tree¡ªset beside it.


    A short staircase led up to the door, and her feet came to a stop before it. For a moment she hesitated, her hand stopping halfway towards grabbing the handle.


    "You sure about this?" Morte asked, sounding doubtful. "We don''t have to join a guild. We could just set out on our own, do some freelance work for a while and come back once we have some experience. If we even need the help by then."


    "No," Palmira shook her head firmly. "I''ve never been in a real fight before, and monsters aren''t going to be scared away by some paltry fireworks. I''m not risking my life like that until there are no other options available to me."


    "Ah, well, I suppose that''s reasonable," her staff chuckled. "But if these guys reject you as well, I say we reserve the right to come back and rub it in their faces once we''ve become rich and famous."


    Her lips quirked into a smile. "Sure, we''ll do that."


    With her resolve gathered she opened the door of the guild, pushing her way inside.


    The inside was quaint, at least compared to the raving decadence she''d seen earlier today. It was a small square foyer painted a soft pink, with a set of doors leading further into the guild on both her left and right. A single painting took up space on the back wall, which she showed what she assumed to be a scene of the Hero and his party fighting the Demon King, though she couldn''t be sure. Along the walls behind her sat some benches and tables, while in the center of the room sat a simple reception desk.


    And sitting at that desk was a Goddess-forsaken orc.


    He was massive, looking almost comically oversized when compared to the desk he sat behind. She doubted she''d even reach his waist if he stood up. His green, leathery skin was wrinkled and scarred, which hid powerful muscles that flexed at every movement he made. White fuzz clung to his face in a braided beard that nearly hid his massive fangs, while the top of his head was nearly bald from a receding hairline. He held a monocle in one hand, holding it up to his eye to read something from a book nearly three times the size of her head.


    She almost stepped right back out the way she came, before she caught herself. Orcs were terrifying, but there was no need to be rude about it.


    Also she was pretty sure Morte would mock her if she did that.


    Instead she took a deep breath and called out to him. "Um, excuse me?"


    "Hm? Oh, my apologies," the orc started, before turning to her and smiling far more politely than she''d expected. It didn''t stop him from showing off his massive, protruding fangs. "I didn''t notice you there. I''m ¨®sma, the receptionist here at the Rosa Dominae. Are you here to set up an escort quest, or do you want to request one of our adventurers for something specifically?"


    She didn''t speak for a moment, freezing up under his gaze. Instinctively she clenched her hands tighter around her staff.


    "Psst," Morte hissed. "Kid! He asked you a question!"


    "Ah," she flinched, clearing her throat, "Sorry. I''m actually here to apply. As an adventurer, I mean."


    The orc''s smile slipped slightly, his forehead creasing. Palmira felt her hopes dwindle and die right there¡ªshe''d gotten used to recognizing that look all day.


    ¨®sma cleared his throat. "I see. So, you''re a mage, I take it?"


    "Yes!" Palmira nodded desperately. "I make fire. Er, I mean, I''m a fire mage."


    The orc looked at her for a long moment, before he glanced at her hands. "What''s wrong with your staff?"


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    She turned to Morte, who was still covered in the burlap sack. She turned back to the orc. "My staff''s, um¡­ it''s falling apart! I need to keep it covered to hold it together."


    "Right¡­" ¨®sma sighed, pulling off his monocle to rub his eyes. "Look, ma''am, I''m sorry, but we aren''t taking on new adventurers right now. Please don''t take it personally, but we just can''t afford to hire anybody right now."


    Palmira slumped. And she''d gotten so worked up, too. "I see," she grimaced. "¡­Thank you for hearing me out, at least."


    The orc looked a bit uncomfortable, now. "As I said, don''t take it personally," he hurried to reassure her. "It''s just a temporary setback for the guild, you understand. In fact, if you''re willing to come back in a few months, we might be in a position to offer you a job then."


    Palmira blinked, suddenly snapping straight up, eyes widening. It wasn''t a confirmed job, but at the rate she''d been going, even that halfhearted offer sent a jolt of hope through her heart. "Really!?"


    "¡­Yes," ¨®sma let out a slow breath, a pained expression on his face. "Come back in the spring, and I''m sure we could make room for you¡ª"


    *CRASH*


    The two of them jumped at the sudden noise, the crash shaking the whole building.


    "What was that!?" Palmira yelped, sparks nervously crackling in her palm as she stumbled. "What''s going on?"


    "One moment, ma''am," ¨®sma stood from his desk, showing him to have been even taller than she''d expected. Apparently he hadn''t been sitting on a chair, but on his knees behind that too-small desk. "I''m going to have to check something quickly, please don''t worry about¡ª"


    *BOOM*


    As an explosion rocked the building, ¨®sma stopped talking and just rushed out of the room. "I swear," he growled, his eyes alight with fury. "If those drunk skurwysyny are destroying my guildhall again, I''m going to wring their pierdolone necks until their heads eksploduja¡­!"


    As the orc stomped out of the receptionist''s area, Palmira found herself following behind subconsciously. As he exploded out of the room, she stopped in the doorframe, peeking out to see what was going on.


    The room opened up into a large dining hall, painted the same pink as the foyer. One of the walls was only a series of columns that led out to a large courtyard, while covering the other wall was a bar and kitchen, tended to by an older lady calmly cleaning a wine glass. In between was a colorful crowd of drunken adventurers, screaming obscenities at two red-faced warriors beating the shit out of each other on one of the tables.


    She arrived just in time to see an explosion of freezing air shatter the table in two. An elf in Landsknecht armor threw out a dozen punches in a second, each one carrying the essence of winter with it. Each blow was blocked by a scruffy looking knight, who fought back with a divine left-hook. The shockwaves let off by each exchange were powerful enough to blast away anything near them that wasn''t nailed down, food and wine flying around the dining hall and splattering against people and walls alike. One ice-blast slammed into an expensive-looking chandelier, knocking it off its hook and sending it shattering to the floor.


    And in the time it took her to take all that in, a dark-skinned mage jumped up into the middle of the fight, bowling over the Landsknecht with a cackle, only to put herself in the way of a divine uppercut by the Knight and get launched into the ceiling.


    The other adventurers surrounding them shouted jeers and insults, or were just laughing at the carnage before them. Most of them slurred their speech, stumbling around the fight red-faced and drunk.


    She glanced out the window, reassuring herself that the sun was still up.


    "Oh yeah," Morte chuckled nostalgically. "This is what I remember adventurers being like. Drunken fools, the lot of them."


    "WHAT IN THE GODDESS''S NAME ARE YOU IDIOTS DOING!?"


    The entire hall froze at ¨®sma''s roar, turning as one to look at him in wide-eyed horror.


    Nobody said anything long moment, the terrified silence only broken by the mage who''d been launched into the ceiling falling back to the floor, bouncing once before laying flat on the ground, as if playing dead could save her from ¨®sma''s wrath.


    Finally, one particularly brave¡ªor stupid¡ªadventurer spoke up, pointing at the knight frozen on the remains of the broken table. "Charles started it!"


    ¨®sma glared at the knight for a moment, before taking a deep, angry breath. "Bettina?"


    The bartender raised an empty glass, not looking intimidated in the least. "Yeah boss?"


    "You aren''t going to be cashing out a single bet," he growled, eliciting a wave of complaints. "Instead," he shouted over the moaning adventurers, "You are going to be using that money to fund a new dining hall."


    The second he was done speaking, a large chunk of the ceiling suddenly cracked and fell down, flattening the fallen mage, who let out a pained whine.


    An awkward silence descended on the dining hall.


    "¡­and a new roof, while you''re at it," ¨®sma groaned, putting a hand to his forehead. "Goddess'' sake, the guildmaster is going to kill everyone in this room starting with me. Just¡­ just fix this."


    Then he turned around and locked eyes with Palmira, who froze as his gaze landed on her.


    "¡­Right, you." The orc grunted, before rubbing his eyes. "¡­You know what? Fuck it. You still want to join this circus? Congrats, you''re in."


    Palmira stared at him with wide eyes, unable to believe what she was hearing. "¡­Wait, really!?" she choked out. "I thought you said you couldn''t afford to hire me?"


    "We couldn''t," he grunted, before motioning at the destroyed dining hall. Two warriors were pulling the chuck of the ceiling off the fallen mage, who refused to help, just lying there dramatically. One of them noticed her looking and waved, accidentally dropping the chunk back onto the fallen mage. "But now we can''t afford anything. And I suppose I''ll need someone here who can work once the guildmaster murders the rest of those idiots."


    A wide and relieved smile grew on Palmira''s face, and she stomped her feet to stop her sandals from catching on fire in excitement. Finally! "Yes!" she exclaimed without a second thought. "Yes, thank you, I accept! Thank you so much!"


    The old orc sighed, waving at her to follow him. "Yeah yeah, let''s just go get your paperwork filled out. Oh, and if you can, please promise me something?"


    "Yes?"


    "Please," ¨®sma turned to her and placed a massive hand on her tiny shoulder, naked desperation writ across his green face. "For the love of the Goddess, the Demon King, or whatever else you might pray to, don''t follow the example of those idiots. We cannot afford to pay off anymore property damage. I know you''re a fire mage¡ªoh, Goddess, I hired a fire mage¡ªbut please. That''s all I ask."


    Palmira turned to look one last time at the dining hall, and saw that someone had finally got the fallen mage out from under the rubble, and was now dragging her across the floor by one of her feet. The mage, despite being wide awake, didn''t do anything to stop them, at least until the adventurer dragging her chucked her into the pile of trash the others had started putting together. Then she screamed in rage, and with a wave of her hand started a flood which took out another table.


    ¨®sma stopped and stared back at his guildmates, before burying his face in his hands and screaming.


    Palmira patted his side awkwardly, a sympathetic grimace on her face.


    At least she''d be getting paid.

 Chapter 4 - Lies From Unseeing Eyes

    Lies From Unseeing Eyes


    A bit less than an hour later saw Palmira and ¨®sma sitting across from each other in the orc''s office. The room was much smaller than the foyer, but its walls were packed floor to ceiling with hundreds of books, while papers and quills sat piled haphazardly on the expensive-looking oak desk in the center. A small window was barely visible in the back, on the ledge of which grew a small shrub. The desk in his office, unlike the one in the foyer, was designed to be tall enough for ¨®sma to sit at comfortably, which meant that even with her legs dangling off the too-high chair, Palmira''s chin barely cleared the top of the desk. Being so low down, it made her feel like a child.


    She wondered if that was intentional.


    "Right," ¨®sma let out a soft sigh as he relaxed back in his chair, a huge and plush thing that looked far more comfortable than the wooden stool she was sitting on. "Now that those idiots are finally sorted out, I can get to you. Before we begin though, you''re sure you still want to join? I won''t judge if you don''t¡ªheaven knows I wouldn''t have bothered with this place if I hadn''t spent the last twenty years keeping it in one piece."


    Palmira squinted at him. "I''m pretty sure you''re not supposed to badmouth your own guild to someone you''re trying to hire."


    "Maybe not. But I''m doing it anyway. So, is that a yes or a no?"


    "Yes," she nodded quickly. "I''m definitely joining. Especially, um¡­ actually, when or how am I getting paid?"


    "About that¡­"


    Oh no.


    "I''m sorry to say, but if you join this guild you won''t be getting paid by us for at least a month¡ªpossibly more, if those idiots keep trashing the guildhall."


    "A month!?" Palmira winced. He wasn''t serious, was he? "Do I really have to wait that long?"


    "You remember what I said about us not being able to afford anything, right?" he asked dryly. "Nobody is getting paid until after All Saint''s Day at the earliest. Including myself, if that makes you feel any better."


    Palmira sighed, slumping. Looks like she''d still be eating stale bread and watery soup for the foreseeable future. And she''d been so looking forward to a hot meal. Maybe jumping at the first guild willing to hire her had been a mistake¡­


    "Moving on. While we can''t afford to pay you right now, you still have access to all the perks being a guildmember grants you."


    "Perks? What perks?"


    "For starters, all guild employees get two free meals at the bar every day."


    Never mind, this was the best guild in the world.


    He shook his head at her expression. "Don''t get too excited. You only get breakfast and dinner. Breakfast is just bread, cheese and cold cuts of salami, while the free dinner is a stew of whatever was left over from the previous night and a single glass of the cheapest wine available."


    She got meat? And cheese!? "We get this every day!? Are we truly so blessed!?"


    "You also get one free fruit a week from the garden thanks to our local Agromancer, but that''s only when he''s not out on a job."


    Such decadence!


    As Palmira zoned out imagining what a lemon might taste like, ¨®sma continued droning out the perks. "Along with the free meals, you also get the informal patronage of the Cadorna Famiglia. This includes the right to vote in the populous elections, the right to sell goods and services in the city, the right to own property in the city, the right to wear their crest declare yourself part of the Famiglia, and the ability to use their lawyers should you ever end up in any legal trouble. Please never let me find out you had to use that last one."


    Palmira blinked, shaking herself. "Don''t worry," she reassured him. "I''m not planning on breaking any more laws now that I have a job here."


    "¡­Any more?"


    Palmira froze.


    ¨®sma sighed. "Is it going to come back to bite the guild at some point in the future?"


    She shook her head mutely.


    "Then I don''t want to know. Your past is in the past. Just know we''ve got a three strikes rule here at the guild. Break that and you''re out, got it?"


    She nodded her head.


    "Good," he grunted, looking exhausted. Reaching over, he picked up a large book and placed it between them. "Now, on to your personal information. The guild will need to keep track of some basic information about you if you want access to all the perks. Don''t worry about it getting out, we keep only one copy and it''s right here. Now to start, what''s your full name?"


    "Oh! Um, Palmira."


    "No last name or other titles?"


    "I don''t¡ªoh, wait! When I was younger, my mother would introduce herself as di Vittoria. Would that count?"


    ¨®sma grunted. "I could write that down if you want, though I doubt it matters. Di Vittoria just means ''Of the Village of Vittoria''. It was probably just a communal last name for your home village. Does she still live there, or have you moved since?"


    "¡­No. The village is long gone."


    ¨®sma paused, his haggard appearance softening just a bit. "My apologies. I didn''t mean to dig up old wounds. I can add the name if you''d like."


    "¡­Wait," Palmira stopped him. "You said that the name just means ''Of Vittoria,'' right?"


    "Aye. Why are you asking?"


    "I haven''t lived in that village for a long time," she told him. "I barely remember anything about it. Even my birth home, I¡­" she shook her head. "I''ve lived in this city for so much longer. I know the streets and the people and the animals better than I ever knew my birthplace. I don''t think I could rightly claim to be ''Of Vittoria'' when I barely remember it. So instead, if it''s possible¡­ could you put me down as Palmira di Firozzi instead?"


    ¨®sma''s eyebrows raised so high they nearly left his forehead all together. "¡­I assume you don''t know the significance of such a name, if that''s what you picked. If I was anyone else, I''d be berating you for your arrogance right now."


    "¡­Oh."


    "But luckily, I am not anyone else," the old orc gave her a large grin filled with fangs and schadenfreude. "Very well, it''s nice to formally meet you, Palmira di Firozzi."


    She felt a small smile grow on her face, and she kicked her feet to stop sparks from flying. "It''s nice to meet you as well, Signor ¨®sma."


    "Of course. Now, do you have any previous experience in adventuring? Normally I''d have asked that earlier, but your acceptance into the guild wasn''t how we''d traditionally gone about it anyways."


    "Er, not really," she shrugged self-consciously. "I traveled around a lot when I was younger. My old village was near Iscrimo, so I stayed there for a while. I''ve also been to Opida and Bocca as well, though I''ve been in Firozzi for years now."


    "Opida, huh? That takes me back," ¨®sma hummed, his voice turning nostalgic. "I worked there for quite a bit. Back during its golden age, even. It used to rival Palunera as a naval power did you know? But ever since the Demon Wars it''s fallen on hard times. It was quite the beautiful city, back in my day."


    Palmira shuffled awkwardly, as the old orc lost himself in his memories. "Um, I suppose it was nice when I visited too? I saw a pretty church while I was there. They handed out prawn stew to us orphans, which was kind of them."


    ¨®sma blinked, before shaking his head. "Ah, of course. I wonder how old that church was, perhaps I might have visited it myself, back in the day¡­? Oh, I''m sorry, we were supposed to be talking about something else. Your experience, right? You said earlier you could use magic?"


    "I''m a fire mage, as I said before," she told him, glad to change the topic. "I focus mostly on¡­ I guess you''d call it the Movement of Fire. I haven''t really used my magic to fight before, but I know how to use it well."


    "Do you mind giving me a quick example?" ¨®sma asked absently. Then he froze his eyes darting to all the important documents filling the room. The important, flammable documents.


    "Oh sure, here you go."


    The old orc practically leapt to his feet. "Wait¡ª!"


    A small flame burst to life around the head of Morte''s staff, just barely licking the edges of the burlap sack. It flickered and snapped for a few seconds, before she snuffed it out.


    "I''m sorry!" she yelped, almost knocking herself off the stool in her panic. "What''d I do!?"


    "Just¡­" ¨®sma sighed and shook his head, looking around and making sure nothing had caught fire. "¡­No, I''m sorry. I shouldn''t have shouted. Let''s delay that test for a bit. At least until we''re somewhere, uh, less flammable."


    "Oh, right," Palmira felt her face flush. She should have considered that. She was too used to being able to use her fire without worrying about burning anything that she sometimes forgot things could burn. "I''ll show you later, then¡ª"


    Plop.


    She turned instinctively at the noise, and as she looked down she felt her heart catch in her throat.


    The burlap sack, which had hidden Morte''s skull from the world, now sat on the floor by her feet, charred black by her fire. And now his skull stood bared, that polished cranium of his revealed for all the world to see.


    She stared at the skull.


    ¨®sma stared at the skull.


    The skull stared back at them.


    "Welp, looks like the cat''s out of the bag now!" Morte cackled.


    ¨®sma jumped at his voice, before he turned and gave her a look.


    "He was on sale," she defended herself weakly.


    "I know!" the staff bemoaned. "I''ve never been so insulted in my life! They were selling me for ten piccoli! Ten piccoli! I mean, sure, I have no idea how much that''s actually worth, but if girly here could afford it then it must have been worth next to nothing!"


    Palmira scowled and smacked him against the wall, ignoring the "Ow!" he let out. "Ignore him. Please, please just ignore him."


    ¨®sma sighed, rubbing his eyes. "No, I''m sorry, but I can''t. Palmira di Firozzi, why do you have a necromancer''s staff?"


    "It was on sale!" she stressed, her sweaty palms gripping the staff tighter. "I couldn''t afford any of the others!"


    ¨®sma stared into her eyes for a long time but, apparently, found what he was looking for. He visibly relaxed, sighing as he did so. "Right, just a dumb kid. Not a heretic," he muttered under his breath. Louder, he told her, "Alright, I believe you. But you can''t be walking around with a necromancer''s staff as part of this guild. Especially not one that talks. I think we have a few in the back we could swap it out for, and we can take him into the church to be cleansed."


    Palmira blinked, feeling relieved but also a little guilty. While she knew it was the right thing to do, turning in Morte just like that somehow felt wrong.


    "Ah, no-can-do, Mr. Orc. You see, Palmira and I made a deal here, and that deal means she can no longer use any catalyst besides Moi to use magic! It''s such a shame, but if you want your new hire to be useful, you''ll have to let her keep ahold of me from now on~"


    Palmira froze. "What!?"


    "You made a bargain with it!?" ¨®sma shouted at the same time, an incredulous look on his face. "What in the Devil''s name possessed you to do that!?"


    "It didn''t seem like a big deal at the time!" she defended herself, before turning to Morte. "You never said anything about that!"


    "Indeed I didn''t!" Morte agreed cheerfully. "But I knew right away you''d throw me away for a better staff without a second thought, so I added some fine print to our little deal the first time you used your magic. Now you can''t use any other magical catalyst but me!"


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    As Palmira stared at him in horror, ¨®sma clenched his fists against the table, looking one step away from snapping the staff in two. "¡­What does she have that you want, demon?" he growled lowly. "Depending on your answer, I may destroy you quickly."


    "What does she have?" Morte hummed, sounding somewhat more serious than he was before. More serious than she''d ever heard him at least. "She has a voice to speak with, and hands to carry me with, and magic to awe me with. I''m not a cruel creature, Mr. Orc. But I spent the last thirty years trapped in a box with nothing but my own thoughts for company. Thirty years in total darkness, unseen and unheard and unwanted. You ask me what she has that I want? The answer is simple¡ªcompanionship. And really, isn''t that what we all want?"


    ¨®sma''s expression didn''t move an inch. "And what if I say I don''t believe you? Demons are known for tricking mortals with honeyed words. What if I said I''d destroy you right now?"


    "Well, you certainly could, but then Palmira here would never be able to use a catalyst again."


    Palmira flinched, squeezing the neck of the staff tighter. She wished it was a real neck, so that she could strangle it for real.


    "But I''m not a cruel man, Mr. Orc," Morte gave off the impression of a smile. "I''ll even submit myself for a test by any holy man or woman in your employ. And it will show that, for all that I am a horrid crime against nature, I am a self-contained one. I couldn''t corrupt her even if I wanted to! This staff was created solely to keep the thing that was in it, in. You need not worry about Palmira¡ªI can''t even use her mana without her permission. How could I corrupt her if I can''t even touch her?"


    ¨®sma didn''t look away from the staff for a moment, but he did relax ever so slightly. She wondered if he had some way of figuring out if Morte was telling the truth. "Fine. If you''re so confident, then I''ll call up an expert right now. And if you''ve told even the slightest lie in that whole spiel, then I''ll have you destroyed in an instant."


    "Of course," the staff chuckled. "I would expect nothing less from the brother of the famous Hero of Louve."


    ¨®sma''s scowl deepened, but he didn''t speak further. Instead he made a strange motion behind his desk, and then settled back to wait.


    Palmira shuffled a bit, before finally letting go of Morte''s staff, placing it leaning against one of the bookshelves. For an awkward few moments nobody said anything, and she simply sat on the stool with her knees held to her chest.


    Finally the door opened, and a woman stepped into the office. She had a square face with a jagged scar that ran from her cheek to her collarbone, and blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun. She was dressed in the armor of one of the Goddess'' Holy Knights, and had already cloaked herself in an aura of holy prayer so dense it could be seen, bleaching her skin a pasty white.


    "¨®sma," she nodded at the orc, before turning to her. "You found something cursed? Is it the girl?"


    "No," he shook his head, standing from hie desk. "At least I hope not. It''s her staff."


    "So the girl''s clean?"


    "That''s what you''re here to find out. Check the staff first, then her."


    "Understood," she nodded, before turning to the staff and clasping her hands in prayer.


    Palmira leaned forward, interested despite everything else going on in what a real Holy spell would be like.


    "For the Lady speaks, and through Her dishonest conduct cannot be born. Those who take up Her mantel, remember Her words well. Woe to the falsehoods, the enemies of the Light. Woe to the primordial serpent and it''s lies which blind man. Woe to the betrayers and the deceived, who shy away from Her Light. And so let Her Light guide this weary traveler, who so desperately searches for Her Truth."


    There was power, there. Power she couldn''t comprehend, but instinctively understood. Power that suffused every church and cathedral, every holy site in the world. Power beyond any magic she could ever conjure up.


    It was true, what the nuns always said. Those who were under the Goddess'' favor could never be bested by mere mortals.


    But as the prayer ended, the Holy Knight flinched, eyes widening in shock. "What¡­?"


    ¨®sma frowned deeply, leaning over his desk. "What? What''s wrong? What did you see?"


    The woman took a moment to gather herself, before letting out a low breath. "I did not think such a thing would be possible, if I had not seen it with my own eyes¡­" she shook her head. "Divine power clings to this staff. Not much¡ªbarely any, really¡ªbut the fact that it even exists at all shouldn''t be possible. This staff is steeped in evil, that much is certain. But whatever this was, long ago, it must have been truly loved by the Goddess."


    "Loved is a funny way of putting it."


    The Holy Knight jumped, hands leaping to the sword at her hip. "It talks!?" she hissed.


    "Indeed I do!" Amusement colored his voice, tainted by something bitter. "But that''s not such a big deal. Tell me, pretty lady, how dangerous do you think I am?"


    She stared hard at the staff, before giving ¨®sma a questioning look. At his reluctant nod, she continued. "It¡­ he¡­ whatever it is is not dangerous as far as I can tell. There''s quite a bit of something going on in there that I can''t get a read on, but I can''t call it dangerous to us. There''s a sort of barrier, around the nexus of the staff. I don''t¡­" she shook her head. "One more versed in the black arts may be able to better explain what it is, but I can tell what it''s doing. It''s like a hole, that drags everything into it. Be it vile corruption, divine energy, or even just ambient mana, it all gets dragged down. The staff even did something while I was studying it, tried to use its own magic I think. It launched towards me at blistering speeds, but couldn''t get far enough away, being dragged back to the center with everything else."


    "Could it be building up power for something?" ¨®sma asked worriedly.


    The woman frowned, but shook her head. "No, that''s not what''s happening. It''s all just¡­ vanishing. Into some sort of pitch black, singular point. And then it''s gone. I''d know if it was hiding something¡ªmaybe not how much was hidden, but I''d be able to tell that at least¡ªbut that''s not what''s happening here."


    "You''re sure?"


    "Yes," the woman stressed, scowling a bit. "I know what I saw, ¨®sma. Why did you even call me here if you weren''t going to believe me?"


    The old orc sighed. "Apologies. I trust you, Teresa. But trusting you and trusting that are two very different things."


    "¡­Um," Palmira spoke up for the first time since the Holy Knight arrived. "Does that mean he hasn''t done anything to me?"


    "I don''t know. Actually," Teresa quickly recited the prayer again at her this time, before shaking her head. "No, you''re untouched. There are some imperfections lingering, but those are old wounds, not something you could get from this staff in the time since you''ve owned it."


    Palmira let out a breath she didn''t know she was holding, relaxing a bit. At least there was that.


    "Really," Morte groused. "I can''t believe you all just jumped to conclusions like that! Did you really think I''d curse such a young and innocent girl? What do you take me for, honestly!"


    The three of them turned to give him a look, before ¨®sma sighed. "¡­Very well then. If there''s really nothing dangerous about it, then I''ll let you keep it for now. But you''ll be watched, and have to take weekly check-ins with Teresa to make sure there''s nothing wrong, understood?"


    Palmira felt one anxiety leave her just for another to take its place. "Yes," she agreed uncertainly. "I understand."


    "Good," ¨®sma sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Good. ¡­Goddess, this is a mess."


    "Um, could we maybe, just¡­ continue with the questions?" Palmira asked hesitantly. She wasn''t sure if she wanted to, really, but at this point she just needed something to distract her with.


    "Aye," the orc grunted. "Let''s get that over with while we can. Teresa, do you think you need to stay, or are you heading back down?"


    "¡­I believe I will leave," she nodded reluctantly. "There doesn''t seem to be any real danger here, blasphemous as it may be. If the situation changes, make sure to call me again."


    "Of course."


    With that she left the room, and ¨®sma turned back to her, though he kept Morte''s staff in the corner of his eye. "¡­Right. The next question. What was it¡­? Ah. You haven''t worked under any other Famiglias before, correct?"


    "Oh. Um, no, I''ve never worked for anyone else before."


    "I figured," ¨®sma grunted, flipping to another page in his book. "Next, what''s your permanent address? We''ll need to know it if we ever want to get in touch with you."


    "¡­Oh," Palmira winced. "Um, I¡­"


    ¨®sma glanced up and, seeing the look on her face, sighed. He placed his palm over his eyes and seemed to debate something with himself.


    A moment later he abruptly stood up and started stomping out of the room. "Follow me," he grunted.


    She started at the sudden movement, but swiftly got to her feet and followed him out. Then she paused, and ran back into the room to grab Morte, who had started to wax poetic about the agony of being abandoned. She knocked his head against every wall they passed to get him to shut up.


    "Wait! Um, where are we going?"


    "To fix your ''address'' problem."


    "Huh?"


    ¨®sma led her across the villa, before turning down a hallway filled with doors, Volan numerals plastered on each one. Eventually he stopped in front of a door at the end of the hallway, and bent down to open it up. When he saw her standing behind him awkwardly, he moved out of the way and motioned for her to go inside.


    She shuffled a bit, but quickly did as she was told, not wanting to annoy him any more than she already had today.


    The room he showed her was small enough that if she stood in the center she could touch both walls at once. Fading pink paint was chipping off the walls, and a small window with broken shutters sat at the far end of the room overlooking an alleyway. In one corner of the room was a bed with a single thin blanket, and a small table and chair sat across from it, next to which stood an empty shelf.


    Before she could ask why he was showing her this, he answered for her.


    "It''s not much," ¨®sma told her. "These rooms are supposed to be left open for other members of the Famiglia from other cities to stay in if they don''t have anywhere else to go. But they always prefer to stay in the big fancy hotels instead, so we normally just rent these out to pilgrims. ¡­If you want, however, you can stay in this room as long as you like. We have enough to spare."


    She jumped, spinning around to face him. "What!?" she exclaimed, wide-eyed with shock. "You mean¡­?"


    Was he being serious? There was no way, right¡­?


    "Aye," ¨®sma shrugged awkwardly, leaning down so he could look at her past the door. "If you want the room, it''s yours."


    Her eyes burned with unshed tears, and she fell backwards onto the bed, no longer having the strength to stand up. She was simply overwhelmed, the idea that after a decade of living on the streets she''d just be given¡­


    "¡­Thank you," she rasped, not even caring for the puff of smoke that escaped her mouth. "Thank you so much."


    ¨®sma simply hummed, letting her have her moment.


    Truly, she had been blessed.

 Chapter 5 - Bed, Breakfast, and Burning

    Bed, Breakfast, and Burning


    Palmira woke up the next morning in an unfamiliar place.


    It was eerily quiet. There were no children laughing in the streets. No singing or shouting or haggling. She didn''t hear the pounding of footsteps marching past of the drip-dropping of water from old rusted pipes. It was just...


    Quiet.


    She was also in a bed, which was the strangest thing. All of her things she''d gathered the previous night sat neatly around the room. Her room. It was her room now.


    She felt a smile grow on her face. She squeezed her stuffed cat giddily as she simply laid there, soaking it all in. She didn''t remember the last time she''d felt secure enough to just lie there.


    Maybe not everything had gone her way yesterday, but her life was finally getting better, and she could luxuriate in that while she could.


    Eventually, though, she was forced to get up. The window was unfortunately positioned at just the wrong angle that the rising sun hit her square in the face. The extra warmth wasn''t bad¡ªshe hadn''t felt hot in a long time¡ªbut the blinding light did eventually annoy her enough to get up.


    Quickly getting dressed she prepared for her first day in the guild and then, as a reluctant afterthought, grabbed Morte from where she''d placed him behind the shelf.


    "Hey, do you think you could put me by the window next time? It''s pretty boring not being able to see anything all night."


    She didn''t respond, and made a mental note to never place him in view of the window.


    "Ah, you''re still mad I see."


    "Of course I am!" she snapped at him. "You stole my magic!"


    "I did not steal your magic! I merely locked it up and threw away the key! It''s very different."


    She scowled at him and refused to respond, instead stomped her way out of her room.


    As she made her way through the guildhall she paused every once in a while, her anger draining away as she marveled at the luxury surrounding her. The walls were all painted in soft pinks and reds, held up by marble columns and interspersed with paintings both old and new. Mostly new. And in fact, now that she was paying more attention, a lot of the walls looked freshly painted¡­


    She shook her head. It probably wasn''t important. What was more important was that she lived here now!


    She''d learned last night as she was moving in that the Rosa Dominae Guildhall was an old villa, now known as the Villa Rosa. It was three stories of solid stone, surrounding a large, L-shaped courtyard in the center. She passed by a bleary-eyed dwarf leaning against one of the balconies overlooking it, taking tired sips from an ale-mug. He noticed her and gave her a sloppy salute before turning back to his ale.


    She wondered if drinking this early was common. Then she remembered yesterday and decided it probably was.


    At one point she stopped at a window, overlooking the outside street. There was no glass in it, allowing her to easily lean over and look down at the street below. They were only three stories up, but it felt so strange to be up here, looking down on the city as it slowly woke up. She was so used to being the pauper on the street, staring up at the expensive villas.


    Now she was the pauper in the villa, staring down at the streets.


    It was a hard thought to wrap her head around, so eventually she simply stopped thinking about it and moved on.


    "I have a question for you, kid," Morte spoke up suddenly, causing her to flinch. She''d almost forgotten he was there. Still, she turned away her head on principle. "Oh, don''t do that! This is important, I promise. It''s another lesson! Think of it as an apology for the yesterday."


    That got her attention, much as she wished it didn''t.


    "Excellent. Now, my question is simple, and pertains to something we witnessed the previous day," his tone grew slightly more serious, maybe even a little grim, and it caused her to turn her attention fully towards him. "What do you think the difference is between Holy Magic and Mortal Magic?"


    She blinked slowly, unsure what he was getting at. Even she knew the answer to this one. "Holy magic is powered by the Goddess, while mortal magic is powered by people, right?"


    "Hm. A simplistic way of putting it, though not wrong. It misses some context. For instance, when a mage casts mortal magic, they use mana generated from their soul. As you''ve seen with yourself, this also causes some physical manifestations on the user''s body. That''s why it''s so hard to learn multiple types of magic¡ªas each spell is cast, it engraves itself onto your very soul, and each new spell can warp and twist it in different new and strange ways."


    Palmira cocked her head, considering that. She''d always known she was more in tune with fire than a normal person, but she''d just assumed she had a dragonborn or something similar as an ancestor. The fact that it was her magic itself causing it was both surprising and not. She certainly didn''t feel any different knowing that.


    "Holy magic, on the other hand, is not cast by mortals at all. Instead, they recite a prayer, and in exchange the Goddess sends down the spell that they prayed for. In this sense, the person praying is not the caster, but a catalyst, similar to myself. It''s what allows anyone to become a priest, even if they can''t use normal magic." Morte then lowered his voice slightly, as though he were whispering. "Also, between you and me, the Goddess doesn''t actually listen to every prayer sent her way. Unless the prayer is really specific or cast by someone interesting enough, all holy magic is automated. Like flicking a switch to open a door somewhere else."


    "Really?" That was at odds with everything the priests told them when they were handing out charity. It would be disheartening if true, but it wasn''t like she spent much time in churches after she accidently burned down the last on in Iscrimo. "Does the Goddess really not listen to our prayers?"


    "Nope. Well, she listens to some of them, but there are a lot of people praying all over the world all the time. She mostly leaves it to her angels, and then they forward the important ones to her."


    Palmira frowned, starting to wonder if he was telling the truth. He didn''t sound like he was lying, but he was also a heretical necromancer''s staff. He might just be telling her this to try and trick her into selling her soul to a Demon Lord or something equally sinister.


    Either way, she probably shouldn''t be listening to this. She knew there was a holy knight in the guildhall, and she didn''t know how well she could sniff out heresy.


    But as she opened her mouth to tell him to stop, he asked her another question.


    "Now that you''ve had some time to mull over the differences between mortal and holy magic, let me ask you this; what is the difference between a holy mage and a warlock."


    Palmira froze. The implication hit her mind just as quickly as she banished it.


    "We''re done talking about this," she told him firmly.


    Morte chuckled ominously. "As you say. Just keep it in mind, would you? Before you go selling your soul away to any demons."


    Palmira pursed her lips, and desperately wished she had the courage to just chuck him out the window and damn the consequences.


    -<X>-


    She stumbled into the dining hall later, having powerwalked as fast as she could through the guildhall. Morte thankfully hadn''t said anything since, but she needed something to take her mind off of his words.


    "Pardon me?" she asked, walking up to the bar. It certainly looked better than last night, cleaned of all the stains and cracks. The older woman who''d been manning it last night was there again, giving her a smile that showed off several missing teeth. "¨®sma said I got a free meal in the mornings?"


    "Ah, you must be that newbie ¨®sma hired," the older woman chuckled. She swiftly turned to another counter, grabbing a pre-made plate for her. "Here you go! And remember, the bar''s open all day!"


    "I''m broke," Palmira told her.


    "You won''t be broke forever!" the older woman smiled wider. "And ¨®sma can''t ban you from the bar until you''ve gotten into at least two fights! I''ll even save a Port, just for you!"


    "Um," Palmira took a step away from the bar. "Thank you?"


    "Ports are really expensive," Morte told her unhelpfully. As if she didn''t know how expensive wine could get. "They''ve got to import them from across the sea. Past the giant demonic sea monster. Actually, come to think of it, I''m surprised this broke-ass guild can afford something like that."


    Palmira took another step away from the bar.


    Swiftly turning around, she marched her way over to one of the empty tables dotting the still-kinda-wet dining hall. The tables were small and square¡ªprobably to save money on replacing them¡ªand far enough away from each other that she couldn''t hear the quiet conversations taking place between the other early risers. The smell of morning dew and roasting meat wafted around the room, causing her hunger to spike in an unpleasantly painful way.


    She''d probably need to make herself some pasta later today. She could afford it, now that she didn''t need to spend as much on food, but it still hurt to think about.


    She shook her head, taking a seat and had just started eating when someone else walked up to her table.


    "Hey," the woman nodded, and Palmira squinted, trying to place where she''d seen her before, "you''re that kid that came in last night, yeah?"


    Ah, it was the holy knight from the other day. She didn''t recognize her out of armor. "Yes. Hello. Um, Teresa, was it?"


    "A-yup, that''s me," the older woman nodded, dropping a plate of grilled octopus on the table with a loud ''clank.'' Palmira couldn''t even begin to imagine how expensive that must be so far inland. "You still doing good? No weird cravings for human hearts or anything?"


    "What?"


    Teresa shrugged. "You can never be sure when it comes to cursed objects. Just make sure you come to me if you''re ever feeling weird, yeah?"


    Palmira relaxed a bit, taking a nibble out of her bread. "Oh, yes, of course. Thank you for the offer."


    The woman shrugged and then, ignoring the expensive meal in front of her, pulled a bottle of red wine from beneath the table. With a flick of her thumb she sent the cork off hard enough to dent the ceiling (which she then noticed had quite a lot of dents) and started chugging straight from the bottle.


    Palmira stopped what she was doing to stare at the woman in morbid fascination. Within seconds, the bottle was emptied, and she dropped it on the table. Then she popped an octopus leg in her mouth and reached down again, pulling up another bottle. Just as she was about to pop off its cork she paused as she noticed her staring.


    "What?" Teresa asked, her face looking a little more flushed than it had a second ago. "There something on my face?"


    "Um, no, it''s just¡­" Palmira paused, unsure what to say. "¡­Er, aren''t you a Holy Knight?"


    "Hm? Oh, yes, I suppose you could call me that," she shrugged. "I prefer the term Crusader myself, but I guess we were a bit before your time, huh?"


    That wasn''t what she meant, but she didn''t really have it in herself to bring it up again.


    The woman then tilted that bottle back as well, chugging it even faster than the last.


    Palmira lowered her head, thoroughly disillusioned. "Is everyone in this guild a drunkard?" she muttered quietly to herself.


    "Of course they are," Morte scoffed. "These are adventurers. How else are they supposed to drown their sorrows?"


    Teresa let out a loud gasp of relief, setting the second empty bottle next to the first. Then she grabbed another leg, before pausing. Squinting at the younger girl in front of her, she asked, "Is that all you''re eating?"


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "Um, yes?" Palmira glanced down at her plate. She''d eaten the cheese quickly, but she was taking the time to savor the salami. "It''s the free meal?"


    The crusader blinked. "We have free meals here?" Then she shook her head, her face flushed but¡ªsomehow¡ªbarely even tipsy. "No, no, not the point. You can''t survive off of that little food¡ª''specially not in the field. You''d keel over in a week!"


    Palmira flushed, feeling indignation start to boil in her gut. It wasn''t like she wanted to survive off of free meals. "I have more pasta and bread up in my room!"


    "¡­By the Lady that''s just more grain," Teresa shook her head. "Buy some damn fruits and vegetables, newbie. They pay us enough to afford it!"


    Palmira huffed, clacking her teeth to put out the flames building up in her throat. Now wasn''t the time. "Gee, if only I was getting paid," she ground out. "Unfortunately, thanks to some people, I''m not getting anything right now."


    Teresa paused, an octopus leg halfway to her mouth. "¡­Oh. Right. Um, our bad, I guess."


    Palmira huffed, before taking another bite of her bread. It had started to turn crispy thanks to her anger.


    "Hey, uh, kid," Teresa grabbed her attention again. Looking up with a scowl, Palmira watched as she picked up two of the octopi legs off her plate and dropped them down onto Palmira''s. "Here. As a bit of an, uh, apology. For the whole¡­ money thing."


    Palmira stared down at the grilled legs. "¡­Are you sure it''s fine? These must have been expensive."


    The crusader shrugged, looking a bit uncomfortable. "Don''t worry about it. I wasn''t lying when I told you you needed more meat on your bones. Just accept it¡ªnobody else here''d think twice about taking it, so don''t worry yourself over it either."


    "¡­Then, thank you."


    She reached down and grabbed a leg, before realizing she didn''t know how to eat it. Was she supposed to bite into it like a kebab? Cut it to pieces? The circle things and the teeth lining the edges looked kind of gross, but she wasn''t about to turn away free food.


    Eventually she just gave up trying to figure it out for herself and instead just copied Teresa, slowly savoring the weird and rubbery taste.


    It was pretty gross.


    They ate in silence for a while, as more people slowly filtered into the dining hall, until someone suddenly called out to them from across the hall.


    "Ah, newbie! There you are!"


    Palmira jumped as a new woman strolled up to their table, leaning over between them. Palmira vaguely recognized her as the dark-skinned water mage who flooded the dining hall yesterday.


    "Amina," Teresa gave the woman a sloppy salute. "Heard you''re one wrong move away from getting kicked out of the guild."


    "I''ve been one wrong move away for the last ten wrong moves, and yet I''m still here!"


    "Unfortunately."


    "What was that, you little zealot?"


    "I said it''s unfortunate you''re still here, heathen."


    "How rude!" Amina gasped, clutching at her heart. "And here I thought I meant something to you."


    Teresa sighed, taking another swig of her fourth bottle of wine. "I suppose I''d miss having a skull to bash in once a week. I might get rusty."


    "You know what else''d get rusty~"


    The Holy woman choked on her wine. "Not¡ª" she hacked, "¡ªnot in front of the kid!"


    "Eh?" Amina turned to glance at her. "Oh! Right, the newbie. Palmira right? The ol'' orc told me to come grab you and test out your magic. Come on, follow me."


    As she passed she snatched a pomegranate off of Teresa''s plate, waving for her to follow. The crusader simply flipped her off before turning back to her meal.


    Palmira hesitated for a moment, before shoving the last of her food in her mouth and jumping up to follow.


    The entire back wall of the dining hall was open to the courtyard, so it didn''t take them long to get there. The courtyard was mostly a large garden, with a variety of exotic plants that she couldn''t name. Faded limestone tiles marked paths between the foliage, with the occasional stone bench set on the side. At the center was a collection of citrus trees, mostly oranges and lemons, which offered shade to a large marble tablet.


    "That''s a memorial to the fallen," Amina pointed out, having noticed her staring. "One of the old guildmasters set it up some two hundred years ago. Everyone who''s died on the job gets their name carved onto it. There''s actually another one on the other side you can''t see from here¡ªwe had to get a new one once we ran out of space."


    Palmira blinked, looking at the courtyard in a different light. Knowing the memorial was there made the place feel much more solemn. It was almost peaceful, compared to the rest of the guild.


    She took a moment to bow her head in prayer for the deceased.


    Turning back to Amina, she took a moment to look at the woman in front of her.


    Amina was an odd woman, with skin the darkest she''d ever seen and an accent she couldn''t recognize. Her hair was even darker, falling to her shoulders in dozens of thick dreadlocks, the end of each capped with bronze from which small golden balls hung. She dressed in form-fitting blue robes lined in gold thread, which would have been a sign of wealth if they weren''t old and faded, with obvious patches around the shoulders and waist. The sleeves had at some point been ripped off, showing off powerful arms covered in scars.


    "Here we are!" she came to a stop near the back end of the courtyard. "¨®sma wanted me to see what you can do, so let''s hop to it! I''ve got a quest tonight out by the coast and I''ve got to leave by noon to get there on time."


    Palmira tilted her head, realization dawning. "Oh, I see! Did ¨®sma send you to me to make sure I don''t burn anything down?"


    "Huh?" Amina frowned, confused. "No? I''m here as a punishment for flooding the dining hall, why would I¡ªoh! Because I''m a water mage! Oh wow, that would''ve been smart, huh. Guess there''s a reason that old orc''s left in charge of us idiots."


    Palmira suddenly felt less sure about this.


    The woman seemed to notice, waving her hand at the look on her face. "Hey, don''t mind it newbie. We may all be dumbasses here, but its only when we get together in large groups that we get really stupid. Big, drunk, angsty groups. Damn, you''d really think ol'' ¨®sma would''ve gotten rid of the bar already, huh?"


    "Um, Miss Amina?"


    "Hm?"


    "Weren''t you supposed to be testing my magic¡­?"


    "Oh! Right. Let''s get to it, then," she clapped her hands in front of her. "Show me what you got."


    "¡­Wait, like right now? Right here?"


    "Where else?"


    Palmira glanced around pointedly at the garden they were standing in, taking a step away from the plants.


    "I think I see the issue," Amina crossed her arms, nodding thoughtfully. "I forgot to set up a target! Hold on, I''ll be right back."


    "Ah, wait, I¡ª"


    She was already gone.


    A moment later she returned, a big bundle of hay over her shoulder. It had a cartoon orc face with a monocle painted on it. She plopped it down in the most open spot in the courtyard, before stepping back and motioning at it. "Here you go! Let''s start with something practical. Just hit the target with whatever you think works!"


    Palmira still wasn''t that sure of this, but it was too late to back out now. So with a calming breath she took a step forward, preparing herself to hit the target.


    And immediately faltered.


    "Morte, what do I do?" Palmira hissed at her staff. "How do I hit it from this far away?"


    "¡­What do you mean, ''what do I do?'' You''re a fire mage!? Cast fireball already!"


    "What does that mean!?"


    "¡­By the Goddess I forgot you were self-taught. You just¡ªwait, no. Actually, I''m not going to tell you. Think of this as your first test. Figure out how to hit the target with your fire. Passing means not looking like an idiot in front of your senior. Good luck!"


    "You are useless!" she bit her tongue to stop herself from screaming.


    "Hey, you doing alright over there?" Amina called out to her. "You''ve been standing there a while now."


    "I''m fine!" she forced herself to smile back at the older woman. "I''m just¡­ um¡­ mentally prepping myself!"


    "Well hurry it up! Real fights won''t let you waste ten minutes getting ready. If you aren''t sure what to do, just go with your gut! Magic''s not something you should be wasting time thinking about."


    "That is horrible advice," Morte scoffed, but she ignored him for now. It wasn''t like he was giving her any good advice either.


    "Follow my gut, huh?" she muttered to herself.


    She could do that.


    Taking a deep breath she changed her stance, wrapping both of her hands around her staff. She raised it above her head, and with a flex of her will she set Morte''s head ablaze. Not taking a moment to second-guess herself, she reeled back and swung the staff like a lumberjack chopping wood, and from the fireball at it''s head a massive tendril of flame roared out, reaching out across the whole courtyard and slamming down on the target with the force of an angry kraken. The impact of the hit let out a deafening crackle-pop-BOOM and left behind a smoldering line of ash that trailed from her feet all the way to the blackened and burning target.


    "Ouch," Morte choked, still on fire.


    Palmira turned back to Amina, who had a mildly impressed look on her face. She fidgeted with her staff awkwardly before asking, "Um, was that good?"


    Amina turned to look from the trail of destruction to look at her. "Well, I can honestly say I wasn''t expecting that. I thought you''d just throw out a fireball or something."


    "I still don''t know what that means," Palmira told her. "But does that mean I passed?"


    "Hm? Oh, yeah, sure. I don''t think I could''ve failed you in the first place¡­?"


    Palmira grinned, something loosening in her chest.


    Then she looked back at the trail of destruction she''d left behind, and she felt her heart sink. "¨®sma''s going to kill me."


    "Eh, you''re new, he''ll go easy on you. I can blame Teresa, if it makes you feel better," Amina shrugged. "Still, we should probably put that out. Allow me."


    With that Amina stepped past her, running her fingers along one of the plants as she went. She collected the morning dew as she did, plucking three droplets of water from it''s leaves and balancing them on her first three fingers.


    As she got into position she made an odd gesture with her hand and raised it to the sky, letting the dewdrops roll down her bare arm. As they fell further down her body they grew in size, growing to the size of an apple by the time they hit her shoulders. She bent forwards, letting the giant dewdrops roll across her back, and then with a sudden movement thrust her other arm forward, launching the three giant dewdrops faster than she could see, each of them slamming into the burning ground with the force of a cannon. The dewdrops exploded upon impact, flooding the far end of the courtyard and putting out every fire in an instant.


    Baring Morte who was, again, still on fire.


    "Amazing," Palmira''s eyes widened in awe. "How are you doing that!? Shouldn''t you need a catalyst to use magic that powerful?"


    "Heh," Amina grinned at her, looking smug. "Much as I''d like to say I don''t, I''d be a bad teacher if I didn''t give you a head''s up."


    With that she reached up, grabbing one of the gold orbs hanging from her dreads. She shook it back and forth, causing it to let out a clear sound similar to a single drop of water landing in a puddle. "Don''t assume every mage you come across is gonna be using a staff as a catalyst. The world''s a big place, and not everyone out there learned how to cast magic with big sticks."


    Damn, that sounded really cool. If only she could use something besides a big evil stick to cast spells!


    Oh, wait.


    "Would one of you please put me out already!?"

 Chapter 6 - The Art of Not Getting Paid

    <header>


    The Art of Not Getting Paid


    </header>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    Palmira was dreaming.


    It was night in her dream. She sat on a bench in a field of endless grass. The grass was tall enough to reach her knees, and yet the bench was so tall that only her toes brushed against the blades. She swung her feet back and forth absently, smiling as the blades of grass tickled her bare feet.


    She looked up at the sky. Except the sky was the sea, and the sea was the sky. And the sea was in front of her, endless yet finite. An inch deep, an eternity wide, and full of nothing.


    An octopus swam past her head. It was the only living thing she could see. She blinked and it was gone.


    She blinked and everything was gone. Then there was a cough, and everything was back.


    There was an old man sitting next to her. He was real, she knew, though she didn''t know how she knew.


    She wondered why. She''d never met the man before, and yet he was familiar. She glanced at him, confused, but despite being real he looked fake.


    Deciding it wasn''t important, she put it out of her mind.


    "It''s a beautiful night," she told him.


    The old man chuckled. "Indeed it is. It''s not like it can be anything else. There''s no sun, after all."


    Of course. How could she have been so silly.


    "Would you like to make one?" the old man asked.


    Palmira hummed. She didn''t particularly care. But she did feel there wasn''t enough fire in the world, so she supposed she should.


    She raised a hand, and a star flashed into existence. But the star was lopsided, and burned out quickly.


    "Not quite like that," the old man told her. "Stars aren''t born so quickly. They take time, you see."


    "They do?"


    "Mhm. Stars are born when dust accumulates over time, piling together until it gets so heavy the dust ignites. From that a star is born."


    "Born? I thought stars were made. Did the Goddess not make the stars with her own hands?"


    "Oh, no," the old man shook his head. "Stars are alive, and they live quite brilliant lives. Some get married in twos and threes, while others stay single all their lives. Some have children, and some do not. Some live long and quietly. Others live short, but die extravagantly. Some are not even satisfied with that, and their corpses become greedy, glutenous things."


    "Stars can die?"


    "All things can die. The birth and death of a star is a process that can take many billions of years."


    "Wow. That''s a lot of years."


    "It is," the old man chuckled. "But we don''t have to wait that long if you don''t want to. This is a dream, remember. The God of Time stakes no claim here."


    She nodded, accepting this as fact. So she did what the old man said. She gathered dust. She gathered so much dust it was hard to hold in one place, but soon she found the dust preferred to hold onto each other instead. So she let the dust hold onto the other dust, and after many years she felt she had enough dust.


    She raised a hand, and ignited the dust.


    A new star was born. This one burned brown and low, but it did not go out and was pleasantly warm. The grass seemed to agree, as it grew ever taller, and the sky that was the sea returned to the sea that was the sky.


    The old man smiled. "Wonderful, my apprentice. We''ll make a proper mage out of you yet."


    Palmira smiled, happy she had succeeded.


    A shadow appeared suddenly. It reeked of death and hatred.


    The old man frowned. "Ah," he said. "It seems we''ve attracted the attention of something rather foul."


    "Oh," Palmira curled in on herself. The grass stopped growing and followed suit, hiding away from the Thing. "What happens now?"


    "Now," the old man turned to her, and she saw the cosmos in his eyes. They were beautiful and terrifying and familiar. "I believe, it is time for you to wake up."


    -<X>-


    ?


    Palmira woke up.


    It was still night. The sky was dark, but she could not see the stars.


    She simply laid on her bed, blinking slowly in the dark room.


    She had been dreaming. She knew this. And yet as she tried to hold onto the dream it slowly slipped away from her.


    Soon, there was nothing left but the faint smell of the sea, and the taste of stardust on her lips.


    She did not want to go back to sleep. Something within her recoiled at the idea.


    So instead she got up and made her way downstairs. She''d just sit in the courtyard until the bar opened up for breakfast, she decided.


    And as she left, her eyes burned low and brown.


    -<X>-


    ?


    Over the past few days Palmira had slowly settled into the guild. Each morning she''d eat breakfast alone, though Teresa would occasionally come by and drop some fruits on her plate. Afterwards she''d be tossed from one adventurer to the next as they tested her abilities and gave her tips and tricks on how to win fights. It couldn''t really be called training, but it was better than nothing and most of them seemed competent enough when they weren''t plastered. Which was often.


    Speaking of, she''d discovered Morte had been correct about adventurers and their drinks. Her first night she''d seen everyone in the guild¡ª¨®sma included¡ªdown enough spirits to kill an elephant and not even look tipsy.


    Apparently, Teresa''s four bottles of wine that morning had been her drinking in ''moderation.''


    The guild made more money selling wine to its own adventurers than it did from actual quests.


    But as the days passed the guild quickly emptied out, and when she asked around she was told most of them had (been forced) to leave on jobs to pay for the repairs to the guildhall. By the fourth day there were so few people left in the guild she could count it on one hand.


    And then, before she knew it, it was her turn as well.


    "Good, you''re here," ¨®sma nodded at her as she entered his office. He gestured for her to sit down. "I''ve found a job for you, and I''ve also called in two others who will be helping you on this quest. They should be joining us in¡ªah, here they are now."


    Palmira perked up, turning to the door as her new apparent allies entered the room.


    The first one to enter was a young man, probably about her age. He had brown, almost rough looking skin which barely hid freckles that seemed to cover him from head to toe. Green, almost vine-like hair dropped to his shoulders in dreadlocks, with what seemed to be sticks and leaves sticking out of it. His eyes alighted on her, blood red and slitted, and he raised a leafy eyebrow in surprise. He gave her a polite smile, showing off row after row of sharp teeth.


    The one to follow him was a girl, perhaps a year or two older than her. Her features were exotic almost to the point of being alien. Her skin was a flawless white¡ªnot simply pale, but whiter than snow¡ªwhich only emphasized her silver hair. Said hair was pulled behind her neck in an elegant braid, revealing slightly pointed ears. Crystal clear eyes darted around the room before landing on her, the orbs so clear that she could swear she could see her reflection in them, before her aristocratic features pulled into an angry sneer.


    "Why is she here!?" the girl snapped, her crystal-clear voice cracking with anger. "Are you seriously putting me on babysitting duty!?"


    The boy beside her sighed, and Palmira herself blinked, taken aback by the sudden hostility. Then the words registered, and a sudden surge of anger compelled her to her feet.


    "Hey!" she snapped back, eyes smoldering with anger. She didn''t notice, but the temperature of the room rapidly began to rise. "What do you mean by babysitting duty?"


    "Chiara, please," the boy tugged at her elbow. "Not this, not now."


    The now-named Chiara shook him off, turning to glare at Palmira. "It means I do not want to waste my time keeping some ignorant whelp from getting herself killed when I could be working towards something far more important."


    The temperature in the room began rocketing skywards even faster. "Who the hell shat in your pastries this morning, princess?"


    ¨®sma placed his head in his hands and let out a long, loud sigh. "Don''t," he growled lowly, glaring at them. "Don''t even start. Chiara, I don''t care what possessed you to say that, and I don''t care. Can it. That goes for you as well, Palmira¡ªif she or anyone else decides to insult you, ignore it. Now, the client will be arriving soon and you''d better be on your best behavior, understood?"


    The now named Chiara scoffed, while Palmira winced and shuffled back to her seat.


    ¨®sma, apparently, took that as agreement, and motioned to the extra stools sat next to her. "Good. Now, Lorenzo, Chiara, take a seat. You two and Palmira will be working together for this job, and I want you to show her the ropes. Don''t even try to argue, because I''m not changing my mind."


    Chiara scowled and Lorenzo sighed, before they sat on either side of her. She shuffled a bit on her seat, clenching Morte''s staff tighter as she felt their shoulders brush against hers. For some reason she felt embarrassed, and she didn''t know why.


    "Now that we''ve gotten that over and done with, let''s get to the actual reason I''ve summoned you three here. Your quest. You will be escorting a caravan from Firozzi to Ripo¡ª"


    "What!?" Chiara snapped, jumping to her feet.


    "¡ªsa¡ªoh what now."


    "I have better things to be doing with my time than a damn escort quest to Riposa!" Chiara slammed her fists against the desk, furious. "You said last week that I''d advanced enough to start taking real work, not these damn newbie quests! Give me a real job, orc, lest I get you fired!"


    "Chiara¡­" Lorenzo muttered in warning, his voice like rough bark scraping against stone.


    "I did," he nodded, not backing down from her glare in the slightest. "And you''ll get your job. When a quest like that is available. Until then, you still need to work. Unless you''d rather sit around doing nothing for the next few months?"


    Chiara''s scowl deepened, and something¡­ happened around her. Some sort of shimmering, that almost made it hard to look directly at her. "Amina left alone to fight off a cult of Drowned-Men a few days ago. Are you telling me I can''t even handle something as simple as them?"


    "You should never underestimate the fey," ¨®sma rumbled. "And I sent her there because it was a job best suited to her. Just like escort missions are something you are well suited for. This is not, as you seem to believe, some slight against you. I am merely doing my best to keep this guild afloat and grant everyone work best suited to them. Sometimes, that means you must take meagre work for meagre pay. We all have to deal with it, so suck it up."


    "I''m not even getting paid for this!"


    "You will be, once we can afford it. Everyone''s getting their pay recorded, Chiara. Be grateful you''ll be seeing a paycheck by the end of the month¡ªsome of us won''t be seeing ours ''till next spring."


    Her glare deepened, before she finally huffed. "¡­Fine," she growled, crossing her arms. "I''ll take the damn job."


    "Like you had a choice," ¨®sma muttered under his breath, before coughing and speaking louder, "Right. Now that that is behind us, let me finish explaining what this job will be. As I said, you will be escorting a caravan from this city down to Riposa, where you will then be able to make your way back to Firozzi at your leisure. The caravan will be a combined force of pilgrims heading to the holy city and merchants transporting processed goods south. The merchants are part of the Dyeworker''s Guild, who you should know are rather important. That means you''d better be on your best behavior. It is expected to take a minimum of six days round trip, but plan for at least eight just in case. Do you have any questions?"


    Palmira glanced left and then right. Neither of them seemed confused in the slightest, but something about his explanation didn''t seem right¡­?


    Finally she grimaced, raising her hand. If there was one thing Morte had spent the last few days drilling into her head it was to always ask questions. Even if they were probably stupid questions.


    "Um," she coughed. "I thought Riposa had been destroyed by demons¡­?"


    Everyone turned to look at her, and she flinched back under their combined looks.


    "¡­I forget it''s not common knowledge," ¨®sma rubbed his chin. "You''re correct, the original city of Riposa had been destroyed some five years ago, when the Woman-Serpent made her bid to sink the peninsula. However, much of the population survived and, seemingly out of spite, rebuilt their city in the exact same place. Well, mostly. Regardless, one of these two can tell you more on your way there. Do you have any other questions?"


    "Um, no, that''s all."


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    "Good," ¨®sma grunted, shuffling some papers around. "In that case, we can¡ª"


    He was interrupted by a knock on the door.


    "¡­Ah, that must be the client. You three, stand and line up against the side of the room. Make sure to look competent. And don''t say a Goddessdamned thing."


    They hurried to follow his orders, and once they were in position the orc coughed loudly. "You may enter!"


    The door to his office opened, revealing a pudgy merchant with greying hair and decked out in fine, colorful silks. He looked at ¨®sma the orc, then looked at them, and then stepped into the room with a grimace.


    "Ah," he coughed, granting them a fake smile. "I was told I would find a Signor ¨®sma here¡­?"


    "I am he," ¨®sma rumbled.


    The smile slipped a bit. "Right¡­ of course. How silly of me. May I take a seat?"


    "You may."


    The merchant shoved himself onto one of the far-to-small stools, before placing his hands in his lap and smiled. "I thank you for accepting our request. I assume my colleagues have already hashed out the price for your services¡­?"


    "Aye, they have. Five gold Ducats per guard, as promised."


    Palmira forced herself not to swallow her tongue. They would be getting paid how much!?


    The merchant winced again. "Surely you don''t think that''s too much for such a simple trip¡­?"


    ¨®sma merely raised an eyebrow. "The price is set, Signor. I do not have the authority nor want to renegotiate it."


    "Of course, of course¡­ But, I assume you''ve gathered proper guards for us, if you''ve called me in today? Would you mind bringing them here, so that I may speak with them personally?"


    "They''re already here¡ªthe three powerful adventurers standing to your left will be the ones to guard your caravan."


    Morte snorted. Luckily, it appeared only she heard it.


    The merchant dropped his smile, glancing at them. The frown deepened. "You are telling me you are sending a shipment of dyes halfway down the peninsula with only three children as guards? Is this really all we get for the amount we''re paying you people?"


    "With the amount you''re paying us you should be grateful you got three."


    "Regardless," the merchant snapped. "Don''t you think this is a bit¡­ sparse of a guard? Forget monsters, we''ll look an easy target for any bandit stupid enough to think they can make it rich off our caravan!"


    "You''re exaggerating. You said it yourself, the road between Firozzi and Vola is the safest damn road on the continent," ¨®sma rolled his eyes. "I''m not sending my experienced adventurers to Riposa of all places when they could be dealing with more important things elsewhere."


    Chiara''s scowl deepened, but she held her tongue. Palmira side-eyed her as the air began to shimmer around her again, scooting away slightly.


    "¡­Truly," the merchant bemoaned. "What has the world come to, that the Rosa Guild doesn''t even promise the barest of quality to its customers."


    "We have never promised quality to anyone. We just promise to get the job done."


    Things continued on that vain for a while longer. The merchant grumbled a bit more, ¨®sma shot down any attempt to change the deal, and soon enough the merchant had left out the way he came, an annoyed grimace on his face.


    Palmira watched him go with a frown. "¡­I don''t think he liked us."


    "Bah! He''s a merchant. They''re all scum of the earth, so who cares what they think!"


    "¡­I am leaving," Chiara growled, storming out of the room in a huff. Lorenzo rolled his eyes and followed, apologizing to ¨®sma as they left.


    Then there was just Palmira left, and she turned and gave ¨®sma a worried look. "¡­Are you sure this''ll be okay?"


    "Please," Morte scoffed, "That was practically a rite of passage! You aren''t a true adventuring party until you''ve threatened to kill each other in a dark alley over petty matters. Cooperation always follows spite."


    "You''ll be fine," ¨®sma sighed, waving away her worries. "I understand you got off on the wrong foot, but Chiara and Lorenzo are reliable people. Even if their personalities leave something to be desired. ¡­Goddess, that about sums up everyone in this guild, huh¡­?"


    "But what about the merchant?"


    "Hm? What about him?"


    "Didn''t he seem a little pissed to you? What if he cancels the quest¡­?"


    ¨®sma snorted. "With one day before they leave? I doubt it. Don''t worry about him¡ªhe was just trying to do some last minute haggling to lower the price. It happens for every quest and they all leave angry. You''ve just got to stay firm and not give an inch, lest they walk all over you. You''ll learn in due time, I promise."


    Palmira took a calming breath. "If you''re certain. And thank you once again for the job. I look forward to finally getting those Ducats."


    With a wave of Morte''s staff (that accidentally knocked his head against the doorframe) she followed the others out, leaving the orc alone in his office.


    And as they left, ¨®sma slumped in his chair, his hand over his eyes.


    "Children."


    -<X>-


    ?


    They were given the rest of the day to pack and prepare, and the next morning Palmira found herself at the edge of the city, Morte''s staff in one hand and a sack of dry pasta in the other.


    She''d found the caravan easily enough. Dozens of wagons, carts, and pilgrims were gathering past the southern gate, where the dense urban sprawl turned to rich olive farms and rural villas. The slums and poverty from the endless waves of refugees didn''t reach here, staying north of the river as close to the Capparelli as they could.


    The caravan itself was almost done packing up, getting ready to leave south within the hour. Merchants shouted orders at servants to pile dyes, cloth, silks and else into the wagons, checking and triple checking that everything was secure. Important looking people in the center shouted and argued over maps about where and when to stop, while horses were hitched to the fronts of each wagon. A distance away from the organized chaos sat two dozen pilgrims, making one last prayer to the Goddess before they left. The three largest carts at the front held the richest merchants who''d be making the journey, their fancy wooden wheelhouses pulled by slave-centaurs in chains, whipped along by stableboys. The most decadent sign of wealth one could have on the road.


    She always felt a bit uncomfortable seeing the centaurs like that, but it wasn''t like there was anything she could do for them, so with a guilty conscience she sped past them.


    "Hey!" someone shouted. Turning to her left, she saw Lorenzo waving at her, with Chiara lounging on a large rock next to him. They were both armed today, with Lorenzo in chainmail and a massive battleaxe strapped to his back, while Chiara was in blue riding leathers and had an elegant rapier tied to her waist. Behind them was a large mound of something that, as she got closer, she realized was alive. "Good, you''re here on time! Now we can get to work on planning."


    "Planning?"


    "Of course," Chiara rolled her eyes, wiping down her rapier dismissively. "What, were you just going to follow the caravan blindly, waiting for it to be attacked before you did anything? My, how reactive. Though I suppose that''s what I''d expect from a child like yourself."


    Palmira squinted as she tried to look at Chiara. Out in the sunlight her pasty features almost glowed, making it hard to look directly at her. "What is your problem?"


    The taller girl glared down her nose at her. "Nothing at all. I just loathe being forced to act as babysitter when I could be doing more important things with my time."


    Palmira huffed angrily, biting back smoke. "You''re like a year older than me, so I doubt whatever it is is that important."


    Chiara''s scowl deepened, and she stood to her full height. "Watch yourself, child. I have been fighting in this guild for nearly a decade now, and I will not listen to some newbie harp on about things she knows nothing about."


    "Chiara," Lorenzo cut in, a fixed smile on his face. "Stop picking fights with the fresh blood. It''s not her fault you''re here anymore than it is yours."


    She snapped to Lorenzo, a betrayed look on her face. "You''re siding with her!?"


    "I''m siding with no one. I''m telling you to stop wasting our time fighting with someone who is, in your own words, a child."


    "But¡ª!"


    "Unless you want Bella to get involved?"


    With his words the mound behind him shifted, and both Palmira and Chiara found themselves face to face with a giant brown bear.


    The bear let out a low grumble, before curling back up.


    "¡­Fine," Chiara bit out. "It''s not like I need to waste my time here anyway. We''ll use the same plan as always, just find somewhere for the girl to sit where she can''t cause any trouble."


    With that she turned around and, with a dramatic flourish of her rapier, drew a large circle in the air in front of her. At first, nothing seemed to happen, and Palmira almost laughed out loud at what she saw as a failed spell. But slowly before her eyes it almost seemed like the space within the circle began to warp. Crystalline cracks spread through the circle that created a warped reflection of the world within. Then, something began to push, stretching the fabric of reality further and further, a shape pushing its way out of the circle into something almost familiar. And then with a loud ''pop'' the thing pulled itself wholly into their reality, landing on the ground with a dull thud.


    It was like a horse. That was the best way she could describe it¡ªit was a horse if a horse could be made of pure crystal, it''s whole body a warped reflection of the world around it.


    Chiara mounted the thing without a second thought, and the crystalline horse let out a whinny that sounded like shattering glass. She turned and gave them one last scoff over her shoulder, before she urged her alien steed off towards the rest of the caravan.


    "Damn," Morte whistled. "I want one of those."


    Palmira scowled. "I don''t like her."


    "She''s not as bad once you get to know her," Lorenzo reassured her halfheartedly. "She''s normally not like this, but she''s been frustrated these last few months and she''s taking it out on you. Please don''t hold it against her."


    "I will."


    Lorenzo sighed. "Well, at least get used to working with her, because as the three youngest people in the guild ¨®sma will be pairing us together a lot in the coming months."


    Palmira huffed, glaring off to the side.


    "Well, enough of that. When Chiara left, she told us she''d be using our normal plan for escort missions. That is, she with her superior mobility will scout ahead of the group while I hold the rear on Bella here. I suppose with you here now¡­ actually, how fast can you move?"


    "Fast enough."


    "That''s not an answer. Let me rephrase¡ªcan your magic help you move faster than a normal human?"


    "Oh!" Palmira nodded. "Yes, it can. I don''t know how fast that is, though, I''ve never been able to check¡­"


    "Well, we''ll have a few days of nothing to look forward to, so we might as well figure it out then." Lorenzo hummed, patting Bella. The bear let out a low moan, before shuffling to her feet. Once there, she showed herself to be absolutely massive¡ªPalmira barely reached her chin! "In the meantime, I suppose you can patrol the edges of the caravan. Maybe stick near the VIPs near the center. I doubt anything will happen on this trip, but it''s good practice nonetheless."


    With that he grabbed onto the bear and launched himself on her back, grabbing reins made of vines and riding bareback.


    "Oh, one last thing," he smiled down at her. The razor teeth and red eyes made for an intimidating expression.


    She felt her face flush.


    "It was nice meeting you, Signorina! And I look forward to working with you for the following week!"


    With that Bella let out a loud roar, and the two of them trundled off towards the caravan.


    "Morte," Palmira frowned, poking at her face. "I feel hot."


    "Really? Him? Well, to each their own, I guess."


    "No, no you don''t get it!" she shook his staff frantically. "I don''t remember the last time I felt heat! It''s like I''m drowning in molten lava! Do you think I''m sick or something!?"


    "¡­Ah, right. No parents. ¡­You know what? I''m not sure, but if you can walk I''m sure it''s fine. Why don''t you ask ¨®sma when we get back¡ªI''m sure he''ll know what''s going on better than me."


    ¡­That didn''t sound quite right, but maybe she''d been relying on Morte''s knowledge a bit too much recently. It''s not like he knew everything after all.


    Nodding to herself, she put out the few flames that had sparked in her hair and resolved to ask ¨®sma about it once she returned.


    But until then, onto her first adventure!


    </article>

 Chapter 7 - But What About the Economy!?

    But What About The Economy!?


    The caravan made slow progress over the first day. The road south was wide and well-maintained, but they could only move as fast as the slowest person, and so they crawled along at the pace of the elderly and unfit pilgrims who lacked wealth or want to own their own horses and carriages. As morning turned to afternoon and they found themselves only halfway to Bocca, she overheard grumbling aristocrats and exasperated merchants agreeing to make space on the carts so that they would not be crawling their way to Riposa. The grumbling turned to petty arguing as they debated what should go where and who should store what and whether the nearly empty wheelhouses can be used as extra space for their goods (since the aristocrats vehemently denied sharing even the slightest space with the lowly pilgrims trailing the caravan).


    But Palmira held little care for such logistics. Instead she busied herself staring at the scenery, watching farm after farm pass them by. She and Morte would quietly speak on what they saw, watching as the fenced-off olive and lemon farms petered out into poorer wheat and rye. Occasionally, on distant hills, she would see walled villas or outdated castles watching over the endless farmlands, the imposing rural aristocracy reminding those who worked the fields of their presence. Every half-hour or so they''d pass by another village, and even though Firozzi was far behind them it never felt as though they were truly far from civilization.


    Long ago, she had heard it said that these lands had been tamed since the dawn of history. That further north in the lands of barbarians, demons, and elves, large swathes of land were nought but forest and plains. That one could walk the ancient Volan roads for days and not see a single sign of civilization anywhere, merely an endless sea of nature in all directions.


    She wasn''t sure she believed them. What would such a place even look like? How could there be a place so untouched?


    She asked Morte and was surprised by his response.


    "It''s a lot different, up north," he told her. "And down south. And to the far east, and the far west. It''s different everywhere, really. You''re on the Alovoan Peninsula, the heartlands of an empire that ruled for a thousand years, who were in turn preceded by city-states that had inhabited this peninsula for a thousand years before them. This isn''t normal. The continent to our south is filled with vast, untamable deserts. To the east are endless plains that stretch on past the horizon. And to the north are frozen forests and mountains that only get colder and more uninhabited the further north you get. Alovoa is a tiny island of development in a sea of uncivilized wastelands."


    "But surely there are cities out there as well, right? Cities like Firozzi and Vola and Iscrimo?"


    "Oh, sure. But if we''re on a tiny island, then those cities are little more than bits of rock jutting out of the ocean. And the demon wars certainly didn''t help matters."


    She went silent and tried to imagine such places. Trees that went on for miles, or beaches that were as large as oceans. She looked out at the endless farmland and imagined ice in it''s place. She thought back to the ash-fields of Iscrimo, and wondered what it would be like if they went on forever.


    She found that she couldn''t picture it, and soon got bored of that line of thought, and so she stopped thinking of it. Instead she practiced with her magic, creating tendrils of burning flames which curled around her body like a snake. They danced around her wrists and curled up her shoulders, as she mimicked the dances she''d see Amina preform with her dewdrops. She passed by the rest of the trip like that, getting more and more creative as she went.


    One of the merchants asked if she''d ever done performances. She told them she had not.


    The sun began to set by the time they reached Bocca, and with it the coast of the Alovoan Peninsula. The port city was one she''d passed through briefly before on her way to Firozzi, and she wondered if she''d see more of it while they were there. But as soon as they stopped she was cornered by Chiara and Lorenzo, who told her impolitely and politely that she''d be taking the first shift on night-watch, and impolitely and politely told her that she was not under any circumstances allowed to leave the caravan to visit the city.


    So instead she was sat on a rock (she was banned from the wagons for reasons of fire) and absently helped the merchants and pilgrims set up their evening firepits.


    "If only I could keep you around for every expedition," one of the merchants told her when she was within earshot of Chiara. She sent her a smug smirk that sent the other girl sneering. "We''d save so much money not having to buy spark-rocks!"


    Palmira tilted her head at him. "Would you really?"


    "Eh," he waggled his hand. "Probably not that much. But you''ll never get anywhere in life if you aren''t willing to cut corners!"


    After that enlightening conversation she climbed on top of an old shed on the empty farm they''d set up camp in. She looked off into the darkness to her left, and then to the darkness to her right, and felt goosebumps trail up her arms. She hated how exposed she was, out here. It had only been a day, but she found herself longing for the narrow streets of Firozzi, where towering buildings protected her from all sides and the countless people breathed life into every space.


    Out here it was cold and open and empty. It made her stomach churn and her heart shiver.


    She breathed out a small flame and cuddled it close to her chest. She glanced longingly at Bocca, at the red tiled roofs lit up by violet streetlights and the distant shadows of the drunk and nocturnal moving around so late at night. Beyond the city laid the sea, the endless expanse reflecting the night sky above, and in the low light of the new moon it made it near impossible to tell where either ended.


    For the sea was the sky and the sky was the sea, and that was all either was and all either could be.


    "¡­Hey, Morte, do you ever wonder if you''ve learned things you don''t remember?"


    "I''ve likely forgotten more things than I''ve ever learned. Why do you ask?"


    "Because whenever I look at the stars, all I can think of is dust. Burning, smoldering dust."


    "¡­I doubt it''s anything important. Why don''t you tell me about Bocca, instead. You''ve said you visited before?"


    So she put the thought out of her mind and spent the rest of the night telling Morte about the small port city. She told him about the marble tree which grew at the center, baleful violet fires burning from it''s branches like leaves. She told him about the new church they''d built, whose belltower had started sinking and had nearly struck up a religious revolt. And she told him about the harbor, the vast wooden docks filled with sailors of all races and creeds who stared out at the ocean with such spite as if the sea itself were their greatest enemy.


    And before she knew it Lorenzo showed up and relieved her of her shift, and she left to curl up in the center of the caravan by the largest fire, taking some measure of comfort surrounded by the looming wheelhouses and snoring pilgrims.


    -<X>-?


    The next day was more of the same, though they made better time, now that the pilgrims had been rounded up and forced to ride on the wagons with the rest of them. Some had complained, saying they needed to make the march on foot, and those people were told they could make the march on foot alone if they were so inclined.


    Things moved swiftly after that.


    Now, as they trundled down the coast at a brisker pace, Palmira found she was no longer able to leisurely stroll along the wheelhouses. Instead, she''d removed her sandals and lit flames beneath her feet, letting her easily keep pace with the horses and wagons.


    "Is this your first quest?" one of the merchants asked her, riding alongside on a well-groomed pony. He was an older man, with greying hair and pudgy cheeks that had gone pink with exertion from the long ride from Bocca.


    "Oh!" Palmira startled, nearly loosing her footing. "Um, yes, it is. How''d you know?"


    "Because you''re back here with us," he chuckled lightly, giving her a smile. "Most adventurers prefer to galivant off ahead, and we only see them once we stop for camp. Not that that''s a bad thing, of course. I would rather they stop any bandit or monster long before it reaches us, but it does mean I like to treasure the few conversations I get with your ilk."


    She blinked slowly. She hadn''t realized she was so obvious.


    "Don''t mind it," he smiled at her expression. "We all start somewhere. Just remember, no matter what else happens on this trip, at least you''re getting paid!"


    If only.


    The old man continued to talk with her for the rest of the day. He told her about his cousin (the leader of their caravan, who''d hired their guild), his sons (who were back in Firozzi, managing his estate for him) and his daughters (who were both married, one to a local in the city and one all the way out in Palunera). He''d asked about her family after, and she deflected by talking about her childhood friend who lived in Iscrimo working as an artist for some big-shot Famiglia.


    The old man asked if she missed her friend. She responded by saying she was going to punch her in the face the next chance she got.


    After that conversation turned to his work, specifically with dyes. He told her about how you could coax purple from snails (weird) or talk owls into revealing the secrets of red (cool). He also told her about how the dyeworker''s guild had nearly gone under a few decades ago, during the worst recession in living memory.


    "Well, we all almost went under," he corrected, tapping his knee. "My children barely remember it, but I do. It was right after the Demon Wars ''ended,'' see. The old heartlands had been conquered, and suddenly all the trade that came from the old capital dried up. Timber, furs, grain, all of it suddenly gone. But the people weren''t, ohoho no. If only they''d had the decency to die with their kingdom, but instead we had refugees flooding our cities by the tens of thousands, bringing with them nothing but hungry mouths to feed and constant complaining about how things were ''oh so much better back home.''"


    "Was it really that big of a deal?" Palmira asked, enthralled despite herself. It beat looking at the sea at least¡ªthe massive body of water always made her uncomfortable. "I didn''t realize it had gotten so bad."


    "Oh, it would get worse, I assure you. Do you ever wonder why piccoli, grossi, and ducats are all minted in denominations of copper, silver, and gold each?"


    "¡­Uh, no?"


    "Well," the old merchant threw his hands in the air, nearly falling off his horse in the process. He readjusted himself, and then continued ranting to her in the voice of a man possessed by a decade''s old grudge. "You see, about five or so years after the Demon Wars end, we get word from Akifa that the price of gold just tanked. ''Okay, that''s bad, but not the worst thing in the world,'' we said, like fools. ''We''ll just start minting more silver for a bit instead.'' But then, not a month later, the price of gold tanks again, and we get maybe another month to brace ourselves before it falls again. And by this point, you must realize, the Demons have fully occupied the old heartlands and our population is about one-fourth jobless refugee. So the price of grain has skyrocketed and the price of gold has tanked and suddenly people are selling solid gold ducats for loafs of bread and they''re coming up short."


    "Wait, you mean to say bread was worth more than gold!?"


    "Yes! It was the worst years of my life! I don''t know if you know this, but we''re still recovering to this day! Gold is only worth about maybe half it was before the Demon Wars, we''ve just reorganized our economy around silver instead."


    "Did you ever figure out what happened?"


    "Oh, we did alright," the old merchant huffed. "See, some heathen King in the south decided to make a pilgrimage to the holy land. And when I say south, I mean beyond the salt-wastes south. And apparently, beyond the salt-wastes it is so overflowing with gold they''re wiping their asses with it. So this King goes on his pilgrimage and brings with him over thirty tons of gold, which he then starts handing out to anyone who crosses his path. He flooded the markets of Kush, Ascalon, and Milh''almilh with so much gold they can''t even use it as currency anymore because everyone and their mother has ten pounds of it sitting in their kitchen. And, obviously, this means the local leaders are desperate to get rid of all this gold. So they start selling it to us for cheap, and now our economy crashes because gold is now worthless. People were starving in the streets with pockets full of gold that they couldn''t even spend. It was, I cannot stress this enough, an awful time to be alive, all because one unfathomably rich king didn''t understand the word moderation."


    "Wow," Palmira blinked slowly. She''d never owned any gold herself, but the idea of having wealth only for it to become worthless sounded like something out of her nightmares. "And I thought the demons were bad."


    "The demons, at the very least, were kind enough to just kill us. The economy, on the other hand, is a far more ruthless beast. Be grateful that the worst of it has passed."


    They bounced between more and more topics as the hours passed, the old merchant waxing poetic on whatever tickled his fancy while she let out appropriate ''hms'' and ''wows'' whenever necessary. He still continued talking even as morning turned to afternoon and they pulled away from the coast, and she found herself impressed by his lungs. How he hadn''t lost his voice yet was a mystery.


    However, as the sun began to set, something began peaking up over the rolling hills. At first she assumed it merely a mirage¡ªa trick of the light, maybe. But as they continued marching forward the thing began growing bigger and bigger, until it sat as a wall over the east, stretching from north to south as far as the eye could see.


    "Ah, we''ve made it!" the old merchant let out a relieved laugh. "After how slowly we took the first day I wasn''t sure if we would!"


    "What is it?" Palmira wheezed, squinting. Her legs had started burning about an hour ago, and now they were starting to go numb. Every one of her thoughts now were dedicated to begging the caravan to stop already.


    "Eh?" he seemed shocked. "You''ve never seen it before?"


    She shrugged tiredly. "I''ve never been this far south before."


    "Ah, then how wonderful that you get to see it today! This is the Grande Aquedotto Centrale, or just The Aqueduct for short. It''s one of the largest in-tact structures of the ancient Volan Empire, a massive aqueduct that stretches from The Montibus all the way to the Holy City itself!"


    Palmira looked up at it, struggling to comprehend how long that was. "How far is it," she gasped, gulping down air when she could, "from The Montibus to Vola?"


    "Hm. About¡­ the distance between Firozzi and Iscrimo, I''d say."


    Holy shit. "The Volans built something that big!? How¡­" she took a deep breath. "How did they even do something like that?"


    "Nobody knows," the merchant shook his head. "Well, actually, we know how they built the aqueducts. They aren''t that complicated. But we have no idea how they funded it, or even where they got all the stone from. We could theoretically repeat the feat today, but few would find it worthwhile to try."


    She hummed, and the caravan continued on closer and closer to the aqueduct as she listened to the merchant talk about all the different ruins he''d found on his travels, some from Vola and some even older than that. She grasped the distraction as a lifeline, as her feet hurt worse and worse and the caravan still kept going.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Night fell by the time they finally reached the base of the Grand Aqueduct, and they settled down for the night next to a small farming village huddled around the aqueduct''s massive pillars. Palmira flopped herself face first on the ground as the day''s exertion finally kicked in and agony exploded from her waist to her feet. She could feel the blisters forming and her legs felt like they were on fire.


    She glanced back at them.


    Ah, they were actually on fire. Two of the pilgrims had even sat themselves down next to her and started roasting dried meat over the blaze.


    "You''d better give me some of that," she told them, before turning back around to die in peace.


    Unfortunately, Lorenzo showed up just then, giving her an odd look. He told her she had the first night shift again. She groaned out something unintelligible and waved him away.


    With an agonized moan she lifted her head up and rested it on her arms, preparing for a long few hours before she could finally get some sleep.


    "The jerky''s done," one of the pilgrims told her, and she accepted their offering with grace.


    Eventually the pain began to subside to a manageable throb, and she rolled herself into a sitting position to start her shift. She crawled over to the edge of camp using Morte''s staff as a walking stick and leaned against an old fence, where she began her watch.


    She stared with empty eyes into the night, not registering a single thing in front of her. If bandits or monsters had attacked at some point during the night she probably wouldn''t have even noticed. Luckily nothing did, but unfortunately she at some point nodded off and awoke to Chiara glaring at her with disappointment and disgust.


    "Since it seems you''ve already slept," the girl growled, her nostrils flaring, "I think it''s only fair that you take over my watch as well."


    Palmira blinked uncomprehendingly at her. "Sure," she said absently, and then immediately went back to sleep.


    In the morning she was woken up again by Lorenzo, who seemed equal parts disappointed and amused. "I heard you fell asleep during your watch last night," he told her.


    "¡­Did I?" she asked, rubbing her eyes. "I certainly don''t feel like it."


    "You did," he scratched his head. "It''s a bit my fault, I think. I should''ve noticed how tired you were and given you the last watch. I suppose I just saw how easily you were keeping up that I forgot you ran the whole way."


    Palmira blinked, still not fully awake. She found herself staring at the way his hand flexed over his chin. "My legs hurt," she told him. "I don''t think I can stand up."


    "¡­Wait, actually? Did you injure yourself yesterday? Do you mind if I take a look?"


    Absolutely not. "Sure," she said, her mouth moving without her mind. Then she took her pants off.


    Lorenzo, instead of flushing and looking away like he might have at any other time, instead hissed and leaned down, hovering his hands over her legs worriedly. The skin had gone red and puffy in many places, and around her knees were the beginnings of bruises. Blisters covered the bottom of her feet, and several parts of her were still actively on fire from the last night.


    "Okay, that''s not good," he winced. "Do you mind if I touch them quickly?"


    She worked her jaw. "¡­Only below the knees," she said at last.


    Lorenzo nodded and gingerly touched the red skin near her shins. The leg immediately jumped and she let out a hiss of pain.


    "Okay," he told her, "You aren''t doing any more walking today. You''ll be riding with me and Bella, because if this gets any worse we might have to carry you all the way back to Firozzi."


    "Ouch," she said belatedly.


    "I''ll be back in a bit with Bella," he told her, standing up. "You sit tight until then, alright?"


    She nodded, and closed her eyes the second he left.


    "Hey," Morte grabbed her attention. "Remember to put your pants back on."


    Ah. That would probably be smart.


    Lorenzo shook her awake a bit later and had her drink something that tasted like dried mushrooms and bat wings that numbed the pain she was feeling in her legs. He then helped her crawl onto Bella''s back and strapped her in, before the bear marched them over to the base of the aqueduct where the rest of the caravan had gathered.


    Or at least, some of it.


    "Where''d everybody else go?" she asked, squinting. Surely there''d been more people yesterday, right? Had they left them to march on ahead?


    Her questions were answered a moment later as a flash of blue light began to shine from the aqueduct, and several of the wagons rose up and up and up until they reached the top, where they were then deposited on top of the aqueduct. Then some more wagons were dragged forward, and the process repeated itself.


    "¡­Huh?" she rubbed her eyes, wondering if she was still sleeping.


    "We''ll be going by aqueduct the rest of the way," Lorenzo told her. "Riposa''s only accessible by it these days, so we''d have to even if it weren''t the fastest way to get there. Chiara went up first if you were wondering, and we''ll be taking up the rear."


    Half an hour later the last of the wagons had been levitated up, and Bella trundled up to follow. For a moment she felt nothing, but then she began to glow blue and the world blurred into greens and blues and there was a rush of adrenaline and suddenly she found herself on top of the aqueduct.


    "¡­That was amazing!" she grinned, now fully awake. "Can we do that again?"


    "No," Lorenzo wheezed, looking quite green even for a druid.


    Ah, right, they had a job to do. Drat.


    She was definitely coming back here in her off time.


    The top of the aqueduct was drastically different from the stone roads below. A wide artificial river sat in the center of the stone, and as she watched the merchants had already begun converting the wagons and wheelhouses into boats to sail down it. She glanced back over her shoulder at the world below, and she found herself breathless at the sight. Farms sprawled in endless green squares along the coast, and the dark blue ocean stretched out so far she could see the curve of the horizon in the distance. Far to the north she could see hazy mountaintops peaking over the horizon, and far to the south she saw the faint beginning of Edda''s Folly.


    "They look like ants from up here," she whispered. She wondered if this was how the great dragon Vesuvius felt, when he flew across the ancient skies. She wondered if one day she could feel like this every day.


    "Yup," Lorenzo grunted, directing Bella over to the water. "You get used to it, after a while."


    She shook her head. She never wanted to get used to it.


    Bella got in and began swimming behind the now floating caravan, and then they were off, following it down the aqueduct.


    The ride down the aqueduct was calm, and the cloudless sky meant the warmth of the sun bore down on their heads. She noticed some of the stragglers near the back seemed to be sweating and fanning themselves, but she could only feel herself waking up more and more as the sunlight suffused her entire being.


    Eventually the land far beneath them disappeared, replaced by the shallow seas and stones of Edda''s Folly. Occasionally she chanced a glance over the edge, spotting small islands that had once been the tops of hills and long destroyed villages whose only remnants were the crumbling chimneys still sticking above the waves. The remnants of the Woman-Serpent''s last campaign against the land, and the closest she''d gotten to victory.


    Once this place had been miles inland. Now it was the middle of the sea, miles from shore.


    Palmira forced herself to look away. The open sea had always filled her with a deeply uncomfortable feeling, but this false sea filled her with a new type of unease. She found herself staring off at the horizon more often than not, wondering if today would be the day the Woman-Serpent would return to sink more of the world.


    "Don''t worry," Lorenzo told her when he caught her staring. "The Demon Lords aren''t unstoppable. We''ve killed one, after all, and we''ll kill the rest soon enough."


    Bella let out a snort of agreement.


    She turned to look ahead, but found her eyes drawn to a queer sight. Along the edge of the aqueduct, working away as they passed, were a group of¡­ men, maybe, dressed in head to toe with unadorned bronze plate. Even their heads were completely covered with masks that resembled the faces of people, but made her feel uneasy when one turned to stare at her.


    The group stood over a large section of the aqueduct that had crumbled away, moving massive limestone bricks into place as they repaired it. Barring the one that watched them, they made no notice of their presence as they passed and she found herself confused and curious by them.


    "Ah, the Automata," Morte''s voice was flooded with a surprising nostalgia, drawing her attention. "I''m surprised they''re still up and running. When I''d heard what Edda had done¡­ well, there''s no use bothering with it now."


    "Automata?" she asked him, rolling around the word on her tongue. Lorenzo gave them a look out of the corner of his eye, obviously listening in. "Is that their race? I thought they were just humans in masks or something."


    "Their race? I suppose that''s one way of looking at it, and probably the way you''d understand it best. The Automata have been maintaining these works since the ancient Volans first constructed them. I''ve always been fascinated by them, even back when I was not bound to this staff, though that might have been enhanced by how often we had to destroy them. They''re neutral most of the time, but grow enraged when they see someone damaging their masters'' works."


    "They''ve really been working since the time of the ancient Volans? That''s pretty impressive."


    "Mhm. Though don''t admire them too much¡ªthey were slaves then, and they''re slaves now. They can only ever be one thing, and they can''t even choose what that is. And, one day, when this aqueduct finally crumbles into the sea, they will die forever. And only in that death will they be free."


    He fell silent after that, and she didn''t feel like asking anymore questions. Instead she simply watched the Automata work until they were distant specks on the horizon.


    -<X>-


    ?


    "I think I''m good to walk now," she told Lorenzo after a few hours. Her legs no longer hurt but had started cramping, and she was a bit worried she was having a bad reaction to the potion he''d given her given how much her stomach was fluttering around. She wanted to be near the edge if she was going to throw up.


    "Wait a bit longer," he told her, giving her a concerned look. "To make sure they''ve healed fully. And don''t be afraid to ask for a ride from someone if your legs start hurting again. There''s no shame in it, okay? Our job is to protect the caravan, and we can''t do that if we exhaust ourselves just following it."


    "Don''t worry," she reassured him. "I think I can¡ª"


    They were suddenly interrupted when a bird flew down and alighted on Bella''s head.


    Wait.


    She looked closer at the bird, and realized it was not a bird at all. Rather it was a being of pure crystal, with delicate wings that glowed with reflected sunlight. It let out a sound similar to shattering glass, and then Chiara''s voice spoke from it.


    "I''ve come across something further upstream," she said. "It''s blocking the whole aqueduct, and I want you up here with me in case something goes wrong."


    It''s message done, the crystal bird shattered, the crystal shards falling all over Bella''s head and causing the bear to give out an annoyed huff.


    Lorenzo frowned. "What in the world could that be? Surely the Custodians wouldn''t just let something block the aqueduct."


    "Are we going to go then?" she asked, flexing her toes. The lack of walking had felt good at first, but now she found herself wanting to move.


    "¡­You go on ahead," he told her. "Bella and I aren''t exactly the best so far up in the sky. I''ll move to the front to talk with the leaders of the caravan, while you can run up and figure out what''s going on with Chiara."


    Palmira made a face. "You really want me to go up there alone with her?"


    "Chiara is a professional," he said, though he looked like he barely believed his own words. "She won''t let some mild dislike get in the way of a job."


    "You sure about that?"


    "Of course. Because if she does, I''ll tell on her to the guildmaster, and she knows I''d do that too. She''ll behave. She better."


    Palmira didn''t really feel that was enough of a guarantee for her, but she also really wanted to get moving again. So she agreed and grabbed Morte and shuffled her way off the big bear and onto the stone walkways beside them. Lighting her feet up once again, she took off at a brisk jog, being careful of her footing near the edge as she blitzed past the floating caravan.


    She reached the front in no time at all and continued right past it, relishing in the pounding of her feet against the smooth stone of the aqueduct, even with the occasional flare of pain from her blisters. She found that, even as she missed the dense streets of the city, getting to run out in the open air like this was freeing in its own right.


    Soon enough however she saw Chiara standing next to her crystal horse in the distance, and she sprinted the last few dozen meters up to the girl.


    Chiara scowled at her as she approached. "What are you doing here? Where''s Lorenzo?"


    "He stayed behind to talk with the leaders," she panted lightly. "He told me to go ahead and help you out with whatever the issue was. He said something about not being very good this high up?"


    Her scowl deepened. "Of course he isn''t," she grumbled, crossing her arms. "But that doesn''t mean he can just leave me with¡ª" she took a deep breath. "You know what? Fine. It doesn''t matter. Get ready to set shit on fire and follow me."


    Alright, that she could do.


    Chiara patted the side of her horse, who kneeled down to rest against the stone ground. It didn''t have a face, but it gave Palmira a look that made her want to set it on fire, and she wasn''t even sure why.


    Chiara gave her a warning glare, before stomping her way further down the aqueduct and dragging her along.


    "I don''t know what it is," she pointed in the distance. Palmira squinted, but only saw a cloud. She hoped whatever she was supposed to set on fire wasn''t invisible. "But it''s blocking the whole damn aqueduct. I don''t care if it''s hostile or dangerous or anything, but it needs to move."


    As they got closer she suddenly realized what she''d assumed was simply a low hanging cloud seemed much more solid at a second glance, looking far more¡­ fluffy.


    "What is that?" Palmira asked, squinting. It was big and white and round and fluffy.


    Then, suddenly, the great white fluffball shuddered, and it let out a low, loud keen. Slowly, a massive pillar of white rose from its body and up to the heavens, blocking out the sun. The pillar shifted and turned, revealing round beady eyes and a massive, bright orange bill sneering down at them.


    "A giant goose?" Palmira asked, incredulous.


    The giant goose head turned and locked eyes with them. Then, it shuddered once again, and in an instant five more giant goose heads rose from its body to glare at them.


    "Oh, no," Chiara whispered, her face ashen. "That''s no goose¡ªthat''s a hydra."


    And as if speaking its name angered it, the great hydra let out a terrifying warcry that would haunt her nightmares for months to come.


    "HONK!"

 Chapter 8 - Untitled Goose Game

    Untitled Goose Game


    They barely got a moment to register what they were seeing before it was upon them. Two of the hydra-goose''s heads came down, snapping at them in an attempt to eat them, while the other four were dragged along behind screeching. Chiara dodged into the water, dashing on mirrors across the surface of the artificial river like a master figure-skater.


    Palmira, unfortunately, could not do the same. Instead she screamed and raised Morte between her and the approaching head and with a blast of undirected magic set off a blinding flashbang, causing the unprepared hydra-goose to rear back with a screech of anguish.


    Unfortunately, Palmira hadn''t been prepared for the shock either and stumbled back as well, blinking spots out of her eyes.


    Chiara, luckily, was far enough away that she was the only one unaffected. Capitalizing on the distraction she raised her rapier with a flourish and jabbed it forward. The thin blade suddenly exploded forward, quintupling in length in an instant and piercing one of the heads straight through the eye. The head let out a shriek of agony, flailing around to dislodge the blade but only digging it in deeper in the attempt. After a few mere moments of panicked flailing the head finally slumped, dead.


    Chiara huffed smugly, lowering the blade a bit to look at her work, before a shuddering along the neck of the dead head made her face drop.


    A massive bulge seemed to travel up from the base of the dead neck. It convulsed and bulged, jerking back up into the air, before its orange beak opened up wide, wide enough that the old bill tore apart and twin feathery bulges erupted from the deceased neck.


    Two new goose heads rose from the mouth of the dead one, letting out twin honks of rage.


    Chiara swore and continued running.


    Palmira by this point had recovered enough to see again, and seeing the goose distracted with its new heads she raised Morte for another attack. She conjured a fire-whip at his skull and lashed out at the giant goose, leaving a thick line of charred feathers along its chest. She tried to hit it with another pass, but one of the heads lunged at her and forced her to drop the attack to dodge.


    Two other heads snapped to her, while the other four followed Chiara, snapping and biting at her as she ran back and forth along the water. Unfortunately the goose was big enough and the aqueduct just small enough that the goose barely needed to move its body to engage with both of them at once, and Palmira could barely even begin to cast her magic before she found herself nearly dying to one of the many heads attacking her.


    "Back up!" Morte screamed at her. "Back the fuck up! Just turn around and put some distance between you and it! Its heads are only so long!"


    "But what about Chiara!?"


    "She''ll be fine!" he snapped at her. "But you won''t! So move your ass! You''re a mage, hit it from range!"


    Palmira''s mouth twisted guiltily, but she followed his order and slammed her foot on the ground, launching herself backwards with repeated blasts of fire. The heads following her reared back in shock, and within seconds she was far out of its ability to hit her.


    She stared at the giant hydra for a moment, watching the seven heads writhe angrily at Chiara. The other girl danced between them elegantly, slashing at any that got too close. Palmira held up her staff to help but froze. No matter how long she tried to think of something to do her mind kept turning up blank. All she could do was stare in awe and horror as her body refused to move and her mind refused to think.


    "What am I supposed to do against that thing?" she whispered, the pounding in her skull consuming all her thoughts. "It won''t even die if we kill it."


    "Setting it on fire would be considered a good start."


    "I did! But it shrugged off my attack like it was nothing!"


    "Well, then hit it again! Don''t just give up just because you didn''t instantly kill it. I''d say the angry half-elf over there would certainly appreciate the¡ªoop, never mind, there she goes."


    Palmira''s head snapped back to Chiara, and she could only watch in horror as one of the heads got a lucky hit in, slamming into her from the side and launching her clear off the side of the aqueduct.


    Then the giant goose turned to her, and with a deafening ''HONK'' charged her down as well.


    And all she could do was stare, frozen on the spot.


    "DO SOMETHING!" Morte screamed in her mind. "HIT IT! SET IT ON FIRE! SOMETHING! I''M NOT SITTING IN THE STOMACH OF A GOOSE FOR THE NEXT CENTURY BECAUSE YOU FROZE UP IN YOUR FIRST REAL FIGHT!"


    His shouting shocked her back into action, and she let out a scream that was both rage and terror and raised the staff between them, letting off a massive explosion of fire that sent the goose reeling back from the sheer force of the blast.


    Unfortunately, she hadn''t been prepared for it herself, and the force of the explosion sent her hurtling towards the edge of the aqueduct. She bounced once but managed to scramble back onto her feet, mere inches from the edge, waving her arms wildly to try and regain her balance. She barely managed to keep on the stone, her legs tensed up so tight they hurt¡ªwhen she felt something snap and squelch, and sheer agony erupted in her knee, and suddenly she was in the air, falling.


    She blinked up at the sky, blue and cloudless. She couldn''t feel her legs and her arms were clenched so tight around Morte she could barely feel them either. For a moment she felt empty, like her body had already died and was just waiting for her mind to catch up.


    Then the moment passed and she realized she was falling to her death.


    She tried to scream but it was lost in the wind, and she flailed franticly, sending off gouts of fire that sent her tumbling through the air. After a few seconds of panicking she regained enough of her wits to aim the fire down to try and slow down her fall but by then it was too late and she''d nearly hit the water already¡ª


    Something grabbed her, and she was no longer falling.


    "Idiot," Chiara''s voice called out to her from above. Palmira glanced up, and saw herself grasped in the claws of a massive crystal eagle. "That''s twice now you''ve caught yourself in your own attack. I should be shocked by your incompetence, but I''m more in awe that you made it this far in the first place."


    Palmira could do nothing but stare up at her, eyes wide and a pounding thrumming in her ears. She could barely even register that she was still alive.


    "Oh?" Chiara raised an eyebrow imperiously, as the crystal eagle began to ascend. "Are you not going to thank me for saving your life, newbie?"


    "¡­I can''t believe it," Palmira wheezed melodramatically, clutching Morte close to her chest. "Is this what hell truly is, Goddess? Being forced to listen to this wretch''s voice for all eternity? Oh, Goddess, what have I done to deserve this?"


    Chiara''s brow twitched. "I should drop you."


    "Please don''t."


    "HEY! BRATS!" Morte shouted, startling them. "Pay attention to the damn duck!"


    "HONK"


    Palmira jerked back to the giant goose, seeing all seven heads following them through the sky. Then, from its great white body, two titanic wings rose up to the sky. With a great and powerful flap, the giant goose shakily rose into the air.


    "It can fly!?"


    Chiara swore loud enough to hear over the winds. "We need to stop it! Try and hit its wings!"


    "With what? And why can''t you do that!?"


    "What do you mean!? You''re a fire mage! Hit it with fire, that''s its weakness!"


    Palmira''s head snapped up to the other girl. "Its weakness is fire!? Why the hell didn''t you say that sooner!?"


    "It''s a hydra!" she screamed back, sounding almost hysterical. "Everyone knows they''re weak to fire! How did you not!?"


    "I''ve never even heard of a hydra before today!"


    "How have you never¡ª!?" she shook her head. "No, that doesn''t matter, just hit it with a fireball!"


    "Why does everybody assume I know how to do that!?"


    "You''re a fire mage!?"


    "My magic doesn''t work like that!"


    "Just set it on fucking fire!" Morte roared, and she felt something yank on her magic, not enough to do anything but enough to grab her attention.


    "Okay!" she snapped back, shifting towards the goose as best she could within the crystal eagle''s claws. "I''m doing it! Chiara, get me a bit closer!"


    "Are we seriously not in range!?"


    "My. Magic. Doesn''t. Work. Like. That." Palmira ground out. "If you want me to actually hurt it, I need to be closer!"


    "Focus on the feathers at the edge of its wings," Morte advised her, sounding calmer now that they weren''t at risk of being eaten. "If you burn those it won''t be able to control its flight anymore. Try and sweep your fire as much as possible while you do¡ªwe want to hit as many feathers as possible, and even superficial fire damage can ground it."


    "Right," she hissed quietly, placing her forehead against the unnaturally cool skull of her staff. "Just hit it. It''s simple. Stop messing up and prove to the snooty elf above you that you''re not just some newbie that needs to be carried through every fight."


    "You are currently being carried, though."


    "Shut the fuck up, Morte."


    Pulling her staff away from her she aimed at the oversized goose that was slowly but steadily gaining height. The heads were jerking closer to try and snap at them as they got closer, throwing off its wings and causing it to fall as much as it rose. She tried to hold the staff like she normally did, but clenched at she was in crystal talons all she could do was awkwardly hold it in front of her like an old lady batting away a cat with a broom.


    "Good enough," She snarled down at the goose, and with a pulse of her magic she set Morte''s skull on fire again. Feeding as much of her own magic as she was comfortable to the blaze, she began jerking the staff back and forth, raining down golden sparks on the goose from above.


    The sparks fell slowly, fluttering almost beautifully to the ground. At least until they hit, at which point they ignited like thermite, creating small and swift yet incredibly hot flames which bore holes through the goose''s feathers, the stone on the aqueduct, and even two of the goose''s heads.


    Fortunately, as the goose screamed in agony as it fell back to the aqueduct, they''d managed to ground it. Unfortunately, her imprecise bombing meant they now had nine heads to deal with.


    "Can you do that again?" Chiara shouted down at her.


    "Maybe!" she called back. "But I don''t know if it would matter¡ªthe heads would just grow back regardless!"


    "¡­I''m going to attack next," she shouted after a moment of thought. "We''ll do it like how they did it in the ancient myths! I''ll slice off one of its heads, and then you cauterize the wound before it can grow back."


    "If you''re sure that''ll work!"


    "Of course I''m¡ªwait, who''s that!?"


    "Huh?"


    Palmira turned back to the aqueduct, and her eyes widened as she saw another group approaching the goose at rapid speeds.


    "It''s the automata we passed earlier!"


    Four bronze automata charged their way down the aqueduct in jerking, unnatural movements. Regardless, they were moving far faster than a human could, and within seconds they were within range of the goose. The one closest to the giant goose pulled out a gladius and stabbed into its feathery belly, drawing the attention of one of the heads.


    It snapped down and grabbed the automata, swallowing it whole.


    "Well, that''s certainly a bad way to go," Morte mused. "Then again, if I was forced to work on a bridge for all eternity I think I''d be running to my death just as quickly."


    "Someone just died," Palmira hissed at him, pale-faced at what she''d witnessed. "Have a little respect."


    "He''ll be fine~"


    The other three automata barely seemed to notice their comrade''s death. Instead they simply stopped a distance away from the beast, watching it coldly.


    "I''m getting between them!" Chiara shouted at her. "Drop some more of your sparks to distract it!"


    They flew in closer, and as she kept her eye on the automata she noticed that they began pulling off their hands(!?). They raised the stumps up to the giant goose, and from their bronze stumps blue beams of light started firing out, each tearing through the enraged hydra and leaving scorch marks in their wake.


    With the beast thoroughly distracted by the newcomers, Palmira was able to easily line up her staff, dropping a few more thermite sparks on the middle head. The head seemed to melt in on itself, and once she saw it was dead she flipped her staff around and began jerking it down like a plunger, spitting out wider gouts of flame at the melting head. It didn''t quite work how she thought it would¡ªinstead of cauterizing the wound, it just killed the two new heads that had begun raising under it, and it ended up growing four charred and misshapen heads which stared up at her with pure hate.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    "I don''t think this is working!"


    "Then allow me!"


    There was a flash of not-light, where she swore for a moment the colors of the world inverted, and then two of the heads fell severed to the aqueduct below, leaving only spurting stumps in their place.


    "NOW!" Chiara screamed, and Palmira didn''t hesitate. She let out a gout of flame and managed to cauterize one of the necks quickly enough that only some bubbling flesh showed the attempted birth of a new head, but the other one managed to grow back quickly enough that the two new heads only got charred.


    "I can''t burn them fast enough!"


    "You did one though! It looks like we''ll have to do this one at a time instead¡ª"


    The giant goose stopped. The heads as one began letting out loud, agonized honks, almost like coughing. For a moment the two girls froze in the air, unsure what was going on.


    Then the first automata burst out of the goose''s stomach in an explosion of blood and gore. It landed unsteadily on the ground, splattered in red and yellow and who knows what else, before turning back to the goose.


    The goose whose heads now glared down at it in hate. Both the heads on top of its body;


    And the heads that now grew from the wound on its gut, sealing it up with a mass of long, feathery necks.


    The automata raised up its bloody gladius again and hacked and slashed at the stomach-heads as the tried to devour it again, while the heads above it reached over to try and kill the automata behind it. Within seconds a half dozen heads had been killed, and a dozen more grew back to take their place.


    "They''re just making it worse!" Chiara growled, banking her eagle down for another pass. "I''m going to set up a barrier between them and it¡ªyou hit it with whatever you can when we go by!"


    "Got it!"


    They flew in close, almost close enough for the heads to reach out and tear them from the sky if they weren''t so focused on the automata below. Chiara raised her rapier, preparing a spell¡ª


    ¡ªOnly to nearly get knocked off when a beam of blue light slammed into the crystal eagle. It didn''t harm it, thankfully, but the blue light refracted throughout its crystal body, exploding back out with much weaker beams in all angles. Palmira, being practically immune to fire, was fine, even if it was uncomfortable.


    Chiara was not so lucky, and let out a hiss of pain as burn scars appeared all along her arms.


    "What was that!?"


    "The automata!" Chiara bit out, clutching her burned shoulder. With her other hand she banked their eagle away, putting some more distance between them and the aqueduct. "They just attacked us out of nowhere!"


    "I wouldn''t say out of nowhere," Morte countered. "Between the two of you you''ve both done quite a number on the aqueduct. At this point I imagine they see you as just as much of a threat as the goose."


    "What?" Palmira turned back to look at them incredulously. She then noticed the one in the back wasn''t aiming at the goose, but instead at them. "How does that make any sense! We''re just trying to stop the hydra as much as they are! Why would they attack us!?"


    "You''re giving them too much credit," Morte scoffed. "They aren''t nearly smart enough to consider things like that. In their mind, there are only two types of people: those who don''t harm the aqueduct, and those who must be removed, lest they harm the aqueduct."


    "¡­Is it permanent?" Chiara asked, narrowing her eyes at them. "Will they still continue to attack us, even after we''ve dealt with the goose?"


    "Who knows! I, for one, am curious to find out."


    "You are useless!" Palmira huffed, before turning back to the monster. "Okay. So, we can''t get close without the automata attacking us, but I also don''t think I can do any real damage from this far away. What about you?"


    "¡­It''s out of my range too," Chiara admitted begrudgingly. "If the automata weren''t here, I think we''d have a decent shot at finishing it off, but now¡­"


    "Why not just leave and let the automata finish it? At this point I find it difficult to believe they''ll lose."


    "And report back to ¨®sma that I left a rampaging monster for a different group to deal with!?" Chiara scoffed angrily. "No. This is an easy, worthless mission. The kind of thing any half-decent adventurer could finish with their eyes closed. I''m more than capable of dealing with whatever happens today myself."


    "¡­Ah, I''d forgotten what the pride of an adventurer was like. Very well, let''s kill us a goose!"


    Chiara nodded firmly, a determined scowl on her face. Palmira was less confident, but nodded along as well. They floated in the air determined, watching the battle raging below.


    "¡­Um," Palmira said at last. "How are we supposed to do that?"


    "I have no idea!" Morte admitted cheerfully. "But you''re smart. I''m sure you can figure something out!"


    "¡­The newbie''s right," Chiara scowled down at them. "You are useless."


    "I have my moments~"


    Palmira sighed, before glaring back down at the goose. It flailed wildly on the aqueduct, each of its many heads snapping and honking at the automata before it. It had lost and regrown so many heads at this point that they must have numbered in the hundreds, obscuring the rest of its body almost like a huge mass of white, feathery spaghetti.


    "Wait," she blinked. "I think I have an idea!"


    "Let me guess," Chiara rolled her eyes. "Is it setting it on fire?"


    "No! It''s setting us on fire!"


    "¡­What."


    Palmira explained her idea further, and Chiara looked almost approving once she was done.


    "What do you know," she scoffed. "You do have a brain in there. And to think I assumed it''d cooked from all that fire you keep throwing around."


    "I don''t have to do anything, you know."


    "And I don''t need your help, either."


    "I can''t believe I found you tolerable for a second there," Palmira scowled back. "Shows what I know."


    Then she set them on fire.


    Specifically, she set the eagle on fire. She repeated what she had witnessed earlier with the blue beam, pumping light and heat into the crystal eagle, where Chiara grabbed it with her own magic and refracted it. Not outward like the other light, but inward, bouncing every single particle of light and heat further and further together until there was what looked like a small sun burning within the crystal eagle.


    Then she bounced it one last time, reflecting it straight out the back of the eagle.


    And rocketing them forward in turn, so fast the wind scrapped at her face and the world around her blurred into nothing but misshapen colors.


    She blinked, and the next second there was a giant mass of feathery heads and monstrous rage in front of her, and the next thing she knew the eagle dropped her and Chiara into the water. The cool water shocked her into full awareness, and she flailed to the surface even as she felt her limbs begin to clench up in pain.


    The eagle, however, did not follow them into the water. Instead it slammed into the side of the giant goose with such power that it exploded into thousands of shards on impact, and the goose was launched in turn, nearly flying into the air as the force of the hit knocked it off the aqueduct.


    Perhaps, at the beginning of the fight, the goose might have been able to save itself, and even if it couldn''t it could''ve flown back up. But now that its wings were burned and it was more head than not, it could only let out thousands of shrieking honks as it fell off the stone aqueduct, plummeting to the waves below.


    Palmira surfaced just in time to witness the last of the heads disappear over the side, and she almost launched herself onto the stone walkways to get out of the water.


    Only to come face to face with one of the automata''s stumps as it took aim to kill her. The blue light exploded from its arm and she saw her life flash before her eyes¡ª


    ¡ªBut just in time Chiara stepped in front of her, rapier raised to block. The blue light was seemingly absorbed into the blade, and then she pointed it at the automata and shot it right back, hitting it right in the face and melting off its nose.


    "Huh," Chiara gave a self-satisfied smirk. "I didn''t know light could do that. I guess you really do learn something new everyday."


    But that show of defiance didn''t even slow down the other three automata, and the one with the gladius charged at them with its odd, jerking movements, uncaring that it was still drenched in the hydra-bile.


    Unfortunately for it, that meant it wasn''t prepared to get run over by a crystalline horse, who trampled it underfoot and then kicked it''s head in for good measure.


    "Cavalla," Chiara grinned, launching herself up onto the horse''s back with practiced ease. "How nice of you to finally make it!" Then she looked down to raise an eyebrow at Palmira. "Are you not getting on?"


    Palmira tried to move, but winced. "I can''t feel my legs," she admitted.


    Chiara frowned, and glanced back at the automata who''d nearly gotten back on their feet. "Hurry and grab my hand," she told her, reaching down.


    Palmira did so, and winced as her arm was nearly yanked from its socket as she was practically thrown over the back of the horse. She winced again as the air was knocked out of her lungs when her stomach hit its hard, crystalline rear.


    "Hold on!" Chiara shouted, the smile audible in her words, and then the crystal horse took off in a gallop, just barely moving in time to dodge more of the blue beams. Palmira yelped and held on for dear life with one hand and clenched Morte''s staff with the other as they hurdled down the stone aqueduct, blasts of blue light dogging their heels.


    "Are they following us?" Chiara shouted, and Palmira was focusing more on not hurling than paying attention, but Morte more than made up for that.


    "Nope!" he called back. "They''re just shooting at you from where they were standing before. Give it a bit longer and you might be able to slow down and get Palmira a bit more settled."


    Palmira glanced up for barely a second before she was forced to close her eyes, but she saw that he was right. The automata did not follow them, instead turning soullessly to repair the aqueduct.


    "Urk," she grunted, holding back bile after a particularly bad bump. "Ugh."


    "You''d better not puke on dear Cavalla''s back, newbie!"


    Palmira almost let it all out there and then out of spite.


    But by that point the beams had stopped firing after them and the automata were little more than dots on the horizon, so Chiara slowed down to a stop. Palmira let out a thankful wheeze and nearly fell off the horse before her guildmate caught her.


    "You look awful," she told her.


    "I feel awful."


    Chiara rolled her eyes and helped drag her into a better position, now having her sitting on the horse instead of thrown over the back like a sack of grain. "Are you good to ride?"


    "Probably not," she admitted. "But I don''t think I can walk, either. I still can''t feel my legs."


    Chiara frowned, before sighing and got off the horse.


    "What are you doing?"


    "Hold on," she held up a hand, before drawing another circle in the air with her rapier. This time another one of those crystalline birds popped out, and it fluttered down to land on her hand. Leaning close, she spoke into to, "We dealt with the thing on the road, it was a hydra. It''s no longer an issue, but the automata attacked us. I don''t know it they''re hostile to you, but check before the caravan arrives. We''ll head on ahead to Riposa to make sure we don''t drag them back to you, but send word if you need us back there."


    With that she nodded and raised her hands up, launching the crystal bird into the sky. It flew away back in the direction they came, letting out a caw of shattering glass before it disappeared into the distance.


    "We''re not heading back to them?" Palmira asked, confused. "But aren''t we supposed to be guarding the caravan?"


    "We are," she nodded. "But sometimes that means we need to stay away from it so we don''t attract more dangers to it. Now, scoot up."


    "Huh?" Palmira blinked, before Chiara climbed back up on her horse, but this time behind her, wrapping her arms around her to grab the reigns. "What?!"


    "I''m not risking you falling off behind me," she scoffed, shoving her forward a bit. "Now scoot up. I need more space."


    Palmira did as she asked, curling in on herself as she did so. She laid Morte across her lap and hunched over, trying to take up as little room as possible, but that only made her more aware of how Chiara was sitting nearly flush with her back on the suddenly too-small horse, and she felt her hair begin catching fire again.


    "What the¡ª!?" Chiara leaned back, spluttering. "What are you doing!? Put out your hair!"


    Palmira flushed, turning back to glare at her. "It''s doing that on its own! I can''t stop it!"


    "The hell you can''t¡ª!?"


    The crystal horse snorted, and began trotting down the stone walkways of the aqueduct.


    And the two girls on its back argued all the way to Riposa.

 Interlude I - The Princess and The Frog

    The Princess and The Frog


    Chiara


    Riposa was a young city, relatively speaking. For centuries it had been little more than a tiny village, not even important enough for the ancients to put on their maps. But after the Holy See was founded in the old city of Vola, the roads that ran through the village began seeing more and more foot traffic, as pilgrims from all over the world passed through the village on their way to Vola. As the decades and later centuries passed, the village became an important rest stop for pilgrims, which in turn led to inns, restaurants, and various tourist traps cropping up in order to cash in on the wealth suddenly flowing down those roads. In turn, the village became a city, and the city prospered.


    Then Edda the Woman-Serpent came, and sunk the city and much of the land around it into the sea.


    Chiara didn''t know much of the specifics of what happened¡ªshe hadn''t been there and much too young besides¡ªbut the legends spoke for themselves.


    Five years ago, the Woman-Serpent invaded the Land, and brought the Sea with her. For the first few days she went uncontested, sinking countless towns and villages along the coast. But then she grew ever more ambitious, and soon pushed further inland, all the way to the city of Riposa.


    The City of Pilgrims, so far inland, had not been prepared for an invasion from the sea. But unprepared did not mean unguarded, and as the Woman-Serpent descended upon the city she was met by hundreds of adventurers, mercenaries, and soldiers from around the world, who rose up to meet her.


    Things became less clear after that. Who-did-what and what-killed-who changed from telling to telling. People would prop up their own local adventurers as heroes of the story, while each of the guilds involved claimed credit for fighting her off. Charles, the only knight in their guild who had been there at the time, refused to talk about it, as he did so many things. He''d just say it was ''a bad fucking time'' and drown himself in his drink.


    In the aftermath of the battle, the new bay became known as ''Edda''s Folly,'' and the Lady Pontiff herself declared the day a new holiday for pious the world over. For those who were not there, the battle and victory against the Demon Lord became a time of celebration and renewed hope.


    For those who''d been there, it was a pyrrhic victory. The city of Riposa had been destroyed and sunk beneath the sea. All that remained of the original city were the few surviving steeples of the churches which poked out above the waves.


    But the people of Riposa were stubborn and spiteful. Though their home had been destroyed, they spit in the eye of the Demons by rebuilding it in the exact. Same. Spot.


    Thus brought them to the New City of Riposa, a city built not on the ground, but on the aqueduct which once towered over it. Thin and tall taverns and inns dominated the central river-road of the aqueduct, while the homes of the citizens who stayed clung to the sides of the megastructure like leeches, with ropes and ladders and rickety staircases the only way to reach them. In the heart of the new city they had even begun building further up, building new layers over the old aqueduct and stacking densely packed apartments, bars, and all else further and further up.


    The City of Riposa stood defiant, even now.


    Chiara and Palmira made their way down the thin stone streets of the aqueduct-city, weaving past merchants hawking wares and children playing by the river. Chiara led her crystalline horse by the reins, while Palmira sat side-saddle up above, rising prominently above the crowds. Chiara felt herself relax, now that they were in the safety of the city, letting the ''clink, clink, clink'' of Cavalla''s hooves drown out her thoughts. She''d never really cared for the crowded streets of Firozzi, but Riposa''s one road had a sort of energy about it that the big cities further inland never really captured.


    It might have been from the strength of its people, all of them survivors of a horrible disaster, yet all willful enough to return to the place of that disaster and reconquer it for themselves. Or, maybe, it might have been that every so often the locals would glance down at the sea far below, fear and hate and pain writ on their faces, as if they were only waiting for when the sea would return to swallow them again.


    The people here understood true hardship yet fought on regardless, and it called out to her adventurer''s soul something fierce.


    She felt her mouth pull into a pleased smile. The good mood from her victory over the hydra hadn''t left her yet, and she was already imagining rubbing it in everyone''s face back at the guild. Maybe now ¨®sma would treat her like the adult she was.


    She could only hope.


    "Can I come down now?" Palmira nearly begged, leaning over to grab her attention. Chiara turned away from her people-watching, raising an amused eyebrow at the younger girl. She looked immensely uncomfortable on top of the horse. "People are staring!"


    Chiara looked back out at the crowded streets. Sure enough, some people had stopped to point at the mage riding the crystal horse. "I don''t know. Can you walk yet?"


    Palmira scowled down at her. It was even a little intimidating, the way angry flames poked out from between her teeth. Chiara was impressed. "I don''t need to walk. We''re already here! Why can''t we just sit down at a tavern or something and wait for the rest of the caravan to arrive?"


    "Because they won''t be getting here for hours yet, and I don''t want to spend the rest of the day sitting around doing nothing. Now come along, that merchant over there is selling fancy wine glasses and I promised my nieces and nephews I''d bring them something special back."


    Palmira huffed, but couldn''t do anything about it. And so she was dragged along as Chiara managed to bag two pink wine glasses, several rolls of local pink thread, a dagger with a whale-bone hilt, several jars of salt and honey, a box of dice, two¡ª


    "You''re buying a lot of stuff," Palmira interrupted her shopping spree. Chiara turned back to her, the other girl watching her with unabashed envy and distaste. "Do your, uh, nieces and nephews really need that much stuff?"


    "Unfortunately," Chiara rolled her eyes. "You know how children are¡ªif you don''t get them anything someone''s bound to complain, but if you get one of them something then you have to get everyone something."


    The younger girl gave her a look that said she didn''t understand at all but also didn''t care enough to argue. "How many kids do you have that you have to buy that much stuff?"


    "They are not my children," she scoffed. Even if it sometimes felt like they were. Her scowl deepened. "And to answer your question, far, far too many."


    Palmira rolled her eyes but let the matter drop. Instead she turned to her creepy-and-probably-evil staff and started muttering quietly to it, quickly losing herself in the conversation.


    As she did so, Chiara took the time to take a closer look at the newest member of their guild.


    At first glance, she looked like any other down-on-their-luck street rat. Unkept brown hair, tanned skin, calloused hands and the dozens of tiny scars from daily toils dotting her body. The hand-me-down leather armor she''d been given by the guild made her look at least a bit presentable¡ªrather it made her look more like an adventurer that just spent the last three months surviving in the wilderness then someone just pulled off the streets¡ªbut it still didn''t take away from the fact the girl looked like any other poor girl in the city.


    Palmira looked, dare she say it, normal.


    Which was weird.


    Palmira was a mage. She was a powerful¡ªif not very technically competent¡ªmage. And if there was one constant between all mages, it was that magic warped their bodies.


    Chiara herself was a prime example of it. When she was younger, her hair had been black, and her eyes blue. But as she learned and used more and more of her magic, her hair bleached itself silver, her eyes drained of color, and her skin now refused to tan in the sun. On one occasion, when she''d had her arm nearly cut off by a bandit she''d even seen her bones were no longer bone, but solid crystal. Her magic had spent nearly a decade warping her body beyond recognition, and she wasn''t even the most powerful of mages. And she knew that as the years passed it would change even more.


    She''d sometimes seen glimpses of what that would be like. Of men and women who''d devoted themselves wholly to their magic, becoming something Else in the process. Of sorcerers with skin of brick and eyes of iron; of warlocks whose skin and flesh melted away to become swirling gas and whose eyes turned to stars; and of witches who''d delved so deeply into the forest you couldn''t tell them from the trees. Magic changed you, fundamentally and irreversibly.


    And yet, the girl sitting behind her was just a girl.


    She hadn''t noticed earlier, too blinded by her own anger. But now that they''d killed that hydra¡ªa feat far more impressive than caravan guarding¡ªher good mood had allowed her to stop seeing the newbie as a burden and more as what she was¡ªa newbie. A newbie who had to be shown the ropes and taught what and what not to do like anyone else in the guild.


    She still hated the fact it was her responsibility, but given time for her anger to cool that had faded somewhat to annoyance.


    She actually felt a bit embarrassed by how she''d acted back in front of ¨®sma. Not that she''d ever admit that¡ªno, she was burying that deep and dark and praying nobody ever brought it up again¡ªbut she could admit to herself she hadn''t made the best of impressions on Palmira. Sure, the girl was brash and annoying and flipflopped between competence and incompetence on a dime, but that was true of everyone else in their guild! She shouldn''t have held that so against her.


    It was just¡­ it was babysitting duty.


    Chiara was made for greater things. She was a powerful mage and a prodigious fencer, even her blood could be traced back to the heroes of old! She should be out there slaying demons and saving lives!


    Instead she was here. Buying souvenirs in a ruined city at the edge of the world where nobody would care who she was or what she could do. Because she was never allowed to do anything important. Because the only guild she was allowed to join was run by a damn busybody who thought seventeen was too young to go out adventuring.


    ¨®sma was a damned softhearted fool who was wasting her talents on menial labor when she could be out there, making a name for herself. Forced to sit and watch as adventurers who''d been part of the guild half as long as her got twice the glory, while she was left in the dust to stagnate.


    As the years passed her annoyance grew into anger, and now she tasted bile on her tongue every time she spent to long thinking on it. It felt too much like her childhood. Like sweeping marble floors and cleaning chamberpots while everyone else went around eating like kings and lounging in villas and learning the arts. Like being forced to take care of dozens of spoiled nephews and nieces who were all treated better than her, as if they weren''t the third sons of third sons while her only crime was not being born to the right mother.


    Chiara would be a great Hero of the modern age, spoken of in the same breath as Sinbad the Indomitable and Rosalina the Holy. She''d become so famous that her name would outstrip anything her family had even accomplished!


    <s>So famous that even father would¡ª</s>


    She felt herself scowl, before forcing her face back to neutrality. She noticed she''d stopped walking, and people were giving her the stink-eye as they squeezed around her. Coughing, she led her horse and Palmira off to the side, leading them down into a tiny side-alley where they weren''t in the way.


    Maybe Palmira was right. Maybe it would be best to just sit down somewhere and do nothing for a few hours.


    Glancing up at the other girl, she noticed that her conversation with her staff had gotten more heated, and despite herself she found herself curious.


    "What are you two talking about back there?" she asked. The girl jerked sharply in surprise and had to grab onto the horse to keep from falling off.


    Righting herself, Palmira gave her an embarrassed scowl. "Morte was just telling me about what the city was like back before it was destroyed. Apparently, it had a lot of brothels."


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Ah. She regretted asking.


    -<X>-


    ?


    Lorenzo


    Lorenzo let out a sigh of relief on seeing the gated entrance of Riposa. The caravan had, thankfully, not been attacked by anything on the final stretch of their journey, but the fact that they''d lost two of their guards had made the whole thing far tenser than it needed to be.


    After he''d gotten the messenger bird from Chiara about the monster they''d fought he''d been on high alert for hours. He''d informed the leaders of the caravan of the danger and had them clump up tightly to make it easier for him to protect while he took point. One of the few good things of being on an aqueduct was that enemies could only come from two directions and it was impossible to sneak up on them. That had been the only reason he hadn''t forced them to stop right then and there and wait for the other two to return.


    As it was, he''d spent the last leg of their journey oscillating between tense paranoia and fear and worry for the girls safety.


    But now that they''d reached the end he could, finally, relax.


    Waving on the caravan ahead of him, he turned and marched Bella off to the side, towards one of the few stables that remained in the city.


    He marched the bear straight into one of the stables perched precariously on the edge of the aqueduct, settling her down next to some nervous looking horses and an even more nervous looking stablehand.


    "Um, uh," the stablehand stuttered, looking like he''d rather be anywhere else than here. "I don''t think we can stable¡­ uh¡­ bears. I''m sorry but I''ll have to asked you to go¡­ elsewhere¡­"


    Lorenzo smiled, grabbing the man''s shoulder. "Ah, I would if I could!" he lamented dramatically. "But alas! The guards refuse to allow my dearest Bella into the city. But without the city, and without your fine stable here, I''d have nowhere to leave her while I go about my business. Why, I may even be forced to just let her roam free outside!"


    "I¡­ don''t think you should do that¡­"


    "Then we''re in agreement!" he grinned, clapping him hard enough on the shoulder to nearly knock him over. "Neither of us want her to spend the night outside, so cold and alone! Why, she might even get sick! Have you ever ridden a sick bear, my friend? It''s not for the faint of heart, I assure you."


    "Um¡­"


    "Ah, but where are my manners!" Lorenzo chuckled. He pinned the stablehand with a stare that made the man freeze on the spot, and yet his wide smile never dropped. "Three silver grossi for the night sounds reasonable, don''t you think?"


    "Ah¡­ I¡­"


    "Wonderful!" Lorenzo slapped the coins in the man''s hand. "It''s always so nice to meet such a reasonable person. Now, don''t worry about feeding her¡ªI''ll come back and take care of that tonight¡ªbut do try and keep her away from the other horses until then, yes? Especially any that are injured. She does so love the smell of blood."


    Clapping the terrified stablehand on the shoulder once more he left to go finish up his work with the rest of the caravan.


    The caravan had made its way further upriver while he''d been stabling his bear. The makeshift barges made excellent temporary market stalls, and so the caravanners had set up a floating market all along the aqueduct, trading their wares with other people and merchants and pilgrims while their own pilgrims set out to find inns for the night. The caravan, he knew, would break up here. Half the merchants would continue on tomorrow to Vola under the protection of a different guild, while the other half would set up here in Riposa for the next month or two. The pilgrims would be finding their way down to Vola from here on their own, though it was likely they planned to continue as a group for safety in numbers.


    But his job was, finally, done. He''d gotten the lead merchants to sign all the remaining paperwork (and forged some of it to make them look a little better than they otherwise might have been (¨®sma didn''t care because everyone did it)) and waved them off. One of the older merchants had stopped him on his way out and placed a silver grossi in his hand to give to Palmira as "thanks for listening to an old man ramble. Tell her to use it to buy some proper armor, ha-ha!" He''d thanked the man politely an assured him he''d get it to her.


    And then it was time to find the girls.


    It wasn''t that hard. The city was built along a single road and he could always just ask people which way the big crystal horse went.


    As such he found them within an hour, sitting on a terrace overlooking the ocean. Chiara was sipping at a cup of coffee while Palmira was chewing through some stale looking Schiaccia. They seemed to be arguing quietly about something. Resting a bit away from them was Chiara''s crystal horse, who was surrounded by children giggling as they poked and played with the passive creature.


    He felt his heart unclench as the sight. Thank the Goddess, but they were safe.


    Chiara noticed him first, pausing in their argument to wave him over. Palmira lit up when she saw him (literally, as her hair caught on fire again) and smiled as he walked up to them.


    "Lorenzo!" she greeted him. "You think prostitutes get to go to heaven, right?"


    He stopped. He looked to Chiara. She grimaced and looked a bit embarrassed, but also invested in his answer.


    He wondered if it was too late to leave and go find an inn.


    "How are your legs doing?" he settled on, ignoring her previous question. "I heard you got in a fight and I was worried they may have gotten injured more."


    Palmira frowned, but let him change the subject. "Yeah," she scowled down at them. "My right knee dislocated when I fell off the aqueduct, and I don''t know what happened to my left ankle but it''s agonizing whenever I put weight on it. ¡­I can''t really walk right now, actually."


    Lorenzo hissed, glancing at Chiara. "She fell off the aqueduct!? Why didn''t you protect her? And why didn''t you tell me that sooner?"


    "I''m not her babysitter!" "I don''t need her to protect me!" Chiara and Palmira both snapped at him. The girls glanced at each other before looking away, annoyed.


    Lorenzo raised his hands placating them. "Alright, I understand. I didn''t mean to sound so judgmental. It''s just¡­ you two fought a hydra. On the pilgrim''s road. Do you understand how terrified I was when I heard? And then I didn''t hear anything else for hours and I¡­" he shook his head. "My apologies, you don''t need this right now. Chiara, would you like to go find us an inn for the night? Or would you rather I do it?"


    Chiara face softened at his words. Mulling over his question, she eventually shrugged. "I suppose I can do it. You could probably use the break anyway."


    Palmira frowned, confused. "Wait. We''re staying here for the night?"


    Lorenzo gave her a look. "Of course we are! You can''t walk! Besides, it''s nearly sundown already. I''m not leaving town just to set up camp two miles down the road."


    "We''re staying the night," Chiara agreed as she got up, stretching. "I''m looking forward to sleeping on an actual bed tonight. Hey, Lorenzo, newbie, how many rooms, and how many nights? I don''t want to stay here longer than I have to."


    "Whatever option is cheapest," Palmira gave her a sour look. "I can''t afford whatever fancy-pants resort you''ll want to stay at. This restaurant''s already blown through most of my coin."


    "You didn''t have to order anything, you know."


    "I haven''t eaten all day! Just because I can go without eating doesn''t mean I like doing it!"


    Lorenzo frowned. "One night will be fine," he told Chiara before another argument could break out. "It''ll give Palmira enough time to heal a bit, and she can ride with one of us on the way back."


    Chiara rolled her eyes at Palmira, strutting away from the table. "Very well. One night at the cheapest hole in the wall I can find, I understand."


    Palmira scowled at the older girl''s back. "She''s going to rent the most expensive one she can find, isn''t she?"


    "Probably not," Lorenzo shook his head. "She''s not as well off as she might like to pretend. She''ll be reasonable."


    Palmira gave him a look that clearly disagreed.


    He let out a sigh. He dearly wished the two could get along better. "Ah," he blinked. "All this talk of money reminds me¡ªone of the merchants left this for you."


    He pulled a silver grossi out of his pocket, placing it gently in her hand.


    Palmira stared at the coin with wide eyes, before turning up to look at him, shocked. "¡­What?"


    "Mhm," he let a small, real smile appear at the sight. "It was an old man. He wanted to thank you for talking with him or something. Oh, and don''t bother trying to return it¡ªtips given out of the kindness of a person''s heart should be treasured. It''s the simplest ''thank you'' most can give."


    "Of course I''m not going to give it back!" Palmira snapped at him, quickly shoving the coin in her pocket. She blinked her eyes, rubbing them clear in a way she probably thought was subtle. "Do I look stupid to you? This is probably the only payment I''ll be getting for weeks!"


    Lorenzo simply smiled, happy for her.


    -<X>-


    ?


    Chiara, true to her word, did in fact find them the cheapest hole in the wall inn that she could. The place was more a collection of wooden boards barely clinging onto the side of the aqueduct, and the few patrons sitting around the bar looked at them like they were planning to mug them. Palmira looked shocked walking in, but Lorenzo just sighed and shook his head in exasperation.


    Chiara had always been a spiteful woman.


    As it was, they stayed the night there with relatively little fanfare (baring one enterprising thief who was now short a few fingers). Lorenzo made Palmira down another healing potion before ordering all the insects populating the sole lumpy mattress in the room to leave and find a different home.


    Chiara had looked like she was regretting her choice of inn, but Palmira just shrugged and told him she tended to catch on fire when she slept and that any bug who tried to touch her would''ve been burned regardless.


    Once they learned that they unanimously agreed she''d be sleeping on the stone floor.


    And so the night passed, and they woke up in the morning. Not really refreshed, but certainly rested. Even Palmira was better, with her legs healed enough that she could stumble over to the chamberpot without their assistance.


    Soon enough they left the sketchy inn and were back at the outskirts of the city, Chiara and Palmira saddled up on her crystal horse while Lorenzo grabbed Bella back from the watchful and terrified eyes of the stablehand.


    It was as they were almost ready to leave that another man walked up to them.


    "Hello there!" he smiled, raising a gloved hand. He was outfitted in the armor of a paladin, while a sword that reeked of holy energy rested at his side. As he got closer, a decorated eyepatch became visible on his face, almost hidden behind long, salt and pepper hair. "I couldn''t help but notice the crests you bear! Would you three happen to be travelling to Firozzi?"


    Lorenzo glanced down at his shoulder, where the upside-down tree of the Cadorna Famiglia sat beneath the golden rose of the Ambrosia Famiglia. "Aye, we are. Why do you ask?"


    "Ah, my apologies," the paladin gave them a kind smile. "I have been sent by the Lady Pontiff herself to deal with a possible threat in the city, and I was wondering if you''d mind if I accompanied you on your way. It''s always more enjoyable to travel in groups then alone, I''d say!"


    Lorenzo hummed, glancing at the other two. Palmira was squinting at him like she recognized him but couldn''t place where, while Chiara was staring at the man with what if he didn''t know any better he might have called hero worship.


    "I don''t see a problem with that," he hummed slowly. The man was radiating far too much holy energy to be lying about being a paladin, a the very least. "But if you wouldn''t mind giving us your name before we head off?"


    "¡­Oh, I forgot to introduce myself, haven''t I?" He stood straighter, and gave them a swift bow of respect. "My name is Sinbad, Paladin of the Holy See, and I hope you''d be willing to accommodate me."

 Interlude II - A Dying Ember

    A Dying Ember


    Sinbad was not a man prone to flights of fancy.


    Perhaps, had been younger, he might have dropped what he was doing to party up with other young adventurers for no reason other than for the fun of it. He''d been capricious in his youth, and even after becoming a paladin much of that youthful energy had stayed with him.


    But now he was old, and tired, and dying, and he had better things to do with his time than walk some children back to their guild.


    So why was he doing that right now? He couldn''t really say. It was just¡ªthe moment his eyes alighted on the young girl''s staff, he knew in his bones he had to speak with them. And they were even going in the same direction he was, which just made everything easier.


    And so he found himself running alongside the young adventurers on their way to Firozzi. The girls rode together on the back of a crystal horse, while the boy rode on a massive bear, and Sinbad himself followed along on foot. Or perhaps it would be better to say that they followed him¡ªas each step he took was soaked in divine energy, causing him to launch forward meters with each bound. The children, despite their animals, were barely keeping up with him, and he was forced to slow down enough for them to catch up multiple times.


    It was as soon as the City of Riposa faded into the distance behind them that he turned to the girl and asked the question that had been burning in the back of his throat for hours now. "I must say, it''s strange to see a girl so young with such a¡­ unique staff. If you don''t mind me asking, where did you come across it?"


    Sinbad was also not a subtle man.


    He recognized that staff. He did not know how¡ªhe did not even remember it until he had chanced upon them outside the city gates¡ªbut the moment he did he suddenly knew exactly where he''d seen it before.


    It was not that recognition that brought him to them, though. It was the fact he recognized it at all. The staff was irrelevant¡ªit wasn''t the only cursed staff he''d come across, and not even the only one they''d looted from the Lich-King''s Palace. So how had he recognized it?


    An enchantment of some kind, obviously. Cast on him or on the staff was the more important question.


    The girl''s face changed to that of resigned annoyance. "He was on sale," she told him, in the voice of someone who''d answered that question many times before.


    "¡­I would have thought that whatever guild was selling it would have simply destroyed such a cursed object, rather than selling it."


    "We tested him," she told him. "And he''s not cursed, unless you count the curse of having to explain why I''m holding a creepy staff to everyone I walk past."


    Sinbad frowned. That¡­ that wasn''t right, was it? The staff was cursed. It was obvious.


    His frown deepened, and he raised his hand up to his eyepatch. Fluid had begun to leak from beneath it.


    "Are you alright?" the girl frowned worriedly at him. The other two children looked similarly concerned.


    He blinked his one good eye, realizing he''d stopped moving.


    "I''m fine," he gave them a strained smile. "Just an old injury acting up."


    They didn''t look convinced, but they didn''t know him well enough to push and so left it at that.


    Sinbad shook his head and continued their journey. "Anyway, I apologize if I offended you. I''ve come across a great many cursed objects before, and the aftermath from people using them is never pretty. I know you believe it is safe, but please, be careful."


    "He''s right, newbie," the older girl nodded along. "Just because nothing bad''s happened yet doesn''t mean it''s safe."


    "You know," a voice suddenly echoed in his head, "some people might say it''s rude to talk about someone like they''re not there."


    Sinbad tripped.


    Pulling off a panicked cartwheel to recover, he was back on his feet in an instant. "It can talk!?" he yelped, stumbling back into a run.


    "Of course I can!" The staff almost seemed to be laughing at him. "I have a mouth, don''t I?"


    "You don''t have a tongue though," the girl frowned, somehow not bothered by the fact her staff talked.


    "Have you checked?"


    The girl raised her staff over her head, squinting into the underside of the skull. "You don''t have a tongue."


    "Shame. You know, I''d always wondered."


    "Wait, back up," Sinbad cut in. "You have a possibly cursed, definitely talking staff, and nobody told you you were better off destroying it!?"


    "Well, they did," the young girl shrugged self-consciously. "But it felt kind of wrong to kill something sapient just because of what it was."


    "Indeed!" the staff bemoaned melodramatically. "I could not help being born as I am! Why, my mother was a warlock''s staff and my father was a skeleton! How could they have known the monstrosity they would produce?"


    Sinbad gave it a dry look, not appreciating its sarcasm. Cursed objects were far too dangerous to leave in the hands of children, especially ones who were cunning enough to deflect suspicion with humor.


    "Ah, I get where you''re coming from," the young man on the bear nodded sympathetically. "My mother was a tree. I don''t even think father new she was pregnant before he left."


    Everyone, the staff included, stopped to look at the young man.


    "¡­What?"


    Sinbad shook his head. "Look, I know I am a stranger, but please, take my word for it," he implored her. "Be careful. Though it may not seem like much now, a sentient staff is arguably more dangerous than a cursed one. You can never know what they''re truly planning."


    He would know. His sword had once been one of those very weapons.


    The girl frowned, but nodded. "Don''t worry," she told him. "I''ll be careful. I even have regular check-ups scheduled with our local Crusader just in case."


    Ah. That relieved him more than she could know.


    Conversation petered off after that. The children all seemed too intimidated by his presence to talk as they normally would, and with his own worries addressed he didn''t feel the need to fill the silence.


    However, as the day progressed, he noticed the girl was giving him strange looks. At first he thought it might have been hero worship like her companion, or perhaps she simply found him handsome. She wouldn''t be the first. But as he caught sight of her face, he recognized not awe or embarrassment, but confusion and recognition.


    "¡­Have we met before?" she asked at last, a confused frown on her face. "It''s just¡­ I swear I''ve seen you somewhere before."


    "Ah, perhaps," he gave her a neutral smile. "I''ve been around quite a bit. We are both adventurers, so we may have met in passing before. There''s also a statue of me in Firozzi¡ªmaybe you''re thinking of that?"


    "Statue?" her frown deepened. "Are you some kind of bigshot?"


    "Hey, newbie," the silvery girl sitting behind her hissed. Sinbad mentally filed that information away. So the girl was either new or at least newer than the silver one. "How can you not know who he is!? That''s Sinbad the Indomitable! He''s one of the three heroes who killed the Lich-King! He''s more than just a simple ''bigshot.''"


    "One of those heroes?" The girl''s eyes suddenly widened, before she turned to glare at him. "Are you the fire mage?"


    Sinbad raised his remaining eyebrow. "No, that would be my old partner, Rosalina. Why do you ask? Has she done something to upset you?"


    The girl''s glare lessened, and she almost seemed to sulk. "Nobody wants to hire fire mages anymore," she muttered, a frustrated scowl on her face. "And it''s all her fault. It''s like every mage in the world wants to copy her, so now everyone and their mother is a fire mage and it made it so much harder for me to get a job!"


    Huh. He hadn''t considered that. He wondered if paladins and buccaneers were also having similar issues.


    "¡­Wait," the silver one frowned. "I thought you were emulating her as well? Are you telling me you just happened to be a fire mage? In the era when fire mages are at their most popular?"


    The newly revealed fire mage turned around to scowl at her companion. "I was wielding fire long before that woman killed the Lich-King! I''ve been one since I was a child! I bet I''ve even been one longer than she has!"


    "Okay, that I can''t believe," she scoffed. "You''re what¡ªtwelve? Thirteen? There''s no way you''ve been a fire mage that long."


    "I''m fifteen you elven¡ª!"


    Sinbad turned to the young man, tuning out the two arguing girls. "Are they always like this?"


    "They haven''t known each other that long," he admitted. "But yes."


    Ah. How nostalgic.


    Sinbad let the argument flow over him, leaping ahead a bit with the young man to chat and leaving the young girls to trail behind. It was a pleasant conversation, but not much else. He asked the young man simple questions about his guild and his bear and his magic and the young man replied earnestly. He learned much about his guild, but it wasn''t anything new to him, so he didn''t bother memorizing anything but the guild name.


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    A guild was a guild was a guild.


    Still, it was nice to know old ¨®sma was still around and kicking. He may not have known him as well as his brother, but in their profession it was always a pleasant surprise to hear that one of your acquaintances was still alive.


    After a few more hours they eventually reached the Montibus Range, the end of the Grand Aqueduct, and that was where they returned to the normal roads.


    "Wait," the young fire mage looked around in confusion. "Where are we? I thought we were going back to Firozzi?"


    "We are," the young man told her. "We''re just taking the mountain route back¡ªit''s faster for us, but the caravan would have never been able to come this way. We''ll be cutting off a whole day of travel taking this road."


    They followed the normal mountain roads from there, making good time back to the city. They stopped in a village in one of the many secluded valleys, small enough that none recognized him by face. They bedded down in a farmer''s barn for the night, before continuing on in the morning.


    The mountains eventually petered out into hills, before becoming almost flat after that. By midday they''d arrived at the outskirts of Firozzi, and that was where he decided to part ways with the young adventurers.


    "It was a pleasant journey," he smiled at them, taking some wry amusement at their fidgeting. Well, at least the silvery girl and the boy''s fidgeting¡ªthe fire mage had accidentally set her friend''s skirt on fire and was trying to subtly put it out before she noticed. "And I hope to see you once more, when you are older and experienced enough to join me in my incursions into the Demon Lands."


    "Of course," the silvery girl sniffed haughtily, which might have had more impact if she wasn''t a full head shorter than him. "In fact, I believe I''m nearly there already!"


    She wasn''t, but ¨®sma had a good head on his shoulders and wouldn''t be sending his adventures on quests they couldn''t handle.


    "Thank you for taking the time to speak with us," the young man gave him a smile. "It was enlightening."


    "Oh," the young fire mage jerked up, having finally put out her accidental fire. "Um, yeah. It was fun, I guess? Hey can I get down now? My legs feel fine, I can walk by myself!"


    "Absolutely not," the silvery girl huffed, urging her crystal horse on. It barely had a face, but what little was there looked exasperated. "You aren''t walking again until tomorrow at the earliest. Back me up here, Lorenzo."


    "Come on," she whined. "I promise I won''t hurt myself like that again! It''s not that far to the guild, we''re already in the city!"


    "Chiara''s right, you really shouldn''t be putting pressure on your legs yet," the young man shook his head, following after them. "I know it''s annoying, but you should really just let it¡­"


    Sinbad waved at their backs, feeling a nostalgic smile grow on his face as their bickering faded into the distance. He''d contact their guild about the staff later, but for now he had a more important issue to deal with.


    He turned north and made his way through the city, past the Duke''s Quarter and deep into the New Quarter. Here seemingly endless apartment buildings loomed overhead, the work of the Capparelli Famiglia''s desperate attempt to house all the city''s refugees.


    It hadn''t really worked, despite what the guilds liked to tell you. This part of the city was still run down and poverty-stricken, even if things were better than before.


    But he wasn''t here to reminisce about the Bad Old Days. Instead he made his way down alleyway after alleyway, eventually arriving at an old worn-down house. What paint it had once had had long since peeled off and its shutters had nearly fallen off the windows. Some rats were sniffing around overturned garbage cans out front, and the door had been defaced with messy slurs and gang signs.


    He sighed at the sight. He''d been gone two weeks.


    Pushing the door open¡ªshe forgot to lock it again¡ªhe entered, his mood souring further as he saw the inside was just as bad as the outside. Moth eaten cushions, stained tables, piles of wine and beer bottles piling up in the corner¡ªthe place looked like it had been abandoned for years.


    He glanced in the kitchen and let out a sigh of relief at the still-warm bowl of half-eaten pasta sitting on the cheese-stained counter. At least she was still alive.


    How unfortunate for her.


    He made his way deeper into the house, coming across a heavy stone door. Shoving it open with a grunt of effort, an explosion of noise suddenly exploded from behind it. He huffed, pushing his way through before closing it behind him. Walking down the staircase hidden behind it, he made his way down into the hidden bunker buried deep below.


    BANG BANG BANG


    Sinbad reached the bottom of the staircase, arriving at the hidden forge. The rhythmic banging of hammer on metal blasted his ears, and he grabbed the mufflers hanging on a nearby shelf before making his way further in.


    Making his way to the center of the forge, he couldn''t help but grimace in distaste at what he saw.


    Bodies of all races and genders hung from racks throughout the room. Some were carved open and still bleeding with their organs carefully taken out. Others were missing limbs or had been so thoroughly dismantled only a few scant bones remained. Beside them were tables covered in everything from blacksmith''s hammers to surgeon''s scalpels. Successful and failed experiments alike had been piled into corners, great works of steel and bone that would have been worth centuries of jailtime had she tried to sell them.


    And in the center of it all was the woman he was here to see, the Last Artificer, Tintinnia.


    She was a dangerous, unhinged woman. But she was also a competent woman. And right now she was more useful alive than dead.


    His right hand clenched and unclenched in memory, the metal of his prosthetic fingers creaking as he did so.


    Tintinnia raised her hammer over her head, slamming it back down on her current project. Sparks exploded as the metal was shaped around pink slithering tendrils. Right now it looked like a lump of iron and tongues, but he knew by the end it would be something worthy of the stories you told to terrify children into behaving.


    Then she noticed him, and she paused her work. The sudden lack of noise was jarring, but he was grateful to be able to take off the muffler.


    The artificer rose from her work, lowering her hammer carefully onto the table. She carefully stood from her table, stretching her arms over her head. Long and fuzzy white hair fell to knees, held safely behind her head in two large thick braids. What little skin he could see from behind her protective leathers was a bright pink, which he knew faded to black at her fingers and toes. She was short enough that he''d always assumed she had dwarf blood in her, though she''d never admitted to it one way or the other.


    She pulled up her goggles, and where eyes should have been burned golden stars.


    "Sinbad!" she smiled, revealing unnaturally straight teeth. "You''re back early! Did you get me anything?"


    "I wish I hadn''t, you damn slob," he huffed, reaching into his bag of holding. He pulled out the heart of a hydra-goose he''d found dead on his way to the city. He didn''t know who killed it, but given it was such a weak monster he doubted it mattered. "Here," he plopped it on a spare table. "It''s the heart of a hydra. It was all I was able to fit in the bag, so you''d better be grateful."


    "Oh, sure, sure," she smiled, skipping over to the heart. As he watched it began writhing, and a featherless goose-head tried to form from one of the veins, but Tintinnia just grabbed it by the neck and tore it off carelessly. "Hm, a goose? I didn''t know those could be infected by Hydram Languorem. Ah well, the more you know."


    He grabbed her shoulder before she could run off with it. If he let her go now he wouldn''t be able to get her attention again for days.


    "Hold on," he told her. "I''m going to need your help with something these coming weeks."


    "Eh?" she tilted her head cutely. "You need a new weapon or something?"


    "No," he shook his head. "I need you in a more¡­ active role."


    She frowned. "That wasn''t part of our deal, Sinbad."


    "I''m aware," he winced. This would burn some of his goodwill, but he needed her help with this. "However, I learned something important in Riposa. It''s about David¡ªwhen he disappeared, I thought he''d have headed south to Illioucilia. But I was wrong. He''s here. In Firozzi."


    Tintinnia''s eye sockets widened, and the stars set within them churned merrily. "Ah, finally," she grinned, her teeth straight and immaculate.


    "I would so love to steal his heart."

 Chapter 9 - An Arsonist Gets a Day Off

    An Arsonist Gets a Day Off


    Palmira had no idea where she was.


    She was sitting in what appeared to be a restaurant that was far too fancy for her, surrounded by men and women and others of all races she both knew and didn''t, each and every one of them dressed far better than she was. The tables were covered in fine white cloth, and in the center of each were alien lights which burned with a faint violet hue.


    She looked down at herself. She wore a scarlet dress in a style she had never seen before. She kicked her feet, and saw they were covered by strange black sandals with protrusions at the heels.


    She had no idea when she''d put this on.


    She looked back up, and stared at the man who sat across from her. He was an old man, with a scraggly greying beard and deep laugh lines under his eyes. He was also dressed in strange garb, in black silk and white gloves. He shuffled, turning the page of his menu, and for an instant she saw the cosmos churning beneath his suit.


    "Where am I?" she asked, curious. She found it odd she wasn''t panicking, though she supposed she just didn''t care.


    "A restaurant, of course!" the old man chuckled. He flipped another page in his menu. "Where better to celebrate your first victory!"


    She tilted her head. "This place is way too expensive."


    "Bah!" the old man waved her worries away. "I own the place! They''d never make me pay. So don''t worry, order whatever you want! Even the most expensive thing on the menu is free today!"


    She picked up her menu. It was blank.


    "Good evening, Sir and Madam," a woman appeared out of nowhere. She had no face, but a surprising number of ears. "Are you ready to order?"


    "Bring me the Jovian Red Carcass," the old man smiled, placing the menu in her hands. "And as for my granddaughter, get her the Risotto alla Andromeda."


    Palmira tilted her head. She didn''t know what Andromeda was, but she had been craving Risotto recently.


    "Of course, sir. Your meal will be ready soon," the waitress bowed, before slithering away. Palmira watched her go, wondering how she could balance like that.


    "Where is this restaurant?" she asked the old man.


    "Who knows?" the old man shrugged. "Who cares?"


    That was a good point.


    Palmira leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. Except there wasn''t a ceiling, she realized, and she now noticed their table was on the roof. High above, hanging low in the sky, was a star burning a brilliant white and blue. She watched it in awe, until her eyes began to hurt and she was forced to turn away.


    She glanced over the edge, at the rooftops of countless buildings that seemed to stretch out forever in all directions. She looked down, and found darkness clouding the streets below. It was impossible to tell how high up they were.


    The waitress came back. She''d found a face since she left. It was ugly.


    "Here you go, Sir and Madam," she placed two plates in front of them, before bowing and leaving again. The thing in front of the old man was a red pit, warped and moaning piteously. Orange and white gasses puffed out of it in agonized huffs.


    "That''s not a lot of food," she told him.


    "I don''t need a lot of food," the old man chuckled. "I find these days that I prefer the exotic tastes of cosmic agony over the mortal contentment of a full stomach."


    She thought that was really weird, but didn''t care enough to tell him that. Instead she looked down at her own food, a large bowl of blue creamy rice broken up by writhing tentacles that reminded her of an octopus. Stardust was sprinkled over the top, causing it to crackle and pop as new galaxies were born and died within her risotto.


    She grabbed a fork and stabbed one of the tentacles. It wriggled harder, trying to escape, but she ate it quickly. It tasted better than octopus.


    "The stardust tastes weird," she told him. "Like stars are being born in my mouth."


    "That''s what it''s supposed to taste like."


    "Oh," she smacked her lips. With a hum, she set the rice on fire. The tentacles wriggled harder, but the stardust seemed content. Nodding to herself, she continued eating. "That tastes better."


    "I''m glad," the old man smiled at her. "Tell me, did you have fun?"


    She tilted her head, the fork still in her mouth. "I think so. I didn''t like getting hurt, but Riposa was interesting. And I like talking to Lorenzo."


    The old man''s smile turned wry. "Not Chiara?"


    "She''s mean," she told him bluntly. "But she''s competent. I suppose she can come along on my next quest if she lets me ride her horse."


    "Right, her horse," the old man snorted. "Named ''Horse.''"


    "I don''t think she''s very creative."


    He smiled at her, before the smile fell into a frown. "What did you think of that adventurer near the end? Sinbad, was that his name?"


    "Eh," she shrugged. "I¡­ think I recognized him somehow, but I guess it didn''t matter. He didn''t look like much either way."


    "No, I suppose he didn''t," he hummed. "But just because something doesn''t look threatening doesn''t mean you should treat it so carelessly. That man was dangerous. In ways I struggle to articulate."


    Palmira nodded. She didn''t see it, but she trusted the old man to look out for her.


    ¡­Wait.


    "Who are you?" she asked, frowning.


    The old man raised an eyebrow. "I assumed you already knew. Why else would you be sitting here with me?"


    Ah, he had a point. "I think I''ve forgotten something important," she told him.


    "Really? What was it?"


    "I don''t know. I forgot."


    "How troublesome." The man seemed amused. He finished his meal, and she looked down to see she''d finished hers as well. "However, I''m afraid we don''t have any time left for you to remember. It is getting closer, and you''d best be gone before It arrives."


    Palmira tilted her head, as the sky glowed brighter and darkened in equal measure. She looked up, and saw the white star was being torn apart, warping and screaming as a _____ ripped it apart.


    The people around them began to cheer, raising their glasses of wine in celebration. Across the city fireworks shot into the air, exploding in moving dioramas of mythical heroes from the past and future alike slaying monster after monster.


    The _____ shrieked in rage, but the people laughed and partied harder.


    The old man smiled and raised his own wine glass.


    And then dumped it over her face.


    -<X>-


    ?


    Palmira woke up to something wet and rough dragging across her face.


    She spluttered, jerking up from her bed and causing whatever was on her to get launched away with a squawk of protest. A red drakeling fluttered onto her lap and gave her an annoyed squawk.


    She blinked blearily at the little lizard. "¡­How did you get in here?"


    "He came in through the broken window," Morte laughed at her from the table. "I keep telling you you should get ¨®sma to fix it."


    "Why didn''t you stop him?" she grunted, before immediately realizing how stupid a question that was. "Never mind. Uh, hold on," she cuffed the drakeling''s head with one hand, holding it down while she stretched over to her dresser. Fumbling around in it for a bit, she managed to grab a couple dry raviolis from her emergency stash. "Here, take one of these."


    The drakeling had been giving her the stink-eye until she brought out the raviolis, at which point it perked up and started flapping its wings happily. Taking her hand off its head she let it fly into the air, where she began tossing ravioli for it to catch.


    "Last one," she called out at the end, letting the drakeling lower itself down to her arm. She let it eat the last one out of her hand, which it did with a happy chirp. Licking the last of the crumbs from her hand, it trilled in her ear before launching itself straight out the broken window.


    She blinked. "Nothing today?"


    Then it was suddenly back in the room, flying in with a freaking mace clutched in its claws.


    Her jaw dropped. "Where in the Lady''s name did you get that!?"


    The drakeling didn''t answer, of course. It merely dropped the mace onto the table with a loud ''thud'' before flying back out of the room with a parting chirp.


    Palmira stared after its retreating back, before turning back to the steel mace. "What am I supposed to do with this?"


    "Well, I''m no expert, but I imagine you hit monsters with it."


    "¡­Shut up, Morte. Please."


    Putting her new bludgeoner out of her mind, she got dressed and headed down to grab breakfast. And, as she did so, she began fielding questions from Morte.


    "You are alone in a forest at night," he began, and she groaned as she realized this would be a long one. "If you had any teammates they are either long dead or gone. You know there are nymphs in this forest, but whether they will attack you or help you is unclear. In front of you is a two headed troll¡ªone head always tells lies and the other always tells the truth. It has raised its club to smash you. What do you do?"


    She bit her lip. "¡­You said I was alone, does that mean I don''t have you with me?"


    "Assume I''m there but I can''t talk for some reason. You have to figure this out yourself."


    "Okay, so¡­ I set it on fire?"


    "BZZT! Wrong answer! Setting a native to the forest on fire is the quickest way to getting the nymphs to attack you. They won''t mind you fighting it another way, but fire is a no-go."


    Palmira huffed. "I''m a fire mage. Why do none of your stupid scenarios let me use fire?"


    He''d been doing this for days now. Ever since they''d killed that hydra-goose he''d been quizzing her on different scenarios she might find herself in out in the world. She wouldn''t have minded as much if he didn''t refuse to let her set anything on fire in them.


    "Because if you can set it on fire you can generally beat it," he told her. "Which is why you need to focus on the times when you can''t use your fire. Now, try again: what should you do in this scenario?"


    "¡­Can I call out to the nymphs for help?"


    "You can try, but it probably won''t work. This is between you and the troll at this point. Also, in the time it took you to ask that, you''ve died to its club."


    Palmira scowled. "Fine! I dodge the club, that''s my first move!"


    "Excellent! You are still alive. What do you do now?"


    She frowned, weighing her options. She can''t set it on fire, but maybe she could get away with¡­ wait, what had he said about its two heads?


    "I shout a question at it as loudly as I can about whether or not it finds the nymphs of the forest beautiful."


    "One of the troll''s heads shouts about how it finds the nymph Orchids-of-Oranges the most beautiful woman it had ever laid eyes on. The other declares that it finds all nymphs ugly and hideous beasts. It seems very embarrassed."


    "¡­Does that get the nymphs involved?"


    "Yes¡ªyou see, the head that called Orchids beautiful was the one that tells the truth, and the other head was the one that tells lies. The nymphs know this, so Orchids-of-Oranges comes out of the trees to ask him if he really thinks of her like that. The truth telling head blushes and says yes, while the lying head says no. She begins to tear up and asks him on a date."


    "¡­Okay, um, while this is happening I take the time to sneak away into the forest."


    "You get away unscathed, as all the monsters in the forest have come together to celebrate the nymph and the troll getting together. The truth-telling head extolls her beauty, while the lying head calls her a whore. She seems to be into it."


    "I didn''t need to know that last bit."


    "Regardless, congratulations! You''ve survived your encounter with the troll!"


    "I don''t think that''s how that would go in real life."


    "You''d be surprised."


    Shaking her head she arrived at the dining hall and quickly grabbed the free breakfast. However, before she could sit down, she heard someone call out to her.


    "Palmira! Come over here for a second!"


    She turned, seeing ¨®sma waving her over from one of the tables. The old orc was sitting with two other people, a young dark-haired man draped in a purple cioppa to his left and an elderly Kwari wrapped in green and red silks to his right. She hesitated for a moment, before deciding sitting with her boss would be better than ignoring him.


    The table had been moved so it was right under one of the arches leading to the courtyard, leaving them just in the shade but close enough that she could reach out and touch the flowers if she wanted to. She settled uncomfortably in her seat, trying not to react to the Kwari sitting beside her. She rarely ever saw one in person, but the insect-like creatures were some of the most unnerving beings she''d ever seen.


    "Ah, do not be so afraid, young one," the Kwari let out a strange buzzing noise, clicking its mandibles. She realized after a second that it was laughing. "This Rana does not harm iyali."


    Palmira flushed, shoving a slice of cheese into her mouth. She hadn''t thought she''d been so obvious.


    "Give her some time," ¨®sma told the Kwari. "She just needs to get used to you."


    "Oh, I know, I know," the Kwari chittered in amusement. "I have lived in this land for many cycles now, I am well aware of how my kind are treated. You do not need to waste either of our times trying to convince her otherwise."


    ¨®sma sighed. "If you''re sure." He turned back to Palmira, coughing as he saw her awkwardly chewing on her bread. "Right, where are my manners? Palmira, I would like to introduce you to the two most important people in the guild."


    He waved to the man to his left. "This is Signor Dante Cadorna, the third son of the head of the Cadorna Famiglia and our guild''s guildmaster. He''s run this guild for the past five years, and we''ve flourished under his leadership."


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    The man gave her an imperious nod. "It is always good to have new talent in our guild. I have heard from ¨®sma that you''ve come from a difficult situation, and so I wished to welcome you into the guild personally. However, I want to make one thing clear before you begin your tenure with us in earnest," he steepled his fingers and pinned her with a stare, and she felt flames flicker nervously between her toes. "Do not burn down this guildhall. ¨®sma has vouched for you, but I need to be clear about this¡ªwhatever else you may do here, control your fire."


    Palmira swallowed the crumbs still in her mouth, making an active effort to keep herself from combusting right there and then. "Um, you don''t have to worry, guildmaster," she winced as her voice cracked. "I''ve been controlling my fire for years. I''ve never set anything on fire I didn''t mean to."


    Dante stared at her a moment longer, trying to find any hint that she was lying, but he would find none. If there was one thing she knew how to do, it was control her fire.


    Eventually, he leaned back in his chair and nodded. "Very well. In that case, I welcome you to my Rosa Dominae, and I look forward to seeing what you accomplish."


    Palmira let out a nervous breath. "Thank you, guildmaster."


    "Now that you two have met," ¨®sma spoke up, grabbing her attention again. "I would also like to introduce you to Signora Asu Rana, one of our oldest members," he waved his hand over to the insect-woman to his right, who raised one of her four arms to wave in greeting. "She runs the economic side of the guild, counting coins and dealing with loans. Where I deal with setting up quests and jobs for our adventurers, she is the one who hashes out how they''ll much they''ll get paid and any other logistics we may need dealt with."


    "It is lovely to meet you, yar''uwa," she chittered. "And you may call me Rana, if you would prefer. May our time together be long and prosperous."


    "Um¡­ likewise?"


    "She will also be in charge of training you from this day forth," ¨®sma continued. "From the report I got from Chiara, you need more time to learn how to fight. As the only other fire mage in the guild, she''ll be in the best position to teach you."


    "Now, ¨®sma. I am not a fire mage, no matter how similar we may appear," the Kwari chided him gently. "Do not get her hopes up for something I cannot deliver on."


    ¨®sma nodded, conceding her point. "I understand that. However, you have more experience fighting than anyone else in the guild, and even if you are not a fire mage exactly, you still utilize fire when you fight. You also are the only person we have available."


    "Ah well," Rana sighed theatrically. "If you insist, this Rana supposes she could impart some wisdom on our new ward."


    "Um, excuse me," Palmira winced when everyone at the table turned to look at her. "But how long is this training going to take? Won''t I need to take jobs as well?"


    "Diligent girl, aren''t you," Dante scoffed, amused. "Don''t bother worrying about jobs until after we can afford to pay you. You aren''t going to get any richer doing quests right now, so you might as well use your time to get stronger instead."


    "While what he said is true," ¨®sma gave the man a look. "That doesn''t mean you''ll be getting out of work so easily. I do in fact have a job for you lined up, starting tomorrow. Four mornings a week until noon you will be working as a guard for one of the Ambrosia Famiglia estates in the city. Come afternoon, you will return to the guild where you can continue your training with Rana."


    Palmira blinked slowly, eyes wide. "Wait, the Ambrosia Famiglia? Aren''t they the richest guild in the city? Why would they hire me!?"


    "They haven''t," ¨®sma told her dryly. "One of their guards was recently killed in a scuffle with the Capparelli Famiglia, and they want someone to sub in while they find someone to replace him. And knowing them, that''ll take a month at least."


    "But¡­ why me?"


    "Because they asked the Cadorna Famiglia, as a subsidiary of the Ambrosia Famiglia, to choose someone to temporarily take their place." The old orc gave her a smug grin. "I replied first."


    "Huh," Palmira blinked, overwhelmed. "¡­Wait, the previous guard was killed?"


    "Don''t worry about it too much," the guildmaster waved her worries off. "It was a personal affair, from what I''ve heard¡ªthe guard was a childhood friend of a son of the Ambrosia Famiglia and volunteered to take his place in a duel. He, as you can guess, lost. So as long as you don''t volunteer for any duels¡ªand remember that as a member of my Famiglia they have no authority to force you to do so¡ªyou have nothing to worry about from the Capparelli."


    "He is right," Rana chirped, patting her shoulder comfortingly. Palmira repressed a shudder. "The Ambrosia and Capparelli have been killing each other since before the demons invaded. But they have always left us little people out of it. Give it a week to blow over, and I doubt any involved will even remember the guard''s name."


    That¡­ was not as comforting as she probably meant it to be.


    "I''ll explain it more later," Osma told her. "Other than that, you''ll be free for the rest of the day. Take some time to rest and prepare yourself."


    "Got it," she nodded, before making an aborted motion to get up. "Um, can I¡­?"


    The guildmaster rolled his eyes. "Yes, child you may leave."


    "Oh, don''t mind him," Rana chittered, waving her off. "Leave us boring adults to our talks and go hang out with your friends."


    "Right," she gave them an awkward nod. "I''ll be going, then. Um, bye."


    She speedwalked away from the table as fast as she could.


    "¡­You know," Morte mused, "Sometimes I wonder how you function in normal society. Then I see you talk with people, and I realize you really don''t."


    "Shut up," she hissed, tightening her grip around his neck. She could almost pretend she was strangling him. "I didn''t expect to meet the guildmaster today! I''m practically wearing rags. He probably thought I was just some random urchin they grabbed off the streets!"


    "You are just some random urchin they grabbed off the streets."


    She really wanted to set him on fire right now. "Whatever," she huffed. "I have something else planned for today anyway."


    Shaking her head she checked herself over once more before leaving the villa, making her way back towards her old alleyway.


    She''d only have today off, and this was something she needed to do now.


    -<X>-


    ?


    The city of Firozzi was filled with churches.


    This wasn''t all that surprising, when you stopped to think about it. After all, the Goddess looked fondly on those who funded her clergy, and more importantly, the voters loved a man who spent a lot on public works. As such, Firozzi and many cities like it were filled with churches.


    Too many churches, one might say.


    Palmira stopped in front of one of those very churches, a small building crammed between apartments down a small alleyway in the Duke''s Quarter. It had been built after she''d arrived in the city after whatever was there before burned down in a fire (that she did not start), but it was already showing signs of disrepair.


    Neither the city nor the Holy See could afford to upkeep all the churches within the city, and so the ones like this that were too out of the way almost always ended up rundown husks once the funding dried up.


    Still, she was here for a reason. She held a hand over her silver grossi, feeling like the coin was burning a hole in her pocket. Practically, she knew it was a bad idea to do this, but she wanted to regardless.


    Walking up to the door, she pushed it open and¡ª


    "OH GOD IT BURNS! OH GODDESS! OH, WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME!?"


    She jumped back, leaping away from the building at Morte''s shriek. She raised her staff, looking at Morte worriedly. "Are you alright!?"


    Nothing.


    "Morte!?"


    "¡­Palmira," he rasped quietly. "Please, come closer. Before I go, I need to tell you something."


    "What?" she felt tears prick her eyes. She barely touched the church, even if the little holy energy surrounding it was enough to harm him, surely¡ª


    "You are¡­ very¡­ gullible¡­"


    She dropped the staff.


    "Wait out here," she told him. He''d started laughing until he realized she''d dropped him face first into a puddle of mud. "If anyone tries to pick you up just talk at them and I''m sure they''ll leave you alone."


    Shoving her way past the doors (and ignoring Morte''s apologies and pleas to pick him up) she entered the church. The inside was just as small as the outside, merely a tiny box with maybe a dozen pews packed within. It was empty this time of day, barring a single woman at the front.


    She was the nun who ran this church, reading a holy book in the dim light that made its way in from the blocked windows.


    "¡­Um," Palmira hesitated, unsure what to say now that she was here. "Sister Laila?"


    The nun startled and turned to look at her, before a warm smile spread across her face. "Palmira," she greeted her, standing up. "I haven''t seen you at all this week! I''ll admit I was getting worried."


    Palmira coughed awkwardly, walking up to the nun. Sister Laila looked young, but she was an elf and could''ve been in her second century for all she knew. When she got close the Sister opened her arms, giving her a quick hug.


    Sister Laila was one of the few people in the world Palmira would genuinely call a good person. Despite being one step from poverty herself, the nun would open her doors to the homeless of the city every week, giving out free soup and bread to everyone who came by.


    Palmira had taken advantage of that kindness many times, and she wasn''t too proud to admit that she might have starved without her.


    "I''m sorry if I worried you," Palmira shrugged self-consciously. "But I, I got a job! It took me out of the city for a few days, which is why I missed this week''s mealtime."


    Sister Laila gave her a beautiful smile and wrapped her in another hug. "Oh, I''m so happy for you my dear! Do they treat you well?"


    "Um, yes," she coughed, struggling her way out of the hug. Even if the sister was this kind to everyone, dealing with it alone was still embarrassing. "They''ve set me up with an apartment and free meals too! And, um, I sort of got paid today, so I wanted to¡­"


    She reached into her pocket, and with only a little bit of hesitation, pulled the silver grossi out. Reaching over, she gently placed it in the hands of the wide-eyed nun.


    "Thank you." Palmira mumbled, not looking the woman in the eye. The tips of her ears were burning, and then her blush deepened when she realized they were actually burning.


    "Oh, my dear," Sister Laila gave her a watery smile. "Your kindness knows no bounds. But surely this is too much! Are you certain you want to give me this?"


    As much as the frugal part of Palmira was raging against it, her decision was final. "Yes, it''s yours. I¡­ I don''t think I could have made it to where I am today if not for your kindness, so please, accept my thanks. It''s the least I can do."


    The Sister looked down at the coin in her hand. "If you insist. However¡­"


    She grabbed both sides of the coin, and with a quick twist of her fingers, snapped it in half.


    "Here, my dear," Sister Laila smiled as she placed one half of the coin in her hand. Palmira opened her mouth to protest, but the Sister shook her head. "I thank you ever so much for the gift, but as it is now mine that means I get to do what I want with it¡ªand I want to share it with you. You are young yet, my dear, and I believe you will need this more than me."


    Palmira wanted to say no, but that frugal part of her finally won out and forced her mouth shut. "¡­Then, I suppose I must thank you again."


    "No thanks are necessary," she wrapped Palmira in one final hug. "Just promise me you will not forget us, when you become a rich and famous adventurer."


    Palmira flinched, shocked at how quickly she figured it out, but the nun just smiled. "I know you do not want to worry me, but you''ve spent the last few years talking about nothing but joining a guild. It''s not so farfetched to think you''ve finally found one."


    Palmira coughed, and shook her way out of the hug. "Don''t worry, Sister. I promise, once I''ve made enough money I''ll send you so much gold you''ll be able to paint your roof with it!"


    "Please think of yourself first, my dear," the Sister sighed, but smiled regardless. "Well, if you are so determined, then who am I to say no? I look forward to that day, Palmira."


    "Of course!" Palmira nodded, patting out the flames behind her ears. "I''m sure it''ll come before you know it!"


    -<X>-


    ?


    An hour later Palmira finally left the church. As she did, she came upon the sight of the red drakeling, gnawing on the end of Morte''s staff as he made fake drowning noises while face-first in a puddle of mud.


    "Oh, you''re still here?" she lifted him out of the mud. The drakeling squawked in disappointment before jumping on top of her head. "So much for hoping someone stole you while I wasn''t looking."


    "Your cruelty knows no bounds," Morte lamented. "Why, out of all the devilish villains who''ve wielded me in the past, you are by far the evilest."


    Palmira snorted. "Sure I am."


    "Ah, but now that I can breathe again, I can ask: did you accomplish what you came here for?"


    Palmira reached down, feeling the half coin in her pocket. "Yeah, I suppose you could say that."


    "Excellent," Morte laughed. "Now that you''ve finished with that, bring me to the big dead dragon in the center of town¡ªI have a bone to pick with every demonic little drakeling that calls the place home!"


    The red drakeling on her head snorted.


    "No."


    Instead she made her way back to the guild, easily ignoring Morte''s wails of betrayal and treachery.


    Despite herself, she couldn''t help but smile.

 Chapter 10 - Spider Man and the Orcish Therapist

    Spider Man and The Orcish Therapist


    Palmira was suddenly woken up by someone slamming on her door.


    "Palmira!" Osma''s voice boomed from the hall. "Are you awake?"


    "¡­What?" she croaked, blinking the gunk out of her eyes.


    "Ah, good. Make sure you''re dressed and meet me in my office in ten. I''ll be going over your assignment one last time before you head out."


    "¡­What?"


    "Don''t be late!"


    She stared up at her ceiling as footsteps faded from her door. Why had she decided to join a guild again?


    Ah, right. Money.


    That she wasn''t getting.


    "¡­Hey, kid, did you fall back asleep?"


    "I''m tempted," she groaned, but got out of bed regardless. She''d never been able to fall back asleep once she woke up anyway. "¡­What should I be wearing?"


    "Well, you only have three outfits. Just pick your fanciest and hope it''s good enough!"


    Palmira groaned, but got dressed quickly and made her way down to ¨®sma''s office.


    "Excellent," ¨®sma nodded as she entered. She gave him a mulish glare, leaning heavily on Morte to keep herself standing. "Someone who''s actually punctual. This may not sound like a lot right now, but you''re exceeding all of my expectations."


    She grunted.


    "Of course," the old orc nodded genially. "I don''t expect you to wake up this early every day¡ªonly on the days you have guard duty. And just so you know, I will be waking you up myself if you don''t get up on time."


    "¡­Why is it so early?" Palmira groaned, stifling a yawn. "The sun isn''t even up!"


    "Because you''re taking over the morning shift. Normally house guards live in the same area as their employers, but you don''t have that luxury, so you''ll have to get up earlier to make it on time. Also, here," he shoved a tray towards her that she only just noticed was there. Slices of bread, cheese, and cold cuts of meat were piled on it. "Only today I''ll be letting you eat in here, since I''ll be taking up some of your time. Starting tomorrow I''ll expect you to eat in the dining hall like normal."


    Palmira blinked, and then nearly fell onto a chair. She grabbed something off the tray at random and began shoving it in her mouth as ¨®sma started lecturing her on her new job.


    "As I told you yesterday, you will be temporarily joining the Ambrosi Famiglia''s guard detail. While you are there, your job will be to stand around and look imposing. They are unlikely to give you a more important post than that. Also, while I doubt I need to tell you this, please remember that you are only a temporary member of the Ambrosi household guard, and as such you are unable to exercise any of the normal powers granted to such guards without direct supervision. Also, that even if you were a full house guard that you lack the power to arrest people in the first place, so please don''t go mad with power."


    "Whay, wha?" she swallowed the food in her mouth. "Sorry. Um, what do you mean they can''t arrest people? I''ve definitely seen them do that?"


    "Do you not know the difference?" ¨®sma frowned. "Hm. No, I suppose you wouldn''t. Well, to sum it up, the City Watch is employed by the city to keep the peace and if necessary defend in case of siege, while the House Guards are employed by specific Famiglias to protect their property. While the duties of House Guards from Famiglias as powerful as the Ambrosi could be treated as interchangeable with the City Guards, they lack judiciary and political power and cannot make any official arrests."


    "¡­Huh. I didn''t know that."


    "If you are ever unsure what to do, simply ask someone else what to do and follow their lead."


    Palmira nodded, having planned on doing that anyway.


    Ah, speaking of being unsure what to do¡­


    "Hey, ¨®sma," Palmira frowned, having suddenly remembered a question she''d been wanting to ask him for a while now. For some reason, it made her feel a bit embarrassed, but she needed to know regardless and Morte was being suspiciously tight-lipped about it. "I have another question. Unrelated to the, um, job."


    ¨®sma raised an eyebrow. "Is this a personal question or a work-related question? Because while I can answer the second, I may not be the best person to go to for the first."


    "The first one. And I asked Morte, but he refuses to answer!"


    ¨®sma frowned, leaning forward. "Okay, now I''m worried. I feel I need to know for sure now, just in case it''s some ploy by him to manipulate you into doing something unwise."


    "Hey!" Morte scoffed. "There''s no plot afoot here! It''s just¡ªI''m going for a fun uncle kinda vibe, y''know? The fun uncle can''t be answering questions like that!"


    "¡­And now I''m worried for different reasons," ¨®sma sighed. "Fine, hit me. What''s wrong?"


    Palmira took a deep breath, and blurted out, "When I''m around Lorenzo and sometimes Chiarra I feel kind of sick. Like I''m about to puke but I can''t cause I haven''t eaten anything in days and my hair catches on fire and I''m not sure what that means ''cause it''s never happened before and I don''t know what''s wrong with me because it doesn''t happen around anyone else!"


    ¨®sma stared at her for a long moment, before letting out a long, tired sigh and rubbing his forehead. Palmira fidgeted, unsure what to do, while the old orc looked like he''d really rather be anywhere else but here at the moment.


    "¡­Okay," ¨®sma grunted. "Okay. Run that by me again. You feel ill around Lorenzo and Chiara? Do you mean they make you feel uncomfortable?"


    "Um, no? Kind of? It''s hard to explain¡­"


    "Right¡­" he took a deep breath. "Okay, hear me out here, but it''s possible you might be feeling attracted to them."


    "Attracted? Like, sexually?" Palmira blinked. "But I don''t want to have sex with them?"


    The old orc choked. "What¡ªwait, if you know what sex is, then why are you asking me about this!?"


    She gave him an odd look. "Of course I know what sex is. My friend Maria is a prostitute and she has sex all the time. It''s part of her job, if you didn''t know."


    ¨®sma gave her a look that spoke volumes. "Okay, ignoring that, what do you think sex actually is, and more importantly why do you think people do it?"


    "Well it''s, you know," she made a lewd gesture. "It''s what you do when you''re feeling horny. You get horny, you go to the pillow district, and you pay for a prostitute. It''s a bit like going to the barber, yeah?"


    ¨®sma looked physically pained, and Morte was making odd wheezing sounds.


    ¡­Had she, had she gotten something wrong?


    "While that is a very¡­" he searched for the right word. "¡­practical way of thinking of sex, that is not the way most people think of it. For example, ah, why do you think people get married?"


    "Tax cuts."


    "¡­I''m sorry?"


    "You pay less money in taxes if you''re married," she told him. Really, this had been explained to her when she was a child, how did he not know this? "I was told it also comes with the added benefit of free sex, though that''s probably not as important as the tax cuts. Then eventually you can ask for the Goddess'' blessing to have a child, which means you pay even less in taxes."


    ¨®sma worked his jaw, staring at her like he was seeing her for the first time. She didn''t really understand why he was so confused. "¡­Has anyone ever explained to you what love is?" he finally asked.


    "Yeah? Love is what you feel towards your family. When they were still alive I loved my mother and father. I wasn''t so young I''ve forgotten that."


    "Okay," ¨®sma nodded. "Right. Okay. At least that''s normal. Do you know what romantic love is?"


    "¡­Isn''t that like an art thing?"


    "No¡ªwell, technically yes¡ªbut no. Not in the way I mean it. It''s like," he waved one of his hands in the air mindlessly. She quickly stuck another slice of meat in her mouth as she watched. "You want to be with them. All the time. You want to get to know them better. And yes, you want to have sex with them. But the sex isn''t the important part, it''s the¡ªthe them. You want them. Does that feel at all familiar to you?"


    Palmira frowned. "¡­A little. I kind of want to talk with them more. And when I was riding with them it felt¡­ nice, I guess?"


    "Right, that!" Osma nodded with a sort of relieved desperation. "It might not be inherently romantic, but you feel attracted to them, yes? You want to hang out with them, get to know them better, that sort of thing?"


    "¡­Yeah, I guess I do."


    "That''s completely natural. We''ve all been there, trust me. Otherwise, I''d say just¡­ don''t worry about it too much. But if you do, ask someone else, okay? Someone who''d be better at explaining all of¡­" he waved his arms around. "¡­This."


    Palmira nodded slowly. "¡­Um, Thanks, ¨®sma. I don''t know if this helped all that much, but I sort of have a clearer idea of what''s going on now."


    "Well, I suppose that''s the best I could hope for."


    They fell into an awkward silence after that. Palmira used the time to devour more of the cheese platter. She was already feeling more awake now than she was before.


    ¨®sma opened his mouth again, before closing it. Finally, he sighed, and said, "There''s one more thing I wanted to tell you before you left. Come tomorrow there''ll be a Bishop coming by to inspect our guild for heretics and heathens. As such, I want you out of here as soon as possible and I don''t want you back in until after the sun''s set. Understood?"


    "What?" Palmira glared at him, slightly affronted. "I''m not a heretic! I know I might not be the most pious woman in the world, but I go to church!"


    "I wasn''t talking about you," he gave her a calming wave. "I more meant the necromancer''s staff you carry around everywhere."


    "I don''t go to church!" Morte agreed shamelessly.


    "Oh," she felt herself flush. "Um, alright, I''ll be out of the guild then. ¡­Is the Bishop coming because of me?"


    "What? Oh, no," ¨®sma shook his head. "This visit was planned weeks before you arrived. The Lady Pontiff is worried about the religious strife occurring in the Holy Volan Empire, and has been sending Bishops all over the peninsula to make sure none of us think about following their example. It''s really more annoying than anything. I had to make sure about a third of our guild was out of town when they came, since we don''t bother enforcing religion here. The Bishop was actually supposed to be here a couple days ago, but they got delayed by news of that hydra you killed."


    "But we killed it?"


    "Aye. But where there''s one hydra, there''s bound to be more. It took a couple of days for other teams of adventurers to clear out the whole area and make it safe enough for travel again."


    Palmira blinked. She hadn''t known that. She reached down for another slice of bread, only to hit plate. Looking down, she realized with dismay that her plate was empty.


    "Otherwise, don''t worry too much about it. This isn''t the first time the north has come into conflict with the church, and it probably won''t be the last. Just keep your head down and don''t go pissing off any priests and you''ll be fine."


    "If you''re sure."


    "Now, that''s the last of the information I needed to give you," he gave her a halting nod. "And, also, if you can''t find anyone else to talk to about your¡­ issues, you can come talk to me. Please try and find someone else first, though."


    "Right," Palmira nodded, jumping to her feet. "Does that mean I should head out now?"


    "Aye. You''ll be reporting to their main villa in the city, located beneath Vesuvius in case you weren''t sure. Report back to my office once you''ve returned."


    "Got it," she made her way to the door, before pausing and turning back to him. "Um, and thank you for listening. It means a lot."


    And with that she left.


    Once she was gone, ¨®sma leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Teenagers."


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    -<X>-


    ?


    The sky was still dark as she left the guildhall, the sun only just beginning to rise over the buildings. Despite that she wasn''t alone as she made her way to the Piazza del Drago, as other early risers slogged their way through the streets past people dragging themselves home from their nightshifts. The streets of the Old Quarter were filled to the brim with people, yet the only noise was the sound of shoe against stone and the occasional yawn echoing off the buildings. Once she passed by a caf¨¦ that was actually open this early, and it was packed with half-asleep customers downing coffee, tea, wine, and countless types of pastries in a vain attempt to wake themselves up.


    Palmira couldn''t really sympathize. She always had more energy than she knew what to do with, and it took something really strenuous to make her as tired as these people looked. She asked Morte if that had something to do with her magic.


    Morte called her a freak of nature.


    She started carrying him upside down for that.


    The closer she got to the Piazza, the more people filled the streets, some of them getting just a bit too close for her comfort. She huffed, spitting out a gout of flame that curled around her neck and played with her hair. People backed off after that, and the less savory types eyeing the young girl walking alone quickly turned around at the sign she was a mage.


    Breathing easier, she made her way into the Piazza.


    Unlike the streets which were mostly still closed and relatively bare of people, the Piazza del Drago was packed at all times of the day with merchants and shops, bakeries and restaurants, and even a couple people playing on flutes and makeshift drums around the square. The smells and sounds of the city seemed to wake everyone up, granting the Piazza a life that the rest of the city lacked at this ungodly hour. Though most people were simply setting up at this time of day, it still made the Piazza feel as full as it would get once the sun fully rose.


    That said, the people were never the main attraction of the Piazza del Drago.


    Vesuvius loomed overhead, as always. Its great skull acted as a nest for most of the city''s drakelings, many of whom fluttered over when they saw her. But she shook her head, waving them back¡ªfor the first time in her life, she was here on a job instead of for them, and that meant she wouldn''t have time for them today.


    Instead she made her way to the villas resting beneath the rest of Vesuvius'' corpse.


    The Villa dei Ambrosi was home to the Ambrosi Famiglia, one of the three largest Famiglias in the city. It was a complex of dozens of ancient fortresses and mansions built beneath the ribcage of Vesuvius, connected and expanded on constantly for centuries. You could tell the age of each building by what they were made of¡ªas the oldest were built from black scales the size of horses and bleached bone several meters in length, while the newer buildings were much less extravagant marble and limestone. Surrounding the whole complex was a massive wall of scale and stone that danced its way between Vesuvius'' ribs, separating the Famiglia''s land from that of the city. Between the black scale and stone and the white marble and bone, the only color she could see from the outside were the numerous golden roses that grew from gardens both within and without the walls, the Famiglia''s House Crest made manifest.


    When she had first arrived in the city she had thought it an awe-inspiring sight.


    These days she decided she preferred the practicality of the Capparelli Famiglia in the Duke''s Quarter instead.


    She made her way to the walls, shaking the thought away. She was working for the Ambrosi now, best not to let her thoughts of them show on her face.


    "Halt!" she flinched, despite knowing it was coming. She had to force down the instinctive urge to run. Instead, she waited as one of the guards marched up to her. It was a dwarf half her size but wielding a halberd thrice his. "Do you have business with the Ambrosi?"


    "What the flying fuck is wrong with that dwarf!?"


    "Yes," she managed to nod, ignoring Morte''s comment. It didn''t seem like the dwarf heard him. "My name is Palmira di Firozzi, and I''m here to act as a temporary guard until a replacement is found. My guildmaster said you would be expecting me¡­?"


    "Hm. Aye, that we were. But you look a bit younger than we were expecting."


    "Is that going to be a problem?"


    "Probably not," the dwarf rubbed his bare chin. "But I''ll be bringing you to see my superior regardless. Want to make sure we''ve got all our ducks in a line before we go getting you trained up."


    "Surely you see it too, right? I''m not alone in this, right!?"


    Palmira gave the dwarf a shaky smile, quickly wiping her sweaty hands against her armor once he turned around. She knew she was supposed to be here, but talking with city guards always made her nervous.


    She followed him to the walls, being let in through a small side-door instead of the main gate. The other guard on duty gave her an odd look, but a smile from the dwarf dissuaded him from saying anything.


    "Here we are," he told her, leading her into a small gate house. "The captain should be waiting for you in here."


    Palmira followed him, peaking over his head to see who the captain was.


    Then she froze on the spot, her expression dropping into something that almost resembled hate.


    The guard captain was an ?r¨¹mcek. Those people were some unholy combination of spider and man, a humanoid body with a black, chitinous shell instead of skin and four massive spider''s legs sticking out the back. Eight red eyes dotted their faces, while greyish fuzz grew around their necks almost like scarves. Standing at full height, they were over a head taller than the average person.


    Him being an ?r¨¹mcek was not however the reason she looked at him with such hate. No, her reason was much more personal.


    Fangs sleek with poison snapped in surprise when the ?r¨¹mcek noticed her. "¡­Svani, please tell me this girl didn''t try to break in here?"


    The dwarf¡ªnow named Svani¡ªgave the spider-man an odd look. "No? She''s here for the job. ¨®sma recommended her, remember. A, ah, Palmira di Firozzi?"


    "¡­She''s what?"


    The ?r¨¹mcek turned back to look at her, exhausted exasperation writ all over his face.


    Palmira stared back up at him with dead eyes.


    Of course, ¨®sma had to go and find the one person in the city who''d arrested her before to be her new boss.


    Palmira forced a bright smile onto her face. In a tone so chipper it was obvious it was fake she greeted him. "Hello, Signor Cherven! I didn''t know you were captain of the guard now! Did you get a promotion? That''s such a shame, don''t you think? I think the position of lackey suited you much better!"


    Cherven stared down at her. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking with his spider-like face, but the slump of his shoulders told enough. "¡­What are you doing here, brat?"


    "I''m here as a part of my job as a law-abiding citizen of the Cadorna Famiglia," she told him through a gritted smile. "My boss specifically chose me to act as a substitute guard for the foreseeable future. As such, I¡­ look forward to working with you."


    Cherven clacked his mandibles, closing all eight of his eyes in exasperation. "What did I do to deserve this¡­?"


    "I don''t know, Signor Cherven!" Palmira continued smiling cheerfully. Yup, absolutely cheerful, no underlying resentment here. "Maybe it was when you arrested a couple of homeless girls just trying to make a living?"


    "I gave you two three warnings!" the guard captain snapped. "And every single time you came back and did it again!"


    "Nobody was getting hurt!"


    "You were trespassing and extorting tourists with cheap drawings!"


    "Cheap art that''s probably worth more than this building with how famous Lenna''s gotten!"


    "Why are you even still here then!? Last I saw you two got picked up by the Gennarelli Famiglia! Why aren''t you living it up in one of their villas right now?"


    "Gee, maybe it''s because those snobby rich stronzi only cared about the girl making the art and not about the girl who only made the charcoal! Maybe then if you had just kept your buggy mouth shut my friend would still be here and I would''ve been off the street years ago!"


    "Well you seem to be doing fine now, if you''ve gotten a job as a city guard!"


    "No thanks to you, though!"


    Someone coughed off to the side.


    "Um, signor," Svani the dwarf looked incredibly uncomfortable. "She''s the person we were told to wait for, right? Shouldn''t we just explain the job to her first¡­?"


    Cherven twitched awkwardly, before slowly nodding. "Yes, you are correct. And I¡­ apologize that you had to see this. It was unprofessional of me. I''ll pay for tonight''s drinks as an apology. Now, as for you."


    It took all of Palmira''s willpower not to stick her tongue out at him.


    "You will be put on rotation with Svani and Ester this morning. They will explain everything you need to know." He gave her a once over. "Also, stop by the armory and cover up your Cadorna crest with an Ambrosi one. While you may be Cadorna, in the eyes of the people you must be Ambrosi. I will also¡­" he sighed. "I will also explain more to you later. Once I''ve calmed down enough to act professionally. Can I ask you to offer me the same courtesy?"


    Palmira desperately wanted to say no.


    But she also wanted to keep her current job, so she smiled through gritted teeth and told him, "Of course."


    "Then, Svani, Palmira, you are dismissed," Cherven nodded crisply at them. "I''ll send someone up at noon to relieve you of your shift."


    And with that Svani ushered her out of the room, almost dragging her back to the wall.


    Palmira followed along reluctantly. Not that she didn''t want to leave, but she was feeling unbearably hot. Like she was being burned alive from the inside out, like fire was pressing against the inside of her skin, wanting to be let out. Like she was one wrong moment away from combusting, and she wanted to scream but she couldn''t because it was almost like¡­ like¡­


    <s>Like she was suffocating under the ash cloud as her lungs burned</s>


    "So," Svani knocked her out of her thoughts. "I don''t know what beef you have with the captain, or what you did before you got here. But now that you''re working as a guard, I just want you to know that none of that matters."


    "Huh?" Palmira blinked, startled as a plume of fire burst free from her mouth. Luckily the dwarf had his back to her so he didn''t notice.


    "I just want to make it clear here and now," the dwarf turned to her, looking her in the eye. She had to bend down a bit to help him. "Right now, your only duty is to the Ambrosi Famiglia. Do your duty well, and everything will work out fine. Even if the captain''s biased against you, he can''t do anything so long as you don''t act out of line. So just¡­ follow the rules, yeah? And you''ll be fine. It''s only for a couple weeks at worst."


    Palmira''s mouth twisted, but she sighed. "I understand."


    The dwarf nodded, and the two of them made their way back to the gate. "Good. Oh, and a word of advice. The captain''s going to be buying us drinks tonight. Best drain him for all he''s worth, eh?"


    Palmira snorted, deciding then and there to do just that. But despite the idea of bankrupting the bastard, she still felt angry and maybe a little scared. She hadn''t remembered that day in a long time, but somehow seeing Cherven just brought back things she''d rather kept buried.


    Maybe this job was going to be harder than she thought.


    "Seriously, is nobody else going to talk about the beardless dwarf!?"

 Chapter 11 - Moth-Lady and Druidic Therapy

    Moth-Lady and Druidic Therapy


    Palmira returned to the guild in a bad mood.


    It wasn''t that guard duty had been particularly strenuous. It was mostly just standing around chatting with the others on shift with her and occasionally giving people who got too close a stern look. The only thing of note that happened that morning was when the drakelings got tired of waiting for her to come to them and started swarming her. It had been more embarrassing than anything trying to convince them to calm down, though the others had consoled her that being surrounded by tiny hangry dragons was certainly a way to look intimidating.


    She wasn''t sure she believed them. They looked far too amused for her liking.


    In the end she''d had to promise them to stay after an extra hour and feed them some stale bread Svani had been kind enough to grab from the barracks.


    Barring that nothing bad had happened, so really there was no reason for her to be in as foul a mood as she was.


    It was just¡­


    Cherven.


    She didn''t see him again for the rest of her shift, but just knowing he was around pissed her off to no end.


    She was pretty sure ¨®sma noticed, since he didn''t even comment on her lateness. Instead she curtly gave him her report before slumping down to slump on one of the benches in the courtyard.


    Morte tried a bit to cheer her up with bad skeleton puns, but after a bit of her not responding he just went quiet and let her sulk.


    And sulk she did. She just laid slumped along the garden bench for many a minute as she waited for the old Kwari to arrive and start her lesson. However, while she was waiting someone came past and startled her out of her funk.


    "Palmira?"


    She started, twisting to see who it was. Standing there was Lorenzo, a dead fox in each hand.


    "What are you doing out here?"


    She blinked, giving her mind a minute to shake itself awake. "I''m waiting for¡­ Rana, I think her name was? The bug lady?"


    She wasn''t sure she wanted to talk with Lorenzo right now. Well, she didn''t want to talk with anyone right now, but definitely not Lorenzo. She remembered her conversation with ¨®sma from earlier that morning, and quickly checked to make sure her hair wasn''t on fire. Finding it wasn''t, she instead focused on something equally relevant.


    "What are you doing with those foxes?"


    "Oh, these?" he raised the things carelessly. "I''m just watering the crops. Actually, do you mind if I start while we talk? I''ve got somewhere to be later, so I need to get this done quickly."


    "Sure?"


    He gave her a thankful smile before getting down on his knees and holding it out over the base of some of the fruit trees. She watched with morbid fascination as he started wringing it out, letting the blood drip down to the base of the tree.


    "So what''s got you in such a mood?"


    Palmira blinked, tearing her eyes away from the bloody fox. "¡­I don''t know what you mean."


    Lorenzo side-eyed her. "Really? Because to me it looks like you''ve dramatically thrown yourself across a bench in a fit of melodramatic teen angst."


    "What?" she looked down at herself. Crap, he was right. Quickly changing to a sitting position, she coughed, shaking her head. "You must have been seeing things."


    He shook his head wryly. "Sure I did. ¡­is it Chiara? Did she say something?"


    "Huh? Chiara?"


    "I know you two don''t get along that well, but if she said something that offended you I can get her to apologize."


    "No, no!" Palmira waved him off. "It''s not Chiara! It''s, um, the guard captain from my new job."


    "The guard captain?" Lorenzo gave her a surprised look, moving over to another patch of foliage. "Of the Ambrosi? I''ll admit I haven''t spoken to the man¡ªuh, spider¡ªbut he didn''t seem that bad?"


    Palmira huffed. "He''s an asshole who harasses homeless children."


    "¡­ah."


    "Don''t worry about it," Palmira waved him off. "I only saw him for a couple minutes anyway. I''ll have probably forgotten he''s even there after a few days."


    She wouldn''t, but he didn''t need to know that.


    "If you say so," Lorenzo gave her a doubtful glance. Standing up, he cracked his back before throwing the now bloodless fox into another patch of bushes. A dozen green spiked mouths exploded out from behind them, snapping and tearing at the corpse. "That said, if you ever need to talk¡ªor just an ear to complain into¡ªlet me know, yeah?"


    Palmira was still staring at the carnage and could only absently hum in agreement.


    "¡­Huh. You know, I thought those things went extinct."


    Almost as soon as Lorenzo left the Kwari she''d been waiting for arrived. Asu Rana, the guild''s economist, was tall even for the desert-bug-people she was a member of. Siting down as she was, Palmira didn''t even reach her waist, and there was something intimidating about how her willowy form towered over her. The fact she was near completely covered by red and green silks didn''t help, leaving the only place she could look into the Kwari''s two large, buggy-blue eyes.


    "Ah, hello, yar''uwa," Rana offered her a smile, mandibles twitching in a way that made Palmira involuntarily shudder. "Are you ready for today''s lesson?"


    She bit the inside of her cheek and nodded, rising to her feet. "Yes, um, is there a title or something I should call you?"


    "Just Rana is fine, dearie," the Kwari chittered, waving at her to follow through the gardens. "Now, I know you''ve done this before with some of the others, but now that you''ve gone on your first quest I''d like to hear a bit about how you think you fight. For now, name one thing you are good at, and one you are bad at."


    Palmira nodded, giving the mouth-bushes a lot of space as she passed. Fed or not, she wasn''t taking any chances. "I''m good at dealing damage," she told her. "Fire hurts most things pretty badly, though the hydra we fought simply shrugged off a lot of it. And I don''t think I''m very good at aiming. I hit a lot of my shots, but only because what I was aiming at was so big I couldn''t possibly miss."


    "Well, aim is something that gets better with practice, and I can assure you you''ll be getting a lot of it. But that''s the kind of thing that takes time. Is there anything else you''d say you struggled with?"


    She frowned, thinking. "¡­I kind of¡­ froze up, a lot. If Morte or Chiara weren''t there to snap me out of it, I think I would have just stood there and died. Is there a way to fix that?"


    "Ah," Rana nodded. They came to a halt at the far end of the courtyard, where she removed her segmented arms from her robes and adopted a lecturing pose. "Yes, I understand well that issue. Don''t be ashamed¡ªit''s quite common with new warriors of all stripes. Most get around it with drilling discipline or experience, but I expect you want something more immediate?"


    Palmira grimaced, but nodded. She didn''t know how big a problem it would be, but she''d rather deal with it now than on the battlefield.


    "Hey, moth-lady," Morte spoke up, getting both their attention. "Isn''t there someone you forgot to ask? Someone who was with her for the whole fight?"


    "¡­Ah, of course," Rana nodded serenely. "Thank you for reminding me. I''ll have to ask Chiara to join us for our next session."


    "¡­You know what I mean, moth-lady."


    "And you should know better than to address someone as moth-lady, skull-man."


    "Hah! Touch¨¦. But even if you don''t ask for my help, I''ll generously give it for free anyway! You see, Palmira here is a natural-born mage. She''s also self-taught."


    "¡­I believe I see. You''re saying she lacks the discipline that proper schooling would teach her?"


    "Not quite. Rather, her magic comes naturally to her, so everything she does on the battlefield is improvised. She doesn''t cast spells¡ªshe just uses magic."


    Palmira blinked. "Is there a difference?"


    Rana, on the other hand, nodded, an enlightened look overcoming her face. "I see. It''s not that she lacks discipline, but rather she lacks structure."


    "Got it in one! Palmira, remember what I said about the three P''s?"


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    "I think so. It was, ah, Physics, Philosophy, and Precedent, right?"


    "Three P''s?" Rana muttered, sounding confused.


    "A-yup. Right now, you''ve got Philosophy down pretty good and you have an instinctual enough understanding of your element''s Physics for it to not be a problem, but you lack any Precedent. Normally, when a mage uses magic, they are casting a pre-made spell. They complete a series of steps to achieve a predicable result, then they can teach those spells to other mages who can then utilize and refine them further. That''s how magic can even be taught in the first place¡ªmost people don''t cast instinctively like you do."


    "He''s right, in a sense," Rana shook off her confusion, instead focusing on the current lecture. "Chiara, for example, does not simply will her crystal horse into existence. Rather, she casts ''Mirror Steed,'' a spell which she has repeatedly cast in exactly the same way hundreds of times before."


    "¡­I think I get it," Palmira slowly nodded, taking the new information in. "It''s like when I created a fire whip to attack the hydra, right? I''d already used it before, so I could cast it again without thinking. But when I rained sparks down on it, it took a couple minutes for me to come up with and execute the spell."


    Rana nodded. "While the way you do it might come more naturally and allow more creativity, in a fight it is far too slow to be properly effective. Instead, you should come up with, say¡­ three spells that you can use in a fight. Your fire whip can be one of them, so you''d only need two. That should be enough to start us off, and once you''ve done that we can begin drilling those for the rest of today."


    "Okay¡­" she bit her lip, thinking. If her firewhip could be one, then maybe¡­ "Should I make them all attacks? Or should I focus on other things?"


    "Attacking is always better," Rana told her. "An adventurer who can''t fight is barely an adventurer at all."


    "I disagree. Utility may not appear immediately useful, but stacking buffs overtime is far more effective than just trying to deal damage."


    "That may be so, but right now she doesn''t know any spells. It''s best to start off simple, and we can work our way up to more esoteric spells later."


    "Didn''t you hear what I said earlier? She''s a self-taught natural. Esoteric is all she''s got!"


    Realizing that she wasn''t going to get an answer to her question any time soon, Palmira just sighed. Tuning out the arguing adults, she began to consider what her two other spells could be.


    The bright light she''d set off at the beginning of her fight had seemed pretty effective. But it had blinded her as well¡­ maybe there''d be a way around it? If anyone could teach her, it was Morte.


    And maybe those thermite-sparks she''d used? Wait, no, those were only effective because she''d been flying at the time. They were also way too slow. She didn''t think they''d be that good in a normal fight.


    People kept telling her she should learn fireball, and while she normally wasn''t one to turn down something useful, she also found herself refusing to consider learning it out of spite. She could become a powerful mage without this ''fireball'' spell.


    So, uh¡­ she had that thing where she set her feet on fire to go faster. But Rana seemed to think all her spells should be attacks¡­ maybe she could kick people? Flaming kicks sounded like they''d hurt.


    "I think I''ve got all my spells," Palmira announced, tuning back in. She blinked as she realized they were still arguing. "Hey!"


    "¡­and that''s why pirouettes are an important skill¡ªoh, Palmira, done already? Excellent! And you didn''t even need the old lady''s help!"


    "Old lady?" Rana scoffed. "I think I preferred being called moth-lady." She sighed. "Whatever. Well, show us what you''ve come up with, and don''t worry, there''s enough space for you to show off here."


    Palmira glanced at the scorch marks that were still there from the last time she ''showed off.'' She really didn''t want a repeat of that.


    Taking a step away from the old Kwari, she raised her staff up, before pausing. "Um, you might want to close your eyes," she told Rana, closing her own eyes.


    "Oh? How come?"


    "This spell is very, ah, bright."


    "I see. You don''t need to worry though, light is never something I''ve struggled with. Cast away, and don''t worry about me!"


    Palmira hesitated another moment, before shrugging. Well, if she insisted.


    Flooding the staff with her magic, she winced even as the blinding light still bled through her closed eyes, and again as a moment later a loud ''POP'' echoed through the courtyard.


    She winced again as she heard a cry of pain from one of the upper stories.


    "Who the ''ells¡ª!? Rana!"


    "Oh come off it!" Rana shouted back as Palmira delicately opened her eyes. Even though they''d been closed, spots still danced in front of her vision. "You knew what you were getting into when you came in today!"


    "Ah came ''ere to relax with me drink! Not geht blinded!"


    Palmira looked behind her, but there was a tree blocking whoever was yelling. She winced as she realized that if they couldn''t see her either that meant the person probably thought Rana had been the one to cast the spell.


    "Um," she muttered, "sorry."


    "Oh, don''t worry about it," she shook her head. "Matthias will have forgotten about it within the hour. The dwarf really loves his drink far too much. Ignoring him, however, I''m surprised. Most people don''t think to target the eyes when they first start out."


    "Yeah, well," she shrugged awkwardly. "The only issue is that I get caught up in it myself, so I can''t really use it."


    "Hm, I see how that could be a problem," Rana raised all four of her arms to rub her shoulders. "I would say for right now you should lower the brightness a lot. Remember, it only needs to be bright enough for your enemies to be blinded, and that requires much less light than you''d think. Now, what''s your next spell?"


    Palmira nodded as she took in the advice, before leaning down and tapping the butt of her staff against her heels, setting them on fire. Getting back into position, she dashed a quick line from one end of the courtyard and back, before letting out a couple of kicks into the air as she returned.


    "Hm. Good enthusiasm, but if you want to add kicks to your repertoire you''ll need a proper teacher. Mobility isn''t a bad thing to have either, but from what I''ve seen so far despite your claims to the contrary you don''t have very many damaging spells. You said your last one is a fire whip? How powerful is it?"


    Palmira huffed, shaking off the embarrassment of apparently failing the kicks. Instead she raised Morte above her head as she''d done before, setting him on fire. Extending the firewhip out from his skull she brought the staff around in a few circles, whipping the massive tendril of flame around in the air while being careful not to let it touch anything. After about a minute of that she dispelled the flame, causing the whole thing to vanish in a puff of smoke.


    "Well, that''s definitely big," Rana hummed. "But unless you hit something with it I suppose I won''t know how powerful it could be. I suppose that one''s on me, though, I should have prepared a bit better. Ah, you know what? Next time I''ll have you meet me in one of the training fields outside of town. The courtyard is good because it is free, but thinking on it now it''s a bit too dangerous to be casting fire spells in."


    "It took you until now to notice that?"


    Rana waved him off. "Regardless, I believe that''s good enough for right now. There are certainly things you can improve on, but let''s wait on that until we have some more space to work with. Instead, let us work on an equally important part of combat¡ªdiscipline. For the rest of today, you''ll be casting spell after spell until you run out of steam or the dinner bell rings¡ªwhichever comes first!"


    Palmira winced. "¡­Are you sure? I just got back from a job!"


    "A job as a guard. Tell me, did you do anything more strenuous than standing around glaring at people all day?"


    Palmira sighed, before setting her feet alight again.


    It was going to be a long afternoon.

 Chapter 12 - Salty Old Men

    Salty Old Men


    Palmira tapped Morte''s staff against the ground absently, staring out at the bustling markets of the Piazza del Drago as it filled with the morning rush of people. Merchants bartered with mothers, tables in front of diners filled with people stopping for brunch, and street performers danced for laughing crowds.


    And she stood off to the side. Watching.


    Palmira could normally deal with boredom pretty well, she thought. But this was a special kind of hell for her, surrounded by so much activity but not being able to join in or leave was causing her more issues than she knew how to deal with.


    It was day two of guard duty, and she was already regretting taking this job.


    She wasn''t even allowed to play with her fire to distract herself¡ªsince that would also distract her from anyone trying to break in¡ªso she was forced to just chat quietly with Morte and hope none of the others noticed.


    The monotony of guard duty wouldn''t be broken until Cherven stopped by about an hour later. He grabbed Svani and a couple other higher-ranking guards before practically bolting back into one of the nearby villas.


    She stared after them in mild confusion, before shrugging and turning back towards the piazza.


    It wasn''t any of her business anyway.


    A couple minutes later, some rich kid about her age made his way out the front gate. Or he tried to, at least.


    "Signor Juliano?" one of the other guards stopped him, blocking his exit. She glanced over, curious despite herself. "Are you sure you should be leaving without a guard? Especially after what happened last time¡­"


    The now named Juliano sneered, glaring at the guard. "Do not bring that up to me, peasant. I am an Ambrosi¡ªI go where I please! Now step aside, lest I tell grandfather about this."


    The guard stepped aside, and the arrogant rich kid disappeared back into the piazza.


    Her curiosity sated, Palmira turned back to the conversation she''d been having with Morte. He''d been explaining how to make socks out of leaves, and despite likely never needing such a skill she was bored enough to be curious.


    Like she said before, whatever was going on was not her problem.


    Unfortunately, it was only a couple minutes later that her standing around doing nothing was interrupted again, this time by something that was her problem.


    A woman in green and blue silks stepped into the piazza, flanked on all sides by a contingent of guards dressed in the same colors. They marched through the piazza like they owned the place, and people reluctantly stepped aside as they passed, giving the entourage annoyed looks as they did. The woman didn''t show any sign of noticing the scowls aimed at her back, but her guards certainly did, glaring with their hands on their weapons at anyone who spent too long looking at them.


    Still, it was clear these people didn''t belong, and everyone in the piazza knew it.


    Palmira herself felt a scowl grow on her own face when she saw that the entourage was heading their way. Of course they would be, why wouldn''t they? Fucking Gennarelli always showed up where they weren''t wanted, why would today be any different?


    Ester¡ªthe most senior guard still at the gate¡ªlet out a sigh, stepping forward to meet with the woman.


    "You there, guard," the Gennarelli stopped just in front of the gate, glaring down her nose at him. "Are you the one in charge?"


    The Gennarelli were a new Famiglia in the city. Originally from Palunera, they''d branched out into their city a few years ago and started butting their faces into everyone''s business. They''d become disturbingly powerful in that short about of time, even getting some say in the Signora.


    Palmira didn''t like them. Nobody she knew did, either. Like, sure, she may not have been the biggest fan of the Ambrosi, but at least they cared about the city, unlike those damn foreign opportunists that didn''t do anything but buy out local businesses and replace them with more fucking banks. Fucking money launderers, the lot of them!


    So really, it was a good thing she wasn''t the one in charge when they arrived, otherwise she probably would have just told them to fuck off.


    "I suppose I am, for now," Ester replied like a man who''d really rather be anywhere else. "What can I do for you, signora?"


    "We are looking for a traitor," the Gennarelli told them. "And we have cause to believe you may be hiding him. Let us past, guard, so we might begin our search."


    "¡­Okay," Ester blinked slowly. "First off, I don''t have the authority to do that. And the only people who do are in an important meeting right now. Second off, a traitor to who? Because if this is just about some employee of yours that''s jumped ship, I''m afraid you''ll have to take it up with the courts over with the Tre Maggiori."


    The Gennarelli sniffed haughtily. "I wouldn''t expect a mere gatekeeper to understand the importance of what''s at stake here. We are not here for such petty disputes¡ªwe are here to bring to justice a traitor to all mankind! So let us through, gatekeeper, lest the Lady Pontiff herself excommunicate you!"


    Ester grimaced, shaking his head. "I''m afraid I can''t let you do that, ma''am. Unless you can bring us some proof that whoever this traitor is is here, I''ll have to ask you to wait until one of the Ambrosi are available to speak with you."


    The woman glared at him. "Then, I suppose I have no other choice but to¡ª"


    "Oi!" Svani marched out from behind the gate, stepping up beside a relieved looking Ester. "What''s going on here?"


    The Gennarelli turned her look of distaste onto the dwarf. "Svani. I should have expected to see you here."


    "And I never thought I''d see you darken my doorstep again, but here you are," Svani scoffed, glaring at her. "You have yet to answer my question though. What are you doing here?"


    The woman looked like she''d swallowed a lemon. "We¡ªthat is, the Gennarelli¡ªhave reason to believe the Ambrosi are harboring a traitor in their ranks. And not just any traitor, but someone who has thrown their lot in with the demons themselves. We would see him turned into the church for his crimes."


    "And who is this traitor?" the dwarf raised an incredulous eyebrow. "I''ve just gotten out of a meeting with half the damn Famiglia, and not a one said anything about someone like that."


    "He is a Drowned-Man. A rather famous one, in fact. Famous enough that I would prefer not to say his name out in the open, lest some¡­ unpleasant connections are made."


    Svani scowled, before closing his eyes and sighing. "You should know we can''t just let you in with that flimsy logic. I''ll send your worries up the chain, and I''m sure my superiors would be willing to work with you to find such a traitor. Why don''t you come back tomorrow, and I can set up a meeting between you and the Ambrosi then?"


    "You expect us to wait patiently while you Ambrosi hide away all your dirty secrets? If I wait until tomorrow, he''ll be long gone!"


    "Would you let our soldiers in your home if the situation was reversed?"


    The Gennarelli huffed. "¡­Fine, we will return tomorrow. Not that I expect him to still be here by then."


    "It''s the best I can give you," Svani waved her off. "Be grateful you''re getting this much. Had I been anyone else, I would have just turned you away here, if I didn''t simply call the rest of the House Guard on you. After all, you do realize you''re trespassing, right?"


    "I''m aware of that, though I hope you realize you are damning your own soul by refusing to let us in."


    The woman met his unimpressed look with another scowl, before turning and nodding to her guards. They formed up around her and marched her back out the way they came. As they left, the tense air that had fallen over the piazza faded, as people relaxed seeing there wouldn''t be blood on the streets tonight.


    Svani sighed, staring after them. "Damn the Gennarelli. Can''t ever leave well enough alone, those people."


    "¡­I''m surprised you got her to go away," Ester sighed, slumping. "I thought for sure she''d try and force her way in."


    "I knew her, a while ago," Svani shrugged. "We both worked for the Gesbuchi, back before the family was wiped out. I ended up coming here to work for the Ambrosi, while she headed off to Palunera and married into the Gennarelli. I suppose it''s just poor luck we ended up in opposing Famiglias after all these years, but what can you do?"


    "I hear ya," Ester nodded, grimacing. "Hey, what''d the head want with you and the boss, anyway? They drilling us again? More of those stupid ''team-bonding'' exercises?"


    Svani''s face turned grim. "You''ll probably learn of this later tonight," he told them, his voice so quiet Palmira had to take a few steps closer to hear. The dwarf gave her a look, but didn''t stop her. "But don''t go spreading this around just in case. About two hours ago while breaking his fast, Cesare Ambrosi died."


    "What!?" Ester hissed, his eyes going wide. "How!?"


    "Foul murder," Svani sighed, rubbing his chin. "He was salted."


    Ester gasped in horror, and even Morte swore heavily in her mind.


    Palmira, who did not know what was going on but was suitably freaked out regardless, asked, "Wait! Who is Cesare, and what do you mean he got ''salted!?''"


    "He was the brother of Ottone Ambrosi, the current head of the Famiglia," Svani told her, gesturing for her to keep her voice down. Her eyes widened, as she realized how serious a crime that was. "And being salted is¡­ what do you know of the Salt Wastes?"


    "They''re what''s left of the Sidunim Empire, right? After the Volans destroyed them?"


    It was an old story, from back when the Volans had first begun climbing out of the Dark Ages. The Volans had claimed the mantle of Imperium Hominum, or ''Empire of Mankind.'' However, they were not the only ones to claim such a title, and their greatest rivals became the Sidunim Empire across the sea. And so the two people''s only recourse was to go to war, and reunite the few surviving remnants of humanity after the fall of Babel.


    They fought for three hundred and thirty-three years. The war had been so long and bloody that it was etched into the holy book, for even the Goddess was said to look upon it in disgust. No side could ever win a decisive victory, and while she didn''t know any of the specifics, everyone knew that the Sidunim were the only equals of early Vola. It wouldn''t be until the last year of the conflict that the acting Consul declared summa belli, and gathered countless mages from across the empire to cast a spell that would destroy the Sidunim once and for all.


    And destroy them it did¡ªas when the spell was cast it is said that a second sun burned above the capital of the Sidunim, and in an instant the whole of the kingdom was turned to salt. People, animals, buildings¡ªnone of it was spared, the whole empire turned to macabre statues of salt. And so the Salt Wastes became the crowning jewel of the Volans, simultaneously a warning to all who opposed them, and a monument to their greatest victory.


    "Aye, they''re all that''s left," Svani nodded. "Endless wastes of cursed salt, most know that much. But what''s much less well known is the effect of eating that salt¡ªswallow even a single grain, and you instantly turn to salt, just as the ancient Sidunimians did. They''re often used as an assassination tool against the nobility, and unfortunately we were victim to that today."


    Palmira''s eyes went wide as she took that in. "Wait, so any salt you eat could kill you!? Just like that!?"


    "Calm down," Svani placed a hand on her shoulder. "It''s not that bad. Any salt that gets imported from down south is thoroughly tested by the guilds before it''s allowed to be sold, and despite what you might think there isn''t a whole lot of money in selling cursed salt when anyone could just take a boat over and grab some themselves. It''s so much of a non-factor that we''re actually more surprised that this was how he died, rather than traditional poison."


    "¡­Oh," Palmira placed a hand over her heart, using some of the breathing techniques Morte had taught her to calm down. "¡­Sorry. Did you catch whoever did it?"


    "Unfortunately not," Svani shook his head. "We''ve detained all the cooks for questioning, but we expect that to be a dead end. It''s unlikely the assassin would be so obvious."


    "Are you sure they won''t just pick someone to scapegoat and move on?"


    Svani snorted. "Maybe if it had been one of us, but not when it''s an Ambrosi''s life at stake. No, every single person in this damn complex is gonna be interrogated until they find the one who did it, trust me on that."


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    Oh, joy. One more thing to worry about.


    "Look, don''t worry too much on it," Svani sighed, patting her shoulder. "You have probably the most airtight alibi out of all of us, so just do whatever they tell you to and grab your paycheck at the end. Leave the worrying to us people in charge, you just keep doing your job."


    Palmira wasn''t sure she felt comfortable doing that, but she also knew she''d be even worse off getting entangled in whatever Famiglia politics was going on behind closed doors, so she just nodded and quietly returned to her post.


    She just hoped that whatever came next, that this would be the worst of it.


    -<X>-


    ?


    The end of her shift couldn''t come quickly enough. She needed to get away and clear her head, but it became hard to do that when she was forced to spend all her time right next to the very thing she was trying to ignore.


    So once she was free to go she booked it across the piazza, a swarm of hungry drakelings fluttering behind her, keeping the Ambrosi behind her as she prepared for what she was beginning to realize would be a daily thing.


    And as Palmira sat down on the steps in front of a nearby church, swarmed by dozens of drakelings squawking for crumbs, she realized something.


    She wasn''t allowed to return to the guild today. ¨®sma had told her in no uncertain terms to stay away until after the sun had set, and then probably wait a bit longer just to be sure.


    It meant that she had the whole afternoon to herself, but that brought with it some new problems she wasn''t sure how to deal with.


    "I have no idea what I''m supposed to do."


    She swore Morte was giving her a funny look, despite not having a face. "¡­Well, what did you normally do before you joined the guild?"


    "I''d beg on street corners," she replied. "Or I''d sit in alleyways and talk to my fellows."


    "Then why don''t you just do that?"


    A green drakeling jumped up in her face, and she had to take a moment to pry it off and hold it against the ground. That rude little lizard would be getting his bread last. "I mean, I could? But I''m¡­ it''s stupid, but¡­"


    "You don''t want to do things that remind you of that life?"


    "¡­Kinda," she sighed. "And I know I''m not in that much better of a position, but I have a job now! And I get free food and a warm bed and it just feels like¡ªlike I''m not homeless or starving anymore, and I feel like if I tried to talk to them I''d just be rubbing my good fortune in their faces."


    "Personally, I doubt they''d feel the same, but I can see where you''re coming from. That said, I don''t think it''s something you should avoid. Not just for them, but for yourself. Nobody should let themselves forget where they came from."


    She grimaced. "¡­Maybe you''re right. But I don''t¡ªI''ll visit them some other time. Just not today."


    With that said she turned her attention back to the drakelings, only to see that most of them had been fed already. Blinking, she turned to the green one who she''d been holding down and met his wide, sorrowful eyes.


    "Oh," she winced. "Sorry about that. Uh¡ªhere."


    Placing the last lump of bread she had before the green drakeling, she slowly stood, cracking her back as she did.


    "¡­I''m going to wander around the city," she told Morte. "And I''m sure I''ll find something to do out there."


    -<X>-


    ?


    Palmira hadn''t found anything to do.


    It wasn''t for lack of opportunity, really. But most things in the city required coin, much of it worth far more than the few piccoli she had in her pocket. So she begrudgingly passed by restaurants and shops as she aimlessly wandered the streets of Firozzi, searching for anything to take her mind off the day''s events.


    Finally she came to a stop in a small, out of the way piazza. Maybe only thrice as wide as the street she''d just come off of, its only defining feature was the fountain which sat at the center, topped by a surprisingly familiar-looking statue.


    "¡­Huh," Palmira mused, staring up at it. "You know, I didn''t actually believe that Sinbad guy when he said there was a statue of him in this city."


    "¡­Why is he surrounded by statues of babies pissing into the fountain?"


    "What do you¡ª? Oh, come on!" she huffed angrily, stomping up to the fountain. Waving Morte''s staff at the marble cherubs on top of it, she started shouting at them, "Hey! Get, get! Come on, shoo! Stop pissing in the damn fountain, people drink out of that!"


    The marble cherubs fluttered up into the air, blowing raspberries and making rude gestures. She made those same gestures back, lighting Morte''s staff on fire for good measure when some of them hesitated to leave. Once she could finally no longer see their shiny white bums she let herself relax, dropping onto edge of the fountain with a huff.


    "What the hell¡ªoh, gargoyles. I forgot those existed. Holy hell, I thought I was hallucinating for a minute there."


    "Honestly," she grumbled to herself. "This is why every fountain in this damn city needs to be covered. ''Oh but they look so beautiful¡ª'' shut up! The damn cherubs have probably pissed in all of them by now! I don''t care that it''s not toxic, it''s still piss! In the water we drink!"


    "Eh? But they''re so cute!"


    Palmira blinked, realizing she had an audience. Looking to the side, she realized that in her righteous fury at the damn cherubs she''d missed a small¡­ child? Short adult? A small person also sitting at the edge of the fountain. They were incredibly pink, with pink skin, pink clothes, and even pink goggles covering her eyes. The only other color on her was the white, floofy hair which spilled down her back.


    "¡­Cute?" Palmira repeated incredulously. "Cute!? They''re a damn menace, is what they are!"


    "I bet you''re only saying that because you drank cherub piss once and are mad about it!"


    "These fountains are the only places in the city that give out free, clean water! The last thing I want is to have to drink cherub piss just to survive!"


    "Okay, fine, but you don''t have to be so mean about it! Just admit they''re cute!"


    "They are not."


    "Are too!"


    "Are not!"


    "It''s gonna be one of these days, huh?"


    "Why do you even care?" Palmira huffed, tasting smoke on her tongue. "Why do I even care? I don''t even know who you are!"


    "I''m Tintinnia!" the pink girl greeted her cheerfully. "Now admit they''re cute!"


    "I''m Palmira! And never!"


    This went on for a while.


    "It''s the wings," Tintinnia told her, slamming her hands on the table between them. "They''re so tiny! How can you not find them cute?"


    It had started raining after a bit, so they''d moved themselves into one of the small hole in the walls that were always crammed into these piazzas. The one they''d found was halfway underground with barely enough space for an oven and the single table they''d grabbed for themselves. They didn''t even order, as there''d only been one thing on the menu; some type of heavy pasta, meat, and soup combo that the owner had dropped before them in two massive bowls.


    Normally Palmira wouldn''t have gotten anything, but Tintinnia offered to pay and Palmira never turned down free food.


    "They''re covered in feathers," Palmira scoffed, and then yelped and dove for Morte as he slipped off where he was leaning against the table again. Sitting back up, she coughed before continuing her point. "Feathers aren''t cute. They''re¡­ they''re¡­ they''re inefficient! Besides, scaled wings are so much cooler!"


    "Pfft," Tintinnia blew a raspberry at her, by consequence getting some of her soup all over the table. Seriously, that girl had some of the worst table manners she''d ever seen. "Scaled wings are lame! They''re like, the least interesting part of a dragon, you know? Now, if dragons had feathers, then we''d be in business!"


    "You take that back!"


    "You know in your heart that it''s true~"


    Palmira angrily took a bite of her soup-pasta-weird combo. Seriously, this girl had no taste!


    Then the pink girl started vibrating, shaking the whole table (and knocking Morte over again in the process).


    "¡­Are you okay?"


    Tintinnia pouted. "No. That was my boss. Ugh, he''s always so needy! ''Don''t go out on your own,'' ''stay where I can see you,'' ''get that out of your mouth,'' blah blah blah! And then he just uses the worst ways to get in contact with me, y''know?"


    "¡­Sounds rough."


    "Yeah," Tintinnia sighed, before leaping down from the table. "Uh, here," she dumped a bunch of random coins on the table. "That should be enough to pay for it, yeah? I''ve got to head out before¡ª" she vibrated again "¡ªthat gets any worse."


    "¡­Right. Well, it was nice meeting you, I guess?" Palmira


    "Cherubs are still cute, but I agree~" the pink girl waved as she bounced out of the restaurant, leaving the half-eaten bowl behind.


    Palmria stared after her, before turning to finish off her own bowl.


    Somehow, despite that being one of the longest and weirdest arguments she''d ever had in her life, the restaurant now felt lonely without the bouncy pink girl there to talk with. The rain only made it worse, the pitter patter of¡ªwait.


    What happened to the rain?


    Palmira craned her neck, glancing outside. It had stopped raining. When had it stopped raining? "¡­How long did we spend arguing?"


    "Well, if you really wanted to, I''d say you could head back to the guild now!"


    Palmira sighed, rubbing her forehead. "¡­At least I totally won that argument."


    "Keep telling yourself that, maybe one day it''ll become true."


    -<X>-


    ?


    Tintinnia hummed, skipping her way down the streets of Firozzi. Or at least she wanted to, but she was constantly stopped by sudden vibrations that threw her flat on her face.


    "Sinbad!" she groaned as she finally reached the one-eyed paladin, flopping down at his feet. "Turn it off already!"


    The lousy old man glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, before turning back to the reports from his fancy spy network or whatever it was called. He also didn''t turn it off.


    "Sinbad~"


    "Very well," he sighed, waving his hand. "Don''t make me regret this."


    She groaned in relief as the vibrations faded away, before jumping to her feet. "You know I hate it when you do that!"


    "And you shouldn''t be wandering off on your own!" Sinbad scowled at her, giving her his full attention. "Not after what happened last time!"


    "I didn''t do anything wrong!"


    "You killed eight people!"


    "But they were such great material! And I meant this time, anyway!" she crossed her arms, giving him a superior smirk. "In fact, I even made a friend!"


    "¡­What?"


    "Yup!" she smiled, rocking back on her heels. "She had the most beautiful hair¡ªit even started burning when she got mad!"


    Sinbad gave her one of his signature tired looks. "Please tell me you didn''t kill her."


    "Don''t worry, I remembered your advice!" she smiled, pleased with herself. "No dismantling materials where there are witnesses. I think her staff would have called the city watch on me."


    "¡­Goddess, why is this woman starting to sound familiar¡­"


    "Hey, do you think I could invite her over?" Tintinnia asked, giving him her adorable puppy-dog eyes. It hadn''t worked before, but a girl could hope! "I think I could braid her hair into a beautiful whip. Or maybe I could use her heart as the core for a warhammer¡­ And if she brought her staff¡­"


    "Hold on," Sinbad raised a hand. "Before you start coming up with ideas, is she someone who would be missed? Was she apart of any Famiglias? Can she just disappear without somebody knowing?"


    "¡­Well, she did have the Ambrosi''s rose on her armor¡­"


    "¡­Tintinnia, you are hereby banned from harming her. The last thing we need is the damn Ambrosi investigating us."


    "Aw, come on!" she pouted. "Nobody''ll notice! I can be subtle!"


    "You are the least subtle person I''ve ever met."


    She huffed, pouting as Sinbad collected his gear. "Besides," he told her, "we have bigger fish to fry."


    Her eyes went wide, her new friend completely forgotten. "You mean you found him?"


    "I''m meeting with the Gennarelli tonight to learn more, but supposedly, yes. If we''re lucky, then we might even catch him tonight."


    Tintinnia squealed as she followed him out of their little hideaway. Ah, so soon, so soon!


    So soon, she''d finally take her first step towards surpassing even the Ancients themselves!

 Chapter 13 - The Sky Is on Fire and Its Not Palmiras Fault

    The Sky is on Fire and It''s Not Palmira''s Fault


    The days began to blur together as she settled into her new routine. Each morning she''d break her fast in the low light of the dining hall, leaving as the sun rose to begin her shift guarding the Villa dei Ambrosi. Once her shift was over, she''d return to the guildhall where Rana would continue her training, most of which consisted of just repeating the same attacks over and over again until they became instinct. Come evening, she would normally eat her dinner with Lorenzo and Chiara before retiring to her bedroom, where she would dream odd dreams that she''d not remember come morning.


    Before she knew it a week had passed, and she once more found herself standing outside the Villa dei Ambrosi waiting for the moment her shift would finally be over and she could do anything else.


    She''d seen neither the Gennarelli nor Tintinnia again since that day. The latter was to be expected¡ªit was a big city, and the other girl had made no plans to meet up again¡ªbut the first worried her somewhat, as the lady who''d arrived had seemed adamant on entering. She''d asked Svani about it, but the dwarf had been weirdly evasive.


    In the end she just dropped it. Whatever happened, she wasn''t part of the Famiglia in the first place, so she felt it was something she could safely ignore.


    She''d come to regret that attitude soon enough.


    "¡­The arm of the Automata was pretty mangled, but I figured I could hammer out the dents with a bit of elbow grease. I may not look it, but I was pretty good with an anvil back in the day! So I strapped it down¡ªeven detached from the rest of the body, it still wriggled around like worm on a chain¡ªand I started heating it up to make it easier to work."


    Palmira leaned against the cool scale of the walls, staring out over the morning crowd with dead eyes. She listened to Morte''s story with half an ear, wondering if it was possible to learn how to fall asleep while standing up.


    "Of course, that''s when it exploded in my face," Morte continued, talking more at her than to her. "It turns out that oil is flammable! Who could have thought? On the bright side though, that did teach me how to make bombs, so I count it as a win-win. Even if I lost my eyebrows in the process."


    "Hm," Palmira grunted. Her knees began to buckle as she slowly slid down the walls, but a warning cough from Ester forced her to fix her posture. "Do you think you could teach me how to make some?"


    "Oh, heavens no. You spontaneously combust every few minutes! If you want to die, there are less painful ways than keeping explosives on your person."


    "Is that how you died?"


    It was a question asked without thought. Only after the words left her lips did she realize how personal a question that must have been.


    Her breath hitched, and she made to take back the words, but found she couldn''t. Instead she was filled with a sudden¡­ curiosity.


    It was odd, she realized, that this was the first time she wondered how he died.


    "¡­No. My death may have been pointless, but it wasn''t that foolish. I have to believe that much."


    She glanced down at the staff, wondering what his expression looked like beneath cloth that hid him away. Then she remembered he didn''t have a face. "¡­Do you want to talk about it?"


    "No."


    Fair enough.


    Pushing herself off the wall, Palmira began patrolling her section of the wall (which was in reality little more than walking in circles for a few minutes).


    It was as she passed by the gate for the third time that she heard a commotion coming from the other end of the piazza.


    "Goddess damn them," Svani grumbled, waving her and every other guard in sight over to the gate. "What do they want now?"


    Palmira blinked, glancing past the crowds. "Who? The Gennarelli?"


    "If only," the beardless dwarf huffed, unhooking his crossbow. Her eyes widened in alarm at the action, but he just gave her a grim smile. "Look alive, kid. Things might be getting messy."


    With that ominous warning, Palmira tightened her grip on Morte''s staff, staring into the crowd warily. At first, she couldn''t see anything beyond the normal city-goers, but then as the crowd began to thin she saw a group pushing their way through.


    Soldiers draped in silver and blue, armed to the teeth. Leading from the front was a pudgy man in blue silks, pure, seething rage carved into his face. Sewn into his robes was his Famiglia''s crest, six silver circles lined in gold. She recognized it in an instant, as would anyone else in the city.


    It was the crest of the Capparelli Famiglia.


    Palmira felt her stomach drop, as she began to count just how many soldiers the aristocrat had brought with him.


    Still, maybe this was something routine for them? Just some petty posturing between sworn enemies? Hadn''t the Gennarelli done something similar last week?


    Svani grabbed Ester''s shoulder. "Go get Cherven. And anyone else you can grab along the way. Now."


    Ah. That didn''t fill her with confidence.


    There were countless reasons the Capparelli would be here today, and none of them good. They''d been at odds with the Ambrosi for as long as she could remember, and she''d been witness to some less than cordial confrontations between the two Famiglias back when she was on the streets.


    She realized with mounting unease that she was now technically a part of that feud. That she''d chosen a side without even realizing it.


    But surely the Capparelli weren''t going to start something here, right? They were at the heart of the Ambrosi''s territory, in one of if not the busiest part of the city. They wouldn''t be that brazen, right?


    ¡­right?


    People stared and whispered as the Capparelli stormed past, and as if by some unspoken signal, they began to slowly filter out of the piazza. The dozens of market stalls and temporary shops were closed up calmly yet swiftly, and the many restaurants that surrounded the piazza dragged tables and chairs inside, changing the sign on their door to ''closed.'' Parents grabbed their children and left through the nearest alley, moving past city watchmen who surreptitiously made their way closer to the villa.


    Her uneasy feeling only grew stronger.


    Cherven arrived a moment later, and for the first time in her life she felt something other than anger or fear at seeing the spider. Unfortunately, the feeling of relief she might have had seeing him was drowned out by the growing dread that was the army at his back. Following him were pikemen and crossbowmen, mages and priests. Those with ranged weapons climbed atop the walls, while everyone else brought spear and shield to bear at the gate.


    Palmira found herself gently shoved to the back of their group as Cherven stormed by, stopping next to Svani at the front.


    "What''s going on," he hissed, mandibles twitching violently. "Why are they here?"


    "I don''t know," Svani replied. Despite that, though, he looked like he had an idea. "You don''t think it''s¡­"


    "Don''t be ridiculous," Cherven scoffed. "We had him watched all week! There''s no way the horny brat would have been able to cause any more trouble."


    "Still¡­" Svani grimaced. "Signor Juliano is cunning, and after Laurence died, you know how he''s gotten¡­"


    "Uh, Captain¡­?" Ester spoke up, drawing their attention. "I couldn''t help but overhear, but¡­ were we not supposed to let Juliano Ambrosi out of the compound¡­?"


    "¡­what?"


    Svani stared at him, horrified, while the spider legs attached to Cherven''s back drooped in dismay.


    "Fuck," Svani hissed, clenching his fists. "We forgot to tell¡ªhow did we forget¡ª!?"


    "¡­At least now we know why they''re here," Cherven agreed, his voice strangely tight. "¡­Fuck indeed."


    "AMBROSI!" the Capparelli roared, coming to a halt before their small army, red-faced and panting. "WHERE IS OTTONE!? I''LL HAVE HIS HEAD!"


    "Calm down, Francoise Capparelli," Cherven recovered quickly, applying a mask of dismissive calm as he turned to glare down at the man. The perks of being a nine-foot-tall spider-man, he towered over even the tallest human. "I find my patriarch is unlikely to part with his head, but it is even less likely when you stomp into our home demanding it so callously. Speak with that flabby mouth you men are so fond of or leave us in peace."


    "You Ambrosi swore you''d have better control of your progeny," the Capparelli snarled, taking a threatening step forward. Hands jumped to swords on both sides, but nobody drew steel. Yet. "And yet, I find one of your sons violating my daughter! He climbed through her window and took her right in her bed! I would see him punished! And each and every one of your patriarchs gutted like the fish they love to fuck!"


    "Of course you did," Cherven closed his eyes, resigned. "¡­If the boy you are speaking of is the same one I''m thinking of, then I would say violating is a strong word. Considering we first found out about their little tryst when she was caught sneaking into his room."


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    "What she wants is not the issue here¡ªthey are not married, nor would any of our Family approve of their union, and yet he has defiled her in the eyes of the Goddess! She is now damned for Hell, and Juliano Ambrosi is to blame!"


    Cherven''s mandibles twitched violently. "Come off it, Francoise. They''re children. Let them have their dalliances. The Goddess is not so cruel."


    "And what would you know of the Goddess'' words, heathen?" Francoise scowled, taking another step forward. Someone drew a sword, and with a scream of steel-on-scabbard every soldier in the piazza was suddenly armed. "What would you cannibalistic bugs know about the love a father has for his daughter!? My daughter, forevermore shamed, by your patriarch''s very own grandson! If you understood, you would not stand here, in the way of vengeance for me and mine!"


    Palmira''s eyes went wide, and she stepped back in shock¡ªand, perhaps, fear.


    She had not signed up for this!


    But she found herself the only one to back away, as the rest of the gate guards she''d over the past week come to know raised a shield wall before the gate. Across from them the Capparelli did the same, and the piazza she''d once felt so safe in suddenly felt a step away from becoming a battlefield.


    Palmira smelled smoke, and realized that her fingers had begun to burn.


    "You cannot win this, Francoise Capparelli," Cherven warned, quietly. "You are outnumbered and outgunned, standing in the heart of our territory, under the shadow of our greatest triumph. Do not be foolish, Francoise Capparelli. Sheath your sword. Return to your home. Kiss your wife and hug your daughter. Do not waste your life in this fit of anger. There are better days to die than today."


    Francoise Capparelli hesitated. His face was flushed red with rage and his sword shook violently in his hands. But his eyes took in the piazza¡ªthe soldiers standing grimly in front of him, up to the magi atop the walls readying spell after spell, and up even more, at the great skull of Vesuvius, its empty eye sockets staring down at them soullessly.


    His sword slowly began to lower. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth, furious but resigned.


    But then from the distance came the pounding of footsteps. Of hundreds of heavy boots rhythmically slamming against the tiled streets, and the heavy breathing of men and other.


    A wave of people flooded into the piazza.


    From the north Insanguinte mercenaries marched in from the streets, their blood red chainmail and skull-carved axes marking them to any who knew them. From the south marched the most Holy Hospitaller, the all-woman warrior-priests draped in white and red cloth, wielding hammer and stave alike. And from the east marched the Gennarelli and their House Guard, marked with the crest of the Gennarelli, a green star over a blue shield.


    The Gennarelli had returned at last.


    And they had brought with them an army.


    "Ambrosi!" a voice shouted from the head of the Hospitaller, and she realized with horror that she recognized it. Sinbad raised his sword, his one eye staring at them with grim resolve. "By the power invested in me as Pontefice Assente, I declare your Famiglia excommunicated for the crime of conversatio cum daemonibus. Stand down and relinquish your leaders to the Church, lest the excommunication remain permanent, and the lot of you be forevermore damned to hell!"


    Palmira''s back hit one of Vesuvius'' titanic ribs. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she flattened herself against the great corpse, wishing she was anywhere but here.


    "What the fuck did the higher-ups do," Svani hissed, glancing over at Cherven.


    "Something stupid," he growled back. "And likely something stupider, if they managed to get caught."


    "Well," Francoise Capparelli raised his sword, confidence returning to his posture. "It appears I am no longer outnumbered."


    "You don''t have to do this, Francoise Capparelli," Cherven repeated himself, and though his voice now wavered he did not lower his sword. "You don''t have to do this."


    "Oh," the Capparelli patriarch grinned. It was an ugly thing. "I do."


    And then with a roar of rage, he charged, and his soldiers followed behind.


    They clashed, and someone screamed, and Palmira realized a moment later that it was her.


    In the next moment she was blinded, as thick black smoke poured over the piazza. People roared in pain and anger, and then she was nearly thrown off her feet as a hurricane of wind blew away the smoke. Once her sight returned to her she had only a second to regain her bearings, before a Hammer of God descended.


    The earth buckled, the tiles that made up the piazza shattering as soldiers on both sides were thrown high into the air. The rest of the Hospitaller raised their own hammers to follow their sister, but the bones of Vesuvius groaned, and stone and earth and tile that had been thrown into the air suddenly slammed back into the ground with just as much force as when they''d left, burying a few unfortunate souls who''d been unable to get out of the way in time.


    The drakelings screeched and squealed as their perch shook, hundreds of them taking flight as swords and sorcery clashed below them. They circled the piazza high above, setting the sky alight in their panic. The flames dripped to the ground, setting aflame enemy soldiers¡ªbut not the Ambrosi, whose armor was one and all immune to flame.


    (Never again, something whispered in the back of her mind. A memory, perhaps, carved into the very bones of the Ambrosi. For so long as we live, Never again.)


    She felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise, and she looked up to see a cascade of lights pour over her, as magics of all shapes and sizes blasted out from atop the walls into the crowd. She watched the invaders catch fire and freeze and explode and dehydrate. She watched men and women of all races and ages die by the dozens as magic and might clashed in the piazza.


    She wished she hadn''t been here today. That this had been one of her days off, or that maybe they''d attacked in the afternoon. She wished that the Capparelli hadn''t come today, that the Gennarelli hadn''t come today, that the Ambrosi hadn''t done whatever it was that they''d done that brought all their enemies here today.


    She wished that she could bring herself to look away. She wished that she could just close her eyes, and pretend it was all a bad dream.


    "HEY!" someone shouted. She jumped, before realizing it was one of the Ambrosi soldiers, glaring back at her. "What the hell are you doing!? Fight already, damn you¡ª"


    He didn''t get another word out, before her head vanished in a flash of gore, an axe taking its place. An Insanguinte Mercenary grinned proudly, before she was pushed back by a wave of liquid mercury. It grabbed her legs and picked her up, chucking her up into the flaming sky where she combusted among the drakelings.


    "I¡­" Palmira whispered, her voice little more than a rasp.


    "Palmira!" Morte shouted at her, frantic. "I know this is a lot to take in, but you need to move! It doesn''t matter what you do now, but you need to get up and move!"


    Ah. When had she ended up on the ground?


    She stood uneasily, using Morte''s staff to push herself up. The battle raged before her as she did, and even as she stood up she wondered what she could do. What she should do.


    The crowd of soldiers seemed to pulse, and she watched with morbid awe as Sinbad casually walked through the crowd. She had never seen the man fight before¡ªnever even thought of how he would¡ªbut that was the best way to describe what he did.


    He walked forward. And everyone in his path died.


    His back was to her, she realized with an empty sort of detachment. His back was to her as he made his way to the gate of the compound.


    ¡­If she attacked him now, could she win? Could she kill him?


    Without conscious thought, she raised her staff and¡ª!


    She couldn''t do it. The fire came, and it burned and it burned and it burned but she couldn''t do it.


    When she''d been looking for guilds to join, she''d skipped the Mercenary Guilds and Holy Orders. She''d skipped the openings for House Guards and City Soldiers. She''d skipped over them all and looked only at the Adventurer''s Guilds.


    Because adventurers killed monsters, not men. And even if she didn''t see herself as a particularly good person, she didn''t want to kill people. Especially not like this.


    ¡­And she didn''t want to die here for a people she didn''t even particularly like in the first place.


    Sinbad turned, perhaps sensing the staff aimed at his back. His sole eye met hers, and it was like he was staring into her very soul.


    She lowered her staff, and snuffed out the flame.


    And knowing not what else to do, she turned and ran.

 Chapter 14 - Lofty Ambitions

    Lofty Ambitions


    Palmira ran.


    Her heart pounded in her throat as her burning feet slammed against the city streets. She just barely remembered to hold onto Morte''s staff (or maybe she''d just forgotten to drop it), her knuckles white from how tightly she was clenching it. She didn''t know where she was going and she didn''t care, just that it was away. Away from the fighting and the death.


    Even now she could still hear the explosions in the distance, see the flames that lit up the sky. The city had bunkered down to wait out the storm, shopkeepers closing their doors early and commuters deserting the streets. Even the beggars and criminals were gone, hiding away in alleys praying the fighting didn''t come to them.


    Palmira ran past them all. She ran and ran until she couldn''t run anymore, scraping her knees as she fell to the ground.


    She leaned against the nearest building, greedily sucking in air with every breath. Her vision flickered, and she struggled to keep conscious.


    "Kid? Kid!?" She realized Morte was practically shouting in her mind. "Palmira!? Damnit, answer me!"


    "¡­I''m okay," she croaked, blinking the spots out of her eyes.


    "Finally," he breathed, relieved. "And no, you aren''t. But I suppose no one would be, after that. I sometimes forget you''re just a child."


    She didn''t say anything, focusing instead on catching her breath. As her thoughts calmed and her heart ceased to race, she glanced up, only to freeze as she realized where she was.


    Before her stood her alleyway, the old unused sewer, as empty and silent as she''d left it.


    And she was tempted, for a moment, to forget. To drop her fancy armor and the crest stamped upon it, to return back to that life on the streets. It was hard, and painful, and she hated every minute of it, but after today? After seeing the blood on the streets, the people killing each other, the knowledge that she had a part to play in it, no matter how small?


    Well, the streets didn''t look so bad anymore.


    "We''ll have to go report this to the guild, of course. Don''t worry about getting punished, the old orc''s not the type of person to punish you for something like this. Well, at least not too harshly."


    It would be easy. She could even keep the armor¡ªscratch off the Famiglia crest and she could pass herself off as a travelling freelancer. She''d even be getting paid!


    "It''s the guildmaster who I think we''ll have more of a problem with. He looked like he had a stick up his ass, but hey, I think he''s desperate enough for quality adventurers to let you off with a slap on the wrist."


    Maybe she''d travel to Palunera? No, too much water. Vola? No, Morte would be caught out too easily. Iscrimo? No, too many memories. Maybe instead she should look further south¡ª


    "Still, we should¡ªhm? Hey, kid? You doing okay now? You look like you''re about to puke."


    Palmira nearly jumped, startled out of her thoughts. "Wha¡ª?" she coughed, clearing her throat. "What do you mean?"


    "¡­Oh, nothing much. Just¡­ you do plan on heading back to the guild, don''t you?"


    Palmira hesitated. She wasn''t¡­ She didn''t¡­


    "Well, in the end it''s your decision. I''m just along for the ride, after all!"


    Palmira jolted at that. She hadn''t expected him to just accept her decision¡ªno, she hadn''t even thought to ask, had she? Because he''s just along for the ride, not allowed any choice of his own. Because it''d been so long since she''d had to think about somebody else that she''d just forgotten to do it entirely.


    And that made her hesitate. She remembered, faintly, a birthday party celebrated in the mud. In an abandoned storehouse in a distant city, where three little girls laughed and partied and gorged themselves on apples they''d saved up for weeks to afford. A warmth that blossomed in her chest for the first time since she''d first discovered her fire.


    (She sat in a restaurant and argued with a young pink girl. She rode away from a battle with another one who''s eyes were of crystal. She chose a name, her name, in the crowded office of an old orc.)


    ¡­She didn''t want to leave. It wasn''t much¡ªit was so little, in fact, but that just made her long for what could be all the more.


    How long had it been, since she''d had anyone to care about?


    She turned and ran back the way she came, back in the direction of the Rosa Dominae.


    A bit longer. She''d stay just a little bit longer, and if she still wanted to leave, well¡­


    She''d figure it out later. She always did.


    -<X>-


    ?


    Some time later she burst into ¨®sma''s office, gasping for breath. Once she''d made her decision she''d run as fast as she could back, not wanting to waste a second. Relief and guilt and dread warred within her as she saw him there, sat behind his desk.


    "Palmira?" Osma yelped in shock. He''d apparently been in the middle of a meeting with the guildmaster, as Dante sat in the chair across from him, a pile of papers spread between them. The old orc swiftly stood from his desk, his forehead creasing in worry. "What are you doing back so soon? And why are you out of breath? Did something happen?"


    The guildmaster simply raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms and settling back in his chair, watching silently.


    "They¡­ the Ambrosi, they are¡­" she wheezed, tripping over her own words as she tried to breath and talk at the same time. "Fighting! The Capparelli¡­ the Gennarelli¡­ Sinbad¡ª"


    "Calm down," ¨®sma held up a hand, cutting through her exhausted ramblings. "Breath. Once you''ve gathered yourself, then you can speak."


    "The Ambrosi are currently being attacked by their enemies," Morte took over for her. "From what they''ve said, the Ambrosi are apparently consorting with demons. And one of their scions are fucking a Capparelli daughter. So, you know," he made an explosion noise. "Time for a purge! Of course, being the thoughtful young guildmembers we are, we booked it back as fast as we could to warn you."


    ¨®sma closed his eyes slowly, sitting back down. "¡­When you say attacked, do you mean¡­?"


    Palmira took a deep breath, curling in on herself. "So many people died," she rasped, blinking tears out of her eyes. "I don''t¡­ People were buried alive¡­"


    (The images were seared into her eyes. Fire and earth, countless dying to forces beyond their control. Smoke and ash; the sky is burning; her lungs are filled with stone and she can''t breathe; Mama''s face contorted in fear as the black clouds consume her¡ª)


    "It wasn''t that bad," Morte corrected her calmly. The statement knocked her out of her thoughts more than anything else. She tasted ash on her tongue, and for the first time since they''d met really, truly wanted to smash his stupid little skull on the floor until it shattered. "I''ve been witness to a great many battles for a great many causes, and I can say with confidence that this was at best a skirmish. The Capparelli nobleman only brought a dozen soldiers with him, and the Gennarelli were two third mercenaries. Maybe two hundred people involved if you combined both sides."


    "It wasn''t that bad!?" Palmira coughed, glaring down at him incredulously. "The piazza was practically destroyed as an opening move! People died! In what world is this ''not that bad!?''"


    "This world, unfortunately," Dante grunted, finally joining the conversation. "There''s no way the Gennarelli would have been able to hide it if they were building up to a full-scale civil war. More than likely, this was a hastily cobbled together plan designed to push an objective, though¡­ tell me child, who shot first? The guilds love their posturing and prattling, and there''s no way either side would have risked their position in the city over something as simple as consorting with demons."


    She took a deep breath, pushing every nasty thought she had about everything that had happened today into the depths of her mind along with all the others. Having gathered herself, she gave the guildmaster a play-by-play of the events leading up to the battle.


    "¡­I see," the guildmaster leaned back, closing his eyes. "There wasn''t meant to be a battle at all¡ªthis was a show of force by the Gennarelli, likely to weaken the position of the Ambrosi. They''d bring up their army, wave their weapons around threateningly, and then the Ambrosi would give up this demon they''re hiding and probably a scapegoat or two before everything returned to the status quo."


    "But they weren''t expecting the Capparelli to get involved," ¨®sma continued grimly. "Francoise was always a hot-headed traditionalist, but to think he''d force a confrontation between the Ambrosi and Gennarelli¡­"


    "Depending on how the battle went, he''ll either be praised as a hero or quietly moved out of the city," the guildmaster waved the subject away. "That''s not what''s important right now. Rather, we should be considering how our guild will respond to this attack. We''re the smallest of the three Cadorna guilds, but as the person bringing this information to my father I''ll be given some sway on how to proceed."


    Despite the seriousness of his words, the guildmaster had a self-satisfied look in his eyes. Like he was already planning how to use this to his advantage.


    "Honor would dictate we call back our adventurers to act as a garrison should this escalate to war."


    "But faith would dictate we abandon anyone who consorts with demons."


    "You want us to remain neutral, then?"


    "For now. We should wait and see, at least¡ªif the Ambrosi look like they''ll win, we join with them. If not, we wait until things have quieted down and see what they offer us to hold faith with them. Regardless, the Ambrosi will likely survive this conflict, so let us focus more on what we should do once all of this blows over."


    "Actually, I wouldn''t be too sure about them," Morte cut in. "Far as I can tell, the Ambrosi have lost all standing with the church. They''ve been excommunicated in absentia by a local Paladin, a man named ''Sinbad.'' I''ve met the man before, and while I can''t speak for his character, I can say with certainty that he''s a holy man through and through."


    Both ¨®sma''s and Dante''s eyes widened. "What do you mean excommunicated?" Dante swore, launching to his feet, for the first time looking truly panicked. "The Cadorna are a subsidiary of the Ambrosi! Does that mean those idiots have already dragged us down with them!?"


    "Do I look like I know the ins and outs of church law?" Morte asked rhetorically, before letting out a light chuckle. "I mean I do, but really, what makes you ask the cursed staff these questions? I think you''ll be fine. The Paladin only excommunicated the Famiglia, and didn''t mention anyone else."


    ¨®sma looked less than pleased by that explanation. "But what about Palmira? She was there when the order went out, do you think she''s been¡­?"


    "It''s possible," Morte granted, causing her throat to tighten up. Would she really end up damned for something she didn''t do¡­? "But I doubt it''ll be a problem for long. Tell me, what do you think''ll happen once this all blows over?"


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    "¡­The excommunication will eventually be lifted," it was Dante who replied, looking thoughtful. "Excommunicating so many people for long will only breed resentment towards the church, especially since most of those involved are likely innocent. Instead, it''s meant to put pressure on the Ambrosi, forcing them to bring forth the perpetrators¡ªor at least a scapegoat¡ªand repent on whatever crime they''ve committed."


    ¨®sma scowled. "Still, it''s rather extreme, don''t you think?"


    "Not at all," the guildmaster shook his head. "Not if it''s the Gennarelli making the call. Why wouldn''t they recommend the course of action that would hurt their rivals the most? Even if this excommunication gets lifted by tonight, faith in the Ambrosi will be shot for the foreseeable future. Some of our fellows might even jump ship to align themselves with a less openly sinful Famiglia."


    "Such as the Gennarelli, who were the ones to call them out in the first place," Osma sighed. He got up from his desk and grabbed a book from one of his shelves. It was an old, well-used thing with the city''s crest on the cover.


    "Indeed."


    Slumping back into his chair, ¨®sma cracked open the book, leafing through until he found the page he was looking for. "Right, here''s the list¡­" he muttered, scanning each page quickly. "Anyone important you want to watch out for¡­?"


    "Perhaps another time," the guildmaster shook his head, gesturing towards Palmria. "Not while the girl is here, at least."


    "Ah, right," he slammed the book shut, looking bashful. "Apologies, Palmira. I got so caught up in everything I forgot you were still here. Is there anything else you''d want to ask, before you head out?"


    It was a dismissal if she''d ever heard one, and it put a bad taste in her mouth. She wasn''t sure what she had wanted to gain out of coming here, but it wasn''t this. "¡­Will I have to return to the Ambrosi?"


    ¨®sma''s face soured, and she felt dread pool in her stomach. Surely not. "Unfortunately, we''ve already signed the contract. And you did desert in their hour of need¡ªit was a good thing, don''t get me wrong, I''d rather you alive than dead¡ªbut if we renege on it now, we would¡ª"


    "No."


    ¨®sma blinked, shocked, and Palmira felt something like hope rise in her chest. "No?" he asked incredulously, turning to stare at the guildmaster. "You understand what that means, right!? You can''t just no the Ambrosi!"


    "I can, and I will," Dante scoffed, standing to his full height. Despite the fact that what he was saying should have filled her with relief, something about the look in his eyes unnerved her. "This girl¡ªPalmira, yes?¡ªwill not be returning to the Ambrosi guild. In fact, if we have any other members on loan to their guild, cancel the job and call them back immediately."


    "Wait, what!?" ¨®sma''s eyes widened. "You mean to cut ties with them entirely!? What the hell happened to wait and see!?"


    "What happened was the Ambrosi getting excommunicated," the guildmaster turned and pointed at her. "And getting those uninvolved caught in the crossfire."


    "We''re apart of a damn Famiglia, Dante Cadorna. We are all involved."


    "But the average person won''t see it that way," the guildmaster shook his head at him. "The thought that anyone could get dragged into a war between the great Famiglias just because they belong to a subsidiary of a subsidiary would light a spark of fear in anyone''s heart."


    "That''s not what happened though," Osma rebutted. "And you know the Ambrosi would disavow anything we have to say on the matter."


    "But the Capparelli and the Gennarelli would not. I dare say they might do anything to undermine the Ambrosi."


    "You mean to leverage our enemies against our allies? Have you gone mad!?"


    "Not at all," Dante Cadorna smiled grandly. "I just happen to have caught sight of the bigger picture."


    "You are the third son of the Cadorna," Osma gritted out. "Do not get ahead of yourself, Dante. Even your uncle did not so much as think of what you are implying, and you know what happened to him."


    "Uncle''s sins are not me own!" the guildmaster bit out. "And what of yours! Your brother was a world-renowned hero! Your apprentice the Paladin! And yet here you sit, not even king of your own castle! Death by bureaucracy, a fitting end to The Moonlit Spider!"


    "Is that supposed to be an insult?" Osma spat. "I''ve never wanted for fame or fortune. I am content where I am now!"


    "And that is it! You are always just content! Where is your fire? Your ambition!? Every chance you get to become something more you just let it pass you by!"


    "And you forget your own place!" ¨®sma reprimanded him, a thunderous scowl on his face. "I have no more love for the great Famiglias than anyone else, but I will not see you throw us into a war just to satisfy your own foolhardy ambitions!"


    "Are they really so foolhardy?" the guildmaster threw his arms wide in askance. "Times are changing, ¨®sma. The Capparelli have grown greedy, grasping for more than they can handle and letting it all slip between their fingers. The Ambrosi are losing ground just as fast, and have now even set themselves against the Church itself. And the ones with the most to gain are the Gennarelli, foreigners whose willingness to meddle sees them grow more powerful with each street they take and every Famiglia they flip to their side. The status quo is falling to pieces, and we must carve out our own place lest we sink beneath the waves of those who did."


    "So what plans do you have? What goals!? Or are you just hoping to throw yourself against the tides of change and pray you come out the other end stronger for it?"


    "For now, independence," he waved his hands around the room. "The Cadorna Famiglia is small, but we can stand on our own. If we manage to grab enough likeminded Famiglias to our cause, we might even become formidable. Perhaps, if we grow big enough, our guild could replace the Rodina as the representative of the Adventurers in the Signora."


    "You''re speaking nonsense," Osma scoffed. "Supplant the Rodina? The guild which slew Vesuvius and founded the city? If you want me onside, give me realistic goals."


    "Just because it is a pipedream doesn''t make it impossible. But if you want a more realistic goal, then perhaps a seat on the Signora?"


    "Did you not hear me? I said realistic, not impossible."


    "Hear me out. If things continue as they have, the city will only get more bloody, and with the mercenaries all hired out to fight for the bigger Famiglias, who will protect the common folk? The Arti Minori, the minor guilds who cannot afford to compete with the Arti Maggiori? What if they had a neutral guild to look to, one with adventurers uninvolved with the battles who would protect them and theirs from the bloody wars of the upper class?"


    "And you think they''d vote for you? Or do you mean the equally unlikely chance they''d vote for your father? Because with only one seat on the Signora every five years, I doubt they''ll be too willing to give it up to you."


    "Unless we make that part of our stipulation for helping."


    ¨®sma closed his eyes, exhausted. "¡­It might work. Might. But it''s a lot of risk for little reward."


    "I have more plans, if you''d like to hear them."


    "Maybe later," Osma grunted, opening his eyes. "For now, I believe you forgot about someone."


    He pointed over to Palmira, who''d watched the whole exchange with wide eyes.


    "¡­Ah, right," the guildmaster coughed, straightening his sleaves. "Apologies, you shouldn''t have seen that. Ah, you may leave now," he shooed her away. "And I''ll see your pay for the job¡ªuncompleted as it was¡ªwill get to you by tomorrow."


    And Palmira, not knowing what else to do, nodded quietly and left.


    -<X>-


    ?


    Palmira had wanted to skip dinner that night, but the idea of wasting free food sat poorly with her. So instead she grabbed her bowl and brought it back to her room, dodging question after question about what had happened that morning.


    She didn''t want to talk about it. Not today, at least.


    So instead she forced down her stew (and then forced it to stay down as her stomach revolted against her) and climbed into bed, ready for the day to just be over with already.


    But laying down in the dark had a way of letting the bad thoughts creep up on her, and after today they hit her harder than normal.


    So she just laid in bed, exhausted but unable to sleep, every moment of that morning replaying in her head.


    "Psst. Hey, kid? You asleep yet?"


    "¡­no."


    "Cool! Wanna hear a story? I''ve got this great tale about the time I got into a fist fight with a Velken prince over a bottle of eyes!"


    "¡­Not tonight."


    "¡­Ah, I think I get it. The first time is always the worst. Don''t worry though, it gets easier!"


    She didn''t want to hear that.


    "Do you want to talk about it? I''ve heard that helps with the whole, you know."


    She didn''t, but her mouth moved before she could stop herself.


    "¡­Are you ashamed of me?" she asked quietly, curling in on herself. "I keep freezing up and running away¡­ you claimed to be my teacher and you''ve held up your end well, but I''m doing a pretty awful job at being an apprentice, aren''t I?"


    "¡­Don''t be foolish," Morte scoffed. "You are alive, are you not? Nothing is more important than that, got it? I''ll only be ashamed of you if you die."


    "¡­"


    "¡­It''s not about me, is it?" Morte asked softly. She grimaced and curled in on herself tighter. "Are you ashamed of yourself, Palmira?"


    "¡­I''m so weak," she spat, almost too quiet to hear. "If I had been stronger¡­ If I''d been smarter¡­ If I''d been more¡­ Maybe I could have avoided the conflict entirely. Like¡­ like Sinbad¡ªsomeone so powerful they never fear any fight."


    "Oh, I very much doubt that''s the case," Morte gently refuted her. "Everyone feels fear, even disembodied abominations like me! And you''ve only been in the guild for what, two weeks? Give yourself some more time to grow, before you start feeling so sorry for yourself. Everyone starts somewhere, kid."


    "¡­Grow stronger, huh¡­?"


    "Hm?"


    "¡­Hey, Morte? You said you''d teach me magic, right? Magic that nobody else in the world could possibly teach me?"


    "Aye, I did. But there''s no coming back from that type of magic. Take your first step down that path, and Fate will dog your heels forevermore."


    "I don''t care," she whispered. "Teach me to be strong. Teach me to be smart. Teach me so that I never ever feel weak again. It''s¡­ it''s like what the guildmaster said, right? Where''s my fire? My ambition? I''ve done everything I set out to do, and yet I feel like I''ve accomplished nothing. So please, teach me that magic."


    "¡­Of course, my apprentice."


    And as she finally drifted off to sleep, Morte''s eyes stared into the darkness of the room, the cosmos roiling within them.


    "I just pray you live long enough to regret it."

 Chapter 15 - Do Dead Gods Dream?

    Do Dead Gods Dream?


    There was once a town built upon a river red. This town was small, built by early Man, back when the skies were still Black and the seas still Burned.


    The town had a name, once, but that name was long lost to time. Buried, beneath the weight of the countless lives who came after it. It was never that important, anyway.


    (Never Again)


    One day, a Dragon appeared. It was powerful. So powerful, that with a single flap of its wings, the sky was turned Blue, and for the first time in countless years the Sun warmed the land.


    But it did not flap its wings, for why should it? The Dragon did not need the Sun¡ªit was a being of the Earth, a being of Fire. What did it care for the sky?


    But Man loved the Sun. Man loved the Sky. Man loved Light. And in the Age of Dark, a being capable of bringing back the Sky was Beloved indeed.


    (Never Again)


    The Dragon curled around the Town, and whispered its blessing unto Early Man.


    "Worship me," it whispered. "When I am hungry, bring me food. When I am thirsty, bring me blood. And when I am insatiable, bring me wealth unending. Do so, and I shall return to you the Sky."


    And the townsfolk agreed. For Early Man would do anything to see the Sky again.


    (Never Again)


    And for many years the Town of the Red River worshiped the Dragon as a God. When it was hungry they brought it sheep and fowl. When it was thirsty they fed it the blood of those unwanted and unmourned. And when it was insatiable, they brought it treasures unending.


    But soon their herds grew thin, their undesirables few, and their coffers empty.


    It was okay, though. Their neighbors had wealth enough.


    (Never Again)


    But one day someone new arrived. Men from the south, who clamed the name [____]. With them came armies of Bronze and Steam. They marched on the Town, and demanded their surrender. And in return, they would return to them the Sky.


    The Dragon answered. It melted their Bronze and blew away their Steam. Only a single soul survived, who returned south to warn his home of the Dragon.


    The Dragon did not care. Why should it? Nothing the New Men could do could harm it.


    (Never Again)


    Foolish. It was not the New Men the Dragon should have been wary of.


    For the Townsfolk had grown tired of their God. Of the constant sacrifice. Of the people who starved while their God grew fat. Of the wealth which piled endlessly beneath its feet, unused and uncared for.


    These New Men could return to them the sky. What need did they have of a God?


    (Of all mortals, Men were the most ambitious. It would not be the last time they slew a God. It would not be the first, either)


    (Never Again)


    The next morning, the God demanded its sacrifice. And so the Town brought forth a feast. They smiled pretty smiles and said it was as thanks for defending them against the New Men.


    The Dragon gorged happily. How could it not, when it knew it was so beloved?


    Foolish naivety. For a God should never trust the words of Man.


    (Never Again)


    The Dragon choked. It spat and hissed. It gagged and screamed.


    Hidden within the feast was Black Poison, harvested from the corpses of the Bronze Men. The Black Poison filled the stomach and throat with liquid death. But the Dragon was strong! It was a God! It roared in defiance, turning to burn those who betrayed it!


    Flames licked the Dragon''s throat.


    The Dragon died.


    (Never Again)


    The Townsfolk cheered, and the Girl cheered with them. The Man who presented the meal to the Dragon was named Ammazzadraghi, and he crafted a weapon from the Dead God''s toe. And when the New Men arrived, the Townsfolk welcomed their new lords, and cheered as the Sky was returned forevermore.


    The Girl smiled, feasting in the piazza with the rest of the people. They cheered and they laughed. They carved homes within the God''s corpse and every year they celebrated its death. The Girl celebrated with the Townsfolk. And then with their children, and their children''s children. And for countless generations after that, the Girl smiled and laughed and cheered with the people of the Town and the Castle and the City that followed.


    The Girl did not question this. She did not question why she did not question this. Perhaps she should have. But who would question their own happiness?


    (I will Never be betrayed Again)


    The Dragon was not dead. Its flesh had rotted and its skin had decayed. Its heart no longer beat and its blood no longer flowed. But the Dragon still dreamed. For even a False God such as it could never truly die.


    Vesuvius roared, rising from death. It screamed of rage and anguish, of betrayal most foul. From its rotting mouth poured magma and ash, burying the city in molten stone.


    The Girl cowered. Smoke and ash filled her lungs. And in an instant she followed the rest of the city, buried under the rage of Vesuvius.


    But this was nothing new, was it? The ash, the smoke, the fire. Even as it swallowed her, even as it burned her, the Girl was liberated from her part in the story. The Girl remembered, and the Dream that had replayed a thousand times in a thousand ways broke.


    (She was not supposed to be here. She was not supposed to be here. But her mind was not as solid as it once was, and a Dead God did not care who fell into its dreams)


    Palmira screamed as she burst from the molten stone. Her hands burned as she tore herself clear, out of the black rock that had consumed the city. She gagged and gasped for clean air, but all she tasted as ash.


    But the taste of ash was familiar. It reminded her of her childhood, both of the before and the after. It grounded her, let her cling to herself even as everything around her burned.


    Vesuvius noticed her. How could it not? She wasn''t supposed to be here, and now she ruined it''s crowning achievement.


    (It''s empty, vain desire)


    It drew back to obliterate her.


    And the Sun turned Dark, and even the Dragon paused as Something arrived.


    "Shh, child," a woman whispered, arms wrapping softly around her. "It is only a dream."


    That made sense. Looking around, this was obviously a dream. But the dragon stared down at her anyway, so angry. An anger that transcended dreams and death. An anger that had burned for thousands of years.


    This was a dream. But she did not feel any safer.


    "I see," the woman whispered. "You''ve been touched by the Ancient King. Oh Vesuvius, your rage unending. A Tyrant slain through Sin and Suffering."


    Vesuvius roared, and her soul shuddered.


    "Oh Vesuvius," the woman continued, her voice soft, yet it clear to all. "Calm thyself. What is before you is an innocent child. Save your rage for those who deserve it, and return to your slumber forevermore."


    Vesuvius no longer roared, but continued to glare down at them, teeth bared and pulsing with magma. It wanted to end them both, but even it knew its limits.


    (Two Dead Gods warred in the mind of a Mortal. And the Mortal suffered, but their mind had been long since reinforced by Something else. So despite the fact she should be dead, the Mortal lived regardless)


    "Oh Vesuvius," the woman finished. "Return to your quietude. Let go of your rage and ruin. All whom you hate so are long dead¡ªas you are. As I am. Let us remain so, shall we? The child is innocent¡ªlet her return to her own mind."


    Vesuvius snarled, but turned its back. The Dead God returned to destroying Firozzi, and the woman holding her let out a breath of relief.


    "Finally," she sighed. "I suppose even that one would mellow out after so many years."


    Palmira blinked, and suddenly they were nowhere. All that remained was the woman who held her in her arms, and the dark sun burning overhead.


    "I apologize that your Teacher was not here to protect you," she whispered softly. "But he is busy in the world of the living. Had he known what you were going through, I imagine he would have stepped in long ago."


    "¡­What was that?" Palmira croaked, tears burning in her eyes. "What just happened?"


    "¡­You had a bad dream," the woman replied at last. "Your allies awoke the ancient pact, if only for a moment, and by consequence you obtained the attention of something you should have never encountered. But from now on, it will be nothing more than a bad dream."


    "Will I forget it, like all the others?"


    "Do you want to forget it?"


    "¡­No. I want to remember."


    "Ah. You''ll regret that."


    "I know. But I''ll regret not knowing more."


    "Fair enough," the woman smiled, and for a moment Palmira was struck by it. Her smile was warmth and forgiveness and purity and love unending. "Don''t tell your Teacher I was here, will you? He''ll accuse me of poaching his apprentice."


    "¡­You didn''t teach me anything, though?"


    "Haven''t I?" she raised an eyebrow. "Ah, but I suppose you aren''t learned enough to understand yet. Don''t worry though, with someone like Him on your side, you''ll learn soon enough. I suppose we can only hope you won''t end up regretting it."


    Palmira said nothing, but hugged the woman tighter. Something told her she wouldn''t see her again.


    "Now, it''s time to wake up."


    -<X>-


    ?


    Palmira woke up to the sound of arguing.


    "No no no and no! And get the hell out!"


    "Eh? But we''re friends, she''s fine with it~"


    "Like hell she is!" Morte snapped, sounding for the first time genuinely frustrated. "Just because you had one conversation with her doesn''t give you the right to break into her bedroom and watch her while she sleeps!"


    What.


    Palmira''s eyes snapped open, as she finally registered that there was someone else in her room with her.


    Tintinnia''s pink face sat mere inches from hers, smiling from ear to ear.


    "Good morning!" she chirped happily.


    "What the fuck!?" Palmira screamed in return, nearly leaping out of her bed. "How did you get in here!? Why did you get in here!?"


    "The window, duh!" Tintinnia shifted over to the edge of her bed, kicking her feet cheerfully. "You should probably get that fixed by the way. It''d be really easy for someone to break in like that."


    "They''d have to be mad to break into a fucking adventurer''s guild," Palmira snapped, having pressed herself as far against the bedframe as she could. "Like you apparently are! Wait, how long have you even been here!?"


    "A couple hours, unfortunately," Morte answered her, sounding genuinely apologetic. "I''ve been trying to get her to leave for a while. I''m a bit surprised it took you this long to notice, though I suppose after yesterday you probably needed the sleep."


    Palmira jerked. Right, that dream¡­


    "Pfft," Tintinnia scoffed. "Sleep is for the weak. That''s why I don''t do it!"


    "What."


    "Anyways, I wanted to come see you! Sinbad told me about the whole battle yesterday, and I was all, ''Oh noes! My friend is Ambrosi! What if he killed her?'' So I tracked you down to make sure you were okay!"


    Palmira was nowhere near mentally prepared enough to deal with this. "Why didn''t you just come in the front door like a normal person? ¡­Wait, you know Sinbad!?"


    "''Cause I''m not allowed to interact with the guilds at all," Tintinnia huffed, and wow, it turns out her frown is way creepier than her smile. "And yeah I know Sinbad. He basically raised me, after all!"


    "If this is the result of him raising someone, I hope he doesn''t have any other children."


    "Rude!" Tintinnia blew a raspberry at Morte. "But yeah, he''s a pretty awful dad. All he cares about is Goddess this and Goddess that. He tried to make me a nun, you know? Me, a nun!"


    "Well, he is a Paladin¡­"


    "Okay," Palmira, having calmed down a bit, crawled across her bed to grab the other girl by the shoulder. "Okay. So you were just worried about me? That''s the only reason you came?"


    "Yep!"


    "Okay," Palmira took a deep breath. "Thank you, I guess? There were, uh, better ways to go about it, but it''s nice to know you care. I think?"


    Tintinnia went still. Her head snapped to stare at Palmira, and the young pyromancer had a brief moment of fear that she''d said something wrong.


    Then she lurched forward and hugged her.


    Palmira flailed wildly, looking over her shoulder to give Morte a frantic ''Help me oh Goddess help me'' look.


    Then Tintinnia started shaking, and Palmira realized the other girl was crying, which was worse.


    "Uh¡­" Palmira winced, awkwardly patting the other girl on the back. "There there¡­?"


    "Nobody''s ever thanked me before," Tintinnia sniffed, tilting her head up from where it was leaning on her chest. And oh wow her face was way closer than she expected it to be. "It''s always ''Tintinnia why did you do that'' or ''Tintinnia that''s an abomination against man, get rid of it.'' I''ve never¡­"


    Oh, wow, the more she learned about this girl the more certain she was she should stay far, far away from her.


    But unfortunately this girl now knew where she lived and could track her down regardless, so¡­ well¡­ being her friend seemed to be working out so far?


    "That''s it!" Tintinnia jumped up from the bed, inadvertently knocking Palmira over in the process. "Meet up with me later tonight, by that fountain we first met at! I''ll have something extra special for you there!"


    "¡­Huh?"


    "See you then!" she grinned, her earlier bout of tears apparently forgotten. Then with a quiet ''hup'' she climbed up onto the window ledge and leaped right out.


    Palmira stared after her, the shutters slowly creak back and forth after her passing.


    "¡­What just happened?"


    "Hell if I know. Also, she stole your mace."


    "She what!? Hey, wait, Tintinnia! Give that back, that was a gift!"


    Come tomorrow, that window would be fixed and sealed shut. Not that it would stop Tintinnia, but it certainly helped her sleep better at night.


    -<X>-


    ?


    She didn''t end up getting that mace back.


    Instead all her shouting did was wake up her neighbor, who started shouting at her, and then she shouted back, and they had a whole argument and¡ª


    It wasn''t important. Her dream had been forgotten in the excitement of everything that happened that morning, and she ended up downstairs in the dining hall, grabbing her free breakfast from Bettina.


    Sitting down at her usual table (and wasn''t that amazing, that she''d made herself such a space in the guild) she absently picked up a slice of salami.


    ¡­


    "¡­Are you gonna eat that?"


    Palmira opened her mouth, then closed it. "I¡­" she rasped, her throat suddenly dry. "I''m trying."


    She wanted to. She was hungry. But the meat was so pink, and the smell¡­


    She swallowed heavily, her stomach suddenly revolting at the thought of eating anything.


    "¡­I see. Well, why don''t you start with the bread first? Then once you''re settled you can move onto the rest."


    Right.


    Gently placing the salami back on the plate, she grabbed the bread, tearing off a small chunk and slowly stuffing it in her mouth.


    The bread went down easily, thankfully, and she tore into the rest of it ravenously.


    "So how did you sleep?" Morte asked once she''d settled down. "Okay, I hope?"


    She paused. "¡­I was in a nightmare."


    "Ah, that sucks¡ªwait. In a nightmare?"


    "Yeah," she nodded slowly, remembering. It was odd¡ªshe rarely ever remembered her dreams. "It wasn''t my nightmare. It was¡­ I think it was the Dragon''s nightmare. Vesuvius, I mean. I saw¡­ I saw a lot of things."


    Morte swore. "I''d thought¡­ no, it doesn''t matter. I apologize for not being there¡ªI''ve been trying to protect you from these kinds of situations, but once Tintinnia broke in¡­ I suppose I''ve been growing complacent."


    Her eyes darted to her staff. "What do you mean by that¡­?"


    "Oi!" someone slammed a plate of food down in front of her. "What are you doing looking so gloomy, newbie?"


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Palmira jumped in her seat, snapping her head up to glare at Chiara. The silver-haired girl simply gave her a smug smirk before slipping in across from her, Lorenzo following suit.


    "I was talking with Morte about something," she growled at the other girl. "Something important."


    "Ah, it''s not that important," Morte piped up, sounding far too flippant for how serious he was a second ago. "Spend some time with your friends, we can finish our conversation tonight."


    Palmira grimaced, turning her attention back to her two previous allies.


    They''d both come with much more food than her, as always. It didn''t bother her as much as it used to, she found. Chiara had in front of her a truly decadent platter of fruits, nuts, and cheeses. It made her own meal look pathetic by comparison. Thankfully, Lorenzo had a much more down to earth breakfast of¡­ pickled boar''s head?


    Palmira''s eyes darted to Chiara in askance, but the other girl just shook her head quietly. Best not to ask questions one didn''t want to know the answer to.


    "We heard you were there yesterday, at the whole thing with the Ambrosi," Lorenzo gave her a worried look. Picking up a knife he began cutting into the snout, and she had to bite back a shudder at the off-color juices that squelched out of it. Swallowing to keep her breakfast down, she forced herself to look only into his eyes, before deciding eye contact was too embarrassing and turning to Chiara. The girl was just staring at her with a raised eyebrow, and she decided that the embarrassment was better than whatever emotion that stirred up in her.


    She then realized that Lorenzo was still looking at her, waiting for an answer.


    "Yeah, I was," she jerked her head up and down in an approximation of a nod. "It was¡­ bad. But I uh, got out of there and came back to tell the guildmaster what was going on."


    "I heard about that," Chiara hummed, tossing a grape into her mouth. "He was being especially insufferable tonight, he''s definitely got some new hairbrained scheme cooking. Entitled little shit."


    "¡­Huh?"


    "Chiara is the guildmaster''s younger sister," Lorenzo told her. The newly revealed younger sister scowled as he said that, taking an angry bite of a mango. "She stays with him when he''s in the city."


    "Oh!" Palmira''s eyes widened. She turned to look at the other girl in a new light, before frowning. "¡­Really? I don''t see the resemblance."


    Chiara''s scowl deepened. "We have different mothers," she spoke the words like they physically pained her. "That''s all."


    "Nah, that''s not it," Palmira waved that explanation off, to Chiara''s confused shock. "You''re both mages, of course you look different. What I mean is, he''s got this air of refinement about him, y''know? Like some kinda noble. You, on the other hand, are more like a feral animal that learned how to read. I don''t know if you realized, but back with the hydra you had this huge grin on your face the whole time, like you were having the time of your life. It was pretty creepy. Ah, though I suppose you both have the same sort of smug attitude, so¡­ yeah, I guess I can see it."


    Chiara had a complicated expression on her face, like she wasn''t sure whether to be offended or pleased.


    After a moment she settled on revenge, and grabbed one of her slices of salami, stuffing it in her mouth.


    Palmira glared at the other girl. Didn''t she know that was all she got to eat!?


    Chiara raised an eyebrow, chewing faster.


    Without breaking eye contact, Palmira reached over a snatched a bushel of grapes from the other girl''s plate.


    Chiara rolled her eyes, before turning back to Lorenzo.


    "Enough about me," she scoffed around the meat, further proving Palmira''s point. "Didn''t we come here because you were worried about her? Why are we all about my personal life?"


    "Don''t act like you weren''t worried about her too, Chiara," Lorenzo had an amused smile on his face. Palmira made the mistake of looking at him as he popped one of the boar''s eyes in his mouth like a grape. Ew. "But I suppose you have a point. Are you doing okay, Palmira? I know Chiara here had a bad time after her first kill. She was inconsolable for weeks."


    "Don''t act like you weren''t either!"


    "I was raised by forest nymphs," he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I killed my first man when I was four. But I''ve seen the effects such things have on others. So, Palmira, if you want to talk about it, know that we''re willing to lend a hand."


    Palmira''s eyes were wide as she stared at him. "¡­Um, I didn''t kill anyone? And¡­ and is killing people common in this line of work!?"


    "Wait, you didn''t?" Lorenzo sounded genuinely shocked. "How did you go through the whole battle and not kill anyone?"


    "By running away," she huffed, glaring at them. "Now answer the question, damnit!"


    "Don''t worry about it, newbie," Chiara waved off Lorenzo. "Killing people on the job is rare, if it ever happens. Mostly it''s only if people attack you, in which case it''s self-defense, or if there''s a criminal that is so dangerous the city hires the guild to take them out. But, again, that''s rare, and you can choose not to take those kinds of jobs."


    "¡­Oh," Palmira let out a relieved breath, calming down. "¡­I don''t think I''ll be taking those jobs. After yesterday¡­ I''m certain I don''t want to kill anyone."


    "You might have to," the other girl raised a hand when her eyes snapped back to her. "Yeah, I know, I''m not a huge fan of it either. But this is a dangerous profession, and not everyone you fight''s gonna be a monster. I mean, for all the atrocities he''s committed, the Demon Lord Laurence is still just a man. But if you got the chance, wouldn''t you kill him?"


    Palmira grimaced, glancing down at the table. "I doubt I''ll ever have to fight someone like that."


    "Hey, you never know," Chiara shrugged. "That''s why you have to figure this stuff out now, rather than later. You got a small taste of it yesterday. If that was too much for you, then I''m sorry to say this might be the wrong profession for you."


    Palmira wilted further. This was the only job she''d been able to get. If this was too much for her¡­


    "Hey, hey," Lorenzo smiled awkwardly, waving a hand. "It''s like Chiara said, it''s rare that it happens, and you''re probably not going to deal with it for a long time anyway. Why don''t we move on, eh? I find it best not to dwell on these kinds of things. Hey, how about we talk about my last job, yeah? They had me going to the Arborea Famiglia''s villa out in the countryside. They had an infestation of Murder Hornets, which are like bees but if they were ten times the size and twenty times the aggression. They''d already killed half the Famiglia''s livestock and two of their mages by the time I arrived."


    Chiara squinted at him. "You''re exaggerating. Murder Hornets aren''t that big nor are they deadly enough to kill humans."


    "Ah, but these mages weren''t humans! They were gnomes, which as we all know, are deadly allergic to bees."


    "Oh, now I know you''re messing with me! Gnomes aren''t smart enough to learn to read, much less cast magic! At least try to make your stories more believable!"


    "A drake can''t count past ten, but they breath fire nonetheless!"


    "That is that and this is this! Stop pulling my leg and tell me what really happened!"


    Palmira felt a smile grow on her face, as the weight of their previous conversation was slowly replaced by Lorenzo''s story.


    "I don''t know," she smiled mischievously. "I met a gnome back when I lived in Bocca. He''d spend all day scamming travelers into buying rocks. And if a gnome''s smart enough to scam a tourist, I''d say their smart enough to learn magic."


    "Not you too! I refuse to believe it! There''s no way on the Goddess'' green earth that gnomes can learn magic. It is impossible."


    "Refuse to believe it all you want, but I know what I saw¡ªthree dead gnomes the Famiglia swore up and down were their personal mages."


    "Wait so you didn''t even see them cast magic yet you''re so sure they''re mages? And didn''t you say there were only two earlier!?"


    "Two mages. The last was their valet, who''d hid in the kitchen while his clients got stung."


    "Oh fuck off."


    Palmira giggled. And as she joined Lorenzo in needling Chiara, she felt the worries of yesterday¡ªnot go away, but fade somewhat.


    It felt, if only for a moment, that her problems weren''t as big as she''d made them out to be. And she took comfort in that, if nothing else.


    -<X>-


    ?


    Palmira knocked on the door to ¨®sma''s office, Morte''s staff clutched in her hand. This was the first time she''d come here without being called up first, and it made her a bit nervous. What if he turned her away?


    "Come in!" the rough grating of the old orc''s voice called through the door. "What do you need now¡ªhm? Palmria? Apologies, I was expecting the guildmaster. What can I help you with?"


    She stepped carefully into his office, clenching Morte''s staff tight for support. He''d told her that she wouldn''t be getting her lessons until after the sun set, so she''d come to ¨®sma''s office instead, intent on solving a very different problem.


    "I, um, I have a question for you," she spoke haltingly, nervous despite herself. It was so easy to talk with ¨®sma when he was giving her orders, but why was just asking for something so hard!? "If you have the time to answer, at least."


    "Oh? Does it have to do with yesterday''s¡­ kerfuffle?"


    What an odd way of describing something she was going to have nightmares about for years. "Kind of. You see, with everything that''s happened not just yesterday, but over the past week, I came to realize that I''m now a part of a Famiglia."


    ¨®sma raised an eyebrow, looking a bit amused. "It took you that long, huh?"


    She flushed as she realized what she said. "Not like that! I mean, ah, the Famiglias are all deeply involved in the politics of the city. But I don''t know much about it really, besides the basics of ''Ambrosi against Capparelli against Gennarelli.'' And since I''m now a part of one of those Famiglia, it means I''m involved in all those politics. So, um¡­ I was wondering if you could teach me, since you seem to know all about it¡­?"


    ¨®sma hummed, his expression turning more serious. "I see. I applaud your initiative in educating yourself on these matters¡ªeven our more learned members don''t normally catch to that fact until it comes around to bite them, though I suppose you had a bit of a kick in the teeth yourself."


    "So you''ll teach me?"


    "Unfortunately, I have a lot on my plate right now, as you should be aware from yesterday," he sighed at her crestfallen expression. "Ah, but that doesn''t mean I can''t help you."


    He got up and walked over to one of his bookcases, scanning the titles before pulling out a rather hefty one with a bright red cover. He dropped it in her hands, and it was so heavy she nearly dropped it.


    "Here you go," he tapped the cover. "This is a lexicon of every Famiglia that currently exists in the city¡ªin alphabetical order, so that the Famiglias don''t get huffy over favoritism. Read through this book, and once you''re done, come back and I''ll give you some more advanced stuff."


    Palmira stared down at the massive book with dread. "¡­Are you sure there isn''t any other way to teach me? Maybe you know someone less busy that could help¡­?"


    "Well, I suppose Chiara might be able to¡­"


    Hell no.


    "That said, while I know it''s daunting, it''s not that complex of a book," he gave her a firm look. "Just because a book is big doesn''t mean you get to skip it. A book like this has a lot to teach you, and even if I were to start teaching you politics full-time I''d make you memorize the thing anyway. This isn''t a punishment or just me throwing you a bone to get you to go away¡ªthis is a vitally important book that everyone in the guild should have memorized. ¡­At the very least, it should be more than just me and the guildmaster."


    "Well¡­ I mean¡­ It''s just¡­"


    ¨®sma''s brow furrowed at her stammering, before his eyes suddenly widened in understanding. "¡­Oh. I apologize, that was inconsiderate of me. I didn''t realize you don''t know how to read."


    Palmira felt the tips of her ears ignite in embarrassment. "I can read," she bit out defensively. She hadn''t put so much work into learning the skill just to have someone think she couldn''t! "It''s just¡­ it''s been a while, and sometimes the letters are hard to make out, and¡­"


    "Ah don''t worry," Morte consoled her. "I can help you with any of the hard bits. Maybe. Actually, what language is this written in?"


    ¨®sma sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Even if I trusted you to know how to read¡ªwhich I now find myself wondering¡ªI would not trust you to teach this girl anything, for fear of you corrupting her."


    Both Morte and Palmira stayed silent at that remark.


    "But¡­" he sighed, walking back to his desk. Pulling over one of his stools, he dragged it over to his side of the desk. Patting the seat, he gave her a look. "Here. If you promise to read quietly, I can let you study next to me while I work. Just try not to cause me too many interruptions, will you?"


    Palmira, with eyes wide in both surprise and relief, quickly made her way over to him, dropping onto the stool quickly. She cracked open the book on her lap, and felt her nose twitch at the sudden smell of old parchment and ink.


    "Um," she blinked at the mass of pages in front of her. She glanced up¡ªand wow did his office look different from this side¡ªand gave him a pleading look. "Where should I start?"


    Osma frowned, reaching over and flipping through the pages for her. "Here," he grunted. "Start on chapter two¡ªchapter one is just the author covering his ass in case a Famiglia takes offense at the book, and everything before that is just sources and kissing up to his backers."


    "Right," she nodded. Grabbing the book once more, she licked her lips as she stared down at the daunting lines of text. As quiet as she could, she began reading to herself.


    "The¡­" she paused again as she realized she couldn''t read the first damn sentence. Mortified, she awkwardly grabbed ¨®sma''s attention again. "Um, I''m sorry, but I don''t recognize this letter."


    "Hm? Oh, them. I almost forgot about those smug little shits. Ah, that''s the !_Culo Famiglia. The letter at the beginning is an exclamation point, usually put at the end of a sentence to indicate emphasis. It replaces periods, the little dots at the end of sentences. It doesn''t make a sound, nor does the little line at the bottom¡ªthe !_Culo Famiglia registered their name like that so that they''d always come first whenever someone listed Famiglia''s alphabetically. Don''t mind it much, they''re the only ones who did something like that."


    "Right¡­" she muttered, turning back to look at the symbol in a new light. To think there were ways of working the system she hadn''t yet learned. Taking extra care to pay attention to this Famiglia''s exploits, she began again, reading quietly. "The !_Culo Famiglia was founded by Signor Ren !_Culo in the year 1975 P.T., following his sudden influ¡­ um¡­"


    "That''s an x, it makes a cs sound. It''s pretty rare, I doubt you''ll see it much."


    "Right. Influx. Following his sudden influx of wealth in the city of Iscrimo. Despite his ancestors having lived in the city for years, he swiftly relocated to Firrozzi less than a year later, where upon he began running a gambler''s den¡­"


    She continued reading for several hours after that, while ¨®sma worked away next to her. While she''d made several mistakes and had to ask a lot of questions at the beginning, as she continued she slowly began to improve, she soon began to get the hang of it, and by the time she reached ''Ambrosi'' in the book she barely needed to ask anymore questions¡ªat least about the words. She sometimes had problems understanding complex political topics like ''legislation'' or ''inflation,'' but with ¨®sma there she was able to get her answers quickly.


    And so that was how she spent most of her day, slogging through a dense lexicon of Famiglia''s while ¨®sma filed out paperwork next to her.


    Until at last ¨®sma finished his work and, very gently, kicked her out of his office.


    Leaving the heavy book in there, she set her sights on the last thing she needed to do today.


    Meeting up with Tintinnia.


    Somehow, that made her more nervous than even asking ¨®sma to tutor her.

 Chapter 16 - Two Hands Are Better Than One

    Two Hands are Better Than One


    Palmira arrived in the small piazza she''d first met Tintinnia in, wary. She wasn''t sure what of, but after this morning she felt she''d need to be ready for anything when meeting the other girl.


    Luckily, it seemed she''d arrived on time, as Tintinnia was already waiting for her when she arrived.


    The girl sat on the fountain in the center, swinging her legs off the side cheerfully. Behind her, the statue of Sinbad had been vandalized, with the nose having been broken off and reattached to his crotch. These two facts were likely related.


    "Uh, hi," Palmira stepped into the piazza. "You said you wanted to meet up¡ªwoah!"


    Tintinnia had jumped up from her seat the second she''d seen her, launching herself at Palmira and latching onto her with a hug.


    "Oh, you came!" she chirped happily, her goggles digging uncomfortably into Palmira''s shoulder. "I was so worried you wouldn''t!"


    Of course she was going to come. There was no way she was going to see what the other girl would do to her if she didn''t.


    "Yeah? You said you wanted to meet up, and it''s not like I''ve got anything better¡ªI mean, I was free, so I was able to make some time."


    Tintinnia continued to giggle, enough that Palmira was starting to get really worried, before the other girl finally pulled back, her smile so wide it practically split her face in half.


    "I made¡ªhehe¡ªI made you something! As a gift to commemorate our friendship!" she reached behind her back and pulled out something that in no way could have existed there before. "You had a rusty old mace in your bedroom, so I decided to repurpose it into something so much cuter!"


    She practically shoved it into Palmira''s free hand, and so with a strange sense of trepidation Palmira looked to see what the other girl had done to her mace.


    The mace¡ªwhich had once just been little more than a normal hunk of steel and leather¡ªwas now something altogether more horrifying. The head of the mace was now a slanted cube with a large spike on the top. Normal at first glance, until one noticed the eyes burrowed sideways into each face, darting this way and that as its slitted pupils took in the surroundings. Below it the shaft was bound in what she hoped was normal leather painted black, from the end of which a spiked tail emerged, whipping around absently.


    One of the eyes locked onto her and blinked slowly. The tail rose up and gave her a little wave.


    "Well," Tintinnia grinned, leaning in. "Do you like it?"


    And with a grace born of constantly lying to authority figures, Palmira plastered on the fakest smile she''d ever made. "Y-Yeah! It''s very¡­ ah¡­ unique?"


    Tintinnia squealed, lunging at her in another hug. The mace joined in, wrapping its tail around her leg. Palmira repressed a shudder.


    "Oh I knew you''d love it!" the pink girl squeezed her harder, and Palmira mentally begged Morte to do something. Anything. "I spent all day working on it! And then I had to sneak out from under Sinbad''s stupidly perceptive eyes just to get here!"


    "Now hang on a minute," Morte cut in, indignant. "There''s only room for one crime against nature in this party, and that slot''s already been taken!"


    ''Disagreement,'' a new, slimy, yet somehow also posh voice echoed in her mind. ''Our Lady has two hands. Therefore, there is enough space for two crimes against nature.''


    Palmira, already realizing what was going on, closed her eyes in tired acceptance.


    "It can talk!?" Morte exclaimed, sounding at once both shocked and excited. "You gave it a voice!? But the container is so small! How in the world did you manage to fit enough neural pathways in there to allow for any form of complex speech, let alone the ability to create full sentences? And you said you made this within a day!?"


    Tintinnia, who''d looked for a moment murderous at Morte''s earlier comment, snapped back to looking giddy and smug. "It wasn''t easy, you know!" she grinned, crossing her arms proudly. "But I''ll only make the best for my first friend! Admittedly, I cannibalized some older works I had sitting around to make it, but I think the result speaks for itself, no?"


    "It''s damn near miraculous, is what it is! I must be more out of the loop than I thought, if developments like this have been made. Though I do question the need for four eyes. It feels like a bit of a waste, doesn''t it?"


    "It''s not a waste!" she huffed, stomping her foot. "It needs four eyes to make it symmetrical!"


    Palmira felt herself begin to disassociate from the conversation. If she weren''t holding up one of the participants, she might have gone to sit on a bench and let them get this out of their systems.


    "But you could have used two and accomplished the same effect! Then you would have had two spare sides you could have used for other things, like runic circles or more spikes. I understand the want for decoration, but when it comes to things as small as this one you need to conserve all the space you can get."


    "Didn''t you just say my work was miraculous? Why are you being so rude about it now!?"


    "I apologize if I came off as rude," Morte actually, somehow, sounded contrite. "But you should also know to accept criticism when it''s offered! Because, while the mace is an incredible feat of magitech engineering, it is not perfect. There are always ways to improve, and you shouldn''t ignore advice freely given."


    Tintinnia pouted, crossing her arms with a huff. Palmira, for reasons she didn''t fully understand, felt the need to comfort the other girl.


    "Don''t take it too hard," she shook herself, checking back into the conversation. "He does that to me, too. He never focuses on your achievements, it''s always critiquing mistakes with him."


    "Mistakes are important! And understanding what they are and why you committed them is how you grow! If you never acknowledge your mistakes, you''ll just keep making them over and over again."


    "That doesn''t mean you need to keep bringing them up!" Palmira snapped at her staff, shaking him violently. "You could stand to be a little less critical, you know!"


    ''Query,'' the mace''s voice knocked against her brain again, and she had to bite her tongue to stop from throwing up. ''The Maker created Us with the concept of ''a perfect gift for my friend'' embedded into Our very form. Therefore, are We not already perfect?''


    "Look at you," Palmira shook him some more. "You made it sad!"


    Then what the mace said actually registered in her brain, and she felt herself grow a bit touched. ''A perfect gift for a friend?'' Damn, the only other person who''d tried to do something like that for her had been¡­


    ''Correction. We are not sad, We are merely confused. If one is made to be perfect, then is one not born perfect? Or is perfection a feat one must achieve, something that can only be gained after birth? Is the concept of being perfect even possible, or can We only ever exist in a state of ''good enough?''


    Palmira had no idea how to respond to that.


    "Ugh, this is why I normally don''t let them speak," Tintinnia frowned at the mace. "They always start monologuing about morality and the purpose of their existence. They''re all so depressing."


    "Hey, introspection is good for you. Keeps you grounded. Not like there''s much else to do when you don''t have a body."


    Palmira sighed, going to rub her forehead before realizing her hands were full. "Thank you for the gift, Tintinnia," she said at last, somehow actually meaning it. "I''ll be sure to treat it¡­ him¡­ them? Actually, do they have a name?"


    ''Reply. We were not granted a designation,'' the mace told her. ''Does Our Lady require We have one?''


    "¡­You know what? Yes. I need something to call you."


    ''Understood. What does Our Lady wish to call us?''


    "I don''t actually have any ideas," she shrugged. "Morte?"


    "I don''t know. I guess name it¡­ ah¡­ Mazza."


    "Absolutely not," she vetoed the name instantly. "I''m not naming the mace ''Mace.'' There''s no way I can look Chiara in the eye again after I spent so long making fun of her for calling her horse ''Horse.'' Give me a better idea."


    "If you want a better idea than that you need to give me more time! I can''t just come up with cool names on the spot like that!"


    Palmira huffed, not willing to accept that he had a point. Still, she didn''t want to give up just yet.


    Unfortunately, she didn''t get a choice. Before they could continue brainstorming ideas, someone else stormed into the piazza.


    "TINTINNIA!" Sinbad the Paladin roared, marching into the piazza fully armed and armored. "What part of ''stay at home'' do you not understand!"


    Palmira froze. Every part of her body froze, and she kicked into fight or flight mode as the monster which had torn through an army just yesterday stormed up to them. An army that she had been a part of.


    "What are you doing here!?" Tintinnia, for the first time since they''d met, looked something other than giddy and happy. Right now, she looked downright murderous. "I thought you had important political stuff you were supposed to be doing!"


    "I had to leave early, when I realized you had decided to go out unsupervised again!"


    "I''m just meeting with a friend!" she snapped back. "Why do you always assume I''m committing crimes or whatever else you think of me whenever I''m alone!?"


    "You know why¡ªwait, a friend?"


    Sinbad''s head snapped over to her, as though he hadn''t noticed her until this point. His good eye roved over her, widening in surprise before narrowing in consideration. "Ah, you."


    She should have run she should have run she should have fucking run.


    "I remember you," he scowled at her. "You joined the Ambrosi, then? I hope you understand the magnitude of the sin your Famiglia committed."


    "I''m not part of them," she yelped, raising Morte defensively between them. She''d tried grabbing his staff with both hands but forgot she was still holding the mace, and so the two of them loudly clanged together when she tried.


    The Paladin''s eye glanced down at her new crime against nature, before glancing back up at her with an unimpressed look.


    "It was a job!" she blurted out. "Just guard duty, I swear on my soul! I never even entered the estate, I just sat in front of the walls making sure tourist and drunks didn''t get to close! If I''d known what was going on I swear I would never have taken the job!"


    She still did not, in fact, fully know what was going on. But she also was the type of person who preferred living, and placing herself at odds with Sinbad would very quickly make her stop living.


    "Ignorance is no excuse," the Paladin ground out, "The devil has worn the faces of man since the first Sin. When the first men were cast out of Elysium they pleaded ignorance, and yet the Goddess judged them regardless. Sin is sin, regardless of if you realized you are committing one."


    "I didn''t know!" her arms trembled, and she felt tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She didn''t know what else to say. "I didn''t know!"


    "Just say the word," Morte whispered in her mind. "Just say the word, and I''ll help you destroy him."


    Sinbad looked like he didn''t believe her. But as he opened his mouth to deliver his final judgement, someone else stepped in.


    "Hey!" Tintinnia jumped between the two of them with a frown so deep it practically split her face in half. "Stop making my friend cry, you meany-butt!"


    "Tintinnia, what¡ª"


    "Palmira is my friend," the pink girl glared at him. "And that should tell you everything you need to know about her true nature!"


    Wow, if that was her trying to defend her, then she was doing an awful job. Sinbad looked like he agreed.


    "She''s been nothing but kind to me ever since we met! And you know what? That makes her my friend, and you don''t get to touch. My. Stuff!"


    Palmira had no idea where this was coming from, but if it could save her from the wrath of the Paladin in front of her, she''d take it.


    Sinbad closed his eye, looking both frustrated and angry. "¡­Fine. I will partially let her off for now. But that does not free her of the sin she''s committed! If she does not make up for it now, she must do so in the afterlife, and I think we''d both know what she''d prefer."


    "Well I think she''s a perfectly nice person who''s never done anything wrong!"


    Sinbad sighed. "Enough, Tintinnia. The Goddess does not compromise, so you should instead be grateful I''m willing to give your¡­ friend¡­ this much leeway. No, if she wants to make up for her crime, there''s only one thing for it."


    With that he turned back to her, looking over Tintinnia''s admittedly very short head. "Girl, as you may have guessed, the reason I''m in this city is to look into the crimes the Ambrosi have committed. If you want to work towards clearing your own sins, you will help me with this, am I understood?"


    "What? Me? Why!?"


    "You are an inside source, and one they will not expect," he told her. Then, apparently deciding their conversation was done, he grabbed Tintinnia''s shoulder and started dragging her away. "Now I need to get you home. And you, girl, meet me here tomorrow, we''ll go over what you know then. Do not try to flee¡ªI will know if you do."


    "Hey!" Tintinnia growled, slamming her fist into his shoulder (which made an odd clanking sound). "Let go of me! I wanted to talk with my friend today!"


    "And I wanted to get some real work done today. But it looks like we both aren''t getting what we want, huh?"


    The pink girl huffed angrily, before succumbing to her fate. "Urgh! Bye, Palmira, I''ll see you tomorrow!"


    "No you will not!"


    Palmira watched them go with a dry mouth and feeling she''d avoided damnation by the narrowest of margins. Once the sounds of their arguing faded into the distance, she slowly slumped down to the ground, taking deep, calming breaths.


    "You know, I always thought there was something off about that girl," Morte mused. "Now that I''ve seen how she and Sinbad interact, I think I''ve come to a better understanding of what that is."


    ''Disagreement. The Maker is a perfectly normal flesh creature.''


    "Buddy you can''t be older than a day. You''ve met like three people. Just trust me on this, your maker''s not right in the head."


    Palmira couldn''t help but laugh. There was nothing particularly funny, but she just needed to release. And if there was as much sobbing as there was laughing, well, it wasn''t like her two companions would judge her for it.


    "Goddess, I thought I was going to die there," she rasped. "¡­I''ll need to get Tintinnia something nice."


    "Yeah, probably. Hey new guy, what do you think she''d like in a gift basket?"


    ''Query. What is a gift basket?''


    "Oh my new, na?ve friend," Morte replied, sounding absolutely ecstatic. "I have so much to teach you."


    Palmira closed her eyes, letting Morte and the new mace''s conversation wash over her. It was somehow calming, just letting their voices take over.


    "Hey, kid!"


    She jolted, jumping back to her feet. Looking around, she saw the owner of the restaurant she''d eaten at last time hanging out the door, giving her a worried look. "Ya doing alright? Ya''ve been crying out there fer a while now."


    She flushed, the tips of her hair lighting up. "¡­Yes," she croaked, mortified.


    "¡­Ah, well, you hungry? We ain''t busy now, so I''ll give ya half off a bowl if ya want."


    Palmira worked her jaw slowly, before finally nodding. Even mortification at him witnessing her breakdown didn''t beat cheap food.


    So quickly working up the courage, she forced her legs to move, and ate dinner there again. And it was delicious.


    -<X>-


    Following that whole ordeal, Palmira trudged her way back to the guild, hiding her new mace under her shirt to sneak it back into her room. That whole experience had been uncomfortable, but if it was that or getting arrested for another cursed object she''d take the former any day.


    Dropping her mace on the table, she groaned, flopping onto her bed. "Goddess, why does everything just keep getting more and more complicated?"


    ''Query. Where are We?''


    Palmira jumped. For a second there she''d forgotten it could talk.


    "We''re in, uh, my room," she shuffled into a sitting position, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. She shook herself¡ªit was just a mace, what did it matter what it thought!? "It''s not much, I know, but it''s a roof over my head and that''s the most important thing about it."


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    That wasn''t something that could be understated. These days it felt almost a lifetime ago that she''d have to hide from storms beneath bridges and within abandoned buildings. That life wasn''t something she''d ever forget, and not something she''d ever want to return to, but some days those memories felt more like a dream than her own life.


    ''Comprehension. This is Our Lady''s Villa.''


    "Um¡­ I don''t own it, if that''s what you mean? This is just my room."


    ''Confusion. Is Our Lady merely a servant?''


    That question shouldn''t have hurt as much as it did. "I''m an adventurer, not a servant! I just get room and board as part of my perks!"


    ''Further Confusion. Is there a different between a servant and an adventurer?''


    "Well, of course!" Morte chimed in and she immediately leaped over her bed to clamp a hand over his mouth. Unfortunately, he did not need a mouth to speak. "A servant is owned by their boss, while an adventurer is owned by a boss! They''re very different people, you see."


    Palmira groaned, knocking him over. Morte just laughed as he clattered to the floor.


    "Ignore him," she told her mace. "He thinks he''s funny, but he''s not."


    "I am too funny!" Morte shouted from the floor.


    "ANYWAYS," Palmira forcefully changed the topic. "We were in the middle of something before we left, right? I was thinking up a name for you, do you have any preferences?"


    ''Negative. Our Lady may grant Us a designation at Her leisure.''


    "Right¡­" she shook her head. The thing was pretty weird, but what else had she expected? "Mace, mace¡­ what''s a good name for a mace?"


    "I still think Mazza''s a good name!"


    "It is not! It''s like if I named you Cranio or something similar! How would you like it if you''re name was just the first word some random person came up with when they saw you!?"


    "¡­"


    "¡­Wait, ''Morte'' just means death, and you''re a necromancer''s staff. Did you really¡­?"


    "You know what? Mazza is a silly name now that I think about it. Oh, I know, what about ''Peccaminoso?'' It''s got a nice ring to it, don''t you think?"


    Palmira huffed, but let him change the subject. "I think that''s a name that would actually get a paladin after me."


    "Hm¡­" she stopped and took a moment to think. After all the shit she talked to Morte, she couldn''t just come up with something simple and call it a day. She focused on the eyes, blinking guilelessly at her. Then she trailed down to the barbed tail, which almost reminded her of the pictures she''d seen of demons. As she connected those things together, a name formed in her mind, one she felt would be perfect for her new mace. "I''ve got it! I''ll call you¡­ Malocchio."


    The mace blinked three times rapidly, memorizing the name. Then the eye facing her pinched, in something she could only describe as happiness. ''Understood. Designation ''Malocchio'' shall now be applied to Us. We thank Our Lady for her gift. We shall be sure to cherish it properly.''


    -<X>-


    ?


    An hour after the sun had set, Palmira quietly made her way to one of the balconies overlooking the courtyard. She''d left Malocchio in her room, as for now she wanted this to be something between only her and Morte.


    She placed a lantern on the ground, sitting on one of the cushioned benches. It was always weird walking around the villa after the sun set¡ªat this time of night the villa was mostly empty, with the many adventurers having either returned home or crowded around the bar, drinking themselves into oblivion.


    She could even hear them now, faintly. Glancing down from the balcony she could see the glow of the dining hall, the soundings of drunken laughter and cheering coming following with it. The only other person out on the balconies right now was a dwarf across the courtyard, passed out surrounded by a dozen bottles of booze.


    There was a loud smash from the dining hall down below, and suddenly everyone went silent.


    Then with an explosion of noise the drunken adventurers started partying even harder than before.


    Palmira felt her eyebrow twitch. That had better not further delay her paycheck.


    "Are you sure we have to be out here for this?" she asked, giving the dining hall a stink-eye. Someone¡ªwait, that was Anima¡ªstumbled out of the hall, and proceeded to throw up in a bush. The bush then tried to eat her, but with a high-pitched laugh Anima danced around its bites, slipping back into the dining hall. "They''re so noisy."


    "Ah, they aren''t so bad. Just tune them out¡ªthey''re adventurers, this is just what they do."


    She huffed, but nodded.


    "Now, before we begin, I have to ask again," Morte whispered in her mind, serious and somber. "Are you certain this is what you want? I will not judge you for choosing differently¡ªnay, I would even praise you for it¡ªbecause this is not a decision that can be reversed."


    "I''m sure," she nodded sharply. Then she hesitated. "¡­Why are you so adamantly against me learning it?"


    "Because once you start down this path, you will become someone important. If I were to describe it¡­ as you are now, you are but a side character in someone else''s story. But the magic I would teach you is designed to defy Fate. To carve your own place in the narrative. Once I have taught you this magic, you will change from thread to weaver, and I cannot stress enough that there is no going back from that point."


    Palmira frowned. Defying Fate? That sounded heretical, something she absolutely shouldn''t be trying to do. And yet¡­


    Something in her wanted to know. Wanted to take that power for herself. It was the same part of her that had strived to discover the secrets of fire, even after it had destroyed everything she''d loved. It was that small, constant voice in the back of her head, that quietly asked, "But what if you did?"


    Babylon 2:01; As the Goddess decreed, Ambition was the Sin of Man.


    "¡­I don''t fully get it," she admitted. "And maybe I''ll regret it later, but I can''t help but feel that right now, I am weak. When I saw Sinbad in that battle¡­ I felt like he could kill me in an instant. Like I only survived because he let me. And I don''t care about being someone ''important'' or whatever, but if this magic can quickly make me powerful enough to never feel that way again, then I''ll learn it, regardless of the cost."


    "There are no short-cuts to power," he warned her. "But there are powerful shortcuts. Very well, I can''t deny your reasons. Wanting to live a quiet, happy life is impossible if you''re dead, after all."


    She shrugged self-consciously.


    "To begin with, I will tell you of the three styles of Magic I have learned," he began slowly. "They are Necromancy, Divinity, and Cosmology. The first Magic I learned was Cosmology, the study of the Cosmos. The other two were more thrust upon me, but you lack the acumen to dive deeply into either, so we will be ignoring them for now."


    "What do you mean by that? How do you know both Divine magic and Necromancy? Shouldn''t they cancel each other out?"


    "The study of Death and the study of Divinity are not quite as contradictory as you''d think. Both work by bending life to their whims, though in different ways. And regardless, knowing how to do something and knowing how to do it are two very different skillsets. The reason you lack acumen is because of your own humility¡ªyou are neither zealot nor sinner, and so any study you partake into those fields would be paltry at best."


    "But cosmology is different?"


    "Very." She winced at the tone of his voice. He almost sounded¡­ reverent. "The Cosmos are the domain of the gods. To study the Cosmos is to attempt to understand Divinity¡ªnot as a worshipper nor a maverick, but as a scientist. It is the most heretical of studies, to attempt to usurp the foundation of Divinity itself."


    Palmira swallowed uncomfortably, but remained steadfast. She''d asked to learn, even after being given multiple outs. She wouldn''t back down just because the talking skull that declared himself her mentor described it as heresy.


    If she''d had any sense, she''d have left Morte''s staff back in that bargain bin all those weeks ago. But she made her decision, and so here she was.


    "Despite that, however, it is a practice that requires humility. To begin to understand the Cosmos, one must first begin to understand their own insignificance. Lest you go mad in the attempt."


    "Go mad?"


    "Indeed. Greater minds than I have attempted ascension through studying the Cosmos. Yet they have failed, and I have not. Because those who believe themselves great cannot accept the one fundamental truth of the Cosmos: that All Things are Insignificant."


    "What?"


    "Don''t worry about it, for now. We''ll get there," he reassured her. "But first we start small, and work our way up from there. The sky is no longer the limit, my apprentice, but that only means the scale we are working with has become incomprehensibly large. So today, we shall simply do some stargazing."


    "¡­Stargazing? After all that buildup?"


    "Of course!" he snickered at her put-out expression. "What did you think, we''d be jumping straight into crafting galaxies and manipulating dark matter? This is the most Primal of Primal magics¡ªI wasn''t kidding when I said that greater people than you or I have gone mad trying to understand them. So, for now, simply tilt your chin up, and gaze at the stars."


    She gave him a sour look, but rolling her eyes, looked up.


    The night sky was brilliant, as always. It was harder to see the stars in the city compared to the countryside, but they weren''t invisible by any means. The moon hung directly overhead, merely a sliver of a crescent, from which the glowing angel threads flowed across its dark side. If she squinted, she could even see the faint trail of the silver river snaking between the stars.


    "What do you see?" his voice whispered in her mind.


    "I see¡­ stars?"


    He sighed. "Yes, yes, stars. I forget sometimes how practical you are. You remember my first lesson, about the three P''s? We''re working with Philosophy today, so treat it like you would your fire¡ªdon''t be quite so literal about it."


    She frowned. Her eyes traced the stars, but no revelation came to her. She supposed that made sense¡ªshe was starting from scratch here, not working with what she already knew¡ªbut it still irked her. That Morte could endlessly wax poetic while she struggled to cobble together a simple metaphor.


    She supposed that was what made him the master, and her the apprentice.


    She shook her head. She was distracting herself. This was a lesson on powerful magics, she shouldn''t be expecting to get it on the first attempt.


    Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself down, and stopped trying to force it. Instead she simply gazed up at the stars, appreciating their beauty.


    She traced the constellations with her eyes, distant memories of her father teaching her them back when she was young. Exsecrabilis the Watcher hung low over the roof of the guild, his stolen eye marked by the red star Domum. She saw one half of the Gates of Elysium peaking over the roof, its faint blue glow mesmerizing as always. And as her eyes drifted to Exul the Herald, whose raised torch marked the North Star, she realized something.


    "The stars tell stories."


    "Oh?"


    "I was looking at the constellations," she told him, her eyes not leaving the sky. "And I realized that they all have names. Even if I don''t know them all off the top of my head, they still exist. People tell stories about the stars, and so in turn the stars tell stories."


    "Ah, so that''s what you focused on. Interesting. Well, I suppose that''s a good a place to start as any. Since you''ve brought it up, how well do you know them? Which constellations do you see right now?"


    "I was taught the important ones, when I was younger." She raised a hand, pointing out the ones currently visible. "There''s Exul the Herald, who led ancient Man on the Long March across the Starlight Sea. His torch always points North. Then there''s the Heart of Agnus, which was placed in the sky after Agnus the Pure sacrificed herself to appease the Goddess after the Cardinal Sin. Exsecrabilis, who stole the eye of an angel and with it saw first the creation of the world and then its end. Iespes, the mother of Exul, and her ship Occasio, who were the first humans to discover Eora. And Antiqua Proelii, which is just a bird I think."


    There were others her father had taught her, but some weren''t visible tonight, and others were only visible in the Spring.


    "Oh? Antiqua Proelii is just a bird, is it?"


    "Is it not? That''s what my father taught me. It, uh, fled to the heavens after stealing the Demon King''s horn, I think? Or was it his ear¡­?"


    "Hm, no no. That''s not wrong, per se, I suppose I just was taught a different story. Do you know any of the others up there?"


    "Not really. My father only taught me the important ones. To tell the truth, I don''t think he knew many others."


    "That''s quite the arsenal in and of itself. Did he have an interest in the stars?"


    "Uh, maybe? I think it was more of a hobby, but¡­ he¡­"


    She trailed off. Her chest grew tight, and she turned back to the sky.


    Morte let the silence linger for a moment longer, before he returned to his lecture. "¡­While I admit that isn''t the first connection I made, I feel I can work well with it. ''The stars tell stories,'' huh? Yes, that''s as good a core to work off as any other. Very well then! My first question for you, my young apprentice, is thus¡ªwho do the stars tell stories to?"


    Palmira blinked, shaking herself out of her funk. Then she blinked again, as the question registered.


    ''Us,'' she wanted to say at first, because it was people who told the stories to other people. But she felt he wouldn''t accept that as an answer. ''Who do the stars tell stories to?'' The people who look at the stars? But everyone does that. The people who look for stories in the stars? Or was that still too broad¡­?


    "Ah, I see you''re a bit stumped. Then let me put it another way. Have the stars ever told stories to you?"


    That¡­ no, she supposed they hadn''t, had they? Her father told her the stories, that he learned from his father, who learned from his father, ad nauseum. But one of her ancestors must have learned the story first. Perhaps¡­


    "Is it the people who saw them form?" she asked, frowning. "The people who first saw them ascend?"


    "Is that your answer, or just another question?"


    Palmira huffed. "¡­My answer," she decided on, just to see how he responded.


    "I suppose there''s merit to that answer. If the stories are true, of course. But what if they aren''t¡ªwhat if every story told about the stars are just fairy tales? Pagan myths that survive in our collective memories?"


    She frowned. "But the stars still exist¡ªeven if the stories aren''t real, the stars are. ¡­The stars are real, right?"


    "Hah! Wouldn''t that be a bombshell to drop on you! But no, the stars are real, you need not worry about that. But you''re on the right track. Even if the stories are fake, the stars are real. So what does that mean for the stories?"


    "It means¡­" she furrowed her brow. "If the stories are fake, but the stars are real¡­ maybe that the stories are a little real as well? The stars are real, and if that one part of the story is real, then perhaps more parts are."


    "And¡­?"


    "And that means from there we can use the stories as like, jumping off points. Maybe studying history would help? It might be possible to see which parts of history agree with which parts of the stories¡­ but, wait, would that even be cosmology anymore?"


    "And there we come to one of the core cruxes of the cosmos¡ªin the end, we can only study them tangentially. And what you''ve brought up today are but one manner of doing so. The stars are so much more than what we can comprehend with our pitiful human senses, but that does not make their secrets indecipherable! We shall study the secrets long buried within the stories of the stars, and from there, take another step closer to discovering the truth of the cosmos. One step closer to usurping divinity."


    "Huh¡­" she frowned, considering his words. Then she realized one of them stood out quite a bit. "Wait, ''we?''"


    "Of course, ''we.'' What, do you think I know everything? Hah! It''s only once you''ve mastered something that you truly learn how little you know about it, and that goes double for the cosmos! I''ll be studying the stars till my dying day¡ªthough I suppose that day''s already come and gone!"


    "Oh," she took that in, before lowering her head to the staff. "In that case, I look forward to learning with you, Morte."


    "I do as well, my apprentice," his skeletal smile seemed to nearly glow in the night. "I do as well."

 Chapter 17 - Secrets and Revelations

    Secrets and Revelations


    Palmira stumbled downstairs just in time to catch the tail end of breakfast. Setting her accursed armaments against the table, she began mechanically chewing through her morning meal.


    She''d spent far too long last night learning about the stars from Morte, and now she was feeling the consequences of that.


    ''Query,'' her mace piped up, startling her out of her funk. ''What is that yellow substance you are consuming?''


    "Huh?" Palmira mumbled, glancing down at her hand. "Uh, you mean the cheese?"


    ''Query. What is ''cheese?''


    Palmira blinked slowly, before realizing that this wasn''t a conversation she wanted to have right now.


    "I''ll tell you when you''re older," she blurted without thinking.


    ''Query. How much older?''


    "Uh¡­ Older."


    ''Confusion. We do not understand.''


    "Don''t worry, you''ll understand when you''re older."


    ''Understood. We will accept Our Lady''s judgement on this matter.''


    "You know, sometimes I wonder if life is nothing but suffering and pain. But then I meet someone like this poor fool, and I realize it could be worse! At least I know what cheese is."


    Palmira sighed.


    "Oh hey~" someone slammed a hand against her shoulder, causing her to choke on her cheese. "Palmira! I haven''t seen you in ages!"


    Coughing, Palmira turned to glare at Anima, the dark-skinned woman smiling brilliantly down at her. "Anima," she rasped, taking deep breaths. "You almost killed me."


    "Bah," the woman scoffed, ruffling her hair. Palmira''s glare deepened, and she set her hair alight to get her to stop. Not that she did. Damn water mages and their resistance to fire. "You lived! But enough about that, tell me¡ªis it true you''ve been getting lessons from old Rana?"


    "Uh, yeah?" Palmira gave her a confused look. "For a little over a week now?"


    Anima whistled. "Damn, I knew that ol'' orc liked you, but I didn''t think he liked you that much. How''d he convince the old moth to agree to that?"


    What? Was it really that big of a deal?


    Something on her face must have shown, as Anima rolled her eyes, ruffling her hair harder. "Whatever¡ªif the significance is lost on you, it doesn''t matter much in the first place. Anyway, you hear what the guildmaster''s been doing? He''s recalled like half the guild from our jobs¡ªas if we weren''t broke enough! Honestly, what''s he thinking? Is he trying to tank our reputation!? How the hell are we supposed to find more work when everyone''s gonna be thinking we''re the type to shrink on work?"


    Palmira froze, the memory of ¨®sma and the guildmaster''s argument suddenly surfacing. Anima must have noticed, as she shifted to start leaning on her head. "Hey hey," she hummed, ignoring Palmira as she struggled under the older woman''s weight. "What''s that expression? Do you know something I don''t?"


    "¡­I don''t know what you''re talking about."


    "Really? Because I think you do~"


    "The¡ªthe guildmaster banned me from talking about it!"


    "If he said it in front of his newest adventurer, then it couldn''t have been that secretive!"


    "I¡­" Palmira really, really didn''t want to spill anything. She wasn''t confident at all in her position in the guild to so brazenly break a direct order from the guildmaster, but she also realized she wouldn''t be getting anywhere without something to distract the other woman. She cast her eyes around looking for something, before her eyes landed on her new mace, Malocchio.


    Could she¡­? Should she¡­?


    "I¡­?" Anima prodded leadingly.


    "I¡­ I''m meeting with Sinbad the Paladin today!" she blurted, plowing forward without giving herself time to consider the consequences. At least maybe this way, if she died today someone might be able to find her body. "He requested my help with tracking down some demons! And, uh, it''s not like I could say no¡­"


    Anima didn''t say anything for a long moment. Then¡ª "I don''t believe you."


    That was not the reaction she was expecting. "What!? But it''s true!"


    "Look, newbie," Anima gave her a dry look. "I know you''re trying to sound tough, but Sinbad the Paladin is not the kind of person to just pick up random kids off the street and hire them to help with something as dangerous as a demon. I get it, okay, you want to look cool in front of your senior. But you gotta make it sound believable, you know?"


    Palmira spluttered, having expected many reactions but not having expected to not be believed.


    Unfortunately, before she could try to defend herself, someone else intervened.


    ''Indignation. Our Lady does not lie¡ªThe Paladin does indeed require her services. Do not throw such allegations at Our Lady''s feet again, lest We become agitated.''


    Anima slowly turned to stare down at her mace. The mace stared back.


    "¡­You know, I''m less surprised than I thought I''d be," Anima mused, finally getting off Palmira''s head. "I guess it''s less shocking the second time around."


    "It''s not what it looks like!"


    Anima gave her a flat look, and Morte snickered. "Really now, lying right after your dear new partner defended you so vigorously? For shame~"


    The older woman just shook her head. "Well, suddenly I believe your story about meeting The Paladin¡ªif only because I now see how bad a liar you really are."


    "What? Really!?"


    "Well, no," she shrugged, but her eyes never left the mace. "I believe that you believe you met Sinbad. But that doesn''t mean he''s the real Sinbad¡ªthere''s a lot a criminal could gain¡ªand lose, I suppose¡ªfrom posing as someone that famous. Especially someone needing help from a powerful yet na?ve young mage."


    Palmira shook her head. "No, it was the real Sinbad, I swear! I met him before, on our way back from Riposa! He had the eyepatch and everything!"


    "Mhm," Anima nodded, obviously not believing her. "Sure it was. And you said you were meeting with this ''Sinbad'' today?"


    Palmira had a bad feeling about this line of questioning, but was in too deep to think of a way out. "Uh, yes?"


    "Well then," Anima smiled brightly, "I''m certain he wouldn''t mind me tagging along, now would he?"


    "That¡ª"


    -<X>-


    ?


    "¡ªis a horrible idea!" Palmira hissed to her newly appointed chaperone for what felt like the hundredth time. Anima, for her part, merely rolled here eyes, sashaying through the crowded streets like a woman on a mission. "I think he might actually kill me if he finds out I brought someone else along!"


    "All the more reason for me to join," Anima shot back, dragging her along. She''d badgered the location out of the young fire mage before they''d even left the guild, and now there was nothing Palmira could do to stop her from inviting herself along. "There''s no way I''m leaving my favorite newbie to die to some freak in a backalley!"


    "And I appreciate that," she did, really. It caused her chest to warm (she patted out some smoke wafting out from her shirt) at the thought of someone caring enough about her wellbeing to do something like this. "But I''ve been living on the streets for years¡ªtrust me when I say I know what those shady bastards are like. But this is the real Sinbad, and I don''t want you getting either of us hurt by following me!"


    "If he''s the real Sinbad," Anima''s lack of belief in her words was really starting to grate on her. "Then he wouldn''t resort to threats of violence to get what he wants. He''s a Paladin. The Paladin. He''s the goodiest goody-two-shoes around."


    Palmira vehemently disagreed, but found there was nothing she could do to stop Anima''s mission to protect her from imaginary threats.


    Well, okay, it was a very real threat. But it wasn''t the kind either of them could do anything about, so it was something she''d prefer to deal with herself. Like she always did.


    Eventually they made it to the piazza, where Sinbad was sitting impatiently beneath the vandalized statue of himself.


    (Which she noticed had not been fixed, despite the man obviously having seen what''s wrong with it. In fact, it was even more damaged now, as someone had broken off the head and flipped it upside down. They''d also splattered it with bright pink paint, giving her a good idea of who did it.)


    "You''re late," Sinbad scowled, glaring at her. She noticed, with a sort of detached amusement, that Tintinnia had managed to force herself along and was waving happily at her from beside him. "And who''s this you''ve brought with you?"


    "Someone who''s interested in the continued wellbeing of her guildmates," Anima shot back, crossing her arms with a glare. A glare that turned into a grimace as she took in the man in front of them and realized he might actually be Sinbad. Still, credit where it''s due, she didn''t back down in the slightest. "And who wants to keep them from doing stupid shit just because someone powerful coerced them into it. So, who are you, and what do you want with our Palmira?"


    Sinbad, closed his eyes, sighing aggressively through his nose. "I," he gestured to himself and the holy church armor he wore. "Am Sinbad. You might have heard of me. And I require your¡­ guildmate in order to investigate allegations of demon worship in the Ambrosi Famiglia. As it is rather time sensitive, we need to leave now, so if you would let us be on our way¡­"


    "Ambrosi?" Anima frowned, not budging, before her eyes widened. "Wait, is that what all of those rumors I''ve heard are about? Did they really¡­?"


    "Yes," Sinbad bit out. "And as this girl has worked for the Famiglia, she is complicit in the act. Therefore, in order for her to atone, she needs to¡ª"


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    "Atone!?" Anima cut him off, stepping forward and slamming a finger into the shocked paladin''s chest. "What the hell do you mean, atone. She''s like, five. What the hell could she have possibly done that''s so bad you''re forcing her to fight demons to make up for it!?"


    "I''m fifteen!" Palmira shouted angrily, stomping her foot like a five-year-old.


    "You''re five!?" Tintinnia yelped, waving her arms wildly. "But you look so old!"


    The two adults ignored the teens beside them, instead settling into a determined stare down, neither side willing to budge.


    "What guild are you from, woman?"


    "For a paladin, you''re a lot ruder than I''d expected," Anima glared down her nose at him. "I''m from the Cadorna Famiglia, if you must know. You''ve probably heard of us. Or heard us, at least."


    Sinbad''s eyes widened, and with an annoyed scowl he glanced away. Seeming to debate with himself, he finally turned back to her, scowl deepening. "Fine. I will admit her sins are not so large, but that does not mean they are small either. Knowingly or not, she committed the sin of demon worship, and that is not something I can overlook as both a paladin and a member of the faith. Surely you understand that."


    "Not at all," Anima scoffed. She gestured to herself. "In case you couldn''t tell, my Alloli are different from yours. And they don''t force children into wars just because they unknowingly messed up a little¡ªon someone else''s orders, no less. If there''s someone you should be angry at, it''s our guildmaster, not her."


    "You''re a pagan?" Sinbad wrinkled his nose in disgust. "You know nothing of our faith, and yet you think you can lecture me about righteousness?"


    "I damn well can, because it seems unlike you I''ve read your holy book! Trinity 13:17, in case you can''t recall, states that unknowingly committing a sin is redeemable via church service of all stripes! If you''d really wanted her to ''atone'' you''d have sent her to clean the cathedral organ for a year like a normal clergymember!"


    The Paladin scowled, and then scowled further as he remembered the passage and realized she was right. "¡­So it does," he conceded begrudgingly. "However, I still require her services. And¡­ and yours," he spat the words like they physically pained him. "If you would join us."


    Palmira''s eyes widened¡ªshe''d been watching the argument in shocked awe, but seeing Sinbad actually back down wasn''t something she''d expected at all!


    "Really?" Anima raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "After trying to coerce a young girl into fighting your battles you only now think to ask? I admire your balls, if nothing else."


    Sinbad flushed, but straightened his shoulders and looked her in the eye. "I¡­ realize now that my methods were rather¡­ forceful. However, this is something I cannot bend on¡ªthis matter is not only necessary to save countless human lives, it is also something deeply personal to me. Even if it is wrong, I will need the girl''s assistance in this matter."


    Anima still didn''t look impressed. Glaring down at him, Palmira could almost imagine her as a warrior queen, staring down her defeated enemy as he begged for his life. "Tell us what it is, then. Because right now you seem to be saying a lot of nothing. Why should we help you, after what you tried to pull with Palmira?"


    Sinbad closed his eye, seemingly debating something with himself. Finally, after a long moment, he opened it again, and it looked like he''d aged a decade in an instant. "¡­What do you know of the Triumvirate?"


    "Are you bragging?" Anima scoffed. "It''s what people took to calling the three heroes who defeated the Lich-King. You, obviously, the priestess Rosalina, and the Drowned-Man David."


    "Indeed," Sinbad sighed, slumping. "The triumvirate. The three heroes. Hah, what a farce¡ªonly I fight for humanity anymore. The other two have been¡­ corrupted."


    "What!?" Anima''s eyes widened, as did Palmira''s. What did he mean by corrupted? "Why is this the first I''ve heard of it!?"


    "Because the Lady Pontiff demanded we keep it a secret," Sinbad sighed. "I disagreed at first, but she believed that if the common man learned that two of their greatest heroes had fallen to the darkness¡­ well¡­ I imagine it might make the aftermath of the Great Betrayal look like a minor riot in comparison."


    Palmira knew nothing about what he meant by the aftermath, but even she knew of the Great Betrayal. How could she not? It was the moment in which the Black Knight Laurence turned his back on the Hero, becoming a Demon Lord in his own right.


    Even decades later it wasn''t an event easily forgotten, and while the other Demon Lords might have been more dangerous or deadly, none were as hated as Laurence the Traitor.


    "I have been chasing them across the peninsula for some time now, cutting down demon sympathizers and searching for clues on their whereabouts. Recently I learned that David had been spotted entering the city, and I knew that this was my chance. It¡­ it might be my only chance, if¡­"


    He trailed off, and Palmira shared a worried look with Anima. If what?


    "That is part of why I need her help," Sinbad shook himself, before motioning to her. "Not only is she an in with the Ambrosi, she owns a relic of the Lich-King. I had hoped I could recruit her help without tipping her off to the truth, but you are¡­ erg¡­ correct in that I was too forceful. And I¡­ apologize for that."


    "Real heartfelt apology there," Anima scoffed, having recollected herself after hearing his story. But her stance had loosened, ever so slightly. Then something else he said registered. "Wait, Palmira has a what!?"


    She turned to look at Palmira, who was herself staring at Morte in shock.


    "Hah! Well, cat''s out of the bag now!"


    "Morte!" Palmira hissed, shaking him violently. Luckily, she''d discovered that Malocchio''s tail was long enough to wrap around her waist as a belt, freeing up both her hands for maximum shakage. "Why the hell didn''t you tell me that!?"


    "Because there''s a world of a difference between being a cursed staff and a Demon Lord''s cursed staff! And frankly, it doesn''t matter! I''ve no loyalty to him, and he knew it, which is why he dumped me in a chest after making me and threw away the key! Well, it was either that or he was annoyed by my endless puns, but what evil megalomaniac doesn''t love a good pun?"


    Somehow, his blaise attitude reassured her. Morte was still Morte, even during startling revelations about his true nature.


    Also, it made a lot of sense once someone pointed it out. There was no way Morte had been a normal necromancer''s staff.


    She huffed and flipped him upside down. He''d remain like that for the rest of the conversation, as punishment for lying¡ªwell, for not telling her the truth earlier.


    Anima gave her a look, but apparently decided Sinbad was more important right now. She slowly turned back to the paladin, shaking off her shock.


    "I see," she nodded slowly at him. "I understand that what you''re doing is important¡ªhowever, Palmira will not be helping with it. I can send for some backup from the guild, but she''s far to new and young to join on something this dangerous."


    "We don''t have time for you to call for backup!" Sinbad shook his head adamantly. "We''ve already tipped our hand and failed at the first stage¡ªwho knows how long he will remain in the city! We''ve already wasted enough time arguing!"


    "Be that as it may¡ª"


    "Um!"


    The two arguing adventurers paused, turning to look at the person who''d spoken up.


    Palmira, who was even more shocked than them, found herself freezing up under their gaze. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out¡ªnot that she knew what she wanted to say in the first place.


    "I¡­"


    How did she say this? Not just that she wanted to help. But that she felt like she had to. Was it because she felt guilty for running and leaving other Ambrosi to die? Or perhaps her guilt stemmed from helping the apparent demon worshippers in the first place? Was it because she was still worried about her immortal soul, and wanted to remain on the good side of The Paladin?


    Or was it something more primal. The simple knowledge that she could help making her want to help. To claim her own place in the tapestry of history.


    She''d already chosen to learn forbidden magic from Morte. What was this compared to that?


    (Ambition is the Sin of Man. A single drop is all it takes to get addicted.)


    She did not know how to say any of this. So instead, she wet her lips, and¡ª


    "Uh, where''s Tintinnia going?"


    The two older adventurers blinked, before turning to look where the pink girl had been standing. The pink girl who was now blitzing her way down a side alley¡ªa side alley that led directly to the Piazza del Drago, and the Ambrosi''s villa.


    Sinbad''s eye widened, and he immediately ran after her. "She found him!" he shouted back at them. "If you want to help protect humanity, follow me! Otherwise, stay out of my way."


    "What do you mean, ''stay out of my way!?''" Anima snapped back, following him without a second''s hesitation. "Don''t act so high and mighty you damn zealot! Like I could just stand by knowing something''s going down in my home! I''m coming with you whether you want me to or not!"


    Palmira watched their retreating backs, rooted in place in shock. Was it¡ªnow!?


    "Well," Morte asked, neither judgmental nor reproachful, merely curious. "Are you going after them?"


    His voice snapped her out of her shock. And¡­


    She didn''t know. She both wanted and didn''t want to be a part of this.


    And yet her feet chose for her.


    Running after the two other adventurers, flames licking at her heels, Palmira decided that she''d decide on the way.

 Chapter 18 - Wining and Whining

    Wining and Whining


    Palmira didn''t have enough time to regret her choice to chase after the others, as nearly as soon as she''d started running she slammed straight into Tintinnia, who''d come to a sudden halt right at the end of the alleyway. The impact knocked them over, and the two girls fell to the ground with dual cries of pain


    Palmira winced, blinking dust out of her eyes from where she fell. "Sorry," she rasped.


    "It''s fine!" Tintinnia elbowed her cheerfully. "Wow, you''re heavy!"


    Gee, thanks.


    Palmira shoved her hands beneath her, trying to push herself up, only to pause as she noticed something rising from between the cracks in the street.


    She blinked, and a wall of molten bronze suddenly exploded into existence, only a few inches from her nose. Nearly five feet tall and twice as wide, orange bubbles popped and fizzled as the molten metal swirled in midair, blocking the mouth of the alleyway.


    Palmira yelped, scrambling off the much smaller girl, trying to get as far as possible from whatever that thing was.


    Sinbad stepped past her, squinting at it with his good eye. He picked up a loose stone from the ground, before chucking it at the bubbling wall.


    Strands of molten steel launched out and at the pebble, snatching it out of the air and reeling it back in. It sunk into the molten bronze with a quiet ''plop.''


    "Muro del''Inferno," he scowled, glaring at the wall of molten steel like it had personally offended him. "Of course, it would get in our way."


    "What?"


    "It''s the Ambrosi''s second line of defense in case of a siege," Anima clarified for her. "It''s said to sense ill intent towards the Ambrosi, and once activated it blocks people from advancing on pain of death. I''ve never seen it activated though. Well, until now, I suppose."


    Palmira, having by this point put a good few feet between her and the barrier, now found herself morbidly curious, wondering what was going on behind it. Pressing herself against the wall of the alleyway, she squinted, barely able to see through the sliver between it and the nearest building.


    The Piazza del Drago had changed drastically in the few days since she''d last seen it. Shattered storefronts and ruptured stone replaced the once pristine piazza. The merchants and citizens who''d once populated the piazza were now gone, replaced by patrolling soldiers and mercenaries. The Piazza del Drago that she had come to know had been a living, breathing gathering place for people of all stripes.


    Now it was little more than a ruined battlefield.


    Even the Villa dei Ambrosi were different, the ancient black scales that made up the walls of the villa complex now jutted sharply out into the piazza. Patrolling the tops of them were dozens of mages in red and gold, glaring at them from across the no man''s land.


    And as always, above it all, the skull of Vesuvius loomed.


    Palmira forced herself not to look at it¡ªforced herself not to wonder if the dragon was watching her, even in death.


    (Never Again)


    She shuddered.


    "I assume this is what stopped you the first time?" Anima hummed, leaning in close. A tendril of molten bronze shot out which she absently dodged. "I can see why¡ªI think I would have died if that had hit me."


    "¡­No," Sinbad grumbled sourly. "This thing didn''t activate until yesterday. We didn''t even make it to the main walls."


    "Wait, you got pushed back? You!?"


    "Unfortunately, the Ambrosi have been around for a long time. They have enough failsafes in place to stop even me from getting into the heart of their operations."


    "How very humble of you," Anima rolled her eyes. "But that doesn''t answer what they did."


    "They retreated behind their walls and began solely hitting us from above," his scowl deepened with every word he spoke. "Then they brought him out and flooded the piazza, forcing us all back. At that point, the mercenaries we''d brought abandoned us, foolishly declaring that this battle wasn''t worth it. After that, the Gennarelli called the battle off, and I was forced to retreat with the rest of them."


    "Damn," she clicked her tongue. "Well, that''s what you get for using mercenaries. But I suppose now is when you tell us your plan for getting around this defense, then?"


    "¡­"


    "¡­You do have a plan, right?"


    "¡­It is a work in progress."


    "You know, you''re a lot less competent than the stories make you out to be."


    "Be silent, heathen! The Ambrosi aren''t a Famiglia you can just use force to break!"


    "You think I don''t know that!?"


    While the adults argued, Palmira sidled up to Tintinnia, who was now standing off to the side, brushing the dirt off her knees.


    "What are we gonna do now?" she asked, rolling Morte''s staff in her hand. "Do you have any ideas?"


    "I wonder if we could go over it," Tintinnia tapped her chin thoughtfully. With a flick of her fingers, something crawled out of the back of her shirt. It was a mess of wings and feet attached to a rat-like body, which took off into the air without grace, its wings making a ''squap, squap, squap'' sound with every flap.


    Palmira was shocked by how little it shocked her. She almost wished she had it in her to be horrified.


    The abomination against nature flew straight over the barrier of molten bronze, and yet the magical nature the Muro del''Inferno didn''t bother stopping it.


    That''s because a red lightning bolt erupted from somewhere behind it, blasting the abomination to dust in the time it took her to blink.


    The charred remains of the abomination against nature fell into the barrier, where it was consumed by the bubbling metal with a hiss.


    "¡­Maybe we can go under it," Tintinnia hummed, not looking bothered in the least by the death of her Thing.


    The adults stopped arguing long enough for Anima to side-eye the legendary hero next to them. "And you think Palmira could have got you through that?"


    "Enough," Sinbad ground through his teeth, dragging Tintinnia away from the barrier. "The barrier is obviously impassable at the moment. That just means we need to figure out another way around it."


    "No shit!" Morte snapped at the Paladin, his patience finally wearing thin. "We all figured that out within the first five seconds! But unless one of you has an idea on how to get around this mess, then we''re just wasting time arguing over nothing!"


    The alleyway went quiet after his outburst, Sinbad seething quietly and Tintinnia rocking back and forth on her heels. It seemed that nobody had any better ideas than what they''d already come up with.


    Until Anima suddenly sucked in a breath, looking just a little uncomfortable. "I¡­ might have a way in. But its¡­ unreliable."


    "Oh?"


    -<X>-


    ?


    "It should be around here," Anima tapped her chin as she turned down yet another street. "¡­Wait, did I take a wrong turn down the Anselmi¡­? No, no, I''m sure it was this way¡­"


    Palmira gave her a look, wondering if the woman was still hung over. Surely she hadn''t gotten lost in the five minutes since they''d started walking.


    Currently they were less than three blocks away from the Piazza del Drago, down one of the wealthier streets in the Old Quarter. Despite that, the four of them were the only ones out and about. It made it almost eerie, how empty it was. While she rarely visited this part of the city, she''d never seen the city quite so quiet before.


    She heard something creaking above her, and glancing up she saw a young boy peaking out from the window of one of the penthouses. They locked eyes for only a moment, before a maid suddenly yanked him back inside, stress and worry plain as day on her face.


    This must have been worse than she''d thought, if even the wealthy feared leaving their homes.


    "Please tell me you aren''t wasting our time," Sinbad scowled. His shoulders were tense, and he looked one step away from dropping them and storming the Villa on his own. "If I lose this opportunity because of you¡­"


    "Oh come off it," Anima waved him off. "I see it now, right over here!"


    She stopped in front of a large building, great marble pillars protruding from the facade. Carved into the walls of the building were elegant statues, most naked and depicting various acts of debauchery. Ambrosia Dorata was carved into the balcony overlooking the door, decorated with golden inlays and iron roses.


    Morte started cackling, and Sinbad almost seemed to slump, turning to glare at her with dead eyes.


    "Please tell me you didn''t bring us to a brothel."


    "He''ll be in here, hopefully," Anima gave him a cheeky grin, walking past a set of bouncers in full plate. "And if he''s not, then at least we can get a drink on our way out!"


    Sinbad stared after her with a look that wavered between disappointment and resignation, before with a sigh he followed her in.


    Palmira just shrugged and followed, dragging Tintinnia along when she stopped to stare at one of the carvings. The bouncer gave her a nod, which she returned instinctively¡ªhey wait was that Antonio? Wow, small world¡ªand she pushed her way into the building.


    And she froze, at once shocked by the sheer wealth on display inside.


    It was without question the fanciest place she''d ever stepped foot in¡ªor, at least, it was the gaudiest. It was so overdecorated it made the Rodina Guildhall look like a pauper''s hovel. Every square inch of the building seemed decorated with gold and the ceiling was ninety percent chandelier by volume. Booths of gold and black silk lined the walls, each immaculately prepared and attended to by its own personal waiter, who''d replace the bottles of wine without bothering to list the price and who''d bring out ''light snacks'' ranging from decadent deserts to a whole roast duck. Scantily clad men and women strutted between tables, in states of dress ranging from silk undergarments to¡­ chainmail¡­?


    That had to be the least effective suit of armor she''d ever seen in her life.


    Sinbad cuffed the back of her head when he noticed her staring, before grabbing both her and Tintinnia''s arms and dragging them past, over to where Anima was chatting up a bouncer near the back. The bouncer gave her a slow nod before moving out of the way.


    The woman gave them a grin and a wave, Sinbad glared some more, and the group of them were dragged further into the depths of the brothel.


    Up two flights of stairs and past door after door of very loud noises, they arrived at a massive door carved of pure marble, guarded by a single bored-looking guard.


    The guard stood at attention as they walked up to him, but a single glare from Sinbad had him stepping aside with a ''please don''t kill me'' look on his face.


    Sinbad rolled his single eye, before shoving the grand marble doors open and revealing the private room within.


    And what a room it was.


    If the first floor was a decadent display of wealth and lust, then this was just obscene.


    The room took up almost the whole third floor, which connected to the balcony overlooking the street. The decorations were somehow even gaudier than what was downstairs. Gold curtains, gold walls, gold couches, the room was so gilded that she had to squint past the glare from the windows. Clinging to the walls of the room were indoor gardens, arranged in such a way that looked obscene despite being just plants.


    And in the center of it all, draped over the largest couch in a drunken stupor, was the most pathetic looking man she''d ever seen.


    And she had seen a lot of pathetic men.


    "Oh Romilda," he moaned, rolling around on the couch. Nearly a dozen bottles of wine surrounded him, most only half-empty and knocked to the floor. His face was a mess of tears and bile, and with every word that came from his mouth he coughed and cried in anguish. "Oh Romilda! Where are you, Romilda? Ignore your father, your mother, and refuse your name! Or if nothing else, at least give me your love, and I''ll no longer be an Ambrosi!"


    "This is pretty sad."


    She shushed Morte. The scene before them already made her uncomfortable, reminding her of the broken men and women she''d seen in the seedy bars in her part of the city. She didn''t need his color commentary to remind her of that.


    "It''s our name that''s our enemy!" He was practically screaming at this point, flailing back and forth. "You are Romilda, not a Capparelli! What even is a Capparelli? It''s not your hands nor feet, not even¡­ not even your face! Oh, take on some other name! Like¡­ like the name of a rose, of this man! Would that not be so sweet? If I were not me, and you not you, that our families were not us¡­ would that not be so sweet?"


    Palmira grimaced, forcing herself to look away from the broken man.


    Unfortunately, no matter where she looked, she saw nothing but the obscene decadence of the building she was in, and she was reminded of the fact that this man was probably rich enough to buy the Rosa Villa. And that pissed her off.


    She stomped forward, smoke pouring out of her mouth as a surge of anger replaced the pity she felt, and in an act of petty spite she shoved him off the couch with a roar.


    This gilded ass thinks he has problems!?


    The act didn''t really accomplish anything, but it felt good, damnit.


    "Who!?" the young man yelped as he hit the floor. "Who did that? How did you get in here!?"


    Sinbad stared long and hard at the wallowing drunk, before giving Anima a look. "¡­This is who you brought us here to meet? Him?"


    "Unfortunately," Anima sighed, slumping. "Behold, Signor Juliano, grandson of Ottone Ambrosi, and potential heir to the Ambrosi dynasty¡­ drunk off his ass in the backroom of a bar."


    The now named Juliano drunkenly stumbled to his feet with a sneer. "You dare! Whoever you are, when my father¡ªoh shit its Cisse."


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Like a switch had been flipped Juliano jumped up from the floor, a look of fear on his face that lasted until he tripped on his own feet getting up, falling over and slamming face first back onto the ground.


    "¡­You are positive this is the right man?"


    "We''re not here because he''s competent," Anima groaned. "We''re here because he''s one of the only people I know who can get into the Ambrosi Villa uncontested."


    "Really?" Sinbad glanced between the two of them suspiciously. "How do you two even know each other?"


    "We don''t!" Juliano finally managed to stumble back to his feet, waving his hands about wildly. "I''ve never seen this woman before in my life!"


    "He owes me a castle''s worth in gambling debt," Anima rolled her eyes. "And he has yet to pay a coin of it back."


    "I''ll pay you back, I swear! My uncle recently died¡ªI''m sure the inheritance money will be more than enough to cover¡ª"


    "Shut up for a minute," she shoved him back as he got just a bit too close. "We are''t here for that. Not yet, at least. We''re here because I know you''ve got a way into the Ambrosi''s Villa that not even their normal members know about. And don''t try to hide that you do¡ªyou always brag about it whenever you get too deep into your cups."


    He winced, stumbling back. "Wait¡­ you want me to betray my family? My own flesh and blood!? In what might be their darkest hour!?"


    "Weren''t you just complaining about how they won''t let you see your¡­ Randy, was it?"


    "Romilda! My dear, sweet¡ª"


    "Yeah, her. Your grandfather''s against the two of you seeing each other, right? So wouldn''t it be nice if, I don''t know, he was just a bit too busy dealing with all this war nonsense to stop you from sneaking off to see her?"


    "That was¡ªI mean¡ª!" he stumbled over his words. "I can''t! The peasants are one thing, but Grandfather is¡­"


    "How about this," she clapped her hands together, a fake smile on her face. "If you help us, I''ll forgive all of your debt."


    Juliano paused, looking tempted.


    "¡­No," it looked like it physically pained him to deny her, but he shook his head. "I cannot. Grandfather is¡ªI mean, even if I''m not on the best of terms with them right now, I cannot just¡­"


    "Oh come off it!" Sinbad suddenly snapped, barging forward. He knocked both Anima and the guard that tried to stop him aside, grabbing and lifting up the now terrified looking Juliano into the air by his dumb-looking ruffles. "We have given you ample opportunity to cooperate, and yet you continue to waste our time! This is your last chance, boy. Tell us how to get into the villa, or else."


    "I¡­ I¡ªI¡­!" Juliano stammered, flailing in the Paladin''s grip. "My grandfather will¡­!"


    "Come now, Signor," Anima soothed, stepping around Sinbad. "Just tell us and we''ll let you down. Your grandfather won''t need to know, we promise we won''t tell him."


    The boy seemed to slump slightly, before he suddenly straightened, as though he''d suddenly gained a second wind. With a glint in his eye, he declared, "Very well¡ªhowever, I require one thing before I tell you!"


    "Yes, I''ll forgive your debts," Anima rolled her eyes. "Not that I expected you to ever pay those back anyways."


    "Not that, foolish heathen!" he snapped at her, still dangling in Sinbad''s iron grip. "I have transcended beyond such material wants! No, I require you to bring me to my Romilda!"


    "¡­Who is that, again?"


    "My one true love!" he threw his arms out wide. "The most beautiful woman in the world! My Romilda!"


    Anima closed her eyes, sighing. "¡­Fine. Where is she?"


    "The Capparelli Villa!"


    Anima raised her hands to her face. "¡­You don''t mean the Capparelli Villa, do you? As in the villa at the heart of the Duke''s Quarter? The home of the Capparelli Famiglia? That Capparelli Villa?"


    "Yes!" Juliano nodded emphatically. "My one true love! Ah, Romilda, if only your accursed father wasn''t in our way! If only I were not Ambrosi, and you were not Capparelli, then we could love without restraint!"


    Anima screamed quietly into her hands.


    "¡­Can I hit him?" Palmira asked, hefting the crime against nature that was her mace over her shoulder. Tintinnia perked up from where she was standing off to the side, bored. She gave her a thumbs-up. "Just a little? Just enough to knock come sense into the spoiled brat."


    "Don''t tempt me," Sinbad sighed tiredly, before chucking Juliano back onto the couch. The boy coughed, rubbing his neck with half-crazed eyes.


    "So you''ll do it!?"


    "Fu¡ªfine," Sinbad rolled his good eye, looking like he''d rather be doing anything but this. "We''ll take you to see your girlfriend."


    "I want an oath! And oath you will bring the two of us together!"


    "Fine," Sinbad ground his teeth. "I swear by the Goddess that I''ll do what I can to bring you to your lover. Now, how do we get into the villa?"


    "It''s with this!" He grinned manically at them, and with trembling hands he plucked one of his rings from his fingers. Holding it up to them, it looked like the toe of a dragon, curled in on itself. "Only the core members of the Ambrosi are given one of these. When you wear it the city will recognize you as Ambrosi, allowing you access to the villa even when it''s under siege."


    Sinbad leaned down, snatching it from the young man in an instant. Holding it up to his good eye, he frowned. "¡­You are not lying to me, are you?"


    "Lying?" Juliano blinked. "What do you mean? Why would I lie to the man who would bring me my beloved Romilda?"


    "Can I hit him?" Tintinnia asked cheerfully, before looking at Palmira for approval. She gave her a thumbs-up back.


    "Not yet," Anima shoved her away from the lovesick idiot, before stepping up to look at the ring in Sinbad''s hands. "What about the rest of us? Does the ring work for multiple people?"


    "Ah, no," Juliano shook his head. "It only works for the person wearing it. It is a ring, after all."


    "Then what about us!?"


    Juliano shrugged. "You''ll have to find another way in¡ªI only have the one ring."


    "No, this is fine," Sinbad placed the ring on his finger, before muttering a quiet prayer. "Just the one is enough for me."


    "It''s not enough for me, though," Anima scowled at him. "Why the hell did I even come if you''re just going to dismiss us like this?"


    "You didn''t even want to come in the first place," he waved her off. "You and the girl can go back to your guild and do whatever it was you were doing before this. I, on the other hand, will finally be able to settle an old score."


    "Wait!" Tintinnia jumped in front of the Paladin as he turned to leave. He scowled down at her, but she just scowled back, jagged teeth glinting in the low light. "What about me? You promised I''d get his heart!"


    What.


    ''Query. Is she speaking metaphorically?''


    "Considering the age gap, I''m not sure if that would be better or worse."


    "So I did," Sinbad waved her aside. "And I''ll keep that promise. But I never said anything about you having to be there when that happened."


    "Wait, what about Romilda!?" Juliano leaped forward, grasping onto the edges of Sinbad''s armor. The Paladin just kicked him off with a scowl. "What about my love!?"


    "You''ll get your girl," Sinbad shoved him away as the young man tried to latch onto him again. "After I''ve dealt with Da¡ªthe Ambrosi."


    "That''s not good enough! I¡ª!"


    "I will take him to his girl," Anima stepped forward, now just looking tired. "The boy won''t shut up until then anyway. And maybe, on the way there, I can teach him a lesson about making bets he can''t afford to repay."


    Juliano suddenly looked much less sure of himself.


    "Fine," Sinbad just rolled his eyes, stomping out of the brothel. "Now, if there''s nothing else, I will be on my way."


    "Wait!" Tintinnia shouted, chasing after him. "You promised! Get back here you bastard!"


    Sinbad didn''t stop. He didn''t even bother looking back at her.


    Palmira followed after them, unsure what they were talking about but wanting to make sure Tintinnia didn''t hurt herself trying to stop him. Also because she was going to burn this damn place down if she stayed in it a moment longer, and she''d been real good about not doing those types of things lately.


    Once they''d gotten out the front door Tintinnia leaped at Sinbad, trying to tackle him to the ground only for him to easily step out of the way. She spun around with a snarl, the thick leather of her gloves flexing as she reached out to try and grab him. Sinbad just continued walking.


    Antonio the bouncer looked like he was about to intervene, but she grabbed his shoulder and shook her head.


    "It''s out of the building, it''s not your problem," she told him. His fellow bouncer nodded frantically.


    Then she rushed after them down the road to the piazza.


    "Stop, damn you!" the pink girl snarled, jumping in front of him. "Why aren''t you stopping? Why don''t you ever stop!?"


    That, of all things, actually gave the Paladin pause. He turned to look at her, and his stoic face softened just a bit. "Because I have my duty," he told her at last. "And it is a duty only I can fulfill."


    Tintinnia stomped her foot, a murderous look on her face. "That''s so fucking stupid!"


    "To you, it may seem that way," he continued past her, to the entrance to the piazza. "But to me, it is all I have."


    Palmira ran up next to her friend, grabbing her shoulder gently when it looked like she was about to jump after her again.


    "Why are you stopping me!?" Tintinnia snapped, a near feral growl escaping her.


    Palmira flinched, but tightened her grip. "If you go any further the barrier will activate!" she reminded her. "I know you''re angry, but don''t kill yourself over this!"


    Her scowl deepened, but Tintinnia stopped, allowing her to hold her back.


    "I have waited five years for this day," Sinbad whispered, almost too quiet to hear. "I won''t let this chance slip by. Not again."


    Sinbad took a step forward, and the barrier of molten bronze exploded into existence in front of him. He paused, before taking a deep breath and continued forward, the barrier moving out of the way to let him through, before sealing itself behind him.


    Tintinnia let out a wail of frustrated rage.


    Palmira hesitantly leaned over to rub her back. "I, uh, don''t know what exactly is going on, but are you okay? Wait, dumb question. Uh, is there anything I can do to help?"


    "He promised," she sobbed, and Palmira winced as she realized the other girl had tears in her eyes. "He always does this! He promises, and then he makes some stupid fucking excuse to break it. Fuck him! Fuck him to the deepest pits of hell!"


    ¡­Palmira didn''t know what to do. She was in no way equipped to handle this, and it was causing her to begin freaking out in a very different way from how she normally freaked out around her.


    "Psst!" Morte whispered to only her. "Offer her some food! You fleshbags always feel better after filling your stomach."


    With what food, she thought but didn''t say. "Uh, hey," she offered hesitantly, wincing at the thought of spending coin today. "You remember that pasta place we ate at before? Why don''t we go get something there again. My¡ªugh¡ªmy treat. You''ll feel better with some food in you, I think¡­?"


    Tintinnia sniffed angrily, wiping her face. "¡­Fine," she mumbled through her hands. "¡­and I''ll pay for my own food."


    "No, I insist," her instinctive politeness responded before her brain did. Damnit, now she was committed. "I''ll pay, you just work on getting this out of your system."


    "¡­Okay," Tintinnia took a deep breath. "Then, let''s¡ªwait, do you smell that?"


    Palmira blinked, sniffing the air. Huh, now that she mentioned it, something did smell off.


    It was the smell of salt and sand. The smell of the sea.


    The smell of¡­ home?


    "What?" she asked aloud, questioning where that thought had come from. "What''s going on?"


    "¡­He''s here¡­!" Tintinnia''s face suddenly lit up in a huge smile, before it just as suddenly fell, and she turned to look at the place Sinbad had just left with horror. "He''s not here."


    "Oh?" a voice rasped behind her, like waves crashing against the stony shore. "What are two young girls like you doing out here? Don''t you know it''s dangerous right now?"


    Palmira started, spinning around to see who had snuck up on them.


    It was a Drowned-Man, one of the fallen fey. Greenish-blue scales glinted in the morning sun, and red slitted eyes peeked at them from behind clear eyelids.


    "My apologies," he smiled at them, showing off rows of sharp teeth. "I''m aware my appearance is frightening to some. But don''t be alarmed, I mean you know harm. I was actually here for someone else. You wouldn''t have happened to see a young man by the name of Juliano, have you? His grandfather has been rather worried since he ran off, and sent me to collect him, you see."


    Palmira wet her lips, noticing with growing fear the increasingly conflicted look on Tintinnia''s face. She quickly weighed her options, and decided that she didn''t care about the spoiled brat in the slightest. "He went that way," she pointed down the road, hoping Anima would have the good sense to just leave him to his fate. "You just missed him."


    "Ah, damn," the Drowned-Man sighed, shaking his head with a chuckle. "That''s just my luck. Well, I suppose I should chase after him before he gets too far."


    He started walking past them, and she had to physically grab Tintinnia''s shoulder to stop her from moving. She gave her a glance, begging her with her eyes to understand not fucking now.


    Then the Drowned-Man paused, shoulder to shoulder with her. "Ah, I almost forgot," he turned to look at her, red eyes boring into her. She met his eyes, swallowing the smoke threatening to leave her lips.


    He grinned, raising his arm, and pointed at her staff. His sharp claws glinted in the sunlight, uncomfortably close to her face. "You have something that belongs to me."


    And the Drowned-Man attacked.

 Chapter 19 - Waterboy and Firegirl

    Waterboy and Firegirl


    Once, not too long ago, there existed a land to the distant north.


    Across the Feverish Sea, beyond the edge of civilization, rested a collection of mystical islands untouched by mortal hands.


    Supposed travelers to this land spoke in hushed whispers of alien lands and their magical inhabitants. A land without castles nor roads, but fortresses woven of Song and paths Painted upon the sky. Wordswoods which trapped the unprepared in lyrical knots and migrating mountains which hunted their lesser kin. Where seasons were not determined by the cycle of the months, but by wars waged by the Seasonal Courts, the Kings and Queens of Winter and Summer and Autumn and Spring fighting their endless, deathless wars.


    It was a land of Plenty, where none knew hunger nor agony. It was a land of Sin, where Men were kept as cattle by their capricious overlords and sacrificed in horrific rituals to appease arrogant God-Kings. It was a land of magic and whimsy, a land which captured the imaginations of people the world over.


    It was called Albion, the land of the Fey.


    Was.


    That land is no more.


    Now, only the Drowned-Men remain. Their home sunk to the bottom of the sea by the Woman-Serpent, she had done what none before her could.


    She had united the Fey.


    And at the bottom of the Feverish Sea, the Drowned held Court, and in their Undeath agreed on one thing.


    Revenge, with nothing less than the death and desecration of the Demon Edda.


    Alas, if only things were ever so simple.


    (The Fey were always a capricious lot)


    -<X>-


    ?


    Time slowed down as the Drowned-Man''s hand descended. Even still, Palmira could do nothing more than widen her eyes as his claws drew nearer to her eyes.


    But just before he could hit her, a hand grabbed the collar of her shirt and yanked her back, the Fey''s claws just barely missing the tip of her nose.


    Palmira yelped as she fell back on her butt, Morte and Malocchio clattering to the ground beside her.


    And Tintinnia stepped defensively in front of her, a mixture of emotions writ across her face¡ªa dangerous combination of desire and fear.


    "Oh?" the Drowned-Man raised a scaly eyebrow. "You''re defending her? Despite the fact that she''s a rotten, filthy thief? Are you really going to defend someone like that?"


    "What?" Palmira yelped as she fumbled to her feet, clutching Morte''s staff in her trembling fingers. Smoke poured from her mouth as she spoke, and flames licked at her feet. "What are you talking about!?"


    "Fuck off, fish-face!" Morte snapped at the same time, a sneer in his voice so pronounced she could hear it in her mind. "You sold me for pocket change on a street corner! You don''t get to call the person I ended up with a thief!"


    ''Anger. For attempting to harm Our Lady, We shall smash your skull into paste.''


    "That staff belongs to someone else," he continued, either not hearing or just flat out ignoring them. "Not her. This is your last warning¡ªstep out of the way, or I will make you."


    Tintinnia licked her lips, hunger clear in her eyes. "Do I look like I give a shit? I was planning on taking you apart anyways¡ªthe fact that you just tried to kill my friend just gives me a reason to enjoy it."


    With that she shoved her hand forward, her hand doing¡­ something that made Palmira''s eyes water just looking at it. It was like her fingers were digging halfway into something, and yet at the same time they were completely visible.


    Then, she pulled.


    Reality let out a scream as she tore from nothingness a Warhammer of Black Iron. Nearly thrice her size with a hammerhead several arm-lengths in width, it should have looked ridiculous on her small frame. And yet, as she lifted it with such casual ease, the air shuddering with its passing, Palmira subconsciously felt herself taking a step back as a primal fear grabbed at her heart.


    Tintinnia swung her hammer forward, forcing the Drowned-Man back as she brought it to bear. An animalistic grin split her face as she stared him down.


    "So, David the Salt-Tongue. Are you ready to die?"


    Then, surprising them both, David smiled.


    "I thought I recognized you," there was a hint of nostalgia in his voice as he spoke. "Did you create that weapon yourself? ¡­Ah, your grandfather would be proud."


    Tintinnia flinched, and then her face twisted even further.


    "SHUT UP!" she screamed, swinging her hammer at the Drowned-Man with such force that the air around it shuddered. "MY GRANDFATHER IS DEAD!"


    "I''m aware," he sighed, and with a roll of his eyes he caught the haft of the hammer mid-swing, stopping her attack in an instant. "That was not, however¡ª"


    Whatever he was going to say was then cut off as the head of the hammer tore open, revealing slavering jaws and jagged yellow teeth larger than his head. A barbed tongue shot from its depths, wrapping around the Drowned-Man''s head, before the hammer twisted forward like an animal and chomped.


    David had only a moment for his eyes to widen before his head and upper torso disappeared into the hammer''s mouth.


    "Damn," Morte whistled. "Now that''s a weapon."


    But before the hammer could finish the job it was suddenly launched into the air by an explosion of water. Tintinnia tried to curse as she was suddenly thrown off balance, only for her to be cut off by a fist being buried in her gut.


    David, looking not harmed in the least, gave her a disappointed look as she bent nearly in half over his fist.


    Then physics caught up to her, and Tintinnia was launched clear across the street, her hammer clattering out of her hands, snarling and barking from where it fell.


    "As I was saying, that is quite the powerful weapon," he rolled his shoulders, wiping slobber from his face. Once he was clean, he began walking towards her. "But in the hands of someone who cannot use it properly, it is merely a powerful weapon. And I have long since mastered fighting off such weapons."


    Tintinnia wheezed from where she''d been thrown, her face twisted with an almost inhuman level of hate. She struggled back to her feet, but David just continued walking towards her, uncaring.


    At least until a whip of fire slammed down between them, forcing him to stop.


    "STAY AWAY FROM HER!" Palmira screamed, her knees shaking. Regardless, she swung Morte in an arc, the flames tearing down the street and forcing David to take leaping steps back to not get consumed.


    "I don''t really know why you think Morte belongs to you," she took deep breaths, forcing herself to calm down. She threw out another wave of fire, forcing the Drowned-Man further back. "But I don''t care! Morte is my staff, and Tintinnia is my friend, and I''ll burn you to cinders before I let you touch either one of them!"


    David rolled his eyes. "Girl, if you knew the real value of that staff, you''d understand."


    "If he''s really so valuable, you wouldn''t have sold him in the first place!"


    "Ha!" his smile didn''t reach his eyes. "Fair enough. That was a mistake. I won''t be making another."


    Then he snapped his finger.


    And Palmira was underwater.


    She gasped, air bubbles escaping with the sudden shock. The whole street was suddenly flooded, like a small ocean had suddenly appeared in the middle of the city. She tried to move, to swim, to flail, but she could barely move the water, feeling more like she was encased in stone than water.


    Salt water flooded her mouth, pouring down her throat and pushing against her lungs. It was not moving like water, but like a living thing, seeking to drown her as swiftly as possible. She could feel it within her body¡ªspreading and expanding, trying to kill her from the inside out.


    Palmira wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. Memories flooded her mind, and suddenly she was a child again, suffering the day everything went wrong.


    She could not breathe. She could barely see. She was being pressed in on all sides, her body falling to the raw power of the elements¡ª


    And it was cold.


    It was not supposed to be cold.


    Palmira exploded.


    The false sea was destroyed in an instant, as a ball of fire erupted from Palmira, launching the water that did not immediately evaporate high into the air. The street was filled with mist from the sudden change, and what little water remained only reached her ankles.


    Palmira coughed, hacking up smoke and steam, her hands and feet burning even under the water.


    "Well color me impressed!" David clapped from where he had been standing before, unmoved and unburned. "It seems I underestimated you¡ªI was convinced that would''ve killed you!"


    She glared at him with wild eyes, summoning more fire to herself until she was nearly covered head to toe¡ªshe never wanted that to ever happen again.


    "¡­Shut¡­" she wheezed, "¡­up¡­"


    "Come now," his¡ªfake¡ªsmile widened. "I''m not lying, I''ll have you know! I''ve fought men, demons, angels, and everything in between! Greater than you have died to that attack¡ªyou should be proud."


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Palmira began to make her way forward, the salt water around her feet evaporating with each halting step.


    "I thought," she rasped, raising Morte in front of her. "I told you. To shut up!"


    "I wouldn''t do that if I were you," his smile didn''t leave his face. Instead he waved a hand off to the side¡ªoff to where Tintinnia had fallen wait what happened to her was she okay¡ª!? "After all, if you don''t cooperate, your friend will¡ªwait where did she go?"


    Then the earth beneath his feet exploded, and Tintinnia''s hammer erupted from the waterlogged street like a demented shark, its equally demented master following right behind. It chomped down on his waist, lifting him off the ground and shaking him like a dog before tossing him away, skipping the Drowned-Man down the street like a stone across a pond.


    "I¡­" Tintinnia coughed, soaked and muddy and pissed. "Am going to tear your heart from your chest. I will pluck out your eyes and crush your bones into powder. And when I am done with your pathetic, putrid corpse, I will feed the remains to my hammer as a snack!"


    With a roar she charged after him, her warhammer roaring with her, its oversized tongue flapping behind it.


    Unfortunately, the water wasn''t yet gone.


    David didn''t so much as rise to his feet as flowed, the remaining water in the street rolling over itself. It grew bigger and bigger, until a wave larger than the surrounding buildings was bearing down in Tintinnia, the small girl dwarfed even more by the wall of water.


    Only for it to explode into steam, and Palmira launched another fire whip into the center of it, precision sacrificed in exchange for power.


    The wave destroyed, Tintinnia leaped through the remaining smoke and steam, hammer raised above her head as she launched herself at the Drowned-Man.


    Only for her eyes to widen in surprise when she saw he was no longer there.


    Palmira had barely a moment to blink in shock before he was in front of her, a scaled fist heading for her face.


    Palmira barely managed to get out of the way, more falling than dodging. Unfortunately, that only meant she got hit by the second fist, an echo of the first made of salt water that slammed into her shoulder and knocked her to the ground.


    She wheezed, barely hearing Morte and Malocchio''s frantic shouting in the back of her mind. She tried to push herself back to her feet, only for a second fist of water to slam into her back. It evaporated in an instant, but it still hit with enough force to keep her down.


    She glared up at him, his form blurry and¡­ shiny? Wait, was that¡­


    There was the barest sheen rippling over his scales, and the smell of the sea grew even stronger.


    It was water, she realized. It covered him head to toe, less than a millimeter, but it was enough to protect him even better than her own shell of fire.


    They hadn''t even landed a real hit on him yet, had they?


    Unfortunately she couldn''t capitalize on that, and instead she focused on keeping her shell of fire up, hoping it was enough to keep him from getting too close to¡ª


    A third fist of water hit her, and she let out another cry. How was he hitting her so hard, wasn''t her fire doing anything!?


    ¡ªWait, where was her fire?


    She wheezed as Tintinnia finally arrived, pushing him away with a scream of rage. With him away, she ignored the pain to push back to her feet and¡ª


    She was no longer holding Morte.


    Palmira turned to the Drowned-Man, and with growing fear she realized he was holding her staff in her hands, wielding it like a sword as he kept Tintinnia at a distance.


    "Oi, OI! Put me the hell down!" Morte shouted from David''s hands. "Put me down, damnit! I''m a staff, not a sword¡ªouch! Girl, stop hitting me! That hurts, damn you!"


    "Shit¡­" Palmira whispered, the word not enough to encompass the sinking feeling in her gut. She glanced down at her hands, only the barest of flames flickering across them.


    Her catalyst was gone, and the amplification of her magic gone with it.


    ''Query. Shall Our Lady finally use Us?''


    She licked her lips nervously, and with shaking hands, grabbed Malocchio from her belt. She had no idea how to use him, but¡­


    Better this than nothing.


    ''Excitement. Shall We devour them?''


    "You don''t have a mouth?"


    ''Reassurance. That will not be an issue.''


    That wasn''t reassuring.


    Palmira took a deep breath, getting into a poor excuse for a stance. She didn''t know how to fight with a mace, but from what she knew it was supposed to be a brute''s weapon, so maybe she''d be fine?


    David knocked Tintinnia away with a smaller wave, and Palmira prepared herself to reenter the fight, this time without her magic.


    And then¡ª!


    "What in the damn hells is going on here!?"


    The three of them paused, as a new person entered the battleground.


    No, not just any person. She recognized that dwarf.


    "Svani?" she whispered, tensing. What¡ªno, they weren''t being all that subtle. It was only a matter of time before someone took notice and came to see what was going on.


    But was he an ally? Or just another enemy?


    "A guard?" David glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "Oh, Ambrosi."


    "You leave for five minutes, and suddenly explosions and waves taller than buildings are happening right outside the walls!" Svani snapped, throwing an arm into the air in anger. "So I come out to see what the hell''s going on, and I find you beating up a couple of kids? What are you even doing!?"


    "Nothing that concerns the Ambrosi," David waved the dwarf off. "Much less a simple guard. I''m just taking care of a simple thief."


    "Thief my ass, you poor excuse for a fish! Hey, hey, beardless dwarf! This man has stolen me from my rightful owner! Use your judiciary right to arrest the fucker right now!"


    Svani''s confused eyes turned to the staff, before they widened in recognition. He glanced over at her, surprised. "What are you¡­?"


    "Are you still here?" David turned to face him. "I assume that means you''re going to help me, then?"


    The dwarf''s eyes lingered on her, before he steeled his expression, and brought up his crossbow.


    "These are children, David," he spoke quietly, but his voice carried. "Whatever''s going on here, drop it. Just¡­ let them go. We have more important things to deal with."


    An explosion of holy light suddenly erupted a block away, right in the heart of the Ambrosi''s Villa.


    "Very important things, apparently."


    David let out a long sigh, rolling his eyes. "No, idiot. There''s nothing more important than this."


    And without a second''s warning a spear of water launched itself from the flooded street, straight at the now wide-eyed dwarf.


    Palmira blinked, and the spear had already crossed the distance between them.


    She blinked again, and a wall of molten bronze erupted into existence to block it.


    Svani flinched, before a small, somewhat hysterical grin spread on his face. "I''d say my ancestors disagree," he raised his crossbow. "And I''ve always been more partial to their advice over yours."


    He flicked the trigger, and a bolt of red lightning lit up the street, slamming into David and launching him backwards.


    Towards her.


    The light had nearly blinded her, but with the practice she''d been getting in on her own flashbangs, Palmira recovered the quickest. She raised her mace and stepped in the way of the flying Fey, slamming the mace down on him as he passed, stopping him in his tracks with a CRACK.


    David screamed, hurt for probably the first time in this fight. More water erupted around him, almost as if it was appearing out of midair, and her eyes widened as she realized she was too close¡ª!


    The water suddenly stopped, falling back to the street.


    David, who''d stumbled back to his feet before she could grab Morte back, stared at it in confusion.


    "What¡­?" he raised an arm and the water rose in the air, before shuddering and falling back down. "Why is my magic¡­?"


    "HAH!" Morte crooned, sounding exceedingly proud of himself. "Suck it! I finally figured out how to get that to work!"


    "What did you do!?" David stumbled back, sounding almost hysterical. "What did you do!?"


    "I''m draining your magic!" Morte cackled, his empty eye sockets glowing with eldritch power. "So long as you hold me, I''ll be doing everything in my power to stop you from using your magic!"


    David''s eyes widened, and Palmira¡ªrealizing she they were once more on even footing¡ªcharged forward with a shaky battle cry.


    The Drowned-Man''s head snapped up, something almost like fear in his eyes.


    Then they hardened, and he dropped Morte.


    Palmira grimaced, realizing that he was giving up the staff over his magic, but if that meant she could use hers again¡ª!


    But instead he raised his hand up high, and a wave of water erupted around him, forcing her to stop lest she get caught up in it.


    She paused a moment, pushing as much fire as she could to cover her, preparing for the coming attack.


    But then the water stopped flowing, and David was just¡­ gone.


    And also, she realized with dread, so was Morte.

 Chapter 20 - Two Friends Plot A Murder

    Two Friends Plot a Murder


    Something burned in her chest.


    It was hot, and tight, and ugly.


    Palmira stared at the spot David had vanished from, Malocchio shaking in her grip.


    She opened her mouth, smoke pouring out as though a wildfire was burning in her gut¡ª


    "GET BACK HERE!" Tintinnia let out an inhuman scream of rage, stealing the wind from her sails. Her hammer joined in, letting out a wet howl. "STOP RUNNING, YOU DAMN FISH!"


    --Palmira snapped her mouth shut with an audible ''click.''


    "Hey, Malocchio," she whispered, grip tightening around the handle of her mace. "I''m going to kill him. I''m going to smash him into paste. ¡­Will you help me, when I do?"


    ''Agreement. We will do anything Our Lady requires of us.''


    She let out another breath, the last of the smoke sneaking past her lips. "Thank you."


    With that she stood to full height, and slogged over to Tintinnia was screaming her lungs out.


    "Tintinnia!"


    "WHAT!?" she snarled, her face twisted into something almost inhuman and her pink skin darkening to an almost purple shade. Then she locked eyes with Palmira, and with visible strain reigned herself back in. "What?" she bit out, somewhat more calmly.


    "Do you know where he went?"


    Tintinnia blinked in surprise, before her face fell even further. "No," she scowled. "I don''t."


    Palmira nodded, even as her grip shifted on Malocchio''s handle. It was unfortunate, but she''d expected that answer. "Then do you know where we could begin looking? How did you find out he was in this city in the first place?"


    Having now calmed down enough to hold a normal conversation, Tintinnia frowned, absently stroking the jaw of her hammer. "Sinbad was the one who figured it out," she told her, though it looked like the admission hurt to make. "He''d probably know, if we could ask him, but¡­"


    Another explosion holy light erupted from the direction of the Ambrosi''s villa, followed by the shouting of soldiers.


    Palmira shared a frown with the other girl. There was no way they were going to be able to talk to Sinbad until he was done fighting the Ambrosi, and by that point who knows where David might have gone.


    "Now hang on just a minute!"


    The two girls paused, turning to look at the dwarf who''d up until now stayed quiet.


    "You two can''t be planning on going after him, are you?" Svani asked as he waddled down the flooded street, grimacing where the water reached up to his knees. "After what just happened?"


    "Of course we are!" Palmira scowled at him. "He took Morte! I can''t¡ªI need¡ªhe stole my staff! I''m not going to let him get away with that!"


    "He''s already gotten away! And even if you do find him again, what do you even plan to do?" Svani motioned to the flooded street. "He was kicking our asses up and down this street! Hell, I''m not to proud to say that without the protection of the Ambrosi I''d have died within seconds of showing up!"


    "We almost had him there!"


    "Aye, because of a fluke!" Svani sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "You don''t even have your staff anymore, and all you have left is that creepy mace you don''t look like you''ve ever swung a day in your life. You''re worse off than when you fought him before, and now you suddenly expect to win!?"


    Palmira scowled, huffing out a puff of smoke. But no matter how hard she tried she couldn''t come up with a response to that.


    He was right. She hated to admit it, but she had no real plan beyond ''hit him harder with her mace.''


    A mace she barely knew how to use.


    "¡­Why is he even here," she spat out at last. She didn''t want to admit he was right, but she also didn''t want to let him have the last word. "Why did he make a deal with the demons? And why did you Ambrosi start working with him, anyway!?"


    "I don''t know," the dwarf shrugged. Somehow, he managed to look unbothered by that. "The Head probably thought he''d get something out of it. What that might be, who am I to know?"


    "But to consort with demons¡ª!"


    Svani gave her a tired sigh. "Look, Palmira? I know this may come as a shock, but they all consort with demons. The Ambrosi, the Capparelli, the Gennarelli¡ªthey all do it. They''ve done it for centuries, even, long before the Demon King attacked. The big mistake the Ambrosi made this time was not making a deal with a demon¡ªit was getting caught."


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    Palmira felt like some part of her was breaking, as she listened to him talk. Sure, she''d always known that the guilds and Famiglias weren''t bastions of virtue, but she''d at least thought they were all on the same side. That if nothing else, they fought against the demons, not with them!


    How could Svani talk so calmly about that? Like it didn''t even matter!?


    What the hell were they even fighting for?


    Palmira suddenly felt very, very tired.


    "¡­I''m going to find Morte," she rasped at last. There was nothing else she could do at the moment¡ªnothing else she wanted to do.


    Svani''s frown deepened, concern in his eyes. How dare he, after what he''d just admitted!? "You will die if you do that. I can''t protect you this time, not if you go looking for him."


    Palmira felt a bitter smile grow on her face. "Without Morte I''ll die on the streets. And, despite what you might think, I don''t want to die. So yes, I''m going after him, and you can''t stop me."


    Svani sighed, looking away. "¡­You''re right, I don''t think I could stop you either. But I won''t be joining you. Much as we may have been allies for a moment, my home is currently under attack, and I''m not going to stand aside while that occurs."


    He turned away from them, and then paused, as he took in the once wealthy city street, now flooded and smoldering. "¡­However. Should I stumble across that paladin, I might tell him where the fey he is looking for has fled to. ¡­For it seems my home is currently under attack, and I''m not going to stand aside while that occurs."


    With that he trudged away, back in the direction of the Ambrosi''s villa.


    Palmira watched him go, complicated feelings burning in her chest.


    ¡­Even though she''d told him she didn''t want to die on the streets, it was days like today that made her wonder.


    It would be simpler, if nothing else.


    With a sigh, she turned to continue planning with Tintinnia, when¡ª


    "Hey, hey kid? Can you hear me?"


    Palmira jumped as he staff''s voice suddenly echoed in her head.


    "Morte!? What¡ª!"


    "You can''t, huh? Damn it, I knew it was a long shot, but I''d hoped it would''ve worked."


    "No, what? Morte, I can hear you, why are you¡ª!?"


    "Well, just in case you or anybody else can hear this, I''ll start explaining where I am. Actually, I''m going to repeatedly shout where I am over and over again on the off chance that somebody will hear, until such a time that I get rescued."


    Palmira felt a sinking feeling in her chest.


    "I AM CURRENTLY IN A GRAVEYARD!" He roared, and Palmira winced as his voice echoed in her head. "THE GRAVEYARD IS SMALL AND SURROUNDED BY OLD BUILDINGS! I AM CURRENTLY IN A GRAVEYARD! IT IS¡ª"


    "I KNOW WHERE MORTE IS!" Palmira shouted over the droning in her mind, causing Tintinnia to lean back in shock. "Sorry," she apologized, lowering her voice. "He''s currently shouting his location in my head. It''s a small graveyard surrounded by old buildings!"


    "Really!?" her eyes widened, before she frowned. "Wait, that barely tells us anything. Can you ask him for more information?"


    "¡ªIS SMALL AND SURROUNDED BY OLD BUILDINGS! I AM CURRENTLY¡ª"


    Palmira winced. "Unfortunately, it''s only one-way. But, assuming that David returned to Ambrosi territory, then that has to be the old Ambrosi''s crypt!" she smiled, before her face fell a bit. "Maybe. It''s the only one I know in the area."


    "Well then," Tintinnia smiled, her sharp teeth glinting in the sunlight. "It''s more than what we currently had to go off of. Lead the way, friend, and let''s tear that fish-faced bastard limb from soggy limb!"


    Palmira couldn''t help it¡ªshe smiled. It was good to have people she could count on again.


    "¡ªOLD BUILDINGS! I AM CURRENTLY IN A GRAVEYARD! IT IS SMALL AND¡ª"


    She could do without that, though.

 Chapter 21 - Two Lovers, Forbidden From One Another

    Two Lovers, Forbidden From One Another


    David was not in the old Ambrosi crypt.


    Nor was he in the city graveyard, nor the new cemetery across the river.


    After exhausting all of the known graveyards in the Old Quarter, they turned their eyes to the rest of the city. There were others scattered around the city, ranging from small family crypts to larger public cemeteries. Surely they had to be in at least one of them.


    But by this point, they were starting to hope, and Palmira had a sinking feeling that the graveyard Morte was in wasn''t even in Firozzi.


    "¡ªI AM CURRENTLY IN A GRAVEYARD! THE GRAVEYARD IS SMALL AND SURROUNDED BY OLD BUILDINGS! I AM¡ª"


    That also wasn''t helping.


    Noon had passed a while ago, and though she felt herself growing hungry neither of them were in the mood to stop for food. They just continued searching, fueled only by a desperate hope they weren''t too late.


    They''d more or less given up trying to figure out which cemetery he was in, and were now making their way through the Duke''s Quarter to try and meet up with Anima and get her help in tracking down David and Morte. Despite being so far away from the Rosa Guildhall, Palmira almost felt more comfortable over here, as this side of the city had been where she''d spent the past few years squatting.


    Where the Old Quarter of the Ambrosi was a winding maze of dense alleyways and centuries old buildings, the Duke''s Quarter was relatively newer and as such its buildings were wealthier and larger. Mostly made of limestone or stone brick, the buildings towered five to eight stories over the city streets, broken up by the massive boulevard where the old city walls used to be. In the distance, peaking over the roofs of buildings, one could even see the old towers of the Duke''s Castle, what was now the center of power for the Caparelli.


    And as they made their way through the streets of the Duke''s Quarter, they passed by a familiar alleyway.


    Palmira paused, before shaking her head with a scowl.


    Whatever might happen next, that was behind her.


    "What about this one, the Muffito cemetery?" Tintinnia pointed with her giant hammer, flicking its drool everywhere as she did so. "You think they''re here?"


    Palmira frowned and pressed herself up against the high fence surrounding the cemetery. She squinted, trying to tell if there were any signs of David or Morte further in¡ªall while ignoring how her hammer had started teething on the fence posts next to her. "¡­No, I don''t think so," she shook her head. "It''s too spacious. Morte''s saying it''s a small place surrounded by old buildings. This place is too new."


    Tintinnia groaned, but acquiesced when Palmira dragged her back into the city.


    They continued down the streets of Firozzi, looking for the graveyard Morte had been taken to and keeping their distance from the few people out and about at this time of day.


    It was a bit surprising how few there were actually, but she supposed that with the city more or less in a state of civil war even people this far from the epicenter weren''t so willing to be out and about. The few who were kept giving the two of them weird looks, which she tried to ignore with grace.


    Really, it was pretty rude of them. Just because Tintinnia''s skin was pink didn''t mean they had to stare so much!


    In the meantime, Malocchio had somehow struck up a conversation with Tintinnia''s hammer. She wasn''t sure how, since the hammer only made weird growling noises, but what little she could hear seemed enlightening.


    ''Curiosity. You remember when You were born? How interesting. We only remember the slow change from agonized instinct to complex thought. What do You remember?''


    "HRRGHEHAHAHE!"


    ''Intrigued. We were unaware the Goddess looked like that. We prefer Our Lady, regardless. But what was that about the Moon?''


    "ARRAWFGHALAGA!"


    ''Worry. The Lights are already that weak? But what does that mean for Us?''


    "SNRAFFLEAFLEAF!"


    ''Relief. Do not scare Us like that, Friend.''


    "What are you two talking about?" Palmira raised her mace to look it in the eye. Then she realized what she was doing and lowered him back down¡ªit was still way too creepy to look directly at.


    She tried not to focus on how its tail curled around her arm.


    ''Reassurance. We are merely comparing Our births. The Great Hammer has been around a long time, and seems to be quite wise.''


    "SNORFLORFLEACHO!"


    "¡­I''ll take your word for it."


    Unfortunately, that distraction had to be swiftly put behind them as they continued their search through the city, until¡ª


    "I AM¡ªHuh?" Morte stopped his shouting for a moment, and even though it meant he was no longer broadcasting his location she couldn''t help but be relieved. "Hey, what is that girl doing¡ªah. You really are a bastard, huh?"


    Well, that did not sound good.


    "Morte''s stopped shouting for a minute," she told Tintinnia, who''s head snapped over to her instantly. The girl was even more tightly wound than Palmira was. "David''s apparently found some girl and did¡­ something to her. Morte wasn''t clear on the specifics."


    Palmira tried not to think of what that might have been. She really did. She could only hope it wasn''t as bad as what she was thinking.


    Tintinnia sneered. "Bastard."


    "What are you doing now¡ªOh, you wouldn''t dare."


    Palmira stopped walking, shocked despite herself. Somehow, she couldn''t remember Morte ever sounding truly angry before.


    "If you dig up that grave I swear to you here and now that I will do anything and everything in my power to see your soul extinguished from this fucking plane of existence."


    Well, that really didn''t sound good.


    "We need to hurry," Palmira winced. "He''s apparently digging up somebody''s grave, and Morte is really pissed about it. David might be preparing to preform some sort of dark ritual with the body!"


    "That bastard! He can''t do that!" Tintinnia snapped, stomping her foot. "Only I can do that!"


    Palmira gave the other girl a sour look, but shook it off as they continued their march through the Duke''s Quarter. She didn''t know what was exactly was going on, but she did know they needed to stop it before David accomplished whatever it was he''d set out to do.


    "Take your hands off that femur right now or so help me¡ªwait, is that¡­? Hey! Hey! Anima! Down here! I''ve been kidnapped! Help me, hurry! Before he uses me to complete his dastardly plot!"


    "Anima!?" Palmira yelped, causing Tintinnia to give her a confused look.


    How the hell had Anima found him before them!?


    But before she could process that, an odd smell seemed to waft down the street.


    Palmira paused, taking a deep breath. It was faint, but familiar.


    The smell of salt and sand. The smell of the sea.


    The smell of home, forgotten and forsaken.


    Her eyes widened. "This way!" she shouted, grabbing Tintinnia and dragging her back the way they came. "I can smell him!"


    "You can what¡ªoh, wait, I smell him too!"


    They ran down the streets, weaving between the few people still out at this time of day. As they ran, the smell of the sea only grew stronger, until they came upon a small alleyway nestled between two buildings.


    And there, pressed flat against the entrance in only a flimsy grey cloak to hide his foppish clothes, was Juliano Ambrosi.


    "What?" Palmira stomped up to him, grabbing his cloak. "What are you doing here!? Where''s Anima and David?"


    He jumped nearly a foot in the air, before spinning to clamp a hand over her mouth. "SHH!" he hissed loudly, not noticing how Palmira had to hold Tintinnia back from breaking his arm off. "Don''t let them hear you!"


    Palmira scowled, shoving his hand away. "You didn''t answer my question," she hissed, quieter this time. "What are you doing here?"


    "A servant sent us here," he whimpered, tears pouring unabashed from his eyes. "She told us of a plan my dear Romilda hatched! Oh what a brilliant woman, my Romilda! We would meet up in this old crypt, where our love can flourish unseen! But alas, alas! This brute is blocking the way! Who is he, to stand in the way of true love!?"


    Palmira grimaced. Did that mean she''d have to deal with two love-sick morons?


    She shook her head. She needed to focus. Turning the corner¡ªand keeping an iron grip on Tintinnia to stop her from rushing in¡ªshe peeked around the building at the courtyard the battle was taking place in.


    It was a small, easily missable graveyard, sheltered underneath one of the few crumbling sections of the old walls and overgrown with clovers and vines. The few visible gravemarkers were but small epitaphs between flowerbeds. The only exception was the large mausoleum half-carved into the wall at the back, which was painted with a rotting mosaic of what might have been an orc. Maybe.


    It was a quiet, peaceful place.


    And it was getting absolutely decimated by the two mages fighting within.


    David stood with his back to the tomb, waves of salt-water churning around him like sharks. Opposite him, Anima glowered, a single water droplet dancing atop each of her fingers. The battle between them could be called nothing less than a dance, as the two water mages fought within the confined space of the graveyard.


    Anima''s magic was a thing of momentum and change¡ªof morning dewdrops falling from lush leaves, creating ripples as they landed in the pond below. Every step she took was calculated, an ebb and flow as attack led into defense and back into attack. She turned her opponents moves against him, catching the waves crashing into her and swirling them around her body into a whirlpool of watery whips that snapped at him like the limbs of an angry octopus.


    David, on the other hand, was the wrath of the sea incarnate. Precision was not something he bothered with, and instead his magic was the crashing of waves and the gales of a hurricane. He battered Anima with a monsoon''s worth of seawater, forcing her back step after step with raw might alone.


    Despite that, though, the battle was evenly matched. The small courtyard the graveyard sat in was too tiny for David to pull off his more powerful attacks, and what little he could muster was easily parried or redirected by the opposing water mage. Anima wasn''t faring much better, though, as David''s sheer power meant he could simply block what she did attack him with and weather what little he could not.


    It was not so much a battle between an unstoppable force and an immovable object, but rather an immovable force and an unstoppable object.


    Finally their dance hit a lull, and Anima took that moment to speak.


    "What did you do with the girls?" Anima growled, her eyes like daggers as she glared at the Drowned-Man. "Answer me, damnit!"


    "And how many times do I have to tell you, I have no idea what you''re talking about, you crazy woman!" David lied through his teeth, adopting a wide-eyed look of innocence. He even raised his hands up, as though surrendering. "I just came to pay my respects, and then you attack me out of nowhere!?"


    "Don''t listen to him, lady!" Morte shouted from¡­ wherever he was. "This man is a bonafide kidnapper! He stole me from the girl and is planning to use me in some dark necromantic ritual. Please, save me before it''s too late!"


    How Morte managed to sound so like a damsel in distress while being¡­ him was almost impressive.


    "I''m aware of that!" Anima scowled. "But what I really want to know is if Palmira is okay or not!"


    "Will the answer to that question lead to you abandoning me? Because I think it''s better for my health if I leave that up in the air for now."


    "That''s not comforting, you stupid staff!" Anima snapped, flinging out her arm to block a sneak attack from David. She snatched the water out of the air, plucking the salt out of it before stepping forward and snapping the remaining water at him like a crocodile.


    David dodged, of course, stamping a foot on the ground to create a geyser as he did so. And with that the battle was renewed.


    "Damnit," she muttered, eying the battle currently raging down the alley. She''d considered for a moment using Anima as a distraction to sneak in and grab Morte, but there with how much water they were throwing around there was no way she''d be able to stealth her way through this. "How do we stop him?"


    "I have an idea," Tintinnia shoved off her hand, apparently done with being held back. "It''s time I finally made good on my promise to tear him limb from bloody limb."


    Palmira reached out as thought to stop her, but¡­


    Well, if there was no way forward but through¡­


    "I''ll try and get around him and grab Morte," she stepped up beside Tintinnia. The other girl gave her a savage grin. "You keep him off me. Once I''ve got Morte, the three of us can beat him easily."


    She wasn''t actually that sure of that, but she had an idea for dealing with him once she got her staff back.


    "Ready?"


    Tintinnia nodded. "Of course."


    "Then let''s murder this fucking fish."


    Tintinnia let out a savage war cry, charging into the fray and leaping over one of David''s waves to the shock of both mages. Her warhammer joined in, bellowing with its master as it crashed down on the Drowned-Man, jaws closing like a vice-grip over the upper half of his body.


    Of course, this did about as much damage as it had the first time, and with a blast of seawater the warhammer went flying back into the sky.


    But Tintinnia had learned her lesson the first time, and the second the water came she let go of the hammer, and instead lunged forward with her bare hands.


    Her right hand which punched him in the gut did next to nothing, but the left hand she shaped like a spear and stabbed him beneath his armpit, cutting deep.


    David swore, blasting her away with a wave of water, but for the split second it took him to do that, he was left open.


    Palmira stepped up in the space Tintinnia had just vacated, raising Malocchio high. She snarled, smoke pouring from between her teeth as she gathered all the fire she could muster, and set Malocchio alight.


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    ''In Pain. We are burning.''


    She slammed the mace into his pelvis, bending him over. Then, with a second roar she reignited the already sputtering mace, and drove it down onto his already damaged shoulder, snapping it with a loud CRACK.


    ''Consideration. It is not as bad the second time.''


    Unfortunately, her victory was short lived, as with rage in his eyes David raised his hand, a second wave prepared¡ª


    But by this time Anima had gotten over her shock, and stepped between the two of them, redirecting the wave into a string of whips which spun around to shred the Drowned-Man, forcing him to back up lest he get turned into sushi.


    "Thank the gods," Anima managed to whisper, before stepping forward and pressing the advantage, tag teaming David with a returned Tintinnia.


    Palmira, on the other hand, felt winded from just that brief sputter of flame, and instead turned toward the mausoleum, where she was sure Morte laid.


    She burst through the doors and down into the crypt, stumbling to a stop at the base when she realized someone had followed her down.


    She spun around, brandishing Malocchio with a pounding heart as she wondered if David was moments away from drowning her again¡ª


    Oh. It was just the idiot.


    Juliano stumbled to a stop behind her. "Gah! Why did you stop!?"


    "You followed me!?" Palmira spluttered, lowering Malocchio. "Why!? How!?"


    "My Romilda is down there!" Juliano snapped, wide-eyed and rattled. "I''m not going to let her fear for her life while that brute destroys the city above us!"


    Palmira scowled, but let him continue. Even if he was an idiot, she could respect his devotion if nothing else.


    Also, he''d probably die if she forced him back up.


    "Fine!" she snapped. "Just stay behind me. If David follows us down then your death will let me know if he''s close."


    Juliano looked ill at that, but followed her regardless.


    They stepped further into the crypt, past coffins piled in neat, orderly rows and unadorned urns knocked over on the floor. The smell of death permeated their noses, not quite able to overpower the saltiness of David''s water. Their shoes squelched in the muddy ground as the water from above poured down, and she grimaced as she felt it seep into her shoes. It slowly got darker the further they delved, but she didn''t dare light a fire¡ªMorte had made it very clear that was a big no when underground.


    And soon enough they reached the back of the crypt¡ªit wasn''t that big, really¡ªwhere one final tomb sat unadorned on a waterlogged altar. The lid of the coffin had been pushed aside, revealing the skeletal remains of what looked like a massive knight underneath. He''d probably been a warrior of some renown.


    Not that she cared. She more focused on Morte''s staff, which had been laid against the open coffin, the stars in his eyes the only light this deep underground.


    "Ah, my apprentice! You''d made it¡ªwell, not on time, really, but as fast as you could! And that''s all that matters!"


    "Morte!" she sagged in relief, slogging forward¡ªonly to nearly trip, as her feet hit a large lump on the ground that was nearly impossible to see in the dim light. "What?"


    She looked down in confusion, and¡ªah.


    Juliano let out a broken wail, falling to his knees with a splash.


    At her feet rested a young woman around her age, with long brown hair and large doe eyes. Palmira could tell she was beautiful, even in the low light.


    She could also tell she was dead. The water surrounding her was a murky reddish-brown, having poured from the gaping hole in her chest. Her eyes were open wide, the terror she must have felt in her last moments forever etched onto her face.


    "Goddess¡­" Palmira whispered, taking a step back in horror.


    "Romilda!" Juliano wailed, wading forward towards the girl''s body. "My love! My rose! Oh, Romilda, why!?"


    Palmira could only watch as the young man mourned his love where she lay, dead in the water.


    "Hey, kid," Morte''s voice snapped her out of her shock, reminding her of why she was here. "I know it''s bad. But you''ve got bigger fish to fry. Now get over here and grab me, so we might begin frying said fish."


    Palmira nodded shakily, taking a deep breath¡ªugh, bad idea¡ªand marching around Romilda and Juliano to take back her staff.


    She wrapped her hands around the cool mahogany, and only then, did she feel herself relax.


    Thank the Goddess, but she wasn''t losing anyone else.


    Then she turned back around and was hit with an immediate sense of guilt, seeing Juliano mourning the girl''s death.


    "Romilda," he sobbed. "Romilda!"


    She grimaced. What should she¡ªwould it be better to leave him here? David was still at the top, but leaving him surrounded by corpses¡­ by her corpse¡­ it just felt wrong.


    The water around her ankles moved¡ªwait, when had it gotten so high!?


    She glanced down, and realized that with the battle still raging above, the crypt was slowly flooding. Soon enough it would reach her knees, and then higher still, until the whole crypt was underwater.


    ¡­Well, that solved her dilemma, then.


    "Come on!" she tugged at his back, trying to drag him to his feet. "We need to get out of here! The water''s rising, can''t you tell?"


    "Oh, Romilda," Juliano whispered, and with shaking hands reached into his waterlogged cloak. "Do not worry. We will be united soon. Perhaps¡­ perhaps this was the only way, we could ever find our love."


    What?


    The young man pulled a pouch from his cloak and raised it high. Untying it, he tilted it back, and before her confused eyes began pouring its contents into his mouth.


    Salt. He was pouring salt into his mouth.


    "What are you¡­?" she whispered, confused.


    Then, a conversation she''d had nearly a week ago¡ªone she''d nearly forgotten about in the following chaos¡ªreplayed in her head.


    With dawning horror her eyes widened. "No¡­" she whispered, before lunging forward and smacking the pouch from his hands. "Are you an idiot!? Don''t you dare¡­!"


    But it was too late. In the end, one grain of salt was all it took.


    Juliano choked, letting out a watery chuckle. Then she saw it¡ªso quickly, from beneath the folds of his cloak he turned to salt. First his stomach, then his chest, then his arms and legs. It didn''t even spare his clothes, turning them to salt all the same.


    By the time it reached his neck, he was already dead.


    And so Juliano joined his lover in death, a statue of salt crying over her corpse in a flooded crypt.


    "¡­Well. Fuck."


    Palmira stared at the bodies, eyes shaking. "Why¡­?" she whispered, her voice wet with tears. "Why does love always lead to death¡­?"


    "¡­Oh, that makes this so much worse than I thought. Uh, hey, Palmira. You, uh¡­ you doing okay?"


    Palmira felt herself breathing heavier, clenching Morte''s staff tighter and tighter¡ª


    Something wet poked her cheek, and she twitched away from it. Malocchio''s tail waved at her from where he''d extended it.


    ''Concern. Our Lady is behaving erratically.''


    She let out a whimper. Then a sob. The water around her feet began to steam, and her eyes burned.


    Then she took a deep breath, and sucked it all back in. The fire, the tears, everything.


    Or perhaps not. Her eyes still continued to smolder, no matter how much she tried to put them out.


    "¡­Hey, kid. Palmira. I''m not going to tell you to just get over it¡ªin fact, I think what you''re trying to do right now is the exact wrong way to go about processing this. But I have to ask¡ªdo you think you can go back up there and fight?"


    "¡­Yes¡­" she rasped. "¡­Yes. I think that is the only thing I can do right now."


    "¡­"


    Palmira took a step forward. Then another, and another. She stepped past the recently dead, and the long since departed. She climbed back up the steps of the crypt, the slick stones of the stairs turning dry as she passed.


    And then she was back on the surface, though she did not know when that happened. Back in the flooded graveyard, the two water mages still fighting in the middle of it.


    Palmira''s eyes fell upon David''s back.


    She exploded. Literally.


    David had only a moment to turn around in shock before a wave of fire rammed into him.


    No, not fire. She had held back so much, condensed her fire for so long, that what came out was not the plasma of fire, but something much thicker.


    Lava erupted from around her, the stone walls and roads and grave markers melting and fusing with her fire as the pushed everything she had at that fucking bastard.


    David was submerged under a tidal wave of lava without even the chance to scream.


    That was okay. Palmira was doing enough of that for the both of them.


    And after¡­ some amount of time had passed, Palmira felt herself stop, and only a numb emptiness remained.


    That, and the building-sized wall of molten rock that now sat in the middle of the graveyard.


    "¡­Damn," Anima whistled, sounding exhausted. "I didn''t know you had that in you."


    "Hey!" Tintinnia pouted, pulling herself back to her feet from where she''d been flung yet again. "How am I supposed to get his heart now?"


    Palmira ignored both of them, and fell to her knees, unable to stay standing any longer.


    "Hey," Morte murmured in her mind soothingly. "Take all the time you need."


    But of course, because nothing ever went her way, she didn''t get more than a couple seconds to herself before another person burst into the graveyard.


    "Who dares!?" Francoise Capparelli stormed into the graveyard, a dozen house guards hot on his heels. "Who dares cause such a ruckus so close to my home? And today, no less! Do you want to die!?"


    Tintinnia gave him an odd look. "Who''re you?"


    "Shit," Anima muttered, before raising her arms into the air. "Hey, look, Signor Capparelli. One of the Ambrosi had tried invading your territory, so we were just fighting him off. As you can tell by¡­ uh¡­ that," she pointed at the small hill of cooling stone in the center of the courtyard.


    "As if I''d believe that!" the portly Capparelli snapped, motioning for his guards to prepare. "You think I''m so stupid as too¡ª"


    The pile of molten rock in the center of the graveyard exploded.


    Erupting from the stone on a geyser of seawater, David glared down at them with hatred. His body was mangled and his scales charred, and yet he rising above them as he was he looked as though he believed he could take everyone still in the graveyard even in his current state.


    Palmira was fairly confident he could, too.


    At least until a bolt of red lightning knocked him out of the sky.


    "You again!?" David roared, flipping back into a landing. Perhaps he was just getting used to being attacked out of nowhere, but he looked better off then when he''d been hit by that the first time. "How did you even get here!?"


    Further behind the Capparelli, at the entrance to the alleyway, Svani simply reloaded his crossbow.


    And he wasn''t alone.


    To his left was¡ªfor some reason¡ªCherven, the captain of the Ambrosi''s house guard. And storming past him on the right was Sinbad, who looked absolutely fucking furious.


    "DAVID!" the Paladin roared, charging past the Capparelli far faster than humanly possible. "YOU''RE DEAD, DO YOU HEAR ME!?"


    David, for a moment, looked like he was regretting all of his life choices. Then he moved, because Sinbad had jumped three stories into the air brandishing a blade which burned with holy energy and was coming at him very fast.


    He managed to dodge the blade, but not Sinbad''s free hand, which grabbed his face and dragged him back down to the earth, slamming him into the ground with the force of an angry Goddess.


    "''I am the sword of the new world order,''" Sinbad snarled, quoting from the holy book. From around his hand, holy light erupted, burning the very air with its energy. David clawed at his hand, but to no avail. "''I am the soldier, in our legion of Light. For Evil shall despair, by fire and flame, we are might.''"


    The light was by this point so bright it hurt to look at, and even Sinbad''s hand couldn''t muffle David''s screams of agony.


    But before Sinbad could finish him off, there was the sound of rushing water, and the seawater that had pooled in the depths of the crypt suddenly rushed forth. It exploded from the doors of the mausoleum, slamming into the paladin from the side and knocking him off David.


    The Drowned-Man gasped for air, grabbing at his throat in the brief reprieve he''d gotten. Then his eyes widened, and he lunged into the swirling water, grasping for something.


    Sinbad quickly recovered from the attack, and was already lunging back at David, sword brandished and mouth open wide with a battle cry on his lips.


    Then David spun back towards him, a familiar bag of salt in hand.


    Sinbad''s battle cry might have become his doom, as the Drowned-Man tossed the remaining salt directly at his face. And almost in slow motion, the grains flew through the air, falling directly into his mouth.


    Sinbad''s tongue began to calcify, and¡ª


    ¡ªAnd without hesitation, Sinbad reached into his own mouth and ripped his tongue out, throwing the bloody appendage away.


    By the time it hit the ground, it was little more than a pile of salt.


    But his single moment of distraction had given David time to gather himself, and more importantly, gather enough seawater to himself to make his escape.


    Sinbad''s eyes widened as he realized what his old friend was doing, and he let out a close-mouthed roar. He redoubled his efforts, moving as fast as he could¡ª!


    But not fast enough.


    The seawater surrounded David, completely blocking him from view. Sinbad lunged forward, stabbing into the center of the mass with enough holy energy to completely disperse the remaining water.


    And he hit nothing but air.


    David was gone.

 Chapter 22 - Friends and Foes

    Friends and Foes


    In the aftermath of the battle against David, a standoff occurred.


    The sudden appearance of the Capparelli and Ambrosi groups had caused a brief confrontation, but Sinbad had silently stepped between the two of them. He was unable to speak, but that didn''t stop him from cowing the lot of them into submission.


    Though he didn''t remain long after that¡ªhe''d raged silently, blood pouring freely from his mouth and hand clenched so tight around the hilt of his sword she could hear it cracking¡ªbut Tintinnia had not been nearly so quiet. She had¡ªas Palmira was coming to realize was simply how she handled anger¡ªlet out inhuman screams of rage, swearing bloody vengeance against David and everything he stood for.


    At least until Sinbad cuffed her upside the head, before dragging the smaller girl out of the smoldering, soaked courtyard. Where they were going she didn''t know, but Palmira couldn''t bring herself to muster up the urge to care right now.


    As for the others, Cherven and Svani stood awkwardly off to the side as they awaited Francoise Capparelli, who had descended into the mausoleum.


    He had been down there far longer than expected.


    Palmira knew why, but could not bring herself to say anything. She felt too tired, too listless, and her old instincts of ''deny, deny, deny'' when questioned surfaced in place of anything else.


    Instead she simply sat in the one dry spot in the graveyard, clutching Morte tight as though any second now David would return to steal him again.


    "Hey," Anima slumped down next to her, finally finished explaining to the others what had been going on. "Are you injured anywhere? I know you were walking around fine earlier, but¡­"


    Palmira shook her head. Nothing more than some bruises.


    "Good," Anima nodded sharply, before sighing. "That''s good. I was just¡­ when Morte started shouting at me about being kidnapped, and you were nowhere to be seen¡­ I was so worried. I''d thought our part in this whole thing was done, so I let my guard down¡­" she shook her head. "I should have taken you girls with me."


    "¡­I don''t think it would have helped, much," Palmira finally rasped. "He was coming to get Juliano. If we''d gone with you, he''d have found us eventually regardless."


    "Still¡­"


    "I don''t like to think on what-ifs," Palmira bit out, tasting smoke on her tongue. "It''s best to just accept things the way they are and move on."


    "That sounds like a bad way to process your emotions."


    "I hate to agree with this bastard," Anima glared at the staff, before turning back to Palmira. Her eyes softened. "But he''s right. I know you don''t know me very well yet, but I want you to know that if you ever need someone to talk to, you can always come to me."


    Palmira looked away. "Thank you," she muttered, knowing she''d never take the woman up on her offer.


    They fell silent after that. They simply sat there, lacking both the motivation and energy to leave.


    And some time later Francoise Capparelli returned from the depths of the mausoleum, his face red and splotchy with tears. A pang of guilt hit her when she saw his face.


    She did not like the man, but she knew the pain of losing family well.


    "Why are you still here!?" Francoise snapped at the Ambrosi, his voice cracking with grief. "Do you have a death wish!?"


    Cherven stepped forward, his mandibles clicking uncomfortably. The Capparelli guards stepped between them, stopping him from continuing, so instead he turned to the guard in front of him. He handed the Capparelli a scroll, his eight eyes narrowed in both anger and resignation. Stamped on the scroll was the golden rose of the Ambrosi, revealing its importance. "The Head has, after much deliberation, decided to sue for peace with the Capparelli. Enclosed in these documents are our official surrender, along with a time we are willing to meet to negotiate reparations."


    Francoise looked shocked, before his face twisted even further. "You dare! The Ambrosi think they can simply sweep what then have done under the rug? My daughter is dead, and you think you can just give up to avoid my wrath!?"


    Cherven looked like he''d rather be anywhere else but here. "My condolences. However, as I have stated before, you won. We surrender. We''d appreciate if you''d accept it."


    "Bah!" he sneered at the ?r¨¹mcek. "You surrender. The Ambrosi have surrendered a hundred times and yet they still stain my city! You people are little more than a leech! Your surrender means so little that they send a mere gate guard to parlay!"


    Anima had begun to tense, and slowly got to her feet, dragging Palmira with her. They were starting to regret not merely leaving when they had the chance.


    "Well," Cherven shrugged, casually moving his hands to the swords on his back. "I imagine they sent a mere gate guard just in case you decided to refuse the surrender. Just in case."


    "How pathetic, that you so easily accept your own expendability."


    "I prefer to think of it as competence. Or do you think a mere dozen men could stop me from leaving here?"


    Francoise scowled deeper, before with a huff, he turned to leave. "Find somebody else to beg our mercy too," he scoffed. "For I will accept nothing but your Famiglia''s total destruction."


    And with that, the man stormed out of the city, his guard following behind him.


    Cherven sighed, relaxing only slightly. "Damn it all," he clicked his mandibles. "Why did I have to stumble across him first."


    "Ah, it ain''t all bad," Svani clapped the (much) taller spider-person on the back. "I think that''s the least violent interaction I''ve had with a Caparelli in weeks!"


    "That does not make it any less difficult to end this damn war," he shook his head. "Regardless, now that they are here, I have some questions for these¡­ two¡­?"


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Cherven had turned to confront the two Rosa guildmembers, only to pause in confusion, as he saw the spot they had been just moments before now empty.


    Anima and Palmira, having snuck out of the courtyard just behind the Capparelli, swiftly made their escape back to the guildhall.


    -<X>-


    ?


    She stared at the ceiling of her room, laying on her bed. She was exhausted, having been trying to sleep for hours now, but it wouldn''t come to her.


    "Hey, are you still awake? You doing okay?"


    She let out a quiet grunt.


    "Makes sense," Morte gave her the impression of nodding solemnly. "Was it what happened in that crypt? Was¡­ was that the first time you''ve seen someone die?"


    A grey cloud consuming her home. A failure of a miracle at the top of a tower. People she knew and not, sick and starving on the streets.


    "¡­No¡­" she whispered at last.


    She knew death well. But this¡­


    "It feels like it''s my fault," she continued. She didn''t want to talk about it, but she also didn''t want him plucking her feeling from her dreams, either. She would say this awake, or not at all. "Like if I hadn''t been there, David wouldn''t have been there. And if David wasn''t there, they would have lived."


    ''Negative,'' Malocchio denied her instantly, before even Morte could respond. ''Our Lady did not harm either of them, despite multiple provocations. How could She bear any responsibility?''


    She grimaced. That wasn''t¡­


    "Woah, hold up there," her staff chided her mace. "You''re young, so I get you don''t understand emotions well yet, but denying her feelings like that won''t help anyone. That said, you''ve got a point¡ªPalmira, you didn''t do anything to hurt either of those kids. David killed the girl, and that was his decision. And Juliano¡­ well, I can''t say I agree with his decision. But it was his decision, not yours."


    She rolled over onto her side, looking into Morte''s eye sockets. "But I could have stopped him. I was standing right there."


    "You didn''t know what was going on. You can''t blame yourself for that."


    ''Confusion. Why is Our Lady blaming herself? We do not understand.''


    "Just quiet down for a bit, kid. Emotions are complicated."


    Palmira rolled onto her back. This wasn''t working as well as she''d hoped it would.


    Then her window shutters suddenly began to rattle. At first, she thought it was just the wind, but suddenly they started shaking harder. She pushed herself up on her bed, heart suddenly pounding at the thought that someone was trying to break in.


    She rolled off her bed and onto the floor, snatching up Morte in an instant and aiming him at the window as it exploded open, and¡ª!


    A red drakeling burst through, flopping face first onto her bed. It slowly pushed itself to its feet, shaking its head.


    Palmira relaxed, placing a hand on her chest to calm her racing heart. "Goddess," she whispered. "Don''t do that, little guy. You almost gave me a heart attack."


    The drakeling squawked, jumping onto the nearby table. It was then that Palmira realized it was holding something in its claws.


    It was a dead bird.


    It dropped the dead bird¡ªnearly charred black from dragon fire¡ªon the table, before stepping back and giving her a proud look.


    Palmira, ignoring Morte''s barely suppressed laughter, sighed, a small smile of her own on her face. "Thank you, little one," she stroked its head, giggling at the crooning sound it made.


    Though these days she no longer needed to rely on eating charred birds to survive, it was still the thought that counted.


    Then someone else burst through her window.


    "I''m back!" Tintinnia landed on her bed, and Palmira began to wonder at the fact that nobody ever entered her room through the door. "And I brought a gift!"


    It was also a dead bird.


    Wait, no, that bird was still¡ªoh, no, the drakeling just killed it.


    Now she had two charred birds.


    She hoped the smell wouldn''t be too hard to air out.


    "Hey!" Tintinnia snapped, turning to glare at the little drakeling. "That wasn''t for you!"


    The drakeling sneezed, before fluttering off the table and onto Palmira''s shoulder to avoid the girl''s glare.


    Palmira sighed, absently scratching the drakeling''s scaly chin. "Why are you here? I figured you and Sinbad were still chasing after David?"


    Tintinnia''s face darkened. "We were. But he''s as slippery as an eel, that David. We''re confident he''s fled the city, and with Sinbad needing to heal we aren''t able to chase after him yet. It makes me furious." Then her face brightened, or at least did some approximation of such. "But then I had a thought¡ªif I''m angry, you must be too! So since I can''t chase after him, I''ve come to cheer you up! Indeed, I''m such a good friend! Much better than that other woman you were with!"


    Tintinnia puffed up with pride, placing both hands on her hips.


    And Palmira couldn''t help but laugh.


    It was more of a choked sob than a true laugh, but how could she not laugh? That her best friends in the world were her staff, a drakeling, and this crazy woman?


    "Hey," Tintinnia pouted, looking a little hurt. "Why are you¡ª!?"


    She was cut off as Palmira stepped forward and wrapped the other girl in a hug.


    "What are you¡ª!?"


    "Thank you," Palmira chuckled wetly, resting her chin on the shorter girl''s far to poofy hair. "For being my friend."


    "Uh, well, I," Tintinnia squirmed, but didn''t do anything to pull away. "¡­You''re welcome?"


    Palmira just hugged her friend tighter.

 Interlude III - Threes a Crowd

    Three''s a Crowd


    David


    David had never particularly cared for people.


    It wasn''t personal. It was just¡­


    He just saw the lives of mortals as something pointless to get worked up about.


    They''d die anyway. Why did the when matter?


    He had been born¡­ sometime around the height Volan Empire. He didn''t remember¡ªhe''d been a newborn back then, little more than a wind spirit weaving war under the ballad of the Queen of Spring. He''d died and been reborn a few hundred times since then, but really, who was counting? The Fey were eternal, and he was a Fey. They''d danced to the Cycle of the Seasons for countless millennia before, and they would continue to do so up until the end of the world.


    And then the Woman-Serpent came and sunk his home into the sea.


    It had been a shock, to be sure. Doubly so when the new King came along and unified them, but hey, he rolled with it. The new Drowned Court was formed in the flooded crater of Albion, the Fey united for the first time in history under a single ruler.


    Except, there was an issue.


    David had begun to grow restless. His will was not sapped by constant fighting, but rather, the lack of it. The new King held Court every day and every night. Singing and dancing and drinking. For such was the nature of the Fey Courts, and though there was now only one that did not change. If anything, it made it worse.


    But the Woman-Serpent still remained at large, and so the Drowned Court plotted revenge.


    Slowly.


    They''d get to it eventually.


    ¡­What year was it again?


    David, along with many of his fellow restless kinsmen, grew tired of the nothing. He was a soldier¡ªor more accurately, a thrill seeker¡ªand the years of nothing began to wear on them all.


    So they left the Drowned Court, in search of battles afield. Against Demons, Angels, and even those few mortals who could put up a decent fight.


    And then, eventually, David met his match.


    It was a mortal, amusingly enough. A young Paladin, following in the footsteps of his teacher. And when he heard of the Drowned-Man causing trouble down on the coast (David had enjoyed a few years of hunting mortal ships for sport) he had no choice but to come and stop him.


    David had thought the boy an idiot.


    So he made him a deal, as a joke more than anything. It was something all the Fey did, make deals with mortals that they could not possibly lose out on.


    It had been years since he''d had a mortal slave, after the last one had died in a tragic hunting accident. (Who was hunting what shall not be disclosed here). So he made the boy a deal¡ªif he could land three cuts on him, then David would ''repent'' his ''evil ways'' and join his fight against the demons. But if David landed three cuts on his body, then the boy would become his slave, to serve him for the rest of his life.


    David laughed when the boy took the deal. What a stupid little mortal!


    Then he got his ass handed to him. Badly.


    And that was how he met Sinbad, the self-righteous little brat that slowly grew on him like a clump of overzealous mold.


    David fought for his new ''Boss'' for years, first against the weaker demons which prowled the borderlands, and then as they grew stronger against even Demon Lords, such as the Lich-King and the Woman-Serpent herself.


    This wasn''t a bad deal for him, to be clear¡ªhe never made a bet he could lose, and either way he''d get to fight. If anything, this was better than he could have ever imagined. Who would have thought that little brat would become one of the most powerful fighters of his generation?


    They gathered more companions on their adventures. Rosalina, the priestess, who wielded divine flames. Geronimo, the dwarven warrior, with his great hammer. Hildegard, the Red Scholar, who knew near everything there was to know about demons. And others still, new allies who helped them along their journey.


    They even managed to slay one of the Demon Lords, the Lich-King himself!


    Unfortunately though, it was around this time that David came to a dreadful realization.


    His new companions¡ªhis new friends¡ªwere mortals. They could die. They would die.


    And then he''d be alone.


    Again.


    Well, that couldn''t stand!


    So he began looking into the various ways mortals could gain immortality. He looked into potions and elixirs, but few seemed to grant true longevity and most just seemed increasingly creative poisons. He studied necromancy and similar such arts, but he just couldn''t wrap his head around the concept of death enough to figure it out. He even looked into vampires, but no matter how hard he looked he couldn''t find one, let alone figure out how to turn his friends into one! At this point he wasn''t even sure they existed!


    However, one day a solution arrived from the most unlikely of sources.


    The Woman-Serpent Edda spoke to him, on a craggy rock jutting from the sea, the only remains of an island she sunk. She told him thusly:


    "Hear me. I am Queen of the sea, the ocean, the rivers. I am Queen of all that lurks beneath the surface. Each day my domain grows, as I drag more and more of the land into my depths. Yet you, who are of the sea, fight against me. Why do you betray me so?"


    And David responded, "Well, I just don''t like you."


    The Woman-Serpent brought her head low, so her eye¡ªof which the pupil was of equal size with him¡ªcould stare at him clearly.


    "What would I need to do to get you to like me?"


    And David pondered these words. For a few minutes. Then a few hours. Then a few days.


    But they were Fey and Demon, immortal both. They were patient.


    And eventually he responded.


    "Could you grant my friends immortality? I don''t have many, and yet it seems every day that passes that number dwindles even more. If you could guarantee them to live, not just for now, but forever, I think I would come to like you."


    The great eye blinked, its three eyelids closing and opening.


    "Very well. I shall sink the islands. I shall sink the continents. I shall sink it all into the depths of the sea. But in my mercy, I shall leave but a single island, which those you care for may live out the rest of eternity with you. But only for them, and not a soul more."


    And David, hearing this, smiled.


    "Then it seems we have a deal."


    Never let it be said David ever made a bet he could lose.


    -<X>-


    ?


    Sinbad


    Sinbad was tired and angry.


    This wasn''t a particularly unique state for him to be in, these days. Sometimes, it felt like an eternity since he''d been young, full of vim and vigor. When he''d been able to look another person in the eye and claim to be a good person.


    But as he''d come to realize, the world was full of bad people. One of them was even in front of him, right now.


    "Okay, so we''ve got a choice of human, elf, or orc," Tintinnia hummed, setting a head from each of those races on the table between them, splattering it with blood and gore. "Orc might be a bit too big for you, but luckily I got a younger one, so it should fit! It''s the elf I''m more worried about¡ªthey age a lot slower than humans, so what if that causes you problems when you''re older? I think it''s best we think about these things now, rather than later."


    Sinbad gave her a tired glare. Why did she have to kill three people for this? He only needed one tongue, she didn''t need to give him options! Just get him a human one and be done with it!


    But he supposed that was just in her nature.


    Tintinnia was a cursed child. Whether she was born that way or became such later didn''t matter, as it didn''t change what she was now.


    He should have lopped off her head back when he found her, just as he had all the others. It would have been kinder that way¡ªfor the rest of the world, if nothing else.


    But he was too sentimental. If it hadn''t been for the girl''s grandfather, none of them would be here to continue the fight today. So he felt he owed it to the man, to make sure his only remaining family grew up healthy and cared for.


    Now if only she would stop killing innocent people, maybe he wouldn''t have to feel so damn guilty about that.


    With an annoyed sigh he rolled his good eye, pointing at the human head, cutting off Tintinnia''s ramblings. She pouted at him¡ªshe''d been subtly trying to convince him to take the orc one, but he wouldn''t even consider it¡ªbut reluctantly shoved the other two heads off the table. They bounced once they hit the ground, splattering his shoes with blood.


    His eyebrow twitched. Couldn''t she even have the littlest amount of respect for the dead?


    As the cursed child began dismantling the jaw of the unfortunate human, Sinbad leaned back, silently mouthing a prayer for the deceased.


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    He wished, in that moment, that David hadn''t turned against them. That their greatest warriors didn''t keep falling to the whispers of Demons. Maybe if his old friends were still here, they''d have had better luck teaching this child morality.


    Thinking of his old friend brought some of the anger back. The betrayal still stung, even after all these years. He longed for the day when he could finally bring down those traitors, and could turn his attention back on the true threat.


    But he was getting older. His age was swiftly catching up with him, and he was growing weaker with each passing year. Soon he worried that he wouldn''t be able to keep up with David, and once that day came, the rest would fall soon after.


    If only there was some way to live forever.


    Sinbad snarled as pain laced through his face. His hand shot up to clench around his eyepatch, as what was under it throbbed.


    Yellow pus began to leak from beneath the eyepatch, burning his hand where it touched. He felt something poking his brain, and it was only thanks to the protections he''d had Tintinnia install that it didn''t go any further.


    He opened his mouth to pray, only to remember his lack of tongue. So instead he clenched his teeth and rode the pain out, one hand on his eyepatch and the other on his blade, just in case.


    And eventually, slowly, the pain began to subside.


    Not today, he swore, ignoring Tintinnia''s concerned look from across the table. He slowly lowered his hand, feeling his body relax.


    He wasn''t that far gone yet.


    -<X>-


    ?


    Roselina


    "The mortal races have always been creatures of Sin."


    A congregation had gathered in an olive field on the outskirts of Firozzi. Dozens of pious men, women and children flocked to the field, to the woman who stood in the center. A Priestess of world renown, a Saint blessed by the Goddess herself.


    The Priestess stood at the head of the congregation. Her voice was soft, yet all could hear it, as though she were whispering directly into their ears. Her smile was kind, even as she spoke to them of their damnation.


    And yet none left¡ªfor who were they, to deny the Goddess?


    "It is because we are young. It is because we are frail. We do not realize the weight of our own actions. As a child does not yet understand the world, we do not yet understand the divine."


    As she spoke, grey clouds began to gather on the horizon. The rumbling of distant thunder sounded.


    "And so the Goddess sent down her Daughter to teach us. To teach us as a mother teaches her children, so that we might learn the Proper Way."


    The clouds grew closer, slowly covering the congregation in darkness. Those less pious fled the olive field, while the true believers stayed, even as the first drops of rain began to fall upon their sinful shoulders.


    "But we did not. We could not. For we were young. We are young. Too assured of our own innocence, of the protection of our immortal spirit by our mortal flesh. The Goddess sent us a teacher, and we sent her back a martyr."


    The clouds grew darker, and rain began to pour down in sheets. The field the congregation stood in turned to mud, and thunder rumbled ominously above.


    Except for one spot, where rain refused to fall, where the clouds refused to darken.


    The Priestess stood in a circle of light, dry and warm, as the sinful around her were cleansed.


    "The Sin of the Elf is Arrogance. The Sin of the Dwarf is Avarice. The Sin of the Orc is Anger."


    Lightning crackled across the sky. Thunder rumbled ominously. The storm grew worse, and yet still they remained, suffering in silence as their sins were cleansed.


    "Yet such Sins are petty. For when the Goddess decreed the Rules of the world, only one race sought to challenge her. When the Goddess built her Heaven above the clouds, only one race tried to match her. And when the Goddess sent down her Prophet, only one race denied her."


    The rain was now falling to fast, the wind blowing so hard, and the dark clouds rumbling so loudly, that no other sound could be heard above the storm.


    None except the Priestess, who continued her sermon undaunted.


    "And so it was as the Goddess decreed, Ambition was the Sin of Man."


    The sky rumbled and lightning flashed, blinding all who were witness. A darkness followed it, so absolute that none could see through it, consuming the whole of the congregation.


    But only for a moment. The darkness faded as quickly as it came, and light returned to the olive fields.


    The Priestess stood in an empty field, the sun shining down upon her shoulders, with not a cloud in the sky. Not a soul to listen to her silence.


    Rosalina opened her eyes. She smiled, refreshed. It had been too long since she last led a prayer.


    Turning away from the fields, she began to make her way into the city. She was here for a reason, after all, though she worried she was too late. David had been in the city earlier, from what she had heard, and he was always ruining her plans.


    He was such a goody two shoes.


    But it was okay. When the time came, she would forgive him, just as she would all the others in this sinful world.


    Because Roselina was, and always would be, a pious woman.


    As she returned to the road she came across Geronimo, standing sentinel as he always did. He didn''t talk much these days, but that was fine¡ªshe could do enough talking for the both of them.


    "It''s been years since I was last here," Rosalina mused, as they made their way through the city of Firozzi. "It''s remarkable how much has changed."


    Geronimo remained silent.


    "Ah, I suppose you''re right," she chuckled, placing a hand on her cheek. "Time changes everything, no matter how much we may wish it won''t. I suppose that''s just part of life!"


    When she''d last been here, the city had been overrun by poverty and homelessness. It seemed that since then, that problem had begun getting fixed.


    How wonderful! It warmed her heart to know that even in communities such as this, there were good people working to make the world a better place.


    Though the people of the city did seem pretty tense now that she was looking closer.


    Had something happened?


    Rosalina worried her lip, wondering if she''d have enough time to help solve whatever issue was plaguing them. She had a schedule to keep, but surely there was something she could do.


    She shook her head. She''d planned to distribute alms to the poor later today¡ªperhaps she''d learn what was going on then? After that she could begin helping, yes.


    Nodding to herself, she smiled again, happy she could find ways to help people, even now. That was the purpose of a priestess, after all!


    Soon she found herself at her destination¡ªa small graveyard, hidden between some older buildings and the remains of the old castle wall. Though they seemed quite damaged, and the ground was surprisingly muddy.


    Had something happened here?


    Ah, she supposed whatever it had been wasn''t a concern of hers. Nobody but her was visiting today.


    She made her way to the mausoleum in the back, snapping the lock off the door with ease. Entering, she made her way inside the small crypt, grimacing at how damp it was. Had it flooded recently?


    Well, at least the dead were unharmed. Though their souls may have long since ascended, there was no need to sully their bodies with mold.


    Soon enough she''d reached the back of the crypt, where a single stone tomb sat atop an altar.


    With a joyful smile Rosalina stepped forward and quickly shoved the lid of the coffin off of it, not caring as it landed on the ground with an echoing boom.


    Instead she only had eyes for the body within, the body of someone she''d long ago lost.


    Someone who would now be returned to her.


    Rosalina smiled, stroking the corpse''s cheek.


    "It''s been so long, teacher," she whispered in the darkness of the cave. "Too long. But don''t worry¡ªthe Goddess rewards faith, and there were few more faithful than you!"


    The corpse did not respond.


    At first.


    Slowly, in the darkness of the crypt, Rosalina watched as the head began to turn. It moved from its place of rest, until its empty eye sockets locked onto her own. Its jaw moved up and down, as though it were trying to speak, but no words came out.


    "Shh, teacher," Rosalina shushed him gently. "It is alright. You''ve slept for a long time, but now it''s finally time to get up. Can you do that for me? Can you stand up?"


    The body shuffled some more, moving faster with each moment that passed. Until, finally, rotting hands gripped the side of the coffin, and her teacher pulled himself up and out.


    And Rosalina smiled, overjoyed. "Wonderful, my teacher! Oh, thank you Goddess! Thank you for blessing me with this greatest of miracles!"


    For that was the way the world worked. Above all, the Goddess rewarded faith.


    And who was more faithful than a Priestess?

 Interlude IV - Family Matters

    Family Matters


    Chiara


    "I can''t believe you talked me into this."


    Dante rolled his eyes. "And I can''t believe you''re still complaining."


    Chiara scowled at her half-brother. The two of them were slowly making their way through their childhood home, La Villa di Cristallo. The villa itself looked as though it had been carved from a ruby the size of a hill, the walls, roof, and floor all the same pale translucent pink. Tapestries of their family history hung crystalizing on the walls between thick pillars of white quartz, while sapphires and emeralds the size of melons decorated the ceiling. If she hadn''t long since grown used to it, the midday light reflecting from the countless crystals and gemstones would have blinded her.


    The state of their villa wasn''t some lavish decoration, but a byproduct of their family''s continued existence on the land. Ever since their founder, every child of their family had been taught crystalline magic. At first because it was tradition, and then it turned into the only way for them to survive.


    Continuous use of magic didn''t just warp its practitioners. If used in the same place for a long enough period of time, it could warp the very land itself.


    "You can''t really expect Father to agree to this!?" she hissed, taking care not to speak loudly enough for the other servants to hear. They were family, sure¡ªCadorna bastards all of them, since normal humans couldn''t survive their home¡ªbut if anything them being family only made it worse. She had no illusions about who they''d report to.


    "I just need him to consider it," Dante waved her off confidently. "We are one of if not the wealthiest Famiglia in the city. And he''s our father. Surely he chafes being subservient to the Ambrosi as much as we do."


    She scowled, not willing to admit he had a point. She was just¡ªworried. It had been years since she''d last spoken to her father. Not since she joined the guild, at least.


    She supposed she just had to accept Dante knew him better than she did.


    "We need to present a united front," he continued. "We might not be directly a part of the family business, but I''m still a guildmaster, and you an adventurer. On paper, only father outranks us in the family."


    Chiara still wasn''t convinced, but she sighed, rubbing her forehead. She supposed she wouldn''t be so against this if he wasn''t dragging her along with him. If he went alone, his failure or success wouldn''t matter much to her, but now there was a chance Father¡ªor worse, one of her other brothers¡ªmight take notice of her before she was ready.


    But she owed him. Dante was the only person in their family to give her the chance she deserved, and she paid her debts.


    They didn''t speak again until they reached their father''s study, standing before the great hexagonal crystal doors.


    Chiara glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "Are you ready?"


    Dante adjusted his sleeves, scowling at the ruby decorations that hadn''t been there moments before. "Not in the least."


    Then their father called them in, and they had no more time to speak.


    Their father sat behind his desk, a great chunk of amethyst topped with a slab of wood that she knew was there to stop his paperwork from crystalizing when he was gone. The man himself was rather short and skinny, to the point he looked like he was swimming in his silk robes. Most people looked at him and thought him unassuming, a weak man coasting on the wealth of his ancestors.


    But his family knew differently. She never knew them, but her older siblings (the bastard ones, at least) spoke of elder uncles and aunts who one day just¡­ vanished.


    Chiara loved her father. She did. But she was also terrified of him, in a way she didn''t think Dante could understand.


    Unfortunately, though, their father wasn''t the only one there.


    Their elder brothers¡ªtheir Father''s only other trueborn children besides Dante¡ªstood beside Father. Giorno and Caravaggio, twins who constantly fought over who would be heir. Pale-haired with emerald-eyed, they agreed on nothing.


    Nothing besides the fact that Dante wouldn''t be inheriting anything.


    She had to work to keep the frown off her face. She glanced at her only decent brother and saw Dante suddenly looked much less confident then he had a moment ago. That all three of them were already standing opposed to them¡­


    "Dante!" Father smiled at his son. He nodded at the chair sitting on the other side of the desk, motioning for him to sit. The chair was notably shorter than his. "My Son! What brings you here today?"


    Dante''s brow creased. She agreed¡ªFather knew why they were here, they were behind closed doors, why the theatrics?


    "I have a proposal for you, father," he plastered a smile on his face, giving the man a nod of respect. "It''s a bit ambitious¡ª"


    Caravaggio snorted. "A bit?"


    "¡ªbut I think it has potential," Dante continued, ignoring their brother. "Our family is wealthy. Wealthy beyond words. And yet we''re barely a power in the Signora! We don''t even control a seat in the Arti! Which is why I believe it is time for a change. The Ambrosi are weaker than ever before, the Capparelli are floundering, and the both of them are ceding ground to the foreign Gennarelli. It is time, I think, for a new Famiglia to take power."


    Their father''s smile hadn''t left his face. Hadn''t even twitched. "Time for us to take power, you mean?"


    Dante nodded sharply. "Yes."


    "Ambitious," Father nodded. "But foolish."


    "Wha¡ª?"


    "We run the jeweler''s guild, true," Father continued smiling at them. Chiara wanted to hide behind her brother, but she forced herself to stand her ground, taking a step forward so that she was only just behind his shoulder. Her other brothers scowled at her, but Father didn''t even give her a glance. "And it is true we are wealthy. But our wealth is fixed¡ªif the gold crash of the last decades showed us anything, it is that inflation is as deadly a foe as any demon."


    "Our house is made of rubies!" Dante, foolishly, interrupted their father. "Surely we can¡ª!"


    "Who buys the rubies?" Father cut him off. "Who buys the emeralds? The sapphires? I''ll tell you who¡ªthe Ambrosi. The Capparelli. The Gennarelli. The wealthy elites who run this city are our main customers. We take them out, and who do we sell to? Our exports to foreign cities won''t change. We''d only lose money if we got rid of those powerful Famiglia."


    "But we have more than just gems! We have a whole adventurer''s guild! One with powerful adventurers, including ¨®sma! We can make money in ways that don''t involve jewelry!"


    "Oh?" Father raised an eyebrow. "And how much of your personal funds do you spend each month just to keep your little guild afloat?"


    Dante flinched, biting his lip to stop himself from spluttering out excuses.


    Chiara winced as well. She understood, in that moment, why the whole family was here. This whole idea was doomed from the start. Their Father wasn''t even considering the idea.


    She supposed it was inevitable. The Cadorna made most (all, really) of their wealth from the jewelry trade. Rubies, emeralds, diamonds, all types of crystals crafted into jewelry by mages who''d spent their lives dedicated to the craft. And that meant that, even as a subsidiary of the Ambrosi Famiglia, even as just a fraction of the Blacksmith''s guild, the Cadorna Famiglia had enough wealth to rival those grander Famiglias.


    Compared to that, what was a single broke adventurer''s guild?


    As she''d expected in the end, Father saw their adventurer''s guild as little more than a vanity project.


    "My uncle founded that guild at a time when the world was much more dangerous," Father told them dismissively. "Back in the day, after the collapse of the Empire, it was seen as a mark of prestige and power to do so. But those days are long gone, and the guild has only been a drain on our resources for years now. I gave you the guild to see you make something of yourself, but it seems all you''ve done is get ideas above your station."


    Finally, Dante''s mask of confidence broke. "¡­Father, please."


    "I''ll give you a choice," Father continued relentlessly. "You can either get rid of the guild¡ªsell what you can to make back your losses, maybe point some of your more competent adventurers to our¡­ actually, no, don''t do that¡ªor, you can keep the guild. And get rid of your family name."


    Dante stared at their Father, frozen.


    And Chiara herself wasn''t much better. She felt herself begin breathing heavier, already realizing what he was going to choose. There was no way he wouldn''t right? Her one chance to prove herself, gone already¡ª!


    "I have to choose?" Dante rasped, clutching his knees hard enough to crack diamond. "Is there really no other way?"


    "There isn''t."


    Dante licked his lips, eyes glancing at his brothers. But the two just glared back, dark amusement dancing in their eyes. He would find no allies there.


    "¡­Very well. Then¡­" he took a deep, shaky breath. "Then I choose the guild."


    Everyone in the room froze at his declaration, spoken in a near whisper. Almost like nobody could believe what he''d said¡ªnot even Dante.


    "¡­What?" their father, for the first time since she''d met him, sounded shocked. "I seem to have misheard you. What did you say?"


    Dante rose from his chair, standing on shaky legs. And even as his voice shook, he raised his chin proudly, now looking down on their father. "I said, I choose the guild. The Rosa Dominae is my life''s work, I''m not going to abandon it so easily."


    "You''re life''s barely begun," their father murmured, staring at his son as if he''d never seen him before. Then his smile returned, looking almost proud. "I hope you understand what you''re giving up?"


    "I hope you understand what you''re giving up," Dante countered. "Don''t come crawling back to me once I''ve become Gonfaloniere."


    "Gonfaloniere, eh? How disgustingly ambitious¡­" Father chuckled. "Very well. I''ll give you the week to gather your things and move out. That includes the townhouse in the city¡ªyou live there on my coin, I hope you remember."


    Dante''s face soured, but he stood his ground. "I remember."


    "Good!" Father smiled at him. "Then I expect you gone by then, Dante."


    "By your leave, Signor Cadorna," Dante nodded sharply, before swiftly turning and marching out of the room. Chiara followed, giving one last glance at their father.


    He met her eyes, and she quickly turned back around.


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    The two of them walked in silence for a long while, until their father''s study was far behind them.


    It was Chiara who finally broke the silence.


    "¡­Thank you," she whispered, holding back crystal tears. "Thank you so much."


    That seemed to be what finally broke Dante, and he nearly fell over, leaning against the wall for support. "I didn''t do it for you," he rasped back, running a sweaty hand through his hair. "I did it for me. I hope¡­ I hope you realize this changes nothing."


    "You seriously can''t think we can do this alone, can you!? We''re already broke, and selling jewelry would put us in direct competition with Father," she hissed, trying to bite down on her own hysteria. Was her brother insane!? "What do you expect us to do!?"


    "¡­I have a backup plan," Dante replied, in a tone she''d long since realized meant he was lying. "And it''s not like we have to rush. The guild is now¡­ it''s now my Famiglia. Like Father said, this is my life''s work. And my life''s barely begun."


    "You''re crazy," Chiara told him, but she couldn''t help but laugh. "And I must be just as crazy, since I''m following you."


    "Crazy, huh?" he chuckled tiredly. "¡­crazy¡­"


    "¡­What?"


    "Well, it''s just¡ªFather''s cut us off. We aren''t even Cadorna anymore. So we''ll need a new name for our new Famiglia. A powerful one. One that everyone will remember."


    "I feel like I''m going to regret asking, but what the hell are you talking about?"


    "It''s an idea I''ve gotten from our newest recruit, actually," he told her with a wry grin. "It would be an arrogant statement, and one that would gain us no friends. But it''s not like we have any allies anyway, so¡­ why not? Let''s come out the gate swinging!"


    Chiara gave him a skeptical look, before her eyes widened in shock as he explained his idea. Then she grinned widely, and agreed. Arrogance and ambition alike, what else could she do but admire his sheer audacity?


    And so brother shook hands with his bastard sister, and the Firozzi Famiglia was born.


    -<X>-


    ?


    Capparelli


    Matilda dei Capparelli sat in her solar, slowly digging into her breakfast. Poached eggs stuffed with freshly caught salmon, served next to toasted bruschetta. Cold cuts of sausage and ham. And of course, a glass of coffee the size of her head, filled with enough sugar and cream to turn it near white.


    With shaking hands she slowly brought the next bite to her mouth. It was slower than she''d wished¡ªshe was getting on in age, unfortunately, and it turned out that even getting food to her mouth was becoming a chore. Still, she wasn''t that old yet, and as her fork finally reached her mouth she savored the taste.


    Mhm. The servants had truly outdone themselves this time.


    "ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND!?"


    A fist slammed down on the table she was sitting at, shaking it hard enough that some of her coffee jumped out of her glass. She watched in horror as the glass began to tip over, but luckily her granddaughter Francesca swiftly leaned forward to catch it before it could fall.


    Matilda sent the girl a look of approval. This was why she was her favorite.


    Her son Francoise, on the other hand, continued to make a fool of himself.


    "MY DAUGHTER IS DEAD! YOUR NIECE! AND YET YOU''RE ACTUALLY CONSIDERING PEACE!?"


    Beatrice, her eldest daughter, scowled in return. The woman herself was old enough she could have been a grandmother herself, if the tragedy hadn''t occurred years ago. "I mourn her as well, Francoise, but this is, for once, not the Ambrosi''s fault."


    "IT WAS THE DEMON-WORSHIPER THAT THEY INVITED INTO OUR CITY THAT KILLED HER! HOW IS IT NOT THEIR FAULT!?"


    "No, brother," she sneered. "It is yours. If you hadn''t decided to attack the Ambrosi over a couple of horny teenagers, we would not even be having this conversation. Instead, the Ambrosi and the Gennarelli would be killing each other while we watched from the side."


    "That''s unfair!" her youngest daughter snapped. The woman was heavily pregnant herself, with her third child on the way. Francoise himself was too angry to speak, gaping at his sister with a red face. "None of us knew this was going to happen! You can''t blame him for this!"


    "We have to take responsibility for our actions, Betilda," her second son sided against his sister. Or more accurately, against the brother who was just ahead of him in the line of succession. Ambitious little brat. "Regardless of our intentions, it is our actions that must be judged. You cannot tell me that if Francoise had been anyone other than the heir he wouldn''t have been punished already."


    That dragged in her third son, who joined Francoise. He''d been trying to curry favor with the heir apparent, knowing he had little chance of inheriting¡ªand, more importantly, that if her first son was disinherited, he''d need his help to take the second son out of the picture.


    Then her other daughter chimed in, bringing in her daughters, and then Francoise''s son joined in¡­


    Hm. Perhaps she had too many children.


    Francoise finally regained his voice, leaping to his feet with a roar, "YOU DARE¡ª!?"


    The old woman sighed through her nose, exhausted by all this shouting.


    She had led the Capparelli for decades now. Nearly seventy years, give or take, not long after her own father had been assassinated by an Ambrosi spy.


    So she understood her son''s rage, truly she did. She''d been much the same when she was younger, all hot-headed and full of righteous vengeance.


    That did not mean she was going to let him continue throwing a temper tantrum.


    "Sit down."


    Francoise sat down.


    Matilda took a long sip of her coffee. She let out a relieved sigh at the taste, exulting in the pounding of her heart. Her children were, for a moment, blessedly silent.


    "Now, what seems to be the issue, here?"


    Francoise swallowed, before speaking with barely repressed anger. "My daughter¡ªyour granddaughter¡ªis dead, Mother. And now, only after she is dead, do the Ambrosi sue for peace. This cannot stand. We have the Paladin Sinbad and the Gennarelli on our side! We should finally destroy the Ambrosi once and for all! Now, while they are weak and we are strong!"


    "We are strong?" Matilda hummed, playing up her confusion. "That''s news to me. It seems like all our strength comes from temporary allies."


    Francoise winced, but pushed on admirably. If stubbornness could ever be called admirable. "That is¡­ It just means we''re using the Gennarelli to soak up the damage, while we can claim the spoils ourselves!"


    "A fine idea," she nodded at him, taking another long sip of coffee. "But in what world do you expect that to work? That the Gennarelli would just accept us taking the territory and influence they fought so hard for?"


    "That is¡­ I¡­"


    "It is a moot point regardless. The Gennarelli have already made peace with the Ambrosi¡ªtheir casus belli ran out the second the Ambrosi surrendered their Demons. And we are in no position to fight the Ambrosi alone."


    "We¡­ Mother, surely you don''t think we should just give up, do you!? Accept the death of my¡ªour family!?"


    She raised a wizened eyebrow. "You did not seem quite so torn up when your nephew Antonio died some years ago. In fact, I do recall that you were the one who was calling for peace that day. What was it you said¡­?"


    "I remember his words well, mother," Beatrice, the mother of Antonio, gave her brother a bitter smile. "''We shouldn''t allow the follies of youth to bring about more death,'' were his exact words. I would argue that those words apply to this situation as well, don''t you think?"


    Francoise returned to his seat, shame-faced and seething.


    Matilda sighed. She was getting too old for these dynastic politics. And with how much her children bickered, she feared for the day she finally departed this world and left them to try to work together without her.


    "We will make peace with them today," she told her children and grandchildren, arrayed throughout her solar like the royal courts of old. Moments like these, she wondered if this was what her own grandfather felt, back when he was duke and their family ruled this city in truth. "That, we must do regardless. But the Ambrosi have taken a brutal blow, one they may not be able to recover from. Their reputation is shattered, their darkest dealings brought to light in a way no one can hide. Already there are rumors that their vassal Famiglia are pulling away, searching for a less controversial liege. Perhaps, they are searching for us."


    Beatrice, the woman who in another life would have been her heir, nodded solemnly. "I''ll begin sending out feelers into the smaller Famiglias. I''ll focus on the ones who make up the Arti Meidane. If we gain control over them we''ll have most of the Signora under our control."


    "Excellent," Matilda nodded at her. "However, make sure not to allow the Gennarelli to sink their claws into them. Remember, if we are to restore our legacy to its former glory, we cannot allow anyone to replace the Ambrosi."


    "Of course."


    "Francoise," she turned to her true heir. The man was still seething, but nodded, showing how well she''d trained him. "I will not ask you to be happy about this decision. I will demand it. Mourn at home, but smile for peace when in public¡ªyou will garner no sympathy for mourning, not when the Ambrosi have also lost a son."


    Her son scowled deeper. "Yes, Grandmother."


    "Excellent," she nodded at him. "And finally, Francesca?"


    Francesca perked up. "Yes, Grandmother?"


    "Another coffee, please."


    The girl slumped, before quickly rushing to make her another glass.


    "Today we will grant our enemies mercy," Matilda nodded at her children, downing what remained in her glass. "But mercy is a blade as sharp as any other. The Ambrosi will fall slowly, torn to pieces from the inside out. And when we retake our place as the Dukes of Firozzi, there will be none left to oppose us."


    Matildia raised her empty glass in triumph. "To the Capparelli!"


    Her children followed, thumping the table and raising their own glasses high. "To the Capparelli!"


    And the Duchess in all but name smiled thinly, proud that even for all their squabbling, her family understood what really mattered.


    Soon the Capparelli would retake their rightful place as rulers of the city. And then, the Dukes of Firozzi would rule the peninsula once again.

 Chapter 23 - Ash on the Wind

    Ash on the Wind


    Palmira marched through a desolate land.


    The world was dark and grey in all directions. Black clouds hung low in the sky, occasionally erupting with bursts of lightning. Ash fell like snow, covering the molten ground in an ever-increasing layer of soot. The only breaks in the bleached hellscape were the burning corpses of trees, just barely peaking over the ash.


    She wasn''t sure when she''d returned here. She thought she''d left this place behind long ago.


    Or, perhaps, had she never left?


    The memories were fuzzy.


    Smoke tickled her nose, and she turned her tired eyes down, confused. A small ball of fire was clutched to her chest, burning softly. It was green¡ªor perhaps blue?¡ªand it seemed to almost curl into her.


    ''Who are you,'' she wanted to ask, but no sound came out. She knew why, tasting ash on her tongue, in her throat, filling her lungs. But she tried to talk anyway, unable to stop herself. ''Why are we here?''


    The fire didn''t answer. But it did begin to move, pulling away from her. She clutched it harder, but it didn''t seem like it was trying to flee¡ªrather, the color of the flame mixed with the ash, painting the path forward in light and smoke.


    Palmira clutched the ball of fire tighter, and began to move.


    Step by heavy step she pushed forward, ignoring the pain in her bare, blackened feet as they dug into the burning ash. She knew she just had to keep moving forward, keep following the flames.


    Just as she always had.


    But the ash was growing heavy in her lungs, and her breath came shorter and shorter. She coughed, feeling her lungs shake like stones in her chest. She gasped further, the smoke of the flame she was following suffocating her further. But she couldn''t let go¡ªcouldn''t let this one chance at survival slip from her grasp.


    She took another step, but her foot slipped, and she fell to her knees. She let out a soundless scream as the ash burned her knees, unable to stand back up. She cried tears of fire, trying to push herself to her feet but only succeeding in burning her hands. She crawled further regardless, ignoring how her skin blacked and melted, how the ash turned her lungs to stone, how her vision grew darker and darker. But all the determination in the world couldn''t save her from her fate, and soon her body would move no further.


    And the ash buried her once again.


    -<X>-


    ?


    Palmira gasped as she woke up, lunging from her bed. Taking deep, wheezing gulps of air, she glanced frantically around her bedroom¡ªher bedroom, not the ash fields¡ªslowly calming herself down as she realized where she was.


    "Morte," she rasped, clutching at her chest. "What the fuck was that!?"


    "What?" Morte seemed genuinely confused. "What are you talking about?"


    "The dream!" she snapped, eyes wild. "If this is what you call training, then you can take your damn training and shove it up your non-existent ass!"


    "You mean¡ª? Oh, I see. I''m sorry, but despite what you seem to think, I don''t spend all my time messing around with your dreams. Sometimes, your nightmares are your own."


    What? Her own nightmares? But what would¡­ that would mean¡­


    Ah.


    She''d been so busy with everything else recently, that she''d almost all but forgotten it. The memories of that day, so long ago.


    Her anger left her in an instant, and she slumped back onto her bed, drained.


    Smoke tickled her nose, and she glanced down, realizing she''d been clutching a ball of fire to her chest like a stuffed animal. Glancing into the flames, she swore she could see the smoking peaks of the volcanoes and the ash falling from the sky.


    She let the fire dissipate, taking deep breaths to calm herself down.


    "Do you want to talk about it?" Morte asked.


    "No."


    Morte didn''t push further, and she was grateful.


    Somethings were best left forgotten.


    Gathering herself, she got dressed and grabbed her staff and her mace, heading down for breakfast.


    Or at least that was the plan. The second she left her room, she was treated to an unusual sight.


    "Left, move left!" Chiara snapped. She trying to shove a¡­ was that a bed frame? She was trying to shove some sort of massive wooden thing into the room next to Palmria''s. And struggling pretty badly at it, it seemed. "No, not there¡ªI mean my left, not yours!"


    "I know what you meant!" the guildmaster''s voice shouted back from inside the room. "But your damn quartz is in the way! I told you we should have brought the bed in first!"


    "Goddess almighty, if it''s that much of a problem then let''s just take everything out of the room and start over!"


    "Like Hell I''m wasting the past hour of work doing that! We can fit it in here if you''d just follow my lead!"


    "Huh," Morte hummed curiously. "I wonder what they''re doing."


    Palmira was curious as well, but she was also hungry, so she didn''t particularly care. "Whatever it is, it''s not our problem."


    Ignoring the mess the siblings were making of the hallway, she made her way downstairs. She stepped into the dining hall, only to sigh as she saw the state of the place. The tables were piled high with dirty plates and empty wine bottles, with drunken adventurers passed out between them. Some were even still awake, drinking straight from the bottle as though it seven at night instead of seven in the morning.


    "Did they really spend all night drinking?" Palmira sighed, at this point not even surprised. "I know we don''t have anything else to do right now, but surely there''s something better they could be doing with their time?"


    "They''re adventurers, what else do you expect them to do?"


    "I don''t know? Get a hobby? Go home? Do anything besides waste all their money on alcohol?"


    Morte gasped theatrically. "What sacrilege!? Can you even call yourself an adventurer if you don''t get into a bar fight every night?"


    ''Derision. We agree with Our Lady. The Maker uses her free time to create jewelry. These adventurers are wasteful.''


    Did she really? Huh, that was actually kind of cute. Granted, Tintinnia probably made them out of the skulls of babies or something, but hey, ignorance was bliss.


    Palmira shook her head, deciding it wasn''t important. It wasn''t her money, they could do whatever they wanted with it. Instead she just continued on, stepping over her passed out guildmembers as she went. Some, she noticed, were even still awake.


    The Crusader Teresa gave her a tired wave as she made her way to the bar, Anima passed out on her lap. Palmira responded in kind, before turning away when she noticed exactly where Anima''s face was.


    Ignorance was bliss. Ignorance was bliss.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Bettina the bartender gave her a grin as she finally made it to the bar, somehow just as awake as ever. Come to think of it, she was always behind the bar¡ªdid she even sleep?


    She pondered these questions as she settled down onto one of the few open seats at the bar. Of her two guildmates she was squished between, one was a dark-skinned elf passed out face first on the bar, while the other was an older, scruffy looking knight who was chugging down a bottle of some murky looking alcohol.


    "Here''s your breakfast kid," the bartender smiled, placing the plate down before her. She gave her a wink, leaning in to whisper, "I also hid some grapes under the bread¡ªmake sure you don''t let the guildmaster see!"


    Giving Bettina a much more genuine smile, she dug into her food, beginning to feel better now that she had something to eat.


    Beside her, the knight slammed his now empty bottle onto the bar with a groan. "Hey, Bettina," he growled, squinting through bloodshot eyes at the bartender. "Get me another one. Something stronger."


    Bettina rolled her eyes. "We don''t have anything stronger. Frankly, we don''t have much of anything left."


    "Then give me whatever''s left."


    "Actually, I think I''ll be cutting you off for now," she told him, sliding a glass of water over to him. "Drink this, you''ll feel better."


    "Bettina."


    "Charles," she mocked him. "The sun''s already above the horizon. Just drink the damn water¡ªyou''re setting a bad example for the kid."


    Charles glanced at Palmira out of the corner of his eye, as though he''d only just noticed her. Sighing, he grabbed the water and started chugging it as quickly as the wine.


    Adventurers were weird. And depressing.


    "Palmira!" ¨®sma called out to her. Turning on her barstool, she watched the massive orc casually shove the drunken and passed out adventurers out of his way as he came up to her. "I was hoping I''d find you here. Are you still eating?"


    She glanced down at her plate, mostly empty by this point. It wasn''t a lot of food, even with the extra grapes. With a shrug, she shoved the last of the bread into her mouth, giving the old orc a thumb''s up once she did.


    "Excellent," he waved at her to follow, turning to head back out. "I have some things I want to talk with you about. Come with me, we''ll talk in my office. It''ll smell better, if nothing else."


    Palmira nodded, following in his wake through the trashed dining hall.


    "Hey," she heard Charles ask Bettina as they left. "Now that the girl''s gone, does that mean I can start drinking again?"


    She shook her head, turning to look up at ¨®sma as he led them up to his office. "Is this about my next job?"


    He hesitated. "¡­Yes. If you''re up for it, at least. With everything that''s happened, we don''t have enough jobs for everyone yet, so if you want to take a break we can find someone else. But if you''re fine with it, then yes."


    She nodded, following him into his office. "I think I''ll be fine," she told him. "I''d rather have something to do than not. ¡­If I don''t have something to take my mind off it, I''ll just get lost in my own thoughts and make myself feel worse."


    ¨®sma nodded, giving her a tight smile. Now that she could see him up close, she saw dark bags under his eyes and new stress lines across his face. She wondered if the civil war was causing him more stress than she''d realized.


    It was at that point Dante suddenly stormed into ¨®sma''s office, Chiara right behind him. The man was red in the face and drenched with sweat, while his half-sister looked significantly more put together. The guildmaster gave them both a nod before slumping down into the spare chair, sighing heavily. Chiara calmly closed the door behind him, before leaning against it casually.


    "¨®sma," the guildmaster sighed. "Did we get confirmation?"


    The old orc gave him the stink-eye. "Aye, they did."


    Dante almost fell out of the chair in relief. "Thank the Goddess."


    "I still can''t believe we have to do this. Groveling to a foreign power like this¡­"


    "It''s the only way!" Dante snapped back, rubbing his forehead. "The Ambrosi are blocking us from getting any local jobs!"


    "It wasn''t always the only way."


    "Goddess, just give it a rest already!"


    "Um," Palmira cut in, raising a hand. The two of them turned to her, apparently having forgotten she was there. "Should I head outside¡­?"


    Dante sighed, shaking his head. "No, no. I''m sorry, we''re just¡­ it''s been a stressful few days."


    Palmira nodded awkwardly.


    "I had ¨®sma call you up here because we''re planning an expedition out of the city. Specifically, we''re heading up to Iscrimo in order to ask¡ª"


    "¡ªIn order to beg," ¨®sma cut him off sourly.


    "¡ªIn order to beg," Dante begrudgingly agreed, "that they allow us to start taking jobs in the north. And so that we can make the best impression, I''m gathering the most competent members of the guild together to come with me."


    "I''m one of the most competent members of the guild!?" Palmira asked, more incredulous than touched.


    "You may not be the strongest or smartest," he agreed with her, "But you''re the least likely to cause a political incident by drunkenly insulting a foreign Famiglia. As such, you''ve secured a spot on this expedition."


    Palmira stared at him, once again wondering if this was the right career path for her. Maybe it wasn''t too late to become a professional campfire¡­?


    "Of course, you won''t be the only one coming," he continued. "I''ll be bringing Lorenzo, though he won''t be back in the city for a few more days. Chiara will be coming as well, of course," behind her, his sister puffed up slightly with pride. "And I''ll also be bringing Teresa, Anima, and Charles, once they''ve sobered up."


    "You aren''t bringing Charles," ¨®sma told him.


    "What? Why not?"


    "If we want to make a good impression on them," ¨®sma spoke slowly, as though speaking to a child. "Then we can''t be seen with a knight."


    Dante stared at the orc for a moment, before his eyes widened in realization. "Oh, right, of course," he sighed, shaking his head. "It seems I''m more tired than I expected. Right, we won''t be bringing Charles, though I''m not sure who else we should bring to replace him¡­"


    "I''ll find someone," ¨®sma assured him. "You, on the other hand, should get some rest. If you''re making mistakes as simple as that then you definitely need it."


    "Right, right¡­" he placed a hand on his forehead. Then, nodding to himself, he stood up and began making his way out of the office. "I''ll see you all later," he nodded at them. Chiara moved to leave as well, though the guildmaster paused at the threshold. "Oh, and Palmira?"


    She perked up, wondering what else he had to say.


    "If we do get into a fight, please don''t run away again."


    Palmira twitched, forcing down the scowl that threatened to appear. "¡­Don''t worry, guildmaster. I promise I won''t. This guild is all I have, after all."


    Dante sighed. "¡­Yeah. It''s all I have, too."

 Interlude V - A Day in the Life of a Tree

    A Day in the Life of a Tree


    Lorenzo liked to think of himself as calm and collected.


    He hadn''t always been that way¡ªas his Aunties would harp on to anyone who''d listen¡ªbut years of working as partner to Chiara ''anger issues'' Cadorna had mellowed him out considerably.


    So when he realized he''d fallen asleep in a random field again, he didn''t even so much as blink.


    Getting to his feet, he stretched his arms high over his head with a tired yawn. Glancing around absently, he took stock of where he was.


    A farm of some kind, obviously. Golden stalks of wheat rose around him, high enough that his eyes couldn''t see over the grains, casting the small clearing he''d fallen asleep in an early morning shadow. Stifling another yawn, he concluded that he had to have made it some distance from the city if the farmers here were growing wheat.


    Humming curiously, he asked the wheat where he was.


    The wheat giggled, flustered and breathless, and what he had done the night before suddenly slammed back into him.


    By the Goddess he can''t believe he did it again.


    This was his father''s fault, surely. The damned bard''s proclivities had to have been genetic, that was the only explanation for how this kept happening.


    Well, his Aunties probably didn''t help, but he wasn''t brave enough to blame them for anything, so his deadbeat father¡ªwho deserved it, really¡ªgot all the blame.


    The wheat nymph started to materialize, all tall, golden, and eager. And as he looked upon her form once again, he wondered if it was really so wrong to¡ª


    He slapped himself.


    "Thank you for your company last night," Lorenzo gave the nymph a smile, using her confusion to rush from the farm as quickly as propriety would allow. "But I''m going to be late for work if I stay, so I''d best be going now! Have a lovely harvest season!"


    Fleeing the wheat farm¡ªand then fleeing from the wheat farm''s significantly shorter neighbor who he''d apparently rejected last night¡ªLorenzo swore to himself that this would be the last time he''d let Johanna bait him into a drinking contest.


    Eventually, once he''d put enough distance between himself and the wheat farms, he let himself relax. He sighed, gaining more energy as the sunlight hit his shoulders, and he slowed down into a calm stroll as he hit the vineyards closer to the city. Now knowing where he was he turned, heading deeper into the vineyards rather than make his way to the guild.


    At this point he''d have already missed breakfast anyway, so he might as well enjoy the morning while it lasted.


    Eventually he reached the edge of the vineyard, and passing through the living gate he stepped into the clearing beyond. It could be called a neutral gathering place, though that made it sound grander than it really was¡ªit was more or less just a place for the locals to gather and chat whenever they had the time.


    The clearing was empty other than a beautiful young woman with yellow-green skin and black olives growing from her hair. She sat on the dirt, absently humming a magical tune that caused small olive shoots to grow between her legs. She stopped when she saw him, giving him a wave and a grin that showed off her razor-sharp teeth. "Ah, good morning, Lorenzo!"


    "Good morning, Olea," he returned the olive nymph''s toothy smile with one of his own. "Is it just you so far?"


    "Well, I am early," she shrugged her shoulders absently, before frowning as it caused one of her olives to fall to the ground. He sympathized. Harvest season was always an uncomfortable time of year. "What about you? I figured you''d be eating in the city today?"


    "Ah, well, you know, I felt like it would be a good change of pace."


    Olea gave him a look that told him she didn''t believe him in the slightest and knew exactly why he was here, but she didn''t call him out on it, which put her a step above Chiara. And Johanna. And Anima, and Charles, and¡­


    Hm. He needed better friends.


    Regardless, he settled down in the clearing, spearing a couple doves out of the sky to prepare while he waited. The rest of the local nature spirits slowly congregated in the clearing, bringing with them their own appetizers to the area''s morning potluck. Raw fox tail, salted rat skewers, and even steamed cricket soup. It all looked delicious, and Lorenzo felt himself salivating as they waited for the rest to arrive. But, as was tradition, they couldn''t feast until everyone had gathered, which meant it wouldn''t be until another hour that they could finally eat.


    Grabbing some fox tail for himself, Lorenzo made his way over to where his friends sat, taking a seat next to where Olea was listening to Vitaceae complain¡ªagain¡ªabout her farmer''s kids.


    "It was like, so gross!" The grape nymph groaned around a mouthful of bat''s head. "He was eating them straight off the vine! Like, just shoveling them into his mouth like an ugly little pig. It made me want to puke! Like, ugh, I know humans eat them, but to they have to do it in front of me?"


    "If you don''t want to see it then just don''t look," Reticulata the orange nymph rolled her bright orange eyes. "It''s natural. I don''t hear you complaining about any other animals, so why is that humans gross you out so much?"


    "It''s because they look like us! Like, if it''s a deer or a bird it just looks natural, but when it''s humans it''s like it''s one step away from cannibalism, you know?"


    Olea shook her head, her olives rustling in agreement. "I totally agree! Though I suppose we''ve got it easier than some others¡ªlike, have you ever heard where bread comes from?"


    "Don''t remind me," Vitaceae sighed, curling her grapevines around her finger absently. "I don''t know. Hey Lorry, like, you eat in the city all the time, yeah? Doesn''t it bother you when you see them eating an¡­ urk¡­ salad."


    Lorenzo shrugged. "Eh, you get used to it. Though maybe it doesn''t bother me as much since I''m only half tree."


    Though, he supposed if he ever saw someone eating the leaves that grew from his hair, he''d also be a little put off.


    "Oh yeah, that''s right!" The nymph brightened. Then she glanced back and forth, before leaning in with an odd look in her eye. "Hey, have you ever, ya know¡­ eaten a grape?"


    Lorenzo paused, considering¡­ no, no, it was best not to let her know what wine was. "No, I can''t say that I have."


    "Well, would you like to?" she wiggled her viney eyebrows.


    "Right, we''re done here," he stood up, retreating under the laughter of the other girls. Grabbing another serving of skewers, he left to head back into the city, waving goodbye as he did so.


    Making his way back through the vineyards, he eventually passed by the manor overseeing the land. He nodded to the farmers who were preparing for the harvest, getting nods of respect in return.


    Traditionally, the local farmers allowed nymphs to squat in their lands. It gave them a place to stay an plants to attune to, something which was in short supply around human settlements. In exchange, the nymphs used their nature magics to enhance the farmer''s crops, granting them healthier and more bountiful harvests.


    It had taken some getting used to when he''d first arrived. His Aunties had always looked down on such nymphs, calling them ''domesticated,'' but having lived in the city for years now he''d come to realize that it was the only way for them to survive in the more heavily urbanized lowlands.


    Eventually he made it back to the Rosa Guildhall. As he entered, he smiled at ¨®sma sitting behind the front desk, raising a hand in greeting. "Good morning! Do you have any work for me today, or am I going back out to help with the harvest again?"


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    The old orc gave him a tight smile, bags under his eyes. Hm, probably more harvest work, then. All of the guild leaders had been looking more exhausted than usual lately, though he supposed that with everything that was going on in the city they had reason to be.


    "Not today, but soon," ¨®sma told him. "We''re planning for an expedition to Iscrimo to, ah, expand our market. It''s not required, but the guildmaster requested you come it you''re up for it."


    Finally. "Of course I''m up for it! Just tell me when and I''ll be there."


    "Good. We''ll be leaving by the end of the week, once we''ve finished preparing. Make sure you stop by the guild in say¡­ four days from now. Otherwise, is there anything else you need?"


    "No, no¡ªwell, actually, do you know who else is coming?"


    "We''re bringing Chiara and Palmira, since they''re young and need the work."


    That made some sense, though he felt Chiara''s inclusion was more nepotism on the guildmaster''s part than anything. Not that he''d tell the girl that, of course. But Palmira was a good choice. She was still a bit rough around the edges, but given a bit more time he could see her catching up to Chiara''s level. Plus, wasn''t she from around there? Hm, thinking on that, that might be the real reason the guildmaster wanted her along.


    "We''re also bringing along Teresa, Anima, and Johanna, plus the guildmaster. Though that''s still tentative, since we aren''t sure if the three can get along well enough to make the trip."


    "Really?" he raised a bushy eyebrow. "I thought Teresa and Anima were¡­ you know¡­?"


    "I meant more Teresa and Johanna."


    "What? Why them? They get along fine¡­?"


    ¨®sma waved his question away. "It''s not for me to say. They''re fine when they have space, but we''re just a bit worried about forcing them to work together for as long as this''ll take. Just¡­ don''t worry about it. This is my job, not yours. Just relax while you can, because once we leave we aren''t stopping until we get to the city."


    Lorenzo gave the old orc a smile and a nod, accepting the answer for what it was. It wasn''t like it was any of his business anyway.


    Leaving the room with a final wave goodbye, he felt himself relax, just a bit.


    It looked like things were finally looking up.


    -<X>-


    ?


    It was later in the day that he stumbled across Palmira, sitting alone in the courtyard. Well, as alone as she could get with her undead staff. And her undead mace.


    Hm. She was a fire mage, right?


    "Hey Palmira!" he smiled, dropping down on the bench next to her, causing the younger girl to let out a small shriek of surprise. And to also accidentally set one of the plants on fire.


    "Crap!" she swore, reaching up to put it out, only for the plant to bite at her fingers. "Ow! Hey! I''m sorry, I''m just trying to help!"


    Lorenzo sighed, patting out the fire himself while Palmira scowled at the plants. He didn''t bother chastising her, it was kind of his fault anyways. "Sorry about that. I thought you saw me. But what''s got you so deep in thought out here anyway?"


    Giving one last glare at the now purring plant, she turned to him, her scowl only somewhat lessening. He didn''t take it personally, he was pretty sure that was her default look. "Nothing, it''s just¡ªuh, has ¨®sma told you about what they''re planning?"


    "You mean the trip to Iscrimo?" She nodded. "Yeah, what about it?"


    "Um, well, it''s just¡­"


    He raised an eyebrow, sitting up a bit straighter. If she was having this much trouble talking about it, it must be pretty serious.


    "¡­I grew up near Iscrimo," she finally managed to get out. "And then, I spent a couple of years after¡­ I spent a couple years in the city itself. And while there''s nothing wrong with it, I¡­ it''s just¡­"


    "Bad memories?"


    "¡­Yeah, kind of." her lips twisted into a frown. He wondered if she noticed the fact that her ears were smoking. "Morte says it''s best to face them head on, but¡­ I don''t know if I can. I tried that when I was younger, but¡­ it didn''t work out too well."


    Lorenzo hummed. He felt he understood a bit where she was coming from. "I think it depends on if you feel you can face them now," he told her. "When I was younger, I, uh, didn''t have a father. Or I did, but I didn''t know it at the time. And then I learned that he existed, and was still alive, and didn''t even know who I was. And back then, I didn''t take it very well, and¡­ well, let''s just say that the reason I joined this guild may or may not have been because I scared off their previous bard. But I''ve grown up since then, and I think I''d react differently if I found him again now. So¡­ I guess what I''m trying to say is that you''re older now. You''ve had years more to come to terms with whatever happened. And maybe you aren''t there yet, but you never know until you try, yeah?"


    Palmira frowned, looking down at her lap. "That¡­ makes sense, I think."


    It did? Wonderful, it meant he was helping her deal with her problems better than he had with Chiara''s.


    "Thank you. And, uh, if you''re willing, I''ve got another problem I need some help with."


    "Of course," he smiled, internally hoping it was less of an issue than whatever emotional turmoil she was going through. "Fire away."


    "Okay," she took a deep breath to steady herself. "Back when I was in Iscrimo, I kind of, maybe¡­ burned down a couple of buildings. And, uh, that might be why I ended up leaving. And also might be why I haven''t gone back since. Because I might still have a bounty on my head for that."


    This was much worse than emotional turmoil. "Um, how many buildings are we talking here? One? Two?"


    "¡­More. Um, definitely not the whole district, but¡­"


    "¡­Please tell me you didn''t burn down half the city."


    "It wasn''t completely my fault!" she snapped indignantly. "They built the city on an active volcano! If anything, they should be better prepared to deal with fire!"


    Lorenzo took a deep breath. "¡­Okay. Okay! You were pretty young, and young mages sometimes lose control of their magic. So long as it wasn''t intentional, I''m sure we can explain it to the authorities¡­" he trailed off as he saw her try to hide a guilty wince. "¡­please tell me it wasn''t intentional."


    "¡­The bastard deserved it! He tried to sell me into slavery! What else was I supposed to do!?"


    "So it was self-defense," he threw out there, knowing that such a defense likely wouldn''t work. But they had to come up with something¡­! "Do you know the name of the man''s house you started the fire in?"


    "I don''t think that''s important¡­"


    "What?"


    "I mean¡­ it''s¡­ um¡­" she sighed. "His name was Aventio Visconti."


    He knew that name. It was the name of the Duke who ruled the city up until half a decade ago when he perished¡­ in a¡­ house fire¡­


    Well, shit. "¡­I''ve got nothing. In fact, it might be safer for all of us if you stay here. Unless, uh, has Morte given you any ideas?"


    Palmira, who by this point had literally combusted out of shame and embarrassment, nodded forlornly. "He told me I should wear a mask."


    "¡­I mean, I guess it could work?"


    She gave him an incredulous look.


    "Well, do you have any better ideas!?"


    She did not.


    In the end, when they left for Iscrimo at the end of the week, Palmira (and Morte) was sporting a cheap Paluneran mask. Much to the confusion of the rest of the expedition.


    And Lorenzo took back everything he said about her being easier to deal with than Chiara. She was far, far worse.

 Chapter 24 - A Wyrm on a String

    A Wyrm on A String


    "What in the world are you wearing?"


    Those were the first words the guildmaster asked her upon seeing her new disguise. She''d met up with him at one of the stables near the edge of the city, preparing to head out.


    "It''s a mask."


    "¡­Obviously. But why are you wearing it?"


    Pamira winced, but luckily had prepared well for this question.


    "¡­I thought it looked cool¡­" she muttered quietly, as though she were suddenly embarrassed.


    Better to look lame than guilty.


    The guildmaster sighed. "Very well," he waved her off. Turning, he motioned for her to follow. "The others should be almost done packing the carriage by now. Do you have any other luggage?"


    "Just this," she motioned to the bag she was carrying.


    "Good," he nodded sharply. Then he paused. "¡­And for the record," he coughed into his hand awkwardly. "The mask does make you look¡­ ''cool.''"


    Feeling vaguely mortified, Palmira just nodded silently.


    She hadn''t wanted to tell the rest of them the real reason she was wearing the mask. Not just because she worried they''d think bad of her¡ªif anything, they might be impressed¡ªbut because she feared being forced to stay behind.


    In the end, telling Lorenzo had been a compromise, if only because it meant there was someone else in their party to cover why she''d suddenly decided to wear a mask.


    She resisted the urge to poke at it, the mask an unfamiliar weight on her head. It was a ''cheap'' Paluneri Mask Lorenzo had gotten her, with the only stipulation being that she didn''t ask how he''d gotten it. (She assumed he stole it. She approved, one should always steal from those asshole Paluneri.) It was, like all of their masks, made of solid glass, molded in such a way that it only gave the vaguest impression of the face beneath. The glass itself was colored a dark red, with metal detailing drawing a simple pattern overtop.


    Outside of Palunera the masks were normally only worn during Carnivale, which was what she was banking on. Anyone who saw the Firozzi mage wearing a Paluneri mask hopefully wouldn''t realize she was originally from Iscrimo.


    She''d looked at her reflection before she left the guild, and combined with her staff and mace, it made her look more like some kind of dark wizard than the fire mage she really was.


    Morte had approved, unfortunately.


    Soon enough they reached where the rest of the adventurers were waiting, the five others standing around a large carriage in the shape of a pumpkin that Chiarra was hooking up to her crystal horses.


    "This is all of us," the guildmaster told her. "You know everyone here, right?"


    "Uh, I don''t think I''ve talked with the elf before¡­?"


    "Right, right," the guildmaster waved over the last guild member, an elf who looked to be anywhere between 30 or 300 years old. "I suppose you''ve never had reason to talk. This is Johanna, a relatively recent addition to our guild. She was a landsknecht ¨®sma hired on some five years ago."


    "Guten Tag!" The elf smiled at her. She appeared a beautiful ''young'' woman, with skin as colorless as snow and pale hair which fell down her shoulders like sleet. Icy eyes peered down at her with surprising warmth. Her three-quarter armor hid the rest of her body, a combination of frosted steel and blue leather. "It''s a pleasure to formally meet the girl who''s been giving the fraud such a headache."


    Palmira blinked. "Uh¡­"


    "Ignore her," the guildmaster waved her off, causing the elf to give him a mock-pout. "She just doesn''t like Teresa. Don''t ask why, because I''m banning all personal problems until we get back to the guild. Am I understood?"


    "That feels like a bad idea," Morte pointed out.


    ''Disagreement. If personal issues create problems, they should be efficiently disregarded,'' Malocchio refuted.


    "¡­So long as it doesn''t affect me, I don''t care," Palmira compromised.


    Johanna smiled at her, but the guildmaster just nodded distractedly. Looking closer, he seemed a bit frazzled.


    "Chiarra, are you done yet?" he called out to his half-sister. The girl made a rude gesture. "Excellent! Everyone, be prepared to leave by the next bell!"


    Palmira just nodded, grip tightening around Morte''s staff. She was already prepared¡ªor, well, no, that was a lie. But she was never going to be mentally prepared, so that was a moot point.


    Because after so many years, she was finally returning home.


    -<X>-


    ?


    They made decent progress on their way north.


    The carriage was mostly for their supplies. They were preparing to spent weeks in Iscrimo, negotiating with local lords and merchants, so they needed enough supplies (and bribes) to last.


    At the front of their little caravan were Chiarra and Dante, guiding the crystal horsed along the road. They were talking to quietly to hear anything, beyond the occasional swear.


    Some distance behind the carriage, Anima walked with Palmira, the former teaching the latter a new dance.


    "Remember, footwork first, then hips, then hands!"


    Palmira frowned, trying to copy the movements the water mage was making. She took a step forward, kicking up fire beneath her feet and letting it flow up her body, curling around her waist and abdomen, before flicking it out beneath her arm like a snapping dragon.


    "Like this?" she asked, frowning despite herself. That had felt right, but¡­


    "Close!" Anima smiled, showing her where she went wrong. She repeated the dance, spinning an orb of water instead of tendrils of flame. It seemed at first the same thing Palmira had done, but at the end instead of letting the water fully leave her hand, she flicked her fingers up, yanking it back at the last moment. With that she flowed into a new dance, wielding the same single droplet of water as efficiently as any blade.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    "Do it like that," Anima told her. "If you pull back at the last moment, you change your attacks from a single action to a full dance. Remember, when it comes to movement flow is the most important thing to consider."


    "I see¡­" Palmira muttered, looking down at her own hands. "So instead of creating a new flame for every attack, I should hold the same one as long as I can?"


    "It''s more efficient, sure," Morte hummed doubtfully. "However, I''d say that for your current skill level it''s not something to focus on. Rather, you should pay more attention to the dance itself. Footwork is important for a warrior!"


    Palmira nodded, and the two continued their training.


    The distraction helped her ignore Teresa and Johanna behind her, who were¡­ well¡­


    "Oh me oh my!" the elven Landsknecht smirked down at the woman beside her, a hand raised to her mouth in mock offence. "Is that the same armor your father wore? How pathetic, that such a holy warrior can''t afford her own protection. Have the Knights of Lycree really fallen so far?"


    "This armor was blessed by Saint Ferdinand in the Holy City itself!" Teresa sneered back. "It was forged in the blood of the infidels and bestowed the divine protection of the Goddess upon three generations of my family! How do you compare to that, miss not-even-wearing-full-plate!"


    "Please," Johanna rolled her eyes. "This is the height of fashion up north. Unlike that¡­ antique you''re wearing."


    "Ah yes, because fashion is the most important thing you should look for in your armor."


    "Of course it is~ Why wouldn''t you want to look your best while slaughtering your enemies?"


    "Personally, I prefer survival over style."


    "Oh, do you not have faith in the Goddess'' protection?"


    "The Goddess protects us from evil, not our own stupidity!"


    "Really? Then how are you still alive?"


    "You little¡ª!"


    Right behind the two squabbling holy warriors on his bear Bella, Lorenzo sighed.


    They were going to be doing this the whole way up, weren''t they?


    -<X>-


    ?


    They stopped for the night in Fornata, a major city straddling the borders of Firozzi and Iscrimo influence.


    They didn''t stay longer than they had to, the guildmaster wanting them to move as quickly as possible. Apparently they were making good time, but that unfortunately wouldn''t last forever.


    Palmira paused her conversation with Anima as the carriage suddenly stopped. Stepping around it, she frowned. "Why are we stopping?"


    "Monsters," Chiarra grinned, pointing off into the distance. "And here I was getting bored!"


    "Chiarra, please," her brother sighed.


    Palmira shook her head, turning to look at where they were pointing.


    Some distance ahead of them were tall, wiggling¡­ things, spewing fire and smoke into the sky. There were maybe half a dozen of them in total, though it was hard to count with how much they were moving


    Anima raised an eyebrow, squinting at them. "What in the world are those?"


    "Fire wyrms," Palmira told her, frowning. "They''re like worms, but massive and on fire. I''m surprised they''re here, though. Normally they only surface following the spring eruptions."


    "Wyrms, huh?" Chiarra hummed. "I thought those were some kind of dragon?"


    "Never let a dragon hear you say that. They see the Wyrms as food¡ªit would be like saying humans and chickens are the same thing just because they''re both mammals."


    "Sure," Chiarra shrugged uncaringly, showcasing her remarkable lack of self-preservation. The guildmaster on the other hand turned to give Palmira a confused look, mouthing ''mammals?'' to himself. "But how dangerous are they?"


    Unnoticed by the two of them, Johanna stepped up beside them, unhooking her halberd.


    "Alone? Not very. In a gathering this big? I think it''d be best to go around. They''re either fighting over territory or mating right now, and I don''t want to get in the way of either. It''s best to just ignore them."


    Johanna raised it high, aiming it at the distant Wyrms.


    "Gah, why are you so boring? We''re adventurers! We fight monsters! I say we charge straight in and slaughter them."


    "Palmira''s right, Chiarra," the guildmaster shook his head. "We''re on a timetable. And, more importantly, we won''t be getting paid if we do kill them. Let''s leave it for someone else to¡ª"


    A sudden cold snap caused all of them to stop talking, causing them all to turn to Johanna, who''s halberd was now practically drowning in frozen energy. Then she took a step back, flexed her arm, and threw.


    The halberd sailed through the sky at near supersonic speed, before slamming into the center of the Wyrm pack like a god of winter.


    The resulting blast of frost left the surrounding area a frozen wasteland and left the Wyrms as macabre ice sculptures, like frozen fingers reaching hopelessly into the sky.


    Palmira shivered, frigid winds buffeting them from even as far away as they were.


    "¡­Impressive," the guildmaster said dryly, causing Johanna to send smug smirk at Teresa. "That said, how exactly do you plan on getting that back?"


    Johanna was much less smug after that.

 Chapter 25 - The Ferrets Are On Fire

    The Ferrets Are On Fire


    As it turns out, throwing away your primary weapon into a horde of monsters was not, in fact, a good idea.


    It became even worse when Johanna went to retrieve her halberd, only to find out it had become the linchpin keeping the frozen corpses of the fire wyrms in place, causing the lot of them to fall and collapse on top of her head, burying the elf beneath them.


    Nearly three hours of digging later, they finally managed to pull her out of the pile of ice. Or, really, Palmira melted the ice while the rest dug through the soggy-charred corpses of the wyrms to find their erstwhile comrade.


    And Goddess alive was it disgusting. The smell alone made her want to puke.


    "Are you sure we can''t just leave her there?" Teresa complained.


    "I already paid for her hotel room," the guildmaster growled. "And Goddess be damned, she will stay in it, even if it is as a corpse."


    But, finally, they pulled the unconscious elf free of her completely avoidable fate. She was injured and likely had a concussion, but hadn''t frozen to death thanks to being an ice mage, so the guildmaster just shoved a healing potion down her throat before throwing her in the back of the carriage.


    "Well," the guildmaster sighed once all was said and done. "That was a waste of fucking time. Are we ready to continue on, or¡­?"


    "Brother dearest," Chiara smiled kindly at him. "If you make me march through the night after hours of wading through wyrm guts, we will be returning home sans a guildmaster."


    "Yeah, I figured as much," he groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Palmira, you know this area well, right? How far until the nearest city?"


    Palmira¡ªwho had set herself on fire when they''d started to stay clean and had yet to put herself out¡ªstarted. She''d sort of zoned out for the last hour, the wyrm corpses bringing back some bad memories. "Um," she blinked slowly. "I think we are¡­ well, we passed Rezzalio so it would be¡­ ah. Um, there''s a small village up ahead, but¡­" she shook her head. "No, never mind. It''s not important."


    The guildmaster looked like he wanted to press, but he either trusted her enough or¡ªmore likely¡ªwas simply too tired to argue. "Excellent. We''ll stop there for the night and get clean. Onwards, then! And someone remind me to tell ¨®sma to cut her pay when we get back!"


    Palmira nodded along with everyone else, but personally felt that threat would land better if they were actually getting paid.


    -<X>-


    ?


    It took them another half-hour of marching to reach the village, by which time Palmira finally managed to put herself out.


    The village itself was a small place, only about a dozen buildings in total, and only a single small inn built into the mayor''s house. But it was a place to rest their heads and, more importantly, clean themselves.


    The mayor herself was an aging widow, the kind of person who''d been voted into office because she''d practically raised half the village and also owned the only part of the local economy that wasn''t farmland.


    More importantly, she let them stay in her inn¡ªand even use her bath!¡ªfor free, provided they deal with some Furetti di Fuoco that had been tearing up the local rice farms. An offer which the guildmaster leaped at, seeing as they were already behind schedule and weren''t exactly swimming in pocket change.


    The people who''d be dealing with the Furetti were obvious. Having pissed off the guildmaster on the way here, Johanna was put on extermination duty while everyone else got to relax.


    Well, everyone except Palmira, who was unfortunately immune to fire, and so also had to go deal with the fire ferrets.


    "This sucks," she told Morte, wading through the muck.


    Rice farms were normally flooded to better grow the grains up until the harvest. But now harvest season was wrapping up, which left little more than a big, muddy swamp in its wake. Which of course attracted the Furetti di Fuoco, who sucked at digging and so set up their burrows in such places to hibernate for the winter.


    They were a Goddess-be-damned menace and the fact she no longer had to deal with them was one of the few bright spots in her otherwise pretty shitty life.


    "This is adventuring," Morte agreed with a sigh. "The stories and larger than life personalities make it easy to forget that. But think of it this way¡ªthe guildmaster will definitely be giving you a bonus for this."


    "Bonus my ass," she hissed, yanking her foot out of a particularly stubborn mud-pit with a wet ''plop.'' "I''ve barely been given pocket change since joining up! The only reason I''m still here is because they''re giving me free room and board!"


    "And because you''ve made friends."


    "And because I''ve made friends," she begrudgingly agreed, before falling to the ground with a groan. She couldn''t even bring herself to care about the mud anymore. "I''m just¡­ I''m so tired, Morte. I want to go to bed."


    They hadn''t even found any burrows yet! If this whole thing was just a waste of time she was going to scream.


    "Hm¡­" Morte hummed thoughtfully. "¡­Say, you''ve been working on your divination, right? Maybe that will speed things up."


    "Yes. And before you ask, no, I''ve never gotten it to work."


    "Well, maybe it''ll work this time! And hey, it''s not like it''ll hurt to try!"


    Palmira groaned, but started setting up the spell regardless. Morte, as he was unfortunately often, right. The spell was simple enough, even if she had yet to get it right.


    Divination was a finicky subject. It had cropped up a lot in her lessons on Cosmology with Morte, as whole branches of Divination utilized the stars to work. Similarly, branches of divination were also known to use fire to work. So, after some vaguely remembered moments in her nightmare a couple nights ago, she''d figured it''d be as good a jumping off point as any to put her lessons on Cosmology to practical use.


    Which let her to this. ''Divination.''


    She started by forming a ball of fire in her arms, letting it coalesce into something almost solid. Then, she began poking and prodding it, letting it shudder and spin. Squinting into the flickering flames, she followed what little instruction she''d found on the subject, trying to see shapes and images that could lead her to her goals.


    And saw nothing. As always.


    Palmira scoffed, rolling her eyes skywards. She didn''t even know why she was bothering anymore, it wasn''t like¡ª


    Wait.


    She turned her eyes skyward, swearing for a moment she''d seen¡­


    There!


    The stars had only just begun to come to life in the sky. The constellations weren''t yet fully formed, and the moon wasn''t yet visible either. But what few were there seemed to almost¡­ dance behind the smoke of her fire. Each time the flames flickered new puffs of smoke would fly up into the sky, warping the stars behind them.


    Instead of the fire, she stared into the smoke, and slowly, barely, she could swear images began to form.


    The stars seemed to flatten, giving off the vaguest shape of an animal. A particularly long one too¡­ a Furetti? Or was that just wishful thinking? Though it was flickering, and vanished¡ªwait, no, it just came back! But now it was bigger.


    It repeated the action again, and Palmira felt a grin begin to grow on her face. She had no idea what that all meant, but if she could just make sense of it, maybe she could¡ª!


    "Kid behind you¡ª!"


    "DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOK!"


    That was all the warning she got before she got jumped, a furry, fiery bastard leaping onto her back with its demented ''Dook.''


    The Furetti screeched, claws digging into her leather armor. The fiery beast was only average size for its kind, which unfortunately put it at over a meter in length and wider than her head. It had also latched onto her back, snapping at her neck but thankfully getting rebuffed by the fact it was currently on fire.


    Palmira tried to get it off her, but well¡­


    She panicked.


    She set herself on fire, it set itself on fire. She screamed, it screamed. Morte started shouting at her, Malocchio started aggressively speaking at Morte, none of which helped¡ª


    This continued for a bit.


    Finally, Palmira remembered that she had other methods besides fire at her disposal.


    In her defense, it had been a long time since fire hadn''t worked.


    But that was why she had a mace!


    Spinning around, she tried to hit it where it was on her back, but it was just! A little! Too! Far! Away!


    Unfortunately, her wild swings only served to make her dizzy, and with a yelp she slipped in the mud, falling to the ground with a splat.


    Luckily, that managed to dislodge the burning ferret! So it was totally part of her plan, and would be regaled as such to anybody who asked.


    The giant ferret hissed, spitting fire at her. But now she was prepared, and more importantly not panicking anymore. Remembering her training, she kept Malocchio between her and it, and quickly smacked it aside when it tried to jump at her again. It whimpered, scrambling back to its feet, but by then it was too late.


    Palmira brought the mace down, and the Furetti died.


    She let out a relieved sigh. "That¡­ was much worse than it needed to be."


    "No shit," Morte grumbled, which was just unfair. She was getting much better! She just got surprised, that''s it! "What are you going to do about the rest of them, though?"


    "Rest of them?"


    "DOOK!"


    Palmira spun around, already dreading what she''d see.


    A half dozen Furetti di Fuoco already surrounded her, fur ablaze and murder in their eyes.


    With a sigh, Palmira readied herself for a long night.


    -<X>-


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.?


    Over an hour later, Palmira stumbled into the inn, long after the sun had already set over the horizon.


    "Ah, there you are!" Johanna called out to her, a beer in one hand and a smile on her face. "I was wondering what took you so long!"


    Palmira barely spared her a glance, slumping into the seat next to the elf. The inn didn''t have a bar, but it did have alcohol and a couple tables, so that''s where the two of them were seated. Everyone else, she assumed, was asleep.


    "The Furetti," she groaned, rubbing her shoulder where one had managed to scratch her. "What else?"


    "Ja! But I think they were overhyping the whole issue. I only found two Furetti in the whole farm!" she shook her head in mock exasperation. "Ah well. An easy quest is an easy quest, you hear me?"


    Palmira stared at the elf.


    "Hey, kid? I think we got scammed."


    Palmira nodded. "Hey, Johanna? I''m going to punch you."


    "What?"


    Then she punched her.


    Later, when an exhausted Dante pulled them apart, she admitted to having been motivated purely by spite. The guildmaster nodded, agreed, and praised her for not burning down the building before he got there. Instead, he just made Johanna pay for the one barstool she''d shattered before dragging them both up to their rooms and forcing them to just go to bed already.


    Somehow, this also made the elf like her even more, and she''d spend the rest of the month bragging to anyone who''d listen about how she ''took the newbie''s first barfight!''


    Because of that, she''d also take her second.


    -<X>-


    ?


    The next morning, after she''d finally gotten a chance to sleep, Palmira caught the guildmaster as they were preparing to leave.


    "Guildmaster," she nervously stepped up to him. "I have a request, while we''re here."


    He looked up, but she was too nervous to meet his eyes. Instead she focused on his hands, noticing they looked to have started crystallizing recently. Was he practicing his magic more?


    "Yes?" he placed the papers down, giving her his full attention. It was something she liked about the people in this guild¡ªthey always looked at you when talking. "What do you need?"


    Palmira took a calming breath, clenching her hands to stop any nervous sparks from flying. "My¡­ home, used to be near here. The village Vittoria, further down the valley. I was¡­ wondering if I could visit?"


    "Oh?" he hummed. "And why do you want to visit? Is someone there you know?"


    "¡­My parents. It''s been¡­ a long time since I''ve been able to visit."


    "Your parents?" he frowned. "But I thought you were¡ªah."


    She shuffled nervously in front of him.


    "¡­How far away is this village?"


    She let out a sigh of relief, untensing ever so slightly. "A couple hours by foot. If I leave now, I should be able to catch up to the rest of you before you make it to Iscrimo."


    The guildmaster clicked his tongue. "Nonsense. We have plenty of mounts with us, you don''t need to walk. In fact¡ªChiara!"


    His sister looked up from her breakfast. "What do you want?"


    "Get up! Palmira needs a ride, so go unhook your horse and help her."


    "What? Why me!?"


    "She needs to go somewhere, and since she''s most of the reason we''re staying here free tonight I''m letting her."


    "Isn''t she also the reason we''re paying for that barstool?"


    "Yes. Now get off your butt and get moving already! It''s just, what, an hour''s ride at most? You can do that easily."


    "Fine, fine, I''m moving!" she scoffed, giving Palmira a tired glare from across the room. "I''d better get to sleep in the carriage once we get back for this!"


    Palmira winced. Really, this wasn''t something Chiara needed to bother herself with. She could make it herself, surely.


    "Ha!" Morte shot back before she could respond. "Look at this silly little flesh monkey, Malocchio! I mean really, imagine needing to sleep. Couldn''t be me."


    ''Agreement. Sleep is inefficient.''


    "Shaddup!" Chiara scowled at the two crimes against nature. "I don''t want back-talk from two cursed sticks. Come on Palmira, let''s just get going already." And with another tired yawn she marched out of the inn, waving for her fellow adventurer to hurry up.


    Palmira just nodded and followed, relieved despite herself that she wouldn''t have to walk.


    -<X>-


    ?


    Riding behind Chiara was always an awkward affair. Her crystal horse was barely big enough for the both of them, forcing her to press up against her friend in a way that caused her hair to ignite. Riding with Lorenzo was much better, since Bella the bear was more than big enough for them to have some personal space.


    ¡­Huh, thinking on it, she was the only one in their little group without anything to ride.


    "Hey, Chiara. What kind of mount do you think I should get?"


    "What?"


    "Like you guys. It feels weird, being the only one walking all the time."


    The half-elf rolled her eyes. "How should I know. You''re a fire mage, right? Why not get a dragon?"


    "What? Where would I find a dragon?"


    Then she paused.


    "Actually, I know a lot of places you can find dragons. None that I''d be willing or able to ride, though."


    "A shame. Why don''t you ask Lorenzo, he probably has a whole bunch of weird animals you could pick from."


    "But how many of them are immune to fire?"


    "In that case, why not get a Furetti? Those get pretty big, don''t they? Maybe you can ride one of them into battle."


    "Don''t make me punch you."


    They continued chatting mindlessly as they rode down the old dirt road. Seeing the state it was in nowadays, Palmira couldn''t help but be relieved she''d been talked out of walking¡ªit likely would''ve taken twice as long as she''d expected.


    But Chiara''s magic horse made it easy enough, and soon enough the signs that they were getting close started to appear.


    Plant life grew sparser, and the creek that flowed alongside the road almost completely dried up. The land was hilly and almost mountainous, tall enough to block the sun this early in the morning.


    Then the road completely disappeared, and that''s how she knew they were there.


    Before them was something that looked almost like a landslide, but she knew better. Dark brown, almost black dirt and stone dominated the landscape, with only the faintest mosses and tougher plants poking through.


    The wasteland stretched out before her, boundless and bare.


    Even now, it hurt to remember that this had once been home.


    "We''re here," she told Chiara.


    "What?" Chiara looked at her like she was crazy. "What do you mean we''re here? This was your old village?"


    Palmira nodded.


    It was exactly how she remembered it.


    Dismounting, she marched through the wasteland, ignoring the tinking of her horse''s hooves as it followed her. Nobody was talking, not even Morte, and for that she was grateful.


    This was an empty, dead land. They didn''t need to disturb it with their voices.


    Or, it had once been. Even now, it had changed. Plants grew where they hadn''t before. The dirt was softer, more brown than black. Even the sky was clearer, brilliant blue instead of a smoggy grey.


    The small, bitter part of her soul hated it. It wished this land would stay dead. But she pushed it down with ease of practice.


    She wouldn''t break down here. Not again.


    Eventually she made it to her destination. A dozen crumbling piles of stones, spread out around the center of the wasteland. Some had fallen over, but most remained intact.


    Graves, unmarked and forgotten, piled high by a couple of broken little girls. For her parents, her friends, her neighbors. For everyone she knew, everyone she didn''t know, and everyone who she''d forgotten.


    She sat down before two in particular, situated next to a large hole in the ground. On them, in faded, childish scrawl were carved ''Mama'' and ''Papa.''


    "¡­Hi," she rasped. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes. "I''m sorry I took so long to visit."


    She stopped, unsure what else she should say. What she wanted to say.


    "I''m living in Firozzi, now," she finally settled on. "It''s a beautiful city. I know Papa always preferred the countryside, but I''ve grown to love it. After all, it''s not like there''s any¡ªI mean, anyway, I''ve got a job now! I''m an adventurer! I''m working for the Rosa Dominae guild! It''s¡­ um¡­ not the best guild in the world, but I like most of the people there, and they even let me stay in the dorms for free! So, um¡­"


    Palmira wiped her eyes. She didn''t want to cry¡ªshe thought she was over this¡ªit had been nearly a decade¡ªbut¡­!


    "Things are getting better for me," she sniffled. "I know that, this isn''t exactly what you wanted me to do with my life. But I just¡­ I had to do what I needed to survive, and¡­ I just¡­ I miss you both, so much¡­"


    Palmira cried. She wasn''t sure what else to do, what else to say. So she cried. She cried and cried until she couldn''t cry any more.


    "¡­Are you feeling better?" Morte whispered softly.


    She nodded.


    "Good. And for what it''s worth, I think they''d be proud of you."


    There was a note of tired nostalgia in his voice, which she wasn''t willing to question. That she didn''t want to question.


    She just wanted to sit here. To sit until the fire and stone took her like it took her parents, and maybe then she''d be able to see them again.


    But she didn''t. Because she was going to live on, as she always had. She would move on, as she always had.


    Palmira wiped her eyes as she stood up. She turned to leave, back to Chiara (who was sitting awkwardly on her horse, not sure what she should be doing), before she glanced back at the graves.


    "I''ll visit again," she promised them. "Sooner, this time."


    Nodding to herself, for the third time in her life, she marched away from her once-home.


    And for the first time, her steps were certain.

 Interlude VI - Mt. Palmira

    Interlude VI ¨C Mt. Palmira


    [Ten Years Ago]


    ?


    Deep in the ash-fields of Iscrimo, where rural farmland was the norm, there was once a small village. It sat nestled in a small valley, between the soft, snow-white peaks of Mt. Palmira and the crags of the ever-smoking Mt Fumoso. A thin creek ran through the valley, which the handful of farmhouses that made up the bulk of the village clung tight to.


    Vittoria, it had been named, after the woman who''d founded it. Nobody who lived there remembered who she was, and so children often made games of making up her reason for coming here. Some say she was a knight who slew a dragon, others a princess fleeing the empire. None of them knew if they were correct, but few cared. They were of Vittoria, and that was all that mattered.


    But living in the small village in the valley was a young girl, named Palmira.


    Palmira was six years (and two months!) old, living with her Mama and Papa on their farm. They lived a simple life, with few personal effects. She spent her days helping out on the farm and playing with the few other kids in the village. Her parents were kind, but often strict. And she did love them, even if they could be kind of dumb sometimes. Like they were being today.


    "Mama, please!" the young Palmira wailed, clutching at her mother''s skirts. "Everyone else is gonna be there!"


    "No means no, young lady," Mama huffed, hands on her waist. She looked just like Palmira imagined herself when she was older, except with black hair that she kept tied in a ponytail over her shoulder. "You have chores you need to do today!"


    "But! Mama!"


    "You have only yourself to blame for this. Maybe if you didn''t keep slacking off you''d have gotten them done, and you would be able to go with all your friends to see the priestess."


    "But¡­" Palmira sniffled. "But, I¡­"


    Mama sighed. Leaning down, she straightened out her hair with a soft smile. "How about this," she soothed her. "If you finish your chores early¡ªand finish them properly¡ªI''ll let you go play with your friends. Okay?"


    "What if¡­ What if I go now and finish them later? Can''t I do that?"


    Mama smiled, before gently pushing her out the door. "Nope!"


    -<X>-


    ?


    Palmira groaned, dragging the bag of cockatrice feed behind her. Ash from Fumoso fell gently from the sky, falling on her shoulders like snow, which occasionally caused her to sneeze. She held the opening of the bag tight, making sure none of the ash got in.


    "Stupid Mama!" Palmira swore to herself, the cruel insults of ''dumb'' and ''meanie'' flying from her lips. Truly blasphemous, this child. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"


    Feeding the animals always came first, Mama said, but Palmira hated feeding the cockatrices. She had to wear a blindfold the entire time, and they''d bite at her fingers if she accidently got too close. It sucked!


    But at least that was over now.


    As she was putting away her blindfold and the remaining cockatrice feed, a couple of girls walked up to her, waving.


    "Hey, il Tizzone!" one of the other girls shouted at her. "What''re you still doing out here? You coming with us or what?"


    She huffed, annoyed. Last week she had been Palmira la Giovane, but then the couple down the road had named their new daughter Palmira, and so she lost the rights to that name.


    This was because, of course, Palmira was not the only Palmira in the village. She was named after the mountain, Mt. Palmira, which rose to the north of the village, along with about a third of the other girls born in the village over the past several hundred years.


    The other Palmiras¡ªthe important ones, at least¡ªwere the elf Palmira l''elfa, Palmira la Palmira¡ªwho had won that title in an epic battle between the many Palmiras of the village, ending with her victory¡ªPalmira l''alta, and now the new baby, Palmira la Giovane.


    And now she was Palmira il Tizzone, Palmira the Firebrand.


    Honestly, you accidentally set the donkey on fire one time¡ª


    She shook her head. That wasn''t important right now. Turning to the other girls, she huffed, stomping her foot. "Mama won''t let me come until I do my chores!"


    Palmira la Palmira scoffed, flicking her long grey hair over her shoulder. "Boo! Why''re you listening to her? My Mama said the same thing, but you don''t see me following her blindly!"


    Palmira il Tizzone considered this. It was a good point, but¡­ "Won''t Mama be mad if I don''t listen to her?"


    "Please! You''re what, six now?"


    "Six and two months!"


    "Exactly!" la Palmira grinned smugly. "You''re a big girl now, you can decide when your chores are done. Just like me!"


    Palmira il Tizzone considered this exceptional point. She was a big girl now, Papa had said as much last time he picked her up. In that case¡­


    She ran up to the other girls, who cheered. Palmira la Palmira wrapped an arm around her neck and ruffled her hair, and with that the group were off to see the priestess.


    They found her quickly (the village was not particularly big, after all). She''d set up beneath St. Fiora''s chapel, which was by far the largest and best maintained structure in the village.


    The priestess sat on the steps, granting Miracles and divine wisdom to all who asked. Already a massive crowd had formed around her, what must have been the entire village showing up to see her. Including, unfortunately, Lenna.


    Lenna was the mayor''s daughter. They didn''t live in town¡ªthey were old money, so they lived further down the river, in their family villa.


    Palmira didn''t like Lenna. She was a big meanie-butt. The biggest, one might even say.


    The girl had already pushed her way to the front of the line, begging the priestess to bless her unfortunately beautiful pitch-black hair to make it fire-proof.


    Heh.


    As Lenna walked away from the priestess dejected, the two of them locked eyes.


    Palmira stuck out her tongue, while the other girl simply sneered and stuck her nose so high into the air it was a miracle she didn''t choke on ash as she did so.


    Palmira and her gang of prepubescent girls shoved their way into the crowd, giggling to themselves as they caught sight of the priestess.


    The priestess was a beautiful young woman, draped in ceremonial cloth and wielding a divine staff. She smiled at the crowd gathered before her, radiant with the light of the Goddess. To her left, a Paladin leaned against the walls of the chapel, arms crossed with a bored look on his face.


    Palmira stared at his sword, before turning her attention back to the priestess. She was helping out one of the many village elders, who''d all gotten here early to beg healing off the priestess.


    Old Tizio came first, sitting close to her, his face awash with awe and relief. The old man had broken his leg a few years ago, but it never healed properly, and so he''d walked with a painful limp ever since. But as the priestess'' hand moved over his leg, it healed in an instant, as though it had never been injured in the first place.


    "There you go, Signor Tizio, good as new!" she smiled at him, kindness pouring from every part of her body. "How do you feel now?"


    "I feel¡­ amazing!" he drawled, his near-toothless mouth messing with his ability to speak coherently. "Better, even! Why, I don''t remember the last time that old knee of mine didn''t ache! Thank you, Priestess, thank you so, so much!"


    "Please, don''t thank me," she clasped her hands together in prayer, Old Tizio swiftly following. "Thank the Goddess, for it is only through her that this miracle was possible."


    "Oh, oh, do me next!" Giovori il Piccolo waved his hand excitedly, the tiny boy pushing his way to the front of the crowd. "Do me, do me!"


    The priestess smiled indulgently at him. "Are you injured, child?"


    "Uh¡­" his eyes widened in realization. Then he punched himself in the face. "Now I am!"


    The priestess looked like she really wanted to sigh, but forced herself to hold it in. "Very well. Then come here, child, and let the Goddess'' blessing heal your wounds."


    The priestess continued her charity work, healing all who came up to her and, once that was done, simply talked with whoever wished to talk.


    Soon the sun began to set, and as the sky grew darker the priestess flicked her fingers. Two brilliant white flames burst into life beside her, bathing the town center in light.


    "You can make fire?" Palmira leaned in with wide eyes, reaching out to poke the closer one. The priestess gently grabber her fingers before she could do so, pulling her away.


    "Indeed," she nodded, a nostalgic smile on her face. "Fire is our gift from the goddess. It grants us warmth in the depths of winter, light in the darkest nights, and even cooks our food! I was a fire mage long before my Revelation, and even though my flames now burn a different hue, that makes them no more or less divine."


    "Wow! I can do that too!" Palmira smiled, raising her hands. Some small sparks fell from her fingers, but nothing more. "See!"


    The priestess'' eyes widened, and an inscrutable look crossed her face. But then it was gone, and she gave Palmira s soft smile. "Marvelous, young lady. Perhaps, one day, you might even be a priestess like me!"


    Palmira giggled.


    Soon after the people began to trickle away from the chapel, returning to their homes for dinner. Palmira tried to stay longer, but she began to yawn, and eventually la Palmira grabbed her and dragged her away.


    "Come on, il Tizzone," the older girl scoffed, dragging her along. "I''m tired, and even big girls need their beauty rest."


    Palmira pouted, but complied, rushing to keep up with the taller girl''s long legs.


    The priestess left the next day, their village only a small stop on her quest to slay the Demons that plagued the world.


    Palmira, on the other hand, would have her own, self-inflicted demons to fight.


    "Well well well," Mama stared down at her, a smile as wide as it was fake stretched across her face. "Look who finally came home."


    Palmira froze in the doorway, having forgotten what exactly had been waiting at home. "Uh, Mama, you aren''t mad at me, are you?"


    Mama was, in fact, mad.


    -<X>-


    ?


    The next night, Papa snuck her up onto the roof so that they could watch the stars together. It was one of Papa''s favorite pastimes, and he tried to bring her up there every night.


    "Don''t tell your mother about this," he held up a finger. "You''re supposed to be grounded, after all."


    Palmira nodded solemnly. She knew Papa was risking being relegated to the dreaded ''guest bed'' for doing this, and she would respect his sacrifice. Because Mama would find out about this, they were both aware of that, but she wouldn''t be learning through Palmira.


    See, this was why she liked Papa more than Mama¡ªhe was fun.


    With that out of the way, they laid their backs against the thatch roof, before turning their gazes up to the heavens.


    "You see that?" Papa pointed to a cluster of stars, four in a line with two more off to the side. "That''s the Eraldiki, the banner of the herald, Exul!"


    Palmira frowned. Wasn''t there supposed to be a person attached to that? "Where''s the rest of him, though?"


    "He''s not visible this time of year," Papa smiled, the stars reflecting in his eyes. "He only shows up in winter, to lead us back to warmer days. But his banner is always visible, to remind us that the summer is only temporary. It''s even said that if his banner ever disappears, that means there will never be another winter again, and the world will fall into an eternal spring."


    "Wow!" Palmira said, more for Papa''s sake than hers. She didn''t care as much about the stars, but she did like spending time with Papa, so she made sure to sound as enthusiastic as possible.


    "Of course, that''s just an old wives tale. But it''s fun to think about, isn''t it? Ah, but Exul himself has a much more interesting story, have I told you it before?"


    Yes. "Nope!"


    "Well, it all started back before the Dark Age, before the Cardinal Sin, when Man still lived in Paradise¡­"


    His voice droned on soothingly, and slowly, her eyes began to droop closed. As always, she fell asleep up there, listening to Papa talk.


    And as always, she woke up tucked into her bed the next morning.


    -<X>-


    ?


    Days turned to weeks turned to months.


    Her life didn''t change much. Mama grounded her, but eventually the grounding ended, and she was allowed to play with her friends again (except for la Palmira, who herself was still grounded). She still worked on the farm with her parents. She still practiced making sparks when nobody was looking. And she prayed at the chapel every week, thanking the Goddess for all the good in her life.


    Then, in a single day, all of it went up in smoke.


    She was eating dinner at the table one morning, Mama sitting next to her while Papa was getting an early start on the days chores. It was oatmeal she was eating¡ªeven to this day, she remembered perfectly. The taste, the texture. Even as the rest of her childhood faded from memory, that little bit still stayed with her.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Palmira took another bite¡ªand then the ground shook. Violently.


    The force of it nearly knocked her out of her seat. Behind her, Mama had to grab onto the wall to not fall over, and all around them things fell off the shelves and off the counters. Palmira shrieked.


    And then, as suddenly as it began, it stopped.


    Then Papa burst in from outside, running up to them. "We need to leave!" he nearly shouted. "We''ve got to go, now!"


    "What¡­?" Palmira asked, still dazed. Mama simply nodded, grabbing a bag of bread and their coats.


    Papa grabbed her, lifting her up on his shoulder. "Papa!? What¡ªwhat''s going on?"


    He placed a hand gently on her head. "Hey, hey, it''s okay. It''s fine. We''ve just got to take a little trip, that''s all. Just¡­ ah, think of it like a vacation!"


    She still didn''t know what was going on¡ªwhy Papa and Mama were freaking out so much¡ªbut she also didn''t know what else to say. So she simply snapped her mouth shut and nodded, doing her best to stay quiet.


    Papa rubbed her back, and the three of them ran outside.


    It wasn''t quite pandemonium out there¡ªthere just weren''t enough people in the village for things to get that bad¡ªbut it was definitely chaotic. Families ran about their farms, packing away everything they could get their hands on. Some with efficient grace, others with panicked speed.


    Mama joined them, loading up the sealed cages of their cockatrices onto their neighbors wagon while Papa ran ahead with her. They joined a group with the other village children and their parents, all the people too young or to weak to help out. They were marching north, on a long unused path out of the village.


    "Eh?" Old Tizio frowned at Papa. "What are you doing over here? Shouldn''t you be helping your wife gather your things?"


    "Ah, well, you know," Papa''s smile was weak as he shrugged. "We don''t own that much, so my wife told me to stay with Palmira while instead. It''s best to keep her from freaking out, you know?"


    The old man scoffed, but didn''t say another word, letting Papa carry her along.


    They continued on their way, the elderly comforting the crying and confused children. Eventually they''d made their way up the cliffs of Mt. Palmira a fair distance, and Palmira couldn''t help but look down the mountain over her Papa''s shoulder, down at the village she''d spent her whole life growing up in.


    It looked¡­ so small, from up here.


    The ground shook again, harder, and this time Papa nearly fell to his knees trying to stay steady.


    Palmira, when looking back on this day, later realized that the villagers had been aware of the danger of the volcano erupting. Mt. Fumoso had been a known volcano for centuries, and the people who lived at its foot all knew the dangers of that. They were people of the Pumilios, they knew the warning signs of what happened when a volcano was close to erupting, and so they prepared accordingly. This wasn''t the first time Mt. Fumoso had a dangerous eruption, but it was the first in a while, so they''d been expecting this for a bit.


    But, the thing is¡­


    They''d gone in the wrong direction. It wasn''t Mt. Fumoso that was erupting.


    High above their heads, the soft, snowy peak of Mt. Palmira exploded in a violent cacophony of sound and heat. In an instant the sky vanished, replaced by smoke and fire.


    Papa spun around, staring up at the peak in horror. The children around them screamed, and the elderly joined in. They were now too close¡ªtoo close to run, too close to escape, too close to do anything.


    It was a pointless thought. Even if they''d been on the other mountain, at the peak of Mt. Fumoso, they still would have been too close.


    Papa fell to the ground, holding her tight, as though he could somehow shield her with his body.


    It was a futile effort. She could see it through the gap in his arms. The cloud of ash.


    No. What came bearing down on them could not be called a mere cloud. It was a wall. A wall of smokey darkness that came closer and closer. That grew larger and larger, until it was all she could see.


    That grew until it was upon them, until it was behind them.


    Until there was nothing left but ash and smoke.


    Palmira hugged her father tighter, and the cloud of death consumed them.


    -<XXX>-


    ?


    It was hot.


    Her legs, her chest, her arms, her head. Inside. It was so.


    Unbearably.


    Hot.


    She could not see. She could not move. She could not breath. Her skin was melting off her bones and her insides were filled with ash.


    Yet, somehow, she lived. And once she realized that, no matter the agony of it, she realized that she did not want to die.


    She pushed. Forcing all her will into the simple effort of moving but an inch.


    Her fingers twitched. They dug and chipped at the still molten stone. She pushed, and dug, and pushed. She crawled forward, bit by bit, unsure of where she was even going. But she knew she had to move.


    And then, finally, the stone gave way, and darkness gave way to light.


    Palmira broke through to the surface, shedding flesh and muscle like slag. She dragged herself up from the ground, hacking up stone and ash. She glanced up feebly, fading eyes taking in the hell she''d been reborn into.


    The world was dark and grey in all directions. Black clouds hung low in the sky, occasionally erupting with bursts of lightning. Ash fell like snow, covering the molten ground in an ever-increasing layer of soot. The only breaks in the bleached hellscape were the burning corpses of trees, just barely peaking over the ash.


    She didn''t recognize this place. And yet, she knew without a shadow of a doubt where she was.


    Mt. Palmira overlooked the wasteland that had once been home, now nothing more than a city-sized crater, bellowing a seemingly endless amount of smoke and ash into the sky.


    Tears didn''t fall. Could not fall, the heat had sealed her tear ducts shut and burned off her eyelids. So instead, she did the only other thing she could think of.


    She pulled herself up on charred fingers, her remaining skin blackened and lungs filled with ash.


    But the pain had long since numbed, and with heaving, hacking breathes, she managed to force herself to her feet.


    Then, slowly, she forced one foot forward. Then another, and another.


    Palmira marched through the knee-high ash. Not because she knew where she was going, but because she knew staying here would mean death.


    So she forced herself forward, across the ashy wastes, one foot in front of the other. Even as her feet melted, even as the ash tore at her skin.


    Until, finally, her blurry eyes caught movement. Bright white shapes, speeding through the ash as though it didn''t bother them in the slightest.


    One of the shapes turned towards her, and then all of them rushed at her.


    She blacked out for a moment, and then they were there, hands grabbing her shoulders, her legs, her torso. But they grabbed her gently, almost firmly. Masks completely covered their faces, and their breathing was heavy and loud. They were speaking garbled words that she was too exhausted to piece together.


    And as though there was nothing left fueling her, Palmira fell into their waiting arms and blacked out.


    -<XXX>-


    ?


    Consciousness returned to her slowly. It flickered in and out, a blur of sights and sounds and smells that she could make no sense of, overwhelming her until she passed out once more.


    When she finally woke up, she was in an unfamiliar room, wearing unfamiliar clothes. The room was small, with only a single small bed and a chair.


    One of the white shapes was sitting on that chair. Though, now that she saw them up close, she could see that it was a man, draped in a bright white cloak and protective gear.


    The man looked exhausted, but once he saw she was awake, he smiled, practically jumping out of his seat.


    "You''re awake!" he sighed in relief, kneeling beside her bed. "Thank the Goddess! How are you feeling?"


    Palmira opened her mouth, but all she could manage was a painful cough.


    "Right, right, I''ll get the priestess, just wait here for a minute!"


    She wanted to reach out for him, to beg him to stay, but she couldn''t bring herself to move.


    So he left. And then returned a few moments later, an old woman of the cloth by his side. The old lady prayed for her, placing gently hands upon her burned body, and slowly the pain began to numb.


    The man handed her a cup of water, telling her to drink slowly.


    She did, and it was agony. But she couldn''t bring herself to stop, and once she finished the whole cup she almost cried with need for more.


    But the man took the cup away and then, slowly and quietly, they explained to her what had happened.


    The village she was currently staying at had heard the volcano erupt, and sent out a runner to the city to get help.


    The white shapes that had found her were Esploratori di Cenere, mages specialized in searching for survivors following volcanic eruptions. They''d found her and brought her to the nearby village, where the local priestess was able to stabilize her.


    Unfortunately, the village was too close to ground zero of the eruption, and almost everyone had perished. Only three people managed to survive, and almost entirely due to luck.


    Palmira had only survived thanks to her tenuous grip on fire magic, allowing her to survive long enough for others to find her help.


    Giulia survived thanks to her location. She''d been out hunting with her father in the mountainside, so she''d missed the worst of it. Though she didn''t get away unscathed¡ªshe and her father had both ended up breathing in too much ash, and even now were wracked with painful coughs. And her father¡ªwho''d already been an old man¡ªended up rupturing his lungs, leading to his death.


    Lenna, of all people, had survived by simply not being there. She''d been visiting her family the next town over, the town they were currently in, and had missed the eruption. Though that didn''t mean much¡ªher home, her family, and her wealth had all been destroyed by the volcano as well, leaving her alone and destitute.


    Palmira, Lenna, and Giulia. The only survivors of the once village of Vittoria.


    Palmira wished she could cry. But her body was still healing, and so all she could do was shake painfully.


    The man stared down at her with exhausted eyes, eyes that spoke of having seen this play out, time and time again.


    But, even so, he softly grabbed her hand, and promised her it would be alright.


    -<X>-


    ?


    She spent a few months in that village, recovering. Recovering what she could, at least. She''d been at ground-zero of the eruption, and been more hurt than anyone else. From what the priestess told her, the burn scars would never heal, and for the rest of her life her face would be deformed from the heat. It was more awful news to pile onto her, but at that point she couldn''t even bring herself to care.


    Palmira found she couldn''t stay. The small village¡­ it gnawed at her. It was so similar to her home (her old home, now buried under tons and tons of ash) and yet it was so different. The elders were still old, the children still lively, and the farmers still farmed.


    But they were not her elders, her children, her farmers. They were all strangers.


    She couldn''t stay here, where the memories haunted her.


    So, when a merchant caravan arrived in the village, heading up north to Iscrimo, she jumped at the chance to leave.


    And Lenna and Giulia, perhaps feeling the same way, or perhaps just not wanting to watch one of the only people from their home run away, went with her.


    The white scout who saved her paid for her trip, and the priestess healed her one last time before she left. The caravan leaders grumbled at their inclusion, but one of the merchants took them under her wing, giving them enough food and water to survive. Francis, a half-elf from the north. Palmira never met the woman again, but she would always remember her kindness.


    The caravan marched north, deeper and deeper into the Pumilios, the landscape around them slowly changing with each day that passed. From the rolling hills of Alovoa, to the towering peaks of the Pumilios Mountains.


    Their caravan continued to follow the Nera, the great river that most smaller rivers in the area flowed into, as hills turned to mountains and mountains turned to volcanoes. Soon the sky turned more red than blue, and each mountain they passed spewed ash and smoke into the sky.


    It terrified her.


    But it also comforted her. The fact that they spewed smoke so obviously was almost a relief. She knew they were volcanoes¡ªeveryone knew they were volcanoes, and so nobody though her weird for being nervous about them.


    (It was the normal mountains she kept a close eye on, the ones that seemed so innocent. She didn''t trust a single one of them.)


    Eventually, though, they reached the end of their journey. Ahead of them, in the distance, she could see it. A massive city, a settlement larger than any she''d ever seen in her life. It was built atop a massive plateau, surrounded on all sides by volcanoes. Terrace farms clutched at the edges of its walls, while the black basalt the city was built from seemed to cast the whole of it in shadow.


    She''d never seen anything like it in her life, and yet because of that she knew there was only one thing it could be.


    Iscrimo, the Ancient City of Fire.

 Interlude VII - The City of Fire

    Interlude VII ¨C The City of Fire


    [Eight Years Ago]


    ?


    Iscrimo was an ancient city, steeped in history.


    Most of which Palmira didn''t know.


    But though she lacked knowledge about the city''s history, she''d come well to learn the city''s present.


    Iscrimo was a city of contrasts. Of modern opulence built upon ancient ruin. A city built on an active volcano that yet refused to burn down. Its buildings were constructed from the black and grey basalt of the volcano, many of them carved from the very ground itself. Combined with the lava canals that crisscrossed between the buildings, it all gave the city a very dark and menacing vibe.


    The people, on the other hand, were almost aggressively cheerful. It seemed like it was to spite the very city itself. They dressed in bright greens and yellows and wore cheerful smiles as a matter of course. Almost every window had potted flowers or colorful drapes. During the busiest parts of the day, one could even be mistaken for thinking the city downright homely.


    Palmira had been shocked and awed when she''d first arrived. But now, after having lived in the city near-broke for the past two years, she just wished the people were more kind than cheerful.


    She was in one of the city''s marketplaces currently, on the far northern side of the city. The marketplace sat in the dark shadow of the domineering Basilica di Sant''Giuseppina. The Basilica was as large as it was ancient, built from the same black basalt that the rest of the city used. A massive stained-glass window dominated its front side, showing the Death of the Daughter in hauntingly beautiful reds and purples.


    Palmira had set up on its steps. Sitting on a tattered blanket, she flicked her fingers back and forth, sending sparks flying from her fingers like miniature fireworks. Occasionally people glanced her way, but most of their eyes simply moved over her like she was just another part of the scenery.


    A middle-aged man walked past, two loaves of bread in one hand and a pig''s leg in the other. Then he paused, stopping to watch her show. His eyes darted to her face, and he grimaced, before he tore one of the loaves of bread in two uneven halves. He shuffled closer, handing the smaller half of it to her.


    "I''m sorry," he muttered, "I know it''s not much."


    "Thank you," she replied anyway, taking the food as it was given. The man just gave her an awkward nod and moved on.


    Palmira pulled off a chunk for herself, before hiding the rest under her shirt. She''d share the rest with the others later.


    Above her the church bells rang from the Basilica, once, twice, three times. That meant it was time to leave¡ªthe guards didn''t like beggars like her in the marketplace in the evenings, and she''d since learned it was better not to argue.


    She swiftly made her way back to her ''home.'' The city wasn''t quite dangerous yet¡ªit was still daytime, and so long as you stuck to the lava-canals you tended to be safe, but she felt it was always better safe than sorry.


    Eventually she made it back ''home.'' If you could call it that, which she adamantly refused to. It was a rundown smithy in the poorer part of the city. It sat on one of the smaller lava canals along with a dozen others. The only thing that set it apart from the rest was the small apartment attached to the side.


    That was where she was staying, but it wasn''t home. That was a small cottage in a small village in a valley far south of here, with her Mama and Papa and all her friends. It wasn''t this.


    The smith who owned it gave her a look, as if hearing her thoughts. She was an aging, one-eyed woman who''s weather-beaten face was stretched into a perpetual scowl. She was (as always) making nails, the only thing she''d ever seen the old fart make in the two years since she arrived.


    Palmira stuck out her tongue at her, and which got her a sneer in return. She''d tried to apprentice for the woman when she''d first arrived, but after her disastrous first day the old blacksmith had come to hate her with a burning passion.


    By this point it was mutual.


    "Margarita!" Giulia called out, stepping out from the back. Her fellow survivor hadn''t dealt with the aftermath as well as she had, and was still sickly and pale. "Where''s the¡­" she bent over, letting out a wet, hacking cough. "¡­the bellows?


    "Bottom shelf, Lucciola," Margarita called back, her voice so deep it sounded like she was gargling gravel.


    "Thank you, Master!"


    Fortunately for her, the old blacksmith loved Giulia.


    Giulia smiled at Palmira as she passed, and she gave her a tired nod in reply. She liked the other girl, she really did, but some days she wished she didn''t have to deal with her optimism.


    Palmira shook her head. Regardless of how she felt about the old fart, she was letting them stay in the small apartment attached to the forge. Apparently it was supposed to be for the woman''s apprentice, but all her old ones had moved on and so she''d been kind enough to let them stay there for free.


    Unless, did Giulia count¡­?


    Palmira shrugged. It was a roof over her head, and these days that was enough for her.


    Pushing into the crammed one-room apartment (it was really only meant for one person, not three), she scowled down at Lenna who, like always, was sprawled on the bedding. Surrounding her were piles of parchment, charcoal, and unfired clay statues. By this point, her bed was more parchment than cloth.


    Lenna liked to talk about how one day she''d become a famous artist and would make them all rich.


    Palmira, on the other hand, knew a waste of money when she saw it.


    "Make any money today, artist?" Palmira scowled, stomping into the room.


    Lenna side-eyed her but otherwise ignored her, going back to her drawing.


    Fine. That suited Palmira just fine. It wasn''t like she wanted to talk anyway.


    She slumped down on her own bed, exhausted. She hadn''t done much moving today, at least not anywhere near as much as when she''d been on the farm, but the mental toll of begging for scraps seemed to take more out of her every day.


    And the lazy former prissy rich girl who refused to join her certainly wasn''t helping. At least Giulia had a job!


    Palmira felt something shift under her clothes, and she remembered the bread she''d stuffed there earlier.


    She hesitated, before sighing and pulling it out, tearing it in half and tossing it at Lenna''s head.


    "Here," she grunted, placing the rest of it on Giulia''s bed, despite the grumbling of her stomach. "Eat it quickly, before I do."


    Lenna glared at her, before glancing down at the bread. Her gaze softened just a bit. "¡­Thanks, Palmira."


    Palmira just grunted again, flopping over on her pile of moth-worn blankets. Closing her eyes, she tried to ignore her roommate''s chewing, and slowly she fell asleep.


    -<X>-


    ?


    Palmira hated nighttime in Iscrimo.


    It wasn''t because of the crime, or how the dark buildings made the city even darker. No, more than anything else, it was because she couldn''t see the stars at night. They were all drowned out by the lights of the city and the smoke from the volcanoes. It made it impossible to see all but the brightest stars.


    Eventually, she simply stopped bothering.


    And one morning when she woke up and realized it had been years since she''d last even looked up at the night sky, she found herself crying.


    She cried for her Papa. And then for her Mama. And then for all the friends she''d lost.


    She cried, and cried, and cried.


    But then Giulia crawled into her bed and held her tight, even as she sobbed all over one of her few good shirts. Lenna then grabbed her hand and smiled a tired smile, and that morning the three of them simply sat in bed, mourning what they''d lost.


    Yet, despite everything, they still had each other. And while most days that felt like a mediocre consolation prize, that day they wouldn''t have given each other up for anything.


    -<X>-


    ?


    If the people of Iscrimo were bright and cheerful in spite of the oppressive atmosphere of their city, then the nobility were every bit as dark and dour as the black and ash-filled pit they called home.


    And Duke Aventio Visconti was the darkest and dourest of them all.


    "Stand up straight," he sneered down at Palmira. She thought she already was, but she forced herself straighter regardless. "Hmph. Good enough, I suppose. You may be an ugly child, but at least you can follow orders properly."


    Duke Visconti would be an attractive man if he didn''t have such a punchable face. Between his slick black hair, clean-cut goatee, and pasty skin, it was no wonder half the prostitutes in the city knew him by name.


    Currently, Palmira was one of many young girls standing in line before him. They were all new maids he had hired to take care of his villa in the city. About a dozen of them stood before the Duke and his Head Maid, all of them ranging in age from eight to twenty, with Palmira the youngest by a wide margin.


    She didn''t know how she managed to get this job, but despite the pay she was already coming to regret it. Especially with how the Duke was looking at some of the other girls lined up with her. (He wasn''t looking at her that way, but she had the uncomfortable feeling it had more to do with her burn scars than her age.)


    Finally, after what felt like forever, the Duke gave their group a nod, stepping back. "A barely decent batch you''ve found this year, Sforzesca," he gave the Head maid a tight smile, which she returned with a contrite bow. "See to it that they''re all in working order by the end of the year, will you? I refuse to let my good name be sullied by sub-par servants."


    "Of course, Lord Duke," the Head Maid Sforzesca nodded at him, her eyes resolute.


    The Duke gave them one last sneer before leaving them alone with the Head Maid.


    The moment he was gone, she seemed to relax, shoulders slumping in relief. "Finally," she muttered, rolling her eyes. Then she turned to them, and gave the girls an exhausted look. "Right, how many of you know how to read?"


    Palmira blinked, confused by the question, but slowly raised her hand. She wasn''t very good at it, but Papa had taught her basic letters and numbers when she was younger. About half of the other girls followed her example.


    "Excellent," the older woman nodded, before she reached into a pocket hidden in her skirt and pulled out a series of pamphlets. "Here, read these."


    Palmira stared down at the pamphlet that had been shoved into her hand. ''How To Be a Good Servant'' was written across the front in large, choppy letters.


    "Read that pamphlet, it tells you everything you need to know," she waved them off. "If you can''t read, ask one of the ones who can to explain it to you. Now, if you don''t mind, I have more important business to attend to."


    "Wait," one of the other girls exclaimed, confused. "Aren''t you supposed to be teaching us this?"


    The Head Maid rolled her eyes. "Please. You''ll all be gone by the end of the year¡ªI don''t see any point in wasting my time training you. Now, get. You''re on the clock¡ªwhy are you all wasting your time standing around?"


    That was how her new job as one of the Duke of Iscrimo''s Maidservants began.


    It didn''t get much better from there, but at least it didn''t get much worse. The Duke was a shitty boss, but they didn''t see him often. And while the work was awful and tedious, the piddling salary she was paid was enough to consistently afford food for all three of the girls, and even occasionally the old fart that owned the smithy. So no matter how much she hated her job, she wasn''t able to quit even if she wanted to.


    And, she was loathe to admit, getting to explore such a large and beautiful house unimpeded was a perk all on its own. Most of the city was built out of volcanic stone, both because it was easy to mine locally and (more importantly) because stone didn''t burn. However, in the wealthier districts the nobility built their homes out of enchanted wood as a symbol of status. A way of lording over the common masses that they were so rich they could afford to build a house out of wood on a city built into an active volcano.


    Palmira personally thought the nobility were idiots. Idiots with an eye for interior d¨¦cor, but idiots all the same.


    Though as she''d later learn, while the Duke owned a fancy villa in the richest part of the city, he didn''t live in it. No, instead he spent most of his time in his other, larger villa out in the countryside, and only came into the city to deal with the Assembly.


    Personally, Palmira had already long come to hate the rich stronza. Learning that all the backbreaking labor she was putting in was just for a spare house was just icing on the cake at this point.


    One day, as she was fantasizing about how good it''d feel to burn down this godforsaken mansion, the Head Maid grabbed her and dragged her in to help clean the Duke''s public office.


    Well, ''help'' is a strong word. They''d all learned by this point that the Head Maid liked forcing them to do her job for her while she ''supervised.'' So when it happened to Palmira she just gave the woman a tired nod and got to dusting.


    The lazy-ass woman just propped herself up in the Duke''s chair and started reading one of her crappy romance novels.


    (Palmira knew they were crap because she read them. They were the only writing she regularly had access to, and she needed to keep her skills up somehow.


    But she really hated those books. They were all about the same goddessforsaken bard and whatever new bedwarmer of the week he was trying to seduce. They were awful, the protagonist was awful, why did you like these books, Head Maid!?)


    Anyway.


    The Duke''s public office (did he have a private one? Where??) was filled to the brim with wealth, same as the rest of the villa. Wooden furniture, silk curtains, and all sorts of flammable decorations that nobody else in the city would be caught dead keeping in their homes. On his wooden shelves expensive knick-knacks sat next to religious iconography, all of them worth more money than she''d see in her entire life.


    They pissed her off, sometimes. How the Duke spent more on decorating a house he didn''t even live in than on his employees.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Her fingers twitched. She wondered if he would notice if she took one. It''s not like the wealthy bastard couldn''t afford to replace anything.


    Then she sighed, and began dusting the stupid fancy ornaments. Or she would have, if she wasn''t interrupted.


    "Do not touch that!" the Head Maid yelped, almost tackling her away from the cabinet.


    Palmira''s heart leapt into her throat. "What? Why!? I wasn''t touching anything! I was just dusting them!"


    "No, I mean¡­" The older woman sighed in relief, stepping away from her. "Look, do you see that?"


    Palmira looked at where she was pointing. It was what looked like a fist-sized ruby, pulsing intermittently with orange lights. Just one of the many expensive things on display. "Uh, maybe?"


    "That," she scowled, "is the most important artifact in this entire villa¡ªonly the Duke is allowed to touch it! The Salamader''s Heart is the only thing keeping this building from catching on fire! And if you accidently¡ªI don''t know, turned it off or dropped it or something¡ªthen this whole damn building could burn down! So don''t touch it, got it?"


    Palmira nodded, privately wondering why this worthless maid didn''t tell her about that before they entered the office.


    "Good," Sforzesca nodded, before glaring at her. "Now, get back to work! The Duke isn''t paying you to stand around gawking all day, start dusting! Just don''t dust the Heart!"


    Frantically leaping back into action, Palmira wondered, just a little, if the Goddess would really blame her if she decided to just burn this stupid villa down.


    -<X>-


    ?


    A few weeks later saw Palmira and Lenna out and about in the city.


    It was the day of rest, and Palmira''s only day off each week. But after weeks of nothing but work, work, work, she''d drawn a blank on what to spend her free time doing.


    So, when Lenna announced that morning she was going downtown, Palmira shrugged her shoulders and decided to join her.


    Lenna refused, of course, but as the only one of them who regularly left their little apartment, Palmira insisted. She doubted Lenna even knew how to get to the marketplace.


    The city was dangerous for a little girl after all, especially one who couldn''t set their hands on fire when someone got just a little too close.


    Lenna complained the whole way, but Palmira was hearing none of it, and an hour later the two of them were set up on a bench in the Piazza del Trionfo in the north of the city. Lenna had her charcoal and parchment (which she''d since tied together into a makeshift sketchbook) while Palmira had nothing. Because she didn''t have any hobbies, and didn''t know what else to do today.


    Palmira huffed, relaxing somewhat as the heat from the volcano washed over her. They were close to the heart of the city here, and it was easy to tell. She could practically hear the lava bubbling.


    Back when she''d first moved here it had given her nightmares. Now, after over two years, it was just background noise.


    Palmira''s eyes slowly roved over the piazza. At this time of day it was pretty full, since like them everyone else had just finished with church and had free time. They weren''t in the more mercantile part of the city¡ªthat was closer to the Basilica¡ªbut there were still a fair few merchants and food stalls scattered around them. Across the piazza stood the ancient Volan Triumphal arch, which in turn framed the Castello l''Insieme, which sat in the center of the lava pool all those canals throughout the city were draining.


    Palmira glanced down at what Lenna was doing. The other girl had her sketchbook open, and was doing a surprisingly good job at capturing the piazza in her sketches.


    "Huh," she hummed, leaning over her shoulder to get a better look. "You''re actually pretty good at that."


    "Hey! Stop that¡ªdon''t look!"


    "But what else am I supposed to do then?"


    "I don''t know!" Lenna huffed, scooting away from her. "You''re the one who wanted to come along! Figure it out yourself!"


    "But I''m bored!" Palmira moaned, flopped on her back next to Lenna. "We''ve been out here forever!"


    "You can''t rush art, Tizzone!"


    "Don''t call me that!"


    "Then stop bothering me and go do something else!"


    Palmira scoffed. But if she was bringing out the childhood nicknames, then that meant Lenna was serious about not wanting to be bothered. So, with a shrug, Palmira got to her feet and started exploring¡ªmaking sure to keep Lenna in sight at all times, of course. The girl had no sense of situational awareness.


    She didn''t buy any food, since she didn''t have any money on her, but she did manage to bargain for some roasted chestnuts in exchange for putting on a show for the vendor''s customers. Savoring the taste of them, she continued on her way, skirting the edge of the piazza until she was right up next to the Triumphal Arch.


    It was a massive stone structure, a pure white marble arch placed smack in the center of the city. Carved on the Triumph in breathtaking detail was the tale of the Volan''s conquest of Iscrimo. Across the top was their first march from the ancient capital, and their battles against the Dwarves.


    All victories, of course. It wasn''t like they''d put a monument of their defeat in the center of the city.


    Palmira popped another chestnut in her mouth, slowly following the tale as it was carved. Next the Dwarves holed up in their citadel, a labyrinthine fortress dug into the mountain like a massive anthill. The Volans sieged the fortress for many nights. (The Triumph wasn''t clear on how long that was, exactly). But their old tactics weren''t working as well, as the tunnels ran too deep, and the cowardly Dwarves refused to fight them on the open fields.


    Thrice they attacked, and thrice the Dwarves fled deeper into the tunnels. It seemed a hopeless endeavor, to force them from the mountain entirely.


    But then, a hero emerged. A great warrior, with a sword that looked unwieldy even in the carvings. He swung his blade, and with it sliced the mountain fortress in half, flattening the mountain into a plateau in an instant.


    She wondered, then, why they had stopped here. If the ancient Volans could have cut down the mountains, why did the Pumilios still exist? Why hadn''t they simply flattened the world?


    The Triumph continued its story on the final side.


    With the Dwarves routed, the Volans built a new fortress on the remains of the old. However, the Dwarves had not left the area, simply holing up in their few remaining tunnels. Which the Volans could not let stand, and so marched one last time to eradicate them once and for all.


    The story stopped there. Nothing more was carved on the Triumphal arch. There was a bunch of graffiti and not-so-nice words painted along the foundation, but the Volans had nothing more to say on the matter.


    Probably because, as she''d learned, it didn''t really end there. The Volan Empire took the surface, took the city, but no further.


    The Dwarves, fleeing the Volan Legions, dug deeper and deeper into the depths of their mountain. They dug a second city beneath the first. And then, when the Volans conquered that, they dug another. Again and again, until they could dig no more.


    Until something stopped them from digging.


    The ancient cities beneath Iscrimo were swarmed by the Horrors of the depths. Things of stone and fire, which mimicked the dwarves who once lived there. Every hour of every day they surged forth, intent on slaughtering all life on the surface. A battle without end, they had sieged the city from within for the last twenty centuries, killing countless soldiers of countless generations in a war that never ended.


    A war that not even the powerful Volans could win.


    The Horrors still ruled the Deep City. It was the main reason why despite being wealthy, defensible, and an agricultural breadbasket, Iscrimo didn''t have much of a military presence outside its borders.


    Because most of its army was down in the Depths, fighting off the endless tide of Horrors.


    But Palmira, like most of the people in the city, didn''t like to spend much time thinking about that.


    And really, they''d been holding them off for two thousand years. Frankly, for Horrors that wanted to slaughter them all, they seemed to be doing a pretty bad job of it.


    (She would later learn that they had, in fact, destroyed the city three times before. While humans eventually took it back, it was not without heavy losses.


    But she still stood by the fact that three victories in a two-thousand-year war was pretty bad. Weak-ass Horrors.)


    -<X>-


    ?


    "Hey, Palmira?"


    Palmira stopped what she was doing, turning to Gia, one of her fellow maids that joined the same day she did. "Yeah? What do you need?"


    "Um, it''s just¡­" the older girl hesitated. "¡­Have you seen Emilia lately?"


    Palmira blinked, confused. "Emilia?"


    "She''s got blond hair, a little bit of elf in her ears, about this tall," Gia motioned with her hand. "Have you seen her at all?"


    Palmira frowned, thinking hard. That description sounded familiar; she''d definitely seen her before. Not recently, though¡­ "No, sorry. Why do you ask?"


    "Well, since we started working here, we''ve gotten to be really good friends! Every week we go out and get dinner together, even," she shuffled embarrassedly, wringing her hands. "But I haven''t seen her all week, and I''m starting to get worried."


    "Maybe she''s just sick or something?"


    "But she''s not! I visited her apartment and¡ª" Gia yelped, covering her mouth with a flush. "I''m sorry, forget I said anything!"


    Palmira watched her rush away, confused. Then she heard footsteps coming down the hall, and quickly got back to work.


    She would end up putting it out of her mind. While it was weird, she didn''t really talk with the other maids, and when nobody else brought anything up, she just forgot. She had her own problems, after all, and Emilia was a big girl. She was probably fine.


    Then, a few weeks later, Gia would disappear too.


    -<X>-


    ?


    Over a month later, Palmira was called up to the Duke''s public office. She wasn''t sure why, but the Head Maid grabbed her and just told her to get moving, so she got moving.


    Quietly entering the room, Palmira was surprised to see Duke Visconti actually there, much less with a guest. She''d never seen this room used since she started working here, she mostly thought it was just for show.


    Giving the Duke a low bow, she stepped off to the side, preparing to do her duties as his maid¡ªwhatever that was supposed to be today, since she still hadn''t been told anything¡ªonly for the Head Maid to pull her back into the center of the room.


    Palmira gave her a confused look, only for her to simply shake her head and remain silent.


    "Well, Signor Brera," the Duke gestured to her, turning to his guest. "What do you think of her?"


    His guest, the apparent Signor Brera, was a pale skinny man with long ears¡ªan elf, then. Was he a noble from the north, then?


    Brera gave her a onceover, before scoffing. "What an ugly child. What, did you throw her in your volcano or something?"


    Palmira felt a scowl form before she forced it down. She''d heard a lot of people comment on her appearance since that day, but even after all this time it hurt to hear people say things like that. But she couldn''t do anything right now, not when the person saying it was a noble.


    She''d just have to get him back later. Somehow.


    "I assure you, Signor Brera," the Duke smiled at her. She held back a shudder¡ªall his smiles were so gross. "This young girl makes up for her¡­ physical deficiencies with a strong work ethic and a deceptively powerful frame. Give her any task and she''ll get it done both quickly and efficiently."


    "Well, I suppose all you humans are ugly regardless," the elf shrugged his shoulders, looking rather bored. "Very well. How about¡­ nine copper Mori? No, no, if it''s an ugly one then it''d better be eight."


    What?


    "Eight!?" The Duke looked personally offended by the offer. "Did you not hear me? This girl is both young and competent! Why, I could sell her to the pleasure guilds for twice that even though she looks like that. A gold Mori, at the very least!"


    What.


    "Are you out of your damn mind? A gold Mori, for one little disfigured girl? ¡­But I suppose I''ll get a lot of use out of her¡­ very well. Twelve copper Mori sounds reasonable, don''t you think?"


    "Wait, hang on," Palmira yelped frantically. "What''s going on? What are you talking about!?"


    "Ugh," the elf sneered down at her. "And she talks out of turn? Eleven Mori, at best."


    Duke Visconti gave her a look that made her want to run somewhere very, very far away. "Be silent, girl. And she can be trained. Fifteen Mori."


    "You were supposed to train her, Duke," the elf scoffed. "Twelve Mori. No more, no less."


    "You aren''t¡­!" Palmira felt herself begin to heat up, sparks flickering between her teeth. "What are you¡­!?"


    "Isn''t it obvious?" the elf rolled his eyes. "I''m buying you, girl. Well, I might be, at least. Now be silent, lest I find you more trouble than you''re worth and leave you to the tender mercies of your current liege."


    Palmira''s eyes darted to the Duke, who was glaring at her with a look that told her everything that would happen to her if she continued to open her mouth. Behind her, the Head Maid tightened her grip on her shoulder, silently telling her to shut up.


    "Good," the elf nodded, smug. "Now, where were we¡­"


    Palmira glared at them, terrified and furious, a fire she''d kept smothered for years beginning to reignite¡ª


    Her eyes twitched, and she glanced to the right¡ªat the Salamader''s Heart, pulsing brightly on the opulent cabinets.


    And then, more out of instinct than anything else, she lunged, breaking free from the older woman''s grasp.


    The Duke shouted, leaping to his feet, while the elf just watched everything play out with an air of amused detachment. Bastard.


    Palmira grabbed it, lifting the Heart off his desk and holding it high above her head.


    Duke Visconti sneered. "You wouldn''t dare."


    She dared.


    Sparks popped between her fingers, and with all her strength she threw the Salamader''s Heart onto the polished wooden floor. She had just enough time to see the horrified looks on the Duke and Head Maid''s faces, along with the slowly growing confusion on the face of the elf.


    Then, for the second time in her life, Palmira''s world was consumed by fire.


    But this time, she smiled.

 Interlude VIII - The Old Red Moon

    Interlude VIII ¨C The Old Red Moon


    One bright and smoggy day in Iscrimo, without any warning, the wealthiest district in the city suddenly caught ablaze.


    People gathered and fled and pointed and shouted, shocked despite themselves that a fire had started in the City of Fire. I mean really, who could have foreseen this!? Then they began to realize that the building currently on fire was the Duke¡¯s villa, and it caused those who realized to panic harder. Why was the Duke¡¯s villa on fire? Was it an accident, or intentional? Was the city under attack? Had the Horrors escaped the tunnels again!?


    The city¡¯s fire brigade¡ªwhich hadn¡¯t seen a true fire since before most of them were born¡ªsprang into action. Water mages rushed to surround the buildings before the fire spread, while earth mages built barricades and dug pits.


    With the people distracted with the inferno in front of them, they almost missed the little girl fleeing from one of the smoldering doorways.


    Almost.


    The panicking guards pointed and shouted when they saw her. But the girl didn¡¯t wait for them to do much else¡ªinstead, she leapt off the road and into the closest lava canal, swimming away through a path no one else could follow.


    It was, in hindsight, very suspicious behavior.


    -<X>-


    Palmira surfaced from the lava, dragging herself onto the slick black basalt of the city street. She gasped for breath, blinking molten rock out of her eyes as she tried to calm her racing heart. Pulling herself fully out of the canal, she flopped to the ground, spent.


    She laid like that for a moment, before she realized the lava was starting to cool around her, and so she forced herself to get up.


    As she did, she noticed a confused looking couple staring at her from across the street.


    ¡°What are you looking at?¡± she rasped, glaring at them. Getting to her feet, she tried wiping the remaining lava off her body, grimacing as it clung to her clothes.


    After spending as long as she was willing to clean herself off, she slipped into the nearest alleyway, running home so fast her feet caught on fire.


    It felt like she¡¯d spent an eternity running through those back alleys, and yet when she finally arrived back at the old smithy she felt it hadn¡¯t been anywhere near long enough.


    Giulia was helping the old fart with the bellows, slowly pumping air into the fire while the older woman worked. Her body was soaked in sweat and her breathing ragged. She looked ill, even as she forced herself to continue.


    Palmira took that all in as she ran right past them, slamming open the door to their tiny apartment.


    Lenna¡ªwho¡¯d been up until that point half-asleep and buried under piles of parchment¡ªbarely had a moment to scream in surprise before Palmira rushed past her, practically jumping onto her bedsheets. Dragging over her fraying rucksack, she immediately started packing up the few things she owned.


    ¡°Palmira!?¡± Lenna yelped, still half-asleep. ¡°What are you doing!?¡±


    ¡°I need to leave!¡± she hissed back, frantic. ¡°I need to fucking skip town! I need to get as far away from this city as physically possible!¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Palmira?¡± Giulia appeared in the doorway, squinting into their apartment. She was breathing heavily, forced to hold onto the doorframe to support herself. ¡°Why¡­ are you back¡­ so early?¡±


    Palmira glanced back at her. With a grimace, she stopped packing and turned back to the other girls. ¡°I did¡­ You see, I had to¡­¡± she rubbed her face, cringing as some volcanic stone she missed earlier peeled off her skin. ¡°The Duke tried to sell me into slavery,¡± she said at last.


    ¡°What!?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s horrible!¡± Giulia gasped. ¡°We need to¡ª¡± she was cut off by a sudden cough, almost knocking herself over. ¡°¡ªYou¡¯re right, we need to get you out of the city before the Duke finds you again!¡±


    ¡°¡­The, uh, the Duke isn¡¯t the person I¡¯m worried about.¡±


    Giulia frowned. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°I, um¡­¡± Palmira turned away from them, going back to packing. ¡°¡­I may have¡­ burned down his house. With him, uh¡­ in it.¡±


    ¡°What.¡±


    ¡°What Lenna said,¡± Giulia agreed, wincing. ¡°What? How?¡±


    ¡°Well, what else was I supposed to do!?¡± Palmira huffed, crossing her arms defensively. ¡°I didn¡¯t exactly have a lot of time to think up a plan!¡±


    ¡°By the Holy Daughter,¡± Lenna whispered, dropping her head into her hands. ¡°I can¡¯t believe Palmira killed the Duke!¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t know that he¡¯s dead, Lenna!¡±


    ¡°Oh, no, he¡¯s very dead,¡± Palmira shook her head. ¡°I watched him¡­ uh¡­ you know.¡±


    ¡°Oh my Goddess, Palmira, are you¡ª"


    ¡°Now what¡¯s this I head about you killing the Duke?¡±


    The young girls jumped as the old fart suddenly appeared from behind Giulia. She squinted in at the three frozen and suddenly very worried girls. ¡°Which one of you did it?¡±


    ¡°¡­I did, Margarita¡ª¡±


    ¡°Not you, Giulia,¡± she scoffed, shoving the sickly girl onto her bed. ¡°Now, since I know where two of you¡¯ve been all day, I¡¯ll make an educated guess and assume I know who it was.¡±


    Margarita turned to Palmira. The young girl tensed, glaring at her. But then the old fart smiled, showing off yellowed teeth. ¡°Ha! Good on you girly, maybe you¡¯re not completely worthless after all!¡±


    ¡°¡­What?¡±


    ¡°Oh, come off it,¡± she scoffed. ¡°That traitorous snake had it coming for years now, no need to be so modest!¡±


    Palmira blinked. ¡°You¡¯re¡­ okay with the fact that I killed the Duke?¡±


    ¡°Girly, I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if half the damn city won¡¯t be celebrating once they hear the news! Well, quietly, of course. Don¡¯t want to get arrested for treason, after all.¡±


    ¡°So, wait¡­¡± Lenna frowned, confused. ¡°If everyone¡¯s okay with the Duke dying, does that mean Palmira doesn¡¯t have to leave¡­?¡±


    ¡°Oh no, she should skip town if she knows what¡¯s good for her,¡± the old fart waved her off flippantly. ¡°Snake of a man that he was, even he had his supporters, most of which would see her dead within the week.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Lenna muttered, while Palmira got back to packing with even more frantic urgency. ¡°Well¡­ where should we go, then?¡±


    Palmira paused. ¡°What? We?¡±


    ¡°Yes, we,¡± Lenna glared down her nose at Palmira. ¡°Don¡¯t think I¡¯m not coming with you, il Tizzone! The only reason I¡¯m even here in the first place is because of you, I¡¯m not just going to let you flee the city without me!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­¡± Giulia coughed. ¡°¡­I¡¯m coming too.¡±


    ¡°What? No!¡± Palmira turned to her, frowning. ¡°You can¡¯t leave! You¡¯re the only one of us with a real job!¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡±


    ¡°You can afford to stay, you even have¡­ her¡­ to help you! You don¡¯t need to give up everything you have here for me. Again.¡±


    ¡°But, I¡­¡±


    ¡°Hey,¡± Lenna scowled, yanking on Palmira¡¯s hair, causing her to yelp. ¡°If Giulia wants to come, I say let her come!¡±


    ¡°But she has¡ª¡±


    ¡°Who cares! If the two of you decided to run off, I¡¯d follow with in a heartbeat! I don¡¯t see why she shouldn¡¯t get to do that same.¡±


    Palmira grimaced, but turned back to Giulia. She didn¡¯t say anything, holding a hand over her mouth, but her eyes were pleading.


    ¡°¡­Fine. If you really want to give up everything you have here to flee the city with a criminal, I suppose I can¡¯t stop you.¡±


    ¡°Well when you put it like that, it does sound kind of stupid,¡± the old fart cut in, unfortunately reminding Palmira that she was still there. ¡°But I¡¯ve done stupider, so I can¡¯t judge!¡± she cackled, absently rubbing her eyepatch. ¡°Ha¡­ I suppose I should expect you three to leave today?¡±


    ¡°Uh, I guess?¡± Palmira frowned. ¡°However long it takes the others to pack?¡±


    ¡°In that case¡­¡± she hummed. ¡°I don¡¯t care about you two, but Giulia¡­ I should get her some supplies, don¡¯t want her croaking before you even get out of the city¡­ Some nails, maybe? You can never have enough nails¡­¡±


    Palmira watched the old fart leave, still muttering to herself, before she suddenly stopped, just outside the doorway.


    ¡°Oh, and take the east gate,¡± she called back to them. ¡°Nobody gives two stones about that one, you can walk right out and nobody¡¯ll stop you.¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­ thank you?¡±


    ¡°Thank me by surviving! And if you¡¯re ever allowed back in the city, don¡¯t bother visiting! Except for Giulia, you can visit whenever you want!¡±


    With that she finally left, leaving the three girls staring after her.


    Palmira glared at her retreating back. ¡°I know I should be grateful, but I really hate that old fart.¡±


    -<X>-


    Fortunately, the old fart was right, and they got through the east gate with minimal trouble. What was more trouble was deciding where to go next.


    Eventually they decided to flee north, through the mountain pass. Their main reason being that the Cantons were significantly closer than Firozzi or Palunera, and when they may-or-may-not have been being chased by the Duke¡¯s guards they decided that speed was better than familiarity.


    Not that they ever saw anyone chasing them. In some ways that was good, but for that first week in the mountains the paranoia of waiting for the other shoe to drop was almost as bad as if they¡¯d actually been caught.


    But they swiftly crossed the border, and once they came upon the first village that didn¡¯t pay tribute to Iscrimo they knew they were finally out of the city. But now they were in Riva, the southernmost of the Pumilios Cantons, and with that for the first time out of human-governed lands.


    Not that it seemed to matter much. Palmira didn¡¯t know much about the Cantons, and after a couple weeks of running from tiny mountain village to tiny mountain village, she knew just as much as when she¡¯d started.


    There were more dwarves, she guessed.


    At some point they stopped running and just ended up wandering. They never stopped anywhere long, though. While in some ways the tiny villages reminded her of home, in others, they were wholly alien. The villages rarely accepted them as easily as the city had, most of the dwarven villagers glaring warily at the three scarred foreign girls. Instead, they mostly survived off of the little charity they could scrounge up and Giulia¡¯s atrophied hunting skills. Once they had to steal from a farm and ended up chased out of the village by an angry farmer and his bugbear. But they otherwise managed, for the most part. Sort of.


    Palmira realized, one day, that for all that she¡¯d come to hate Iscrimo, she¡¯d also come to love it. It turns out she¡¯d lost something more than just her job, that day they fled the city.


    And here she never thought she¡¯d miss that awful little apartment.


    ¡°Hey, hey,¡± Lenna poked her side, dragging her attention over to her. In her hands was a hunk of stone that she¡¯d carved into something that could almost be called a face. ¡°What do you think?¡±


    Palmira glanced down at it. ¡°It¡¯s ugly.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s supposed to be. It¡¯s your face, after all.¡±


    Palmira rolled her eyes, sticking her tongue out at the other girl.


    Turning back to her feet, she began stoking the fire again, shoving her hands into it and casting a few extra sparks when it refused to relight.


    Today was a gloomy day. It wasn¡¯t quite raining, but clouds darkened the sky and made it to cold to stay outside. Luckily, they¡¯d found an abandoned storehouse on the outskirts of one of the villages to huddle in while they waited for Giulia to get back from checking her snares.


    ¡°¡­You know, sometimes I wish I could use magic.¡±


    Palmira paused what she was doing, turning to Lenna. The girl was staring down at her rock, a frown on her face. ¡°¡­What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing much, but¡­¡± her frown deepened. ¡°I wish I could control stone. Or maybe ink, or charcoal. Then I could just¡­ wiggle my fingers or something, and then I wouldn¡¯t have to worry about messing up my art all the time.¡±


    ¡°Huh,¡± Palmira glanced down at her fingers. They were still smoking slightly. ¡°¡­Well, I don¡¯t think you need it. I, um, I know I don¡¯t say this often, but your art is actually really impressive. It makes me jealous sometimes, too.¡±


    Lenna gave her an odd look. ¡°You can throw fire from your fingertips, and yet my failed sculptures make you jealous?¡±


    ¡°But I can barely do anything besides that!¡± Palmira hissed, clenching her fingers into fists, snuffing out the smoke. ¡°All I¡¯ve been good for since we left the city is starting campfires! Giulia gets our food, and even you can sell your art, but all I can do is beg for more talented people to take pity on me! I feel so worthless compared to the two of you!¡±


    Lenna frowned. ¡°¡­you¡¯re being stupid. You do a lot of stuff! Like¡­ um¡­¡±


    ¡°Like get us chased out of half the villages we stop at? Just like I got us chased out of Iscrimo? Because I just can¡¯t seem to stop setting things on fire?¡±


    ¡°¡­Okay, you¡¯re right, maybe I don¡¯t want to have magic. It seems like all it does is make you mopey.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not ¡®mopey!¡¯¡±


    ¡°Are too!¡±


    ¡°Are not!¡±


    ¡°Are too!¡±


    ¡°Are¡ª¡±


    ¡°Hey, are you two arguing again?¡±


    The two girls paused, turning to the entrance of the storehouse. Giulia entered, face pale and sickly, but with a dead fox in one hand and a bag in the other.


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    ¡°She started it!¡±


    ¡°No way, she¡ª!¡±


    ¡°Please,¡± Giulia sighed, the sigh turning into a cough halfway through. ¡°¡­Not right now.¡±


    They grimaced, but nodded, letting Giulia sit down and start setting up the cookpot. As she did, Palmira¡¯s eyes couldn¡¯t help but be drawn to the bag she¡¯d brought with her.


    ¡°Hey, what¡¯s that?¡±


    Giulia smiled, and even though it looked painful, it also looked sincere. ¡°Well, since today¡¯s a special day, I thought I¡¯d get us something nice!¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± Palmira frowned. ¡°Today¡¯s special? Why?¡±


    Lenna looked just as confused, before her eyes suddenly widened. With a yelp she jumped for her bag. ¡°Oh no! I forgot that was today!¡±


    Palmira stared after her. ¡°What¡ªwhat are you two talking about?¡±


    Lenna then leapt back over to the fire, holding what she¡¯d been looking for in her hands. And with a smug grin, she held it out to Palmira.


    It was a stuffed animal. It looked roughly like a cat, sown together from spare cloth and thread that somehow looked nicer than something so slapdash should have. Its black beady eyes stared at her, while a fluffy mane that almost made it look like a lion clung to its neck.


    ¡°Happy birthday, Palmira!¡± Lenna grinned, handing her the stuffed cat. ¡°Well, do you like it? I made it myself!¡±


    Palmira stared down at it with wide eyes, gently taking it in her hands. She hadn¡¯t had any stuffed toys since¡­ since¡­ that day. And then she¡¯d never had enough money fore more, and she wasn¡¯t good at sowing and really it had never come up, but¡­


    Palmira felt tears form at the corners of her eyes. Slowly, she hugged the stuffed cat to her chest. Looking up at the smug Lenna, she whispered with genuine gratitude, ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°Heh,¡± she crossed her arms, sounding over the moon. ¡°I knew you¡¯d like it!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not all, Palmira,¡± Giulia smiled, getting her attention. Reaching down, she opened up the other bag she¡¯d brought with her, revealing a half-dozen apples piled in it. ¡°I got us a special treat, just for today!¡±


    And then Palmira really started crying. But her friends hugged her with smiles, and they gorged themselves on apples and fox meat, and Palmira held her new stuffed cat tightly to her chest.


    That day, Palmira was happy.


    -<X>-


    Days passed, then weeks, and then before they knew it a month had gone by since they¡¯d fled Iscrimo. And while they still weren¡¯t sure what they were planning to do, one thing had become clear to the trio.


    Giulia was getting worse.


    It started slowly. More coughing, less strength in her limbs. She slowly began hunting less and less, and Palmira had been forced to (poorly) take over for her.


    The less consistent source of food because of that probably didn¡¯t help.


    Then one day she caught a cold, and burned up so much they were afraid that she¡¯d die.


    She hadn¡¯t been as bad in the city, but had that been due to her sedentary lifestyle or would she have gotten worse regardless?


    Whatever the case may have been, the two girls knew they couldn¡¯t heal her without help. So they bundled her up in all their blankets and dragged her into the nearest village to find a healer.


    The church didn¡¯t give out healing for free, unfortunately. No church did. That time a priestess visited their village was the kindness of a stranger, not the charity of an institution, and every time they¡¯d gone to church since had only confirmed that. They¡¯d tried to get Giulia help in the city, but healers were expensive, and the one time they¡¯d tried a cheap back-alley healer it had ended with Palmira burning several people and a promise to never try that again.


    Which left them here, in a little mountain village in the middle of nowhere, praying to the Goddess this town would have a healer. They¡¯d gathered together the few coins they¡¯d been saving for a rainy day and practically stormed into the church, begging for help.


    Their prayers were, thankfully, answered.


    Unfortunately, it wasn¡¯t enough.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± the nun who was healing Giulia sighed. ¡°But I can¡¯t do anymore.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean!?¡± Palmira yelled, literally spitting fire. ¡°She¡¯s still sick!¡±


    ¡°I can heal her illness just fine,¡± the nun scowled at her, shoving her away from her patient. ¡°It¡¯s the rest of it that¡¯s the problem. She had rocks in her lungs. I can¡¯t heal that! I¡¯m not sure anyone could heal that!¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡± Palmira waved her arms around, not sure what else to do. ¡°Isn¡¯t there anything you can do!?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she sighed, shrugging her shoulders. ¡°But there¡¯s nothing else I can do. If she¡¯s survived this long like this, then I suppose it¡¯s not immediately lethal, but if she gets sick like this again¡­¡±


    Palmira slumped, falling down next to Lenna, who was holding Giulia¡¯s hand. The girl was smiling tiredly up at them, obviously feeling better, but still far too weak to move.


    The nun grimaced, and with a sigh, she stood up. ¡°I¡¯ll go get the Mother. Maybe there¡¯s something that she knows that I don¡¯t.¡±


    The nun returned from the back a few minutes later, the Mother in tow. She was a wizened old dwarf, her black robes nearly hidden underneath the countless silver chains she¡¯d draped over her shoulders. She took one look at Giulia, before she nodded firmly.


    ¡°Yep. There¡¯s nothing I can do.¡±


    ¡°Please, Mother Rana,¡± Giulia quietly begged, her voice a low rasp. ¡°Is there really nothing that can be done?¡±


    ¡°¡­Well, there is one place,¡± she nodded slowly. ¡°But there is no guarantee it will work. ¡­Though I suppose you think you have nothing to lose, don¡¯t you? Very well. Deep in the mountains, far to the east, there¡¯s something divine, and something blasphemous.¡±


    Almost as if on cue, the church darkened, clouds covering the sun.


    ¡°Mother Rana,¡± the nun whispered, a note of fear in her voice. ¡°Perhaps this is something the Goddess does not want known?¡±


    The Mother nodded. ¡°I have no doubt she does not want it to be known. But a child has come to her most faithful, begging help we cannot give. If the Goddess sees this as sin, then it is one I¡¯ll shoulder gladly.¡±


    The nun grimaced, but the church did not get any darker. The Goddess was displeased, but not wrathful. Not yet, at least.


    The elderly dwarf sighed. ¡°When my grandmother told me of it, she called it a Fragment of Babel. A remnant of an age long passed. From before Man arrived on this continent. I¡­ do not remember much of the story. It has been nearly a century since I last told it. But it is said that a Saint lives on the top of the Fragment, granting miracles to those who they deem worthy.¡±


    That was very little, but Palmira resolved herself nonetheless. ¡°How do we know if we¡¯re worthy?¡±


    The Mother shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Be righteous? Follow the word of the Goddess? I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever heard of anyone actually being granted a miracle.¡±


    Lenna, on the other hand, was much more skeptical. ¡°Wait, so there¡¯s maybe a saint who might live somewhere in the mountains who might grant us a miracle? Do you even know where this ¡®Fragment of Babel¡¯ is?¡±


    ¡°Of course we know where it is!¡± she scoffed back. ¡°We just don¡¯t go near it, so that the Goddess doesn¡¯t smite us!¡±


    ¡°What about us? Will we get smote?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know? If it¡¯s you, probably.¡±


    Lenna turned to the two of them. ¡°Girls, I don¡¯t think I want to put my faith in this woman. Let¡¯s try and find somewhere else to¡ª¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    They paused, turning down to Giulia. She weakly tried to force herself into a sitting position, but the rest of them forced her back down. She still glared at them resolutely. ¡°I¡­ I can feel it. I don¡¯t think¡­ I have much time left. If this miracle can¡­ if it can help me, even a bit, then it¡¯s a chance I¡¯ll take gladly.¡±


    Palmira grimaced, resignation settling on her shoulders. She turned to look at Lenna, who still didn¡¯t look convinced, but nodded regardless.


    ¡°Very well,¡± Palmira sighed, turning to the Mother. ¡°Where can we find this ¡®Fragment of Babel?¡¯¡±


    -<X>-


    They waited a week for Giulia to rest and get as well as she could. The Mother was kind enough to let them sleep in the church while they waited, though no longer. Once she could walk again they were kicked out, and they began to make their preparations.


    Palmira would go with Giulia and take her to the Fragment. They¡¯d see if the miracle was real, one way or the other.


    Lenna, on the other hand, was too skeptical to put her faith in miracles. Instead, she¡¯d follow a couple farmers north, to the somewhat larger town on the lake, where they might be able to find a better healer.


    And so the three girls parted ways for the first time in years, and despite it being necessary, Palmira still couldn¡¯t help but feel wrong, without Lenna by her side.


    When they started, Giulia had been able to walk on her own. She was even able to carry her own bags most days.


    That was a week ago. And Palmira wasn¡¯t sure if it was the constant exercise or the cold mountain air, but Giulia¡¯s condition had begun deteriorating rapidly. Now, merely a day out from their destination, Palmira feared Giulia might not even make it in the first place.


    But after a week of constant travel, through increasingly barren and crumbling mountain paths, they¡¯d finally made it.


    It rose from a distant mountain, a thin strip of white splitting the grey sky.


    A Fragment of Babel.


    Palmira took a deep breath, steam flowing from her mouth as she exhaled. Beside her, Giulia practically leaned on her, taking each unbearably slow step at a time.


    They moved slowly and consistently, an increasing sense of paranoia growing with each step closer they took. Despite the barren crags surrounding them, she couldn¡¯t help but feel like they were being watched.


    But eventually they made it to the base of the Fragment, and looking up at it, Palmira felt a familiar sense of resignation settle in her heart.


    The Fragment of Babel was a tower of pure marble, reaching up into the heavens. From a distance it had looked so thin, but now that she was closer she could see that it could easily fit her entire home village inside it easily. From the base of it, it looked so high that she couldn¡¯t see the top.


    That wasn¡¯t the worst part of it, though.


    No, that had to be the dragons.


    Long, red dragons stared at her from the windows of the tower. From every floor and every wall they seemed to cluster, slithering and chittering across the white marble. Watching them.


    ¡°Are you sure about this, Giulia?¡±


    Giulia gave her a weak smile. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t think I can go back now, no matter what. But¡­ If you want to leave here, I won¡¯t begrudge you.¡±


    ¡°Shut up,¡± she scoffed. ¡°I¡¯m not leaving you here alone, Giulia. We¡¯re in this together.¡± She glanced up at the countless dragons staring down at them. ¡°For however long this lasts.¡±


    With that, they began their ascent.


    The inside of the tower was as bare as the outside. White marble walls, floors, and stairs, as far as the eye could see. Only strange marble-looking spheres and the dragons themselves broke up the near endless monotony.


    As they climbed they had to stop constantly to let Giulia rest. She¡¯d sit on the stairs while Palmira stood watch, hacking and coughing as she tried to gather herself. More than once the smaller dragons tried to approach them, their many legs clattering against the marble stone floors, but growling and waving her arms around was normally enough to scare them off.


    Normally.


    One in particular decided to be brave, tall as a bear with great big jaws, it skittered to within arm¡¯s reach of her and spat fire at her face.


    Palmira tanked the hit and then spat fire right back.


    After that, the dragons stopped bothering them.


    They continued up the tower, slowly but steadily, the only light what trickled in from the windows and Palmira¡¯s own fire. But slowly, eventually, they made it to the top.


    Back when they¡¯d entered the tower it had been around midday.


    It was now closer to midnight.


    On the top floor was a massive circular platform open to the sky. Five pillars stood equidistant from each other along the edge of the tower, above each floated a sphere: one silver, one gold, one red, one blue, and one green. Of them all, only the silver sphere was whole.


    The grey mist that clung to the lower levels of the tower didn¡¯t reach here, revealing the full moon hanging low and large in the sky, bathing the rooftop in silver light.


    They walked up to the center of the roof, and it was at that point Palmira realized she didn¡¯t know what else they were supposed to do.


    There were no more dragons on the roof. There was nothing.


    But, as it turned out, she didn¡¯t have to wait for long.


    A roar bellowed in her heart, and from behind the moon a red dragon appeared.


    It did not look like the dragons she was used to. Its body was impossibly long and segmented, almost like a centipede¡¯s, with countless stubby legs. Two sets of massive yet thin wings fluttered powerfully as it flew, reflecting the moonlight and turning the world red as it approached.


    The dragon flew over their heads, forming a red ring in the sky that framed the moon perfectly.


    And then it descended, landing on the tower and curling around it from base to roof, clutching at it with its countless legs. Its head drew close to them, letting them see that each individual scale on its snout was larger than Palmira was tall. Cloudy white eyes glared down at them as it opened its mouth, revealing row after row of blunted teeth.


    ¡°GREETINGS, MORTALS,¡± the Ancient Dragon spoke. Its voice drilled into her mind, impossibly powerful. And yet, she instinctively knew it was holding back, that it could destroy them with a single careless word if it so chose. ¡°I AM CALLED FTHORA, LAST SON OF THE RED MOON. WHO ARE YOU, TO DISTURB MY REST? WHO ARE YOU, TO DISTURB THIS SACRED PLACE?¡±


    Palmira took a deep breath, before squaring her shoulders and stepping forward. ¡°Oh great dragon! I¡­ I am Palmira! I, uh, I mean my friend, is sick! We heard you could grant miracles¡­? Um, can you cure her?¡±


    It huffed, and smoke that smelled of rust poured from its mouth.


    ¡°THERE ARE NO TRUE MIRACLES IN THIS WORLD,¡± the Ancient Dragon told them. ¡°A MIRACLE IS SIMPLY WHAT THE WEAK USE TO DESCRIBE THE ACTIONS OF THE STRONG. DO NOT ASK ME FOR A MIRACLE¡ªFOR I CAN NOT GIVE YOU ONE.¡±


    Palmira grimaced, and she felt Giulia slump in her arms. Still¡­ ¡°But are you strong enough to create something we¡¯d call a miracle?¡±


    ¡°OF COURSE, LITTLE MORTAL,¡± the Ancient Dragon scoffed. ¡°BUT SUCH A MIRACLE WOULD NOT COME CHEAP. I CANNOT HEAL WITHOUT HARMING. I CANNOT HARM WITHOUT HEALING. A LIFE FOR A LIFE, A DEATH FOR A DEATH. I COULD SAVE YOUR FRIEND, BUT IN EXCHANGE, YOU WOULD NEED TO SACRIFICE YOUR OWN LIFE.¡±


    Palmira blinked, eyes wide. And she considered it, despite how Giulia clung to her body.


    Because Giulia was her friend. The friend who wasn¡¯t wanted by Iscrimo, who could return and get a job as a blacksmith or a hunter or anything and live a happy life with Lenna in the city. The friend who¡¯d been dying for years, but who could now live.


    ¡°No¡­¡±


    Palmira did not want to die. But she wanted her friend to die even less. And if only one of them could return from this tower, then¡­


    ¡°I¡­¡± she wet her mouth. ¡°I¡­ accept. If I need to, then I¡¯ll¡­¡±


    ¡°No¡­!¡±


    The Dragon stared down at her for a long moment, and then he scoffed, heat and smoke billowing over them like a wave. ¡°I REFUSE YOUR SACRIFCE.¡±


    ¡°¡­What?¡±


    ¡°YOUR DEDICATION TO YOUR FRIEND IS ADMIRABLE, BUT MISPLACED. I WILL NOT KILL ONE CHILD TO SAVE ANOTHER.¡±


    Giulia slumped in relief, but Palmira, more than anything, got angry. ¡°Then why the hell did you even give me the option in the first place!? What was even the point of that!?¡±


    ¡°ALL CHOICES HAVE CONSEQUENCE, LITTLE MORTAL. EVEN THOSE THAT ARE NOT ALLOWED TO BE MADE.¡±


    The Ancient Dragon Fthora leaned close, until its snout was mere inches away from them.


    ¡°I CANNOT HEAL THE SICK ONE, NOT WITHOUT SACRIFICE I REFUSE TO TAKE. BUT THERE IS A FIRE IN YOUR HEART, IN YOUR BODY, IN YOUR SOUL. A FIRE THAT BURNS YOU EVEN NOW. I CANNOT HEAL HER, BUT I CAN HEAL YOU.¡±


    Palmira stared at the titanic dragon in confusion and anger. It could heal her burn scars? The ones that had defined the last few years of her life? The ones that made everyone call her an ugly child? That was¡­ that wasn¡¯t fair! ¡°¡­No way in hell! If you can¡¯t heal her, then don¡¯t bother healing me, you big, red¡­!¡±


    The Ancient Dragon seemed almost amused. ¡°YOU ACT AS THOUGH YOU GET A CHOICE. IF I DECIDE SOMETHING, THERE IS NOTHING YOU COULD DO TO STOP ME. BUT FAIRNESS AND EQUALITY ARE CONCEPTS I TREASURE DEARLY. WHICH IS WHY I OFFER YOU SOMETHING MORE, A COMPROMISE THAT ALL OF US MIGHT BENEFIT FROM.¡±


    Palmira and Giulia stared up at him, anger and confusion on their respective faces.


    ¡°YOU, THE SICK GIRL. AS YOU ARE NOW, YOUR BODY IS FORFIET. IT IS CRUMBLING EVEN AS WE SPEAK, AS STONE GROWS IN YOUR LUNGS AND YOUR BREATH GROWS SHORT. EVEN SHOULD YOU LEAVE THIS TOWER, YOU WOULD NOT SURVIVE THE RETURN TO WHERE YOU CAME. THIS IS INEVITABLE.¡±


    Giulia slumped, but nodded, having likely already come to the same realization.


    ¡°BUT THIS NEED NOT BE THE ONLY BODY YOU MUST HAVE. SO I OFFER YOU THIS DEAL¡ªSACRIFICE YOUR CONNECTION TO YOUR PRECIOUS GODDESS, AND SWEAR YOURSELF TO THE RED MOON, AND I SHALL GRANT YOU A NEW BODY. A BETTER BODY. THE BODY OF A DRAGON.¡±


    Giulia¡¯s eyes went wide. That was¡­ ¡°But what of heaven?¡± she rasped, her voice so quiet compared to the booming dragon¡¯s. ¡°Where will I go, once I die again? I¡­ to give up my afterlife for my life, it feels¡­¡±


    The Ancient Dragon grinned. ¡°YOUR ¡®HEAVEN¡¯ IS NOT THE ONLY LAND OF THE DEAD WHICH CLINGS TO THIS WORLD. THE RED MOON REMAINS, EVEN NOW, EVEN DEAD. OUR LANDS ARE AN ETERNITY OF PEACE, OF GORGING OURSELVES ON THE GREATEST OF PREY AND SLEEPING BENEATH FAMILIAR STARS. IT IS NOT THE HEAVEN YOU MIGHT IMAGINE A HUMAN TO ENJOY, BUT IT IS A KINDER FATE THAN THOSE WHO CLING TOO CLOSELY TO YOUR GODDESS¡¯ SKIRTS.¡±


    Giulia bit her lip, before turning to Palmira, begging answers with her eyes. ¡°Do you¡­ think I should do it?¡±


    Palmira herself didn¡¯t know. But¡­ ¡°If you get to live, even as a dragon, then I¡¯ll still call you my friend. It¡¯s¡­ actually kind of cool, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    Giulia¡¯s weak smile grew a bit more sincere. ¡°Yeah¡­ it kind of is¡­¡±


    Then she took a deep breath, and standing as straight as she was able, she spoke. ¡°Oh great and ancient dragon. I¡­ I accept your offer! If I get to live, then I will sacrifice¡­ sacrifice my faith, and swear myself to your red moon!¡±


    ¡°EXCELLENT!¡± The Ancient Dragon Fthora laughed, the boom of it causing the tower to shake and rattle. ¡°IT HAS BEEN SO LONG, SINCE A PACT HAS BEEN MADE! AH, HOW DID IT GO AGAIN¡­? YES, OF COURSE. I WELCOME YOU, GIULIA, NEW SISTER, NEW DAUGHTER! A NEW CHILD OF THE RED MOON, AFTER SO MANY YEARS! I, FTHORA, WELCOME MY NEWEST FAMILY WITH OPEN WINGS!¡±


    And then Giulia began to glow. Softly at first, then brighter, and brighter, until she was impossible to look at.


    Palmira was forced away as she changed. The wind blew in gales, and the stars seemed to flicker, and her skin began to itch. But then, slowly, the light dimmed back down.


    And in Giulia¡¯s place was one of the many marble spheres she¡¯d seen on her way up.


    ¡°H-hey!¡± Palmira shouted, running up to it. She turned to the titanic dragon, enraged. ¡°What did you do to her!¡±


    ¡°FEAR NOT, FIRE CHILD. THE FORM OF A HUMAN DOES NOT SO EASILY CHANGE TO THAT OF A DRAGON. THIS IS MERELY AN EGG OF MY BROOD, FROM WHICH SHE WILL ONE DAY HATCH. DO NOT FEAR, AND DO NOT MOURN¡ªFOR I DO NOT LIE. SHE WILL BE REBORN, BUT ALL DRAGONS HATCH FROM EGGS, AND SO TOO SHALL SHE.¡±


    Palmira scowled at him, only a little comforted. ¡°And you couldn¡¯t have told us that before this happened!?¡±


    ¡°OF COURSE NOT,¡± he seemed to almost grin. ¡°THAT MIGHT HAVE CHANGED HER ANSWER. BUT REGARDLESS, HERS IS NOT THE ONLY TRANSFORMATION THAT HAS OCCURRED ON THIS NIGHT.¡±


    ¡°What¡­?¡± Palmira asked, before she glanced down, and her eyes widened in shock. Her arms, which had once been a patchwork of burn scars, were now smooth as a newborn child¡¯s. Her hands went up to her face, and she nearly flinched as she touched smooth skin. ¡°What did you do¡­?¡±


    ¡°YOUR SCARS WERE MERE SUPERFICIAL DAMAGE. SO, WHEN I DESTROYED GIULIA¡¯S OLD MORTAL BODY, I USED THE SACRIFICE OF IT TO FUEL YOUR OWN RESTORATION. INDEED, THIS IS SOME OF MY BETTER WORK! YOU MAY THANK ME NOW, MORTAL!¡±


    Palmira rubbed her face, and despite herself, she couldn¡¯t help but feel grateful. ¡°¡­Thank you, oh great dragon.¡±


    The Ancient Dragon Fthora seemed to grin. And then, will a bellowing huff, he blew smoke from his mouth, covering the whole of the roof in an instant. Palmira brought her hands up to her face to protect herself, but within a few moments the smoke disappeared.


    When she looked back up, the dragon was gone.


    And all that was left was the egg.


    Palmira stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on the surface of the egg. It felt¡­ warm.


    ¡°I¡¯ll come back, Giulia,¡± she whispered, pressing her forehead to the marble-like shell. Her voice began to warble, as she held back tears. ¡°And when I do, we can catch up on all the stuff you missed while you were in this stupid egg. It¡¯s a promise, okay?¡±


    The egg didn¡¯t respond, of course. But she could swear it got just a little warmer.


    And with a deep breath, Palmira turned to the leave.


    And then realized she¡¯d have to climb all the way back down the tower. And walk back. Alone.


    You know, being able to ride a dragon would be pretty convenient right about now.


    -<X>-


    Over a week later, she finally made her way back to the city, muddy and exhausted, two bags of dwindling supplies slung over her shoulders.


    She found Lenna quickly, sitting despondently on the steps of the church, clutching her legs. Her eyes roved over her, almost as if she didn¡¯t recognize¡ª


    Oh, right.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Palmira rasped, stopping in front of her.


    Lenna jumped to her feet. ¡°What¡ªwho¡ªwait, il Tizzone, is that you!? ¡­Wait, where¡¯s Giulia?¡±


    ¡°¡­Yeah, I¡­¡± Palmira tried to smile. She tried to tell her friend what had happened.


    But she was so, so tired.


    Instead, all she could do was hug Lenna and cry.

 Interlude IX - Near Journeys End

    Interlude IX ¨C Near Journey¡¯s End


    [Seven Years Ago]


    Palmira scratched her face, plucking and rubbing at smooth skin. But that only made it itch harder, and with a grimace she continued to scratch and scratch, until her skin was red and chafing.


    ¡°Stop that,¡± Lenna hissed, smacking her hands away from her face. ¡°It¡¯s gross!¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t help it!¡± Palmira snapped back, shifting to scratch at her shoulders.


    It had been months since that day on the tower, and for all that their lives had changed because of it, for some reason so much more had stayed the same.


    It made her uncomfortable, how little the loss of a friend affected their daily lives. They were still homeless, still nomadic, and still broke. Now they were just sad as well.


    Her nails dug into her arms. Though, the loss of Giulia wasn¡¯t the only thing that changed.


    She hadn¡¯t realized how much she¡¯d gotten used to her old scarred, melted skin until it was replaced. How tense and stiff it was as she moved her body, compared to how soft and delicate her new flesh was.


    She reached her palms, and moved onto her knees, drawing fresh white lines across unmarked flesh.


    It had been months, and she still felt like a stranger in her own skin.


    ¡°Palmira!¡± Lenna hissed again, this time grabbing her hands. ¡°Stop! People are staring!¡±


    Palmira glanced up. They were crammed into the back of a cart, alongside a dozen other children and elderly. They¡¯d stumbled across a large caravan and hitched a ride. It was mostly merchants¡ªelves and dwarves and humans trading across the Pumilios¡ªbut a good amount of pilgrims followed along, heading south to the Holy City.


    Currently, the weakest of those other pilgrims were eying her warily.


    ¡°Pardon my rudeness,¡± a man so old he was little more than wrinkles and bones coughed. ¡°But your friend wouldn¡¯t happen to be ill, would she?¡±


    ¡°No, she¡¯s fine,¡± Lenna rolled her eyes. ¡°She¡¯s just being weird.¡±


    Palmira scowled at them, and then scowled at her friend. She didn¡¯t need to call her weird. She knew why she was doing this.


    Then again, that¡¯s what it had been like for a while now. Ever since that day, it was like a Giulia shaped hole had grown between them. One she wasn¡¯t sure it would ever be filled.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to walk for a bit,¡± she announced, to an uncaring hum from her friend.


    Getting up, she awkwardly shuffled between the bodies and around a bushel of roses, before leaping out the back of the cart. She landed with a huff, a few sparks dripping from her fingers as she held back a yelp from the sudden shock to her feet.


    Instead she brought her hands up to her face, dripping popping sparks onto her cheeks to protect against the blistering mountain winds.


    Having new skin sucked.


    Huffing, she turned around, jogging lightly to get ahead of the cart. As she did, she took a moment to glance off to the side, taking in the view.


    They were on one of the few Dwarven roads which had been built on the surface, clinging tight to the side of the craggy mountains. The edge of the old road sat overlooking the valley below, and despite herself she found herself wandering closer to glance over the edge. Spreading out below them was miles upon miles of untouched forest, the brilliant blue leaves of the trees marking the first days of Autumn. High above the towering snow-capped peaks of the Pumilios bled sparkling rivers into the slumbering forest, marking the source of one of the many rivers that would flow down into Alovoa.


    For a moment she was distracted from the discomfort of her skin by the untouched beauty before her, so far away from¡ª


    The rock under her foot cracked, and she slipped.


    Palmira only had a moment for her eyes to widen, arms flying out to try and recapture some semblance of balance, only for her to continue to fall, heading right for the edge¡ª!


    Vibrant red roses burst into bloom around her, thorny vines snaking up her ankles and waist in an instant, until she was safely ensconced in a bed of roses teetering on the side of the cliff.


    ¡°Hey!¡± a voice cried out. She glanced up, and saw a nymph sitting on a carriage overgrown with red roses and sharp thorns, to the point they almost looked like they were growing into and from the woman. ¡°Like, be more careful, girl! You¡¯re lucky I caught you, otherwise you¡¯d¡¯ve splattered yourself all the way down that mountain!¡±


    Palmira took a moment to steady her racing heart, before she rasped out, ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t mention it, deary,¡± she waved her off, spiked nails waggling to and fro. ¡°Just stay away from the edge from now on, you hear me?¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± she muttered, steadying herself. Tugging herself free of the blooming rosebush¡ªand grimacing as thorns scratched and tugged at her sensitive uncovered skin¡ªshe stumbled back onto the mountain road, rushing as far from the edge as possible.


    ¡°There you go!¡± the nymph smiled at her, sharp and thorny teeth on full display. Then, with a wave of her hand, the rose bush that she¡¯d grown on the mountainside shifted. It pulled itself from the rocky earth and shuffled forward on its roots as though they were legs, marching up to the overgrown carriage where it joined its brethren with the nymph.


    Palmira stared at the blatant display of magic, something she¡¯d not even grown used to back in Iscrimo, where mages freely walked the streets. It was times like this that she wished she¡¯d been born as anything other than a human, if only that she could use magic so freely.


    ¡°Thank you again. And, um, sorry,¡± Palmira tried to smile at the nymph, but it came out as more of a grimace.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you worry your little head, deary,¡± the nymph smiled at her once again. ¡°Saving little girls like you is what I get paid to do! I am an adventurer, after all!¡±


    An adventurer? Like the ones from the stories? The people who fought Horrors and Demons and saved princesses from towers?


    Palmira¡¯s eyes went wide, childish glee rising in her chest for the first time in years. ¡°An adventurer? Like those people who slay demons!? Have you ever slain a demon, Signorina Adventurer?¡±


    The nymph laughed softly, a sound like flower petals rustling in the wind. ¡°Of course I have, dearie! Why, not even a month ago I strangled one to death with these very vines! Its blood nourished my beauties here for weeks!¡±


    With sparkling eyes, Palmira practically danced with glee as she rushed to keep up with the flowering carriage. ¡°That¡¯s so cool!¡±


    ¡°Like, if you think that¡¯s cool, then you¡¯ll love the story of how I killed my first Blasphemy! Like, there I was, my companions down for the count and not a weapon to my name, when I realized that the beast had swallowed some of my seeds on accident¡­¡±


    Her mouth spread into a wide grin, Palmira spent the rest of the trip south marching alongside that carriage, talking with the nymph about her life as an adventurer.


    As far from the edge of the mountain as she could physically stand, that is.


    -<X>-


    At some point the caravan stopped going east and turned south, crossing the border and returning them back to the Alovoan peninsula. Palmira had been a bit wary, but a chat with Lenna had led to them agreeing that while the Cantons were technically safer, they weren¡¯t getting anywhere with them. Between their foreign looks and barely being able to speak the language, they likely would spend the rest of their lives homeless vagabonds if they chose to stay there.


    So, with nervous yet resolute hearts, they followed the caravan back to Alovoa.


    Not to Iscrimo, of course. They were homesick, not stupid. Instead they crossed back over further east, deeper into Firozzi territory.


    For now, the caravan had come to a stop in Pedemoa, a small city deep in the deep blue forests of the Linfa Rossa.


    Well, Pedemoa wasn¡¯t actually that small. In fact, it was a regional power almost on par with Firozzi locally. But when set up against the likes of the Metropolis of Iscrimo, any city would feel small in comparison.


    Built at the conflux of mainland roads leading to the three major Alovoan city-states, it had grown rapidly following the wake of the Demon wars. Between sea trade practically disappearing overnight and the influx of refugees from the west, Pedemoa was one of many inland cities which had exploded in power and prominence in the past few decades.


    The city itself was built in a more Elven style than was traditional in Alovoa, with houses half grown from the dark red bark of old-growth trees. Squished between the Elvish treehouses were squat Dwarfish bungalows of dirt and stone half buried in the ground. All of these buildings encircled the old walled city center, in which limestone apartments sat crammed between refurbished Volan buildings and fancy new-money villas.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Pedemoa wasn¡¯t the biggest city she¡¯d ever seen. But it was certainly the most chaotic.


    ¡°Follow me, dearies!¡± Spinosa the rose nymph Palmira had befriended waved the two of them along from where she sat on a walking throne of thorns and roses. Palmira had at first thought it some weird noble thing, but then she saw that the woman didn¡¯t have any legs. ¡°Come come, we¡¯re burning daylight!¡±


    ¡°But I don¡¯t know how to burn daylight yet!¡± Palmira cried back, panting as she rushed to keep up with the walking throne.


    ¡°That¡¯s not what she meant, moron!¡± Lenna gasped beside her, the more bookish girl having a much harder time keeping up. ¡°Why are we even following this random lady!?¡±


    ¡°Cause she offered us free food?¡±


    Lenna swore. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me that in the first place!?¡±


    ¡°You were being mean!¡±


    ¡°No I wasn¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°Were too!¡±


    ¡°No¡ª¡±


    ¡°Dearies please,¡± two vines with a minimal amount of thorns wrapped around them, pulling them away from each other. ¡°There¡¯s no need to argue. Especially not when we¡¯re already here!¡±


    The two girls blinked, startled to realize at some point they¡¯d stopped running. Instead, they now stood in front of an old, overgrown Volan ruin. Ancient and crumbling marble pillars towered into the sky, overgrown with lilies, roses, daffodils, and dozens of other flowers she couldn¡¯t name. The red trees native to the area twisted between the pillars, their branches and deep purple-blue leaves acting as a roof for the clearing between.


    A large marble stone sat in front of it, ¡®Corporazione dei Fiori¡¯ carved into its surface.


    ¡°Welcome to my guild,¡± she laughed, dragging them in. ¡°Cozy, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Cozy was an apt description. The whole of the guild was contained within the clearing between the pillars. A small wooden desk sat at the front where another nymph was sitting with a glass of wine¡ªwait, no, that was blood¡ªwhile only four other people sat on woven seats roasting skinned foxes over a crackling fire. Two of them were nymphs as well, though the last two looked like elves.


    ¡°Spinosa, why are you carrying two little girls with you?¡± the desk-nymph sighed, staring at her fellow nymph with dead eyes. ¡°Please tell me you didn¡¯t kidnap them.¡±


    ¡°Of course not!¡± Spinosa smiled back. ¡°I met them on the job, and now I¡¯m showing them around! Maybe they could even join¡­?¡±


    ¡°Spinosa. Spinosa. We are a guild, not an orphanage. No, they cannot join. I don¡¯t care what sob story they have, we are not equipped to raise children.¡±


    ¡°Fine, fine,¡± the rose nymph rolled her eyes, marching past with the slightly disappointed girls in tow. ¡°But I still want to show them around the place. And why, is that roast fox I smell¡­!¡±


    The desk-nymph sighed, before downing the rest of her blood-wine in a single gulp. ¡°I¡¯m too sober for this.¡±


    Palmira herself was a bit disappointed that joining the guild had been taken off the table, even if she didn¡¯t know until just now that it was even an option. But that thought fled her mind as Spinosa dropped her and Lenna into their own wicker chairs and offered them their own fox.


    ¡°Oh?¡± one of the elves smiled at them, his platinum blonde hair pulled back into a thin braid. ¡°And who are you two?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m Lenna,¡± her friend introduced them. Palmira would have helped, but she was too busy shoving her skewer into the fire (and getting dragged back by a panicking nymph when she got a little too close). ¡°And the fireproof moron over here is my friend Palmira.¡±


    ¡°D¡¯n c¡¯ll ma ah m¡¯ron,¡± Palmira scowled around bites of charred fox. This did not help her case.


    ¡°Charmed,¡± the elf laughed, shaking the overly serious Lenna¡¯s hand firmly. ¡°I am Benjaman, I hail from Bierstadt. Mein husband here,¡± he pointed at an elf she¡¯d sworn was a woman a second ago, ¡°is Yuri, from Hochendorf. And the two lovely ladies across from us are Quercia and Narcisa, of our fair city of Pedemoa. May I ask where you two are from.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you know,¡± Lenna shrugged, trying to play it cool. ¡°Around.¡±


    ¡°Oh really?¡± Benjaman asked, laughter in his eyes. ¡°You must be well traveled, then.¡±


    ¡°Yup!¡± Palmira smiled, having finished wolfing down her food, much to Quercia¡¯s consternation. ¡°We¡¯ve been everywhere in the Cantons and¡­ uh¡­ actually, yeah, just the Cantons. That¡¯s where we¡¯re from. Yeah¡­¡±


    Lenna facepalmed, but the elf just laughed. ¡°I see! Spinosa, you said you met these girls while you were guarding that caravan? How exactly did that happen?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I saved the fiery girlie when she almost fell off a cliff,¡± she shrugged, causing Lenna¡¯s head to snap to Palmira in shock. ¡°But she was just too sweet, so I decided I just had to bring her to visit!¡±


    ¡°You almost fell off a cliff!?¡± Lenna hissed at her.


    ¡°Oh my,¡± the elf frowned in worry. ¡°I hope you¡¯re okay after such a harrowing experience.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m fine!¡± Palmira shrugged them off, itching her legs while avoiding her friend¡¯s eyes. ¡°It¡¯s not even top five worst days of my life, really!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not as encouraging as you seem to think it is,¡± Yuri¡¯s soft yet dry voice floated over to them. ¡°But I suppose if you¡¯re feeling alright now, that¡¯s all that matters.¡±


    ¡°Exactly!¡± Palmira nodded sharply. ¡°Anyways¡­ um¡­ Spinosa! Are you sure we can¡¯t join this guild! I promise we¡¯d work really hard. I¡¯ve even¡ªuh, I mean, I¡¯m really good at using fire magic! Promise!¡±


    ¡°Hey, aren¡¯t you forgetting to ask me?¡± Lenna growled, poking her in the side. Palmira flinched hard, before immediately firing back with pokes of her own.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, dearies,¡± the rose nymph sighed, her vines bringing a bottle of blood-wine to her. ¡°But the guildmaster¡¯s word is law. And she is right. This isn¡¯t exactly the place to take care of children.¡±


    Palmira frowned, taking a break from her battle with Lenna (that she was totally winning). ¡°Um¡­ are there any guilds that would take us? I promise I¡¯m a hard worker, and Lenna¡¯s really good at art! We¡¯d be willing to work anywhere!¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡±


    ¡°Not here,¡± Benjaman cut in, voice surprisingly firm. ¡°Pedemoa isn¡¯t the kind of city orphans should be living in. It is¡­¡± he trailed off, trying to think of the right word to use. ¡°¡­unsafe.¡±


    Spinosa frowned into her blood-wine, but didn¡¯t necessarily disagree. ¡°The slave guilds don¡¯t take humans.¡±


    Ah. Well, that was all she needed to hear. Sorry, Pedemoa, it was brief, but she¡¯s not sticking around.


    ¡°Not that we know of,¡± the elf shot back. ¡°And with two young, foreign orphans, it¡¯s best not to risk it. If they want to join a guild, there are better cities. Safer cities.¡±


    That peaked her interest. ¡°Other cities? Like where?¡±


    He hummed. ¡°I¡¯ve only been to a couple others down here, but¡­ Palunera is the safest city I¡¯ve ever been to, but they don¡¯t let you in unless you¡¯ve got official business or you¡¯re a citizen. Fornata¡¯s not bad, but if you want to join a guild there aren¡¯t many opportunities for you. No, no, for a couple of young orphans¡­ it would have to be Firozzi.¡±


    ¡°Firozzi?¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s where our patron guild is based, isn¡¯t it?¡± Spinosa asked. ¡°The Ambrosi, right? We¡¯re a subsidiary of them, I think?¡±


    ¡°Yes, though I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve seen a representative from them in years.¡± Benjaman tapped his fingers together. ¡°But, regarding the girl¡¯s questions¡­ If you want to become an adventurer, Firozzi is the best city on the peninsula¡ªperhaps even the world¡ªto do so. A hundred years ago, it was where the main guildhall for the adventurer¡¯s guild used to be in the region, back when there was only the one guild. I think the guild that uses it is now called the Rodina¡­? Something like that.¡±


    ¡°Huh¡­¡± Palmira frowned. ¡°Firozzi¡­¡±


    Lenna gave her a look. ¡°You want to head there now, don¡¯t you?¡±


    She nodded slowly. ¡°If¡­ if we can join a guild, maybe not even an adventurer¡¯s guild, but any guild, then¡­¡±


    Her friend sighed, but nodded. ¡°You¡¯re probably right. You¡¯d fit right in with a party of unwashed adventurers. And I suppose a big city like that would have plenty of opportunities for me to practice my art, so I guess I¡¯m coming with you as well.¡±


    Palmira smiled, relieved her friend was willing to follow her so far. ¡°Thank you, Lenna.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you two are so cute!¡± Spinosa squealed, wrapping them up in a thorny hug. ¡°Why, I could just eat you up!¡±


    ¡°Please don¡¯t,¡± Lenna groaned. Palmira, meanwhile, was too busy scratching where the (thankfully dull) thorns were digging into her skin. ¡°Also, please let us down. I think Palmira¡¯s dying over there.¡±


    ¡°Nope!¡± Spinosa cheered, pressing her cheek into her hair. ¡°Not until I¡¯ve had my fill of the both of you! If you have to leave us, then I¡¯m getting the most I can out of you two while you¡¯re here!¡±


    Lenna groaned, but the rose nymph unfortunately wasn¡¯t exaggerating. For the rest of the night, she didn¡¯t let go of them for anything, shoving them full of food and drink while the others laughed and shared looks of commiseration.


    That night, they slept on a bed of roses, and despite the prickly thorns, it was the best sleep they¡¯d gotten in a long time.


    But unfortunately, morning inevitably came, and with it the caravan departed further south. So, with a heavy heart (Palmira) and reluctant relief (Lenna) the two girls said their goodbyes to their hosts, and returned to the road once again.


    -<X>-


    They stuck fast to the major roads, sticking close to guarded caravans and around the wealthy villas. They passed through many other villages and cities on their way south, ranging from Opida to Fornata to, finally, the port town of Bocca on the coast.


    Bocca itself was meant to be their last stop, one last city to spend the night in before they finally made it to Firozzi.


    And, as they had decided, that¡¯s where they would stay. They were just too drained, too tired of the constant uncertainty of wandering to go any further. For better or worse, Firozzi would be the end of their journey.


    But for today, they rested in Bocca.


    It was a port city west of Firozzi. Unlike the crumbling Opida or the thriving Pedemoa, Bocca gave off the impression of a city long past its heydays and had since come to accept that. Its churches that may have once been decadent were now humbles shadows of what they once were, while the old city center had a rustic grandeur of buildings long overshadowed. Most of the important buildings in the city clustered by the coast, where the grand Holy Tree grew. It was the last part of the city which could truly be considered impressive, a massive oak of living marble, on which purple flames burned in place of leaves, lighting the whole of the city in lilac hues and acting as a natural lighthouse for incoming ships.


    Once, Bocca had been the greatest naval power in the region. But time hadn¡¯t been kind to it, and it had fallen behind its fellow city-states long before the Demons invaded.


    Palmira herself hummed, sitting on a bench in front of the marble tree. The sun had started to set, and the orange light mixed oddly with the purple flames, creating a weird brownish-red color. Raising her fingers, she let her own flames flicker across them, trying to recreate the color herself.


    She managed it, though the flames sputtered into smoke soon after. Despite the fact that was better than she¡¯d managed before, it still left her frowning.


    If this was the best she could do, how was she ever going to join an adventurer¡¯s guild?


    ¡°Hey,¡± Lenna called out, slumping down next to her. In her hands was a loave of bread and a handful of olives. ¡°I got dinner.¡±


    Palmira didn¡¯t say anything out loud, but her eyes must have given her away, because Lenna scowled. ¡°I did the best I could, okay!? I¡¯m sorry I¡¯m not as good at bartering as Giulia was!¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not¡­¡± Palmira sighed, before snatching her half of the bread. She left Lenna the olives. ¡°We¡¯ll see her again, when she, uh, hatches.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± Lenna scowled, tearing at her own bread. ¡°I¡¯m sure she will.¡±


    They didn¡¯t say anything else after that. They just ate in silence, but it was a silence filled with angry words unsaid. Angry words they probably never would say.


    Finally, once the bread was gone and the crumbs were licked from her fingers, Palmira broke the silence.


    ¡°We¡¯ll be in Firozzi tomorrow. What do you think it¡¯ll be like?¡±


    Lenna didn¡¯t reply, wrapping herself in her old ratty blanket. Around them, other homeless and impoverished did the same, sticking close to the heat of the marble tree as night fell.


    ¡°There¡¯s a river, I think,¡± Palmira continued on instead. ¡°People like to call it ¡®the city of the red river,¡¯ so it¡¯s got to have one. I wonder if it¡¯s really red? Oh, or maybe it¡¯s got lava canals like Iscrimo! ¡­Actually, I don¡¯t think I¡¯d like that. Hm¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­There¡¯s supposed to be a dragon,¡± Lenna said at last, snuggled as deep as she could in her blankets. But she still shivered, so Palmira leaned over and shared her warmth with her. ¡°It¡¯s dead, from what I heard. But it¡¯s supposed to be huge, bigger than any other in the world.¡±


    ¡°That sounds really cool,¡± Palmira smiled, wrapping her own blanket around her friend. ¡°Do you think you¡¯re gonna try and draw it?¡±


    She huffed tiredly, a little bit of the haughty old Lenna shining through. ¡°I¡¯m not going to try. I am going to draw it. If you remember to replenish my charcoal supplies this time.¡±


    ¡°That was one time,¡± Palmira groaned, pushing a little harder into her side.


    Lenna pushed back. ¡°It was twice.¡±


    Palmira stuck out her tongue, and smiled at the small giggle she received.


    There was, and likely always would be, a Giulia shaped hole between them, but that didn¡¯t mean they had to linger around it.


    So with a twin smiles, the two girls fell asleep, the flickering lilac flames of the Holy Tree keeping them warm throughout the night.


    Tomorrow, they left Bocca and, finally arrived at the city of Firozzi.


    And for better and worse, that would be the end of their journey.

 Interlude X – Artistic Endeavors

    Interlude X ¨C Artistic Endeavors


    [Five Years Ago]


    Palmira scowled up at a dwarf, a heavy bag of dried and cracked pappardelle clutched in her grip. The dwarf glared back down at her, the unreasonably tall merchant towering over her and near everyone else in the marketplace. His fine silken robes clashed heavily with a long and scruffy beard that sprawled past his knees, working well to hide his form. With painstaking slowness, he raised a single bushy eyebrow.


    ¡°Were ya trying to steal from me, girl?¡± he growled down at her, his gravelly voice grating on her ears.


    ¡°Of course not,¡± she lied, huffing smoke in mock-indignation. ¡°Do I look like a thief to you?¡±


    The dwarf scoffed, leaning forward awkwardly at his chest so far that he was practically above her. ¡°All ya humans look the same ta me. That is, ya all look like thieves.¡±


    ¡°But if all humans look like thieves, then that means you can¡¯t tell an honest girl from a scoundrel,¡± Palmira countered, hands digging into her pockets and pulling out her emergency piccoli. ¡°And as you can see, I¡¯m no scoundrel.¡±


    The dwarf stared down at the pitiful change in her hand, before glancing back up with an unimpressed look. Faintly, she could hear someone snickering, but she couldn¡¯t tell from where. Finally, he sighed. ¡°Ya really think this is enough for what ya were trying ta steal, girl?¡±


    ¡°This is a handful of stale pappardelle,¡± she told him bluntly. ¡°I doubt it¡¯s worth even this much. But if you don¡¯t want it, I suppose I¡¯ll need to find some other merchant to patronize¡­¡±


    The towering dwarf twitched sharply, like someone had just slapped him. ¡°Ah, whatever,¡± he finally grumbled. ¡°I¡¯ll take the coins, and ya get outa here, girl.¡±


    Palmira plastered a fake smile on her face. ¡°Of course Signor Dwarf, I¡¯ll get out of your beard!¡±


    With a cheery wave she skipped away, keeping the dwarf in the corner of her eye just to make sure he wasn¡¯t going to call the guards on her. As she did so, she saw a stubby arm dart out from the back of his robes, snatching a handful of nuts off the table and nearly causing the abnormally tall dwarf to lose his balance.


    Palmira blinked, and then the dwarf started glaring at her even harder, and she decided now that discretion was the better part of valor.


    Darting around the back of a blacksmith¡¯s market stall and squeezing between two burning forges, Palmira fled the marketplace as quickly as her legs could take her.


    Once she was far enough away, she finally relaxed, a victorious grin spreading across her face.


    The dwarf may have caught her, but he¡¯d been the only one.


    Slipping her hand into her pockets, she ran her fingers over a bundle of dried apricots and some thin hunks of bread. It wasn¡¯t much, but as she¡¯d learned long ago, every little bit counts.


    It had been over a year since they¡¯d arrived in Firozzi. And for all that things had changed, just as much had stayed the same.


    Too much, in her opinion. Firozzi, as it turned out, was not the miracle she¡¯d been hoping for.


    None of the guilds she¡¯d tried to join had accepted her. ¡®Too young,¡¯ they¡¯d said. ¡®You don¡¯t have enough experience. You aren¡¯t strong enough. It¡¯d be unethical.¡±


    Feh.


    Instead of becoming an adventurer, she¡¯d gone back to what she¡¯d been doing in Iscrimo¡ªbegging on the streets and searching for someone else who¡¯d hire her.


    And, recently, she¡¯d started stealing food from the merchants.


    Not much! She wasn¡¯t a criminal, after all. It was only a little bit at a time¡ªjust enough for her and Lenna to survive, and never more than she could hide in her pockets.


    The markets she visited had enough examples of thieves getting caught stealing for her to remain cautious. If she so much as slipped up once, she¡¯d have to start casting magic with her left hand instead of her right.


    She paused as she stepped out of the alleyway and into one of the city¡¯s many piazzas. A shiver ran down her spine, and she glanced up.


    The ancient dragon Vesuvius¡¯s hollow eyes glared down at her. Even as a corpse, it had a way of making her feel small.


    It reminded her of the Tower. She didn¡¯t like thinking of the Tower.


    So she didn¡¯t.


    Turning on a dime, she left the piazza, being careful not to accidently burn her spoils in her unease.


    Those empty sockets continued to follow her all the way down the street.


    Slipping into another alleyway, Palmira made her way to the river, sneaking an apricot from her pocket. She savored the taste.


    Eventually she reached the river Rozzi, the large river which cut the city in half. Making her way up onto one of the many bridges that spanned the river, she stopped halfway across, moving off to the side and glancing around. She should be somewhere around here¡­


    Ah! There she is.


    Palmira grinned as she spotted Lenna hunkered down along the edge of the bridge. She sat with her back to the railing, a pile charcoal and sketches haphazardly scattered around her. Hunching forward, she had another piece of parchment draped over her lap, which she was currently working on with a deep frown of concentration.


    Sauntering over, Palmira plopped herself down next to her friend with a smile. That smile turned into a frown when she realized Lenna hadn¡¯t even glanced up from her drawing.


    Really, this is why she was so worried about leaving her alone. No situational awareness, this girl!


    ¡°Hey!¡± Palmira waved one of the dried apricots under her nose, casing the other girl to jerk back in surprise. ¡°I¡¯m back, and I got food!¡±


    ¡°Palmira!¡± Lenna narrowed her eyes, clutching her drawing close to her chest. ¡°You startled me!¡±


    ¡°Well you should¡¯ve been paying more attention. Now, are you going to take it or not? My arm¡¯s starting to get tired~¡±


    With a huff, the other girl snatched the apricot from her hand, quickly stuffing it in her mouth. That done, she turned away, going right back to her drawing.


    Palmira merely rolled her eyes, pulling out a chunk of bread to nibble at. Watching the people walk by, she began to zone out, eyes drooping but alert as the sun slowly made its way overhead.


    Eventually Lenna finished, leaning back to glare at her work with a squinty frown. The image on the parchment was an incredibly life-like rendition of the cityscape drawn with charcoal. It showed the spires of the churches, the limestone buildings breaking for the river, and people of every race and gender walking across the grand bridge.


    Palmira stared at it with awe, because despite only using parchment and charcoal, Lenna had created something truly beautiful.


    ¡°Tch.¡± Lenna scowled, putting it back on the ground next to the others. Then she pulled out another page of parchment and began drawing again. ¡°Not good enough.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re crazy,¡± Palmira scoffed, rolling her eyes. How in the world was that not good enough?


    Lenna just grunted, and the two of them would have spent the rest of the day sitting there like that, if someone hadn¡¯t decided to interrupt them.


    ¡°Excuse me, Signorinas?¡± The two girls jumped, startled. Raising their heads, they saw a young man in fine clothes, arm-in-arm with an equally well-dressed woman. ¡°Would you take two grossi for one?¡±


    The two girls stared at him, blinking owlishly. ¡°Um,¡± Lenna asked slowly, ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°The¡­ picture?¡± he frowned, looking equally confused. ¡°You¡¯re selling them, aren¡¯t you? ¡­Or are you not?¡±


    ¡°¡­Selling?¡± Lenna stared at him. ¡°Uh, no, we¡ªmrgph!?¡±


    Palmira smiled sweetly at the man, palm covering Lenna¡¯s mouth. ¡°Actually, they¡¯re three grossi each.¡±


    The man didn¡¯t even try to barter. ¡°Of course, of course!¡± Without hesitating, he reached into his coat and dropped three silver grossi into her free hand. Then he gathered up one of Lenna¡¯s pictures, rolling it under his arm with a casual smile as if he hadn¡¯t just dropped more money than she¡¯d ever seen in her life into her hand. ¡°This will be a wonderful keepsake of our time in the city, don¡¯t you think dear?¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± the woman returned his grin, before turning that smile on them. ¡°You two are quite talented, make sure you nurture that talent well! Have a splendid rest of your day, girls!¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­¡± Palmira watched them walk off, disappearing into the crowds. ¡°¡­You too¡­¡±


    ¡°Pwah!¡± Lenna finally removed the hand covering her mouth, scowling at Palmira. ¡°What was that!? You just let them take one of my drawings!?¡±


    Palmira turned to Lenna, incredulous. Then, silently, she pressed one of the silver grossi into the palm of her hand.


    ¡°Lenna,¡± Palmira said slowly. ¡°With this, we can afford food for a week. No, maybe even a month.¡±


    Her friend¡¯s scowl deepened, and she turned away, clutching the small coin in her hand. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ I mean, you¡¯re right. I just don¡¯t like the idea of selling my art. I mean, I spent so much time working on it, just to give it away feels¡­ you know¡­¡±


    Palmira frowned at her. She didn¡¯t, in fact, know.


    Opening her mouth to ask her what she meant, she was cut off once again.


    ¡°Excuse me?¡± they turned to look up, a young man having walked up to them. ¡°Did I see that you were selling art over here? How much for the picture of Vesuvius?¡±


    Palmira¡ªmuch to Lenna¡¯s chagrin¡ªfelt her heart swell with something she hadn¡¯t felt in years.


    Hope.


    -<X>-


    Eventually, when the sun began to set and the danger of the night overwrote her desire for money, Palmira and a grumbling Lenna left the bridge.


    They didn¡¯t make as much money the rest of the day as they did from that one couple, unfortunately. Most people just couldn¡¯t afford to spend so much silver on art, and those who did tended to have better places to buy it.


    That led Palmira to realize they¡¯d accidentally scammed that nice couple. Though, considering how wealthy they looked, she didn¡¯t feel bad at all about it. The money meant infinitely more to them than it ever would to that couple.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    Her guilty conscious cleared, Palmira opened the door to their temporary ¡®home,¡¯ dragging a sulking Lenna behind her.


    It wasn¡¯t technically theirs. They weren¡¯t even renting it¡ªthe building had been abandoned for years, and they were just the latest group of squatters to move in. They weren¡¯t even the only ones currently living there, as two other families were camping out in the much more spacious and less leaky downstairs while the two girls slept in the one upstairs room that still had a functioning roof.


    Altogether, about twelve people¡ªhalf of them unrelated¡ªhad crammed themselves into the five-room dilapidated townhouse. And while some (most) days that became unbearable, there was something to be said about safety in numbers.


    Also something to be said about living with people who knew how to cook. As the two girls entered, the smell of barely soup hit them. In the middle of the foyer a pot of water boiled over an open fire, a middle-aged woman whose hair had long gone grey stirred it almost mechanically. Beside her was her son, a third their age and playing with¡ªHEY!


    ¡°That¡¯s mine!¡± Palmira yelped, leaping forward and tugging Signor Baffi from the thieving toddler¡¯s grasp. Naturally, said toddler started crying, spitting snot and tears at her from where he sat.


    The woman stopped stirring the pot, letting out the longest, most exhausted sigh Palmira had ever heard.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she picked up her son, gently shooshing him. ¡°He wouldn¡¯t stop crying until I let him play with it. ¡­Are you sure he can¡¯t?¡±


    Palmira felt a bit guilty at hearing how exhausted the woman was, but not guilty enough to give up Signor Baffi. He¡¯d been a gift.


    Besides, she¡¯d seen what happened when you gave toddlers things. And this specific boy had a habit of breaking things.


    Instead, she reached into her pocket, pulling out a few copper piccoli. ¡°Here, you can buy him a new toy with these,¡± she handed them to the woman, a bit more forcefully than she meant to. Then, because she was feeling a bit guilty for making the tiny thief cry, she also muttered, ¡°Uh, its thanks, for cooking for us when you can. So, um, thank you.¡±


    With that Palmira fled up to their moldy little bedroom, Signor Baffi in one hand and a still sulking Lenna in the other. As she did, she passed a couple of other men and women, all of them exhausted in one way or the other from long days of back-breaking work for meagre coin.


    It was depressing, in a way she hadn¡¯t been able to fully comprehend back when she was a little kid. Unlike them, most of the impoverished families in the cities were refugees who¡¯d fled the tail end of the Demon Wars. Once it had become clear that their homes wouldn¡¯t be getting reclaimed, these ones had made their way further south, hoping for a better life in Firozzi.


    Now, they were just too poor to move anywhere else.


    Shaking those thoughts from her mind, Palmira dragged Lenna into their room, absently barbequing a spider that had made the mistake of setting up a web in the empty door handle.


    Sorry Signor Spider, their room was already at maximum capacity.


    Finally back in the sanctity of their room, Palmira felt herself relax, just a bit. Heading over to her blankets to wipe the toddler slobber off of Signor Baffi, she sat down next to Lenna, who immediately flopped face first onto their pile of blankets.


    ¡°Today sucked,¡± she grumbled, shoving her remaining drawings off to the side.


    ¡°What?¡± Palmira looked down at her, confused. ¡°What do you mean? We made so much money, though?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to sell my art,¡± she grumbled, burying her face in her blankets. ¡°It¡¯s so bad. I don¡¯t want anyone else to see it.¡±


    ¡°You show me all the time though?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, because you¡¯re you. But they aren¡¯t.¡±


    Palmira didn¡¯t really understand what her friend was talking about. But, for once, this was something she was going to put her foot down on.


    ¡°Lenna,¡± she set her stuffed cat off to the side. Getting on all fours, she crawled over until she was leaning over her friend, looking her directly in the eye. ¡°I¡¯m tired of starving. I¡¯m tired of sleeping in muddy old clothes. I¡¯m tired of sleeping in abandoned buildings and alleyways. I¡¯m tired, Lenna. But this could change everything! Maybe, for once¡­¡± she shook her head. ¡°Whatever. It doesn¡¯t matter. This could be our chance to make money regularly for the first time in years. I mean¡­ aren¡¯t you tired of this, too?¡±


    Lenna didn¡¯t answer, merely curled into a ball.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care if you don¡¯t like it,¡± Palmira sighed at last. ¡°But tomorrow I¡¯m going to use the money your art got us to buy us fresh fruit and new clothes. And you¡¯re going to enjoy those fruits and wear those new clothes, got it?¡±


    Lenna continued to remain silent until, finally, her muffled voice groaned from beneath the blankets. ¡°¡­Fine.¡±


    And Palmira sighed, falling back. ¡°Good. Good¡­¡±


    With a groan, she fell onto her back, good mood thoroughly ruined.


    Why did Lenna always have to make things so complicated?


    -<X>-


    After that day they returned to the bridge, still riding high on their success from yesterday and ready to make even more piccoli.


    Unfortunately, it turns out that people didn¡¯t buy street art that often, actually. Where the day before they¡¯d sold a dozen drawings, that day they sold only two, and only for a few copper piccoli each. The next day they sold even less.


    But they weren¡¯t deterred! At least, Palmira wasn¡¯t, and definitely not enough to stop. Every coin counted, after all! Instead, they started mixing up their spots, cycling between the bridge, various marketplaces, important landmarks, and wherever else they could find a lot of wealthy people gathered together. Not only did that make them more coin, it also stopped Lenna from complaining about having to draw the same thing every day.


    Eventually that brought them to the Rodina Guild, one of the first guilds she¡¯d tried to apply to who¡¯d immediately kicked her out with the same old ¡®you¡¯re too young¡¯ spiel so many others had given her.


    Despite the Rodina Guild refusing to give her the time of day, there was technically nothing they could do to stop them from sitting on the lawn just outside the guild. So the two girls hid in the shade of the statues of heroes long forgotten, burning wood to make charcoal and turning those nameless heroes into art to sell to tourists.


    As it turned out, it ended up being the best spot in the city so far, with hundreds of people coming in and out every hour. Between aristocrats, adventurers, merchants and peasants, more people had bought art from them here than anywhere else in the city.


    After a couple days of this, Palmira began to get a good feel for who was willing to buy their art and who didn¡¯t care. Merchants and adventurers didn¡¯t tend to give them a second glance, but the lower classes were willing to barter for some cheap drawings occasionally. It was the aristocrats they really tried to attract though, as the few times they were able to sell to them they¡¯d pay just whatever she asked them too. Palmira wasn¡¯t quite ballsy enough to ask them for a Florin yet, but she was getting there.


    She digressed. The day had been good so far, it was only noon and they¡¯d made four and a half copper piccoli, which was good. It was cloudy, but still warm, which meant they¡¯d be able to stick around for a couple more hours yet, which was also good. And, most importantly, Lenna had stopped complaining about selling her art, which was very good.


    Absently turning another stick into charcoal, Palmira cast her gaze around the park, trying to lock eyes with as many people as she could. In her years of begging, she¡¯d learned that making eye contact with people made them more likely to stop, as the guilt of being forced to acknowledge her overrode their desire to pretend she didn¡¯t exist.


    As she locked eyes with one woman in particular, Palmira hid a frown, having instantly pegged the woman as Iscrimi. She had that look of an old money Iscrimi Aristocrat about her¡ªdark eyeliner and makeup, a black dress only broken up by bleached white lines, and a black parasol to protect her chalk-white skin from the sun.


    And now she was coming straight towards them.


    Crap, maybe this had backfired. Palmira had nothing against the Iscrimi aristocrats¡ªwell, beyond them being cruel and greedy and generally very unlikable people¡ªbut she whenever she saw one she¡¯d get a jolt of irrational fear that, somehow, they¡¯d recognize her as the one who¡¯d killed their Duke.


    ¡°If it isn¡¯t the budding artist,¡± the Iscrimi gave them a thin smile, pitch-black lipstick making it look like somebody had sliced a line across her face. ¡°I¡¯ve seen you girls around here quite a bit lately. Tell me, do you make all this art yourself?¡±


    Palmira blinked. Then as swiftly as it came she shook off her confusion, putting on the cutest face her angsty eleven-year-old self could muster. ¡°Lenna makes it, yeah! Isn¡¯t she so talented? Look at this one!¡± She reached down and held up the one closest to her. It was a rendition of the old Duke¡¯s castle, mostly in black and beige but with some greens and reds Lenna had painted using wet weeds and mud. ¡°Isn''t it beautiful!?¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± the woman continued to smile at them. ¡°Why, I don¡¯t doubt that in a few years, she¡¯ll even be skilled enough to take commissions from the nobility!¡±


    Palmira nodded happily, glad that this woman recognized Lenna¡¯s talent. Really, it was like everyone except the girl was aware of how good an artist she was.


    ¡°In fact, I¡¯m something of a collector myself,¡± the aristocrat¡¯s smile grew slightly softer, as she glanced at each of Lenna¡¯s sketches, drinking in the sight of each and every one. ¡°A collector of art. A collector of beauty. And, most importantly, a collector of¡­ talent.¡±


    ¡­What?


    ¡°Tell me, girls, where are your parents?¡±


    Palmira flinched, while Lenna¡¯s breath hitched, neither of them having expected that question.


    ¡°¡­I see,¡± her expression grew soft, even as her eyes grew sharp. ¡°Then, that makes things easier. Lenna, was it? How would you like an apprenticeship with one of my artists? Under the patronage of the great Andrea del Loretti, you¡¯d certainly grow to far greater heights then you ever would¡­¡± she glanced at the city around them with a sneer. ¡°¡­here.¡±


    Palmira stared at the woman in shock. ¡°¡­Wait, patronage? An apprenticeship!? Are you really willing to offer that to us so easily!?¡±


    The woman¡¯s eyes turned on her, and her lips twisted into a frown. ¡°No, I¡¯m not. Not for you, at least. Unless you have some hidden talent you¡¯re for some reason refusing to show off?¡±


    Palmira flushed, both in anger and embarrassment. ¡°I do, in fact! I can do this!¡±


    She grabbed one of the shards of wood sitting beside her, bringing it up and slowly burning it to charcoal in her hands.


    ¡°See!¡± Palmira smirked triumphantly. ¡°I¡¯m a fire mage!¡±


    The aristocrat looked distinctly unimpressed.


    ¡°Ah, yes, a fire mage,¡± she rolled her eyes. ¡°Girl, I live in the city of fire. That¡¯s not particularly impressive to me. Can you do anything else?¡±


    Palmira flinched, but stood her ground. ¡°I¡¯m a hard worker. Harder than anyone else. I even worked as a¡­ um¡­ well, last week at the market, I¡­ ah¡­ I¡¯m also good at¡­ bartering?¡±


    ¡°How common,¡± she rolled her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m not looking for ¡®hard workers.¡¯ I¡¯m looking for artists, for sculptors, for musicians! I collect the greatest artists in the world. What need do I have for a common child?¡±


    Palmira glared, fists clenched at her sides trembling in rage. She opened her mouth to tell the noble woman to go toss herself in the damn volcano, but before she could¡ª


    ¡°I¡¯ll think about it.¡±


    Palmira¡¯s head snapped to the side so fast it audibly cracked, starring at Lenna in shock.


    ¡°Of course,¡± the aristocrat smirked, stepping back with a haughty smile. ¡°I¡¯ll be here for three days. When you decide to take me up on my offer, meet me over in the guild. I¡¯ll be looking forward to it~¡±


    With that she left, twirling her parasol arrogantly as she did.


    Palmira didn¡¯t care about that though, instead staring at her friend in open shock. ¡°Lenna, you¡ª¡±


    ¡°HEY!¡±


    The two of them flinched. An ?r¨¹mcek had stomped up to them, the little sunlight that made it through the clouds reflecting off his polished black chitin. What little expression she could make out behind his eight eyes seemed to resemble annoyed exasperation, similar to how you¡¯d feel upon catching your cat knocking a glass off the kitchen counter again.


    ¡°I thought we told you kids you weren¡¯t allowed to loiter on our property!¡± the spider man snapped at them, mandibles clacking back and forth with every word. ¡°This is the fourth damn time this month! I swear, are you kids trying to get arrested¡ªHEY! Get back here!¡±


    Palmira and Lenna, of course, had immediately started packing up their drawings the second he showed up. And with the adrenaline rush that only hit when you got caught trespassing by a security guard, the two girls booked it as fast as their little legs could take them away from the guild.


    ¡°Hey! We¡¯ve got a runner over here!¡±


    Unfortunately, their little legs were not particularly fast.


    -<X>-


    Three hours and a stern slap on the wrist later (with the warning that this would be the last time they were going to be this lenient) Palmira and Lenna finally made it back to their ¡®home.¡¯


    Slumped on her blankets and thoroughly exhausted, Palmira couldn¡¯t help but sigh.


    ¡°¡­Hey, Lenna,¡± she turned to look at her friend who was, of course, doodling on some spare paper. ¡°Did you really mean what you said back there?¡±


    Lenna glanced at her, before turning back to her drawing. ¡°¡­What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°I mean about that annoying woman¡¯s offer!¡± Palmira snapped, a smoldering anger being relit in her chest. ¡°You can¡¯t seriously be thinking about accepting her offer?¡±


    There was silence from her side of the room for a long moment, before Lenna finally sighed, putting down her charcoal. ¡°¡­So what if I am?¡±


    ¡°So what!?¡± Palmira literally began to spit fire. ¡°So what!? You heard her! She wasn¡¯t willing to take me with her! And even if she was, she¡¯d from Iscrimo! You know, the city I can¡¯t return to? Why are you even considering accepting her offer!?¡±


    ¡°BECAUSE I WANT TO!¡± Lenna finally snapped, turning to her with a glare. ¡°Because I love my art, and selling it for scraps on the street isn¡¯t what I want to do! Because if I get this apprenticeship, then I actually have a chance to fulfil my dreams of becoming a famous artist! Because, Palmira, I don¡¯t want to spend the rest of my life moving from moldy attic to moldy attic every time you burn somebody¡¯s house down!¡±


    Palmira flinched, before a glare overtook her features. ¡°That wasn¡¯t my fault!¡± she snapped. ¡°And it wasn¡¯t like I asked you to follow me, either! You came yourself!¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯m not asking you to follow me now! And you know what? I followed you because Giulia wanted us to stick together, and she was my friend, and so were you! But now she¡¯s as good as dead, and you¡­ these past few weeks have been awful! You¡¯ve been forcing me to draw things I barely care about for strangers, dragging me all around the city to sell my stuff for a pittance! You¡¯ve ignored all of my complaints and barely even talk to me when it¡¯s not about selling my art! Are you¡­ are you even my friend anymore!?¡±


    Eyes wide and wild, Palmira yelled back, ¡°I just want to survive!¡±


    ¡°But I want to live!¡±


    The two of them stared at each other, breathing heavily. Then, finally, Palmira turned away.


    ¡°We¡¯ll talk about this later,¡± she grumbled, settling down for bed. She felt sparks flicker unsteadily in her palms, and forced her fists closed. She was too angry right now, too emotional. She didn¡¯t want to do anything she might regret.


    Lenna didn¡¯t respond, simply turning away from her.


    And so, with eyes and fists squeezed shut, Palmira forced herself to sleep, promising herself she¡¯d figure out how to convince her friend to stay tomorrow.


    She¡¯d never get the chance.


    Before she¡¯d even woken up, Lenna had packed up her few meagre belongings and fled, without even saying goodbye.


    That, more than anything else, was something Palmira would never forgive her for.

 Interlude XI - Childhoods End

    Interlude XI ¨C Childhood¡¯s End


    [Four Years Ago]


    The days that followed Lenna¡¯s betrayal were some of the hardest in her life. Luckily, she hadn¡¯t been completely left out to dry. While Lenna had abandoned her, she left behind all of their savings, not taking a single coin for herself.


    Maybe that was a kindness on her part. Maybe it was a continued refusal to take any money for her work.


    Maybe it was because Palmira slept on top of their meagre savings like a dragon over her hoard.


    Who¡¯s to say?


    But while monetarily she wasn¡¯t in any danger yet, there was an¡­ emptiness that seemed to seep into her days. Worse than when Giulia had¡­ transformed. Like where once there was a hole in her life, there now was a gaping chasm she didn¡¯t know how to seal shut.


    The crammed little bedroom she lived in suddenly seemed so much bigger.


    But time stopped for no one. Especially not her. She gave herself one day to mope, and scream, and put out her smoldering blankets, before she regathered herself and got back to work. She returned to the streets, once more begging for money, avoiding the old places she and Lenna used to haunt to spare herself the pain.


    At least that damn spider wouldn¡¯t have any more reason to arrest her.


    Days turned to weeks. Then weeks to months. And nearly a year later, the Goddess finally blessed her with a rare stroke of good fortune.


    She finally got a job!


    It wasn¡¯t much. She worked for one of the less reputable stores in the back alleys, dusting counters and lifting heavy boxes. From sunrise to sunset she performed backbreaking labor keeping the shelves stocked and the few customers who bought from the store happy. But it would be worth it!


    It had to be.


    But Palmira knew how the world worked. Good fortune never lasted, and for every good thing that happened to you, a dozen bad things followed. So when the other shoe dropped, she greeted it with not surprise but resigned acceptance.


    The news came one early morning, when one of the adults pulled her aside before she could rush off to work.


    Palmira couldn¡¯t help but level an exhausted stare at them, feeling every one of her twelve years of life.


    ¡°We¡¯re getting evicted?¡±


    The old man sighed. He was missing his legs from the knees down, an injury he got as a young man during the Demon Wars. Most days he spent sitting on a chair by the street, watching the people outside. And so he¡¯d been there when one of the Capparelli officials came by, and told everyone on the street the same thing.


    ¡°It¡¯s part of the Capparelli¡¯s new ¡®urban renewal¡¯ campaign,¡± he sighed, scratching at his stumps. ¡°They¡¯re tearing down the old slums and replacing them with new housing. ¡®Apartments,¡¯ they say, though who knows if they¡¯re telling the truth or not. Probably just going to build a new bank, the greedy bastards. ¡­Well, not like it matters for us¡ªthey¡¯re tearing down this building within the month, they said.¡±


    ¡°Within the month?¡± Palmira asked, hating how her voice cracked. ¡°That soon?¡±


    The old man just sighed again, unable to do anything else. ¡°That¡¯s what they said. I suppose it could be worse, considering we don¡¯t even pay ¡®em rent. They could have just torn it down when we were sleeping, not like anyone would¡¯a stopped ¡®em.¡±


    ¡°Is there¡­¡± she trailed off, already knowing the answer.


    ¡°Sorry, kid, but no. They¡¯re tearing down everything.¡±


    ¡°¡­Oh,¡± Palmira slumped. ¡°¡­Do you have any ideas where you¡¯ll go after this?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯ve got some,¡± he chuckled, tired and angry. ¡°I¡¯m going to jail, or I¡¯m dying ¡®ere.¡±


    She flinched, snapping up to look at him with wide eyes. ¡°What!?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m old, kid,¡± the veteran sighed. ¡°I¡¯m going on seventy soon, and these past few years¡­ well, they haven¡¯t been great. So I figure, I¡¯ll stay here ¡®til they take the house down on top of me. And they¡¯ll either arrest me before they do, or I¡¯ll finally get to see that Heaven they promised me when I enlisted all those years ago.¡±


    ¡°¡­Oh¡­¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you can do kid,¡± he shrugged. ¡°But don¡¯t let what I¡¯m saying get you down. I¡¯m old¡ªI¡¯ve been old for more years than you¡¯ve been alive. I¡¯m ready for my end, whatever that may be. But you¡¯re still young yet. Heh. So fight the good fight, kid! Struggle until you die, that¡¯s what the heroes of old used to tell us, right before a battle. Keep struggling to survive, and maybe one day you¡¯ll get to live!¡±


    Palmira grimaced, but nodded. Just a little bit, some fire returned to her chest. ¡°Okay¡­¡± she forced herself to stand up straighter, even as the weight of¡­ everything pushed down on her shoulders. ¡°I¡¯m not good at much, but I know how to struggle. I know how to do that much.¡±


    ¡°There you go!¡± the old veteran sighed, leaning back in his seat. ¡°¡­You know, the priestesses tell us that we struggle ¡®cause we¡¯ve sinned. Now, I don¡¯t know what sin the two of us have committed to end up here, but I do know one thing!¡± he grinned, closing his eyes. ¡°When it¡¯s all over, the Goddess has a hell of a debt to repay us, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    Palmira huffed, a small smile trying to force itself onto her face. ¡°Whatever you say, old man.¡±


    With that she left, knowing already that she¡¯d be getting chewed out by her boss for being late. Despite that, she paused, turning back to look at the old, crippled veteran. ¡°¡­And thanks. For telling me, and for the advice.¡±


    ¡°Of course, kid! What else are us old timers for if not forcing our wisdom onto brats like you?¡±


    -<X>-


    Naturally, things got worse from there.


    A week later, her first payday arrived.


    Or it should have, at least.


    Instead, despite it being the day she¡¯d been told she¡¯d get paid, the sketchy man who ran the store didn¡¯t so much as glance at her, too busy digging through their supply of medicinal herbs (not what you¡¯re thinking, that was on a different shelf). And at the end of the day, when the sun began to set, she cornered him, asking politely where her pay was.


    ¡°Oh,¡± he turned to look at her, barely pointed ears showing off a faint elvish ancestry. ¡°Your pay? I, uh, that¡¯s tomorrow, you know? Not today! Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll make sure it gets to you then.¡±


    Her ¡®you¡¯re getting scammed¡¯ senses were tingling, but she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Just this once.


    And the next day, true to his word, at the end of her shift he met her at the door of the sketchy little shop in the sketchy little alleyway. And with a sketchy little smile, he dropped a single copper piccoli into her waiting palm.


    Palmira glanced down at her hand. ¡°¡­Where¡¯s the rest of it?¡±


    ¡°Rest of it?¡±


    ¡°My pay,¡± she ground out. ¡°Where. Is. The. Rest?¡±


    The sketchy little man chuckled. She resisted the urge to melt that smug grin off his face. ¡°Kid, this is all of it. It¡¯s what we agreed on, after all!¡±


    Palmira glared, her nostrils flaring. ¡°You said one piccoli per week!¡±


    ¡°No, I said one per month,¡± he corrected her, lying through his teeth. ¡°I have no idea where you got such a bizarre idea from. Well, at least now you know.¡±


    And with that, he locked the door, turning and heading back to his fancy fucking house in the better part of the city, leaving her in the increasingly dark alleyway.


    This was the last of many mistakes he would make that night.


    Because Palmira stood there, staring after him in enraged shock.


    One copper piccoli? One!? For a month¡¯s work!?


    What kind of cheap bastard¡ª


    Deep breath. She was calm. Calm. She was¡ª


    Okay, no she wasn¡¯t.


    [Three Years Ago]


    The next year passed slowly. Mostly, things got worse. She was once again homeless, jobless, and broke, but after so many years she¡¯d figured out how to survive. She knew how to beg, she knew what alleys were safe and which weren¡¯t, and with her fire she was able to chase down and cook the occasional giant rat that found its way up and out of the sewers. It wasn¡¯t the life she¡¯d hoped for in Firozzi, but she managed, as she always did.


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    That wasn¡¯t to say everything was awful.


    A new church had been built in one of the many alleyways, replacing the burnt-out husk of what was once a sketchy little medicinal herb store.


    Oops.


    (Heh.)


    In the beginning she¡¯d visited out of a sense of schadenfreude. Praying to the Goddess in such a place gave her a tingly feeling in her toes that she¡¯d had to check to make sure wasn¡¯t fire. And that was all well and good, but that wasn¡¯t why she kept coming back.


    That was because of Sister Laila. The elven nun who ran the church, and the kindest person Palmira had ever met.


    ¡°And on the mountain of ash did the shepherd beg salvation,¡± the sister led them through prayer, her soft voice bouncing off the freshly painted walls. ¡°And so did the Goddess hear his pleas, and in her mercy, bestowed upon him three nymphs, of olive, and lemon, and fig, and so he brought them back to his people. And the people rejoiced as the nymphs shared their bounties with them, and from such kindness and mercy did the remnants of Man survive. Small and shattered, but alive.¡±


    Palmira tried to follow along, but she didn¡¯t know the words well. She¡¯d been to many churches in her life, but organized prayer had been hard for her on the road. So instead she mouthed the words and hoped that counted, looking anywhere but the Sister in hopes she wouldn¡¯t notice.


    The church was small and somewhat crammed. There were stained glass windows, though any light that might have come through was blocked by the much taller buildings surrounding it. There was only a single small altar at the back and a dozen pews not even half filled with people. It was a small, humble, and almost dreary church.


    Despite that, Palmira felt a weight lift from her chest from where she sat near the back. Her head was bowed, and she listened quietly to the Sister. Subtly, she clutched her stomach, trying to stop it from growling to loudly.


    Much as it might have disappointed the sister, she wasn¡¯t here for prayer, no matter how good for the spirit it might have been. Neither was anyone else here, she imagined. Every person in this small church looked worn down and tired, homeless or broke or hungry.


    Prayer was nice, but it didn¡¯t fill their belly.


    Finally, the sermon ended, and the Sister let everyone who remained (which was everyone) know that she would be making soup for them, if they wanted a bowl. Naturally, they all humbly accepted, moving to the front to help her prepare. Some helped her carry the bowl and the ingredients, while a mother handed off her toddler to her husband and helped the Sister cook. Even Palmira joined in, lighting the fire with a few flicks of her fingers, gaining her a grateful smile from the nun.


    Eventually, a large pot of broth was boiling near the back, filled with as much meat and lentils as she could spare. A few loaves of bread were brought from a back room, somewhat stale but warmed by the fire. And those who did not help with the cooking or preparing took the time to help the Sister distribute the soup and bread to the rest of the churchgoers, until everyone was served and sitting on pews shuffled so they were closer to the warmth of the fire. Even some wine was pulled out. Poor in vintage, but enough that everyone could take a few sips.


    ¡°We thank our Lady,¡± Sister Laila whispered, hands clasped with everyone else¡¯s in prayer. ¡°For this meal today. We thank her farmers, and her shepherds, and all others who brought this food to our table. May she receive our gratitude warmly. Amen.¡±


    ¡°Amen,¡± the rest of them parroted, with various levels of devotion.


    And then, finally, they could eat.


    The soup was hot and almost tasteless. Some salt and herbs had been spared, but not much, not from a Sister who preached temperance. Who was barely a step away from poverty herself.


    It was the best meal she ate all week.


    Eventually the first serving was finished. And the little that remained was dolled between the few children whose parents brought them to the church, including¡ª


    Palmira blinked as a quarter of her bowl was refilled. ¡°What? Me as well?¡±


    Sister Laila smiled kindly at her. ¡°Of course. You¡¯re a growing girl, you know? You need all the food you can get.¡±


    Palmira stared down at the bowl. Her stomach growled, not near enough full from the earlier meal.


    And yet.


    Palmira bit her lip. ¡°¡­I can¡¯t,¡± she said at last. ¡°I¡¯m old enough, I can survive without it. You should give this to the younger kids, they need it more than I do.¡±


    ¡°Bah!¡± one of the men sitting next to her scoffed. He held his own son on his lap, spoon feeding the baby bit by bit. With his free hand he slammed it against her back, almost making her choke. ¡°Don¡¯t go thinking yer that old yet, lass. Why look at ya, yer practically skin an¡¯ bones! Eat the damn soup lass, none ah us¡¯ll begrudge ah growing girl her seconds!¡±


    There were murmurs of agreement from the others, and Sister Laila held out the last bowl to her with a smile. ¡°I won¡¯t force you,¡± she told her softly. ¡°But I would sleep better at night, if I knew you left here well fed. Nobody here will begrudge you. So please, eat. For my sake, if not yours.¡±


    Palmira glanced away, before slowly reaching forward and grabbing the bowl. She brought it close to her face, to hide the tears burning at the corners of her eyes.


    By now the broth had grown cold, and the meat soggy.


    It was delicious.


    [One Year Ago]


    She¡¯d found a new alleyway, hidden between a candle shop and a butchery. It wasn¡¯t much, but there was an alcove that was the remains of the bricked off old sewer, which easily hid her growing frame from the street. It smelled atrocious, of course, but it was deep into Capparelli territory in the nicer part of the city, which made it more than worth it. So long as she didn¡¯t bring too much attention to herself, the guards wouldn¡¯t notice one more girl amongst many.


    That wasn¡¯t to say things were smooth sailing, of course. Years had passed, and by this point she¡¯d stopped looking for a new job. There was no point to it, she felt. Everyone who¡¯d hire her would just try to take advantage of her, and anyone who wouldn¡¯t wasn¡¯t going to hire her.


    Her last hope for a steady income was the vague, half-remembered memory of an adventurer and the promise of a family in their guild.


    Or maybe not? It had been years, and she could be remembering that wrong. Regardless, she clung to that fading memory like a lifeline, planning out what little she could of her life around the idea.


    She knew she was a mage, and adventurers needed mages. All she needed was a catalyst, and then surely someone would let her join. And then from there she could save up enough to go to the Universit¨¤ and get a job as some court mage for one of the nobilities out in the countryside and never have to beg again¡ª


    Ahem. She was getting ahead of herself. She had to complete step one of that plan first, and sometimes even that felt like too much for her.


    But sometime, it felt just attainable enough for her to continue struggling. Struggling to survive, so that she could one day live.


    ¡°Hey!¡± she called up to the rooftops, waving her hands back and forth, a chunk of stale bread clutched in each. Subtly, she let some smoke pour from them, catching the attention of the things on the rooftop. ¡°Pspspssp! Here little guy, down here!¡±


    The drakelings curled on the edge of the roof stared down at her curiously. The tiny dragons came in a kaleidoscope of colors, ranging from red to green to pink to yellow. Eventually, slowly, the smallest one began crawling down. A brilliant red in color, its claws clacked against the limestone brick as it came within range.


    With a closed-mouth smile, Palmira raised up the now toasted bread on an open palm. The drakeling came close, and after a few probing flicks of its tongue, reached forward and snapped it out of her hand.


    That seemed to be the cue for the rest that she was safe, as they swarmed both her and the other drakeling, screeching impatiently for bread.


    Palmira giggled, the rough tongues of the drakelings tickling her hands. Within seconds the bread she brought with her was charred black, and within a few more seconds they were consumed entirely by the many drakelings, crumbs and all.


    Palmira smiled, running a finger along the back of the red one, who let out something between a purr and a screech in response. It let out a belch of flame, tickling the underside of her hand.


    She wondered why she was the only one who bothered to feed the drakelings?


    Especially since unlike the rest of the pests in the city, they understood payment.


    Once they were done eating, the lot of them scampered back up onto the roof, and with chirps and screeches they started kicking down some shiny trinkets into her waiting hands.


    Some broken pieces of tin, a shard of glass¡ªouch¡ªand half a copper piccoli!


    Palmira smiled, pocketing the coin and offering the rest back to the drakelings with a thank you. It always paid to be polite, after all!


    The red one plucked the glass out of her hand, and dropped another eighth of a piccoli in its place.


    As she said. It paid to be polite.


    With one last smile and wave, Palmira turned and left the draklings to their daily squabbles.


    Eventually, she returned to her new alleyway, sitting down in the alcove and counting the coin she¡¯d made today.


    Seven eights of a piccoli, between the begging and the drakelings.


    Sometimes it depressed her that she could make more money bribing tiny dragons then from her own fellow man, but on days like today she was too happy to care.


    With an excited grin, she placed the eighth of a piccoli in her pocket. That would go into her savings, while the rest went toward food. But even that one fragment of coin was progress.


    With a smile, she fell asleep, dreaming to herself of the day she¡¯d be able to afford a wizard¡¯s staff of her own.


    It would be another year before such a day came to fruition. And while his jokes were crap and he wouldn¡¯t stop picking fights with her guildmates, Palmira wouldn¡¯t give Morte up for the world.


    [Today]


    Lenna was a quiet girl, most days. Too sucked into her art to make small talk with her assistants, who chatted quietly to each other as they mixed pigments for her paintings and helped her build whichever new invention she thought up that day.


    Time had been kind to her. Years of eating better (not well, even now some habits didn¡¯t go away easily) had helped her fill out, and now it was hard to tell she¡¯d ever been a bag of skin and bones peddling her art on the side of the road. Now she worked in an actual workshop on the edge of Iscrimo, filled to the brim with paintings and sketches and models and sculptures. The sheer wealth in the form of pigments and materials in the room would even cause the Ambrosi to blanch, but her Patron paid for it all without a second thought.


    Yes. Time had been kind. She could make her art whenever she wanted, using the best materials money could buy. It was everything she¡¯d dreamed of as a kid. She should be happy!


    She missed her friends.


    Lenna buried such thoughts deep within her soul. They had no place in her workshop.


    Instead, she forced her hands to draw, sketching out a new idea for a flying machine. One that could even work without magic!


    Probably.


    Or she would have, had one of her assistants not tapped her shoulder.


    ¡°Signorina,¡± she murmured softly, knowing how much she hated being interrupted. ¡°Someone it at the door.¡±


    Blinking blearily, Lenna grimaced, before standing up slowly. Stretching out her back with a nauseating ¡®crack¡¯ she yawned. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she took a minute to work through the black spots that danced in her vision, before stumbling over to the door.


    She swore, if Lady Loretti was here to demand another painting of her and the harpies, she was going to wring her pasty little neck until it snapped.


    Grumbling to herself Lenna di Vittoria threw open the door, an exhausted glare on her face. One that morphed into confusion as she took in the person standing on the other side.


    It wasn¡¯t, as she¡¯d assumed, her patron. It was a¡­ girl? Or a short woman. She was dressed in rough leather armor over a rust red tunic with thick riding pants shoved into old leather boots. This contrasted sharply with the red and grey Paluneran mask that covered her whole face, which contrasted even more sharply with the skull staff she was carrying how did she only notice that now¡ª!?


    ¡°Lenna,¡± the girl whispered, her voice thick with some unidentifiable emotion.


    ¡°Um, yes?¡± Lenna jumped, clutching the edge of the doorframe with nervous confusion. ¡°Do I know you?¡±


    Please say no please say no¡ª


    ¡°You don¡¯t even¡ªwait. Hang on, I forgot this stupid thing is still on.¡±


    The girl reached up, ripping the mask off her head, revealing a familiar tanned face locked in her seemingly perpetual scowl.


    Lenna¡¯s eyes went wide. She did know this person! ¡°¡­Palmira? Is that really you?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, it is,¡± her old friend¡¯s scowl deepened. ¡°And I¡¯ve got something to give you. Something I¡¯ve been holding onto for a long, long time.¡±


    Then Palmira punched her in the face.

 Chapter 26 - Ash-Tinted Memories

    Chapter 26 ¨C Ash-Tinted Memories


    ¡°Why did you do that!?¡±


    Palmira stared down at her old friend, the other girl having crumpled to the floor after a single punch. Now Lenna clutched at her cheek, glaring up at her with fear and pain while some random other people in the back of the building started shouting at her.


    She barely noticed them. Instead, her whole attention was brought to the look her old friend was giving her. The fear and the pain and the confusion. A bruise already blooming on her face.


    She wanted to hit her again. She wanted to drop to her knees and beg for forgiveness. She wanted things to go back to how things were before. She never wanted to see her again.


    Something ugly burned in her gut.


    ¡°You left me alone, Lenna,¡± she forced the words past her lips, forcing herself to break that painful silence. ¡°You left me alone in that fucking hovel with some spare change and a hole in my heart. You fucking abandoned me Lenna!¡±


    Guilt joined the fear on Lenna¡¯s face, and she stumbled to her feet, now keeping a distance between them. ¡°You¡­¡± she winced. ¡°¡­I spent my whole life living on the streets, Palmira! I was given an out, so I took it! You would have done the same thing in my place!¡±


    She dared!? ¡°Like Hell I would have!¡± Palmira snapped back, taking a step forward. Lenna jumped back a step, flinching. ¡°Because, incase you forgot, I was right there with you! When you got scouted in Firozzi, I was there. When we were in Pedemoa, I was there. When we were in the Cantons, I was there. When we lost everything in Vittoria, I was fucking there. And you know what? I didn¡¯t abandon you! Not even once!¡±


    ¡°Yes, you did!¡± Lenna snapped back, something more like anger replacing the fear. ¡°I followed you, Palmira! When we lost our home, you were going to run off to the city and leave me and Giulia behind! So I followed you to Iscrimo, when I didn¡¯t have to. I followed you when you left, when I didn¡¯t have to. I followed you all the way to Firozzi, when I didn¡¯t have to. I know you, Palmira! If the opportunity came, you would have taken it without even thinking and just expected me to follow along!¡±


    This time Palmira flinched. That¡­ hadn¡¯t been what happened, had it?


    Then she scowled. Because even so¡­ ¡°But I was willing to follow you. If you¡¯d just told me, I would have come with you! And yeah, maybe I couldn¡¯t have followed you here, but I could have stayed nearby. Or at least, I don¡¯t know, have gotten to say goodbye!?¡±


    Palmira took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching her fists, trying to put out the sparks before they exploded into a raging inferno. Already she could feel her armor begin to blacken, as it took everything that small, rational part of her had to keep it from spilling out and reenacting the last time she¡¯d been in this city.


    ¡°Palmira,¡± Morte¡¯s voice suddenly echoed in her mind, a shock of ice-cold clarity that doused her rage. ¡°Do you want to hit this girl again?¡±


    What?


    ¡°Do you want to apologize to her?¡±


    What!? No! She was the one in the wrong!


    ¡°Do you want her to apologize to you?¡±


    That¡­ she¡­ did she want that?


    ¡°Because if not, then I¡¯d suggest you leave. Before you do something you¡¯ll end up regretting.¡±


    Palmira stared at Lenna. Her old friend, who stared at her with anger. With fear.


    She glanced down at Morte, the sockets of his skull empty of judgement.


    Malocchio wriggled on her waist, saying nothing, but calming her with his very presence.


    She came to her decision.


    Taking a deep breath, Palmira put her mask back on, and turned around. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know what I expected in coming here. But I¡­ I just¡­¡± she sighed, slumping in on herself. ¡°Whatever.¡±


    With that she turned to leave, forcing her legs to drag her out the door.


    ¡°¡­Palmira¡­¡±


    She stopped at the sound of Lenna¡¯s voice, turning to look at her old friend one last time. Her face, once hollow and awkward, was now filled out and exhausted. There was fear, and anger, and guilt in her eyes. Her ink-stained lips were twisted in a painful grimace.


    ¡°¡­I missed you.¡±


    ¡­How dare she fucking say that.


    ¡°Goodbye, Lenna,¡± Palmira replied, slamming the door behind her.


    She took a single step forward, and that was all she could take. Instead she bent at the waist, letting out a silent wail of grief.


    A moment passed. Then another. And then, finally, she was able to gather herself.


    ¡°You doing okay, kid?¡±


    Palmira simply stood there silently for a few moments, taking deep, burning breaths. Then she shook her head, before stepping back into the city.


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°No. I¡¯m not.¡±


    -<X>-


    Drained after her confrontation with Lenna, Palmira simply wandered for a while, going wherever her feet took her. Through alleys, past churches, through districts both wealthy and poor, she whittled away the hours aimlessly, until on little more than instinct she found herself out on the edge of the old industrial district.


    A sense of bitter nostalgia filled her as she stopped by a flowing lava canal. A shiny new townhouse of black basalt stood in front of her, one of many she could see being constructed down the whole street. A new development replacing the old and rundown, something common in every city around the world. It wasn¡¯t anything special.


    Still, many years ago, there had been a run-down smithy here. One that housed three young girls and an old crone, all of them tired and bitter. But together.


    For the first time in her life, she found herself missing that old fart.


    She didn¡¯t cry. Once, she may have lived here, but it had never been home.


    That didn¡¯t mean it didn¡¯t sting, though.


    ¡°Hey Morte,¡± Palmira whispered softly. ¡°I think coming back here was a mistake.¡±


    ¡°You haven¡¯t even been here a day!¡± Morte scoffed. ¡°And all you¡¯ve done is go places that make you sad! It¡¯s no wonder you feel like shit. You know what? We¡¯ve still got the whole rest of the day left, let¡¯s go do something fun! You used to live here yeah? What¡¯s there to do in Iscrimo besides die of heatstroke?¡±


    Palmira snorted despite herself, finally forcing herself to look away from the new development. ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t actually know. I don¡¯t think I did anything fun when I lived here.¡±


    ¡°What!? Nothing!? How do you live in a city for years and not do anything fun!?¡±


    ¡®Agreement. Such a thing is statistically unlikely,¡¯ Malocchio chimed in, the eldritch mace for once agreeing with her staff. ¡®We recommend our Lady reassess the city.¡¯


    ¡°See, even that stick in the mud agrees, and I don¡¯t think he even knows what fun is!¡±


    ¡°But I don¡¯t¡­¡± Palmira frowned. ¡°I, um, I don¡¯t actually know if I do anything for fun.¡±


    ¡°Of course you do,¡± Morte countered her instantly. ¡°Have you seen your smile when you play with those little rat dragons? Why don¡¯t you go find some of those to hang out with?¡±


    Palmira rolled her eyes. ¡°There aren¡¯t any drakelings this far north, Morte. Though¡­ there are the magma slimes, but I don¡¯t think I ever tried feeding them before¡­¡±


    Now suddenly curious, Palmira turned towards the city center, heading toward the massive lava pool that sat at the heart of Iscrimo.


    ¡°Well, there¡¯s a first time for everything!¡± Morte cackled. ¡°And hey, you never know until you try!¡±


    Palmira rolled her eyes, but a small smile grew on her face, and for the moment, she let herself push back the bitter old nostalgia and get lost talking with her mentor.


    -<X>-


    Some time later found Palmira sitting on a wrought iron bench, overlooking the massive lava pool at the center of the city. Far below her, dozens of magma slimes crowded at the base of the wall, crawling over and into each other as she tossed down hunks of charcoal. A distance behind her, the Basilica di Sant''Giuseppina loomed, casting her in its late afternoon shade.


    ¡°And would you look at that folks! Fatty crawls to the top of the pack once again, trampling friends and family alike for one more bite of that sweet, sweet coal!¡± Morte shouted in her head, his gleeful commentary keeping her form getting too bored. ¡°Oh, but what¡¯s this? By the Silver Moon, it¡¯s Old Man Magma! He¡¯s come to take what¡¯s his! Can this old slime triumph over the power of the youth¡ªoh no, neither of them will! Mister Squigglers pulled one over the both of them and stole it right out from under them!¡±


    ¡°Heh,¡± Palmira grinned, breaking off another chunk of charcoal. ¡°Ten imaginary Florins on Mister Squigglers this round.¡±


    ¡°Hah! You¡¯re on, my fat little dumbass is gonna win it all through sheer attrition!¡±


    ¡®Disagreement. The small red one will win. We are certain of this.¡¯


    ¡°Buddy, you could literally be talking about any of them. Please be more specific if you want to bet.¡±


    ¡®Confusion. We are being specific.¡¯


    ¡°Oh well, I tried.¡±


    Palmira rolled her eyes, ready to throw in the next chunk, when¡ª


    ¡°PALMIRA!¡±


    With a yelp, she dropped the rest of the charcoal over the edge, watching forlornly as it fell into the ravenous molten mosh pit down below her.


    Groaning in disappointment, Palmira turned to the voice, locking eyes with a seething Chiara.


    ¡°Where have you been!?¡± the crystal mage practically snarled at her. ¡°I can¡¯t believe you just left without even telling me where you were going! I¡¯ve wasted my day looking all over the city for you¡ª! Dante¡ªthe guildmaster put me in charge, so the least you could do is show me the damned respect I deserve!¡±


    Palmira stared up at her, blinking slowly. Then, after taking a moment to look around, she hummed, ¡°The others ditched you too, huh?¡±


    Chiara twitched, before collapsing into the seat next to her, dropping her head in her hands. ¡°Yeah,¡± her voice came out muffled and exhausted. ¡°They did. Even Lorenzo, that bastard.¡±


    Palmira nodded, awkwardly patting her shoulder. ¡°Uh¡­ sorry for stressing you out so much, I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d care. If it makes you feel any better, I¡¯m here now?¡±


    Chiara didn¡¯t respond, simply tilting her head so she could glare at her from the corner of her eye.


    Palmira winced. Okay, yeah, maybe Chiara had a right to be mad at her.


    ¡°Do you¡­ want me to help you find the others¡­?¡±


    After a long moment, Chiara sighed. ¡°¡­I should, shouldn¡¯t I? But I just¡­ I¡¯m the guildmaster¡¯s sister, the person he left in charge while he was off meeting with the Duke, but nobody listens to me! If he comes back and finds me alone in the inn, he¡¯s going to be so disappointed in me. But how can I do anything about that, when everybody scatters to the four winds the moment my back is turned!?¡±


    ¡°Damn, girlie, sounds like you¡¯re in a real pickle right now,¡± Morte hummed. ¡°Don¡¯t see how that¡¯s my problem, though.¡±


    Palmira watched as something seemed to snap in the other girl, reality seeming to crack and shimmer around her as she reached for her rapier, ready to run her stupid staff through his big dumb mouth¡ª!


    ¡°Hold on!¡± Palmira yelped, dropping Morte to latch onto Chiara¡¯s arm before she could do anything. ¡°You seem pretty stressed right now, so why don¡¯t we just take a moment to calm down?¡±


    ¡°I am completely calm.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s great!¡± Palmira grinned nervously, not struggling as much as she¡¯d have expected holding the other girl back. Maybe that strength training ¨®sma was having her do was good for something after all. ¡°Especially because calm people don¡¯t stab others!¡±


    ¡°Unless those others are necromantic abominations,¡± Chiara hissed back. ¡°Why, calm people do that all the time! I know three who did so last week!¡±


    ¡°Did these people happen to be a part of the guild?¡±


    That, more than anything, seemed to snap her out of her murderous rage. ¡°¡­Yes.¡±


    ¡°So do you really think you should be following their example?¡±


    ¡°¡­No¡­¡±


    ¡°In that case, why don¡¯t we take a moment to grab something to eat? I know a great caf¨¦ down the street we could go to! Or, at least, I think it¡¯s great. I¡¯ve never been there myself. But the reviews are fantastic!¡±


    Dragging the other girl to her feet, Palmira continued to nervously babble as she tried to distract her friend from stabbing Morte. This mostly worked, and barring a few close calls and Morte¡¯s inability to shut the fuck up they made it to the caf¨¦ in one piece.


    The food was fine. She didn¡¯t get why everyone hyped this place up so much back in the day. But as she sat there, listening to Chiara complain about the others between cups of coffee, she found herself, for the first time in a long time, enjoying herself in Iscrimo.

 Chapter 27 - The Brooding Abyss

    Chapter 27 ¨C The Brooding Abyss


    Palmira stared into the Abyss.


    The Abyss did not stare back.


    That¡¯s because it was too full of things.


    Of things which weren¡¯t people, and people which were things. Of dark Fey and black Demons and tortured Giants. Of a city sprawling endlessly down, and down, and down.


    Creatures with too many eyes which were hunted by serpents bereft of the sea which were hunted by dead things that weren¡¯t yet dead which were hunted by knights who¡¯d long since fallen which were hunted by creatures with too many eyes.


    There was no bottom to the Abyss. But there was a top. And it crushed down on everything within oppressively.


    Palmira stopped looking down, overwhelmed by the everything that threatened to consume her. Instead, she turned left, then right, but found herself standing on nothing at all.


    But that wasn¡¯t right? Everything was here. She couldn¡¯t be standing on nothing.


    She was standing on something.


    It was wet and burned to touch. Her feet dug in deep, and she walked across it with ease.


    She did not go where she was going, so she ventured where she always went when lost. She stepped into the city, the darkened alleyways and crumbling infrastructure already making her feel at home.


    But in this city more than any other, things lurked around dark corners and beneath crumbling homes.


    Palmira stopped walking, and something else stood up, standing before her. A smile was carved into its marble face, contrasted by the molten tears which ran rivulets down its melting cheeks.


    She knew what it was instinctively, an ancient memory slowly unearthing itself from her psyche.


    It was a Horror.


    The Horror looked up at her, short enough that it¡¯s head didn¡¯t reach above her chest. A hand stretched forward slowly to touch her, cold and hot all at once. Then another Horror appeared, and another, and another, until she was surrounded.


    The Horrors poked and prodded her, stone hands grasping at her flesh and tearing it asunder.


    But she had no flesh. For she was made of Fire.


    The Horrors did not move away, even as she burned them. Instead, they simply dug deeper. And no matter how hot she forced herself to become, she couldn¡¯t melt their granite flesh.


    ¡°That is enough of that.¡±


    Suddenly she was far away from them, an old man standing between them and her. She recognized him, the fake old man, and in doing so realized something important.


    ¡°I¡¯m dreaming,¡± she declared.


    ¡°Indeed you are,¡± the old man chuckled, starry eyes twinkling with barely controlled rage, not looking away from the Horrors for even a moment. ¡°But that doesn¡¯t mean much down here. I suppose it¡¯s my fault¡ªI didn¡¯t expect the Abyss to tug at you so strongly. Are you alright?¡±


    Palmira tugged at her flames and took a deep breath of stale smoke. ¡°I think so. Nothing important is missing.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good to hear!¡±


    ¡°HUMANS,¡± the Horrors suddenly spoke, their voices echoing through the tunnels as one. They grated against her brain, making her flames twitch and flail erratically. ¡°YOU TRESSPASS ON SACRED GROUND. FOR THAT YOU WILL DIE. CEASE RESISTING, SO THAT WE MAY KILL YOU QUICKLY.¡±


    The old man scoffed. ¡°Well aren¡¯t you all a lovely bunch of bastards. No wonder we tried to kill you all off. But don¡¯t worry, we¡¯ll be leaving now.¡±


    ¡°YOU CANNOT. YOU HAVE ALREADY COMMITED TOO GREAT A SIN TO LEAVE UNPUNISHED.¡±


    ¡°Please, I¡¯ve committed far greater sins unpunished.¡± The old man rolled his eyes, before gently grabbing her arm, his flesh cold and artificial to the touch. He waved the Horrors off with a flippant smile. ¡°Ta-ta! May we never have to witness your ugly mugs ever again!¡±


    ¡°DON¡¯T YOU DARE¡ª!¡±


    -<X>-


    Palmira¡¯s eyes fluttered open calmly, revealing the basalt roof of their room. The cracks and seams were near impossible to make out in the darkness, if not for the faint glow from the lava canals through the window. The quiet of the night was only broken by the rhythmic snores of Chiara, sounding like the tinkling of crystal chimes in the wind.


    It was quiet and peaceful, and yet Palmira couldn¡¯t help but feel frustrated.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t working,¡± Morte agreed with her, and she imagined if he had a brow it would currently be furrowed. ¡°You can¡¯t just keep wandering off in your dreams every night. Especially not in a place like this. And yet, nothing I¡¯ve tried to keep you in place has worked. It¡¯s almost infuriating.¡±


    Palmira frowned. ¡°What¡¯s even happening?¡± she whispered, grunting as Chiara rolled over in her sleep and slapped her in the face. They were sharing a bed to save money, but the other girl tossed and turned so much it made her want to shove her off the edge. ¡°Why are my dreams like this?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s my fault,¡± Morte admitted freely. ¡°Normally, your soul would naturally protect you when you sleep, keeping you in one place while you dreamed. But back when I was younger, I tore open the veil that protected my soul in order to obtain esoteric knowledge of things long forgotten. Specifically, to enter the dreams of dead gods and bargain power from their corpses.¡±


    Palmira blinked slowed, too tired to process that right now. ¡°Huh.¡±


    ¡°It appears, unfortunately, that the more you use me as a staff, the more you tear your own veil in turn. This was not a problem for me, since I was a powerful mage with a powerful soul and the training to utilize such a skill to its fullest extent. You, on the other hand, are only just getting into the more esoteric arts, and lack the ability to control your dreams.¡±


    ¡°Is there any way to undo it?¡±


    ¡°Not as far as I know, no,¡± Morte grumbled, frustrated. ¡°I imagine that if you stopped using me, your soul might heal its veil on its own. But that would take who knows how long, and you¡¯d probably get your soul devoured by some otherworld creature without me there to protect you.¡±


    Palmira sighed. ¡°So it¡¯s something I just have to live with, then?¡±


    ¡°¡­Yes. No. Maybe. If I had a body and could use my own magic, I¡¯m sure I could figure out a way to heal your soul. But I don¡¯t. Maybe in a couple years, after you¡¯ve delved enough into cosmology, you could figure it out for yourself.¡±


    Grimacing, Palmira considered her options, trying to ignore Chiara¡¯s sharp elbow digging into her gut. Finally, she nodded to herself, and said softly, ¡°Well, no time like the present to work on it. I don¡¯t really want to fall back asleep any time soon anyway.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll need to get back to bed at some point,¡± Morte told her sternly. ¡°You aren¡¯t capable of going without sleep. Well, not yet, at least.¡± Then his voice softened, just a bit. ¡°And don¡¯t worry. I won¡¯t let you lose yourself so easily. You¡¯re my apprentice, after all. You¡¯ll become the greatest mage in the world even if it kills you.¡±


    ¡°Kills me?¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    ¡°Well, it certainly won¡¯t kill me!¡± Morte cackled. ¡°I¡¯m already dead!¡±


    Palmira rolled her eyes, shoving Chiara¡¯s foot out of her face (when had she even flipped around?) and got out of bed. Rubbing the last of the sleep out of her eyes, she stumbled over to the window, grabbing Morte and setting him against the opening next to her. Leaning out the window, she took a moment to breath in the humid, smoggy air, before turning her gaze up toward the stars.


    The stars were difficult to see, with the city smog, but some shone through regardless. Even the moon was still visible, smog and clouds alike parting around it so that the thin silver sliver of divinity could shine down on her even here.


    And yet, she scowled.


    ¡°They haven¡¯t moved,¡± she squinted up at the night sky, tracing the few stars she recognized. ¡°We¡¯ve come so far, but they¡¯re all still in the same place they were in Firozzi.¡±


    ¡°Of course they are,¡± Morte agreed, sounding amused. ¡°If you measure using the scale of the cosmos, we haven¡¯t moved even an inch. You could travel the distance from Firozzi to Iscrimo a hundred times, and you wouldn¡¯t even make it to the moon, much less a distant star.¡±


    Palmira stared up at the sky, trying to comprehend such a distance, but found that she couldn¡¯t. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ so far.¡± Then she frowned, realizing something. ¡°Wait, but the stars move, though. Not much, but as the seasons change they move through the night sky, don¡¯t they? Why do they move while we¡¯re standing still, but not when we move ourselves?¡±


    ¡°I should have known this is what caught your attention,¡± he chuckled to himself. ¡°Maybe I¡¯m going about training you the wrong way¡­ hm. Something to think about later. But to answer your question, do you remember how I said before that if you traveled from Firozzi to Iscrimo a hundred times, you wouldn¡¯t even make it to the moon?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, why?¡±


    ¡°Well, the world we live on is hurtling through the void so incredibly fast that every single day it travels about a hundred times as far as that. That¡¯s why the stars look like they¡¯re travelling across the sky every year, you see. They aren¡¯t moving¡ªwell, they are¡ªbut so are we.¡±


    Palmira turned to stare at her mentor. ¡°What. That¡¯s¡­ wait, the world moves!? I thought it was the center of the universe!? And wouldn¡¯t we feel it, if the world was moving that fast!?¡±


    ¡°Hah! You¡¯d think so, wouldn¡¯t you! But no, this world is nowhere near the center of the universe. And as for why you don¡¯t feel it, that¡¯s because the scale we¡¯re working with is so unimaginably vast. I told you when we started, didn¡¯t I? Greater men than us have gone mad trying to comprehend the cosmos.¡±


    Palmira grimaced. She understood what he was saying in theory, but found she couldn¡¯t begin to comprehend how far such a distance truly was. It frustrated her. Why did everything have to be so big?


    Taking a calming breath, Palmira dropped that line of thought, applying one of the first lessons her mentor had taught her.


    If you don¡¯t get it yet, then drop it and come back to it later. The stars are willing to wait.


    Deciding she wasn¡¯t going to think about that right now, Palmira moved on, igniting a small flame above her hand. ¡°I¡¯m going to work on my divination tonight,¡± she told him, much to his amusement. ¡°I think I had a breakthrough a couple days ago.¡±


    ¡°Then by all means, go ahead. I¡¯ll be here, if you have any questions.¡±


    Nodding, she focused on the flame in her hand, trying to shrink it while forcing it to produce more smoke than it should. If she was right, and it was a combination of smoke and stars that gave her some ability to see the future¡­


    The smoke wafted out the window, mixing with the natural smog of the city. She grimaced, trying to aim it towards a small cluster of bright stars that signaled the torch of the Herald. It almost worked, and as she focused, she could slowly see the stars begin to shift in the sky, warping into vague lines which ever so slowly formed a shaky shape.


    Palmira squinted at the smoke. It was¡­ an elf¡­?


    The door to their room slammed open, causing Palmira to grab Morte on instinct and Chiara to jerk out of their bed with a scream.


    ¡°Wake the fuck up you two!¡± Johanna shouted, snatching the crystal bird that was trying to attack her out of the air without even looking. ¡°We need to get our asses to the courthouse right fucking now.¡±


    ¡°Johanna!?¡± Chiara hissed, squinting through the darkness. ¡°Do you even know what time it is? What could be so important that we¡¯d need to go there at this ungoddessly hour!?¡±


    The elf grimaced, a look of uncharacteristic somberness on her face. It was enough to even cause Chiara to falter, seeing the woman so serious.


    Then she told them what happened.


    -<X>-


    ¡°Now presenting, Dante di Firozzi, guildmaster of the Firozzi Adventurer¡¯s Guild!¡±


    Dante nodded in thanks to the servant who introduced him, hiding his exhaustion as best he could.


    For six hours he¡¯d been waiting for the invitation to meet with the Duke. Six. Hours. He was aware he was a foreigner and all, but surely there was a difference between some polite power plays and whatever this was.


    He was (formerly) of the Cadorna Famiglia! Did that name really mean nothing to anyone anymore!?


    Regardless, going about his business in the city without at least greeting the Duke would be the height of impropriety and, more importantly, harm their chances of making any business in Iscrimo. So he waited. For six, goddess forsaken hours.


    And finally stepping into the Duke¡¯s solar, he couldn¡¯t help but feel the man would have needed another six to get even mildly presentable.


    Duke Aretino Visconti, son of the late Aventio Visconti, was a mess.


    His hair was long and unkempt, dirt and oils visible even against his dark and fraying locks. A well embroidered coat of red and black was haphazardly thrown over his shoulders, stained near brown by how unkempt it was. His black eyeliner was running freely down his face, mixing horribly with the white makeup the aristocrats of Iscrimo for some reason preferred. And scattered across his desk was a half dozen bottles of the most expensive wines he could name, one of them knocked on its side and freely spilled onto the Duke¡¯s lap.


    The only thing even somewhat well-kept in the room was a massive portrait of the previous Duke hung up behind him, so well-polished the reflection of light off the frame almost made up for the fact it was blocking the windows.


    Dante glanced around at the servants which stood ready in the corners of the room, but not one of them could look him in the eye.


    This was the Duke? Really?


    ¡°Are you the one who keeps trying to bother me?¡± Duke Aretino rasped, his voice as pleasant as a cat hacking up a hairball. ¡°Well? Out with it. What do you want?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ apologize, Lord Duke,¡± Dante replied slowly, completely thrown off. ¡°I hadn¡¯t expected to be¡­ interrupting something?¡±


    ¡°Well, you are. I was planning to spend all day mourning, and you interrupted me.¡±


    Ah. Well, now he felt a bit bad. It must be someone important to him, if he was this out of sorts.


    ¡°I apologize again, then. If I¡¯m not overstepping myself, may I ask who passed away?¡±


    The Duke¡¯s eyes lit up, and by the quiet groans of the servants behind him, Dante knew he had messed up.


    ¡°Of course!¡± his mouth stretched into a wide grin, while tears began to freely flow from his eyes. ¡°It was my father! My wonderful, glorious father! He perished unjustly so many years ago, but even now, my heart feels empty without his sterling presence by my side!¡±


    Dante blinked, tuning the man out through years of practice. Instead he focused on who the man was mourning, feeling even more off balance than before.


    His¡­ father. The previous Duke of Iscrimo. A man who had died eight years ago.


    Was this man seriously still in mourning? And so badly, at that.


    Wow. It was a wonder Iscrimo was still functioning.


    See, this was why republics were so much better than monarchies. You didn¡¯t have to roll the dice every time your leader died.


    And it seemed he¡¯d rolled poorly today, because the Duke just kept going on, and on, and on. He couldn¡¯t tell how long had passed, but he was certain that when he¡¯d entered it was still light outside.


    And yet, the man across from him just would. Stop. Talking!


    Dante had met with many clients in his time as guildmaster. From pompous aristocrats to poverty stricken peasants, they all had at least one thing in common.


    None were quite so pathetic as the Duke of Iscrimo.


    ¡°You agree, yes?¡± The Duke practically begged him, making Dante clock back into the conversation. ¡°Please, you must agree, nobody else does!¡±


    ¡°Of course. His death was a great tragedy, and we all mourn him,¡± Dante agreed, lying through his teeth. Aventio Visconti¡¯s ascension to power following the Pumilios Wars made him the most hated man in the south, with countless people celebrating his death.


    It did make him wonder, though, at the fact his son mourned him so strongly. Had he been such a good father? Aventio Visconti, the second greatest traitor in recent memory? Or¡­


    Dante ran some quick mental math. The current Duke was twenty-one, and the old one had died eight years ago¡­


    Huh. The man in front of him would have been around thirteen when his father died.


    Dante felt himself become just the slightest bit more sympathetic.


    Not much. Maybe he¡¯d feel more sympathetic once he was allowed to leave.


    ¡°He was such an amazing warrior, you know?¡± the Duke moaned drunkenly, snatching another bottle off his desk. With a flick of one of his dirty, overgrown nails he quickly yanked out the cork, before he began chugging straight from the bottle. ¡°He was mah idol. Taught me everything I know! If¡­ if he was still around, I¡¯m sure I¡¯d be the best warrior in the world~¡±


    Dante nodded, turning to look at the servant closest to him with pleading eyes.


    ¡®Please,¡¯ he begged them silently. ¡®Get me out of this hell.¡¯


    The servant looked back at him with tired eyes. ¡®It¡¯s too late,¡¯ their eyes replied. ¡®All that¡¯s left is to suffer with us.¡¯


    ¡°My heart hurts so much with him gone!¡± the Duke wailed. ¡°Especially now! It hurts! It hurts so, damn, much¡­!¡±


    The Duke began choking, slamming a fist against his chest.


    ¡°Hurts¡­! Hurts¡­! Hurts so much!¡± he moaned, suddenly falling out of his chair. The suddenness of it shocked the rest of them into silence, even as he curled in on himself on the floor. ¡°Hurts¡­ father, it hurts¡­!¡±


    ¡°Duke Visconti!?¡± one of the servants finally broke out of her stupor, rushing forward. ¡°My Duke, are you alright?¡±


    ¡°Father¡­ father¡­!¡±


    ¡°Quickly!¡± she shouted at the others. ¡°Go find the healers! Now, before he gets any worse!¡±


    Dante couldn¡¯t help but stare at the downed man with wide eyes, shocked stiff by what he was witnessing.


    ¡°Fa¡­ther¡­¡± the Duke rasped, reaching to the servant, clutching at her robes. ¡°I see you now¡­ father. Don¡¯t worry¡­ I¡¯m coming¡­!¡±


    ¡°No my lord!¡± the servant screamed, shaking him in a vain effort to keep him grounded. ¡°Don¡¯t go there! Your father isn¡¯t¡ªI mean, you should go towards the light, not your father!¡±


    ¡°¡­¡±


    But her words had no effect.


    By the time the healers and the guards arrived, it was already too late.


    The Duke of Iscrimo was dead.


    And Dante, as the last outsider to see him, was taken into custody.

 Chapter 28 - The First True Quest

    Chapter 28 ¨C The First True Quest


    The sun had begun to rise by the time Johanna dragged them across Iscrimo to where the guildmaster was being held, causing what little light could pierce through the smog to bathe the city in an eerie orange glow. The streets were almost quiet at this time of day, since though the city never truly slept¡ªas the lava canals lit up the city to make it as bright as day even in the middle of the night¡ªthe early hour still managed to bring the city to a serene stillness. Even the mafia didn¡¯t bother patrolling their territory yet, leaving it to the few shopkeeps and street sweepers who wanted to get an early start on their day.


    This had always been Giulia¡¯s favorite time of day, Palmira reminisced with a painful nostalgia. She¡¯d drag the two of them out to bask in the silence, much to their chagrin. She¡¯d always found the silent city to unnerving, while Lenna had just hated going outside in general.


    Palmira flexed her fingers, for a moment almost able to imagine her old friends standing beside her once more, hand in hand.


    ¡­Lenna was here. Barely a few blocks away from where she was right now. That was¡­ she wasn¡¯t Giulia, but¡­


    Then Chiara bumped into her, nearly knocking her over, and the moment passed.


    ¡°Hey!¡± Palmira grumbled, pushing the half-asleep half-elf off of her causing her to slam face-first into Lorenzo¡¯s wooden bicep. ¡°What gives!?¡±


    ¡°Shut¡­ up¡­¡± Chiara drawled, nearly stumbling over her own feet. ¡°I am¡­ I¡¯m fine¡­¡±


    Lorenzo rolled his eyes, before grabbing the girl and throwing her over his shoulder with ease. ¡°You didn¡¯t get any coffee this morning, did you?¡±


    ¡°¡­I¡¯m fine¡­¡± she slurred, ¡°See? I¡¯m¡­ walking on my own¡­¡±


    ¡°Sure you are,¡± he scoffed. ¡°Get some rest up there, just make sure you¡¯re awake when we finally get to the guildmaster.¡±


    ¡°¡­¡±


    Palmira glanced at the half-elf dubiously. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with her?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s an addict,¡± Lorenzo rolled his eyes again. ¡°Chiara here can¡¯t function without coffee in the morning. Like, at all. It¡¯s one of the few luxuries the guildmaster¡¯s unable to deny her either, but even he¡¯s been cutting costs lately. We¡¯ve only had black coffee in stock, which she hates, but she drinks it anyway. That¡¯s half the reason she¡¯s been so grumpy lately.¡±


    ¡°See, that¡¯s why you shouldn¡¯t drink too many potions,¡± Morte told her. ¡°You¡¯ll end up like that. Unable to function without your stamina potions.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not addicted to potions, staff,¡± the druid corrected him. ¡°She¡¯s addicted to coffee. It¡¯s much healthier. I think.¡±


    ¡°Bah, kids these days. Back in my day, coffee was a stamina potion!¡±


    Palmira tuned out their bickering over what did and did not count as a potion, and quickly after that they arrived at their destination. Surprisingly, they were in the nicer part of the city, the building they entered overlooking the massive lava pool at the center of Iscrimo.


    And then, surprising her more, they went up rather than down. Instead of the sweltering dungeons she knew were somewhere beneath the city, they were brought up to the top of one of the towers attached to the building, where they were told the guildmaster¡¯s cell was located. The ¡®cell¡¯ itself was barely guarded, only a single bored watchman standing outside a heavy locked door. He gave them a quick glance before ushering them in with a negligent wave.


    Dante¡¯s ¡®cell¡¯ also wasn¡¯t at all what she¡¯d expected. It wasn¡¯t a big room, but it still managed to fit a large bed and an ottoman with room to spare. Sunlight poured in from the several small windows which dotted the walls, giving the room a feeling of what could almost be warmth. The guildmaster himself sat at an ornate wooden desk off to the other side of the room, covered with stacks of paper and a whole roast duck platter. For some reason.


    The room couldn¡¯t be called opulent, but only barely.


    His prison cell was nicer than her room back at the guild, and that kind of pissed her off.


    Dante jumped to his feet the second they entered, quickly making space for the six of them to join him in the room.


    ¡°Finally!¡± he sighed in relief. ¡°I was worried they wouldn¡¯t allow me any visitors.¡±


    ¡°Well, we¡¯re here now,¡± Teresa grumbled, rubbing her forehead with a scowl. ¡°Not that it seems to have mattered. So, how long before they let you out of here?¡±


    Behind her, Lorenzo absently dropped Chiara, the girl falling to the ground a loud ¡®tink¡¯. Instead of waking up though, she just rolled over, snoring into the dusty floor with barely a grumble.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± the guildmaster sighed, picking up a cup that had been hidden behind the roast duck. Making his way back over, he grabbed his half-sister and started waving it beneath her nose. As he did, Palmira subtly began making her way around the room. ¡°I thought when they first grabbed me, they were only taking me in for questioning. Unfortunately¡­¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like the sound of that, Dante. What do you mean, unfortunately?¡±


    The guildmaster sighed. ¡°It seems someone¡¯s in need of a scapegoat. I had thought that the Duke just drank himself to death, but when they investigated his glass they found traces of poison. I am now, it seems, the prime suspect in the murder of the Duke of Iscrimo.¡±


    ¡°What!?¡± Chiara yelped, snapping awake in an instant. ¡°What do you mean!? Surely you¡¯re joking, right!? You can¡¯t even kill a slime, much less a Duke!¡±


    ¡°Yeah!¡± Teresa agreed over the guildmaster¡¯s scowl. ¡°What would you even gain from that? It¡¯s not like any of us have any reason to want the Duke of Iscrimo dead!¡±


    Palmira remained silent.


    Lorenzo glanced over to her, asking a silent question with his eyes.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    She shook her head rapidly. In the back of her mind, she heard Morte chuckle.


    ¡°I doubt they care,¡± the guildmaster grimaced, dropping his sister onto the ottoman with her coffee. ¡°This isn¡¯t about who killed him¡ªit¡¯s about if they can get away with blaming me for it. Hell, the only reason we¡¯re even able to have this conversation is because of my relation to the Cadorna Famiglia. If I were just some unlucky common man, I¡¯d have been executed already, and the true perpetrator would have gone free.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± Chiara furrowed her eyebrows. ¡°But we aren¡¯t¡ª?¡±


    Dante snapped forward and covered her mouth. ¡°Shh! Don¡¯t tell them that! The only reason we¡¯re getting a trial at all is because they¡¯re afraid of the reprisal of the Cadorna Famiglia. So just play it safe and don¡¯t say anything.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± she rolled her eyes, her voice muffled. ¡°Now get your hand off my face.¡±


    ¡°As I was saying,¡± the guildmaster continued, stepping away from her. ¡°While I¡¯m the primary suspect, they don¡¯t have any real evidence to use against me. That¡¯s why I¡¯ve been placed under house arrest, so that just in case they find the real culprit my family won¡¯t get offended by my¡ªPalmira, what are you doing?¡±


    Everyone in the room stopped and turned to look at her.


    Palmira, who had torn off a leg of the roast duck and now had her face half buried in it, stared back with wide eyes. Then, calmly, she tore off the chunk in her mouth, chewed, and swallowed.


    Nodding, she responded, ¡°I¡¯m hungry, we skipped the inn¡¯s free breakfast for this, and there¡¯s no way you¡¯re eating this whole thing alone. Let me have this.¡±


    ¡°You know, she¡¯s got a point,¡± Lorenzo hummed in agreement, before he joined her in tearing apart the roast.


    The guildmaster gave them both an exasperated look before shaking his head. ¡°Whatever,¡± he sighed, looking like he was regretting his life choices right about now. ¡°As I was saying, they are giving me a trial. Which means that hope isn¡¯t lost yet. It will be difficult, but the lot of you can still come and go as you please, which gives you ample opportunity to investigate. Therefore, I grant you all your first quest as part of our new Firozzi Famiglia!¡± Dante spread his arms wide, looking each of them in the eye. ¡°Investigate any other suspects, discover the true cause of the Duke of Iscrimo¡¯s death, and clear your guildmaster¡¯s name!¡±


    -<X>-


    An hour later saw the six of them sitting around a table at the bar, half-touched drinks and food scattered between them. Each of their faces were tight with stress as they contemplated the enormity of the task before them.


    ¡°So,¡± Johanna took a long swig from her mug. ¡°The guildmaster¡¯s fucked, huh? Which one of us are shelling out for his funeral?¡±


    ¡°What!?¡± Chiara yelped, slamming her hands on the table. ¡°You¡¯re giving up already? We haven¡¯t even done anything yet!¡±


    ¡°And what do you want us to do?¡± the elven landsknecht rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair. ¡°I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ve noticed, but we aren¡¯t exactly the smartest bunch around. Heck, the newbies staff probably has more intelligence in that empty skull of his than the rest of us put together.¡±


    ¡°She has a point,¡± Morte agreed smugly.


    ¡°She does not,¡± Teresa scowled, glaring at the both of them. ¡°Don¡¯t worry Chiara, the rest of us aren¡¯t planning on giving up. We¡¯ll get to the bottom of this and save your brother, just you wait.¡±


    ¡°Really? How? Because I don¡¯t have the slightest idea of what to do.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯ve decided to do nothing!?¡±


    ¡°Eh, he¡¯s a human,¡± Johanna shrugged. ¡°He¡¯ll be dead within the century regardless. And if we¡¯re gonna fail anyways, why not start planning ahead? I figure that old orc¡¯ll either take over as guildmaster, or we¡¯ll all need to start job hunting pretty soon.¡±


    ¡°Gods be good,¡± Anima mumbled, rubbing her eyes. ¡°You really aren¡¯t helping.¡±


    Palmira grimaced at the byplay, not liking the fact that despite how much they were telling her off they weren¡¯t coming up with any ideas themselves. Looking down at her staff, she asked her mentor, ¡°Do you know how we can clear the guildmaster¡¯s name?¡±


    ¡°Hah! No. Even if I knew the first thing about, eugh, laws, I¡¯m a good couple decades out of date. Heck, last time I was in a court was that time I was put on trial for necromancy, deicide, and tax evasion.¡±


    ¡°Well, how did you clear your name?¡±


    ¡°Clear my name?¡±


    ¡°None of this is helping,¡± Teresa sighed, dropping her face in her hands. Anima rubbed her back consolingly, some amusement forcing its way past the tightness in her eyes. With one final groan, she stood up from the table, dragging Anima with her. ¡°Look, we clearly aren¡¯t getting anywhere sitting around here,¡± she told them. ¡°So the two of us are going to go and do¡­ something. The rest of you can figure out what to do on your own. We¡¯ll meet back up here tonight, and you¡¯d all better have accomplished something by then, understood?¡±


    ¡°Nein ma¡¯am,¡± Johanna gave her a sloppy salute, which caused the crusader to simply throw her hands up in disgust and storm off, Anima trailing behind her.


    Once they were gone, Johanna stood up as well, cracking her back with a groan. ¡°Well, I¡¯m off to get drunk. Maybe hit up some old friends, see if they have any jobs for me. Ah, if you kids need any help after this is all over, just let me know, ja? I¡¯m sure I can find something for you to do. Tsch¨¹ss!¡±


    With that the elf was gone, and the ever-present chill she carried around gone with her. That just left Chiara, Lorenzo, and Palmira sitting at the table.


    ¡°I¡¯m getting her fired,¡± Chiara scowled at the door the elf had left through, the promise of murder written across her face. ¡°Once we get back to the guild, I¡¯m having my brother kick her out so fast.¡±


    ¡°Good luck with that,¡± Lorenzo sighed, rubbing his face. ¡°She¡¯s an elf. She¡¯s got like three hundred years of experience under her belt and another three hundred in the future. She¡¯s probably got more job security in this guild than you.¡±


    ¡°Ugh.¡±


    Lorenzo patted her back only somewhat sarcastically, before frowning. ¡°That said, at this point she¡¯s not entirely wrong. Where do we even start with this?¡±


    Chiara scowled, deep in thought. ¡°We could try and search the scene of the crime for clues, maybe?¡±


    ¡°You really think they¡¯d let a bunch of foreigners dig around in the Duke¡¯s personal study?¡±


    ¡°Well, maybe we could interview the servants!¡±


    ¡°Great idea! But do you know who they are?¡±


    ¡°Goddess, Lorenzo,¡± she groaned, glaring at him. ¡°I¡¯m just coming up with ideas. I don¡¯t see you doing anything!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because I¡¯ve got nothing,¡± he shrugged unrepentantly, before turning to look at the other girl at the table. ¡°What about you Palmira? Do you have any thoughts?¡±


    Palmira grimaced, before slowly nodding. ¡°I¡­ have an idea. Maybe. But, uh, it¡¯s, you see¡­¡±


    -<X>-


    Lenna scowled down at her newest work, dipping her brush in the bowl and mixing just a bit harder than necessary. The painting beneath her was nearly thrice her height in length and half as high, covering most of the floor of her studio. And it was just one of nine pieces, which when matched together would act as a new, more modern mural for the l¡¯Insieme. Depicting the Fall of Babel, it was the biggest commission of her career.


    And yet, she couldn¡¯t focus on it at all.


    It was all Palmira¡¯s fault! She¡¯d been doing fine before her old friend had come in and punched her in the face!


    Guilt and longing and anger mixed in her mind, messing up her tempo and causing her to fumble, making stupid, stupid mistakes she hadn¡¯t made in years.


    There had always been a part of her that had wanted to see her friend again. And now that she had, she wished it had never happened.


    Restlessness had overtaken her, and she threw herself into her work to take her mind off of her problems as she always did, and yet for some reason it wasn¡¯t working!


    A banging noise suddenly came from her door, and she frowned. Had Isma forgotten her keys again?


    Grumbling, she placed her brush off to the side, glaring down at all the nothing she¡¯d accomplished today. Then, with a long and drawn-out sigh, she got up and moved toward the banging.


    ¡°I¡¯m coming, I¡¯m coming!¡±


    Lenna di Vittoria opened her door, and then froze.


    Because once again, her once childhood friend stood on the other side. This time with a crystalline half-elf and a dark-skinned druid looming over her shoulders.


    ¡°Hey, uh, Lenna,¡± Palmira shuffled on the spot awkwardly. ¡°I need your help.¡±


    Lenna blinked slowly. Then, with a mounting combination of horror and awe, she remembered the news she¡¯d gotten this morning, and realized the only reason her old friend would be coming to her like this.


    ¡°Palmira,¡± she groaned. ¡°Did you kill the Duke of Iscrimo again!?¡±

 Chapter 29 - The Blind Leading the Blind

    Chapter 29 ¨C The Blind Leading the Blind


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m the only one here who didn¡¯t know you¡¯ve committed regicide!¡± Chiara glowered at them, sulking in her chair.


    ¡°Shh!¡± Palmira hissed, glancing over her shoulder as though someone was listening in, waiting for the moment she slipped up so they could lock her in chains. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, okay? It¡¯s just not something I tend to talk about, for reasons I hope you understand.¡±


    ¡°You told Lorenzo!¡±


    ¡°Because he¡¯s responsible! If you had a secret you needed help with, wouldn¡¯t you go to him first?¡±


    Chiara grumbled under her breath, but begrudgingly acceded her point.


    ¡°Thank you both for the vote of confidence,¡± Lorenzo gave them a wry smile. ¡°But we came here for a reason, remember? Why don¡¯t we focus on that now, and hold off on any arguing until we¡¯re back in the inn.¡±


    The two girls silently nodded, neither willing to give up so easily but also aware that they were on too tight a schedule to argue the point further. Instead they turned back to their temporary host, who¡¯d been watching them argue with a complex expression on her face.


    The four of them sat around a table swamped in sketches and models and books, a space at the corner cleared away that was just big enough for the four of them to see each other over the mess. High above them models of birds and dragons hung from the rafters, ranging from life-like to abstract, while the smell of paint and fresh sawdust suffused the air. Lenna sat across from them, eying her suspiciously, a small bruise still resting on her cheek.


    Palmira tried not to feel too guilty about that.


    ¡°So,¡± Lenna frowned. ¡°You really didn¡¯t kill the Duke this time?¡±


    ¡°No! I already told you, I didn¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°Then why are you here?¡± she threw her hands into the air. ¡°Last time we spoke, you seemed pretty clear you never wanted to see me again.¡±


    Palmira opened her mouth to remind her why that was, but a look from Lorenzo cooled her temper.


    Right, they didn¡¯t have enough time to argue. Taking a calming breath, she reminded herself of the advice ¨®sma gave her for dealing with annoying clients. Remain professional, treat them with respect, and don¡¯t shout at them, even when you really, really want to.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t kill the Duke,¡± she reiterated, forcing her voice to stay even. ¡°But someone did, and now the leader of our guild is the prime suspect. As someone with a connection to the city¡¯s aristocracy, I was hoping you might have any information that would help us clear his name.¡±


    Lenna blinked slowly, fight slowly bleeding out of her. Instead her brow furrowed, and she gave her an odd look.


    After squirming under the scrutiny of her old friend for a couple seconds, she snapped, ¡°Well!?¡±


    ¡°¡­You¡¯re right, unfortunately. I¡¯ve had the express displeasure of learning quite a bit about the nobility in this city,¡± Lenna grimaced, eying the countless projects piled around the room.


    ¡°You do? Oh thank the Goddess, you were my only idea.¡±


    ¡°I could tell,¡± she muttered dryly, before frowning. ¡°But I¡¯m not sure how much help I could be. If I listed every person with the means and motive to kill the Duke, I¡¯d be pointing out half the city. You know as well as I do that nobody liked either of them.¡±


    ¡°What, really?¡± Chiara frowned, for some reason looking like she was taking offense. Palmira imagined it was some dumb rich kid solidarity thing. ¡°Surely you¡¯re exaggerating. Did people really hate him that badly?¡±


    ¡°More or less,¡± Lenna shrugged, absently flicking one of her models between her fingers. ¡°The current¡ªuh, late¡ªno, young? The young Duke who just died spent most of his rule indulging in sorrow and vice, leaving the ruling to the lower nobility. That was probably the most popular decision he ever made, but that didn¡¯t make him liked. And the previous Duke¡ªthe first Duke of Iscrimo after the fall of the Second Empire¡ªwas one of the most hated rulers this city has ever had. He betrayed us by opening the gates to the elves during the Pumilios Wars, and in exchange they dismantled the republic and installed him as Duke of Iscrimo.¡±


    ¡°Wait, that¡¯s who he was!?¡± Chiara hissed, annoyance draining away to be replaced with outrage as recognition dawned. ¡°I thought¡ªI never made that connection! He¡¯s the bastard that betrayed the Chimeran League to the Empire!¡±


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    Then she paused, eyes turning to stare at Palmira in a new light. ¡°And you killed him?¡±


    Palmira flushed, twirling a tendril of flame around her finger in embarrassment. ¡°It wasn¡¯t what you¡¯re thinking. I didn¡¯t even know he did any of that back them. At the time it was either me or him, and I chose me.¡±


    Lorenzo instead furrowed his bushy eyebrows, frowning at Lenna. ¡°Do you think it was revenge, then? Someone trying to off the son since the father was no longer on the table?¡±


    ¡°Maybe?¡± she shrugged. ¡°I¡¯d imagine they¡¯d have done that earlier, though. Maybe they just found him too annoying to let live. I know I considered it once or twice.¡±


    ¡°Oh? You¡¯ve met him?¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately,¡± she sighed. ¡°I visited the Duke a couple days ago, actually. He¡¯d been a pain in the ass about the mural I¡¯m currently working on¡ªhe kept trying to get me to paint his late father as the Saint Margaery, and he refused to take ¡®that will get us excommunicated¡¯ as an answer.¡±


    ¡°Ah¡­¡± Lorenzo winced. ¡°¡­Well, do you think it¡¯s someone from the church, then? Maybe a priest trying to stop him from blaspheming?¡±


    ¡°Maybe? I doubt it, though. You¡¯d need to be a pretty wealthy priest to order a hit on a Duke.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just spit balling ideas here. Someone killed him, after all. Maybe it was a priest, who knows?¡±


    ¡°You all are looking at this the wrong way,¡± Morte spoke up for the first time since they entered, drawing all eyes to his empty sockets.


    ¡°Palmira, is your staff talking?¡± Lenna asked, and was summarily ignored.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be asking ¡®who would want to kill the Duke,¡¯ because the answer to that question is ¡®everybody. Instead, you need to ask ¡®who would benefit most from the Duke¡¯s death?¡¯¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a good point,¡± Palmira frowned in thought, before turning back to Lenna. ¡°Do you know any nobles who would gain from his death?¡±


    ¡°Your staff is talking, Palmira.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine, he¡¯s not cursed. We got him checked.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not the issue here.¡±


    ¡°Just answer the question, Lenna.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± she rolled her eyes. ¡°I guess¡­ it might be his heir? He didn¡¯t have any kids, so that would be¡­ what his cousin or something? I¡¯m not even sure if he has one of those, you¡¯d have to ask someone else about that. Actually, now that I think about it, who¡¯s even going to take over now that he¡¯s dead¡­?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got a point, but it feels a bit obvious, don¡¯t you think?¡± Lorenzo frowned, deep in thought. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t the Duke¡¯s heir be the first person they check?¡±


    ¡°In theory, maybe,¡± Chiara shook her head. ¡°The issue is they¡¯d need the Duke¡¯s permission to launch an investigation into the nobility, and guess who¡¯s now Duke? It¡¯d be even worse if this was a larger coup and not a personal assassination, since that would mean my brother really is getting scapegoated.¡±


    ¡°Hold your horses,¡± Morte cut in. ¡°I know we¡¯re light on suspects, but we have literally no information on this man yet. If he¡¯s even a man. Don¡¯t convince yourself they¡¯re the criminal before we even start investigating him, especially not when it¡¯s someone so powerful. Instead we should focus on finding suspects for now. Hey, girl, is there anyone else who¡¯d benefit from his death?¡±


    Lenna scowled at him, but shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m not sure. Maybe the l''Insieme? Probably not, though, I think they had more power with him alive what with how incompetent he was. Otherwise, I¡¯m out of ideas.¡±


    ¡°Seriously?¡± Palmira frowned at her. ¡°That¡¯s it?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a noble, Palmira!¡± she threw her hands in the air, frustrated. ¡°I don¡¯t pay attention to any of this dumb intrigue stuff! I¡¯m an artist, I make paintings and sculptures! When I heard that the Duke was dead, I just shrugged and went on with my life, just like you would if they weren¡¯t accusing your boss of the deed! Heck, for all we know it was just a random little girl that panicked and killed a noble. It¡¯s not like it would be the first time that happened, huh Palmira?¡±


    Wincing, she conceded the point. That didn¡¯t mean she had to like it, though.


    ¡°¡­However,¡± Lenna took some deep breaths, calming down from her outburst. ¡°I do think I know somebody who could help more than I could. My patron, Andrea del Loretti, might be able to help you. ¡­If she¡¯s willing to, at least.¡±


    Palmira felt herself instinctively scowl, faded memories of a black parasol and chalk-white skin rising in her mind. ¡°Must we?¡±


    ¡°If she can help us, we¡¯re going to her,¡± Chiara told her firmly. ¡°But how would we go about meeting her?¡±


    Lenna rubbed her eyes, before sighing and standing up. ¡°Wait here,¡± she told them, before walking over to a different yet equally messy table pushed up against the wall. Digging through papers and fragments of models, she eventually pulled out a small piece of metal, the size and shape of a coin. Coming back, she handed it over to Lorenzo, revealing it to have a Famiglia¡¯s crest stamped on one side. ¡°Here, this will get you a meeting with the Lady Loretti,¡± she told them. ¡°But that¡¯s the most I can promise. Whether she decides to tell you anything is up to her and her constantly changing whims.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Lorenzo gave her a winning smile, pocketing the coin. ¡°Do you know where we can find her? I¡¯m sorry, but we don¡¯t have much time, so I¡¯d prefer to get this done today, if possible.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± she grumbled, glancing away with a slight flush to her features. Suddenly, Palmira felt the urge to set the both of them on fire. ¡°She¡¯ll be in the l''Insieme with the rest of the nobility for the rest of the week. Probably because of the whole regicide thing. You could try showing them that coin, but they might not let you in regardless. In that case you¡¯ll have to schedule a meeting, and I don¡¯t know how long that could take.¡±


    ¡°Well, we should at least try. If it¡¯s our best lead, we can¡¯t ignore it.¡± Lorenzo stood up, causing the rest of them to follow. ¡°Thank you for your time, I knew a friend of Palmira would be helpful. Know that if this works out, the Firozzi Famiglia will be in your debt.¡±


    With that Lorenzo made his way to the door, either missing or ignoring the effect his words had on the two girls.


    A friend, huh¡­


    Lenna glanced at her, hope and frustration warring across her face. Finally, she opened her mouth, and¡­


    ¡°I¡¯m going to head out,¡± Palmira told her old friend, swiftly following her new friends out the door. However, just at the threshold, she paused, stopping to look back for just a moment.


    ¡°¡­And maybe, when this is over¡­¡± she trailed off, before she shook her head, forcing away the thoughts that circled endlessly through her head.


    Later, she told herself, rushing out the door.


    Later.

 Chapter 30 - The Citadel of Lava

    Chapter 30 ¨C The Citadel of Lava


    At the center of Iscrimo sat the heart of the ancient volcano. A massive lake of lava endlessly bubbling to the surface, the flood of which was only held at bay by the hundreds of canals directing the molten rock throughout the city. Jutting out of the center of that lake of hellfire was the l''Insieme, an ancient castle of obsidian pillars and marble statues which towered over the rest of the city, connected to the mainland by only a thin basalt bridge.


    In ancient times it had been a fortress that the Volans had used to fight the Dwarves and later the Horrors. It was then used as a palace for the local governor, until the empire fell and the city declared itself a republic, whereupon it was then converted into the imposing Town Hall of Iscrimo.


    And so it was named l''Insieme Fuso di Iscrimo, the Fused Council of Iscrimo.


    At least, that¡¯s what the plaque next to the entrance says.


    ¡°I cannot believe we have to wait in line for this,¡± Chiara grumbled, glaring with narrow eyes at the crowd of people in front of them, as though that would somehow make the line move faster. ¡°We are wasting so much time.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just until we get to the guardpost,¡± Lorenzo consoled her, in a way that would have been more reassuring if they hadn¡¯t been there an hour already. ¡°We¡¯re almost there, just be patient.¡±


    ¡°I am being patient,¡± she ground out through the scraping of crystalline teeth. ¡°I am being very, very patient.¡±


    Palmira glanced up at them, checking to make sure that Chiara wasn¡¯t about to kill anyone, before tuning the two of them back out and turning back to the plaque. It was one of several they¡¯d passed so far, each with some new fun fact about the city written alongside a carved diagram. This one showed a scaled down version of the l''Insieme fending off an army of dwarves, the humans looking suitably heroic and the dwarves suitably monstrous.


    ¡®Query,¡¯ Malocchio spoke up, turning her attention to the cursed mace on her waist. ¡®We are confused. Are those creatures on the picture supposed to be dwarves? They do not look like the ones We have seen before.¡¯


    Palmira glanced back at the plaque, squinting at the carving. There was no color and it was so small that it was hard to tell, but she was pretty sure they were dwarves, what with them being short and all. Sure, they had what looked like flaming eyes and claws, but that was probably just the artist trying to make the dwarves look bad. Or maybe these were supposed to be Horrors, not dwarves, and she¡¯d just assumed?


    Dang it, now she was confusing herself.


    ¡°Morte, am I seeing things? Those are supposed to be dwarves, right?¡±


    ¡°¡­Eh? Maybe?¡± her staff gave the impression of shrugging. ¡°I mean, they look kind of like Horrors to me, but they could also be dwarves. Hell, if you squint they could even just be humans. I don¡¯t think the artist really knew what they were going for here.¡±


    Palmira frowned, only to nearly jump as Chiara grabbed her elbow, dragging her forward as the line surged again.


    With one last scowl back at the unclear plaque, she put it out of her mind, instead following the others as they slowly made their way to the front of the line.


    It wasn¡¯t until the sun began to dip below the mountains that they finally made it to the guardhouse, a set of two black towers and a solid basalt wall that blocked the l''Insieme off from the rest of the city. The guard who waved them forward was, ironically, a dwarf, who took them in with narrowed eyes.


    ¡°State yer name and business, brats,¡± the dwarf demanded briskly, glancing them over. ¡°Why are ye visiting l''Insieme Fuso today?¡±


    Lorenzo stepped forward, showing the guard the coin Lenna had given them. ¡°We¡¯re here to meet with Andrea del Loretti, on behalf of Dante Cadorna of the Rosa Dominae for the purpose of the recent¡­ uh¡­ incident. We¡¯re gathering information for the trial, so that we can clear our guildmaster¡¯s name.¡±


    The dwarf gave them a single raised eyebrow, before stepping back and whispering through one of the tower windows. After a swift back and forth, something was exchanged through the window and he turned back to them, handing Lorenzo three thin silver necklaces.


    ¡°These will get ye into the l''Insieme,¡± he told them. ¡°Make sure ye wear them at all times, or else ye¡¯ll be arrested and most likely executed for trespassing. Immediately head in and speak to a servant inside, and don¡¯t go anywhere unaccompanied, or else ye¡¯ll be arrested and likely executed for trespassing. And for the love of all that is holy, ask before leaving to use the restroom, or else ye will be arrested and likely executed for trespassing. Ye understand me?¡±


    ¡°We understand, thank you,¡± Lorenzo nodded, handing the necklaces to the two of them.


    ¡°Ye¡¯d better,¡± the dwarf grumbled, before waving them in. ¡°Just head on in, the necklaces will open it for ye. And make sure ye return the necklaces back here, or else¡ª¡±


    ¡°Let me guess,¡± Chiara rolled her eyes. ¡°We¡¯ll be arrested and executed?¡±


    ¡°Nay,¡± the dwarf shook his head. ¡°Just executed. Now, get a move on! There¡¯re people behind ye and I was supposed to go home two hours ago!¡±


    Getting rushed forward, the made their way to the great black wall that blocked off the bridge. At first it looked like nothing would happen as they came up to it, but once they were within arms reach of it the stone shifted, opening up into three holes just barely big enough for them to walk through. Once past, they sealed just as quickly, leaving only the lone bridge in front of them.


    The bridge, it should be noted, did not look particularly safe. It was a thin strip of basalt which stretched from the l''Insieme to where they stood, barely wide enough for two adults to walk side by side and lacking any handrails to stop people from slipping off. It¡¯s one saving grace was that it was obviously well maintained, though a closer look saw that it was sloped somewhat, likely in an attempt to cause anyone who moved to quickly to slip off into the molten stone below.


    Crossing the bridge to the fortress might have been a more harrowing endeavor for someone not immune to lava. As it was, Palmira found the experience somehow relaxing.


    Her friends were not quite so calm.


    But finally they made it to the other side, passing beneath ancient basalt doors larger than the inn they were currently staying at, engraved from top to bottom with the severe faces of ancient Volan legionaries which glared down at them like a council of angry gods.


    Once beyond the statues¡¯ ancient judgment they arrived at the foyer of the l''Insieme. It was a massive, vaulted room, the dome above held aloft by columns of exquisitely crafted silver statues of men in agony, piling on top of each other¡¯s shoulders in a cacophony of heads and limps. Beneath the dome were towering stained glass windows which depicted the history of the city, from the slaying of the first Dwarves to the war with the Horrors and the later war against the Feyfolk. At the back of the foyer was a mural depicting a Volan legionary devouring a dragon, lava drizzling from where he bit down to pool on the floor in a way reminiscent of blood.


    There were many things running through her mind upon seeing that mural, but despite everything else, she couldn¡¯t help but wonder¡­


    ¡°Do you think dragons taste good?¡±


    Chiara turned away from the mural to look at her. ¡°What.¡±


    ¡°Surprisingly enough, no,¡± Morte answered her. ¡°You¡¯d think it would taste like any other lizard¡ªa little gamey, sure, but fine enough¡ªbut no! The main issue is that they¡¯re inherently magical creatures, so they¡¯ve always got this nasty kick to them. Plus they¡¯re hell to cook, what with being immune to fire, so you¡¯d have a better time marinating them in lime juice then trying to cook them traditionally. Unless you¡¯re doing it for bragging rights, it¡¯s just not worth it.¡±


    ¡°What. Why do you know that?¡±


    ¡°Huh,¡± Palmira shrugged, putting that information with the rest of the obscure facts she learned from Morte. ¡°Neat.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± a young man with skin as pale as chalk walked up to them. The pitch-black formalwear he was draped in was almost fine enough to draw attention away from his horrible eyeliner. ¡°Are you here with the afternoon tour? We apologize, but that¡¯s been cancelled due to the¡­ situation¡­ that has developed. We are willing to reschedule, if you¡¯re willing to wait until this whole situation has blown over.¡±


    Lorenzo, after a moment of confusion, shook his head. ¡°Ah, no, we¡¯re here to meet with Signora Andrea dei Loretti,¡± he flashed him the stamped coin, plastering a winning smile on his face. The other man spent a moment longer than he needed to staring at that smile, before finally turning to look at the coin.


    After a moment a small frown grew on his face, before he smoothed it out with a nod. ¡°Of course, Signor, Signorine, if you would follow me.¡±


    The servant dragged them through dozens of equally ostentatious hallways, before finally they were ushered into a side room to, once again, wait.


    Chiara looked about ready to murder someone. Probably the servant, if he didn¡¯t stop staring at Lorenzo¡¯s butt.


    The waiting area they were led to wasn¡¯t half as grand as the foyer, though it was still fancier than anything the guild could¡¯ve done. Even this ¡®small¡¯ room was larger than half of their guildhall, decorated in the same darkly depressing architecture as the rest of the building, the grandest of which was a life-sized marble statue of a dwarf atop a mountain, whose heart was pierced by a gushing fountain of lava which illuminated the otherwise dark room.


    Seated in the waiting area were an elderly noble lady with an entourage of servants cluttering up the space, a portly merchant in silks in the corner reading a thin book, and a blood red dragon so big only its head could fit in the room.


    With the elderly lady and her countless servants taking up the majority of the space, the trio immediately made a beeline for one of the few unclaimed seats along the edge, the three of them squeezing into a slightly too small couch next to the dragon.


    Chiara and Lorenzo almost immediately got into a heated argument of what sounded like the latter trying to convince the former to once again be patient. Palmira, shoved to the side of their little bench, ended up within arms-reach of the dragon¡¯s head. Giving it a glance out of the corner of her eye, she noted its fabulous hat and extravagant dress-collar, before looking away and awkwardly trying to pretend it wasn¡¯t there. After all, it was only polite to mind your own business in a waiting room, even when the person sitting next to you was snoring so loudly you could feel your ribcage rattle in your chest.


    ¡°Huh,¡± Morte muttered. ¡°Is that a red dragon? You don¡¯t normally see those this far south. I wonder if he¡¯s a tourist?¡±


    ¡°Morte, please,¡± she muttered as quietly as she could.


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    ¡®Clarification,¡¯ Malocchio spoke up, sounding slightly confused. ¡®This is too big to be a dragon. It must be something different.¡¯


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry? Too big for a dragon? Haven¡¯t you ever seen¡ªhuh, I suppose you haven¡¯t. Have the only dragons you¡¯ve seen so far been the drakelings?¡±


    ¡®Confusion. There are other types?¡¯


    ¡°Huh. Yeah, kid, there are. I guess this is also your first time out of the city too. I¡¯m a bit surprised you haven¡¯t had any other questions.¡±


    ¡®Indifference. Ignoring minor aesthetic differences, a city is a city. We have been slightly warmer since arriving, but that is all.¡¯


    ¡°So you care about dragons but not distinct architectural and cultural styles? You really are a little kid.¡±


    Any further conversation was cut off by the head of the dragon shuddering next to her, a single flickering eyelid opening to glare down at them.


    ¡°Please, little boy,¡± the dragon suddenly rumbled with the twang of some incomprehensible accent. ¡°Cease thinking so loudly. Some of us are trying to sleep.¡±


    Palmira jumped in her seat, head snapping to the dragon in shock. ¡°You can hear him!?¡±


    ¡°Little boy!?¡± Morte yelped in full offense. ¡°I am not little! I am a perfectly average sized skull, thank you very much!¡±


    ¡°All of you humans are little to me,¡± the dragon yawned, the mere opening of its mouth causing the temperature of the room to raise several degrees. ¡°But I suppose you cannot help it. It is in your nature to be insignificant, after all.¡±


    ¡°Big talk coming from someone who¡¯s an endangered species!¡±


    The dragon¡¯s glare turned heated, and in that moment Palmira made a split second decision that she wouldn¡¯t be getting killed because of her staff¡¯s big mouth. Flipping him over, she shoved his skull beneath her chair, before trying to make herself as small and pitiful as possible.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Signor Dragon,¡± Palmira hurriedly apologized. ¡°Please don¡¯t take it personally, my staff¡¯s just a dumbass who can¡¯t keep his mouth shut. I¡¯ll be sure to properly punish him later.¡±


    ¡°MRGHLFFLNAFF!¡± Morte¡¯s mangled voice came from beneath the chair as he pretended she¡¯d muffled him. ¡°MGRAFT!¡±


    ¡°Shut it,¡± she hissed, knocking his skull against the floor.


    The dragon apparently found that amusing, chuckling lowly, the sound like the chittering of a thousand insects burrowing through her ribs. ¡°Your pitiful apology is accepted, child. But I would make certain you know who it is you speak to. I am the Great Ticino, Minister of the Canton of Le Colline. So, tell me, who are you? What reason do you have for sitting in my presence?¡±


    ¡°Um, well, I¡¯m Palmira,¡± she nodded at him awkwardly, ¡°And I¡¯m here because this was the only seat left?¡±


    The dragon¡ªTicino¡ªsomehow managed to give her a flat look. ¡°I have eyes, child. I meant why are you here, in this room, today?¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± Palmira winced, her hair momentarily lighting up in embarrassment. ¡°I¡¯m here about the, uh, the death of the late Duke. Our guildmaster was framed for the murder, see, and we¡¯re trying to clear his name.¡±


    The dragon stared at her unblinking, not a single muscle moving. And then, finally, he laughed. A deep, guttural sound which instantly drew the attention of everyone in the room.


    Palmira, flinching at the sudden attention in the room, leaned away, pressing into a confused Chiara¡¯s side in an attempt to seem smaller.


    ¡°Ah¡­ Child,¡± the dragon finally calmed down, his eye staring down at him with something that could almost be called sympathy. ¡°Let me save you some of your precious, limited time. You will not find your answers here. Just leave, and save yourself the hassle.¡±


    She flinched again, staring back in confusion. ¡°Wait, how¡­?¡±


    ¡°Minister Ticino,¡± the servant stepped into the room, getting the dragon¡¯s attention. ¡°She¡¯s ready to speak with you now.¡±


    ¡°Finally,¡± he rumbled. Then he did¡­ something.


    The dragon¡¯s eyes rolled back in his head, and his jaw opened so wide that his nose tapped the ceiling, allowing his tongue to roll out over his immaculately jagged teeth. A wet gurgle roiled up from the back of his throat, rumbling closer and closer until a bloody shadow emerged from beneath his uvula. The shadow coalesced into something vaguely humanoid, before color and life bled into it in waves. Within seconds, a well-dressed human man stood upon his tongue, draped in robes of red scales and topped with a fabulous red hat.


    ¡°Ugh,¡± the man grumbled, bringing up a hand to work at his jaw with an unsettling series of cracks. ¡°I do so despise this form. Why you humans insist on living in such miniscule hovels is beyond me.¡±


    With that said, the newly formed man finished adjusting his flesh, before stepping out of the dragon¡¯s mouth, following the visibly shaken servant out of the waiting room.


    The dragon, it should be noted, was still there, its mouth still open and unmoving, releasing a noxious stench into the room.


    ¡°¡­Well,¡± Morte finally broke their silence. ¡°I didn¡¯t know they could do that. You learn something new every day!¡±


    Palmira ignored him, instead holding a flame to her nose, trying in vain to hold off the stench with smoke.


    If he wasn¡¯t going to extrapolate on that, couldn¡¯t that self-righteous bastard have at least closed his mouth before leaving!?


    -<X>-


    Eventually, finally, the three of them were called into the backroom, passing by Minister Ticino, whose body looked half faded into shadow. He passed them with nary a glance, either ignoring or ignorant to the glares they were sending his way.


    Once they were through the door, they were taken down a series of even more hallways, two flights of stairs, and one more hallway, before they at last arrived at a surprisingly ordinary door squished between two statues of men crucified in agony.


    ¡°Please leave all your weapons outside before entering,¡± the servant told them, stepping in front of the door. ¡°I will watch over them until you are ready to leave.¡±


    ¡°Huh, I¡¯m surprised we didn¡¯t get told to do that before now,¡± Lorenzo frowned, before pulling out a series of knives from increasingly obscure places. Chiara simply handed over her rapier, while the servant took Morte and Malocchio with a grimace. Morte bemoaned being abandoned in the back of her mind, while Malocchio proved why he was her favorite by keeping his eyes closed and pretending to be just a normal mace.


    ¡°We know what adventurers are like.¡± Somehow, the tone the servant took when saying that made them uncomfortable, despite not knowing why. ¡°And regardless, the l''Insieme has its own ways of protecting us. This is merely an extra precaution due to¡­ recent events.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± Lorenzo grimaced, pulling the last knife from his shoe and placing it on top of the ankle high pile he¡¯d amassed. ¡°Well, that should be the last of them.¡±


    ¡°Excellent,¡± The servant gave them a swift nod, before gesturing to the door. ¡°Signora Loretti is waiting for you inside. Please, do not waste her time.¡±


    With that they were ushered in, Lorenzo swiftly taking the lead just as they¡¯d prepared. Palmira stepped behind him to the left, grateful that her mask meant nobody could see the burning hatred she was directing at the woman.


    Signora Loretti¡¯s office was of a more reasonable size than the previous rooms, though no less extravagant. Loretti herself sat behind a beautiful red cedar desk, well maintained and covered with various statues of incredible artistry. To her left a large window dominated the wall, opening out to the lava lake below, light shining through despite the late hour thanks to the lake of lava just below. The rest of the walls were decorated with some of the best paintings from some of the best artists in the world ranging from centuries old classics to some that she recognized from sketches in Lenna¡¯s workshop.


    ¡°Welcome,¡± Loretti smiled at them, her expression as soft as her eyes were sharp. ¡°I apologize for the wait, I¡¯ve just been so busy lately, you understand? Please, take a seat and get comfortable. You¡¯re here for Dante Cadorna, correct?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Lorenzo nodded. ¡°We¡¯re representatives of the Rosa Dominae Guild, here on behalf of our Guildmaster. In case you weren¡¯t informed yet, he¡¯s been wrongfully accused of murdering the late Duke, and we were hoping you might be able to shed some more light on the subject.¡±


    Chiara ignored her offer of seating and instead walked off to the side while they were talking, absently looking between the paintings to hide her scowl. Palmira instead sat down next to Lorenzo, forcing her hands beneath her legs to stop her from instinctively trying to strangle the woman.


    Huh, maybe it was a good thing that she¡¯d been forced to leave Morte outside.


    ¡°Ah yes, I heard about that,¡± she shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s such a shame that a young man of noble blood could have ended up in such a situation. Tragic, really.¡±


    Lorenzo leaned forward, eyes lighting up. ¡°So you agree he¡¯s innocent?¡±


    Loretti rolled her eyes, giving him a patient smile. ¡°Boy, everyone in the city knows he¡¯s innocent. No idiot would have been so bold as to be at the scene of the crime the moment it happened, especially not someone with followers loyal enough to be tearing up the city searching for clues of his innocence. No, he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.¡±


    ¡°Then why was he arrested?¡± Lorenzo frowned, confused. ¡°Surely, if it¡¯s that obvious, they wouldn¡¯t have even bothered with that, right?¡±


    ¡°Because they needed to arrest someone,¡± she sighed patiently, as though speaking to a particularly slow child. ¡°And nobody in this city cares enough about the Dukes enough to put any real effort into an investigation. This was obviously an assassination, the murderer covered his tracks well enough that the meagre investigation didn¡¯t turn up any clues, and so they arrested the first suspicious person they could get their hands on to take the blame. This isn¡¯t about justice, young man, it¡¯s about¡ª¡±


    ¡°You said ¡®his,¡¯¡± Lorenzo cut her off, narrowing his eyes at her from across the desk. ¡°Why did you say that? How exactly do you know the gender of the assassin?¡±


    There was a flash of something behind the woman¡¯s eyes, before she closed herself off, frowning in confusion. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ sorry? I didn¡¯t mean anything by it¡ªI just said ¡®his¡¯ because it¡¯s just what I defaulted to, I suppose. You know, you don¡¯t know who someone is, so you just default to saying ¡®him¡¯ or ¡®his.¡¯ There¡¯s really nothing special about that.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Lorenzo raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. ¡°Because I assure you, Signora, this is not my first language¡ªand when I studied it, my teacher specifically told me that Alovoans, especially, female Alovoans, will default to saying ¡®her¡¯ and ¡®she¡¯ over male pronouns.¡±


    Loretti¡¯s face grew increasingly closed off, a dark look beginning to settle across her face as she glared at him. ¡°What, exactly, are you implying, child?¡±


    Lorenzo locked eyes with her for a moment, before glancing off to the side with a shrug. ¡°Nothing, I suppose. Maybe I¡¯m just grasping at straws. You¡¯ll have to forgive me, it¡¯s been a long day, and I¡¯m not at my best right now. I guess I just came off a bit more judgmental than I meant too.¡±


    The woman blinked, clearly thrown off, before she recomposed herself admirably. ¡°¡­Of course. I understand, you must be quite exhausted. I can only imagine the stress you all are under right now.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me, Signora,¡± Chiara chimed in at that moment, pointing to one of the paintings on the wall. This one showed the Daughter rising from the grave with the Longinious in hand, the spear which killed her still wet with her own blood as it dripped onto the heads of the groveling masses at her feet. ¡°Is this a work by Lenna di Vittoria? I think I recognize the composition. I can¡¯t even imagine how much it must have cost.¡±


    Palmira frowned, confused. What was she doing?


    ¡°Indeed it is!¡± Loretti smiled, obviously happy to have changed to a safer topic. ¡°And much less then you¡¯d expect,¡± she lied through her teeth, as the three of them knew she was Lenna¡¯s Patron. Was that not well known, or was she just trying to make herself look more impressive to the foreigners? ¡°It¡¯s quite the beautiful work, is it not?¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± Chiara gave the woman a pleasant smile, which instantly told Palmira it was fake. Chiara never smiled pleasantly. ¡°Whenever I find works like this, I feel the need to take the time to admire them. They have such a bold composition!¡±


    ¡°That they do!¡± Loretti¡¯s eyes glimmered, her smile shifting to something that looked a little more real. ¡°Are you interested in the arts as well?¡±


    ¡°Of course! In fact,¡± Chiara stepped forward, slipping something out of her pocket and placing it on the desk. As her hand moved away, she revealed a small yet incredibly lifelike crystal mouse. It was curled up on itself with its tail in its mouth, tiny ruby eyes staring vacantly out into the world. ¡°Take a look at this! It¡¯s something I made myself out of pure diamond. I enjoy making them, but I unfortunately never seem to find people wealthy enough to buy them.¡±


    Loretti leaned forward, running a long black nail along its crystal spine. ¡°Pure diamond, you say? What a beautiful work of art. Say, what¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Chiara, Signora.¡±


    ¡°Chiara. How quaint. Well, Chiara, I have an offer for you. After you lose your current job, why don¡¯t you come work for me? I¡¯m certain I can put your talents to much better use.¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t I set you on fire?¡±


    Lorenzo slapped a hand over her mouth a moment before Chiara¡¯s could, the both of them giving her a panicked glare. Palmira ignored them, instead directing her own glare at Loretti, filling it with as much loathing as she possibly could.


    Not that the woman could tell, what with the mask and all.


    ¡°I apologize, Signora,¡± Chiara replied through clenched teeth. ¡°My duties to my Famiglia are too important for me to give up right now. Your offer is certainly generous, but not currently viable.¡±


    ¡°Another time then,¡± she shrugged breezily, leaning back in her chair.


    ¡°However, as an apology¡ªor, perhaps, a sample¡ªwhy don¡¯t you keep the mouse? I¡¯m certain you could put it to better use than I could.¡±


    ¡°Well, if you¡¯re certain,¡± Loretti picked it up daintily, before moving it further down her desk, away from them. ¡°But since you¡¯re so interested in my art, why don¡¯t I show you some more of my collection? I¡¯m positive it will inspire you to even greater heights!¡±


    They didn¡¯t get any more information out of her after that. No more slip ups, no more shifty glances, not even anything else about the trial. Just art, art, and more art for the rest of their time in her office. It was, infuriatingly, actually kind of interesting.


    But eventually their time was up, and with an air of exhausted resignation, they were escorted out of the l''Insieme and back into the city, having accomplished barely anything the whole day.


    Yet despite that, Chiara''s small, smug smile never left her face.

 Chapter 31 - Thirty Blind Mice

    Chapter 31 ¨C Thirty Blind Mice


    Crystal ears twitched in an empty room. Then a nose, and then a tail. Ruby eyes glinted, reflecting the dim light of distant lava as it took in its surroundings. For a moment it remained still, listening for even the slightest hint of movement.


    It was not quiet. This building was never quiet, a hive of activity no matter day or time. But the noise was distant, and the tinkling of crystalline paws was consumed by plush carpet and silken tapestries.


    A diamond mouse skittered across the desk, scampering across the room without a sound. Sharp claws dug into ornate drapery as it climbed up to the windowsill. It slowed down as it reached the glass, pausing to stare at its own distorted reflection.


    There was a pulse that ran through it, that ran through the mouse on the other side of the glass. Its Mistress ran a transparent finger across its edges, pulling beyond the mirror and into reality. Hushed words spoke into false ears, and with a whisper a spell was cast.


    Crystals naturally mirrored themselves. Structural lattices repeating endlessly in simple geometric shapes, strength born from the same lines they shattered along. With each shattering they grew smaller, and with each reflection less precise, their value dropping with their rarity. Each new gemstone worse than the last. Darker, cloudier, smaller, until all that remained was mere fragments of glass.


    But a diamond is a diamond, regardless of size or shape.


    Mirrors of the original mouse pulled themselves from beyond the glass, cloudy crystal mice pouring down from the windowsill to the floor below, hiding their miniscule bodies in shadowy corners and beneath ornate furniture. The strongest dug into the stone, carving new paths to hide within the walls, while the weakest copies fled beneath the doors, skittering into new rooms, where they cloned worse copies of themselves to spread even further. Some jumped into pools of perpetually molten lava to hide, only their ears or eyes or noses poking out, while others jumped onto chandeliers to hide among the ornate crystals.


    The moon rose high in the sky as reflections of diamond mice spread throughout the fortress, slipping into cracks long forgotten and hiding in rooms long thought safe. Countless tiny spies, near worthless alone, but together an unending legion.


    With its work done, the original jumped down from the windowsill. With muffled skittering it leaped back onto the desk, returning to its original spot amongst the other trinkets. There it settled back into its original position, its eyes growing once more dull and its limbs falling stiff and unresponsive. And there, it began to wait.


    After all, where better for a spy to hide than in plain sight?


    -<X>-


    Palmira and Lorenzo sat across from Chiara as she stared off into nothingness, her eyes wide and glassy.


    ¡°Is she okay?¡± Palmira muttered the question, not taking her eyes off her friend. When they¡¯d finally explained to her what they¡¯d done, she¡¯d been annoyed they hadn¡¯t told her. But apparently she¡¯d been too distracted talking with the dragon to listen to them plot, and they didn¡¯t have time after to explain the plan to her. ¡°She hasn¡¯t said anything in a while.¡±


    ¡°Let me check,¡± Lorenzo leaned forward, quickly snapping his fingers in front of her face. She jumped, giving him a glare, before leaning back to zone out again. ¡°Yeah, she¡¯s fine.¡±


    ¡°Shut up. It¡¯s just a bit hard to understand what¡¯s going on,¡± she muttered, fingers twitching erratically and eyes darting in two different directions. ¡°I think I made too many copies.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re alright?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m good,¡± she whispered. ¡°Just¡­ be quiet for a bit. I need to focus. The copies aren¡¯t as good as the original, but I think I¡¯m¡­ I can focus on a couple at a time. They aren¡¯t that complex, there¡¯s just a lot of them.¡±


    Palmira wanted to push further, but Lorenzo pulled her away gently, giving their friend some space. Far enough away that they couldn¡¯t distract her, he sighed, running a hand through his leafy dreadlocks. ¡°I don¡¯t think she¡¯s going to be of much more use tonight. She hasn¡¯t done this in a long time, it¡¯s not surprising she¡¯s struggling.¡±


    ¡°What, exactly, is she doing?¡± Palmira asked, frowning worriedly at her slumped form.


    ¡°You know she makes those crystal animals?¡± At her nod, he continued. ¡°Well, the way her magic works, she¡¯s not actually ¡®creating¡¯ those constructs. Her family all practices crystal magic, but they don¡¯t¡­ I don¡¯t know how to explain this right. It¡¯s like, just because they all use crystal magic, that doesn¡¯t mean they all practice it the same way. Does that make sense?¡±


    ¡°I get it, it¡¯s her Philosophy,¡± Palmira nodded, remembering Morte¡¯s first lesson. ¡°Like how I see ¡®Fire¡¯ as ¡®Movement,¡¯ she sees her crystals as something else?¡±


    ¡°¡­Huh,¡± he muttered, rubbing his chin. ¡°That¡¯s a surprisingly simple way of describing it. But yeah, that works. The way Chiara sees crystals¡­ I guess you could say it¡¯s like a ¡®mirror.¡¯¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a mirror,¡± Chiara¡¯s strained voice called out to them from across the room. ¡°It¡¯s a ¡®Reflection.¡¯ A mirror is too clean, too simple. Crystals are thousands of tiny mirrors, reflecting everything in every direction. You don¡¯t see yourself in them¡ªyou see what the crystal sees, and though that¡¯s not total truth it is individual truth. And that has power all its own.¡±


    ¡°¡­Right, what she said,¡± Lorenzo nodded as she fell quiet once again, concentrating back on her mice. ¡°It¡¯s complex, but when she calls forth her crystal animals, she¡¯s not ¡®creating¡¯ them, she¡¯s pulling up a ¡®Reflection¡¯ of that animal through the lens of a crystal. It¡¯s why they¡¯re so weird, but still recognizably animals. And then if she can get them in front of some kind of reflective surface¡ªlike, say, a window¡ªshe can pull up another copy, ad infinitum until the power runs too thin and it all shatters.¡±


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Fascinating,¡± Morte spoke up, surprise coloring his voice. ¡°I¡¯m shocked there was something so complex behind her magic. I assumed she was a brute who was simply animating fancy golems.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, don¡¯t let her hear you say that. Apparently that¡¯s exactly what one of her brothers started doing after she figured it out, and she¡¯s had a chip on her shoulder ever since.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, my lips are sealed.¡±


    ¡®Correction. You do not have lips.¡¯


    ¡°Figure of speech, kid. Don¡¯t take everything so literally.¡±


    ¡°Is there anyway to help her, exactly?¡± Palmira asked, watching as Chiara suddenly twitched, turning to stare at something only she could see.


    ¡°Probably not,¡± Lorenzo shrugged. ¡°She kind of brought this on herself, making so many copies. Maybe if you could somehow see what she sees, but neither of us have that power.¡±


    Palmira frowned, anxiously tapping her fingers on Morte¡¯s staff. Her brow furrowed, before she slowly turned to the window, and the night sky beyond it. ¡°¡­I have an idea. But I¡¯m not sure if I¡¯ll be able to get it to work.¡±


    ¡°Wait, really?¡±


    ¡°Oh ho! Are you thinking what I¡¯m thinking, my apprentice?¡±


    ¡°I think I am,¡± she muttered, practically running over to the window. Throwing the blinds open wide, she squinted up at the smog filled sky. More stars stood out this time, and the waning moon hung low above the buildings. It wasn¡¯t a perfect night, but it was better than she could have hoped in this city.


    With a calming breath she held up her staff and began to focus. Staring at the largest cluster of stars, she lit a tiny flame, forcing it to give off as much smoke as it could. Watching as it mixed with the natural smog, she thought on what she wanted.


    She wanted to see into the future. She wanted to help Chiara. She wanted to help her with whatever she was doing with her reflections. She wanted¡­


    Slowly, the stars above began to twist and shudder as their light was warped by the smoke. Lines were drawn across the sky, morphing until they formed¡­


    ¡°Um,¡± she called out behind her, not taking her eyes off the sky. ¡°Chiara? Is there anything that looks like a spider over there?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± There was a moment of silence, before the sound of quiet cursing echoed behind her. ¡°How did you see that?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m preforming divination!¡± she called back, her heart pounding in her chest as she wondered if this skill would finally be able to do something worthwhile. ¡°I can see into the future! I can help you with¡­ um, whatever you¡¯re doing!¡±


    ¡°Well, can you see any further? I almost got caught!¡±


    ¡°¡­Uh, no. That¡¯s as far as I can. Also, it looks like there¡¯s now an eye? Wait, no, that¡¯s a spiral, not an eye! ¡­Does that help?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, barely!¡± There was another round of swearing, before she managed to get herself back under control. ¡°What else do you see?¡±


    The smoke flickered suddenly, starlight shifting. ¡°Three¡­ men? It looks like they¡¯re beneath a circle. Wait, that¡¯s the moon!¡±


    ¡°I see it! Wow. I didn¡¯t need to see that. What next?¡±


    The stars were now shifting almost too quickly to keep up, images forming and warping with each second. ¡°Um¡­ it looks like a cat? No, a snake with a cat¡¯s head!¡±


    ¡°What? ¡­Oh, I see. Faster, if you can, I just lost one.¡±


    ¡°Crap. Uh, a woman dancing!¡±


    ¡°Found her. Next?¡±


    ¡°Two mice and a dogs head!¡±


    ¡°See it, next!¡±


    ¡°A mountain! No, wait, a volcano!¡±


    ¡°No shit, I didn¡¯t need divination for that. Next!¡±


    ¡°A dwarf falling over!¡±


    ¡°Dodged. Next!¡±


    ¡°A dragon!¡±


    ¡°A dragon¡­? Shit. I just lost several mice. And¡ªthere¡¯s three more. I think we¡¯ve been found out¡ªI¡¯m shattering all active copies. Ending¡ªfuck!¡±


    Chiara suddenly flinched, rocking back in her seat and slapping her hands over her eyes.


    ¡°Are you okay!?¡± Lorenzo rushed over to her, stopping her from completely falling over. ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ fine¡­¡± Chiara grunted, rubbing her eyes with a scowl. ¡°I just didn¡¯t expect for the connection to be cut so suddenly. I had to shatter most of the visible copies, but I kept enough hidden that they shouldn¡¯t be able to find. I¡¯m more worried about the main one¡ªit¡¯s acting as a relay between me and the copies. If whoever smashed them knows where it is, I¡¯ll lose everything I planted.¡±


    ¡°Do you need to hide it?¡± he asked worriedly. ¡°Do you think they knew it was us?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± Palmira called back, having never taken her eyes off the sky. ¡°The dragon¡¯s turned around and slunk away. I¡­ don¡¯t think it cares enough to follow through. Maybe. Hopefully.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t comfort me as much as you might think it does,¡± Chiara grumbled, pushing stiff strands of hair away from her face. With a grunt she moved over to the bed, falling heavily onto it. ¡°Not that we can do much right now. We¡¯ll have to wait and see, I suppose.¡±


    Palmira grimaced, but with Chiara stopping the stars seemed to settle back into their normal patterns, leaving her with nothing else to go off of. ¡°I guess so.¡±


    ¡°What did you see,¡± Lorenzo pressed, coming up to sit on the side of the bed. ¡°Anything important?¡±


    ¡°Nothing yet,¡± she grunted, rubbing her eyes. ¡°This was mostly just getting them into position. I don¡¯t know if we¡¯ll even learn anything useful from this, but if anyone says anything incriminating over there, I¡¯ll catch it. Probably. So long as they say it near my mice, at least.¡±


    ¡°Can you handle keeping that up for days?¡±


    ¡°Of course!¡± she scoffed, before wincing. ¡°I mean, I¡¯m not moving them anymore. The only sensory information I¡¯m getting from them anymore is sight and sound, so it¡¯s no longer as overwhelming. So long as I don¡¯t fall asleep, I won¡¯t miss anything.¡±


    Lorenzo gave her a flat look. ¡°The trial is in three¡ªtwo days. Are you really saying you¡¯re not planning to sleep for two days straight?¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t be that long,¡± she waved him off with a confidence she obviously didn¡¯t feel. ¡°Only until someone says something incriminating. ¡­Well, incriminating in regards to the case. It hasn¡¯t even been an hour yet and I¡¯ve already seen enough stuff to blackmail half the aristocracy. Heh, maybe that can be our backup plan. What do you think?¡±


    ¡°I think that¡¯s the kind of thing that¡¯ll get us a shallow grave, not a court case,¡± he sighed, before standing up. ¡°That said, I know you well enough to know when you¡¯re being stubborn. I¡¯ll head downstairs and grab you some coffee. If they have any, at least.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯d better,¡± Chiara mumbled, further pressing both palms into her eyes. ¡°With what we¡¯re paying¡­ ow¡­¡±


    ¡°Do you need anymore help?¡± Palmira fretted, shuffling over to her friend.


    The other girl just waved her off, shaking her head as slowly as she could. ¡°You¡¯ve helped enough tonight. Just¡­ ugh¡­ stay quiet and let me concentrate¡­¡±


    Palmira frowned, but nodded, awkwardly settling down on the edge of the bed. It was times like this she wished she was something other than a fire mage, if only to help ease the pain her friend was in.


    Well, that¡¯s what the Cosmology was for. And despite herself, she couldn¡¯t help but smile at the thought. It had taken a while, and she still wasn¡¯t all that good at it, but her first spell had finally been useful!


    It probably wasn¡¯t going to be any more use for a while after this, but she¡¯d long since learned to take what wins she could. And, for all that it barely accomplished anything, she still counted this as a win. Step one of freeing the guildmaster was complete.


    Now to figure out what step two was.

 Interlude XII - Hark How the Bells

    Interlude XII ¨C Hark How the Bells


    Johanna


    Things were falling apart.


    Now, that wasn¡¯t an unusual state of affairs. Johanna had spent the past three hundred years living amongst humans, so she¡¯d gotten used to the feeling.


    Most humans these days don¡¯t even remember the powerful Empire she did. Back then they ruled most of the continent, from Castell¨¢ to the Volkihe, over men and elves and dwarves alike. It¡¯d be enough to make a grown woman cry, if she could bring herself to care that is.


    Johanna had fought in the Fourth Sovereignty Clash, the First and Second Crusades, the Demon Wars, and even in the recent Pumilios War. She¡¯d fought as a priestess, a crusader, a paladin, and then a landsknecht. In the service of four different emperors, one empress, and the Lady Pontiff herself.


    And now here she was, in a bar, drowning her ghosts in shitty beer while waiting for her leader to show up and tell her she¡¯s fired.


    The familiarity of it all was almost comforting.


    Someone slid into the seat beside her, and she raised an eyebrow at the sight of Lorenzo ordering another cup of coffee. That had to be his¡ªwhat was that, his tenth cup? Had he even slept last night?


    Also, who was paying for that? He¡¯d better not have been throwing them on her tab again!


    THUMP


    Johanna leaned around the pretty boy, her other eyebrow joining the first as she took in the newbie. She looked like she¡¯d barely been able to climb into her seat before she passed out on the table, small trails of smoke rising from her mouth.


    ¡°Palmira,¡± Lorenzo sighed, rubbing his forehead. ¡°Are you okay? You know you could have stayed in the room, right?¡±


    ¡°¡­Mrgh¡­¡± the newbie barely managed to open a single bloodshot eye, glaring at nothing. ¡°¡­The Horrors dig endless cities in the dark depths to hide from the eyes of hungry stars.¡±


    Lorenzo gave her a long, exhausted look. ¡°¡­What?¡±


    ¡°¡­Co¡­ffee¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­You know what? Sure. I¡¯m not awake enough to begin to understand what you just said.¡±


    Johanna watched them curiously, wondering what they got up to last night. The pretty boy may have looked less exhausted, but there was a reason she called him pretty boy. Bastard of a bard woke up in a field every morning looking nicer than she did with an hour¡¯s effort.


    Not that she bothered most days. Magic could be a bitch when it started warping your body, but a natural snow-white complexion was the kind of thing most mages her age killed for. Out of jealousy, mostly.


    Where was she? Right, the kids. Staying up late, coming down together, pretty boy¡­


    Leaning over, she elbowed Pretty Boy and gave him the kind of sleezy smile that always made the Fraud blow a gasket. ¡°So~ How was she?¡±


    Pretty Boy seemed to barely register her words, before slowly shrugging his shoulders, taking a mechanical sip of his coffee. Beside him, the newbie seemed to have completely passed out, having missed the arrival of her own cup. ¡°She was better than I expected. Palmira is still new to everything, but she¡¯s got some tricks up her sleeve that caught me by surprise.¡±


    ¡°Wow~ And she really kept you up all night?¡±


    ¡°That was mostly Chiara,¡± he grunted, missing how her smile grew even sleezier with every word. Damn, Pretty Boy got lucky~ ¡°She¡¯s been working the hardest, so after this I¡¯ll be bringing her breakfast.¡±


    Aftercare too? Ah, if only she were a few centuries younger.


    Pretty Boy stopped talking after that, instead focusing on chugging his expensive, luxury drink in a single gulp. With that done he stacked a platter of cheeses and figs before heading back upstairs, snatching Palmira¡¯s coffee along the way.


    The girl herself hadn¡¯t moved an inch the whole time, still passed out on the bar counter.


    Ah, she was going to have some back pain later. It was enough for a twinge of sympathy to run through her, as memories of her own misspent youth racked phantom pains through her spine.


    Not enough sympathy to wake her up, though. Newbie¡¯s been getting too much special treatment from the guild, in her opinion. The girl wouldn¡¯t get anywhere if the others in the guild kept coddling her.


    Plus, she made Johanna pay the whole tab after their last bar fight, which was just rude. Everyone knew you split those fifty-fifty. It was just the polite thing to do.


    ¡°Psst! Hey!¡±


    Johanna blinked in surprise, wondering who was knocking on the doors of her mind. Cautiously lowering her defenses just enough to open a dialogue¡ªand only because she had an idea of who this might be¡ªshe replied, ¡°Who the fuck are you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m Morte!¡± a sort of cackling amusement danced circles within her skull. ¡°And I¡¯m Palmira¡¯s staff!¡±


    Taking a moment to process that, Johanna turned to look at the newbie. More specifically, the creepy skull-headed staff she carried around everywhere that everyone politely pretended didn¡¯t exist.


    You know, back in the day, she¡¯d been a holy woman. That part of her was telling her the thing was a crime against nature and needed to be purged.


    Luckily, she¡¯d drowned that part of her under enough alcohol to kill a dragon decades ago, so she just shrugged her shoulders. ¡°Well, nice to properly meet you, Morte. What do you want?¡±


    ¡°Straight to the point, huh? Well, you see, I have some business I need to take care of in this city, and it¡¯s not the type of thing I¡¯d be taking a kid to go deal with. So, since you don¡¯t seem to be doing anything, I was hoping you¡¯d be willing to help a fella out.¡±


    ¡°Oh? And why can¡¯t you just do this yourself?¡±


    ¡°Gee, I wonder,¡± he drawled, and she got the sense he was gesturing to himself. The immobile staff. Right. ¡°And don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m not doing anything particularly evil¡ªwell, okay, there will be a bit of Necromancy involved, but it¡¯s for a good cause, I swear! Pinkie promises and everything!¡±


    Johanna hummed, considering the matter. On the one hand, this was an obviously cursed staff asking her to perform necromancy. On the other hand, did she really care?


    More importantly, she eyed the staff for a different reason. She didn¡¯t have a catalyst¡ªshe was an elf, after all, not a human, so she didn¡¯t need a crutch to use magic¡ªbut that didn¡¯t mean she couldn¡¯t see the appeal. A catalyst was, at its core, a power amplifier. And that one looked particularly powerful.


    She wondered how it ended up in the newbie¡¯s hands. A hand-me-down, perhaps? She wasn¡¯t competent to have made it herself or killed someone for it, after all.


    ¡°¡­Alright,¡± she said at last, having run the thought through her head enough times. She was even probably sober, which showed this was some good decision making! ¡°But on one¡ªtwo conditions. First, I want to take you for a spin after. I¡¯ve never used a staff before; it sounds like fun.¡±


    ¡°It does indeed! It¡¯s been a while since I¡¯ve been with an elf! And what¡¯s the other condition?¡±


    ¡°Huh? Oh, right. Uh, we don¡¯t do anything that¡¯ll get me arrested. I don¡¯t want to have to flee the country again, y¡¯know?¡±


    ¡°An easy enough compromise. It¡¯s not like this is technically illegal anyways!¡±


    ¡°Technically legal¡¯s the best kind of legal,¡± she nodded, slipping off her barstool to grab the staff. Unfortunately, something decided to interrupt.


    ¡®Disagreement,¡¯ the newbie¡¯s mace shuddered, and oh, would you look at that, it had eyes. Gross. Also, why? ¡®Our Lady would not agree to this.¡¯


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, kid, she doesn¡¯t have to know. We¡¯ll be quick, in and out, twenty minutes at most!¡±


    ¡®Derision. We do not believe you.¡¯


    ¡°Ah, Palmira¡¯s been rubbing off on you, huh? For shame, that the apprentices would team up against the master¡­¡±


    ¡°Hey,¡± Johanna butted in, lifting up the staff to look it in its creepy empty eye sockets. ¡°What¡¯s going on here? Is that thing gonna try and stop us?¡±


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Oh, no, he can¡¯t. After all, he doesn''t have legs!¡±


    ¡°Then let¡¯s get moving,¡± she shrugged, slipping the staff under arm and marching her way out of the inn. ¡°I¡¯ve got a long day of drinking planned and I don¡¯t want to waste it listening to two crimes against nature argue.¡±


    ¡°But all I get to do these days is argue! Ah, whatever. Just follow my lead, we¡¯ll get there in no time!¡±


    With that they left Malocchio the mace alone at the bar, unable to do anything but watch as the elf stole his Lady¡¯s staff.


    ¡®Frustration. We wish We had limbs.¡¯


    -<X>-


    ¡®No time¡¯ was apparently an accurate assessment. As in, the staff had her stop immediately outside the inn, and then proceeded to point her in a direction that was making her reconsider this whole enterprise.


    ¡°The sewer?¡± she asked flatly.


    ¡°Of course! Where else did you expect us to go?¡± At her continued glare he relented, giving her the mental equivalent of a shrug. ¡°Look, it¡¯s either this or trying to convince one of the city guards to let you mess around under the city unsupervised. And trust me, you¡¯re going to want to be unsupervised for this.¡±


    Johanna took a moment to consider this. On the one hand, jumping into the sewers with a cursed staff was the kind of thing most people would call a bad idea. On the other hand, her whole life had been a string of bad ideas, and they hadn¡¯t led to her death yet. So this was probably fine.


    Hm. She was giving this too much thought. As her old mentor Leonardo once said, ¡°Thinking is for idiots who can¡¯t swing a sword.¡±


    A couple minutes later, ankle deep in boiling sewage water and by this point quite deep underground, she considered that line of reasoning might be why her old mentor was dead.


    ¡°Okay, take a left here¡ªno, wait, a right. That way¡¯s a dead end. After that, you¡¯ll want to go straight until you hear the ominous chanting¡ªthat¡¯s how you know you¡¯re going in the right direction.¡±


    Johanna followed the staff¡¯s words unthinkingly. This was because she couldn¡¯t see, what with being so far underground. Not that this was too uncommon for her¡ªher eyesight had been poor ever since her magic turned her eyeballs into snowballs. She could sort of still see, of course, but she relied more on her thermal senses these days to get around.


    Ah, there¡¯s the ominous chanting. So she was going the right way!


    ¡°Stop!¡± the staff commanded, and she stopped, glancing around the area curiously. There wasn¡¯t anything different that she could see with her thermal senses. Most of the heat blobs that represented people were high above her, with only a few distant lights far, far below her. ¡°We¡¯re here. This is where the hole is.¡±


    ¡°The hole?¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t you tell? There¡¯s a hole in the fabric of space-time here. Well, I say ¡®hole¡¯ because that¡¯s what it looks like, but it¡¯s really closer to a wound whose stitches have burst open.¡±


    Johanna frowned, squinting. Now that she was looking, there seemed to be something very cold in front of her. It was odd¡ªshe wasn¡¯t used to looking for cold things, as she¡¯d not felt the bite of winter since she was a child. And while this thing in front of her didn¡¯t look like it could accomplish that either¡­


    Well. It could probably come closer than anything else.


    The staff whistled, seeming impressed. ¡°Damn~ This hole is old. Like, old old. And it¡¯s shape¡­ I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if this is a remnant of the original attack that sliced this mountain in half! That¡¯s incredible!¡±


    ¡°What, that it¡¯s old?¡±


    ¡°No, you idiot! I mean that this a wound in the fabric of reality that¡¯s been festering here for millennia! What¡¯s incredible is the fact that it hasn¡¯t collapsed into a singularity or something equally awful in the thousands of years it¡¯s been sitting here. We¡¯re looking at a bona fide miracle right here. And not the Divine kind, I mean the ¡®oh god how has nobody noticed this was here for two thousand fucking years¡¯ kind of miracle.¡±


    ¡°I dunno. Maybe it only recently ended up like this?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s arguably worse! If this has been sitting here for thousands of years, then it¡¯s at least stable! If it¡¯s only recently ended up like this, then this whole city could be sitting on a ticking time bomb and nobody would know!¡±


    ¡°Well, we know?¡±


    ¡°Goddess alive, you¡¯re insufferable,¡± the staff sighed. ¡°I miss my apprentice already. Just point me at the hole.¡±


    Shrugging, Johanna did just that, pointing him towards the Cold.


    ¡°Good. Now, channel your magical energies into me, like you¡¯re casting a spell, but don¡¯t.¡±


    She nodded, bringing up the essence of Winter which had clung to her since childhood. It came to her with the sounds of children laughing. The jingling of bells as reindeer knights rode past. The crisp smell of snow, chasing away all thoughts as she fell into a white world of her memories, a child who never grew up wishing the angels she crafted in her garden could one day take flight.


    Johanna didn¡¯t cast a spell, simply letting the feeling suffuse her soul. And then, with an almost gentle tugging, her magic was pulled through the staff.


    The temperature of the sewer plummeted, the stone cracking from the sudden drop as the boiling sewage water froze in an instant. Snowflakes formed and began to dance as a miniature blizzard burst to life in front of her, the ice and mist consuming everything in an instant.


    Had she been anyone else, she would have been blinded. But she wasn¡¯t, and so the winter elf watched the wings of angels beat to life from snow and fog, and from their soft feathers countless hands grew with six fractal fingers. They reached out to the void that wasn¡¯t a void and plucked at strings she couldn¡¯t see, bringing about a chorus of singing children to join with the otherworldly chanting. And slowly, one by one, the Children subsumed the Others¡¯ song, changing to something that was as alien as what it replaced.


    Then, with what could be called a sigh of contentment, the song ended. The hole in front of her deflated, sealing itself shut. The blizzard fizzled out into slush and mist, and the frozen sewage at her feet cracked and melted.


    And Johanna stood there, unmoving, tears freezing as they ran down her face and creating icicles under her chin.


    ¡°Ah, there we go, good as new! Now maybe the kid won¡¯t have to deal with as many nightmares. Hm? Uh, hey ice lady, you doing okay?¡±


    The ice lady blinked slowly, before taking a deep breath. And immediately regretted it, as the smell of sewage instantly assaulted her nose.


    ¡°That was beautiful,¡± she whispered softly, still staring at the empty space in front of her. ¡°Can¡­ can we do it again?¡±


    ¡°Well, we haven¡¯t finished with your end of the bargain, so sure! Not that there¡¯s anything to use it on, so it¡¯ll just sit there looking pretty.¡±


    Johanna took another breath, clutching the staff almost possessively. ¡°What¡­ what would it take for you to come with me instead of the newbie?¡±


    ¡°Nothing you could afford, ice lady.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± She turned to stare him in his empty eyes. ¡°I¡¯ll do anything.¡±


    ¡°Look, ice lady, Palmira¡¯s my apprentice. The apple of my non-existent eye, you might even say. You, on the other hand, are more like a one-night stand.¡±


    ¡°Can we bump it up to a two-night stand?¡±


    ¡°Nah, you aren¡¯t hot enough. Heh, hot enough, get it?¡±


    As Johanna still looked determined, Morte sighed. ¡°Whatever. Just start casting your spells so we can get back to the others. And if you¡¯re thinking about pulling something sneaky on me, remember¡ªyou can¡¯t use me without my permission. So don¡¯t even think about it. Be nice to Palmira and maybe she¡¯ll let you work with me some more later.¡±


    With a slow, almost painful nod, Johanna sighed. There was a big part of her that just wanted to take the staff and damn the consequences, but he was right in that they could only cast those types of spells together. It was frustrating, but if it was choice between ¡®maybe doing this again¡¯ and ¡®never doing this again,¡¯ she knew what she¡¯d pick every time.


    And once she got back she was buying her own catalyst, because if this wasn¡¯t limited to just Morte then she¡¯d been missing out for centuries.


    Squaring her shoulders, she brought the staff back up, and began to cast.


    -<X>-


    Palmira woke up to chaos. There was annoyed shouting of people she groggily recognized as the bartender and the owner, along with a bunch of other people she didn¡¯t know, and the absolute worst odor she¡¯d ever smelt. Also, her back hurt so much.


    That¡¯s what she got for falling asleep at the bar, she assumed.


    ¡°Good morning, sleeping beauty!¡± Morte laughed in her mind, helping her wake up. ¡°Well, it¡¯s afternoon by this point, but that¡¯s just semantics.¡±


    ¡°What¡­¡± she grunted, wincing as she tried to wipe dried drool off her cheek. ¡°Why¡¯s everyone shouting?¡±


    ¡°Ah, it¡¯s fine, it doesn¡¯t involve you. So it¡¯s not important!¡±


    ¡®Correction. It is very important. The sewers are flooding, and it is Morte¡¯s fault.¡¯


    ¡°Morte,¡± she groaned. ¡°What did you do? How did you even do it?¡±


    ¡°Wow, you really just believed him without hesitation huh. And for your information, I did nothing.¡±


    ¡°Then who¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re awake!¡± Palmira jumped in her seat as Johanna suddenly invaded her personal space, snow white complexion practically glowing with happiness. ¡°Wunderbar! You don¡¯t know how long I¡¯ve been waiting! Ah, wait a moment!¡±


    Under Palmira¡¯s confused stare the elf slid over a platter stacked high with some of the most expensive foods she¡¯d never eaten, along with a mug of coffee thrice as large as anything Lorenzo got her and filled to the brim with enough sugar to kill a goose-hydra.


    ¡°For you!¡± The woman¡¯s radiant grin never left her face, even as she practically forced a fortune¡¯s worth of food under her chin.


    Now, while Palmira was very confused, she was also never one to turn down free food. So, taking a long draw of coffee to hide her expression, she glanced around the bar to see if there was anything that could explain what was going on.


    There was nothing, beyond confirming that the bar was indeed flooding and that some other customers were arguing with the owners while they tried and failed to keep the boiling sewer water from pouring any further into the room. Because it was boiling, and everyone besides her and Johanna were practically on top of the tables trying to avoid it.


    Hm. She should probably do something about that.


    Grabbing Morte, she lowered the end of his staff until it just barely broke the surface of the water. Then, she pulled off one of her earliest experiments with magic, just on a much larger scale than what she was used to.


    See, back when she was on the streets, she¡¯d needed to boil their drinking water to clean it. But, she¡¯d also need to cool it down so that her friends didn¡¯t have to drink boiling water. That led her to a rather simple solution¡ªif movement created heat, then it stood to reason that stopping movement did the opposite.


    It wasn¡¯t until she¡¯d met Morte that he¡¯d confirmed that for her, which filled her with a gratified sort of pride. And with that feeling of pride, she flexed her will throughout the water, pulling on the movement of the heat and stopping it dead.


    The sudden lukewarmness of the water surprised the rest of the bar, but the owner swiftly jumped in, running to plug up everywhere the water was getting in while the bartender told her she¡¯d be eating free there for the rest of her stay.


    Hell yeah.


    Johanna impatiently waited for her to finish, before swiftly recapturing her attention. ¡°So, I was wondering,¡± she continued with that overly friendly voice that made a part of Palmira want to punch her. Again. ¡°Would you mind if I borrowed your staff for a bit? Just for a couple hours¡­ oh, or maybe days? Don¡¯t worry, I promise you¡¯ll get him back.¡±


    Palmira blinked. Was she talking about Morte? What? Why?


    ¡°Say no!¡± said staff hissed to her, not helping her confusion. ¡°For the love of all that is and isn¡¯t holy, don¡¯t let this crazy woman touch me!¡±


    A spiteful part of her almost said yes right there and then, but she pushed that down. Instead, she glanced down at the fancy food in front of her, and recognized it for the bribe it was. And, well¡­


    Free food was free food.


    ¡°Once we get back to the guild, maybe,¡± she compromised, ignoring Morte¡¯s groan of defeat. What in the world did she miss? ¡°We¡¯re too busy right now for me to give up my staff, you know?¡±


    Johanna¡¯s face fell, but she nodded despondently, like a kid who¡¯d just been told they¡¯d have to wait to play with their new toys.


    ¡®Concern. We agree with Morte. Do not let this Elf near Us.¡¯


    And you know what? Palmira agreed.


    Free food or not, this woman was crazy.

 Chapter 32 - Red Dragon, Blue Dragon

    Chapter 32 ¨C Red Dragon, Blue Dragon


    It took most of the morning for the authorities to return the city to some semblance of order. Over a dozen city blocks flooded with water that ranged from merely ¡®hot¡¯ to boiling. Perhaps a normal city might have handled it better, but Iscrimo was built to combat lava and Horrors, not sudden floods. Despite that, once the problem was found the sewers stopped flooding and they were able to contact the local mages guild to get the rest of the water safely removed.


    Apparently what had happened was a near quarter mile of the sewers had been frozen shut seemingly overnight. Despite all this, nobody had any idea how this could have happened. Theories ranged from a freak accident to a new weapon devised by the Horrors to destroy the city.


    In other news, Johanna was now grounded.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to kill her,¡± Teresa spat, the woman looking more stressed than Palmira had ever seen her. ¡°I¡¯m going to wrap my hands around her throat and fucking squeeze.¡±


    Palmira nodded along, pissed as well. They¡¯d lost an entire morning because of that elf!


    The trial was tomorrow, and they didn¡¯t have enough time to waste!


    ¡°Not only does she refuse to help us, she actively sabotages us!¡± Teresa continued to rant. She stormed down the crowded streets of Iscrimo, Palmira following in her wake. ¡°Why ¨®sma thought it would be a good idea to bring her along I¡¯ll never know. Goddess, why couldn¡¯t it have been Charles? Who cares if he¡¯s a knight, at least he¡¯s not an elf!¡±


    Well, while the delay was awful, one good thing had come of it. Chiara had found some information over the course of the morning, which gave them a lead that brought them to the edge of Iscrimo.


    Specifically, many of her mice had stumbled across foreign dwarves wandering the halls of the l¡¯Insieme, all of them wearing a crest that denoted them as servants of Minister Ticino. And apparently, they¡¯d been there for weeks, if not months now, entreating with servants and nobility alike.


    She hadn¡¯t figured out why yet, but that wasn¡¯t important. What was important was that it seemed like a different group was also making their own investigation, or at least might know more than them. And if they could get any information off of them, then maybe this trial wouldn¡¯t be as doomed as they were worried it would be.


    Finally the two of them reached the edge of the city, a great cliff which overlooked the mountainside below. Black basalt fences ran along the edge, stopping people from falling off, only occasionally broken up by a path down. And further down the side of the mountain, they could see their destination.


    The Pumilios Canton¡¯s Embassy.


    The Embassy rose off the edge of the mountainside like a cancerous growth. As a new building, it lacked the wear that much of the inner-city buildings had, and sat isolated from even the hill farms which flowed down the mountainside. It consisted of a great basalt platform surrounded on all sides by honeycombed marble pillars. Dwarves clustered around the bases like well-dressed ants, scurrying quickly to carry out their masters¡¯ orders.


    There was just one problem. There was no path down.


    And why would there be? The Cantons were ruled by dragons. What need did they have for roads.


    Teresa glared down at it, before clasping her hands before her face so tight that her knuckles turned white under the strain. ¡°The Goddess guides,¡± she repeatedly hissed under her breath. ¡°The Goddess guides, the Goddess guides.¡±


    After an awkward minute of angry praying, Teresa let out a billowing sigh and turned to her. ¡°Well, we aren¡¯t getting there the normal way. How good are you at mountain climbing?¡±


    Palmira, who had lived in a mostly flat city for most of her life, could only shake her head. ¡°I don¡¯t think I could climb down this hill, much less if I¡¯ve got to carry Morte as well.¡±


    ¡°Right, I should have expected as much.¡± Sighing, the woman turned around, crouching down. ¡°Here, get on my back, I¡¯ll get us both down there safely.¡±


    Palmira hesitated, before awkwardly climbing onto her back. Once she was secure, the Crusader spoke softly, her hands clasped in prayer.


    ¡°From Hell did three men rise. One who carried an eye of silver. One who carried a bloody spear. And one who carried a bramble crown. And from the dark depths they did bow to the Goddess and offer such Holy relics in succor. And in answer, the Goddess granted them legs of steel, so they might redeem themselves through a single great leap.¡±


    And Teresa leapt.


    Nausea overcame her in an instant, her stomach falling as they suddenly found themselves hundreds of feet in the air, more than high enough to clear even the tallest of Iscrimo¡¯s buildings. They hung in the air for a single, weightless moment.


    And then they were falling again.


    Palmira wanted to scream even as her voice was caught in her throat, the ground rising to meet them so fast that¡ª!


    Teresa hit the ground silently, not even a single speck of dust shifted by her landing. And then, they were in the air again.


    Closing her eyes, Palmira decided to focus on just stopping herself from puking over the Crusader¡¯s shoulder. Her grip tightened as her stomach fell and rose and fell¡ª


    And then they stopped.


    Palmira practically fell off the older woman in her attempt to get off her, the taste of charcoal heavy in her mouth as she stumbled away.


    Teresa grabbed her shoulder before she could make a fool of herself, and with another muttered prayer her nausea fell to more manageable levels. With that she was finally able to pay attention to her surroundings, and she blanched at what she saw.


    They were surrounded by dwarves, in everything ranging from the ceremonial garb of priests to the ornate robes of northern nobility. And every single one of them was staring at them.


    Teresa, with a confidence Palmira only wished she could replicate, ignored the staring and stepped forward. ¡°We come to speak with the Minister,¡± she called out. ¡°Minister Ticino, I believe? We were told we could find him here.¡±


    There was a short lull¡ªshorter than she expected, really, with an entrance like theirs¡ªbefore the most priestly looking dwarf stepped forward, his hands wide in greeting and his face muffled behind the bushiest brown beard she¡¯d ever seen. ¡°Of course, visitors! I am Jacobson, son of Jacob! Might I ask your names¡­?¡±


    ¡°You may,¡± Teresa nodded sharply. ¡°I am Teresa of Lycree, and this is my companion, Palmira di Firozzi. We¡¯re here on behalf of the Firozzi Adventurer¡¯s Guild as a part of the investigation into the Duke¡¯s death.¡±


    ¡°You are?¡± both of the dwarf¡¯s bushy eyebrows rose into his hairline. ¡°I was not aware that this city hired foreigners for such important work.¡±


    ¡°We were hired by the defendant, to help clear his name.¡±


    ¡°Were you now? Hm, well, as foreigners ourselves, I suppose it¡¯s not something we should stick our nose into. Please wait here, if you will, while I summon the Minister.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± Teresa raised an eyebrow. ¡°Just like that? You won¡¯t even need to take our weapons?¡±


    ¡°Oh, no,¡± the dwarf shook his head. ¡°That would be terribly rude to our lord, to assume that you could kill him with your little sticks. That said, please do not actually try to kill our lord¡ªenough humans have successfully done so over the centuries that we prefer not to encourage it.¡±


    She stared down at him for a moment, before realization came. ¡°Oh,¡± she blinked. ¡°I always forget you¡¯re ruled by dragons. Very well, I swear upon the Goddess that we will not attempt to kill your lord, so long as he extends the same courtesy to us.¡±


    ¡°Marvelous!¡± the dwarf clapped his hands. ¡°Well, I have other duties to deal with today, so I¡¯ll leave you in the care of the Minister. May the both of you have a prosperous meeting!¡±


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    With that he left the two women alone on the great basalt platform. The noonday sun beat down on them as they waited, Palmira shuffling next to the more experienced adventurer, not entirely sure what they should be doing.


    Clearing her throat, she asked, ¡°Um, do you know how they¡¯re going to summon¡ª¡±


    A bell rang from one of the towers. And then another, and another, until a dozen bells were ringing in tandem, bellowing out a deafening song from their steeples.


    A moment later a shadow appeared in the sky, giving the two women down below only a brief moment to crane their necks to try and see it.


    Then the red dragon descended, the blast of wind from its wings nearly knocking the two of them off their feet. The instant its feet crunched onto the basalt it curled around the entirety of the platform, encircling them with its long and chitinous body. Despite the instinctive terror such a creature incited, Palmira found herself somewhat underwhelmed.


    In the end, it paled in comparison to the one from her childhood.


    There was a moment of silence, as the two of them locked eyes with the dragon, neither of them speaking. Then, finally breaking the standoff, Teresa stepped forward.


    ¡°Minister Ticino, I presume¡± the Crusader spoke carefully, her hand on the pommel of her sword, but not drawing it. Yet. ¡°I am¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know who you are, human,¡± his voice was as uncanny as it had been back in the waiting room, the bones in her body rattling with each breath the dragon took. ¡°There are only so many reasons a dragonslayer would step into my abode. I shall grant you a moment to speak your final words, before I silence you forevermore.¡±


    What.


    Palmira turned to Teresa with wide eyes. The woman herself winced, muttering to herself, ¡°Shit. I didn¡¯t think he¡¯d know about that.¡±


    ¡°I need not ¡®know¡¯ such things,¡± he growled lowly, the aura of his rage forcing her to turn her attention back to his glowering form. ¡°I can smell his death upon your soul. The Sin you have committed befouls you even now.¡±


    There was a curse beside her, and the sound of a sword being drawn


    Teresa narrowed her eyes at the dragon, nostrils flaring in rage. Then she raised her sword, Prima Luca emblazed along its glowing edge, and took a menacing step forward. ¡°Look, Minister, I have been having a bad couple of days. My guildmaster was arrested under false charges, my inn flooded, I¡¯ve had to spend hours at a time around fucking Johanna, and now some bug-faced lizard opens up our first meeting by declaring me a SINNER!?¡±


    ¡°Morte what the fuck do we do?!¡± Palmira whispered to her staff, eyes darting to look for a place to run away from the brewing fight. Unfortunately, the dragon¡¯s body completely surrounded them, blocking any attempt at running.


    Damnit all, this was not what they¡¯d planned!


    ¡°My father died that day!¡± Teresa continued, her voice rising in volume with every word she screamed. ¡°It wasn¡¯t even to the dragon, either! It was to the damned Sultan¡¯s armies not an hour before! And then, while I¡¯m processing the death of my family and the loss of my home, here comes a big, blue, fucking dragon rising out of the sea to finish us off! So I did what I had to, and I drove my father¡¯s sword straight through it¡¯s oversized skull and painted the beach with it¡¯s blood! So you had better take back your words, dragon, lest your blood paint the side of this goddessforsaken volcano!¡±


    The dragon stared down at them for a long moment. Somehow, despite everything Teresa had just shouted at him, there was a strangely contemplative look on his scaly face.


    ¡°¡­A blue dragon, was it?¡± he hummed, the casual sound still enough to unnerve her. ¡°You, dragonslayer. You said the one you killed was blue? With an oversized head? And it came out of the sea?¡±


    ¡°¡­Uh, yeah?¡± Teresa responded, now looking more bemused than furious. ¡°I¡¯ll remember the look of it for the rest of my life. It was a deep blue, the color of the night sky reflected on a still lake. It would have been beautiful, if not for the oversized jaw that made it look supremely stupid.¡±


    Surprisingly, at that, the dragon laughed.


    ¡°Stupid, indeed!¡± he roared to the heavens, the pressure bearing down on them suddenly dissipating. ¡°Ah, my apologies, human. I had assumed you slew a true dragon, not some lesser sea serpent! In fact, I should thank you, yes! The world is better off with one more of those despicable creatures dead.¡±


    Ah. The dragon was racist. Thank the Goddess, they might be getting out of here alive.


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­ welcome¡­?¡± Teresa responded, the wind having been taken out of her sails. Her sword lowered as she realized there wouldn¡¯t be a fight, and instead turned to Palmira, as though she would somehow know what was going on.


    ¡°Of course I am,¡± his voice, now a touch smug, echoed across the now silent platform. Lowering his head closer to them, he gave them a toothy grin, the slight opening of his mouth causing the temperature around them to rise several degrees. ¡°Now, why did you humans come here again, if not to try and kill me?¡±


    Teresa, who looked one step away from trying to do so anyway, harshly shoved her blade back in its sheath and instead merely glowered at him. ¡°Well, as I was saying before I was interrupted, I am Teresa of Lycree, and this is Palmira di Firozzi. We¡¯re here to discuss the recent death of the Duke of Iscrimo. We learned that you¡¯ve been entreating with the Duke for months before this, and as fellow foreigners we hoped you would share with us any information you might have regarding the event.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± the jovial mood seemed to leave the dragon, and instead he sighed. ¡°Of course you¡¯re here for that.¡±


    ¡°So you do know something?¡±


    ¡°Everyone in this city knows something,¡± Minister Ticino scoffed. ¡°And similarly, everyone in this city had a reason to want that man dead. Even those who grew fat and rich under his negligence were becoming tired of him. Unless you have something specific to ask, do not waste your breath with such broad questions.¡±


    Teresa scowled, but it was not her but, surprisingly, Morte who spoke up. ¡°What an elegant way of dodging the question. Blaming everyone so you can blame no one? You must be spending too much time around mere mortals to have grown such a shining silver tongue.¡±


    The dragon narrowed his eyes. ¡°Be quiet, staff, lest I use you as a toothpick.¡±


    ¡°Oh come now, Minister, I meant it as a compliment! It¡¯s to your credit, really¡ªmost dragons get so used to the intoxicating strength inherent to them that they forget the soft power they could be capable of. It¡¯s why we came to you and not one of the humans, you know? Nothing they could tell us would be as useful as what you could.¡±


    Ticino sniffed, smug. ¡°You speak sense, staff. But you speak silver as well. I am not a rotting elder so lost in his own delusions that he cannot tell when he¡¯s being buttered up¡ªso state your question, before that mouth of yours ruins my good mood.¡±


    Palmira tensed, hands tightening around her staff. She had no idea where he was going with this, but she hoped he knew what he was doing.


    Morte¡¯s skull seemed to grin wider. ¡°Who stands to inherit the throne, now that the Duke is dead? And how many servants do you think have been on his payroll?¡±


    The dragon¡¯s eyes narrowed, but he answered regardless. ¡°That would be Ado Visconti, the son of Aventio Visconti¡¯s brother, and cousin to the previous Duke. And as for his servants, while he obviously has some, he has yet to dig his claws that deeply into the city. Like the rest of his pathetic family, he preferred to live out in the countryside, in their sprawling villas.¡±


    ¡°Oh? So he¡¯s as foreign to the city as you or me?¡±


    ¡°Hah! That¡¯s certainly one way of putting it. Indeed, I doubt the human has ever even stepped foot in this city, much less had the prudence to secure it for his arrival.¡±


    ¡°Fascinating.¡± Despite the fact there was nothing there, it almost seemed like Morte¡¯s empty eye sockets began to glimmer with intrigue. ¡°Do tell me more, everything you could possibly know.¡±


    -<X>-


    ¡°Do you really think it¡¯s Ado Visconti?¡± Palmira asked Morte, frowning to herself. They¡¯d spent several hours interrogating the dragon with increasingly less success. By the end, they¡¯d more or less been forced to leave, lest they piss of the dragon enough that he changed his mind about killing them.


    Now they were on their way back to the inn, having technically succeeded in their mission. Despite that though, she couldn¡¯t help but doubt. After every moment of struggling to pull even the smallest confession from everyone else they¡¯d talked to so far, that had felt far too easy.


    ¡°Oh, no, it¡¯s probably not him,¡± Morte admitted shamelessly.


    Palmira nearly tripped over her own feet, while Teresa¡¯s head snapped towards the staff so fast you could hear it crack. ¡°What!? Then why did you ask him so many questions about him!?¡±


    ¡°Because we don¡¯t know who it is,¡± Morte continued seriously. ¡°And with only tonight and tomorrow morning until the trial, there¡¯s no way we¡¯re going to figure that out. So, I figured, why bother? Whoever killed the Duke needs a scapegoat¡ªso I say we give them one.¡±


    Palmira stared at her staff, in awe of his audacity. ¡°You plan to scapegoat the new Duke for murdering the previous one?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the stupidest idea I¡¯ve ever heard!¡± Teresa snapped immediately after. ¡°There¡¯s no way anyone else would go along with that!¡±


    ¡°Unless, of course, somebody had spent the last day gathering blackmail material on all the nobles in the l¡¯Insieme. Somebody who then coordinated with one of our friends to find as many people important to tomorrow¡¯s trial to blackmail them into siding against the new Duke.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s where Anima went this morning,¡± she whispered, eyes widening. ¡°Are you telling me you set all this up? Why the hell didn¡¯t you tell us sooner!?¡±


    ¡°To keep you genuine, obviously. I had no idea what that dragon was like¡ªhell, I didn¡¯t even know you were a dragonslayer until he threatened to kill you¡ªso I needed to get information without tipping him off. And, unfortunately, I think I did near the end, that scaly bastard. He was far too smug when we left.¡±


    While Teresa took a moment to gather herself, Palmira found herself accepting the idea. ¡°Well, it¡¯s the only idea we¡¯ve got left, so why not? I never liked the Visconti¡¯s anyway.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit!¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re so screwed,¡± Teresa groaned into her hands.

 Chapter 33 - The Trial (Part 1)

    Chapter 33 ¨C The Trial (Part 1)


    In a distant valley, darkness spread. A creeping miasma, consuming forest and stone alike with a slavering black death.


    High above, the sun shone bright in the cloudless sky, beams of its light futilely fighting to pierce the unnatural gloom. Between, clinging to the frozen summits of the surrounding mountains, scarlet dragons glared down with their many eyes, daring the miasma to rise any higher. But for all their bravado, not one descended.


    And so, the darkness spread.


    At the heart of the unnatural darkness stood a Demon. Not a Monster nor a Lord, but one of the few remnants of that ancient and doomed race. Her many putrid eyes watched the skies, the valley, and even buried places far below. Licking bloody lips, she glared at the villages of men and dwarves who fled to the peaks, to hide beneath the wings of their draconic overlords.


    Still, no matter her horror at leaving the mutts alive, she did not turn to attack. Instead, she stuck to glaring, piercing their minds and reminding them of who is was that marched beneath their feet.


    A deal had been struck, and so she would hold. For when all else was lost, it was only your word that mattered. And her people had lost too much to give even an ounce more.


    In formation around her, ten Black Knights kept pace, an honor guard loaned by the Traitor Knight to act as both shield and noose. Beyond them, countless monstrosities marched, a grand army kept in line by her will alone.


    It was a powerful force, but only one of many. The remaining Demon Lords squabbled too much for such things to be common, but today was a special day. It would be a reminder to the mutts of the east, that they would not stop until the Last Tyrant was dead, and the world returned to its true benevolent rulers.


    And it would be glorious!


    Then the army rounded a bend, and for a moment, everything stopped.


    In the distance, toothpick thin against the baby blue sky, a Fragment of Babel rose tall. A beautiful white line, rising high in defiance of the heavens.


    ¡°Oh Lord,¡± the Demon whispered, falling to her knees. ¡°I beg your forgiveness. Our Ambitions did falter, and we were cast from the heavens for it. But we have learned our lesson, and so do I swear, Never Again. Oh our Lord, oh our Slave, may you watch over us as we reclaim our rightful place, and avenge the deaths of you and all who have fallen to the monsters who inhabit this wretched world. Oh our Lord, do watch me, if no one else, as I spread your forgotten name once more.¡±


    Her prayer finished, the Demon rose to her feet. Around her, the ten knights removed their swords from her neck, and resumed their formation around her.


    But she didn¡¯t care. All her eyes remained locked onto that beautiful Fragment. A remnant of a glory she had never known, but one she swore in her heart of hearts she would one day help create.


    But that day was not today. For deep in the mountains, monsters marched. And the darkness of Hell followed with them.


    -<X>-


    Dante¡¯s trial came all too soon.


    Unfortunately, it was set to occur in the morning, so they hadn¡¯t even had any time today to prepare before they were shuffled off to the Palazzo di Diritto, the Palace of Law which sat in the oldest part of the city. The building was an old Volan basilica, refurbished to work as a court of law in the modern day. And unlike the l¡¯Insieme, there were no faces carved into the marble to glare down at them. Instead, they were painted.


    They were shuffled through the marble pillars and chipping frescos to the courtroom¡ªa surprisingly small room at the back of the building¡ªand told to sit in the rows of pews which occupied the center. The guildmaster was sent to the front to stand on an elevated platform alongside Teresa, who would be representing his interests in this trial. The rest of them filtered in behind him, all except Johanna who was waiting a couple buildings down with their weapons in case they needed to flee the city.


    Hey, it was always good to have backup plans.


    Palmria adjusted her mask as she sat down. The rest of the people in attendance had already arrived, with the defendant being the last to enter as was tradition. They watched their procession in contempt, and that pissed her off.


    In a way, this whole situation pissed her off. Not simply that the guildmaster was being framed, but this whole sham of a trial in general. It was unfair, biased, near pointless, and literally everyone was trying to frame somebody else instead of trying to find the real culprit.


    It was still more than the little girl who killed the last Duke would have gotten had she stayed, and it was that which stoked her anger more than anything else.


    Not that she had much to do with it. The anger fed a nervous energy, which led to wandering thoughts that just made her angrier. It didn¡¯t help that she¡¯d had to leave behind Morte and Malocchio, leaving her alone with her thoughts for the first time in weeks.


    Glancing around the room to try and take her mind off the upcoming trial¡ªa tough ask, given she was in a courtroom¡ªshe let her eyes jump from important looking person to important looking person, only vaguely aware of whom some of them were.


    The most imposing of them were the judges for the trial who sat at the front of the room, the Podesta of Iscrimo in the center with two Rettori on either side. They all wore fine black robes lines with different colors, barring the Podesta¡¯s which was pure black. Behind them a massive painting sprawled across the entire wall, showcasing the trial of Saint Margaery as she received a revelation of divine knowledge in law from the Goddess herself, before using it to destroy the demon who was impersonating an old Podesta. While once it might have been a beautiful piece, it was centuries old by this point and was clearly lacking the depth and anatomy she¡¯d seen in more modern works like the ones Lenna made.


    Instead of the painting her eyes constantly drifted down towards the Podesta. Unlike the Rettori¡ªwho were all obviously humans¡ªthe Podesta could barely be called a man anymore. His skin had hardened into black basalt, and his eyes now churned with lava. Draped in the black robes of the judge, it was only his molten eyes that stopped him from appearing as a shadow.


    Their eyes met, and she swiftly turned away, before remembering that she was wearing a mask. Heating up in embarrassment, she instead turned to the side, to look at the man they were here to frame.


    It was the first time she¡¯d ever seen Ado Visconti. The first time many people in attendance had seen him, she imagined. She wondered if he resembled his uncle, but with the amount of makeup he¡¯d plastered over his face it was impossible to tell. He lounged along the east wall with the rest of the nobility, and though he took up the traditional position of the wronged party he couldn¡¯t have looked happier.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    She could imagine why. Though he hadn¡¯t been crowned yet, he was now the most powerful man in this city and answered only to the Empress. If she suddenly came into that amount of power she¡¯d probably be ecstatic as well.


    She couldn¡¯t wait to rip it away from him.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Chiara grabbed her hand, dragging her attention over to the half-elf. ¡°Stop staring. Even with the mask you¡¯re being obvious.¡±


    ¡°¡­Sorry,¡± she winced, pulling her hand back.


    Chiara frowned at her. Opening her mouth she looked like she wanted to say something, only to be interrupted.


    Church bells rang, the echoing cacophony loud enough to rattle her ears. Eight times they rang, and it was all she could do to settle herself as she counted down the bells.


    Then the ceiling above them began to shift. With the grinding of stone on stone it opened up, near tripling the room¡¯s height and revealing countless citizens crowding around the edges of the roof to watch the trial below.


    Great. She¡¯d hoped this would be a private trial, but she supposed the murder of a Duke was the kind of thing that was always going to be made public.


    As the ceiling ceased moving a slightly quieter wave of noise followed it, the many common citizens above chatting amongst themselves. Some pointed down, smiles on their faces as though everything that happened below was just a show for them.


    She supposed in some ways that¡¯s all it was. A show by the new Duke to clean his hands of his cousin¡¯s death.


    The Podesta¡ªwho had up until this point been still as a statue¡ªsuddenly shuddered, the small motion somehow managing to draw the eyes of the room. With a small sigh he raised a shaky hand and slowly snapped his fingers three times, the sound of stone clacking against stone echoing throughout the room. All conversation ceased, and all eyes turned to him.


    ¡°Welcome,¡± he spoke, his voice old and gravelly. ¡°I am Luciano Calcolo, Podesta of Iscrimo and current overseer of this trial in light of the Duke¡¯s¡­ absence. Today, we will be witnessing the trial of Dante Cadorna of Firozzi, as he has been accused of one count of regicide, that being the murder of the late Duke Visconti. The Accuser, the honorable Lord Ado Visconti¡ª¡±


    ¡°Ahem,¡± said lord cleared his throat. ¡°That would be Duke Ado Visconti, not merely a Lord.¡±


    The Podesta didn¡¯t stop speaking, ignoring the interruption entirely. ¡°¡ªshall be present from beginning to end to present his case, along with any witnesses or other evidence that would be of use to the court. Signor Cadorna shall do the same in his defense, along with his chosen representative the Venerata Teresa of Lycree. Before we continue, if there are any objections to what has been previously stated, speak up now.¡±


    ¡°I have an objection, Podesta,¡± Ado Visconti rose to his feet, stepping forward.


    ¡°Of course he does,¡± Chiara grumbled beside her.


    ¡°It seems Cadorna has made a mistake when choosing his representative.¡± The man told the court with a smarmy grin. ¡°I suppose it¡¯s to be expected of a foreigner, to not bother to learn our laws. You may recall, only a citizen of Iscrimo may act as representative during a trial. And while I am certain the Venerata Teresa is a righteous and holy woman, she is still a foreigner, and as such unfit for this trial.¡±


    What kind of bull¡ª


    Unfortunately, the Podesta nodded, the slow grinding of his neck acting like a death knell to their cause before it could even begin. ¡°You are correct, though that law has not been enforced in three centuries. Are you certain you wish to do so?¡±


    Palmira clenched her fists, doing all she could to stop herself from setting the man on fire¡ªno matter how good it might feel. A quick glance at Dante and Teresa saw similarly frustrated faces, and she wondered if they were really going to lose this trial because of a technicality.


    They needed a representative, unfortunately. Dante was already declared guilty, so he was not allowed to speak for himself, and instead as the mark of an innocent man he must have someone else willing to speak for him. If nobody speaks, then he is ¡®obviously¡¯ guilty, and the trial ends right then and there.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ll have to insist,¡± the not-yet-a-duke continued, smile not leaving his face. ¡°Tradition is tradition, after all. Ah, but don¡¯t worry, I had a feeling something like this might happen. As such, I made sure to prepare a proper representative, to keep this trial suitably fair.¡±


    This bastard¡ª


    Without thinking, Palmira stood up so suddenly that the entire room¡¯s eyes were instantly upon her. ¡°That is unneeded, Signor Visconti¡± she spat, seeing too much red to even consider what she was doing. ¡°As I am a citizen of Iscrimo, I will be more than capable of representing my guildmaster in this trial.¡±


    Ado, for the first time since she¡¯d seen him, looked genuinely caught off guard. ¡°What¡ªwhat do you mean, you are a citizen!? You¡¯re obviously from Palunera, you¡¯re even wearing one of their masks!¡±


    ¡°I grew up in the village of Vittoria to the south, before the eruption of Mt. Palmira wiped it from the map,¡± she declared, pretending he hadn¡¯t said anything about the mask. ¡°After, I lived in this city for years, working as a servant for the nobility. I may not be the most qualified, but if citizenship is the only requirement then I should be more than good enough!¡±


    Ado spluttered. ¡°A likely story!¡±


    There was a moment of pause, as she calmed down enough to realize what her big stupid mouth had gotten her into. Really, she had no idea how to prove her origins that didn¡¯t involve also revealing the reason she¡¯d left the city in the first place.


    ¡°It¡¯s true!¡±


    Palmira blinked. Wait, was that¡­?


    Lenna stood from the back of the crowd of nobles, next to a frustrated looking Andrea del Loretti. She looked very green as the rest of the room turned to her, but she didn¡¯t back down. ¡°I grew up in Vittoria as well, and we moved to this city together. I swear this on the name of Lenna di Vittoria!¡±


    Hushed mutters followed her declaration, and with her piece said Lenna fell back into her chair, as though that could somehow stop people from staring at her. It didn¡¯t, but after that Palmira was feeling more than generous.


    ¡°Thank you, Lenna,¡± she called out, dragging the attention of the room back over to her. Nodding at the Podesta she asked, ¡°I assume that proves my identity?¡±


    Ado tried to speak up, but the Podesta simply nodded. ¡°That is enough for this court. We are here to judge the guilt of Dante Cadorna, not his representative¡¯s ethnicity. However, I must ask¡ªwhat are your qualifications to speak within this court of law?¡±


    ¡°Righteous fury, Podesta.¡±


    ¡°¡­Very well¡± the stone man rasped, what may have been the barest hints of a smile carving itself across his face. ¡°Now that that drama is out of the way, I will have the representative of the Cadorna come forward and place their hand on the Holy Book.¡±


    Palmira nodded, walking up and past Teresa. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± the woman whispered. ¡°And good luck.¡±


    She nodded, knowing she¡¯d need it. She had no idea what she was doing.


    Goddess above, she could use Morte¡¯s advice right about now.


    Stepping up to the Podesta, close enough to see the cracks that wrinkled his forehead, she placed her hand on a copy of the Holy Book.


    ¡°Good. Now, repeat after me,¡± he told her. ¡°I swear, upon the name of the Goddess and my immortal soul, to speak only and nothing more than the truth.¡±


    ¡°I swear, upon the name of the Goddess and my immortal soul, to speak only and nothing more than the truth,¡± she lied.


    ¡°I swear, upon the name of the Goddess and my immortal soul, that I will not defend any who break the Goddess¡¯ will, be they heathen or heretic.¡±


    ¡°I swear, upon the name of the Goddess and my immortal soul, that I will not defend any who break the Goddess¡¯ will, be they heathen or heretic,¡± she continued to lie.


    ¡°And I swear, upon the name of the Goddess and my immortal soul, to remain at all times professional and adhere to the rules of this court in both letter and spirit.¡±


    ¡°And I swear, upon the name of the Goddess and my immortal soul, to remain at all times professional and adhere to the rules of this court in both letter and spirit,¡± she hoped that one wasn¡¯t a lie, but at the rate this trial was going she didn¡¯t have high hopes.


    ¡°Excellent,¡± he nodded, waving her back. ¡°Now, if the Accuser may step forth?¡±


    As she returned to Dante¡¯s side while Ado swore his oaths, she wondered if what she had done was really for the best. Sure, they¡¯d have lost the trial otherwise, but if the look on the guildmaster¡¯s face was anything to go by they were probably still screwed anyway.


    ¡°Palmira,¡± he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. ¡°I appreciate you stepping up like this. However, I must ask¡ªdo you have any idea what you are doing?¡±


    Palmira, taking a moment to settle in beside him, considered the question. Then, equally quietly, she whispered, ¡°Absolutely not. However, I think of myself as good at winning arguments and what¡¯s a trial but one big argument?¡±


    The guildmaster looked like he was forcing himself not to facepalm right then and there. ¡°So I¡¯m dead, then.¡±


    ¡°Not yet you¡¯re not,¡± she told him. Even if she agreed. But what was that advice Morte kept giving her? ¡®Fake it until you make it?¡¯


    Well, she¡¯d already made it here, so why not see how far she could go?

 Chapter 33 - The Trial (Part 2)

    Chapter 33 ¨C The Trial (Part 2)


    As everyone settled back into their seats, the Podesta raised a hand of shimmering basalt, glancing between both defendant and prosecution. When neither of them brought up any other complaints, he gave a slow, solemn nod. ¡°Now that the oaths have been sworn, this trial may begin in earnest. So that there can be no more confusion, I will outline the terms of this trial here and now. To begin with the accuser, Ado Visconti, shall present proof of the crime, in whatever form he believes would be best. Once each case has been made, the representative of the criminal will be allowed time to provide some proof of innocence. Once the accuser has finished presenting all of his evidence, the Rettori shall vote on the guilt of the accused, with myself as the tiebreaker should such a thing be necessary. Am I understood?¡±


    They nodded.


    ¡°Excellent,¡± he released a gravelly sigh, sinking back into his basalt throne. ¡°Then, by my duty as Podesta d¡¯Iscrimo, I declare this trial officially begun. May the Goddess favor the just. Signor Visconti, you have the floor.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Ado stepped forward, having managed to regain some of his earlier swagger. ¡°To begin, I would like to thank the Podesta who, as we are all aware, has made this trial possible. And of course to Signora Vicar, who¡¯s great contributions has seen this city prosper despite the recent tragedy¡­¡±


    For a moment, Palmira was confused, trying to figure out what he was trying to do. Where was his testimony? Why was he¡­?


    Despite her confusion, he kept going like that for a while. Just on and on, thanking and buttering up what seemed like every noble in attendance. After a couple minutes of that Palmira blinked, beginning to zone out despite herself. She tried to focus, but he just kept talking without saying anything. She thought this was supposed to be a trial! She was prepared to argue with one of the most influential men in this city, not listen to him kiss ass!


    ¡°¡­and naturally Signor Iloro, who¡¯s obsidian mines¡­¡±


    Goddess above, get to the point already!


    Palmira glanced around the room, wondering if she was alone in thinking this was ridiculous. Unfortunately, the Podesta and Rettori seemed bored but unsurprised, while the rest of the nobility were somehow eating up the blatant pandering.


    Then she stopped, catching sight of something out of the corner of her eye.


    ¡°¡­the lovely Signorina Marcielle¡¯s Donna Sanguinarie, who have helped us all¡­¡±


    There, on her chair! Her eyes widened at the sight of a large spider¡ªno, a crystal spider¡ªcrawling up the leg. Forcing herself to remain still, she watched as it crossed the gap over to her leg, swiftly crawling up and beneath her shirt. It became difficult as she felt its eight unnaturally cold legs skitter across her bare skin, but she managed until it burrowed into her hair and up into her mask, finally coming to rest right next to her ear.


    ¡°Palmira? Can you hear me?¡± Chiara¡¯s voice whispered through the artificial arthropod. ¡°Wait, don¡¯t say anything. Just flex your hand for me, and I¡¯ll take that as a yes.¡±


    She did so, hoping the relief she was feeling at hearing her friend¡¯s voice wasn¡¯t too obvious. Thank the Goddess for this mask, it was proving more useful than she expected.


    ¡°Excellent. So, before I say anything else, I want to thank you for stepping up, but let¡¯s be honest; we¡¯re both aware you have no idea what you¡¯re doing. So I¡¯m going to help walk you through everything you need to say, because if I leave you to your own devices that big mouth of your will get us all executed the second you open it up.¡±


    Hey! She wasn¡¯t that bad! She knew when to keep her mouth shut, at least. Especially when she didn¡¯t have Morte egging her on.


    ¡°Palmira! Pay attention!¡± Chiara¡¯s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. ¡°He¡¯s finally done catering to the crowd.¡±


    ¡°¡­and, with that, I would like to bring in my first witness,¡± Ado smiled, waving to a young woman standing nervously behind him. She wasn¡¯t a noble, as evidenced by her lack of makeup and colorful attire. ¡°Signorina Angela, the primary maid of my late cousin Duke Visconti. She was attending to her lord on the night of the murder, and was in the room with both Cadorna and the Duke when it occurred. I present her to this house of law, to allow you all to hear her story and learn the truth of what transpired that night!¡±


    ¡°Technically, a commoner¡¯s word against a nobles shouldn¡¯t be worth anything,¡± Chiara muttered, frustrated. ¡°Unfortunately for us, this is also a local¡¯s word against a foreigner¡¯s, so it cancels out. We can try and undermine her by pointing out her station, but in this case it¡¯ll probably just make us look bad.¡±


    Awkwardly stepping forward, the young woman gave a nervous glance towards the lord. At his nod, she cleared her throat and began speaking. ¡°It¡¯s true. I was there, when Duke Visconti perished. At first we assumed it was a heart attack¡ªhe¡¯s always been, uh, fond of drinking¡ªbut when the guards checked the bottle, they found that it had been poisoned. So, um, right, Signor Cadorna was there as well. He had set up a meeting with the Duke a couple days before, I¡¯m not sure about what. But once he arrived, Duke Visconti began feeling a pain in his heart. It crippled him, and before we knew what was going on, he¡­ he passed away.¡±


    She took a moment to steady herself, quickly dabbing the corner of her eye with a handkerchief. ¡°¡­Signor Cadorna was taken into custody soon after. I knew not much that happened beyond that. I¡¯m just a maid, as you good folk well know. I¡¯m sorry, that I couldn¡¯t be of more help today.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t fret, Signorina!¡± Ado¡¯s blinding grin contrasted sharply with the maid¡¯s own sorrowful expression. ¡°That was more than enough! Why, you all heard her, didn¡¯t you? Dante Cadorna was in the very room when the murder occurred!¡±


    ¡°There wasn¡¯t a lot there, despite it being a firsthand account,¡± Chiara mused, her voice drowning out the murmurs of the crowd. ¡°It¡¯s more like¡­ I see, he knew that girl was mourning the late Duke, so he sent her out first to garner sympathy, the ass. Okay, we aren¡¯t going to be able to counter her story, instead we¡¯ve got to focus on setting up our own.¡±


    ¡°Very well. Then, if you are finished¡­?¡± The Podesta waited for Ado to nod, before waving Palmira forward. ¡°Representative of Cadorna, you now have the floor. Do you have a rebuttal to the accusations?¡±


    Nodding, Palmira stepped up, taking one last moment to center herself.


    ¡°I don¡¯t doubt what Signorina Angela saw that night,¡± As she spoke she tried to temper her crasser way of speaking into something more refined, something that she hoped would go over better with the nobles in attendance. Mostly she was trying to copy Chiara¡ªwho was the most stuck-up person she regularly talked to¡ªbut some of the dry legalese ¨®sma had her study was starting to shine through as well. ¡°However, I can¡¯t see how this counts as ¡®evidence.¡¯ There was no accusation made here¡ªDante Cadorna was simply sitting in the same room as the Duke, nothing more. In fact, I¡¯d like to call into question a simple logical fallacy at the very core of this trial¡ªwhy in the world would a man poison someone and then stand there and watch it happen. I¡¯m fully aware of your distaste of foreigners, Signor Visconti, but even you can¡¯t believe the noble Dante Cadorna would be foolish enough to stand at the scene of his own crime.¡±


    Ado raised an eyebrow, looking surprisingly confused. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t he be? Is that not the most dramatic way to settle an old score? What murderer wouldn¡¯t want to be there to watch the life leave their victim¡¯s eyes, to watch the blood drain from their face, as they only realize too late what has happened? It¡¯s only natural, I would think.¡±


    What.


    And why did the nobles behind him look like they were agreeing!?


    ¡°Tone it down,¡± Chiara hissed in her ear. ¡°Don¡¯t appeal to common sense, only to facts. The people on trial are nobles¡ªthey don¡¯t have much of it in the first place, I doubt they¡¯d recognize it in someone else.¡±


    ¡°You say that,¡± she frantically changed tracks. ¡°But what old score is there to settle? We arrived in this city a mere day before the Duke died! They¡¯d never even met before!¡±


    The not-yet-a-duke smirked, and she¡¯d realized only too late that she made a mistake. Even if she had no idea what it could be. ¡°Actually, the two of them have met before!¡±


    ¡°They have!?¡± Chiara gasped, which very much did not help.


    ¡°We have!?¡± Dante spluttered, speaking aloud for the first time in the trial. The Podesta gave him a warning glare, but nothing more.


    ¡°It was twelve years ago, as a matter of fact! During the Grand Ball of Paedella¡ªwhich both late Duke and Dante Cadorna attended¡ªyoung Aretino was asked to grab his father a glass of wine. The precocious lad managed to make it only a few steps back to his father, before he tripped and soiled Cadorna¡¯s silks. Since then, the man has obviously been waiting for the day to repay the insult in kind, even going so far as to use the same brand that was spilled on him all those years ago to do the deed!¡±


    He could not be serious.


    ¡°Are you telling me¡­¡± the exhaustion in her voice was palpable, because surely not. ¡°That you think the motive for this murder is¡­ when the Duke was a child, he spilled some wine on Dante¡¯s suit, and because of that has held a grudge against a child for twelve years.¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± the man¡¯s smirk grew even smugger, which was not helped by the fact that the rest of the nobility looked like they were agreeing¡ªhow petty were these people!? ¡°It¡¯s so obvious, it¡¯s almost tragic that nobody noticed sooner.¡±


    ¡°He didn¡¯t even remember they¡¯d met before!¡±


    ¡°He is lying, obviously.¡±


    ¡°What kind of defense is that!? ¡®He¡¯s lying,¡¯ well I think you¡¯re lying! Do you even have any proof of that story being real!?¡±


    As the man opened his mouth to answer, the Podesta suddenly clapped his hands together, the booming noise causing them both to fall silent and turn to him.


    ¡°I believe,¡± he told them slowly, ¡°that we have begun to stray from the original argument. Signor Ado, remain silent. Representative, is there anything else you wish to dispute about Signorina Angela¡¯s case?¡±


    Palmira took a calming breath, ignoring Ado¡¯s grumbling about how he was going to have the Podesta exiled once he became Duke, something the man heard if his sharp look was any indication. Nodding, she turned to the lord and continued with the trial.


    Things, unfortunately, didn¡¯t seem to get much better for them. As the minutes ticked by and she failed to get anywhere, each new question and testimony continued to wear on both her sanity and her faith in humanity. Chiara¡¯s advice also tended to only be partially effective, and normally only for reducing the impact of Ado¡¯s insane claims rather than fully negating them. It seemed no matter who or what evidence he brought forth¡ªthe guard outside the hall, the owner of the vineyard who made the wine, even the freaking chair that the Duke had been sitting in¡ªthere was nothing it felt like she could do to counter him in a way that wouldn¡¯t be immediately undone by him pulling some bullshit story out of his ass.


    It was maddening.


    ¡°And here, to the good lords and ladies of this court, I present this¡ªthe bottle which held the poison that did the deed!¡± Ado dramatically held up a thin blue vial, barely larger than a finger. ¡°Not only that, but we found it when we searched the inn Cadorna is staying at, hidden beneath the floorboards! Had our city watch not been so good at their jobs it may have remained hidden, but in a display of typical Firozzi arrogance he slipped up and the vial was found!¡±


    ¡°Finally, something we can use!¡± Chiara nearly shouted in her ear, talking over Visconti¡¯s current overly long story. ¡°That bottle is fake! I saw it yesterday¡ªhe bought that bottle off of Umo Velenoso. And he¡¯ll back us up on that, too. He¡¯s having an affair with Marcielle¡¯s mother, so I had Anima bribe him yesterday to keep his mouth shut.¡±


    Hope rose within her, and she nearly sighed in relief as she listened to Chiara¡¯s explanation.


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    ¡°That is quite the accusation, Ado Visconti,¡± she spoke up once the man was finally done talking. ¡°Especially one without any weight to it. Beyond the simple fact that Dante Cadorna never even stepped foot in the inn before he was arrested¡ªa fact I know by this point won¡¯t move any of you, but one I feel needs to be said, regardless¡ªI¡¯m aware that that bottle is a fake, and had nothing to do with the murder! And I would like to call on Signor Umo Velenoso to prove it, as that particular bottle was in his possession up until yesterday!¡±


    There was a round of gasps, mostly from the common people above. They¡¯d been more receptive of her words than the nobility, which was unfortunate considering they were the only people she didn¡¯t need to convince of anything.


    ¡°A fake?¡± Ado put a hand over his heart, barely even trying to pretend at shock. Or maybe she was starting to project her frustration onto the man. ¡°That is absurd! Signor Velenoso!¡± he spun and called out to one of the nobles sitting behind him, a thin man with a somehow even paler complexion than the rest of them. ¡°Please, enlighten us, do you think this vial is fake?¡±


    For some reason, she felt a spike of unease at the way he phrased that. The way he spoke¡­ it was almost too confident.


    Velenoso stood, nervously tugging at the hem of his sleeves. His eyes darted to her, and then, to Ado, and then to somewhere else in the crowd. And then, finally, he answered.


    ¡°It is not,¡± he clearly stated, crushing Palmira¡¯s last hope into dust. ¡°In fact, I, ah, met up with Duke Visconti yesterday in my official capacity as an alchemist in order to deduce the origins of the poison. The adventurers must have heard about this, and attempted to bribe me with a frankly ridiculous claim about my good person!¡±


    Shit shit shit shit¡ª


    ¡°We did not¡ª!¡± Palmira tried to deny, only for another noble to stand up, this one a woman with an unfortunate face and curly black hair fading to blonde at the roots.


    ¡°I as well!¡± she shouted savagely. ¡°They made up a horrid rumor about my hair and attempted to bribe me with it! The sheer nerve of them!¡±


    After that it was like the floodgates opened. Noble after noble stood, each agreeing and adding to the claims of bribery, even ones she was certain they had nothing to do with. And with each addition, Ado¡¯s smile widened further and further, until he looked so insufferably smug she could practically smell the arrogance wafting off him.


    He knew, she realized. Somehow, he¡¯d discovered their plan and countered it without them ever realizing.


    ¡­Or maybe she was giving him to much credit. Maybe they¡¯d just picked a bad first mark, and everything was going to shit because of that. Maybe it was just bad luck.


    ¡­Maybe they¡¯d tried to bribe to many people.


    Palmira decided that, if they got out of this alive, she was going to murder Chiara herself.


    ¡°How sad,¡± satisfaction oozed from each word Ado spoke. ¡°Expected, but sad. In the end they were criminals, and a criminal has no defense against justice.¡±


    Justice. The word burned its way through her brain, stoking the embers of her rage in a way nothing else had.


    Where was the justice for the women sold into slavery by the first Duke? Where was the justice, for the children starving in the streets, begging just to survive? Where was the justice for the innocent, when a noble decided somebody needed to take the fall for their crimes?


    This man stood on top of the world through sheer chance, and he had the gall to call it JUSTICE!?


    Something snapped, and Palmira saw red.


    ¡°Podesta, I feel we have gathered enough evidence, don¡¯t you¡ª?¡±


    ¡°Why the fuck are we even listening to this guy!?¡± Palmira roared, literally spewing fire against the inside of her mask. ¡°Who the hell even is he!? He says Dante killed a man¡ªwhy? There¡¯s been no evidence! No gain! All signs point to him being the one to do it, but now we¡¯re listening to this random asshole who¡¯s never stepped foot in the city before just because he¡¯s related to two dead men!?¡±


    ¡°Palmira what are you doing!?¡±


    ¡°Excuse you!? I¡¯m to be Duke, it is on my royal authority that¡ª!¡±


    ¡°Shut the fuck up! You¡¯re the cousin of the son of the man who sold out our city to the elves, your authority is stolen and your title only kept out of fear of retribution!¡± she spat, something more than just rage at the current trial burning within her. Unable to stop herself she continued to shout, old wounds she¡¯d long since thought scabbed over bursting from her mouth without thought. ¡°You call us foreign, yet your family stole the birthright of this city and keep it under the thumb of another race just to hold onto your own power!¡±


    Angry murmurs began to spread from the crowd of commoners above them, and even some of the nobles began to look displeased by the reminder.


    ¡°It is because of my family¡¯s protection that this city can even continue to function!¡±


    ¡°YOUR FAMILY¡¯S PROTECTION!?¡± she roared. ¡°I worked as a maid under your family and was nearly sold into slavery because of it! Girls I knew¡ªGia and Emilia and countless others¡ªwere sold by the Duke to the elves! And you call that protection!?¡±


    ¡°Emilia!¡± someone gasped above, and an older blonde woman nearly leapt over the balcony in her haste to reach the edge. ¡°Did you say Emilia, a maid of the Duke!? My lost daughter? You¡¯re saying she was sold!?¡±


    What was once angry murmurs now began to rise to shouts of outrage.


    ¡°The elves kidnapped my sister during the war!¡±


    ¡°My father died in the sacking!¡±


    ¡°If Visconti hadn¡¯t opened the gates, they would never have gotten in!¡±


    Ado, panicking as he realized a mob had suddenly started to form above his head, scrambled to regain control. Then something seemed to click in his head, and with a significantly shakier smile than before he turned to point directly at her. ¡°Wait, a maid who worked for the first Duke Visconti? As in, perhaps, the maid who was seen fleeing the scene of his death? Could it be that you killed the first Duke of Iscrimo!?¡±


    He had probably meant it as a hail mary. Something to distract the crowd from the controversy that was his family with a different controversy (that was also about his family). It was such a leap in logic, one that only someone directly involved would have been able to make, but not one that would hold water if anyone in the building was currently thinking straight.


    Unfortunately, Palmira also was not thinking straight. Too utterly consumed by rage to think straight, tore her mask straight off her face. ¡°You¡¯re right, I did! And I¡¯d do it again! I was eight years old and he tried to sell me to an elf! So I burned down his house with him inside!¡±


    Dante placed his face into his hands, resigned to death.


    And above them, the crowd exploded.


    What had started as angry jeers and shouts had now become a full-blown enraged mob, clamoring at the edge of the balcony overlooking the courtroom. Some guards were trying to hold them back, while others were right there next to them, raising their weapons with intent to use them. Below, the nobles weren¡¯t much better, with some looking terrified up at the mob, others looking one step away from joining them, and some even just fleeing the building entirely. Lenna¡ªwho Palmira had forgot was even in the room¡ªhad crouched beneath a table to cower, while the rest of her guild had jumped to her feet, closing ranks around their Guildmaster and Palmira while the latter continued her shouting match with Ado Visconti.


    In that moment, what had once been a normal courtroom now looked one step away from exploding.


    But in the midst of the chaos the Podesta sat silently, his molten eyes unblinkingly taking in the room. From the frantic nobles, to the fuming foreigners, to the riot occurring above his head. Then, ponderously raising a hand, he made a fist and clenched.


    The basalt seats which filled the courtroom suddenly erupted, flowing around and over the people like a liquid. Goey rock covered everyone, snapping and yanking those who were standing back to their seats and covering the mouths of those who even then still continued to shout. The black stone then solidified, locking everyone¡ªcommoners and nobles alike¡ªin place.


    In an instant, the courtroom was silent.


    The Podesta nodded and lowered his hand. Only the Rettori remained free to move, the four of them looking remarkably unbothered by the chaos.


    ¡°Though I appreciate enthusiasm, this is a place of law, not violence.¡± he spoke to the wide eyes staring from their stone prisons. ¡°Unfortunately, it appears that tensions are running a bit too high, and things have begun getting out of hand. Normally, we would call for a recess to let tempers cool, but if I let any of you out of my sight I¡¯m afraid I¡¯d have something much worse than a murder case to preside over. As such, the trial will move onto the final phase: the verdict. As there is no current Duke, the Rettori shall vote on who they believe to be the guilty party, with myself as a tiebreaker should the need arise. Do both parties agree?¡±


    Nobody spoke. Even those capable of it remained silent and rigid.


    He sighed. ¡°I need a verbal response.¡±


    Finally, Ado managed to nod, enough sweat on his brow to fill a river. ¡°Y-yes, Podesta. I agree. We should wrap this trial up quickly.¡±


    Palmira¡ªjolted out of her own flight-or-fight reaction¡ªswiftly agreed. ¡°Uh, yeah,¡± she said, glancing warily at her now encased Famiglia. ¡°That sounds great.¡±


    ¡°Excellent,¡± the Podesta relaxed back into his chair, practically melding into the stone throne. ¡°In that case, the Rettori will now present their verdicts. Rettori Primavera, the Lord of Spring, please stand and cast your vote.¡±


    The Rettori Primavera stood and swaggered to the front of the dais, black and green robes billowing with each step. With an easy smile and a spring in his step he spread his arms wide, as though to encompass the whole of the captive audience. His green eyes glittered with amusement behind his round glasses. ¡°Well, this has certainly been a fascinating trial. I thought today would be boring, but you all have really knocked it out of the park with this one! Not just accusations of murder, but confessions as well!¡±


    Palmira¡¯s stomach dropped. Was he really¡ª?


    ¡°That is why, having thoroughly examined the evidence, this Primavera has come to his conclusion,¡± he clapped his hands together. ¡°Ado Visconti. On behalf of this council¡ªno, on behalf of the people of Iscrimo¡ªI cast my vote to declare not just you, but the Visconti Famiglia as a whole guilty of the crimes of regicide, kinslaying, and numberless counts of treason!¡±


    If it weren¡¯t for the basalt prison holding her up, she would have fallen over in relief right then and there.


    ¡°You¡ª!¡± Ado spluttered, his voice barely audible over the cacophony that had exploded (from those who could still talk) following the Rettori¡¯s declaration. ¡°What is this!? You¡¯re saying I¡¯m guilty? This trial isn¡¯t even about me¡ªit¡¯s about Cadorna! This random woman just starts spewing allegations out and you think you can turn this around on me!? She has no evidence, only baseless accusations!¡±


    ¡°Evidence, you say?¡± The Primavera¡¯s smile thinned, any amusement fleeing in the face of the cold fury which replaced it. ¡°The evidence is in our very history, Visconti. Twenty years ago your uncle sold our city to the elves in exchange for personal power. That, alone, was an irredeemable betrayal. The fact that he later picked out individuals to sell in exchange for personal wealth is not just believable¡ªI would be more surprised if he hadn¡¯t done that.¡±


    ¡°That¡ªthat is not regicide, though!¡± Ado snapped, eyes wild with fear. ¡°Nor is it fratricide nor treason! It is¡ªif he had done it, that is, which he most certainly did not¡ªmerely the loss of a couple commoners. It is not something half as awful as treason!¡±


    ¡°Just a couple commoners, huh?¡± By this point the smile had completely left his face, replaced with a sneer of disgust. ¡°You mean commoners like the ones up there?¡± he motioned to the captive audience sitting above their heads. ¡°The people of Iscrimo? My people? Your people? The ones that, when Aventio Visconti became Duke, he declared he would treat ¡®as his own flesh and blood?¡¯ The ones that he sold? If that is not kinslaying, what is? If that is not treason, what is? This city was founded by the Volans as a bulwark against elvish oppression, and no matter what form our government took we have always held true to that ideal! The ideal your family has spent the past twenty years spitting upon! And if that is not regicide, the killing of that which leads a city, what is!?¡±


    The Rettori heaved deep breaths, forcing himself to calm in the silence that followed his speech. Finally, he nodded, stepping back into his position beside the Podesta. ¡°My stance is clear. Even if the Visconti are not guilty of this specific crime¡ªwhich, to be clear, I would not put past them¡ªthey have been a blight on our city too long. Therefore, I declare the family itself guilty.¡±


    The silence that followed was deafening. And in that silence the Rettori Estate, the Lady of Summer, stood, her dark skin contrasting with the gold of her robes.


    Taking the place of her colleague, she glanced at the nobility, then up at the commoners, then over to their guild. And then she sighed. ¡°Well, la Primavera was certainly right about one thing¡ªthis has been a fascinating trial. For a number of reasons. I¡¯m not one for dramatics, however, so I¡¯ll say my piece and leave it to my fellows to talk your ears off after.¡±


    She cleared her throat, and then nodded at Primavera. ¡°I¡¯ll admit, I was on the fence before, but hearing how passionate la Primavera was I find myself moved. Therefore, my verdict is this: the Visconti are guilty. Congrats, I guess.¡±


    With that final shrug, she slumped back into her chair.


    ¡°What¡­?¡± Ado rasped, looking as though he couldn¡¯t understand what was going on.


    To be fair, neither could she.


    Next the Rettori Autunno stood, her curled hair a brilliant orange to match the red of her robes. Unlike the previous Rettori, who were convivial and uncaring respectively, Autunno faced the crowd with stern eyes and an expression that could have been chiseled from stone.


    ¡°This has been a sham of a trial,¡± she began, glaring out at each and every person in attendance. ¡°Everybody here has made a mockery of law and justice since the very start, wielding lies and influence alike to further their own goals. If I had known what I was getting into, I would have simply arrested the lot of you and spent my morning doing something productive instead.¡±


    Her judgement was like a physical weight, pressing down on everyone who caught her eye. But, even as she glared at them, a glimmer of something dark appeared in her eyes. ¡°¡­However. Today, it appears that I have been given a unique opportunity.¡±


    Her cold eyes landed on Ado, and she sneered. ¡°I would hope you remember how I ascended to this position, Visconti. My father was killed by your very uncle, when he tried to stop him from opening the gates. And today is the day I can finally avenge his memory. I, the Lady of Autumn, declare the Visconti Family guilty. And may they rot in that Hell of their own making.¡±


    She sat, still stern, but looking like a weight had finally been lifted from her shoulders. With her piece said, she sighed and turned to her final colleague.


    Finally, Rettori Inverno, the Lord of Winter, rose shakily to his feet. Unlike the others, who seemed if not certain, at least confident in their positions. Inverno, on the other hand, looked almost terrified. His eyes darted around the room sporadically as he surreptitiously wiped sweaty hands against his blue and black robes.


    ¡°I¡­¡± he began, locking eyes with a desperate Ado before swiftly glancing away. ¡°It appears¡­ Well¡­ this has been¡­¡± he coughed into his hand. He remained silent for a moment, locking eyes with the other Rettori who were watching him with near malicious judgement. ¡°G¡­ Guilty¡­¡± he said at last, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet audible over the deafening silence of the courtroom.


    It was not a confident vote, and the man practically dropped back into his chair. But it was still a vote, and behind the pounding in her ears, Palmira realized suddenly what that meant.


    ¡°Well,¡± the Podesta smiled, grim satisfaction dripping from each word he spoke. ¡°It looks like we have a unanimous vote. How wonderful! For the crimes of treason, kinslaying, and regicide against the city of Iscrimo, the Visconti are hereby declared guilty!¡±


    Palmira didn¡¯t hear anything else¡ªcouldn¡¯t hear anything else, over the pounding of her own heart and the roar of the crowd. As the basalt released her body¡ªbut not Visconti¡¯s, she absently noticed¡ªshe slumped down next to her guildmaster, who was staring at her with awe and no small amount of confusion.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe that worked,¡± he whispered.


    Palmira released a half-hysterical laugh in reply. ¡°Yeah, I can¡¯t believe it did either.¡±

 Chapter 34 - Trial Aftermath

    Chapter 34 ¨C Trial Aftermath


    ¡°Are you an idiot!?¡± Chiara hissed, the echoing of her voice through the spider causing Palmira to wince. ¡°What were you thinking, you impulsive dumbass!?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I was, really,¡± Palmira grimaced, digging around in her hair for the spider. Finding it, she yanked it out, tossing it back to the half-elf. ¡°After a certain point I kind of blacked out and just started cussing him out. By the time I calmed down enough to think straight the Rettori were declaring their verdict.¡±


    Chiara looked like she wanted to continue digging into her, but Lorenzo placed a hand on her shoulder. ¡°Why don¡¯t you let this one go,¡± he gently pulled her back a step. ¡°She won, didn¡¯t she? And in a way none of us quite expected her to, either.¡±


    ¡°It was reckless,¡± she grumbled.


    ¡°So was our backup plan. And at least this way, we¡¯ll be able to walk out of the city.¡±


    ¡°Speaking of¡­¡± the guildmaster spoke up, causing all eyes to turn to him. He¡¯d just been sitting there for a bit, working through his relief and shock at the outcome of the trial. ¡°What was your backup plan anyway? ¡­Please tell me it¡¯s not what I think it was?¡±


    ¡°We had Johanna sitting nearby with our weapons to break us out and flee the city,¡± Anima confirmed, causing the guildmaster¡¯s head to fall back into his hands. ¡°Ah, come to think of it, I should probably go tell her the good news. You coming, Teresa?¡±


    The crusader shook her head, keeping her eyes locked on the other side of the room where the Podesta was directing the guards on how to move the still encased Ado Visconti out of the building. ¡°Not yet. Today¡¯s been a stressful day for everyone involved, and I worry that the outcome of this trial won¡¯t be so easily accepted. I don¡¯t want to leave the guildmaster or Palmira alone until we¡¯re out of this damned city.¡±


    ¡°Hey,¡± Chiara scowled. ¡°They won¡¯t be alone! Lorenzo and I are here too!¡±


    Teresa gave the girl a dry glare, before turning back to the Podesta who was now creating some bizarre octopus shape with the basalt.


    Chiara looked like she was still willing to argue, but the guildmaster stepped in. ¡°Why don¡¯t you two go help the others pack up our belongings,¡± he told her. ¡°Meanwhile, the rest of us will fill out any paperwork they need us to do before we leave.¡±


    His sister huffed, but grumbled out an agreement. She turned to leave, only to pause. Spinning around, she wrapped her brother in a hug, before nearly throwing herself off him and rushing out of the building, an amused Lorenzo following after.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Teresa said once she was gone. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯d be able to handle her today. I don¡¯t think I¡¯d be able to handle anyone today¡ªthere¡¯s a reason we made Johanna wait outside.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a good kid,¡± the guildmaster defended his sister with a sigh. ¡°It¡¯s just been a stressful couple days, for all of us.¡±


    ¡°What are we going to do next?¡± Palmira asked, shuffling her mask between her hands in place of her staff.


    ¡°Next?¡± he rubbed his forehead. ¡°Next we¡¯re leaving this fucking city. I¡¯d take running back to my father over having to spend one more night in Iscrimo. Beyond how poorly I¡¯ve been treated, I don¡¯t like the thought of them suddenly changing their mind and arresting me again. Or you, for that matter. I can¡¯t believe you didn¡¯t tell me you were a wanted criminal in this city! That¡¯s the kind of thing you tell me before we get here!¡± Then he paused, eyes narrowing at the door where the others had left a moment ago. ¡°Actually, why did some of you not seem surprised?¡±


    ¡°Excuse me, Signor, Signorina,¡± she was saved from having to answer that as the Rettori Primavera and Autunno stepped up to them, smiling and stern respectively. ¡°Follow us, please. We would speak with you.¡±


    -<X>-


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°We aren¡¯t still under arrest, are we?¡±


    The two Rettori had brought them out of the main room into a much calmer hallway, where they no longer needed to worry about the crowds. Daylight trickled in from the open windows, revealing that despite her exhaustion it wasn¡¯t even noon yet. As it was, she kept herself a step behind the guildmaster, feeling somewhat exposed without Morte, Malocchio, or even her mask. Beside her Teresa marched in lockstep, eyes darting between every opening and shady corner, wary for even the slightest sign that this was a trap.


    ¡°Oh, did you want to be?¡± the Primavera chuckled, waving them off. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, the Rettori have made a unanimous decision, and that¡¯s not the kind of thing we can roll back so easily.¡±


    ¡°I see¡­¡± the guildmaster hummed, looking more exhausted than tense. ¡°Speaking of, I find myself surprised. Why did you vote against him? Even if we had provided suitable evidence, I always saw you picking our side over his to be a long shot. What changed?¡±


    ¡°Nothing changed,¡± it was the Autunno who answered. ¡°The Visconti have been a plague on this city for far too long. I don¡¯t know how well you know our positions in this city, but when my father served the Rettori was a respected position. The Seasonal Lords each ran a quarter of Iscrimo, and we answered only to the Podesta, our elected ruler. But then the Visconti sold this city out to the elves and Aventio began gutting the powers of every position he could get his hands on. Ah, that reminds me.¡±


    Rettori Autunno turned to Palmira and bowed, her head dipping low to the suddenly flustered girl. ¡°Thank you. Every day he lived was another day Aventio Visconti dug his slimy fingers further into our fair city, and if you hadn¡¯t stopped him when you did we likely wouldn¡¯t be having this conversation.¡±


    ¡°Ah, well, I mean,¡± Palmira stuttered, moving to hide even further behind her guildmaster. ¡°I wasn¡¯t really thinking of politics, when I did it.¡±


    ¡°Still. He killed my father, so even if nobody else will appreciate it¡ªeven if you hadn¡¯t known what you were doing when it happened¡ªI need to thank you, for putting an end to the Dukes of Iscrimo before they could truly begin.¡±


    Rettori Primavera, after taking a moment to be suitably amused by Palmira¡¯s flustered stuttering, coughed lightly into his hand. ¡°Yes, thank you both. To tell the truth, there were¡­ other plans we had for getting rid of them. But what would you know, sometimes opportunities simply fall into your lap!¡±


    ¡°How wonderful,¡± Dante smiled dryly. ¡°Though, if you really want to thank us, we originally came here for a reason. I was going to meet with the Duke about it before¡­ well, everything.¡±


    ¡°Oh? You mean you weren¡¯t just here to kill the Duke? Color me shocked!¡±


    ¡°We actually came here looking for work,¡± he replied, barely refraining from rolling his eyes. ¡°We were hoping our adventurer¡¯s guild could take requests in Iscrimi territory.¡±


    ¡°¡­I see,¡± Primavera muttered, frowning. He didn¡¯t exactly look thrilled by the idea. ¡°While I stand by the fact that you have done immeasurable good in our city, your guild has also been directly responsible for the deaths and dethroning of three of our political leaders over the past twenty years. I hope you can understand why we wouldn¡¯t want your guild running around our city all willy nilly.¡±


    ¡°Most of those were only Palmira¡¯s fault!¡± he disagreed, ignoring the girl¡¯s annoyed ¡®Hey!¡¯ behind her. ¡°Surely that¡¯s not worth banning the whole guild over?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡± he hummed, making a show of thinking. ¡°¡­I stand by what I said, I want your guild out of this city. ¡­However, I would not be opposed if your guild looked for work say, a bit further south. In Opida or Fornata, perhaps.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ would not be opposed to that,¡± he begrudgingly agreed. Mostly because they didn¡¯t have any other choice. ¡°Will you send word down for us?¡±


    ¡°Of course!¡± he clapped his hands together with a smile. ¡°Oh, and if you go to Opida, send young Palmira, would you? The current Doge has been embezzling far too much tax money, and it would be to our benefit if he, you know¡­ disappeared.¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± Palmira snapped, burning with embarrassment. ¡°I don¡¯t kill the leader of every city I enter!¡±


    ¡°Oh, just ours then?¡± he sighed, a hand resting on his cheek mock disappointment. ¡°A shame. And here I thought you¡¯d be willing to add another dethroning to your collection. I suppose you¡¯ll be stuck being Three Dukes Palmira forever then.¡±


    ¡°¡­What?¡±


    ¡°Ah, do you like it? It¡¯s a title I came up with for you, one that I feel truly encapsulates your experience in our fair city.¡±


    ¡°Oh Goddess,¡± Palmira whispered, her face falling in realization. ¡°This is going to follow me forever, isn¡¯t it? They¡¯re going to be calling me something like ¡®Three Dukes Palmira¡¯ for the rest of my life.¡±


    The guildmaster placed a calming hand on her shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Three Dukes Palmira, I¡¯ll always remember your sacrifice.¡±


    As a betrayed Palmira moaned into her hands, a guard suddenly burst through one of the doors, practically sprinting down the hallway towards them. Teresa jumped between them with her sword already out of its sheath, but the man merely skidded to a stop before them.


    ¡°Rettori Primavera, Rettori Autunno,¡± he gasped, eyes wide in alarm. ¡°We have trouble in the north!¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Autunno stepped forward, her face somehow growing even more severe. ¡°What happened? Was it the Visconti again?¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s,¡± he gasped, barely managing to catch his breath. ¡°It¡¯s an army! In the north, an army of Demons have been spotted approaching the city!¡±

 Chapter 35 - Demons, Not Demons

    Chapter 35 ¨C Demons, Not Demons


    Palmira stood atop of the black basalt walls of Iscrimo, mages and soldiers and fellow guild members preparing alongside her. In her hands she held Morte and Malocchio with a white knuckled grip, the two of them having been shoved into her hands as they dragged her up the walls.


    The walls themselves spanned ancient, near impenetrable towers. They were built around the many lava canals, the rivers of molten rock pouring down the mountainside as much a defense as any of the walls. Far below towns and villages dotted the cliffs, terrace farms scattered between them to make the most of the volcanic soil. A single road trailed north through the valley, swiftly fading into smog and trees.


    Somewhere, just out of sight, an army of demons marched.


    ¡°How long until they get here?¡± Palmira whispered, nervous sparks dancing through her hair.


    ¡°Long enough for us to prepare, not enough for much else,¡± the guildmaster groused, standing behind her. He wasn¡¯t much good in a fight, so he was just here for moral support. ¡°The demons are rushing here, apparently. They aren¡¯t even bothering to attack any of the villages or forts on the way.¡±


    ¡°But to invade from this direction means they¡¯d have to march through the entirety of the Cantons!¡± Teresa hissed, taking a momentary break from angry prayers. ¡°Even if they evaded everything between here and the border, there¡¯s no way we wouldn¡¯t have heard anything until now!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m aware,¡± he rubbed the bridge of his nose, leveling an exhausted glare down at the valley below. ¡°Unless the demons have suddenly discovered the secrets of teleportation¡ªwhich I doubt, due to the fact that they are currently walking here¡ªthen there is something else going on here. Something that is, frankly, not our problem. Is that understood? I don¡¯t care how the demons got here, just that we leave. This city just tried to have us framed for regicide¡ªas far as I¡¯m concerned, we do the bare minimum and then we go home.¡±


    ¡°Do we¡­ have to stay?¡± Palmira spoke up, feeling guilty about having to ask this. ¡°Couldn¡¯t we just leave them to handle this on their own?¡±


    ¡°If only,¡± he sighed. ¡°At this point, it¡¯s about reputation. The Demons represent an existential threat to civilization. If it got out we tried to flee a battle like this¡ªno matter the circumstances¡ªour guild would be at best shunned and forced into bankruptcy. At worst, we could be facing excommunication. A real one, not merely the threat they leveled at the Ambrosi.¡±


    ¡°Are we at least getting paid?¡± Anima called from further down the line.


    ¡°Of course,¡± the guildmaster scoffed. ¡°As if I didn¡¯t wring them out for every coin they were worth. So all of you better survive¡ªwe¡¯re getting paid by the person, and corpses can¡¯t collect.¡±


    ¡°Good. Rule number one of adventuring, newbie,¡± Anima nodded to her. ¡°Don¡¯t put your life on the line if you aren¡¯t getting paid for it.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± Palmira nodded, taking that all in. Then she took a moment to think on what she just heard. ¡°Hey wait a minute¡ª!¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re here!¡± Morte suddenly shouted, breaking the silence he¡¯d fallen into since they first arrived at the top of the walls.


    Immediately all conversation ceased. All of their guild members jumped into position, weapons and magic prepared. A chain reaction rippled from where they were stationed as the rest of the soldiers instinctively followed their lead. Within moments the army atop the walls stood ready and waiting for the monsters to arrive.


    A tense silence fell over the assembled warriors. For a long, hopeful moment, it almost seemed like Morte was mistaken, that nothing would appear and they could relax.


    But then¡­


    Demons.


    They poured from the forest by the dozens, and then by the hundreds. They ranged in size from vile White Rabbits to lumbering Trolls nearly as tall as the very trees they¡¯d hid behind. Burning Men rode forth on Nightmares, the unholy cavalry flanking a legion of corrupted dwarves who¡¯s eyes bled yellow flames onto cracked warhammers. Deeper in the woods greater horrors lurked, visible only by the barest flickers of movement and the glinting of washed-out lights. Eye-snatchers, Gazers, and other eldritch beasts slunk in from the rear, their mere presence enough to warp the air around them into something Other.


    Countless more marched out of the forest, and she had a bone-deep certainty that countless more would follow.


    ¡°There are so many demons¡­¡± she whispered, her stomach sinking in horror.


    ¡°Actually,¡± Morte jumped to correct her, ¡°there¡¯s only one.¡±


    ¡°What? Wait, does that even matter?¡±


    ¡°Of course it matters! ¡®Demons¡¯ are not monsters. While the uneducated have a tendency to confuse the two, Demons are in fact their own distinct race, with a culture and language just like any other. They¡¯re characterized by their purple skin and white hair. Monsters, on the other hand, are either magical animals or a member of a previously sapient race who has lost their mind and regressed into a mere beast.¡±


    ¡°Morte, this really isn¡¯t the time,¡± she growled. Then she squinted. Absently, she snatched a fareye from Dante, ignoring the guildmaster¡¯s scowl. ¡°¡­Which one is the Demon? I don¡¯t see it.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the one in the center, there¡¯s a bit of a clearing around her. The purple looking person, surrounded by Black Knights? Arrogant moron. She¡¯s sacrificed her long-term health in exchange for power. Though, if the state of her body is any indication, maybe that¡¯s not so unthinkable a trade¡­¡±


    Palmira squinted, ignoring his grumblings as her eyes roved over the gathered horrors to search for the ¡®Demon.¡¯ And when she finally found it, she almost wished she hadn¡¯t.


    It had a body superficially similar to a woman¡¯s, and like Morte said her skin was a deep purple and her hair white as starlight. But that wasn¡¯t what horrified her. It was the eyes. Dozens of yellow, sickly eyes grew like warts across her body, some so small they were impossible to see at this distance, while the biggest grew from the Demon¡¯s stomach like a tumor. Ironically, it looked like the only places where there weren¡¯t eyes were her eye sockets, where instead twin stars burned a bloated, uncomfortable red.


    But beyond the horror, the woman felt¡­ almost familiar. In fact, it reminded her of¡ª


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡­


    Something just happened.


    She clutched her forehead, putting down the fareye. ¡°What¡­?¡±


    ¡°Ouch,¡± Morte hissed. ¡°Okay kid, whatever you were just thinking of? Stop thinking about it. Someone¡¯s put a Taboo on the concept. That¡¯s not the kind of thing you try to deal with right before a fight, at least not if you want to survive it. Whatever it was, save it for later.¡±


    ¡°O¡­kay¡­¡± she hissed, blinking spots out of her vision. ¡°Ouch¡­¡±


    ¡°Did you lock eyes with a Gazer?¡± Teresa asked, grimacing a bit in sympathy. ¡°They can¡¯t kill you from this distance, but it still hurts.¡±


    ¡°No, not that.¡± She shook her head. ¡°It was something else. I saw the Demon, and Morte says there was a Taboo?¡±


    ¡°You saw it!?¡± Dante grabbed her shoulder suddenly, as everyone within earshot suddenly turned to her. ¡°What did it look like? Can you tell its clan from here?¡±


    ¡°Uh, maybe?¡± she flailed, not having expected the sudden interest. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you mean by clan, but she had¡­ eyes. A lot of eyes, all over her body. They were yellow and disgusting looking and made me feel unclean just by looking at them.¡±


    Dante sucked in a harsh breath, and even Morte swore. ¡°What?¡± she asked, suddenly much more worried. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    ¡°This Demon is a follower of Nytheloph the All-Seeing,¡± Morte informed her, as Dante stormed away to spread the word of what she¡¯d seen to the rest of the soldiers. ¡°One of the surviving Demon Lords, even if it¡¯s the least obviously successful one. To tell the truth, it¡¯s surprising it sent an army all this way, considering it¡¯s the furthest of them from this border. Though maybe it shouldn¡¯t be¡ªif there¡¯s any Demon Lord capable of sneaking an army this far into enemy territory, it¡¯s that one.¡±


    ¡°Is that bad?¡± she asked, starting to panic a bit. ¡°I thought the demon lords didn¡¯t leave their territories? Oh Goddess, is that demon down there the Demon Lord!?¡±


    ¡°Hey, hey! Breathe, kid. The All-Seeing isn¡¯t here. Well, physically, at least. That lady down there¡¯s not the Demon Lord¡ªhell, fun fact, not a single demon lord is actually a demon!¡±


    That, somehow, snapped her out of spiraling further. ¡°What? Wait, how does that work?¡±


    ¡°Well, the title ¡®Demon Lord¡¯ is a bit of a misnomer¡ªlanguages constantly evolving throughout the centuries and all that rot¡ªbut at it¡¯s core a ¡®Demon Lord¡¯ is a ¡®Lord of Demons.¡¯ There¡¯s nothing in that definition that states the Lord has to be a Demon themselves. Only the Demon King himself was a demon, and a surprisingly egalitarian one at that, if you consider his successors!¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t make any sense!¡± she frowned. ¡°Why do the demons follow, um, whatever the Demon Lords are?¡±


    ¡°Why do humans bow to elves, or dwarves bow to dragons? When it comes to competent leaders, race isn¡¯t as much as issue as you¡¯d expect. Each of the Demon Lords survived the Demon Wars, remember. If there was anyone for the survivors to rally behind, it would be them.¡±


    As Morte continued to ramble about the political structures of the Demonlands to her, a commotion further down the walls caught her attention.


    The Rettori had arrived, holding an ornate palanquin between the four of them. The Podesta sat within, smiling at each warrior he passed. His calm demeanor helped settle the tension that had spread through the ranks, restoring fractured discipline with his very presence.


    Eventually their march brough them to the largest tower on the wall, the Rettori setting down the palanquin with barely concealed groans of relief. The Podesta glanced out over the edge of the walls, frowning with faint annoyance at the army of monsters far below.


    ¡°Well, I haven¡¯t seen a sight like that in years,¡± he mused, tapping his fingers rhythmically along the edge of the palanquin. ¡°I suppose it was inevitable, even if I hadn¡¯t expected something like this quite so soon. Still, no reason to let them think they have a chance. Iscrimo is impregnable against a traditional siege¡ªso, Demon, allow me to show you why.¡±


    Suddenly, the temperature skyrocketed dramatically, a dry heat seeming to rise from the earth. The Podesta either ignored or was unaffected by this, and moved both his arms forward, palms facing the sky. Then, as though he were expending great effort to lift something heavy, he slowly heaved his palms up into the sky.


    And the mountain rose with him.


    Earth and stone shifted, the black basalt of the mountain shuddering and groaning as incalculable tons of rock were moved at the Podesta¡¯s whim. The already impressive basalt walls grew even greater, doubling in both size and thickness beneath their feet, countless serrated spikes growing from the stone. Holes opened up across the mountainside, pyroclastic flows erupting violently and mixing with the already existing lava to barrel down the mountain towards the invading army, swerving around the existing towns and villages. Entirely new fortifications sprung fully formed from the smoke, a dozen new barriers haphazardly constructed that would have shamed even the greatest walls she¡¯d seen in Firozzi.


    And above it all the Podesta sat, slowly shifting his fingers to and fro like he was the conductor of a private orchestra. A small smile carved itself across his face, as though he were enjoying himself.


    The Demon, however, did not remain idle.


    She ordered her monsters forward, Grey Trolls lumbering behind the Burning Men with roars as the fireproof and resilient took the lead. Six of the Black Knights surrounding her broke away, charging ahead of the pack. Two took the lead, and bringing their swords low they roared, diverting the pyroclastic flow with a flick of their wrists, the shockwave from doing so powerful enough that those up on the walls could feel their hearts rattle in their chests.


    Though the lava was only diverted for a moment before the Podesta regained control, it was enough for the Trolls to move into position around the other monsters, hefting great shields to block the molten rock. Of the Black Knights one turned west, keeping pace with the ever-shifting geography and diverting a great deal of the Podesta¡¯s attention. The other was not so lucky, and after a failed parry he was tripped into one of the lava flows and quickly drowned beneath the molten rock.


    The rest of the Black Knights closed distance with the walls, countless monsters close at their heels. The earth turned black from the sheer amount of volcanic rock now flowing over it, the only color visible the burning monsters which marched forward regardless. Some died, but for every one which fell a dozen more survived, their march on Iscrimo seeming ever more inevitable by the minute.


    Palmira was jolted out of her petrified shock by frigid fingers tapping the back of her neck.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Johanna murmured in her ear. ¡°Look alive, newbie. Freezing up now¡¯ll just get you killed. Don¡¯t focus on what the big hitters are doing¡ªyou can¡¯t do shit about them. Only focus on what you can do, and trust your comrades to take care of the rest.¡±


    Her piece said, the elf marched past her, flicking her fingers against the city walls. Each tap of her fingers caused frost to pool on the basalt. With crackles and pops the frost grew down the walls, and upon reaching the bottom exploded into a dozen whinnying reindeer. With coats of soft snow and jagged ice for antlers, they charged two-by-two into enemy lines, impaling every monster unfortunate enough to be in their path.


    The other mages on the walls joined her, their own spells joining Johanna¡¯s in a cacophony of color and death. Far to the left a storm of steel rose over the army, joined by dozens of magic blades which tore through ever more monsters. To her right a trio of lightning mages set up an improvised railgun, taking potshots at any monster dangerous enough to require their attention. Scattered across the walls stone and lava mages added their own power to the Podesta¡¯s, further enhancing the defenses or joining the tide of molten stone as they saw fit.


    And next to her her own guild members added to the rainbow of magic. Chiara held a small mirror in her hand, summoning forth a small army of crystal birds, while Lorenzo tossed down seeds which instantly grew into towering maneating plants. Teresa whispered prayers to the Goddess as she fired a crossbow alongside Johanna, who¡¯d switched to firing one of those gunpowder weapons she occasionally saw. Anima danced back and forth along the wall, working up a sweat to summon the barest amount of water from the oppressive heat, using it to cast bouncing floods down the cliffside.


    Everyone else was already fighting.


    ¡­It was time she joined too.


    Taking a deep breath, Palmira forced down the terror she was currently experiencing. She stepped up to the edge of the wall, looking down over the battlefield below, and raised Morte high above her head.


    ¡°Are you ready to kill some demons, kid?¡±


    Despite herself, her lips quirked into a smile. ¡°I thought you said they weren¡¯t demons?¡±


    ¡°Bah, that¡¯s a matter of semantics! And besides, so long as you kill the one down there, you¡¯ll still kill a demon!¡±


    ¡°Then,¡± she whispered, with a confidence she didn¡¯t feel, ¡°I¡¯d better not miss.¡±

 Chapter 36 - Eye See You

    Chapter 36 ¨C Eye See You


    The sky had grown dark over the city of Iscrimo. Black smog filled the sky, erupting from the dozens of new openings that had been rent across the mountainside. A cacophony of lights tore the sky asunder as all forms of magics rained down from the towering walls, the very ground far below being constantly reshaped beneath the enemy army¡¯s feet.


    Palmira ignored all of this, dashing along the walls and weaving behind the mages firing upon the army below.


    It should have been terrifying. Hell was being forged right in front of her, heat and power mixing to create new flavors of death that she could personally experience if she took but five steps to the right.


    But after the initial shock wore off, a calm had settled in her heart. A kind of focus had replaced it, a tunnel vision which let her concentrate on her own tasks to the exclusion of everything else. And, as Johanna advised her, she let the others take care of the rest.


    Unlike most of the other mages on the wall, Palmira wasn¡¯t fighting. She barely knew how in the first place, and she¡¯d never done so from this distance. All her training in the guild had been as a mid-to-close range fighter, something which wasn¡¯t much use when on top of thirty story tall walls.


    However, it turned out there was a more efficient use of her time than fighting.


    Heat prickled across her skin, a rise in temperature that she¡¯d come in the past few hours to recognize in a heartbeat.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry it took so long,¡± she gasped, barely able to get the words out. ¡°But I¡¯m here now!¡±


    The other mages couldn¡¯t risk turning away from the battle, but she saw the relief cross their faces at her words. With a flex of her will she raised Morte high into the air and¡ªrepeating the trick she¡¯d used back when the inn was flooding¡ªshe forced the air to still. It wasn¡¯t easy¡ªhot air was a much more difficult concept for her to wrestle with than hot water¡ªbut after a few moments of concentration the temperature dropped from a sweltering heat to a cool chill.


    The men and women around her practically sagged in relief. One of them went so far as to take a moment to turn and thank her, which she accepted with good grace as she caught her breath. Unfortunately she only had a moment before she was off again, rushing down to the next section of wall, knowing that she¡¯d have to be back here in a few minutes anyway to redo the spell.


    As it turns out, fighting was sweaty work. And fighting on top of a volcano that was actively erupting was deadly work. Within the first hour of fighting heatstroke had taken out more of their warriors than any of the monsters. The Firozzi guild was one of the exceptions, as between Palmira and Johanna they were kept cool enough, but once the other captains realized what she was doing she¡¯d been pressganged into acting as temperature-control for an entire half-mile of wall.


    At first she¡¯d been grateful, since her contribution to actually killing monsters had been pitifully small. However, after several hours of running back and forth across the same section of wall she was about ready to pass out.


    Unlike her, the other mages were being cycled to keep them fresh. Unfortunately for her though, they didn¡¯t have enough mages who could control temperature to spare. She¡¯d only seen one other during her whole time on the wall¡ªa storm mage who manipulated the humidity in the air¡ªand they¡¯d looked just as exhausted as she was.


    Palmira stumbled to a stop, realizing only a few moments after she¡¯d started casting that she¡¯d ended up just a few steps away from where the Podesta was conducting his volcanic symphony. The old man didn¡¯t offer her even a glance, keeping his molten eyes firmly on the battle below, but the Rettori Primavera spared her a sympathetic look.


    ¡°Palmira, wasn¡¯t it?¡± the man asked, wiping the sweat from his brow with relief. ¡°Why don¡¯t you take a minute. You look only a step away from falling over where you stand. In fact,¡± he reached into the sleeve of his robe, pulling out a thin red bottle. ¡°Here, drink this. You¡¯ll feel more alive after.¡±


    Palmira could have kissed that old man, but she settled for shakily grabbing the bottle and falling on her butt. Leaning against the battlement she chugged the bottle between gasps of air.


    ¡°You¡¯re being to soft on her,¡± the Rettori Autunno frowned at her compatriot. ¡°Her job is too important to leave unattended like this.¡±


    ¡°If her job is so important, she deserves the break,¡± he countered easily. ¡°It¡¯s been hours since the battle began. How many times have we seen her run back and forth? Let the girl rest, I say¡ªkilling her from overwork won¡¯t do any of us any good.¡±


    ¡°Yet while she sits here, more of our warriors suffer. Are we supposed to sacrifice them for her?¡±


    ¡°Are we supposed to sacrifice her for them? We keep working her like this, I won¡¯t be surprised if she passes out within the hour. Then where will our warriors be?¡±


    ¡°This battle will be over by then,¡± she assured him with a confidence nobody else felt.


    ¡°Will it?¡± Primavera mused, glancing over at the invading army. ¡°Somehow, I doubt that.¡±


    ¡°I think both of those old farts should shut the hell up,¡± Morte grumbled to her, before sighing heavily. ¡°How are you doing, kid? Still breathing?¡±


    Palmira¡ªwho¡¯d been listening to their argument with half an ear¡ªmerely grunted. She could feel the healing potion getting to work on her legs, a twisting tension which tunneled through burning muscles and left behind a feeling of cool relief. She imagined it similar to what the others felt when she forced the temperature to drop.


    Closing her eyes, she let her head rest on the cool basalt. It was hard to think right now, her entire body seeming to melt the second she took a moment to relax. The flames she¡¯d been circling around her feet finally began to sputter and die, and she could even breath without her heart trying to jump out of her throat.


    Then the wall next to her exploded.


    Palmira screamed, jumping away from the collapsing stone. It was only like that for a moment, before the Podesta flicked a finger and instantly rebuilt it, but that didn¡¯t change the fact that if that had been a foot to the left it would have killed her.


    How!? Surely they couldn¡¯t be attacking the walls already? Surely they weren¡¯t that close!


    Despite herself, she peeked between the crenelations, glancing down at the battlefield below.


    They were that close.


    Her heart thundered in her chest as she saw how much distance the army had crossed. They¡¯d broken past the villages and forward fortifications, close enough now that she could pick out individuals without the need of a far-eye. She could even now see the purple skin of the demon broken up by her dozens of yellow eyes, and the two Black Knights who remained to guard her flanks. Both had massive bows in their hands, launching arrow after arrow into the sky and tearing out chunks of the wall with each hit.


    The Demon glanced up, and for a moment, it was almost as though they had locked eyes.


    Palmira fell back away from the wall, panting in fear.


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s certainly a valid reaction,¡± the Primavera sighed. ¡°It¡¯s unfortunate that they¡¯ve gotten this far, but they¡¯ve caught us with our pants down. But don¡¯t worry, our city is built for sieges. They might give us a good scare, but they¡¯ll never breach these walls.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ve breached the walls,¡± the Podesta informed them, scowling down at the army of monsters.


    ¡°What!?¡± the Primavera yelped, suddenly looking much less confident. ¡°How!? I thought we were stable!?¡±


    ¡°We are,¡± he ground out, the stress of the situation causing wrinkles to crack across his forehead. ¡°But they brought ten Knights with them. I¡¯ve only managed to kill three¡ªthe other seven have been testing me further than I¡¯ve been in decades, and with that many monsters down there we can¡¯t risk sending anyone down there to distract them. One of them managed to get past me in the east and tore through the wall. I¡¯ve resealed the breach, but he¡¯s now wreaking havoc on our backline.¡±


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    The Primavera swore, while the Autunno simply turned and ran east, presumably to help fend the Black Knight off.


    ¡°How much damage do you think he¡¯ll cause?¡± the Primavera asked grimly, eyes trailing after his fellow Rettori. ¡°How bad do you think it will be?¡±


    ¡°Bad. But it could be worse,¡± the Podesta sighed. ¡°It was a Knight, not a monster. No matter how corrupt they¡¯ve become, they still hold to a code of conduct. We shouldn¡¯t see many civilian casualties, but who knows how many soldiers we¡¯ll lose before he¡¯s stopped.¡±


    Palmira stayed quiet, a sinking feeling in her stomach as she watched the two men speak. She wondered if they¡¯d forgotten she was here. She didn¡¯t care to remind them.


    A long, stressful silence clouded the walls, before the Podesta finally sighed.


    ¡°Rettori Primavera,¡± he said at last, his voice begrudgingly firm. ¡°It¡¯s time to call it. We can¡¯t keep going like this, not if we don¡¯t want to risk losing more than we¡¯d stand to gain. Send word, we¡¯re initiating our backup plan.¡±


    ¡°Podesta! Surely not! We¡¯ve worked too hard, we can¡¯t just sacrifice this opportunity to¡ª!¡±


    ¡°We aren¡¯t sacrificing anything today we weren¡¯t willing to sacrifice yesterday,¡± the Podesta cut him off gently. ¡°The situation has changed slightly, but it seems not enough to matter. It¡¯s amusing, in a way. Our own ambitions bringing ruin to themselves. Regardless, this is an order. I¡¯m willing to sacrifice anything to save this city, but I won¡¯t sacrifice the city itself. Understood?¡±


    The Primavera was silent. And then, with a sigh, he nodded. ¡°Yes, Podesta. I¡¯ll see it done.¡±


    ¡°Good man.¡±


    The other Rettori left, leaving Palmira alone with just the Podesta. The old man turned back to the battle, seeming to ignore her even as whatever she¡¯d just witnessed left her head spinning.


    ¡°What¡­¡± she rasped, confused. ¡°What¡¯s going on? Are we losing? What¡­ what are you sacrificing?¡±


    The Podesta spared her a glance, but nothing more. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Firozzi. Iscrimo is a powerful city, one with enough tricks up its sleeves that¡ªoh. Oh no.¡±


    ¡°What? What was that, why did you just¡ª!?¡±


    A deafening ¡®BOOM¡¯ shook the wall, and the Podesta said something she hadn¡¯t been aware was a swear. The air crackled with purples and yellows, and the old man who¡¯d seemed so unmovable a moment ago was instantly knocked from his palanquin to the floor.


    And then the Demon was on the wall between them.


    ¡°Ah,¡± she whispered, crouching on top of the Podesta¡¯s fallen form. ¡°Here you are. You¡¯ve done well to hide from me, for a mongrel who¡¯s abandoned his humanity. But not well enough. Ah¡­ the glory I will gain from killing you¡­ I can see it already¡­¡±


    The Demon reached down, sickly yellow plasma dripping from her fingers, each drop sizzling like acid where it pooled against the Podesta¡¯s basalt skin. Even just standing there, she radiated an aura of malice and sadism that could kill a lesser man by its mere presence.


    So what Palmira did next, it should be noted, was very, very stupid.


    Leaping to her feet, fueled by some primal instinct that told her that the thing in front of her needed to die, now, Palmira raised her burning mace high above her head and swung at the Demon with all her might.


    The Demon didn¡¯t even flinch, merely raising a single hand to catch it by the handle.


    ¡®Concern.¡¯ Malocchio muttered. ¡®That is not supposed to happen.¡¯


    ¡°My,¡± she raised an eyebrow appraisingly. ¡°What exquisite craftsmanship. And here I thought Artificery was a dead art.¡±


    Palmira didn¡¯t bother responding, still running on fear and adrenaline. Instead she simply let go of her mace, snatching up Morte and shoving him directly into the Demon¡¯s face, and cast another spell.


    The Demon watched her do this with an amused exasperation, like one would watch a toddler punching their leg. There wasn¡¯t even a hint of fear in her (many) eyes.


    Then the Flashbang went off.


    The Demon screamed, a warbling, unholy cry of agony that pierced her very soul.


    But Palmira was used to eldritch things piercing her soul, and so didn¡¯t hesitate. Bringing Morte up and using him as an improvised hammer she slammed him into the giant eye on the Demon¡¯s stomach. Igniting him at the last second she set off an explosion directly on the leaking pupil, causing the whole thing to burst in a fountain of yellow gore.


    The Demon screamed again, but this time she didn¡¯t let herself get distracted. Lunging forward she drilled crackling nails through Palmira¡¯s elbow, causing it to snap and her hand to spasm, dropping Morte before she could go in for another attack. The Demon¡¯s other hand instantly snaked around her neck, raising her up into the air with contemptuous ease.


    ¡°You¡­ dare,¡± she snarled over Palmira¡¯s choking, ignoring how she desperately tried to use her good hand to free herself. ¡°Do you even know what you¡¯ve done, you mangey mutt!? Worm, trash, scum of the earth! Damn you, damn you, damn you¡­!¡±


    ¡°HEY, GASBAG!¡± Morte shouted, causing the Demon to flinch. ¡°Yeah that¡¯s right I¡¯m talking to you! Put the girl down, now, or else!¡±


    ¡°That¡­ what¡­?¡± the Demon blinked, before grimacing and raising her free hand to cradle her head. ¡°I¡­ I know that voice¡­ I think¡­? Do I¡­?¡±


    ¡°Hey, last warning!¡±


    That seemed to snap the Demon out of whatever had come over her, and she turned to glare at him. ¡°What are you¡ªyou¡¯re a staff. What can you even do to me?¡±


    ¡°Well, I can, uh¡­¡±


    Suddenly, the sky shook, and a dragon¡¯s roar echoed across the battlefield.


    And then another one followed. And another, and another, until nothing could be heard but the earsplitting thunder of a weyr of dragons roaring at once.


    They crested from behind the mountains, their long chitinous bodies gleaming in the late afternoon smog. They poured from the sky in numbers not seen in an age, not since the Demons first marched on the Pumilios in times long past. With the baring of teeth and the fluttering of wings they descended on the battlefield, unleashing torrents of white-hot flame on the monsters below. Some did not even bother with that, descending from the heavens to rip and tear with tooth and claw at anything which got in their path.


    A relieved cheer arose from the distant defenders at the sight, for even if they didn¡¯t know why, they knew now that they were saved.


    ¡°What¡­?¡± the Demon stared out at the battlefield in shock. ¡°They dare betray¡ªyou staff, did you do this!?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­ yes? I mean, yes, yes I did! Now, release my apprentice, or face the wrath of the dragons!¡±


    The Demon scowled, her many eyes twitching in rage. ¡°You think I¡¯m just going to¡ª!¡± she grabbed at her head again, nearly whimpering in pain. ¡°Why, my lord? This is not the time¡ªbut I know that voice! I know you, I do! Who are you, to have been forgotten by me!?¡±


    The Demon screamed, her attention split between the throbbing in her head and the staff on the ground. The whole of herself was consumed by a foreign rage which she couldn¡¯t fight back against.


    Which is why she didn¡¯t notice the black stone beneath her erupt into the sky, instantly slicing off the hand which was choking a near unconscious Palmira.


    Palmira fell to the ground beside Morte, gasping and wheezing for breath, while the Demon merely stared in confusion at the stump where her hand used to be.


    Then she remembered that they were not alone on the wall.


    ¡°You!¡± she snarled, turning to the downed Podesta. The stone man could barely move, but with every twitch of his fingers the basalt they were standing on continued to bubble and shift. ¡°I should have killed you sooner!¡±


    She tried to launch herself at the man¡ªonly to fall on her face, not able to move an inch. Glancing down, she only then realized that at some point her feet had sunk into the mud-like stone, locking her in place.


    ¡°You think this is enough to stop me?¡± she snarled, raising her good hand to blast herself free.


    But once more she had forgotten who she was fighting.


    Palmira, now recovered, lifted Morte directly into the Demon¡¯s face.


    And set off another flashbang.


    She screamed, trying to move away only to trip on her still encased feet, falling back to the ground and slamming her head against the stone with a sickening ¡®crack.¡¯ Palmira didn¡¯t bother to give her time to recover. Though she couldn¡¯t use both her hands anymore, she brought Morte around and jammed him in the Demon¡¯s already destroyed stomach-eye. Then she commanded him to burn.


    The Demon screamed again as she was burned alive from the inside out. An agony which lasted only for a moment as¡ªwhile she was pinned under Palmira¡¯s burning revenge¡ªthe Podesta made his move. A dozen basalt blades erupted from beneath the Demon, carving through her lungs, her heart, her stomach, and even her head.


    The Demon twitched. Once, twice, three times. Until, finally, with a pitiful moan, she fell still.


    Dead.


    Palmira coughed, choking past her injured throat for air. She leaned back, wheezing as she let her pounding heart calm. ¡°Holy shit,¡± she rasped.


    And then the Demon moved.


    Not that dead, it turns out.


    Palmira scrambled away from it, even as the Podesta riddled it with a dozen more blades. But still it twitched, as though invisible strings were trying to drag it back to life.


    ¡°Ah, I remember now¡­ Oh vilest of Lords¡­¡± the demon rasped from broken lips, her dozens of ruined eyes all staring straight at her staff. A single hand shakily rose, jerking to grasp at nothing. ¡°¡­you still draw breath? For shame¡­ to hide from mine eyes¡­¡±


    ¡°Speak only with your own mouth, you crime against existence,¡± Morte spat back. ¡°Release this child from her suffering, and perhaps I will kill you quickly.¡±


    ¡°What cruel words¡­¡± the body let out a wet chuckle. ¡°¡­But very well. I will grant you¡­ a single kindness¡­ The kindness¡­ of mercy¡­ hehehehe¡­¡±


    Then the stone beneath the Demon opened up, and her body fell into the hole, which slammed shut a moment later, a faint ¡®squelch¡¯ being the last sound the once proud Demon made.


    Palmira stared at the faint crack in the stone, faintly leaking a disgusting yellow pus. Then she turned to Morte, who the Demon had somehow recognized. Then she turned to look beyond the wall, where dragons had descended to devour the carcasses of the army below.


    Then, she decided, that she wouldn¡¯t deal with any of this right now. Instead, she fell onto her back and passed out, exhaustion finally claiming her.


    And beyond the basalt walls of Iscrimo, night fell, and the dragons roared their victory.

 Interlude XIII - A Rock and A Hard Place

    Interlude XIII ¨C A Rock and A Hard Place


    Luciano Calcolo


    Day bled into night, and throughout the city of Iscrimo, people celebrated.


    An impromptu festival had erupted across the city, humans and elves and dwarfs and many others releasing the tension of the day with song and dance. Lanterns in a variety of cheerful colors had been set alight, illuminating piazzas throughout the city. The nobility had splurged on food and drink for the people in a grand act of charity (and, perhaps, in the hopes that they might buy back some goodwill) and merchants and cooks set up stalls along streetcorners and open piazzas, food and trinkets handed out faster than most could keep up. Even the poorest of the beggars laughed in good cheer, hidden in their own corners roasting giant rats over the bubbling canals.


    Far above the city, curled around the peaks of the surrounding volcanoes, the dragons watching the little people dance below with petty amusement. Tribute would come, they knew, but not today.


    Luciano himself sat at the head of a grand banquet that had been swiftly set up before the Basilica di Sant''Giuseppina, the Death of the Daughter a grim backdrop to the merriment of the people below. Grand church bells rung in the Song of Revival, a minor bit of sacrilege that only their city was allowed to get away with. Platters of cheeses, breads, and sweets were arrayed in a modest feast before him, quality secondary to quantity this night. The only true luxury they¡¯d had time to prepare was the Red Boar being roasted over the canal, the great beast so large it could feed a thousand men. Its skin and fur had already been claimed by the weavers and tanners, who fashioned quilts and clothes and all sorts of garments to gift to the warriors who survived and the families of those who hadn¡¯t.


    The thought was a sobering one, but it was as it was. Tonight they would celebrate. Tomorrow they would mourn. And the next day they would return to normalcy, the fading fervor of a swift war breaking against the volcanic gates of Iscrimo, as all had before.


    Luciano himself just wanted it all to be over with already so that he could rest.


    At ninety-four years old, he¡¯d lived through enough conflicts to find the whole affair rote. If it hadn¡¯t been for his own near-death experience, he likely wouldn¡¯t be feeling anything but impatience at the seemingly endless festivities.


    Now, he also felt exhausted.


    He¡¯d nearly died. Even now, his body churned uncomfortably. Stone stiff around his bubbling organs, it took four different earth mages under his own watchful eye to return his body to a working state. If the girl hadn¡¯t been there to save him, he probably wouldn¡¯t have even been able to do that.


    Luciano glanced to his right. It was difficult to do so, as his muscles chinked and his bones slowly calcified. But he managed, grinding down the part of his neck which had cracked earlier to allow his eyes to fall on the girl seated next to him.


    Palmira di Firozzi, the guest of honor, and the girl who¡¯d saved his life.


    She looked dead on her feet, even though she was sitting. They¡¯d given her a few hours to power nap while they set up the festival¡ªsomething he wished he could have taken advantage of himself¡ªbut that only seemed to do so much for her.


    He could relate. As Podesta, he¡¯d been overworked before the Visconti arrived, and that certainly hadn¡¯t changed after. But such was life.


    Still, he had his duties, and the girl had earned his favor twice over. Conversation was only polite.


    ¡°Palmira di Firozzi,¡± he rasped slowly, plucking at his own petrified vocal cords to form the words. The girl jumped, blinking the sleep out of her eyes to glance up at him.


    For a moment, he was taken aback by her youth. She¡¯d seemed so much older beneath the mask.


    ¡°Tell me,¡± he moved past the pause with practiced ease. ¡°How are you enjoying the festivities?¡±


    ¡°It has been¡­¡± she trailed off, her exhaustion making her tongue thick in her mouth. He waited patiently, letting her find the words. ¡°¡­good. Um, great even. The food has been delicious. I thank you for the honor of sitting here, Podesta.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± he ground out a chuckle, though nothing more. People tended to find his laugh unnerving. ¡°You have done much for this city, in the short time you¡¯ve been here. I do wonder what you will do next.¡±


    The girl nodded, accepting his idle small talk for what it was. ¡°I think¡­ we¡¯re going home, to Firozzi. I think we¡¯ve been gone longer than expected, and I¡¯m sure the guild has been worried.¡±


    ¡®Home.¡¯ That was what she called Firozzi. Despite having been born here, despite having lived in this city for years. Firozzi was home to her, not Iscrimo.


    Ah, Goddess, what had they done to drive away such a shining star?


    Oh, right, it was the Visconti. The reason they couldn¡¯t have nice things.


    Well, they were gone now, just another reason to thank the girl. She¡¯d gotten rid of those pains in the ass more efficiently than he¡¯d been able to in twenty years. Murder, who knew?


    ¡­He hoped he wasn¡¯t next. Good thing he was immune to fire.


    The girl was fidgeting beside him. Ah, right, he¡¯d lost himself in thought again. That he couldn¡¯t blame on the injury unfortunately, that was simply age.


    ¡°Tell me about your home, Firozzi,¡± he said at last, relaxing into his chair. ¡°I admit I¡¯ve never been so far south. I¡¯ve always wondered, is the city truly built on a red river?¡±


    She perked up, speaking slowly yet enthusiastically. She told him of the river that ran through the city, of the Red Sap festival and All Saint¡¯s Day. She told him of the best food stands and restaurants, which ones were cheap and which ones to avoid. And she told him of the dragon Vesuvius, which dominated the Old District.


    Her voice grew more animated as she spoke, and Luciano smiled as he listened. He had not been able to travel much these past decades, but listening to her speak he could almost imagine the winding streets and the red tile roofs. She seemed to come back alive as she spoke of her home, her passion nearly enough to make the old man envious.


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    Ah, youth. They burned so brilliantly.


    Time would tell if this flame would last, or if it was just another to be snuffed out by the cruel march of time.


    -<X>-


    Hours later, once the celebration had begun to wind down and the revelers finally started going to sleep, Luciano took the opportunity to bow out, returning to the l''Insieme to rest.


    Or at least, he would eventually. Unfortunately, he still had one last issue to deal with tonight.


    A ¡®man¡¯ was already waiting for him as he entered his office. ¡®He¡¯ lounged in the Podesta¡¯s chair, draped in rich robes of red dragonscale decorated with ivory chains spanning from shoulder to navel. Wide rosy lips grinned on a pale face that was just a shade off of natural, which nearly distracted from the slitted red eyes that sunk into his face. Atop blood red hair stiff as straw sat a truly fabulous hat, the only part of his outfit that saved him from looking like he was a vampire wannabe who was trying too hard.


    The thing across from him looked like a man, from a certain point of view. But Luciano had dealt with Dragons for decades, and he knew their vices. The living flesh before him was a mere puppet, nothing more.


    ¡°I do hope you¡¯ll let me sit down, Ticino, or this will be quite the short meeting,¡± Luciano sighed, closing the door behind him. ¡°Unfortunately, one of us has knees he actually uses.¡±


    ¡°You speak my name too easily, boy,¡± the dragon scoffed, narrowing his eyes. ¡°Reign in your cheek, lest I remind you where you stand.¡±


    ¡°I stand in my office,¡± he groused, rolling molten eyes. ¡°Something you seem to have forgotten, dragon.¡±


    With a flex of his will he caused the basalt chair to melt into the floor, leaving the dragon to fall on his fake ass. The bubbling basalt flowed over to where he stood, reforming the chair and allowing him to finally sit with a sigh of relief.


    ¡°What relentless gall,¡± the dragon rumbled, as he regathered his dignity. Not that he had any before the Podesta¡ªhe¡¯d once broken this very dragon against the walls of Iscrimo in decades past, and seen him beg for his life before his own ruined ambition.


    And now here he stood, once more an ally and enemy both.


    ¡°We are allies now, this is true,¡± the Podesta groused, not even managing the energy to glare. ¡°And that means we are equals. This is my home, Minister Ticino, and I expect to be respected in it.¡±


    ¡°Allies? Respect? Please,¡± the dragon wearing the flesh of a man grinned, face splitting just a bit too wide. ¡°You could not keep me from this city forever, Podesta. You could not even keep out the elves. Only those who are strong are deserving of respect¡ªand before me I only see a little boy who¡¯s finally learned the proper lord to bow to.¡±


    The Podesta narrowed his eyes. What arrogance, even in his supposed victory. Absently, he flicked a finger, and the dragon stiffened as he felt a basalt spear tap his chest. Not the chest of this meat puppet; the chest of his true form, the dragon¡¯s real body resting a mountain away.


    But a mountain away was not enough to hide from him. The late Demon Lord Brunhildir could attest to that.


    The dragon licked his lips in a distinctly inhuman way. A nervous tick which did not translate well. ¡°Remove your spear, Podesta,¡± the arrogance had seeped out of his voice, replaced with a grudging respect. ¡°You have made your point.¡±


    The Podesta hummed, and did not. Dragons were inherently prideful, a sin they shared with the elves. It was always good to keep a reminder of their imminent mortality on hand when negotiating with them.


    ¡°It is, I feel, pertinent to remind you of our deal, Minister Ticino. Iscrimo is to be your ally, not your subject.¡± An ally which paid tribute to a foreign power, true, but that did not need be said out loud.


    ¡°Yes, so you have said,¡± the dragon rumbled, rubbing at his chest. ¡°And it is something the Cantons acknowledge. Iscrimo is to join the Cantons as a free republic, under no dragon¡¯s rule.¡±


    The Podesta smiled kindly, pulling his spear back an inch, much to the obvious relief of the puppet before him. He imagined this would not be the last time they would have this conversation.


    ¡°But what of the last Visconti?¡± the dragon asked, narrowing his eyes. ¡°Even now he is imprisoned, is he not? I should remind you, they were also part of our deal.¡±


    Indeed, the Visconti. The despicable ¡®Dukes¡¯ of Iscrimo had disgraced the city for twenty years, from the first traitor Aventio to the uncrowned Ado. He¡¯d been trying to get rid of them for years, but their elven connections were firm in their protection. Not even the offer to trade them out for somebody mildly more competent¡ªor even less evil¡ªhad worked. Under the rule of the elves, the Visconti were there to stay.


    Until Aventio burned to death in a house fire.


    And that had given him an idea.


    As the Podesta had worked to rebuild his political power in the wake of the first Duke¡¯s death, he¡¯d reached out to an old enemy-turned-potential-ally with an offer. A few murders in the night, a few scapegoats thrown to the elves, and in exchange ever-cunning Ticino could add the city¡¯s inheritance of the Visconti wealth to his treasury. While not a foolproof plan, it was one in which they were unlikely to be caught.


    After all, when a man dies of poison, who blames the Dragon?


    Then that girl had come along, and suddenly their plans had been expedited.


    ¡°The Visconti have been declared enemies of the state,¡± he said at last. ¡°And, unless the Cantons would have some to reason deny us, I don¡¯t see why we couldn¡¯t simply take their wealth as penance.¡±


    The sneer on the dragon¡¯s face meant there likely would be others in the Cantons who¡¯d see him deprived of that wealth, and that he¡¯d be spending the next few months greasing draconic hands to see all of the Visconti¡¯s assets end up in his horde alone.


    ¡°It¡¯s your own fault, you know,¡± the Podesta chuckled darkly. ¡°I don¡¯t believe we planned to deal with a siege for another week, or am I mistaken?¡±


    ¡°They moved faster than we anticipated!¡± the dragon growled, for once looking abashed. Ah, this was likely mere incompetence, not more aggressive ambition. ¡°Be grateful we pushed the majority of them north instead! If the whole army had come south, even my allies on the council might have baulked at coming to save your petty little village!¡±


    ¡°Truly,¡± he sighed, leaning back in his chair. ¡°Then I suppose I must thank you. Without a fortress like Iscrimo, the elves will die by the droves keeping that army at bay. It will buy us the time needed to consolidate our own positions, before the Empress can make her move.¡±


    It was a dark thought, but these days he had no love lost for the ¡®Empire¡¯ which ruled to their north. After the half-elven Roisuisses died out, it seemed any love for humanity the elves had died with them. Now all those long-eared bastards cared for was conquest and domination.


    To think, even half a century ago he¡¯d been married to an elf. It was incredible how time seemed to sour all things.


    Time was such an unfortunate fact of life, wasn¡¯t it? People grew, people aged, people changed. Even he, powerful as he was, was not immune to the relentless march of time. The Podesta¡ªLuciano Calcolo¡ªwas one of the most powerful humans on the continent. But he was still, above all else, human. An old human, who even with his magic of stone and fire was likely not much longer for the world.


    So he had made his choice, as had the Primavera and the Autunno and many other petty nobles besides. Better dragons than elves, better Ticino than Visconti.


    Now if only Palmira di Firozzi had never stepped foot in his city, so that he could never have seen the possibility of a better future. A future without compromise.


    A future beyond himself, a future for Iscrimo alone.


    Ah, Ambition. It truly was the sweetest poison.

 Interlude XIV - Old Foes, Old Fiends

    Interlude XIV ¨C Old Foes, Old Fiends


    The Empress


    The Volan Empire had, in an age long past, once ruled the world. From the First City of Al-Qassa, to the Isle of Albion beyond the Feverish Sea, to the edges of Ruined Kel Tekisliklari. Once upon a time the whole world bowed to the Empire of Man, with only the most primitive or primordial resisting their relentless march of civilization.


    And then the Volans fell.


    It was, in hindsight, natural. Humans were short-lived creatures, and thus any society they built would be just as fleeting. That they had ruled as long as they had mas more impressive than the empire they built.


    But humans were also stubborn creatures. Not as stubborn as dwarves¡ªthank the Goddess for small mercies¡ªbut stubborn enough that, rather than accepting the collapse of their civilization for what it was, they had built a new Empire from the mangled corpse of the first.


    The Second Empire¡ªsometimes called the ¡®Roisuissian Empire¡¯ after the ruling dynasty¡ªruled the West for nearly ten centuries. From its founding in 1044 P.T. to its fall to the Demons in 2004 P.T., the half-elven dynasty ruled a much-reduced Empire, one which stretched from the Starlight Sea to the River Reka. In its time, this empire was known as the ¡®Holy Volan Empire,¡¯ merely a continuation of the original Volan Empire.


    Then it fell, and now it was known as the ¡®Second Empire.¡¯


    As it crumbled to the seemingly endless waves of Demons, the many territories it once governed began forming their own petty states. The Kingdom of Castella was the first to declare independence, the naturally abrasive people abandoning their Emperor to die as he once did them. And as the rest of the royal family died with him, what remained of the empire collapsed into infighting.


    But one member survived the slaughter. The Queen Mother, who fled to her ancient homeland in the east. There she took command and stabilized the remnants of the Holy Volan Empire into what is now known as the ¡®Third Empire.¡¯


    In theory, it is the continuation of the Second Empire of the Roisuisse, simply now ruling from Feinstadt rather than Bellasari, just as the Second Empire was supposedly a continuation of the First. Under the new Empress, the Queen Mother of the Roisiusse, the ideals of the Volan Empire were kept alive even after its heartlands were ravaged by Demons. If anyone asks, it is the same most Holy Volan Empire that once ruled the world, and which to many still did.


    In practice, it is the Volan Empire in name only. Holding almost none of the original Empire¡¯s lands, worshiping a different god, and being ruled by elves instead of men, it¡¯s existence likely caused the ancient Volans to collectively roll over in their graves. In fact, considering the existence of the Volkihe¡ªwho also considered themselves the true Volan Empire, and held much of the old Volan lands beside¡ªone might end up confused on who exactly the true successors to the Volans were.


    Especially since the Holy Volan Empire had just lost the last of the original Volan heartlands.


    This is what led Henric of House Blaustand to nervously approach the Empress¡¯ solar, the middle-aged elven noble dreading the bad news he would be forced to present.


    Unfortunately, such was his job. He had been appointed Chancellor a mere thirty years ago, having been granted the honor of the position after the late Lord Grunheild¡¯s death on the battlefield. And as Chancellor it was his duty to report any changes in foreign affairs, no matter how unseemly they might be.


    The grand doors of the Empress¡¯ solar seemed to loom over him as he approached. Towering mahogany sung into shapes which revealed the construction of the castle in silver studded detail. Thirteen Silver Knights stood guard before it, their feathered helmets denoting rank and number. The ornate helmets concealed each and all of their faces, never to be revealed before her majesty¡¯s disparaging eyes. Even they, elves one and all, were not so worthy of her direct attention.


    As he approached the door, a Knight held out a veil, which he swiftly yet carefully draped over his face. Tying it snug against his chin, he took a moment to confirm with the guards that his face was completely covered before entering. One heard enough stories, and Henric von Blaustand was far too important to be executed.


    Sparing the guards a nod, he stepped forward, watching the petty sprites dance and cavort across the spiraling wood of the door. Slowly a hole unwound itself, exactly large enough for him to step through.


    Once beyond the hole sealed shut behind him, and the silence of the castle was replaced with the faint hooting of owls. A soft breeze caressed his neck which beckoned him forward, his way lit by only the barest hints of moonlight shining through the leaves of the Holy Tree.


    Nervously patting down his robes, he continued up through the winding branches of the Feinschloss. The grand castle was an ancient structure¡ªmuch older than even he¡ªand as such included some truly old-fashioned aspects. The Holy Tree was one of them, a massive magical tree grown from the central spire of the castle, at the top of which rested the Empress¡¯ solar. The branches of the Holy Tree¡ªso unlike any others he¡¯d seen¡ªreached longingly into the sky, liquid silver dripping like sap from its gnarled bark. It was an archaic type of worship that ancient elves were said to have utilized, a monument to their devotion.


    Considering how many steps he needed to climb just to talk with his liege, he understood why they phased the things out.


    Eventually, however, he finally reached the top. A circular open-aired platform greeted him, gripped tight by the tips of only the highest of branches. In this place the holy moonlight was bright as day, casting in sharp relief the shadows of the solar. Behind a desk of wood and moonstone sat the Empress herself, surrounded on all sides by enough papers to bury an empire.


    Truly, it did not matter how powerful you were. The relentless march of paperwork came for us all.


    Gazing upon her visage, Henric was as always stuck by how off the Empress looked. Though he would never say so out loud, she did not have the features of a normal elf. Her face was a fair bit longer, with an angled jaw and a sharp chin. Her eyes were far thinner than his, near invisible if not for the pale light which poured from beneath her lashes. Her skin shone as polished silver, unblemished despite her age, decorated with the faded marks of a worship long forgotten. From the crown of her head, long silver feathers fell instead of hair, completing the monochrome palette which gave her an ageless¡ªsome might even say holy¡ªquality.


    That, in and of itself, was a topic of much speculation. None knew her age. She had been Queen Mother of the Second Empire for countless years. She had been there during the reign of the last emperor, the emperor before him, and the emperor before him. Some say she was the only Queen Mother, the one who had given birth to the first Emperor and had merely refused to die after.


    Honestly, some people. He¡¯d bet it was the humans who came up with that rumor, those people who saw all long-lived races as immortal. Any elf would know that such a thing was impossible.


    His internal musing was cut short, however, as the Empress noticed his arrival. Her eyes glanced up at him, judging him, the weight of the twin moons within her eye sockets bearing down upon his very soul. He was frozen in place, his breath caught in his throat as he waited for her judgement.


    She glanced back down at her work, and he exhaled in relief.


    ¡°Speak, Duke of Blaubr¨¹cke,¡± the Empress commanded him. ¡°Inform me quickly of why you have interrupted my work.¡±


    Henric paused, taking a moment to register the archaic name she¡¯d used for the Duchy he ruled over. Only she would ever make such a mistake, though none dared call her out on it.


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    ¡°There have been some¡­ developments, in the south,¡± he grimaced, considering how to phrase the news in such a way that would see him not get thrown from the balcony. ¡°An army of Demons managed to circumvent the border and have attacked us through the Cantons. From what I¡¯ve heard they¡¯ve been laying waste to the Highlands, and the Grand Marshall has only just managed to muster a response.¡±


    The Empress paused in her work. She flexed taloned fingers, absently scratching new marks across her desk, exhaustion evident. ¡°¡­The Cantons have fallen, then?¡±


    The question was reasonable, but Henric felt sweat begin to form on the nape of his neck. It would have been a tragedy to lose such a bulwark, but it might have been preferable to the truth. ¡°Ah¡­ no, your majesty. The Cantons still stand. In fact, they appear to have been¡­ not attacked.¡±


    The Empress stilled, and for a moment the Holy Moon itself seemed to dim.


    ¡°Damnable Dragons,¡± she whispered. ¡°Damnable Dwarves. Sinful, greedy bastards, one and all! Will they claim ¡®neutrality,¡¯¡± she sneered the word, an unsightly look across her face, ¡°against even Daemen!? The Dwarves may be young enough to have forgotten the ancient pacts, but I¡¯d have expected better of the Dragons!¡±


    She paused, turning to narrow her eyes off into the horizon, to where the holy light of the moon did not reach.


    ¡°I expected better of you, Fthora,¡± she whispered, before scoffing. ¡°Or do you not even care anymore? So sequestered you¡¯ve become, have you abandoned even your own children to their all-consuming greed?¡±


    The Empress scoffed. Turning back to him, her work forgotten, she pinned him with a glare that brokered no argument. ¡°What else has happened? They must have allowed the Daemen through for a reason, and I will not wait to hear it. Which of the Highlands did those Dragons try and claim? Bergh¨¹gel? Alterhafen? Not Miststadt, surely?¡±


    Henric swallowed. ¡°¡­Iscrimo, Empress. We just received word from the south. They¡¯ve executed the Duke Visconti and joined the Cantons as a Free City.¡±


    The Empress stared at him silently. The feathers on her head began to puff up, sheer rage expressed across the whole of her body.


    ¡°What greed,¡± she snarled softly, eyes glowing so bright they drowned out the moon. ¡°What audacity. A Dwarf did not come up with such an idea. Neither did a Dragon. No, no, it was a Human, only they would be so bold. So willing to spite me. Luciano. The brigand, I do not doubt it was him. He has fought my rule since before the Daemen returned, that short sighted¡ª!¡±


    Henric was forced to take a breath, and it seemed the motion reminded the Empress she had a witness. In an instant she had collected herself, as calm as when he¡¯d first arrived.


    ¡°Duke of Blaubr¨¹cke,¡± she commanded him, eyes narrowed with barely restrained rage. Though her body appeared calm, the glow of her eyes had not ceased. ¡°Send a response to the Grand Marshall. Inform him that once he has slaughtered the Daemen to the last, he is to rally at the border. I will meet him there with further instructions.¡±


    Henric swallowed, bowing. ¡°To war again, then?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the Empress told him softly, almost kindly. And he very nearly sagged in relief, for he knew they could not afford another war, not so soon. But the light in her eyes was blinding, and he could not help but send a prayer of mercy as her mouth once more dipped into a sneer.


    ¡°I am not so kind.¡±


    -<X>-


    Fthora, Last Son of the Red Moon


    The Night was still. The Moon was dim. Even the Stars seemed to dim, as the Angel Threads which streaked across the dark side of the Moon quieted one by one.


    An almost peaceful emptiness swaddled the world. A moment of held breath, a moment of pause.


    ¡°IT SEEMS SOMETHING HAS ENDED,¡± Old Fthora rumbled softly, the Ancient Dragon¡¯s endless bulk curled gently about his Fragment. ¡°OR, PERHAPS, SOMETHING HAS BEGUN.¡±


    Beneath him, clutched beneath endless claws, his brood squirmed. Restless, they strode circles between his legs, offering prayers in hopes of gaining understanding he would never bother to grant. Instead they tended to the unborn, the marble eggs which filled his tower near to the brink. Artifacts of countless promises with countless mortals, their lights fading one by one with every year that passed.


    They were stillborn, all of them. A lack of luck, a lack of power, a lack of will. Twelve thousand eggs since the Red Moon was slain and not a one survived.


    Yet.


    That was a word which the Ancient Dragon clung to, the one to which he still prayed. None had survived, yet.


    It was all he could do to hope. For how could he not? His last promise to his late Father, but one which seemed impossible to accomplish.


    No new Red Dragons had been born in an age. Not since ash smothered the sky and the Daemen were cast out from the Heavens. In an age where Dragons were closer to gods than the mortals they ruled.


    An age which died alongside his Lord Father, and which he accepted now would never come again.


    It was natural, he had come to accept. Things were born, things grew, things died, things decayed. He was not his Golden kin, he knew his Lord Father would never return.


    He hummed, casting those thoughts aside. This was not the time for them. The world was quiet, and so too would be his thoughts.


    Or they would have been, had the flapping of scaled wings not broke the stillness of the night. To his ancient ears the noise was near grating, and he resigned himself to a night of conversation instead.


    It appeared that one of his pitiful kin had arrived. Of course, on such a night, who else would be so arrogant but they?


    The Red Dragon¡ªlarge as a hill yet miniscule against his own titanic frame¡ªlanded upon his back and curled behind his ear. There they whispered to him words of conquest and glory, of new territory gained in the name of their late Lord-Father.


    Iscrimo, the ancient citadel of the Dwarves turned citadel of Men had fallen to their Cantons. They had used the ambition of petty Demons to turn them against the elves and take the city for themselves. Now the dragons, for the first time in millennia, ruled a piece of the old Volan heartlands.


    His pitiful kin spoke those words of victory with such pride. Look, the dragon whispered, look at what we have accomplished! Look, oh grandfather, at our glorious victory!


    How disappointing.


    In times past his kin had commanded the great Broodmothers of old against Fey Courts and Northern Giants. With tooth and claw they tore new valleys to the abyss and plucked stars from the sky. Before the Endless Darkness, before the arrival of Man, before the Original Sin, the Dragons had been the undisputed envoys of the Divine.


    And now they struggled to take a single city.


    Oh, Father, look how far your children have fallen! Do you not weep for them, even now, even dead?


    Fthora sighed, the simple expulsion of air triggering an avalanche on a nearby mountain. He ignored it, for none would be harmed¡ªthere were reasons more than faith that few approached his Fragment.


    The Ancient Dragon began to tune out the words of his lesser kin, as they went on and on and on about the whole affair. Details he did not care to learn were spat proudly in one ear and filtered out the other. And endless deluge of information that in the shifting tapestry of history would be unimportant within the century.


    At least, until a familiar name was mentioned.


    Fthora did not bother remembering the names of every mortal his kin spoke to him of. Some he learned of, if they dared become so important¡ªsuch as the Slave, the Sacrifice, or the Traitor¡ªbut most were simply ignored and forgotten by a Dragon far too old to care.


    But he¡¯d made a deal. Not with her, no, but she was the one who walked away. The one who scaled his tower and left him with the gift of new kin.


    He forgot many names. Given a few more years he might have forgotten hers too. But not now, not yet.


    ¡°PALMIRA,¡± he rumbled, silencing his lesser kin. The name tasted familiar on his tongue, a name which had once merely sparked against his tastebuds now burned with the heat of a new star. Indeed, something even greater seemed to have taken root in the heart of her flames.


    Fire danced, and Fate melted into mere chance.


    Fthora threw back his head and laughed. His lesser kin was dislodged from his neck, but he did not care. He laughed long and hard, the booming of his divine voice rending the very sky and causing long dormant volcanoes to suddenly erupt. The world itself shook, forced back into wakefulness by his merriment.


    Turning back to his Fragment, his eyes locked onto the egg which rested at its peak. The only one still alive, the only one perhaps still capable of living.


    ¡°DID YOU HEAR, LITTLE ONE,¡± he whispered, leaning so close that the heat of his breath steamed against the marble egg. ¡°IT APPEARS YOUR FRIEND IS MAKING A NAME FOR HERSELF. IS THAT NOT SO WONDERFUL TO HEAR? DOES IT NOT MAKE YOU WISH TO JOIN HER?¡±


    The egg did not move, for it was an egg. But within, as flesh melted and reformed and melted and reformed, something shuddered, and a focus that had once begun to wane suddenly was restored.


    ¡°YOU CAN TELL, CAN¡¯T YOU? THINGS ARE NOT WHAT THEY ONCE WERE. YOU WERE TO DIE HERE, WE BOTH KNOW IT. EVEN NOW, EVEN THEN. BUT YOUR FRIEND HAS DECIDED TO SCRIBBLE HER OWN NOTES WITHIN THE MARGINS OF FATE¡¯S CHRONICLE. SO WHY CAN¡¯T YOU? YOU CLIMBED MINE TOWER TOO, DID YOU NOT? CAN YOU NOT DO WHAT SHE¡ªWHAT PALMIRA¡ªCOULD DO?¡±


    Life boiled within the egg. A soul which had previously dimmed now burning bright once again. Melting and reforming and melting and reforming, what had once begun to slow now began to speed up.


    A child who had once been doomed now freed from the shackles of someone else¡¯s story.


    ¡°YOU CAN DO IT, MY SISTER, MY DAUGHTER, MY KIN,¡± Fthora smiled as the stars began to move again, and the stillness which had consumed them both was shaken off. ¡°YOU ARE A TRUE DRAGON, ARE YOU NOT? SURVIVE CHILD, SURVIVE! YOU MAY MAKE IT YET.¡±


    And atop the Fragment of Babel, beneath the Dark Moon which signaled both the beginning and the end, a marble egg cracked, and an Ancient Dragon laughed.

 Chapter 37 - The Long Road Home

    Chapter 37 ¨C The Long Road Home


    Palmira woke up with a splitting headache and a strong desire to set whatever had caused it on fire.


    ¡°See, I told you she wasn¡¯t dead!¡±


    ¡®Disagreement. We did not state Our Lady was dead. We merely believed her to be dying.¡¯


    Palmira groaned, dragging up her hands to slap them around her ears as though that could block out the voices of her sapient weaponry. Unfortunately for her those bastards¡¯ gabbing wasn¡¯t bound to the physical plane, and so their words bounced against her throbbing skull regardless.


    ¡°Both of you,¡± she rasped, the taste of dry smoke on her tongue. ¡°Please. Shut up.¡±


    ¡®Query. Is Our Lady still dying?¡¯


    ¡°Nah, nah,¡± Morte cackled, causing her to cringe in agony. ¡°She¡¯s just dealing with baby¡¯s first hangover. Oi, girly, try to get some water and food in you. You ain¡¯t gonna feel any better until you do.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll feel better when I chuck you out the window,¡± she groaned, reluctantly dragging herself to her feet. Reaching over, she plucked her staff and mace from where they were resting against the wall, attaching them to her waist in an act that at some point had become second nature. Glancing around, she noticed that the room was otherwise empty, all their stuff having been removed at some point.


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t! What would you even do without my handsome skull to set things on fire with?¡±


    ¡°Probably just hit them with Malocchio,¡± she groused, stumbling over to the stairs. ¡°Maybe I should use him to hit you. Maybe then you¡¯d shut up for a bit.¡±


    ¡®Concern. We do not believe We are sturdy enough to survive such an action. We advise caution.¡¯


    ¡°Hah! You hear that? I¡¯m invulnerable! Not even the most powerful priestess in the world could destroy me!¡±


    ¡°Well, perhaps I could dump you in the big lava lake,¡± she mused, only half serious. Probably. ¡°It¡¯s not like you can move. I could just leave you down there to cook until I feel you¡¯ve learned your lesson.¡±


    ¡°Did I say invulnerable? I meant fragile! I¡¯m so very, very fragile, so please take good care of me, my most valiant and powerful wielder!¡±


    ¡°My head hurts too much to tell if that¡¯s sarcasm,¡± she grunted, knocking his skull against the door frame. ¡°So I¡¯m going to assume it is. Guess I know what I¡¯m doing this afternoon.¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t dare!¡±


    Stepping into the bar to the sound of Morte pleading for his life, she saw only Chiara and Lorenzo sitting near the entrance. They perked up as she arrived, waving her over.


    ¡°Well well, looks like the newbie¡¯s finally awake,¡± Chiara smirked at her as she stumbled into her seat, gratefully accepting the offer of bread and water from Lorenzo. ¡°With how much you drank last night I wasn¡¯t expecting you up until at least sunset.¡±


    Palmira blinked slowly. She vaguely remembered downing some extremely spicy beer with what she could have sworn was a Horror, but she was also pretty sure that was a dream. It probably didn¡¯t matter if it was, considering how most of her nights went, but it was the best she could hope for.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m up now,¡± she grunted, digging into the food with gusto. ¡°What happened to all our stuff?¡±


    ¡°We packed it all away this morning,¡± Lorenzo smiled slightly. The sight of his perfect razor teeth caused her to suddenly feel self-conscious as she realized what a mess she must look. ¡°The guildmaster wants us out of the city by nightfall. And I don¡¯t blame him, either. The lack of sunlight¡¯s been hell on my hair, not to mention I haven¡¯t been able to take Bella on a proper walk in days!¡±


    ¡°You also haven¡¯t gotten a proper lay in days¡­¡± Chiara muttered out the side of her mouth, her face the picture of innocence as Lorenzo turned to glare at her.


    ¡°If we¡¯re leaving so soon, then why¡¯d you let me sleep in?¡± Palmira frowned around a bite of stale toast. ¡°I¡¯d have been fine waking up earlier.¡±


    ¡°Hah! Don¡¯t lie, you look half dead even now!¡± Chiara scoffed. ¡°¡­Also, you did save our asses during the trial. The least we could do was let you sleep in.¡±


    Palmira felt a warm feeling stir in her chest, causing her to wonder if she¡¯d accidentally set her heart on fire. That led her to then wonder if her insides were as fireproof as her outsides, though she quickly shook away the thought as something to test later.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Well, thank you,¡± she muttered, face burning. She found she couldn¡¯t look directly at them for some reason, instead using the distraction of someone entering the inn to avert her eyes. ¡°You didn¡¯t have¡­ too¡­¡± She trailed off, blinking in surprise.


    That was Lenna, wasn¡¯t it?


    The girl¡¯s shoulders were tense, hands shoved in her pockets and an uncomfortable look on her face. Her eyes roved the bar, before lighting up in relief as they landed on her.


    She shuffled over to them as quickly as possible. ¡°Palmira!¡± she smiled awkwardly as she approached. ¡°Thank the Goddess, I was worried you¡¯d have already left. Oh, um, sorry, am I interrupting something?¡±


    ¡°Lenna di Vittoria, was it?¡± Lorenzo smiled at her, causing the girl¡¯s cheeks to flush red. Chiara kicked him beneath the table. Hard. ¡°It¡¯s nice to see you again. And no, we were just breaking our fast with Palmira before we leave.¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s the afternoon¡­?¡± Lenna muttered, before shaking her head. ¡°Um, before you go, I wanted to talk to Palmira. It¡¯ll only take a minute, I promise! I just¡­ there¡¯s some things I want to say, before¡­¡±


    She trailed off awkwardly, eyes darting between the three of them. Chiara had narrowed her eyes, but Lorenzo was giving Palmira a look.


    ¡°¡­Fine,¡± Palmira swallowed back any anger she felt for a moment. Lenna had helped her during the trial, she could let her say her piece in exchange. Still, that didn¡¯t mean she wanted her new friends to see this, whatever it would turn out to be. ¡°Let¡¯s head back to my room, we can talk alone there.¡±


    Despite her better judgement, she left Morte and Malocchio in the dubious care of her friends rather than take them with her. Maybe they would have helped her keep her cool, but she didn¡¯t need a peanut gallery watching right now.


    Also, the hangover was making it hard to dredge up her usual level of simmering rage.


    Once they were in the privacy of her room, she turned to Lenna and crossed her arms, waiting.


    Lenna grimaced, hunching in on herself. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m not good at talking. About stuff like this. And¡­ you aren¡¯t, either. No, don¡¯t get angry, I know you, Palmira!¡± she snapped, cutting her retort off. Then she sighed, rubbing her face. ¡°I¡­ I¡¯ve had a lot of time to think, these past few years. And no matter how hard I tried, my thoughts kept circling back to you. ¡®Is she okay?¡¯ ¡®I wonder what she¡¯s doing now?¡¯ ¡®Is¡­ is she even still alive?¡¯¡±


    She took a deep breath, slowly flexing her long, nimble fingers. ¡°You kept pushing me to do things I didn¡¯t want to do. And I felt so guilty for leaving you because of that. But I also felt so angry! And I think for a long time I hated you. But¡­ I also know that for a long time I loved you. I just didn¡¯t¡­ I don¡¯t know! I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m doing! Is this even making any sense!?¡±


    Palmira blinked slowly, not quite sure what Lenna was saying either. But¡­


    ¡°¡­You were my sister, Lenna,¡± she said at last. ¡°But you left me alone. And for that I hated you. But¡­ just because I hated you, doesn¡¯t mean I could ever stop loving you. And I think I hated that most of all.¡±


    Lenna flinched and began to look away. But then she steeled herself, and instead forced herself to look her in the eye.


    ¡°I¡­ didn¡¯t just come to talk. I also wanted to give you something, before you left,¡± she shoved a small weatherbound notebook into her hands. ¡°It¡¯s my old journal. I don¡¯t really need it anymore and um¡­ you¡¯re still having money problems, right? I figured you could sell it for a fair amount. It¡¯s a Lenna original, you know!¡±


    Palmira stared at it. It was a small travelworn journal, one she only vaguely remembered having swiped from a bookseller. Yet it filled it with such nostalgia to see it again, this tiny thing she¡¯d barely ever touched. It had been Lenna¡¯s birthday present, the first one she¡¯d ever given her. She found her hands moving by themselves and opening it up, idly flicking through a couple of the pages, before stopping suddenly on one of them.


    It was a rough charcoal drawing, slightly smudged and made by a child skilled beyond her years yet still learning. It was a picture of a little girl with burn scars on her face, smiling as she stared up at the night sky. The little girl had been ugly. But in that tiny picture, she couldn¡¯t be described as anything but beautiful.


    Palmira swallowed heavily, and quickly blinked away tears. With a control she didn¡¯t know she was capable of, she forced herself not to catch on fire as she gently slid the journal into her pocket


    ¡°¡­You were always so skilled, Lenna,¡± she finally said, unable to say anything else.


    ¡°I suppose I was,¡± the other girl shrugged awkwardly. ¡°¡­But I wouldn¡¯t have ever made it here without you taking care of me. So¡­ I know you don¡¯t really want to talk to me, but if you can¡­ could you visit me, next time you come here? I¡­ I missed you, you know.¡±


    Then why did you leave?


    She thought those words, but couldn¡¯t bring herself to say them. Because¡­


    ¡°¡­Yeah, I missed you too.¡±


    Lenna slumped, her smile both brilliant and relieved.


    There was no apology, and truthfully no forgiveness, not from either of them. But such things could come with time.


    And time, if nothing else, was something they were finally willing to give each other.


    -<X>-


    The trip out of the city was quiet.


    Despite the midday hour, few people walked the streets. The city was mourning the deaths of those who fell in battle yesterday, and so everyone had congregated in their homes or around graveyards. It felt like a different city, after the festivities of the previous night, but Palmira found the solemn atmosphere fit her mood well.


    She sat on the back of the crystal carriage Chiara had created to carry their supplies, squished between a sack of clothes and a spare shield. There wasn¡¯t really enough room for her, but as a final reward for her work the guildmaster had let her rest while the others marched on foot.


    A part of her almost wished she was down there with the rest of them, even if she didn¡¯t yet have the energy for it. The exercise would stop her mind from wandering, if nothing else.


    Palmira stared up at the black basalt walls of Iscrimo as they slowly faded into the distance. The walls she had been on top of yesterday, fighting for her life. The walls which, at one point, had defined the borders of her entire world.


    Lenna¡¯s journal felt warm in her pocket. She slowly traced her fingers along its spine, and wondered. About choices not made and things not said.


    Then she turned away from Iscrimo, and instead looked out to the road before her. She knew, somewhere far to the south, Firozzi and the Rosa Dominae guild stood.


    Despite herself, a soft smile grew on her face.


    It was time to go home.


    Arc III End

 Chapter 38 - An Arsonist and a Necromancer Finally Get Paid

    Chapter 38 ¨C An Arsonist and a Necromancer Finally Get Paid


    Dawn slowly broke upon Firozzi, soft sunlight bathing the city¡¯s ancient streets in rays of gold as humans and dwarves and all manner of person rose to greet the day. Ambrosi guards relieved the tired night watch, nodding good morning to the merchants setting up their stalls. The smells of freshly baked bread mixed with the frying of hams and chicken as bakers and butchers prepared for the morning rush, their first customers the Capparelli laborers on their way to work on one of the Famiglia¡¯s many new projects. Not far behind them, Gennarelli clerks and artisans grumbled as they unlocked their doors and opened their shops, the wealthiest among them indulging in luxuries of coffee and fresh fruits and all manner of morning spice.


    Despite the early hour the city was more alive than it had been in weeks. The Autumn Harvest was finally over and with the mild winter of the south fast approaching people were flooding into the city from all across the countryside. Noble aristocrats, farmers and their nymphs, and even the monks and nuns of the surrounding monasteries all poured into the city, booking out inns and hostels and dusty attics as the city¡¯s population nearly doubled in preparation for the coming feasts and festivities of late Autumn.


    As the city awoke, some of the earliest risers were treated to a strange sight. A young girl half on fire ran through the streets of Firozzi, for a single moment disturbing the rote routines of those who witnessed her passing. Covered head to toe in heavy armor and with a necromancer¡¯s staff strapped to her back, sparks flew from her feet with every step she took, flames launching her forward far faster than any normal human could possibly match. Some worried where such a strange person might be running to so early, until they saw the insignia of her guild painted on her back and realized it was just an adventurer acting odd, as they all did. The mystery solved, they returned to their business and put the girl out of their minds.


    Palmira di Firozzi, for her part, wasn¡¯t cognizant of the stares following her through the streets. Mostly because she was trying not to pass out from exhaustion as she finally completed her last lap through the city.


    It had been several weeks since her party had returned from the city of Iscrimo. Though their arrival couldn¡¯t exactly be called ¡®triumphant¡¯ the promise of more work in the north had been cause for celebration from the rest of her guild. The funk that had gripped them following the loss of their patrons in the Ambrosi and Cadorna Famiglias had finally been shaken off, and her fellow adventurers had since thrown themselves back into their training with gusto.


    Unfortunately, that training also included her.


    Palmira skidded to a stop, sparks flying as she scorched the ground beneath her feet. Gasping for breath, she tore off the helmet and tossed it to the ground with a groan. Though she was a fire mage¡ªand therefore at no risk of overheating¡ªthe burn of her muscles and the musty air of the helmet were more than enough to make her eager to tear the oversized plate mail off and go back to bed.


    ¡°Ah, so you¡¯ve finally returned,¡± a soft voice chittered beside her, her current teacher making herself known. ¡°And here I worried you¡¯d collapsed on the side of some road.¡±


    Palmira could barely hear her, continuing to heave great lungfulls of air, smoke pouring from her lips with every breath. She was so tired she could barely think, but once she¡¯d gathered herself enough she turned to look at the other woman.


    Asu Rana stared at her with a critical eye, lounging as she was on a hammock of pure sunlight. As a Kwari¡ªone of the many insect-people of the far south¡ªher undivided attention was always a bit unnerving. Her bright blue compound eyes were incapable of blinking, and combined with the muted red and green silks she draped herself with she looked equal parts inhuman and untouchable.


    Though such an image was dispersed the moment she opened her mouth.


    ¡°You¡¯ve gotten faster, yar¡¯uwa,¡± she encouraged her softly, mandibles twisting into an uncanny smile. ¡°But speed is not the goal, pacing is. Your last lap was as long as the past three combined.¡±


    Palmira winced, even as she finally let herself fall to the smoldering dirt. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Signora Rana. I got impatient and thought I was close enough to the end that I could finish early. That¡­ was a mistake.¡±


    ¡°I told you this would happen!¡± A voice from the staff on her back suddenly chimed in. ¡°But did you listen? No~¡±


    Palmira scowled, reaching behind her to unclip the staff. The skull which was attached to the top of her catalyst almost seemed to grin in smug delight at her suffering.


    ¡°Shut up Morte,¡± she scowled, sending him a glare with no heat. ¡°You¡¯re complaining didn¡¯t make things any easier, you know!¡±


    ¡°Well then, maybe next time you¡¯ll listen when I tell you to slow down!¡±


    Asu Rana simply, sighed, standing and dismissing her hammock with the flick of a finger. ¡°Well, I suppose you¡¯ve learned your lesson. Whether it sticks or not remains to be seen.¡± The moth woman shrugged a shoulder elegantly, gesturing at her to follow. ¡°Come, let us make our way back to the guildhall. With how long you¡¯ve been training I imagine you must be starving, and I¡¯m certain between the two of us we can bully Bettina into making something more filling than bread and cheese. Ugh, how you yan arewa manage to stomach aged cow¡¯s milk is beyond me.¡±


    Palmira tuned out her complaints with what was becoming routine. Instead she focused on forcing herself to her feet, groaning in discomfort. ¡°So can I finally take this damn armor off?¡± she didn¡¯t beg, if only because that implied a level of effort she simply couldn¡¯t muster at this point. ¡°Just because I don¡¯t sweat doesn¡¯t mean it doesn¡¯t reek in here.¡±


    ¡°Wait until we get back to the guild, yar¡¯uwa,¡± Asu Rana scolded her gently, though amusement danced in her compound eyes. ¡°Unless you think you can carry all of it by hand?¡±


    ¡°I could melt it into scrap,¡± she grumbled, dragging herself behind the elder woman. ¡°Then I¡¯d never have to wear this stupid armor again.¡±


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    ¡°Aw, but you loved it when they first gave it to you,¡± Morte teased her, laughing as he always did at her misfortune. ¡°Why, I could have sworn you cried when Charles presented it. The old knight looked half a second away from running for the hills when he saw that!¡±


    ¡°I did not! And that was before I realized that it was just one of his old sets of training armor anyway!¡± Palmira snapped back, ears burning. ¡°It¡¯s way too big and smells like old man in here! If I never have to wear it again it¡¯ll be too soon!¡±


    That wasn¡¯t the half of it. The armor had been given to her to help build up her stamina while she trained, but it was obviously designed for a man half a foot taller than her and was far heavier than it needed to be beside. She¡¯d been told it was so heavy because it was for training, not battle, and that it was the best they could do on their current budget.


    It also wasn¡¯t fireproof, and the melted gauntlets she¡¯d long since thrown out were just one more reason to never wear it in a real fight.


    But this was training, and suffering today meant a chance for survival later. Or so she was told.


    Luckily, Morte¡¯s refusal to accept she was right distracted her long enough for them to arrive back at the guildhall.


    An old villa came into view, squeezed between two apartment blocks. Grand marble columns defined its pale-yellow fa?ade, weathered yet well cared for, hiding vaulted windows behind their bulk. It looked as it had when she¡¯d first arrived, except for one small difference¡ªthe symbol currently emblazed on the door. Once the upside-down tree of the Cadorna Famiglia, it was now a red dragon¡¯s head biting a wreath, the symbol of their new Firozzi Famiglia.


    She remembered the big debate they¡¯d had over their new Famiglia crest a few weeks ago. There had been a lot back and forth¡ªnot helped by the fact that most of the remaining members were drunk, foreign, or some combination of the two¡ªwith ideas ranging from the overly elaborate to the bland and boring to the blatantly offensive.


    In the end, they¡¯d settled on the red dragon to represent the dragon Vesuvius, the wreath for the prosperity of the Volan Empire, and a white background to represent new beginnings. It was a compromise that satisfied nobody but also didn¡¯t have anyone threatening to leave the guild over it, so all in all they considered it a successful rebranding.


    Combined with a recent refurbishment and some fancy advertising, the Rosa Dominae Guildhall now looked almost like a proper adventurer¡¯s guild rather than an old noble¡¯s passion project.


    Once inside, Palmira pushed past a chittering Rana. Forcing her tired legs just a bit further, she ran to the armory, glad to finally be able to peel off her armor. After she rushed to the guild¡¯s bathhouse¡ªwhich was little more than a small room in the back of the building¡ªto finally wipe the smell of smoke and rust from her skin, leaving Morte outside to scare off anyone who tried to join.


    Damn public bathhouses and damn Chiara for making them weird.


    Anyways, finally clean and in a (new!) set of clothes, Palmira left to start the rest of her day. Scarfing down a quick breakfast¡ªshe still couldn¡¯t afford the more expensive options but Bettina had taken to sneaking her small fruits so it was all good¡ªshe made her way up to ¨®sma¡¯s office.


    ¡°Ah, Palmira!¡± the old orc smiled tiredly at her, the amount of paperwork on his desk having tripled since she was last here. The pile nearly reached his chin at this point, and considering she was only half his height that was a worrying sign. ¡°Here for your lessons?¡±


    ¡°Ah, yeah,¡± she nodded, eying the small mountain of parchment before her. ¡°Unless you¡¯re too busy¡­?¡±


    ¨®sma let out a rough laugh that was only somewhat hysterical. ¡°I have been too damn busy for the past month! But, as I¡¯ve learned recently, there comes a point where you¡¯re so behind on work that you simply can¡¯t be arsed to rush anymore.¡±


    ¡°¡­I see,¡± Palmira nodded slowly, not really understanding but glad it wasn¡¯t her responsibility regardless. ¡°The guildmaster¡¯s been working you hard then?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s been working everyone hard. Even himself, if the amount of other neutral guilds he¡¯s been visiting these last few weeks have been any indication.¡± The old orc shrugged his weary shoulders with a sigh. ¡°Still, with work opening up in the north we¡¯re slowly but surely making our way back into the green. Even though we lost some adventurers back when we first split from the Ambrosi, the ones who¡¯ve stayed are working twice as hard, present company included. Give us another month or two and by Spring things will have hopefully settled down enough that we can all take a break.¡±


    ¡°Spring!?¡± Palmira exclaimed, aghast. ¡°But that¡¯s so far away!¡±


    ¨®sma laughed at that, a small weight seemingly lifted as he did. ¡°Ah, I forget how young you are sometimes! Trust me, Palmira, when you get to be my age ¡®a few months¡¯ has a tendency to feel like ¡®a few days.¡¯¡±


    Waving off any further concerns he offered her the chair next to him, a familiar lexicon already resting upon it. Her face soured slightly at the sight of it¡ªweeks of memorizing Famiglia names would make anyone come to hate the thing¡ªbut that just made ¨®sma laugh harder.


    Sighing, she opened the book to where she¡¯d last left off¡ªthe Vinori Famiglia, who despite what you¡¯d think made beer, not wine¡ªand settled in for the long haul.


    ¨®sma taught her as he worked, filling out paperwork and answering questions as she had them. It wasn¡¯t particularly fast, as he was more focused on the papers in front of him than her, but that was fine. She wasn¡¯t in a rush either.


    By the time noon rolled around she¡¯d almost finished with the ¡®V¡¯s, an accomplishment easily overshadowed by the thought of doing literally anything else. She stood from her chair, stretching with a groan. Blinking the phantom letters from her eyes, she was about to run down to the common area to meet up with Lorenzo and Chiara when ¨®sma put a hand on her shoulder, gently stopping her.


    ¡°Before you leave, I have something for you,¡± he smiled at her. ¡°It¡¯s nothing bad, I assure you, merely something long overdue.¡±


    Palmira blinked, confused and impatient but willing to wait. The old orc reached into one of his oversized desk¡¯s oversized drawers and pulled out a small satchel. Her breath then caught in her throat as he opened it slightly, leaning down to show her its contents.


    Within a bag the size of her fist was dozens of copper grossi, more wealth than she¡¯d ever owned in her life.


    Then ¨®sma placed it in her hands, meeting her wide eyes with a gruff smile. ¡°I told you earlier that we¡¯ve been slowly making our way back in the green. Well, we¡¯ve finally reached the point where we can start paying our adventurers for their work again. So, congratulations on your first paycheck.¡±


    Palmira slowly pulled the bag close to her chest, almost crying when he simply let her take it. ¡°Are¡­ are you sure¡­?¡± she asked, even as her grip tightened around the bag.


    ¡°Of course. If it weren¡¯t for you arrogant little Dante would currently be rotting in some prison in Iscrimo right now, and none of us would even be here!¡± he chuckled at the look on her face. ¡°Trust me, even if you aren¡¯t our most profitable adventurer, you¡¯re the one who deserves to get paid the most. ¡­Oh, and keep this a secret from the others, would you? We don¡¯t want them thinking we¡¯re playing favorites, after all. I mean, we are, but they don¡¯t need to know that.¡±


    Palmira wet her suddenly very dry lips, barely holding back tears. Quickly she hid the satchel beneath the folds of her tunic, swallowing heavily. ¡°Thank you, ¨®sma.¡±


    He gave her a look that was somehow both proud and sad. ¡°Don¡¯t thank me yet. This isn¡¯t a reward, it¡¯s a bribe¡ªbecause the only reward for good work is more work, and we¡¯ve still got a damn lot of work to do to get this guild functional again.¡±


    Palmira nodded, determination solidifying in her heart. This guild¡ªher Firozzi Famiglia¡ªhad done more for her in the few months she¡¯d been there than anyone else had since she was a child. And she wasn¡¯t going to disappoint them.


    She left with one more thank you, needing to remind herself under her breath not to go brag to her friends about finally getting paid. ¨®sma watched her go, a nostalgia he tried to suppress rising in his breast.


    ¡°Heh,¡± he scoffed, already aware that the rest of the guild would know by the end of the day. ¡°Kids.¡±

 Chapter 39 - Two Legs Are Better Than None

    Chapter 39 ¨C Two Legs Are Better Than None


    Palmira wandered the Old Quarter of Firozzi aimlessly, the thin alleyways and ancient cobblestones a steady comfort after her meeting with ¨®sma.


    She had, finally, been paid. A small bag of copper grossi, nearly half a gold Florin¡¯s worth of wealth now hers.


    The first thing she did was to¡ªobviously¡ªimmediately hide the majority of them with the rest of her meagre wealth. The second thing she did was spend an hour finding a new hiding place for them when she realized she couldn¡¯t fit the bag under the floorboards anymore. It was, she¡¯d decided while hanging from the rafters with the bag in her mouth, a good kind of problem to have. But not one she wanted to have again.


    Now she hung a small bag of only five copper grossi around her neck. She felt acutely aware of them, her free hand constantly itching the place it hid beneath her shirt. They clinked gently with each step, a burning awareness that she was carrying money on her at the forefront of her mind, like she was one of those silk-laden nobles just begging to be robbed.


    It was a dumb feeling, she knew. But she found herself unbalanced by it anyway. For the first time in her life she could no longer describe herself as ¡®broke,¡¯ and despite how happy that should have made her feel she only felt restless. Like she had lost something fundamental, but that was stupid, because what she¡¯d lost was poverty.


    She hated the feeling.


    Eventually Morte managed to break her out of her brooding fit. After a lot of goading, he¡¯d managed to convince her to head down to the marketplace to spend some of her newfound wealth.


    She¡­ didn¡¯t quite like the idea.


    But Morte was right that staring at the hidden coin pouch all day wasn¡¯t going to do anything, and she¡¯d always been more of a doer than a brooder regardless.


    Palmira¡¯s hand tightened on her coin pouch as she stepped out of the alleyway. The Piazza delgi Eroi was, as always, packed to the brim with market stalls. Butchers crammed themselves in between booklenders and bakers, divided only by the wall of sound that consumed all conversation around them. Farmers bartered with fishermen over fresh produce, while apprentices hawked their master¡¯s crafts to any who stepped near. Temporary tarps hung between each stall, creating a false roof to shade from the midafternoon sun and protecting from the late Autumn chill. And towering over it all was a grand monument which depicted the party of the Hero who slew the Demon King all those years ago.


    Not that Palmira cared about that. She kept her head down and shoulders hunched as she pushed her way into the crowd. Normally she found it easy to blend into such places, but now it felt like everyone was staring at her, just waiting for her to drop her guard and steal her purse.


    Damnit, she should have asked Chiara or Lorenzo to come. She might have felt less awkward then.


    ¡°Okay kid, it¡¯s your first paycheck. You know what that means, right? It¡¯s time to get wasted. Find whoever sells alcohol in this place, buy some awful street food, and wake up tomorrow morning hungover in an alley!¡±


    Palmira twitched, glaring down at Morte. ¡°I¡¯m not doing that.¡±


    The mace on her hip then spoke up, its voice a silky echo in her head. One of its eyes opened to join her in glaring at her staff. ¡®Agreement. Alcohol is an inefficient way to enjoy oneself. We recommend something practical. Thirty-two degrees to Our Lady¡¯s right is a stall selling daggers, which are useful for self-defense and gutting flesh-based monsters.¡¯


    Palmira paused, considering. The dagger she¡¯d bought with Morte had snapped almost immediately upon trying to cut a block of cheese, so she could use another one¡­


    ¡°No, I shouldn¡¯t,¡± she shook her head. ¡°I can take one from the guild¡¯s armory if I need to. There¡¯s no need to waste money on one now.¡±


    ¡°I agree! Not about the wasting money part¡ªthat¡¯s why we¡¯re here, after all!¡ªbut about using it on a dagger of all things. We¡¯re supposed to be celebrating! Splurge on some candy, at least!¡±


    ¡®Disagreement. Candy is poor in nutrients. Fruit is much better for Our Lady¡¯s health.¡¯


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you barely two months old? How are you the responsible one?¡± Morte scoffed, before his attention was once more immediately captured by something shiny. ¡°Oh, what about that!¡±


    Palmira turned, stopping before an open stall. Within were rows upon rows of dresses, ranging from simple brown tunics to shockingly scandalous bodices. One instantly caught her eye, a dark burgundy skirt with dark serpentine dragons embroidered along the sleeves. It even looked like it could be her size, with a little adjustment¡­


    ¡°Oh? See something you like?¡± Morte gave her a mental nudge, shaking her from her thoughts. ¡°Why don¡¯t you get it? I bet you¡¯d look great!¡±


    ¡°¡­Maybe,¡± she walked away, hating how wishy-washy she felt about this. But the thought of spending even a single coin on something as frivolous as a dress made her feel like she was breaking out in hives.


    ¡°Look, Palmira, I understand you aren¡¯t comfortable with spending a lot right now, but a single dress won¡¯t bankrupt¡ªsweet lord, are those peppered honey fritters!? In Firozzi!? Change of plans kid, that stall on the right, now!¡±


    Palmira jumped, privately glad for his sudden change in subject, before giving her staff a confused look. ¡°You can¡¯t even eat?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not about eating, it¡¯s about living vicariously through you! Now get over there and gorge yourself!¡±


    Palmira grimaced. ¡°I don¡¯t want to waste my money on sweets, Morte.¡±


    ¡°Sweets are never a waste of money!¡± Morte denied her instantly, before his voice sobered up somewhat. ¡°Look, kid, I get it. Back when I was alive¡­ well¡­ I wasn¡¯t exactly in a great place either. But you can¡¯t spend your whole life living like a monk. The little pleasures are what makes life worth living!¡±


    Palmira hunched further, leaning on the staff for support. ¡°But what if¡­ what if the guild goes under? What if I lose this job? I¡¯d need every coin if that happens.¡±


    ¡°If the guild goes under, then you find a new guild, same as anyone else. Besides, you didn¡¯t have it before and you were doing alright, weren¡¯t you? What are you so afraid of?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just¡­¡± one hand squeezed at the bag of coins beneath her shirt. ¡°¡­I don¡¯t want to have to go back to that. I don¡¯t think I can live like that anymore, Morte.¡±


    Morte was, for once, could say nothing to that.


    However, Malocchio could. ¡®Denial. We are not as experienced in the manners of life as Morte is. However, We have been with Our Lady since We were created. And We cannot imagine Our Lady ever falling so low again.¡¯


    Palmira let go of the bag, instead dropping her hand to let it rest on her mace¡¯s handle. As she did, his tail rose to wrap around her arm comfortingly. ¡°But what if I do, Malocchio? I¡¯ve seen greater people than me lose everything. All it takes is one bad day. And I¡¯ve had a lot of them. What if I have another one? What if I lose everything again?¡±


    ¡®Consolation. Our Lady has risen from nothing before. Our Lady could do so again.¡¯


    ¡°The kid¡¯s right, Palmira. If the worst comes to pass, you¡¯ll just have to stand back up, same as everyone else. However, he is wrong about one thing.¡± Morte gave her the mental equivalent of ruffling her hair. It felt a bit like someone was shaking her brain in a jar. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t be rising from nothing. Even if you lose everything else, you¡¯ll always have the two of us. I mean, what would we even do without you? Neither of us have legs!¡±


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Palmira blinked rapidly, the corners of her eyes suspiciously wet. But her lips also twitched into something approaching a smile. ¡°¡­Right. You¡¯re right,¡± she took a deep breath and started walking again. ¡°Even if I lose everything else, I¡¯ll always have you two.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit! Now, you know what makes me feel better after a good heart to heart? That¡¯s right, honey fritters! Now go get that dough!¡±


    Palmira laughed wetly, rubbing her eyes.


    She did eventually end up getting the honey fritters. And they were as good as Morte promised.


    -<X>-


    Palmira spent the rest of the afternoon in the Piazza, eventually finding herself near its edge. Three and a half grossi remained in her pouch, a testament to her restraint and Morte¡¯s lack of it. She was about to call it a night when she heard the faint melody of a flute.


    Her ears perked up as she slowly made her way around the edge of the marketplace. The tune was familiar, and if she was right¡­


    She found herself in front of the steps of a tavern, the flutist sitting before her. He was the scraggliest looking elf she¡¯d ever seen, even worse than Johanna after a drinking binge. A nasty scar crossed his face from ear to temple, disfiguring him and rendering the elf blind. He sat slouched against an empty stall, one arm holding a beautiful wooden flute of elven craft up to his mouth while the other sat hidden under a ragged cloak, ending at the elbow. A small bowl sat at his feet, a smattering of copper pieces resting within.


    ¡°Signor Otto!¡±


    The elf paused in his work, tilting his head. Despite not being able to see her a small smile grew on his face. ¡°My, young Palmira, is that you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not that young, Signor Otto!¡± she huffed good-naturedly. ¡°You¡¯re just old.¡±


    ¡°I suppose I am,¡± his laugh was like the sound of wood scraping against wood. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you in quite a while. I admit, I assumed you left the city.¡±


    Palmira grimaced at that, suddenly reminded that she hadn¡¯t really spoken to him in months now. Sure, they weren¡¯t exactly close, but they¡¯d spent enough time performing together in markets that he at least deserved an explanation.


    ¡°Not quite,¡± she scratched her cheek. ¡°I actually got a job! It¡¯s, uh, it¡¯s why I¡¯ve been so busy lately.¡±


    ¡°Really now? Congratulations!¡± he smiled at her. It made him look a bit hideous, but she smiled back just as brightly. She¡¯d once been the same, after all. ¡°How about a song to celebrate?¡±


    ¡°That sounds great! Um, do you mind if I¡­?¡±


    ¡°Of course, of course,¡± he pat the ratty blanket next to him gently. ¡°Take a seat, you can tell me what you¡¯ve been up to while I play.¡±


    Palmira flopped down next to him with a smile, settling in to listen to him play.


    She spoke softly so as not to ruin the music, knowing he¡¯d be able to hear her regardless. She also started throwing out fireworks and dancing flames, her control with Morte now allowing her to blow her previous cantrips out of the water.


    Signor Otto was good with the flute, but not the prodigious talent that most people looked for when hiring elves. He was also missing a couple teeth and had his multiple disfigurements, which didn¡¯t help either. She was pretty sure he was a war veteran, though of what war she didn¡¯t know.


    She didn¡¯t know much about Otto, not really, but that was fine. He didn¡¯t know all that much about her, either. He made his music and she made her dancing flames, and that was enough for them.


    Every few minutes someone would stop to watch or listen. Most of them dropped a coin or two, though some simply clapped and left. She glared at those people as they left, though she held herself back from setting their pants on fire. They were probably some of those rural tourists who didn¡¯t know proper etiquette.


    If you stopped to listen, you paid.


    The sun soon began to set, and she found herself itching to get back to the guildhall. Normally she¡¯d have remained with him until the market was empty, but now there was a free meal waiting for her and she really didn¡¯t want to miss it.


    Otto somehow caught on to her impatience. ¡°You can leave if you want, I know you¡¯re busy,¡± he smiled at her, his face twisting with the movement. ¡°There¡¯s not many people left anyways.¡±


    Palmira winced, but shook her head. ¡°I¡¯ll at least wait until the sun sets. Then I can walk you back to wherever you¡¯re staying before heading back.¡±


    ¡°How chivalrous,¡± he chuckled, bringing the flute back to his lips. ¡°Like a true adventurer.¡±


    Otto continued to play, though at this point it was mostly for an empty piazza. Most of the merchants were packing up for the day, though some still tried their luck in the dying candlelight. One idiot had apparently even wasted money on a magical lantern to light up his stall, though by now all it was attracting was moths.


    From the corner of her eye she saw someone approach them. A half elf, with dark hair and darker eyes. The low light made it hard to make out his features, but he looked like he couldn¡¯t be much older than Chiara. He stood before them in brand new armor and a spear strapped to his back, the look of an adventurer about him, including a fat coinpurse dangling from his belt that was just begging for someone to try and snatch it.


    Hm. This guy was either skilled enough to stop any would-be pickpocket from robbing him blind, or he was a fresh-faced newbie in for a rude awakening. Maybe even one of those nobles Morte liked complaining about.


    The half-elf waited politely for the song and show to end, before clapping with a smile. ¡°You¡¯re quite good,¡± he told them, which made her more confident he was a newbie. Older adventurers were a lot ruder in her experience.


    Then he shoved a hand in his coinpurse and pulled out two silver Florins, instantly quintupling the money they¡¯d made that night.


    ¡­The Goddess smiles on lucky idiots, it seems. Who in the world just walked around with that much money on them!?


    ¡°Thank you, young man,¡± Otto smiled, unaware of the fortune that had just been dropped in his lap. ¡°Ah, but forgive me, your accent sounds familiar. Are you from the Luexor region, perchance?¡±


    The half-elf froze, before forcing himself to untense. ¡°¡­I¡¯m from around there, I guess. How exactly did you know?¡±


    ¡°Ah, I¡¯m from there as well, you see,¡± his smile widened just a fraction more. ¡°I was born there, back before the Demons invaded. The accent¡¯s subtle, but I¡¯ve got a good ear,¡± he chuckled, tapping his unscarred ear. ¡°It¡¯s always nice to meet a fellow Luexor. ¡­And I apologize if I¡¯m being rude, but these days I so rarely get word from the front. Has the Queen-Mother successfully retaken the heartlands?¡±


    The half-elf didn¡¯t say anything, a conflicted grimace on his face.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be rude, dear,¡± a feminine voice whispered, the sound nearly causing Palmira to jump. ¡°The kind man asked you a question, it isn¡¯t his fault the answer hurts.¡±


    Palmira blinked, eyes darting back and forth trying to find the woman who¡¯d apparently been listening in. But her eyes found no one, and from what she could tell Otto hadn¡¯t noticed anything amiss.


    The half-elf seemingly had, though. ¡°¡­I¡¯m sorry, Monsieur. But our home is still ruled by Demons. However,¡± he paused, turning to stare out at the monument to the Hero in the center of the piazza. In the light of the setting sun he cut a strangely heroic figure, for all that he seemed a na?ve idiot. ¡°I promise that it will not remain that way for long. Even if I have to kill every Demon in the world, I¡¯ll free our homeland from the tyranny of the corrupt! I swear it!¡±


    Otto simply smiled sadly, having heard many such promises in his lifetime. Palmira just squinted at him, wondering who he was to make such a bold oath. She was now certain¡ªhe was an idiot.


    ¡­A handsome idiot. But an idiot nonetheless.


    ¡°I look forward to when that day comes, young man,¡± Otto sighed, his smile weary. ¡°And thank you. It¡¯s been too long since I¡¯ve met a fellow Luexor so far south. It warms my heart to know we¡¯re still fighting the good fight, even now.¡±


    The half-elf¡¯s expression grew tighter at that. But he nodded sharply. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Monsieur. I¡¯ll fight until the bitter end.¡±


    And with that he left, marching away as though he were heading off to war.


    ¡­That had been a weird interaction, thinking back on it.


    Eh, whatever. Cities were full of weirdos you¡¯d never see again. At least he paid well.


    ¡°Well, I think that¡¯s all we¡¯ll be making tonight,¡± Otto sighed, slowly rising to his feet. Palmira but the odd half-elf out of her mind and rushed to help him, despite his gentle protests. ¡°How much did we make, though? I¡¯m sorry, but can you count the coins for me? I¡¯m not so good at telling the tiny pieces apart.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± she told him. Then she actually picked up the bowl and was reminded that there were now two silver Florins in it and wow she didn¡¯t know what to do here. ¡°Uh¡­ it looks like there¡¯s about five and a half copper piccoli, three copper grossi, another two silver piccoli, and¡­ uh¡­ two silver Florins.¡±


    Otto was silent for a long moment. ¡°¡­Damn,¡± he muttered. Then he coughed, firmly clearing his throat. ¡°Well, how would you like to split it?¡±


    Palmira jumped, before immediately shaking her head. ¡°I couldn¡¯t!¡± she yelped, all but shoving the bowl into his hands.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have made as much without you here,¡± he told her, and despite herself she knew she was right because she knew what he made alone. ¡°Please, I insist.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I have a job. A well-paying job,¡± she lied. ¡°I can¡¯t take a cut of this, not anymore! You need this more than I do.¡±


    He frowned at her, and she almost groaned at the sight. Great, now he was going to be stubborn. ¡°Palmira, I understand you¡¯re trying to be kind, but I¡¯m not the kind of elf who¡¯d cheat a young girl out of her well-earned coin. Take half, fair as fair.¡±


    She glared mutinously at the scar where his eyes should be, but found the action ineffective against a blind man. Huffing, she finally reached her hand into the bowl, plucking the copper piccoli and leaving the rest.


    ¡°There, I took half,¡± she lied again. ¡°And before you try anything, I¡¯m not taking anymore! You may not be willing to cheat a young girl out of her coin, but I¡¯m not willing to cheat an old man out of his coin either, got it?¡±


    ¡°Loud and clear,¡± Otto chuckled, his face softening. Reaching down, he grabbed the few belongings he had with him and started hobbling. Palmira was at his side in an instant, a hand on his elbow to help him walk. ¡°Oh, you don¡¯t need to do that. I can walk just fine, thank you.¡±


    ¡°Well this is what you get for not being stingy,¡± Palmira snarked back. ¡°You get to walk home with a pretty girl on your arm. Unless you want to take it back¡­?¡±


    Otto scoffed, but begrudgingly accepted her help. She gave him a triumphant smirk in return, though the expression was of course lost on him.


    Though, as they made their way out of the piazza, Palmira couldn¡¯t help but glance back at the way that half-elf from earlier had gone. Maybe it was nothing, but¡­


    ¡­what was that voice she¡¯d heard?

 Chapter 40 - Monkeys and Circuses

    Chapter 40 ¨C Monkeys and Circuses


    ¡°I¡¯m telling you I heard something!¡± Palmira snapped around her breakfast, gnawing furiously on a charred hunk of bread. ¡°It was like¡­ a woman¡¯s voice, I think? And it was talking like Morte was! In my head!¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯m not saying you didn¡¯t,¡± Lorenzo raised his hands placatingly, her friend¡¯s leafy eyebrows furrowed in concern. The tree-man was, as always, annoyingly handsome, with his razor-sharp teeth and oaken complexion. ¡°But all I¡¯m saying is that there a simple explanation here. It¡¯s almost All Saint¡¯s Day, after all. The line between the living and the dead is growing thin and, well, from what you¡¯ve told me you¡¯re more in tune with that line than most. You probably just heard a ghost or something. You said he was a half-elf, right? Perhaps his mother is watching over him.¡±


    Palmira grumbled mulishly at that, hating the fact he was being logical. She didn¡¯t need logic. She needed answers! She didn¡¯t spend all night coming up with increasingly implausible scenarios just for him to wave this off as some dumb ghost.


    Having run out of bread to toast, she snatched the singular orange off her plate. Plunging her fingers into its flesh she began to cook it slowly, the pleasing scent of burnt orange helping calm her down. Lorenzo watched as she did so, looking faintly ill.


    ¡°I don¡¯t see why you¡¯re so bothered by this,¡± Chiara¡ªher other friend currently sitting with them¡ªscoffed. The half-elven woman was lounging arrogantly in her chair, rolling her crystal-clear eyes at her. ¡°He¡¯s just some weirdo you met on the streets. You¡¯re never going to meet him again, just put him out of your mind and move on.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the problem! He was in my mind!¡± she growled at them, shoving a slice of cooked orange into her mouth. ¡°Just like Morte! Except for some reason he didn¡¯t hear anything!¡±


    ¡°That is a big issue,¡± her staff agreed, sounding mildly bemused. ¡°I didn¡¯t hear anything. If they were broadcasting loud enough for the girl here to hear them, I should have easily been able to as well.¡±


    ¡°So you admit I heard something!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m saying that if you did, you likely weren¡¯t meant to hear it,¡± he corrected her. ¡°Rather, it¡¯s more like you accidentally tuned into the same wavelength as some other entity. What, though, I have no idea.¡±


    Chiara raised an eyebrow, suddenly appearing much more interested. ¡°Another entity? Are you saying that she could¡¯ve been hearing something like you?¡±


    ¡°I should hope not! I¡¯m a horrific crime against nature, forged of blasphemous necromancy! Imagine what horrors could occur if there were two of me!¡±


    Palmira paused, considering. She imagined herself with two staffs, quadrupling her firepower. Then she imagined having two Mortes constantly blabbering in her head.


    She shuddered.


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± she nodded firmly. ¡°The world¡¯s better off with only one of you in it.¡±


    ¡°¡­You know, my apprentice, sometimes you can be ever so cruel.¡±


    ¡°I learned from the best,¡± she gave him a cheerful smile. Eating the last slice of her orange she crumbled its still smoking peel into a ball, tossing it out into the courtyard. A half-dozen colorful flowers intercepted it, snarling and biting as they tore its remains between them.


    The blue lily-looking flower ended up winning the tug of war, grabbing the largest chunk and swallowing it with a sizzle of acid. A wave of cheers and groans rolled throughout the room, as coins begrudgingly changed hands. Bettina the Bartender scratched a tally mark on a wooden scoreboard, giving her a subtle wink that promised another orange as she collected her own winnings.


    Palmira¡¯s smile grew more genuine as she let herself calm down. It had taken a while, but once they¡¯d returned from Iscrimo she started feeling much more comfortable in the guild. After weeks of living here she found that walking the halls had become second nature, and the experienced adventurers who had once seemed so daunting now seemed more open and friendly. Few people even called her ¡®newbie¡¯ anymore, instead picking from a variety of new nicknames like ¡®Creepy Girl¡¯ or ¡®Three Dukes.¡¯


    And to think she used to hate being called ¡®Firebrand.¡¯


    Still, for all that she didn¡¯t like them, they were her nicknames. They showed she was no longer considered a generic newbie, but a full-fledged member of the guild.


    It made her feel a bit warm inside when she realized that. A bit warm on the outside, too.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Lorenzo¡¯s voice snapped her out of her musings. ¡°Chiara, is that your brother over there?¡±


    Palmira blinked, following his gaze over to the bar. Indeed, there was Chiara¡¯s half-brother, the guildmaster Dante di Firozzi, alongside the guild¡¯s secretary ¨®sma and its economist Asu Rana.


    ¡°Huh, so it is,¡± she squinted across the room at him. ¡°Goddess, is he going to make another speech? It is way too early to have to listen to him yapping.¡±


    Well, if he was then he picked the perfect time for it. Currently, the guild¡¯s dining hall was¡ªfor the first time since she¡¯d gotten back from Iscrimo¡ªpacked, everyone back from their recent jobs. Not quite full, not since the last group quit, but full enough that she could barely hear what Chiara and Lorenzo were saying, and they were right in front of her.


    That also meant that whatever the guildmaster was trying to say was currently being swallowed up by the shouting of rowdy adventurers.


    After a few minutes of trying to get everyone to quiet down and growing increasingly frustrated at being ignored, the man looked one step away from snapping and firing all of them like he threatened to every other week.


    But before he could do so ¨®sma decided to have mercy on everyone. Placing a giant hand on Dante¡¯s shoulder he stepped forward. Taking a deep breath, he roared, ¡°EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP!¡±


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    The sheer volume of his voice quieted the guild so fast they were able to hear it echo down the hall. In an instant the two dozen or so adventurers stopped talking, turning to look at the massive orc with only a little fear in their eyes.


    ¡°Thank you, ¨®sma,¡± the guildmaster sighed, his frustration wiped away as he turned to them. His brow was set and his back was straight, making him the very picture of a noble. It kind of made her want to punch him in the face, but she pushed that thought down. If he was this serious then it must be important. Probably. ¡°And thank all of you, for actually showing up for once! I¡¯m aware these past few weeks have been trying, but through our collective hard work and dedication we¡¯re steadily pulling ourselves out of the red!¡±


    A smattering of cheers followed his words, which Palmira halfheartedly joined in. Chiara of course only rolled her eyes, while Lorenzo joined a half second after her to stop it from feeling awkward.


    ¡°And, as I¡¯m sure you¡¯re all aware, All Saint¡¯s Day is coming up! And you all know what that means, right?¡±


    ¡°Spirits!¡± Anima the water mage raised a bottle.


    ¡°Beer!¡± Johanna the ice-elf followed up gleefully.


    ¡°I just said that!¡±


    ¡°No, you said spirits!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s alcohol, moron!¡±


    ¡°I thought spirits were ghosts?¡±


    ¡°They can be both!¡±


    The guildmaster sighed, a feeling Palmira sympathized with. Dealing with Johanna was trying at the best of times. Though she was wondering what he was getting at, bringing up the holidays like this.


    All Saint¡¯s Day was a celebration of the dead. Despite the name it lasted a week, each day honoring a different type of spirit, such as saints or heroes or family members. The first half of the week tended towards the drunk festivities type of holiday, while the second half tended towards a more personal affair.


    ¡°Yes, I know, another excuse to be drunk on the job,¡± the guildmaster rolled his eyes good-naturedly. ¡°But there¡¯s more to it than that. On the second day of the week the Rodina Guild hosts a tournament in order to honor fallen heroes. More importantly to us, this tournament is something which all adventurer guilds in the city are invited to attend. And we will attend! That¡¯s why I¡¯ve pulled the majority of you back to focus on personal training over taking jobs, as this will now be our top priority.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± Teresa called out from her spot next to Anima. The blonde Crusader was giving the guildmaster an incredulous look. ¡°Are you telling us we¡¯re focusing on training for some stupid tournament over making money on jobs? Or is this your way of telling us we¡¯re no longer dead broke!?¡±


    Murmurs broke out, most of the guild seeming to agree with her. But then Asu Rana stepped forward, her mandibles twitching into a calming smile.


    ¡°I understand your reservations, but this tournament is very important,¡± she replied, instantly soothing the worries of the others in a way that made ¨®sma and the guildmaster look envious. ¡°Aristocrats, merchants, and many other potential clients from across Firozzi and its allies will be attending. If we manage to stand out, especially above the Ambrosi and Capparelli sponsored guilds, we might be able to break back into the local market. Not only will that allow us to make more money, but we¡¯ll also no longer have to range as far for work either.¡±


    That calmed everyone down, though most still looked unconvinced. From what Palmira knew, basic economics tended to go over the average adventurer¡¯s head. Long-term planning wasn¡¯t her fellows¡¯ strong suit.


    The guildmaster saw this and sighed, rolling his eyes. ¡°There will also be a prize¡ªenough that each of you will get the equivalent of one gold Florin if we win.¡±


    ¡°Well why didn¡¯t you just lead with that!?¡± Johanna shouted, joined by the roar of a dozen other gleeful adventurers. ¡°Hells, that¡¯s enough to pay off my gambling debt!¡±


    The guildmaster sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as everyone already started boasting about what they were going to spend the prize on. ¡°Whatever works,¡± he muttered quietly enough that Palmira was pretty sure she wasn¡¯t supposed to have heard.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be meeting with each of you individually to plan out our future training programs and strategies,¡± ¨®sma spoke up, his booming voice loud enough to be heard over the din. ¡°And if any of you are late I¡¯m banning you from the bar for a week!¡±


    That cut through the premature celebration as a wave of complaints were instantly levied at the old orc¡¯s unsympathetic frame. The other two guild leaders just shook their heads and left, while Johanna made a righteous attempt to fistfight the orc¡ªonly to be instantly put in a headlock and dragged off to his office. She left a trail of snowmen behind her, each trying and failing to help her escape her fate.


    Palmira watched them go before turning back to her friends. ¡°So what¡¯s this tournament like? I¡¯ve seen the stuff around it, but I¡¯ve never actually been allowed inside the arena before.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just your standard tourney,¡± Chiara rolled her eyes, going back to picking at her food. ¡°The only difference is that sometimes your ancestors start showing up in the middle of the fight to either cheer you on or complain about how bad you¡¯re doing.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s just embarrassed because last year her great grandmother appeared and tried to fight her opponent for her,¡± Lorenzo stage whispered to her. There was a dull ¡®thump¡¯ as Chiara kicked him under the table. ¡°But it¡¯s not quite standard. Most tournaments use a bracket system, but that takes too long for something that¡¯s only supposed to last a day.¡±


    ¡°Huh,¡± Palmira nodded thoughtfully, having no idea what a ¡®bracket system¡¯ was. ¡°So what do they do instead?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s more like an endurance test. There¡¯s only one arena, and two people from different guilds fight in it. After one person is defeated, a different member of their guild shows up to take their place. Once the guild runs out of members they can no longer fight, but that doesn¡¯t mean they¡¯ve lost. The guild with the most knockouts at the end of the tournament wins the grand prize, with smaller prizes going to the runner-ups.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± she nodded, understanding the gist of it. Then she frowned as she realized something. ¡°Wait. Wouldn¡¯t that give larger guilds an advantage?¡±


    ¡°Yup,¡± Chiara scoffed, rolling her eyes in annoyance. ¡°That¡¯s why the Rodina Guild has won every year since they were founded. They¡¯ve got as many members as the rest of the city¡¯s guilds combined. ¡®Course, nobody can complain since they¡¯re also the ones paying for everything.¡±


    ¡°Quantity¡¯s not everything. Quality can still make up for numbers,¡± Lorenzo countered. ¡°Last year they almost lost, remember?¡±


    ¡°Sure, but do you think these dumbasses,¡± she gestured to the surrounding adventurers, most of whom were already day drinking, placing bets, and engaging in general tomfoolery, ¡°are high quality enough to defeat the Rodina Guild?¡±


    ¡°I do, actually,¡± Lorenzo smiled confidently. ¡°They may not be the smartest bunch, but we have a rare quality to our guildmembers that most others lack.¡±


    It was at that point Johanna returned to the dining hall, listlessly stumbling in with a thousand-yard stare.


    ¡°Oi, Christina Cringle, what¡¯s got yer panties in a twist?¡± Matthias the dwarf slurred around a beer larger than his head. ¡°Did that old orc finally get sick o¡¯ yah and fire yah?¡±


    Johanna stumbled to a stop, a look of horror frozen on her face as she slumped against his table. ¡°I¡­¡± she barely managed to choke out, frozen tears twinkling at the corners of her eyes. ¡°¡­I¡¯ve been promoted!¡±


    It was like time itself stopped as every single conversation in the guild instantly ground to a halt.


    Then¡ª


    ¡°Oh Goddess, Johanna!?¡±


    ¡°What in the world was ¨®sma thinking!?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re all gonna die we¡¯re all gonna die we¡¯re all gonna die¡ª¡±


    ¡°Are you telling me I have to take orders from that idiot!?¡±


    ¡°We can get promoted!?¡±


    Johanna sobbed at the guild exploded into chaos around her. A frozen lake pooled on the table as Matthias patted her back in sympathy, offering her his own mug in consolation. It immediately froze over, which just made her cry harder.


    Chiara turned back to Lorenzo and raised an eyebrow. ¡°A rare quality, huh?¡±


    ¡°The rarest,¡± his smile was strained, but still stubbornly clinging on. ¡°Hell if I know what it is, but I believe in us.¡±


    Palmira didn¡¯t, but she supposed it was a good thing that someone was rooting for them. As it was, the chaos of the announcement was almost enough for her to forget about the voice she¡¯d heard yesterday.


    Almost.

 Interlude XV - The Oldest Orc

    Interlude XV ¨C The Oldest Orc


    ¨®sma


    ¨®sma was old, even for an orc. Seventy-four years and counting meant he could claim to be a peer to a dwarf and not get laughed out of the room, if only barely. It made him sentimental, sometimes, but more often than not it merely made him curse his aching joints.


    His youth had been rather typical for an orc. Full of violence and death and bloody steel. He¡¯d been born in a small village at the fringes of the Second Empire. It had been a small place, barely a dozen families nestled together in a forgotten valley. The air had been cold, and the soil alternated between tough and muddy. His family had farmed mandrakes and raskovnik and traded with the local pygmy mammoth herders for milk and meat. The summers were humid, and the winters were freezing, and life had been monotonous and dreary.


    This would normally be the part where he¡¯d say he loved it despite all that, that the village held some special place in his heart, but that couldn¡¯t be further than the truth. He¡¯d hated the weather, he¡¯d hated the backbreaking labor for such little gains, he¡¯d hated the smalltown gossip and the bigger kids who¡¯d bullied him for being short. He¡¯d hated that tiny village at the edge of civilization. He¡¯d hated it so much he¡¯d left, never to return.


    His brother had agreed with him, proving that both of them were stupid little bachor with their heads so far up their own asses they should¡¯ve choked on them.


    They¡¯d hated that little village, but at least if they¡¯d stayed they might both still be alive.


    But they hadn¡¯t. He and his brother¡ªdumb kids that they were¡ªhad believed that with enough grit and determination they could become famous and wealthy adventurers and fix all the problems in the world. So with heads filled with dreams and his father¡¯s axe in hand they left their sickly mother and younger sister to go west and join the Adventurer¡¯s Guild. They made big promises about how they¡¯d return champions like the orcs of old, with mountains of treasures and an elf on each arm.


    He¡­ supposed they had succeeded in at least one of those things.


    Back during the Second Empire there had only been one Adventurer¡¯s Guild, backed by the royal family and operating out of the capital. They¡¯d arrived in the city to little fanfare beyond the discovery that racism was a thing, and joined the Guild as Porcelain Ranks, the lowest ranked adventurers.


    They¡¯d spent a decade combing sewers for giant rats and clearing pests from nearby farms, their careers stalled by petty elven bureaucracy and bigotry. But they¡¯d learned to read and write, how to count and how to haggle, and had relationships with equally low-ranked adventurers. It had not been the glory they¡¯d expected, but looking back on it, it hadn¡¯t been a bad life, not really. Better than the mud and the cold of the village, at least.


    But they had been young and angry, chafing under restrictions of their rank that they had proved they¡¯d long surpassed. His brother had been worse and, eventually, it had proven too much for him. His anger had gotten the better of him in a bar one evening, and the next thing they¡¯d known there was a body bleeding out on the floor.


    Anger was the Sin of Orcs, as the Goddess Decreed. And so by giving into his anger his brother had not only committed murder but had given into sin while doing so.


    That night he had been imprisoned, doomed to be executed by people who had been just waiting for an excuse.


    Then the Demons attacked.


    ¨®sma hated the bastards, for their violence and cruelty and generally being awful, but in that moment he had felt nothing but relief that his brother wasn¡¯t going to die.


    When the Demons poured down the streets of the capital he¡¯d gone to the prison where his brother was being held and freed him. ¨®sma had planned for them to flee in the chaos, but his brother¡ªto noble by half and stupider than an ox¡ªhad other plans. He had given into anger and committed murder, he¡¯d reasoned, and so he had to atone.


    His brother grabbed their father¡¯s axe, stepped out onto middle of the battle, and felled three Demons with a single blow.


    And when the dust settled, and the dead were being counted, the Hero himself approached his brother and offered him a spot in his party. A chance to be a true hero, to be the champion he¡¯d always imagined he could be.


    His brother had taken it, and in doing so became a legend. He¡¯d been given the nickname the ¡®Hero of Louve¡¯ after saving the city and slaying the old Demon Lord Artoparaskevast¨ªs in single combat. His brother had had protected the innocent and slew so many Demons that the monsters fled him on sight. By any metric he had atoned ten times over.


    His reward was death, along with the rest of the Hero¡¯s party.


    As far as ¨®sma was aware only one of the Hero¡¯s original party still lived, and the Arch-Traitor now ruled as Demon Lord in the ruined Capital.


    ¨®sma had not been there to see his brother die. He¡¯d been on the other side of the continent, along with Dante¡¯s granduncle and a baby-faced Sinbad, staving off an incursion by the Woman-Serpent. It had nearly broken him when the soldiers returned, his brother¡¯s face covered by a shroud.


    If he had had the choice, he would have buried him in the Capital, the place they both once called home. But the Capital was lost, so instead his brother was buried in the City of Firozzi¡ªthe city which he would eventually carve out his new life in.


    He never told the rest of his family, not that he had much choice. He hadn¡¯t gotten a letter from his sister in nearly twenty years, and he¡¯d never known his nephew beyond the ink on a piece of parchment. He didn¡¯t even know if the boy was still alive, and he found he couldn¡¯t bring himself to check.


    But that was the price of adventure, he¡¯d long since learned. To leave everything behind and pray it survives your absence. It was a price he swore he¡¯d never pay again.


    And then another stupid bachor named Dante had decided he¡¯d try and drag him back into it.


    ¨®sma was no longer an adventurer. The Rosa Dominae Adventurer¡¯s Guild was never meant to be some grand ambitious project. When Dante¡¯s Granduncle asked him to join as the Guild¡¯s secretary, it had meant to be his retirement. After decades of blood and violence it was a place where an old orc with creaky joints could rest while still supporting the war effort, as little as that seemed to be needed these days.


    Then the man died, and Dante Cadorna took his place. Hotheaded and ambitious and far too full of himself, deciding that their dysfunctional little guild was going to somehow supplant the Goddess-forsaken Ambrosi.


    It was the height of foolishness, but ¨®sma supposed somebody needed to keep the boy from blindly running into his enemy¡¯s swords.


    That brought him to here, a mountain of paperwork on his desk and an old lady to his right, the two of them meeting with the guild¡¯s remaining adventurers to whip them into shape or¡ªmore likely¡ªfail miserably and fall into bankruptcy.


    A part of him¡ªthat same part that had run away from home with nothing but an axe and a dream¡ªfound the process almost exhilarating.


    ¡°Are we done yet¡­?¡±


    A small, vindictive smile grew across ¨®sma¡¯s face. ¡°Oh, not in the slightest!¡± the old orc chuckled cheerfully. ¡°We still have a dozen more meetings to get through today, and you have yet to finish your training!¡±


    Johanna sat next to him, her dead, snowy eyes watching with dread as he handed her another pile of papers. This one was on the proper procedures for dealing with an Imperial Audit. They were not actually a part of an Empire anymore, but that didn¡¯t mean the woman shouldn¡¯t have to learn! Why, there were only seven hundred pages worth of procedures, practically light reading for an elf!


    ¨®sma¡¯s smile grew just a teensy bit wider.


    ¡°What did I do to deserve this¡­?¡± The elf whimpered, her whole body cringing in horror at the sight.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°Well, what didn¡¯t you do? You spelled it all out on your application! Thirty years in the Imperial Army, fifteen years in total crusading, dozens of victories during the Demon Wars, you name it! You even led a mercenary band for¡­ how long was it again¡­? Ah, yes, twenty-six years! Why, that alone is more experience than some of our member have been alive!¡± ¨®sma¡¯s smile was no longer even pretending to be friendly. ¡°And then you followed that up with twelve years in this guild, making you a senior member! If anything, this promotion was long overdue! You deserve this Johanna, and I am honored to have you as a peer in these trying times.¡±


    Johanna, who now resembled more an ice sculpture than a living person, simply sat there as she came to terms with the fact that her actions did indeed have consequences.


    Chuckling to himself, ¨®sma left her to her suffering. And it wasn¡¯t like her suffering was entirely spite-driven¡ªafter a month of overwork, he finally had an hour of free time most days! At this rate, he might even be able to enjoy a bit of the festivities.


    Ah, an orc could dream¡­


    His ears twitched, the sounds of stomping feet approaching his office. Huh, was it that late already?


    ¡°¨®sma!¡± Matthias the dwarf stormed into his office, three glasses in hand and a keg of beer over one shoulder. His stormy grey beard was braided into three knots¡ªsignifying his thirty years of life¡ªand his golden eyes crackled with amusement. ¡°How¡¯s the weather up there?¡±


    The three-meter-tall orc craned his neck exaggeratedly, until he was looking directly down on the one-meter-tall dwarf. ¡°What¡¯s it matter to you, shortstack? Not like you¡¯ll ever get to know.¡±


    ¡°A shame!¡± his booming laughter echoed throughout his office as he leapt up onto the tall chair he¡¯d had custom made for dwarves. ¡°But I suppose not all of us can be so freakishly tall. So, we¡¯re joining the little tourney this coming holiday?¡±


    ¡°It appears so,¡± ¨®sma nodded, watching as the dwarf in front of him dropped the keg on his desk with a thunderous crash. Johanna¡ªshowing her priorities¡ªimmediately dropped her paperwork to eagerly accept a mug of beer. ¨®sma took his own with much more grace, downing it all in a single gulp. ¡°And that means we¡¯re checking in on everyone. Making sure you all are consistently improving and innovating, or at least doing something other than drinking us out of house and home.¡±


    ¡°Please, we all know these pints don¡¯t cost you a cent!¡± he scoffed, which was more accurate than most realized. About half their income was overcharging their own adventurers on alcohol. ¡°If it did, you¡¯d have kicked old Charles out on his ass years ago!¡±


    ¡°What guild members do in their spare time is their prerogative,¡± the response was second nature by now. ¡°But enough about that, we have more important things to get through. First, do you have any plans for how to train for the tournament?¡±


    ¡°Same old, same old, I¡¯d imagine,¡± the dwarf shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ll take a month off to go climb a mountain and kick up some winds. Maybe find another Sky Spirit to learn from again, that tends to work well for me. I¡¯ve even picked one out with this great scenic view¡ª¡±


    ¡°The tournament is next week.¡±


    ¡°What? No, it¡¯s All Saint¡¯s Day, yeah?¡±


    ¡°We celebrate All Saint¡¯s Day next week,¡± ¨®sma informed him dryly. ¡°As you can tell by all the preparations going on outside. ¡­Wait, your own people celebrate it the week after, not in a month. Where were you getting a month from?¡±


    Matthias blinked, pouring himself another pint. Then he shrugged, downing it without a care.


    ¨®sma sighed. ¡°We¡¯ll workshop something. That¡¯s the point of these meetings in the first place.¡±


    Matthias snapped his fingers, a crackle of static bursting between them. ¡°¡¯Course! That¡¯s the great thing about having you here¡ªyou can do all my thinking for me!¡±


    Good Lady in Heaven he had his work cut out for him.


    -<X>-


    ¡°So you¡¯ve been keeping up your practice with Asu Rana recently?¡± ¨®sma hummed, flipping through another sheet. Ah, wonderful, more taxes, because Goddess forbid the first line of defense against Demons be able to just buy shoes without being extorted. ¡°Have you been having any issues?¡±


    ¡°No, Signor ¨®sma,¡± Palmira, his least problematic subordinate shook her head. Least problematic for him personally, at least. The nobility of Iscrimo had other opinions on that front. ¡°It¡¯s mostly been conditioning my body, but we did manage a bit of a breakthrough! It turns out light moves!¡±


    ¡°Really,¡± he hummed, not at all understanding the significance but very aware that magic could be weird sometimes. Still, encouragement was good, even if he didn¡¯t understand what was going on. ¡°That¡¯s great! Do you think you¡¯ll be able to do anything with it for the tournament?¡±


    At that she slumped, and he almost smiled. The girl may have barely known how to read, but she reminded him more of the academic types with how she acted. More interested in the act of discovering new things than actually putting them to practical use.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± she compromised. ¡°Morte says if I were a light mage instead of a fire mage I might be able to make illusions. But he also told me that it would require an understanding of light that would take me years to figure out. Signora Rana got it instantly though, and made a bunch of illusory moths attack me until I figured out how to disrupt them.¡±


    ¨®sma nodded thoughtfully, not bringing up the fact that Asu Rana had been able to use that party trick for thirty-odd years now. But it was nice to know how she did it. Light, huh? Could Moonlight count¡­?


    A thought for later.


    ¡°Well, it sounds like you¡¯ve figured out a way to dispel illusions. I¡¯d call that progress.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but only light-based illusions,¡± she grumbled, huffing out a puff of smoke. ¡°Morte says that any other types of illusions will work just fine against me.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re at least protected against one avenue of attack,¡± he encouraged her. ¡°That¡¯s more than nothing.¡±


    ¡°I guess¡­¡±


    ¨®sma hid a smile at her grumbling. The girl was annoyed now, but she truly was making incredible headway. She was just young¡ªgive her a few more years and she¡¯d be a terror on any battlefield.


    ¡°Oh, but it has helped with my flashbangs! Now I don¡¯t even need to be nearby to set them off!¡±


    His smile became somewhat more fixed.


    Maybe she was already a bit too much of a terror already.


    Ah, well. That wasn¡¯t his problem.


    -<X>-


    ¡°If this is about my tab I¡¯ve already paid it off.¡±


    ¨®sma sighed. Of all the things¡­


    ¡°Lamezia, this isn¡¯t about your tab,¡± he told the shifty woman across from him. ¡°This is your performance review.¡±


    That was apparently the wrong thing to say, as she tensed up even more. She instinctively tried to look away from him by looking up only to remember he was taller and frantically look down instead, a mortified scowl stretching across her face. He sympathized¡ªit was far too easy to get used to being the tallest person in the room, up until you weren¡¯t anymore.


    And he was the only person taller than her in the whole guild, as Lamezia was a half-orc, an increasingly prevalent sub-race these days. She was only a foot or so shorter than ¨®sma, with pale blue skin and paler blue eyes, and pitch-black hair braided to her knees. She, like many half-orcs, had the unfortunate downside of having mouths too small for their fangs, which gave her a bit of an underbite. Combined with the bulging biceps that all orcs were naturally blessed with, most who looked at her saw a powerful warrior, the kind who laughed in the face of fear and charged onto dangerous battlefields with a warchant on her lips.


    ¨®sma, who was a true orc, instead saw her for what she was. A delicate noble lady in way over her head. And he was confident he knew where she came from as well.


    The Kingdom of Illioucilia to the south was once ruled by humans. Was. It had been the largest duchy in Alovola during the Empire, and a part of the old Volan Heartlands. It rested at the bottom of the peninsula, protected by the sea on three sides. Being located in the heart of old human territory you¡¯d think it wouldn¡¯t be at risk of invasion by other races, but apparently not.


    The Blue Orcs¡ªraiders and scourges of the far north¡ªtook it as a personal affront that any place could be so protected. So they spent nearly a century raiding up and down the coast, avoiding naval patrols and porting across the sea in Albawaaba.


    Then the Demons attacked, and the Woman-Serpent destroyed many of the raiders¡¯ ships while they were out pillaging, leaving them stranded. But they were Blue Orcs, stubborn and glory hungry to a fault. Instead of fleeing the country or simply surrendering to be executed like decent folk, they instead attacked the capital city. Somehow¡ªbecause the Goddess seemed to only favor the foolish¡ªthey¡¯d managed to capture the city, slaughtering most of the royal family. The only exception was the daughter of the old King, who the new Blue Orc King took as his wife.


    That old viking was now long dead, but with the influx of blue orcs into the nobility he¡¯d conquered it was only natural that half-orcs would start cropping up more and more often.


    All that is to say, Lamezia di Cambria was very obviously a runaway noble¡¯s daughter from the kingdom to their south.


    He didn¡¯t know anything more, as he didn¡¯t ask questions. A person¡¯s past was their own.


    Besides, it was unlikely anyone could top Palmira ¡®I murdered a Duke and didn¡¯t think that was important enough to tell anyone until the middle of a trial for murdering another Duke¡¯ di Firozzi in the criminal past department. It was far more likely the girl was just running away from an arranged marriage.


    He hoped, at least. He really didn¡¯t want to test that assumption.


    As the silence grew awkward ¨®sma sighed, looking down at the papers before him. ¡°You¡¯ve done well for the few months you¡¯ve been here,¡± he told her, nodding at the paper like it told him all he needed to know. It was actually requisitions for fresh olives, but he found the girl across from him was more comfortable when he avoided eye-contact. ¡°Though you seem to have hit a wall recently. You¡¯ve succeeded in all your quests, but Charles has let me know your skill with a sword doesn¡¯t seem to be improving much.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± she worked her jaw for a few moments. ¨®sma watched her out of the corner of his eye, taking note of the embarrassment. It wasn¡¯t his intention, but the girl had thin skin. Something else she needed to work on. ¡°¡­I¡¯m working on it.¡±


    ¨®sma nodded. ¡°Of course, that¡¯s all we can ask for. Though, he did recommend that with your build, a great axe might be¡ª¡±


    ¡°NO!¡± she suddenly snapped, leaping to her feet. ¡°I DON¡¯T¡ª!¡± she froze, her mind catching up with her actions. ¡°Ah, um, I¡¯m sorry!¡±


    Mortified, the eight foot tall half-orcess bolted from his office, hands covering her face like a maiden half her age.


    ¨®sma watched her flee with a sigh. He¡¯d have to grab her eventually to finish this meeting, for all that would be like pulling teeth. And to think, she was one of their less problematic kids.


    ¡­Actually, Lorenzo¡¯s mellowed out considerably recently, hasn¡¯t he?


    ¨®sma made a quick prayer to the Goddess that Chiara would follow his example. Maybe then he¡¯d be able to spend less time worrying about the kids and more time worrying about the adults.


    One could only hope.

 Chapter 41 - Shades of Pink

    Chapter 41 ¨C Shades of Pink


    The world is empty.


    There were no cities here. No nature. No people nor buildings, no trees nor animals. Nothing but a desolate waste endlessly sprawling in all directions, dead and barren. There is nothing left to rot.


    The world is quiet.


    The sky was black void painted by the shadows of dying stars. The world hung between them all, countless Angel Threads framing it in an endless, mournful dance. A funeral dirge for something lost, something which could never be recovered.


    This is the land where all things end.


    Palmira blinked slowly, fluff and static filling the space between her ears. She was forgetting something, she knew, memories clawing at the edges of her soul. But the feeling swiftly faded, replaced only by a yawning void, the loss of something she never realized she was missing.


    But that feeling faded too, ground to dust along with everything else.


    Palmira flexed her fingers, marveling at their movement. She could feel the muscles and the tendons as they stretched, the joints bending and popping as they forced the wet bones in her hand to twist to their whims. The mechanics of her own body opened up to her, thousands of ligaments pulling and releasing on a calcified frame, the faint static from countless nerves ordering her cells to dance. Her body moving even as it stood still. Every jolt a wonder, each twitch a miracle.


    She did nothing but this for an age, enraptured by the movement of her own flesh and blood.


    It could have continued forever, but such was not to be. This empty world constricted around her, a chill she hadn¡¯t felt since childhood sapping the will from her limbs.


    ¡®You do not belong here,¡¯ the world whispered softly in her ear. ¡®These Hallowed Grounds are not for you. Cease, so we might return to our silence.¡¯


    But she was already here. How could she have gotten somewhere she didn¡¯t belong?


    The world did not answer, and the cold burrowed ever deeper into her body.


    This was too much, Palmira decided, and raised an empty hand. She tried to ignite a flame to ward away the chill¡ªbut nothing happened.


    Of course. Fire required fuel, and there was nothing here to burn.


    Palmira tilted her head, confused by the thought. Of course there were things to burn. There always were.


    She stepped forward, kicking up the silver dust which blanketed the world. But that dust did not fall back down¡ªinstead it moved towards the space above her hand, as though sucked in by an invisible gravity well. The dust swirled in on itself, condensing and condensing without ever stopping, growing hotter and faster with each revolution.


    It was not enough.


    So she took another step. And another. She calmly walked in no particular direction, gathering more and more dust in her palm with each step.


    The world did not like that. But there was nothing it could do¡ªeven this dust was dead, forced to bow to the whims of the only living being who yet remained.


    Eventually¡ªafter an eternity and no time at all¡ªshe had gathered enough. A world¡¯s worth of dust condensed itself into the palm of her hand. And with a flex of her will it ignited.


    A star was born, its heat and light chasing away the cold and the dark. It was small and dim, but even the weakest star was warmer than the void.


    Palmira blinked languidly, tilting her head up.


    ¡°Hello,¡± she greeted, her voice raspy from disuse. ¡°Who are you?¡±


    Before her stood a woman. Warm and kind and sad. She did not recognize the woman. The woman was familiar. The woman was an old friend. The woman was a stranger.


    ¡°Hello to you too,¡± the woman smiled at her, an undecipherable emotion swirling behind her eyes. ¡°You aren¡¯t supposed to be here, you know.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    The unknown emotion vanished, replaced by a stern amusement. ¡°Then you should leave,¡± she scolded her gently. ¡°This is no place for a child. What would your Teacher say, if he discovered you had wandered so far from home?¡±


    Teacher¡­ who was that again¡­?


    Thoughts came slower now. She hadn¡¯t been able to gather any more dust, standing here and talking. Her star flickered and began to fade, her sense of self fading with it.


    ¡°I suppose this is my fault, though,¡± the woman mused. ¡°I should have checked to make sure nobody was following me first. I¡¯m sorry, Mother, it appears my visit will have to be cut short.¡±


    Mother¡­?


    Palmira blinked, and the world was no longer empty. She was no longer nowhere, but now in the ruins of a derelict palace, standing before a woman on a crumbling throne. Or what looked like a woman. This one was not kind, but neither was she cruel. She was timeless yet ancient. Alive yet dead. Alien yet unforgettable. She was nothing, and she was everything.


    Palmira did not know the woman on the throne. And the woman on the throne did not know her. But she knew without a shadow of a doubt that the woman on the throne hated her.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± the kindly one wrapped her in a hug, her soft arms enveloping her in a world devoid of hatred. ¡°I know Mother is scary. But she won¡¯t hurt you, I promise. She doesn¡¯t get to hurt you anymore.¡±


    Palmira did not know why that relieved her so much. Why the chill creeping into her soul changed with those words from cruel to compassionate. She fell against the kindly woman, nuzzling into her. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes. She felt so small. She felt so safe.


    ¡°You¡¯ve done well to survive this far,¡± she whispered encouragement in her ear. ¡°But if you stay any longer you will never be able to return. And that is too cruel a fate for someone who tries so hard. So here, child, allow me to shepherd you back to the land of the living.¡±


    The woman then wrapped fingers around her flickering star and slowly, gently, snuffed it out.


    ¡°And promise that you will never return.¡±


    -<X>-


    Palmira woke with a gasp, her sheets drenched in sweat. With shaking limbs she forced herself up, taking deep, shuddering breaths as she struggled to fill her lungs. Her hair was actively smouldering, chasing away the last remnants of the chill which had clung to her soul.


    ¡°Kid? Kid!?¡± the voice of Morte boomed in her head, tearing through the high-pitched static which had consumed her thoughts. ¡°Oh thank heavens you¡¯re still alive! Are you feeling okay? Do you still remember how to count? Quick, what does the color blue taste like!?¡±Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Palmira coughed, shaking her head. ¡°Sh¡­shush,¡± she gasped, holding up a finger. ¡°Shss¡­¡±


    Blessedly, Morte understood what she was trying to say and calmed down. Closing her eyes, she shook out her limbs, the painful tingling slowly fading. Working her jaw around a bloated tongue, she tried to speak again, only for the words to blunder out her mouth as nonsense.


    Frustrated, she slapped herself.


    ¡°Ow, fuck!¡± she hissed, rubbing her cheek. The numbness which had consumed her popped, leaving behind only the painful sting.


    ¡°Palmira. Are you okay? Are you back?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she clacked her teeth, a phantom aches still faintly running through them. ¡°And yes. I hope, at least. What¡­ what happened? That didn¡¯t feel normal.¡±


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re dreams are never, normal,¡± Morte pointed out dryly. ¡°But I don¡¯t actually know what happened. I took my metaphysical eyes off you for one second and then you were just¡­ gone.¡±


    Palmira blinked, trying to remember for herself what happened. She described what she could, but for the life of her she couldn¡¯t remember how she¡¯d gotten to wherever that was in the first place.


    After she was done explaining Morte fell silent, leaving her to shift awkwardly on her bed.


    Finally, he spoke. ¡°¡­I believe I know where you ended up. And I¡¯m fairly certain I also know who you met. And because of that, I¡¯m not going to tell you who they were or where that was.¡±


    ¡°What!? Why not? Weren¡¯t you the one who said I was going to learn all the secrets of the cosmos?¡±


    ¡°I also told you that we¡¯d start small, take things one step at a time,¡± Morte cut her off, grim and sad. ¡°This is not a secret I keep out of malice or some misguided belief that you wouldn¡¯t be able to handle the truth, but out of kindness. You could probably figure it out on your own, but this is a truth that will only hurt you. Let it be. You¡¯ll be happier for it.¡±


    She wanted to keep pushing. She really did. But his voice was so¡­


    The shutters of her window rattled as if something slammed into them.


    ¡°Oh would you look at that, a distraction! Quick, let¡¯s deal with it now, before you can ask any more questions!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re really bad at deflecting, huh?¡±


    The shutters rattled again.


    Palmira grimaced, but with heavy limbs she dragged herself out of bed, lumbering over to Morte. Grabbing her catalyst, she lit a small flame, barely enough to see by. Stepping up to the window, she cracked the shutters open, just barely enough to see out of.


    A wide, pink grin greeted her on the other side.


    ¡°Palmira!¡± Tintinnia squealed, her gremlin of a friend bursting her way through the window. ¡°You¡¯re awake!¡±


    As the much shorter girl locked herself around her body in a vice grip, Palmira could only sigh, both relieved and disappointed that it was her. ¡°Why can¡¯t you just use the door like a normal person?¡±


    ¡°Because then somebody might know I¡¯m here!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not as reassuring as you think it is.¡±


    With one last bone-crushing squeeze the other girl finally let go, stepping back with a somehow even wider grin. Her white hair was somehow even floofier than when she last saw her, only barely restrained by a pink bow which matched her unnatural complexion. She¡¯d also forgone her goggles today, revealing to the world the stars which burned merrily in her eye sockets.


    ¡°The new shutters are annoying though,¡± she huffed, puffing out her cheeks. ¡°It makes it so much harder for me to get into your room!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the point. Also, why are you here,¡± Palmira squinted out the open window. ¡°It¡¯s not even morning yet.¡±


    ¡°I missed you!¡± she pouted. ¡°You just up and left one day without telling me! I had to hide on the roof for hours before I overheard someone talking about where you went!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know where you live, Tintinnia, so I don¡¯t know how I could have told you. And why couldn¡¯t you have just asked someone instead of sitting on some roof all day?¡± she pointed out, before sighing, feeling just a little guilty. ¡°¡­Sorry about that, though. I¡¯ll try to let you know if it¡¯s going to happen again.¡±


    ¡°Good!¡± Nodding imperiously, the tiny slip of a girl marched over to her bed, flopping onto it with a bounce. ¡°Now, you gotta tell me what you¡¯ve been up to in Iscrimo! Is it true you overthrew the government?¡±


    Palmira rolled her eyes, dropping down next to her. She began recounting everything that happened, starting with her maybe sort of killing the first Duke of Iscrimo and ending with the battle against the Eye Demon and the party that followed.


    By the end of her story, Tintinnia¡¯s eyes were literally sparking with delight.


    ¡°You killed three dukes,¡± she whispered in awe.


    ¡°Hey, no! I killed one duke. I don¡¯t know who killed the other one, and the last guy was just exiled with the rest of his family.¡±


    ¡°My best friend¡¯s committed regicide,¡± the tiny girl whispered to herself, apparently not listening. ¡°I need to step up my game!¡±


    ¡°Please don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Aw. No, you¡¯re right, killing monarchs is your thing, I¡¯ve gotta find my own hobbies,¡± she sighed. Perking up, she turned to where the mace Malocchio was watching them with a single open eye. ¡°Oh, speaking of, I had some ideas I wanted to test out!¡±


    Skipping over to the table, she lifted it up to her face. An inhumanly wide grin sliced its way across her face as she took in every detail. ¡°You¡¯ve been taking good care of them, haven¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡®Agreement. Our Lady thoroughly polishes Our body every night.¡¯


    ¡°Why do you guys have to make everything weird?¡± Palmira muttered.


    ¡°Wonderful! Though I¡¯m gonna be taking him back for a bit,¡± she told her, sliding the mace into a pocket which was far too small for it. ¡°I¡¯ve been testing out some ideas while I waited for you to get back. Only the best for my favorite customer!¡±


    ¡°You have other customers?¡±


    ¡°¡­No. Sinbad doesn¡¯t let me sell my masterpieces to anyone, the jerk.¡±


    Tintinnia pouted, but Palmira couldn¡¯t help but thank the Paladin mentally. The less Malocchios in the world the better.


    Suddenly, the other girl jerked, a look of embarrassed realization spreading across her face.


    ¡°Oh no, I completely forgot! Sinbad had something he wanted me to tell you!¡±


    ¡°Sinbad?¡± Palmira frowned, fidgeting with Morte. She didn¡¯t really like the man. Sure, he was the Paladin, but he was also an ass. ¡°Is it bad? Does it have something to do with David?¡±


    Back when they¡¯d first fought she¡¯d been worried that the Drowned-Man might try to go after her for revenge, but learning he¡¯d fled the city had calmed her down. But if Sinbad wanted to warn her about something that was the only thing she could think of.


    ¡°Huh, David? Oh, don¡¯t worry about him, I¡¯ll get his heart eventually,¡± she shook her head with the confidence only a lunatic could possess. ¡°This is about the Demon you fought. You know, the one with all the eyes.¡±


    ¡°What about her? She¡¯s dead. ¡­She is dead, right?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s dead, trust me, I¡¯d know,¡± Morte reassured her.


    ¡°Yeah, but that¡¯s not what I¡¯m talking about,¡± Tintinnia shook her head. ¡°I mean the Demon¡¯s patron, the All-Seeing. Sinbad doesn¡¯t know exactly what went down, but he fought that Demon Lord before and it went¡­ poorly. He¡¯s worried that with you defeating its minion that it might take an interest in you. Especially because of¡­ whatever Morte is.¡±


    That¡­ didn¡¯t sound good.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound good,¡± Morte echoed her thoughts grimly. ¡°It¡¯s also probably true. It recognized me before the Demon died.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± she leaned in, intrigued. ¡°Why¡¯d a Demon Lord recognize you? Unless¡­! Were you a Demon Lord, now trapped in that staff!?¡±


    ¡°Even if I was, I wouldn¡¯t just tell you that,¡± he pointed out. ¡°But that¡¯s not important. What is important is that if you¡¯re right then the All-Seeing is likely to try and attack us at some point.¡±


    ¡°Wait, what,¡± Palmira hissed, lurching over to glare at her staff. ¡°What do you mean¡ªdon¡¯t you think you should have brought this up beforehand!?¡±


    ¡°What? Isn¡¯t it obvious?¡± Morte sounded genuinely confused. ¡°He¡¯s a Demon Lord and you killed one of his Demons. Of course he¡¯s going to take an interest in you. Especially the one called ¡®The All-Seeing.¡¯¡±


    She took a deep, calming breath. ¡°It¡¯s not obvious, actually,¡± she ground out. ¡°But fine. If it¡¯s so obvious, why don¡¯t you sound worried?¡±


    ¡°Because Nytheloph is a coward, a schemer, and¡ªmost of all¡ªa punk-ass little bitch. Back when I was alive I spat in at least thirty of his eyes before he scampered away to hide. Because of that, the All-Seeing won¡¯t risk coming here in person¡ªif it even can. Instead, it¡¯ll send its weaker minions here, to a massive city teeming with powerful adventurers and holy women, where they will proceed to get obliterated before they can get within a mile of you. All that is to say, you¡¯re fine.¡±


    That¡­ actually did make her feel better.


    ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re not a Demon Lord?¡± the other girl squinted at Morte. ¡°That kind of info sounds like something only a Demon Lord would know.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not going to let this go, are you?¡±


    ¡°I never let anything go, especially not¡ªoh crap, look at the time!¡± Tintinnia yelped, rushing over to the window. Sunlight was beginning to peak through, lighting up her bedroom. ¡°I lost track of time and now the sun¡¯s already up! It¡¯s going to be so much harder for me to sneak out now!¡±


    ¡°Or you could just leave through the front door,¡± Palmira sighed, watching the smaller girl start clambering out the window. ¡°Whatever. Bye, Tintinnia, don¡¯t fall and break your neck on the way out.¡±


    ¡°Aw, I knew you loved me!¡± she waved back with a bright smile. ¡°I¡¯ll see you again once I¡¯ve got Malocchio all gussied up. Bye-bye!¡±


    And with that, the pink menace was gone.


    ¡°¡­Hey Morte? I¡¯m tired.¡±


    ¡°Well, your bed¡¯s right there. You could always take a nap.¡±


    ¡°Absolutely not.¡±


    With a stretch and a groan, Palmira resigned herself to spending the day exhausted. The last thing she wanted was to end up back¡­ wherever it was she¡¯d ended up.


    Which reminded her, she was definitely figuring out what Morte was hiding from her. The sheer curiosity was burning her up!


    Palmira yawned.


    Maybe later, though, when she was less tired.


    Shrugging her shoulders, she left to get breakfast and start her training for the day.


    ¡­Hopefully Tintinnia returned her mace before the tournament.

 Chapter 42 - Firefly and the Night Sky

    Chapter 42 ¨C Firefly and the Night Sky


    The Rosa Dominae guildhall was an old building. Once a large, traditional manor built around a central courtyard, it was now the administrative hub of the new Firozzi Famiglia¡¯s adventurer¡¯s guild. Encircling the lush garden on the first floor were the armory, dining hall, and reception areas. Offices and personal rooms made up the second and third floors, none of which saw as much traffic as the bar downstairs. Jutting out over the courtyard were a handful of balconies decorated with sparsely used benches and tables, just high enough up that the plants wouldn¡¯t try to bite your toes off if you fell asleep.


    Tonight, Palmira was headed to ¡®her¡¯ balcony, the one she always took her lessons with Morte on. Just down the hall from her room, after nearly a month of lessons the balcony had become a private place for her to relax and get away from the chaos that filled the bar below.


    Which made her all the more annoyed to find someone had already stolen her favorite spot.


    There was a bug-person¡ªa B?ce?i¡ªlounging on one of the openbacked couches, nursing a bubbling Cordiali white in one hand and a book in the other. The B?ce?i were one of the bug-people of the east, like the ?r¨¹mcek, though she barely knew the difference between them. Something about the number of limbs maybe?


    The one sitting in her spot had a carapace that was a dull brown, broken up by red stripes around his neck and wrists. He was dressed simply in a black and brown tunic which barely hid a collection of worn scars which cracked across his carapace. One and a half antennae twitched atop his head as he noticed her arrival.


    ¡°Oh? Is someone there?¡± his eyes darted over to her, the yellow-green glow lighting up the balcony. Compared to Asu Rana his voice had less of an accent than she¡¯d expected. ¡°You¡¯re¡­ Palmira, right? What brings you up here so late at night?¡±


    ¡°This is¡­¡± she wanted him to leave, but she also didn¡¯t want to tell him why she wanted him to leave. Even in her head the reason sounded petty. ¡°I¡¯m here to study.¡±


    He cocked his head, before shrugging and closing the beacons he called eyes, spots dancing across her vision from the sudden darkness. ¡°Then pull up a chair. I won¡¯t bother you.¡±


    With that he turned back to his book, leaving her to decide whether leaving or staying would be more awkward.


    Grimacing, she gingerly stepped onto the balcony, settling down on the bench furthest from him. Placing Morte against the wall she laid out sheets of parchment across her lap, hand drawn star charts interspersed by notes and doodles. She shuffled through them until she reached a half-finished recreation of ¡®The Maiden¡¯ constellation. Setting it on the table along with an ink pot and quill, she began to get to work.


    Morte was clear that she¡¯d have to make these herself. Every Cosmologist needed to know the stars by heart, and the fastest way to memorize their positions and names was to write them down herself.


    Craning her neck Palmira squinted at the night sky, eyes roving over the stars she could currently see. The light pollution of Firozzi wasn¡¯t half as bad as Iscrimo, but it was still worse than the countryside, and these maps needed to be accurate if she didn¡¯t want to have to suffer through another one of Morte¡¯s remedial sessions.


    Taking a deep breath to center herself, she tried to ignore the person next to her as she grasped at the nebulous ¡®cosmic¡¯ magic she¡¯d begun developing. Unlike her fire, which simply needed fuel and direction, this was something much more abstract, and so took much more effort to work with. But ever so slowly she was able to wrangle it up towards her eyes, her vision changing as stellar dust ignited in her irises.


    Everything around her vanished, from the roof over her head to the earth beneath her feet. Only the stars remained, as the relatively dim night sky was suddenly replaced by a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree tapestry light.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    This was the only spell Morte had taught her so far that she could get to consistently work, though from how he described it it was the most basic of the basics. That didn¡¯t stop her from struggling, unfortunately, as the division between ¡®heaven¡¯ and ¡®earth¡¯ wasn¡¯t something she was good at keeping separated yet. Still, so long as there weren¡¯t any distractions she could¡ª


    ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    The cosmic power slipped from her grasp, and she let out a pained hiss as the world suddenly snapped back to normal human vision.


    ¡°What?¡± she snapped, rubbing at her eyes. Goddess alive, it felt like someone had thrown pepper in her eyes. ¡°I thought you said you wouldn¡¯t bother me!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re eyes were glowing, it was creepy.¡±


    Palmira was so blown away by the blatant hypocrisy that she couldn¡¯t even call him out on it.


    ¡°¡­They¡¯re supposed to do that,¡± she settled on. She heard Morte snickering in the back of her mind and debated chucking pepper in his eyes to see if he could feel that. ¡°Now, please, be quiet. I need to focus.¡±


    The B?ce?i (what even was his name? Damnit it was too late to ask now) blinked his eyes, once more blinding her. Then he nodded and took another sip of wine. ¡°Sorry about that. I just tend to speak my mind about these things, you know.¡±


    ¡°It would be better if you didn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m aware.¡±


    Palmira didn¡¯t know what to say to that.


    Turning away, she decided not to say anything. Pulling up the cosmic power once again, she slowly and carefully molded it back into her eyes, the world once more falling away as¡ª


    The door to the balcony slammed open, and she let out a scream of frustration as she was hit by the backlash of the spell again.


    ¡°Hey, Creepy Girl, Firefly!¡± Matthias the dwarf bellowed, ¡°We were wondering where you two were!¡±


    ¡°Signor Matthias,¡± she scowled around her tears, slamming her hands on her star charts. ¡°Can you please not do that! I¡¯m trying to study!¡±


    ¡°Sorry about that girly!¡± he laughed unrepentantly, before presumably noticing the murder burning in her eyes. ¡°Uh. Ahem. I mean, sorry kid, really. But this is important!¡±


    ¡°So is this!¡± she snapped, holding her unfinished paper up to his face. He went cross-eyed trying to keep track of it. ¡°If I can memorize all these charts I might be able to streamline my divination, but I still have so much to get through but the tournament is in two days and none of you people will let me practice in peace!¡±


    Matthias took a step back, dislodging a few sparks as he ran a hand through his grey beard. ¡°You sound stressed.¡±


    ¡°No, you think?¡±


    ¡°But that¡¯s why I came to get you!¡± he grinned, throwing an arm around her shoulder. She was unfortunately short enough that he only had to reach a little bit. ¡°Tomorrow¡¯s when All Saint¡¯s Day begins, so this eve we¡¯re pregaming! The guildmaster¡¯s even offered everyone a free drink, on the house!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t drink, Matthias,¡± she groaned. She didn¡¯t have anything particularly against alcohol, but watching the rest of the guild make fools of themselves every day didn¡¯t put her in the mood to get drunk herself.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to! Come on, you know Bettina likes you, I bet she¡¯d let you trade it in for a cake or something. Besides, everyone is there!¡±


    Her stomach growled at the thought. As far as treats go, that was far more tempting. Still¡­ ¡°He¡¯s not down there!¡± she pointed at the B?ce?i watching them.


    ¡°That¡¯s because he doesn¡¯t like us,¡± the dwarf stage-whispered to her.


    ¡°It¡¯s because I don¡¯t like them,¡± the bug-man agreed, taking another sip of wine.


    ¡°Offer¡¯s still open Endrit!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d rather not.¡±


    Matthias sighed. ¡°Look, Palmira, there¡¯s a party going on downstairs with free drinks and good company. Er, decent company. I¡¯m not gonna force you to come join us if you really don¡¯t want to, but you aren¡¯t doing anyone any good stressing alone up here. The others are already down there waiting for you.¡±


    She grimaced, glancing down at the charts in her hands. ¡°But what about the tournament? I don¡¯t feel the least bit ready for it.¡± Not to mention Tintinnia still hadn¡¯t returned Malocchio.


    ¡°You probably aren¡¯t,¡± he admitted freely, slamming a hand against her back. ¡°But nobody¡¯s ready for their first, not even me! Besides, we¡¯ve got two days until the tournament¡ªif you aren¡¯t ready by now you aren¡¯t ever going to be. So don¡¯t lose sleep on it and relax a little. Trust me, that¡¯ll do you better than any amount of last-minute studying would.¡±


    Palmira bit her lip, torn.


    ¡°¡­Bah, go on,¡± Morte spoke up at last, reluctant yet firm. ¡°He¡¯s not wrong, even if you do need to study more.¡±


    ¡°Morte?¡±


    ¡°I said go on! Live a little! Get drunk, eat some sweets, do something you¡¯ll regret in the morning! The stars will still be here tomorrow.¡±


    Palmira closed her eyes. She¡¯d probably regret this, but¡­


    ¡°Fine,¡± she sighed, wincing as Matthias let out a victorious laugh. ¡°But if you were lying about the free cake I¡¯m leaving!¡±

 Chapter 43 - The Day of Children

    Chapter 43 ¨C The Day of Children


    Palmira let out a long yawn, quickly slapping her hands over her mouth to stop the smoke which began streaming out. Grunting, she rubbed her eyes as she stumbled along the road, instinctively igniting the air around her to deter pickpockets as she tried to stay awake.


    Last night had probably been a mistake, she decided.


    It hadn¡¯t been so bad, at first. Loud and chaotic, sure, but they were always like that. And the cake was, as promised, delicious. But then they kept talking, and drinking, and partying¡­


    Before she knew it, dawn had broken and she¡¯d been half-passed out in her seat.


    A month ago that wouldn¡¯t have been so unbearable¡ªshe could have just slept during the day instead¡ªbut unfortunately these days she had something called ¡®social obligations¡¯ which meant that despite running on an hour and a half of sleep she was out and about with her colleagues, Chiara the half-elf and Lamezia the half-orc.


    Hm. She wasn¡¯t half-anything. That made her feel weird. Unless¡­ she was half human. Sure, the other half was also human, but surely that counted, right?


    Palmira absently followed behind the others as she pondered her own lack of ancestry. The streets of Firozzi were packed to the brim with people celebrating the first day of All Saint¡¯s Day, though luckily Lamezia¡¯s massive frame granted her a clear wake to follow through the sea of tourists. She didn¡¯t really know the blue half-orcess that well, but as far as first impressions go she was already leagues above Chiara.


    ¡°It¡¯s nice having someone big around,¡± she smiled sleepily up at the half-orc. Lamezia nodded stoically back, her muscles tensed as though she was constantly prepared to fight. That was normal for orcs, she was pretty sure, though after such a long time around ¨®sma she found herself unused to it. ¡°Thanks for clearing the way.¡±


    Chiara was of course far ahead of them, stomping her way through the streets. She¡¯d forgotten them again, though given how frustrated she looked it was to be expected. She¡¯d been in a foul mood all morning.


    Today was going to be a ¡®girls day,¡¯ as Chiara had dubiously dubbed it. She¡¯d invited all the female members of the guild to partake in some of the festivities for the last day before the tournament proper began.


    Palmira and Lamezia were the only ones to show up.


    She¡¯d forgive her friend a little frustration today.


    Palmira let out another yawn, balancing between following close enough to not get separated while staying far enough away not to accidentally burn anyone. Above her, something else yawned in time with her, startling her. She tilted her head up, squinting at whatever was up there.


    A red drakeling was snoozing on her head, small tufts of smoke wafting from its nostrils.


    Huh. When did that get there?


    Palmira shrugged and continued walking.


    Eventually they arrived at the Piazza dei Campioni, the large Piazza to the north where the majority of the week¡¯s festivities would be taking place. Normally the festival would be more spread throughout the city, but with the recent mounting tension between the Ambrosi and the Capparelli everyone had informally decided to stick to more ¡®neutral¡¯ territory this year.


    Out here the buildings weren¡¯t as densely packed, with open-air restaurants only vaguely defining the boundaries of the Piazza. Though the people more than made up for it, as hundreds of stalls had been set up over the past couple days to cater to the glut of tourists and rural-folk who¡¯d be spending the winter in the city.


    Chiara finally slowed down enough for them to catch up. She seemed less huffy now, and while she didn¡¯t quite apologize (Palmira wasn¡¯t sure she was capable) she did let them take the lead.


    ¡°What do you two want to do?¡±


    Lamezia crossed her arms with a grunt, shrugging. ¡°It doesn¡¯t really matter to me where we go.¡±


    This was definitely the wrong thing to say, as Chiara¡¯s face fell at her words. Luckily, even half-asleep Palmira knew how to fix this.


    ¡°Food!¡± she shouted, stumbling forward under the force of her own yell. The drakeling on her head startled awake, digging its claws into her scalp. It hurt, but less than her own embarrassment. ¡°Um. I mean, I¡¯m starving! Let¡¯s get something to eat!¡±


    Chiara gave her an odd look. ¡°Are you alright? You¡¯re acting weirder than usual.¡±


    ¡°No, I just told you, I¡¯m hungry!¡± she was also exhausted, and the glare from the sunlight was doing funny things to her eyes, but that was besides the point! ¡°Now come on, you promised you¡¯d treat us and I never turn down free food!¡±


    ¡°Whoever said I was paying?¡±


    ¡°You did. Last night, remember?¡±


    ¡°I most certainly do not.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± Lamezia mumbled, causing the two of them to pause in their argument to look at her. ¡°You did promise. But only to Lorenzo, not us.¡±


    ¡°Hah, see!


    ¡°That¡¯s not fair, why does he get special treatment!?¡±


    ¡°Excuse me, have you seen his jawline?¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re saying only hot people get free food!?¡±


    ¡°That is a crude if not inaccurate way of putting it.¡±


    ¡°Good, then that means you¡¯re paying for my meal too.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me? Just because you set yourself on fire all the time doesn¡¯t mean you can pun your way into a free meal.¡±


    ¡°Damnit¡ªI mean, obviously not! I was talking about my sexy face. This beauty was a gift from a dragon-god-thing, you know!¡±


    ¡°That just leaves me with more questions. And you¡¯re not that pretty!¡±


    Palmira gasped, clutching at her heart as she fell back towards Lamezia, who clumsily caught her. ¡°Did you hear that, Lamezia? Chiara thinks I¡¯m ugly,¡± she sniffed, crocodile tears boiling at the corners of her eyes. ¡°She thinks us hideous, nothing more than repulsive brutes!¡±


    ¡°No I don¡¯t!¡± she snapped frantically, grabbing Palmira¡¯s shoulder and shaking her. ¡°I never said that! Stop putting words in my mouth!¡±


    ¡°¡­Don¡¯t worry, Palmira,¡± the half-orcess awkwardly patted her other shoulder in what was probably meant to be a comforting manner. ¡°I, um, I think you¡¯re pretty.¡±


    Palmira paused, having not expected the genuineness of the complement. ¡°Oh. Uh, thank you, Lamezia, I think you¡¯re pretty too.¡±


    She grimaced, turning away. ¡°You don¡¯t have to lie for my sake¡­¡±


    She didn¡¯t know what to say to that.


    Chiara sighed, dropping her head into her hands. ¡°Fine! You¡¯re both beautiful!¡± her grumbling was muffled by her fingers. ¡°I¡¯ll buy you both food, just stop whatever this is, got it!¡±


    ¡°Heh,¡± Palmira grinned. ¡°That¡¯s what I thought.¡±


    ¡°I can still change my mind, you know!¡±


    -<X>-


    Chiara did not end up changing her mind. She was lucky, however, that she had gracious friends who didn¡¯t take advantage of her kindness.


    Mostly. Palmira did get an overpriced mug of coffee, but in her defense Chiara was the one who pointed the shop out.


    Now they sat at a table beneath a chestnut tree, a collection of snacks between them generously donated from the only girl in the group with money. They were far enough away from the main chaos of the Piazza that it was relatively quieter, though nearby a dwarf and an elf were competitively busking with a drum and a lute respectively, which lent the space a charged air. Palmira using some of Chiara¡¯s money to pay the dwarf probably hadn¡¯t helped.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    But that was now background noise at this point, as a more important issue was at hand.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I should¡­¡± Chiara muttered, running a small idol between her fingers. It was a wooden angel, painted silver. ¡°It doesn¡¯t feel as genuine¡­¡±


    ¡°Just because you aren¡¯t right there doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯s not real,¡± Palmira reassured her, absently trading Lamezia a jerky strip for one of her Arancini. She had to work to keep the drakeling from instantly snapping it up. ¡°I¡¯ve been doing it here for years, after all.¡±


    To emphasize her point, she held up the clay dragon in her own hand. It was in the style of the red dragons, long and scarlet.


    ¡°You agree with me, right Lamezia?¡±


    ¡°Er, I think so,¡± she shuffled on the stone bench they¡¯d dragged the table over to. ¡°I mean, I¡¯ve never been to my grandfather¡¯s grave, but mother and I still prayed to him often. I don¡¯t think it was wrong to do that, even if we weren¡¯t with him physically.¡±


    ¡°I suppose you¡¯re right¡­¡±


    Chiara didn¡¯t look wholly convinced, but considering the circumstances that was to be expected.


    It was the first day of All Saint¡¯s Day, after all. And while it was a week dedicated to celebrating and honoring the dead, it was also a week of mourning the lost. Each day was meant to honor a different type of death, with the first day¡ªthe youngest day¡ªhonoring those who died young. Children, babes, and the mothers who died birthing them were honored today by those who had outlived them.


    Chiara, as it turned out, had a truly shocking amount of dead half-siblings, and having been banished from her family estate it would be the first year she¡¯d be honoring them in the city rather than at her family crypt.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I wasn¡¯t of more help¡­¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s fine,¡± Chiara reassured Lamezia. ¡°The fact you aren¡¯t mourning anyone today is a good thing. It just¡­ feels weird. That¡¯s all.¡±


    They were silent for a bit after that, none of them sure what else to say.


    ¡°If you don¡¯t mind me asking¡­¡± Palmira spoke up hesitantly. ¡°And you don¡¯t have to answer. But why¡­?¡±


    Her friend scoffed. ¡°It¡¯s nothing special. My home is just¡­ it¡¯s not exactly hospitable to normal people. Only people who learn our family magic can live there long, and we obviously don¡¯t teach it to outsiders. But a noble can¡¯t clean or cook for themselves, it¡¯s just not done. So the Patriarch is expected to take enough mistresses to keep the staff¡¯s numbers up, but not all of the children¡­ it takes a long time to learn magic, and¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­You don¡¯t have to continue.¡±


    Chiara looked like she disagreed, but she couldn¡¯t force the words. Instead she just scowled, her teeth snapping together with a loud ¡®click.¡¯


    ¡°That¡¯s really fucked up,¡± Lamezia told her, handing her one of her Arancini.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s normal in magical families like mine.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯s not fucked up.¡±


    ¡°¡­Yeah.¡±


    They fell back into silence after that. Palmira opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but not sure what.


    Finally¡ª


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna go get us some more food,¡± she stood up, offering her drakeling her fingers to lick clean. ¡°I¡¯ll be right back.¡±


    ¡°Here, I¡¯ll pay¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯ll take this one,¡± she protested, even as she hid a wince at the thought of spending money. ¡°It¡¯s not that much anyway.¡±


    Palmira sped away before she could lose her nerve. Or perhaps running away was her losing her nerve? It was hard to tell.


    She wished she¡¯d brought Morte today, he¡¯d know what to say. But according to Chiara the questionably ancient soul in her staff wasn¡¯t feminine enough to join them for ¡®girl¡¯s day.¡¯ He also apparently had his own mourning to see to, so he stayed behind in her room.


    Then again, he probably would¡¯ve said something insensitive that would end up making things worse.


    Hm. Maybe it was a good thing she hadn¡¯t brought him¡ª


    Wait.


    Her head snapped back so quickly her neck cracked. The person behind her nearly ran into her and snapped at her as they shoved past, but she wasn¡¯t paying attention to that.


    No, she could have sworn she just saw¡­


    There! That guy! The half-elf with the spear! What¡¯s-his-face!


    Palmira immediately made a U-turn, rushing after him. She wasn¡¯t sure exactly what she was doing, but if she could get close enough maybe she could hear¡ªwait she didn¡¯t have Morte with her this was probably a bad idea¡ªbut when was she ever going to see him again¡ª!?


    Then he stopped to buy something from one of the stalls, and she froze, unsure what to do. Stumbling back a few steps she hid behind an empty stall, hoping he wouldn¡¯t notice her. She squinted at the half-elf for a moment, not exactly sure what she was doing but certain she¡¯d think of something eventually.


    Then, as the adrenaline left her, she realized something.


    This was stupid.


    What even was her plan here? Stalk him through the Piazza? What if Chiara came looking for her because she was taking too long? That would be so mortifying if she caught her¡ª


    ¡°Whatcha doing?¡±


    Palmira absolutely did not shriek, and anyone who said otherwise was a filthy, filthy liar.


    A short pink girl stood behind her, hands hidden behind her back and a wide grin on her face.


    Oh thank the Goddess it was just Tintinnia.


    Wait.


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± she asked, one hand over her racing heart and the other stopping the drakeling on her head from launching itself at the other girl.


    ¡°I was looking for you!¡± she grinned, practically vibrating with manic energy. ¡°I finally finished him!¡±


    ¡°Him?¡± Palmira blinked, before her eyes widened. ¡°Oh, you mean¡ª?¡±


    ¡°Yes, him!¡± she cheered, before thrusting a mace into her hands. ¡°Say hello to Malocchio-Ultima, my second-best work to date!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not calling him that,¡± she told her, taking the mace gingerly in hand. Looking it over with a critical eye, she was shocked by how little he seemed to have outwardly changed.


    The head was still a slanted cube with a sideways eye burrowed into each face, though Tintinnia had added some fancier embellishments and extra spikes on the corners. Strangely it was the haft which seemed to have had the most work done to it, as it was how longer, with a second spiked tail joining its twin in wrapping around her arm.


    She wondered what it said about her that she now found the feeling comforting.


    ¡®Greetings,¡¯ Malocchio¡¯s voice echoed in her head. Despite his usual monotone, it felt a little cheerier than normal. Or maybe she was just projecting. ¡®We have finally returned to Our Lady. Our arsenal is now vast, and Our power enhanced. We await Our Lady¡¯s orders.¡¯


    ¡°It¡¯s good to have you back, Malocchio,¡± she smiled at the upgraded crime against nature in her hand. ¡°But, uh, what did you do to him, exactly? He doesn¡¯t seem that different.¡±


    ¡°Just watch,¡± she pointed down at the mace with a smug grin. ¡°Now, do the thing!¡±


    The head of the mace fell off.


    Or, no, that wasn¡¯t quite right. It was still connected to the handle, a living chain of corded leather tying the two together. As it extended further she watched his tails slide into the haft until they fully disappeared, leaving her with over a meter of cord between handle and head.


    Malocchio was no longer just a mace, he was now also a flail.


    ¡°Well, do you like it?!¡± Tintinnia practically jumped on her, hair frizzing out in every direction. ¡°I had to spend all night getting him done in time for the tournament. That¡¯s not everything I did though! I also added an oil producing gland which you can spray from the top spike, and his tails are stronger than steel now, and I even gave the eyes night vision!¡±


    Palmira blinked, her eyes crossing as the smaller girl invaded her personal space. ¡°That¡¯s great,¡± she nodded, taking a step back. ¡°Thank you for this, I was worried you might not have finished in time.¡±


    ¡°Please, as if I¡¯d fail. I¡¯m the best damn artificer in the world!¡±


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re definitely the best one I¡¯ve ever seen,¡± Palmira nodded, not mentioning that she was also the only one she¡¯d ever seen.


    Unless Morte counted? In that case she¡¯d probably be the worst artificer she¡¯d ever seen, but it would feel rude to point that out, so she didn¡¯t.


    ¡°Thank you again,¡± she smiled at her preening friend. ¡°What are you going to do next?¡±


    Tintinnia paused. Then she seemed to deflate on the spot. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Uh, go home, I guess.¡±


    Palmira frowned, before glancing back in the direction of the others. Well, it was supposed to be a girl¡¯s day¡­


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you join my friends and I?¡±


    Like a switch, the other girl¡¯s expression instantly lit up.


    ¡°You mean it!?¡±


    -<X>-


    Introducing Tintinnia along may have been a mistake.


    ¡°Wait, so you¡¯re the one who made Palmira¡¯s creepy mace?¡±


    ¡°Yup, that¡¯s me!¡±


    Not because the others didn¡¯t like the girl, thankfully.


    ¡°Did you also make her staff?¡±


    ¡°Puh-lease, I¡¯d have done a way better job than that antique!¡±


    ¡°Antique, huh? Heh, you¡¯re alright, pipsqueak.¡±


    But despite their amicability, there was something¡­ off about their conversation that she couldn¡¯t quite grasp.


    ¡°You too!¡± Tintinnia smiled back, her shark-like grin on full display. She kept herself squeezed between Palmira and Chiara for reasons she wasn¡¯t sure of. ¡°You¡¯re not as mean as Palmira said you were. I figured you¡¯d hate me on the spot!¡±


    Chiara gave her a look over the other girl¡¯s head. She gave her a look back.


    The half-elf scoffed but let the matter rest.


    Still, it was nice to know that her two closest friends got along, even if there seemed to be some strange tension between them. At least Lamezia seemed immune to whatever was going on and just treated the girl with the same stoic respect she treated everyone else with.


    There wasn¡¯t much left to do today, regardless. The sun was starting to set, and she¡¯d seen more than a few ghosts flicker in and out of reality, so it was almost time for the first evening prayer. The four of them followed the crowd, funneling into one of the countless cathedrals which filled the city.


    It was dark as they entered, the blue ghost flames which were lit only this week granting them barely enough light to see by. They shuffled their way into the pews, finding just enough space to sit near the back. Though getting there was¡­ a struggle.


    ¡°Ow, Palmira, you stepped on my toe!¡±


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t me!¡±


    ¡°Sorry.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Lamezia, I should have realized. It¡¯s so dark in here, I swear.¡±


    ¡°Wait, how did you mix up her and me!?¡±


    ¡°Maybe you¡¯ve just been putting on weight recently. All that cake can ruin your figure, you know~¡±


    ¡°You know what else can ruin your figure¡ª?¡±


    ¡°Shh! It¡¯s starting!¡±


    As they finally crammed themselves into the pew, the cathedral quieted until the only sounds were the crackling of flames and the breathing of hundreds of faithful.


    Then, at the altar, the flames grew brighter, changing from a dim blue to a brilliant white. They cast the sweeping architecture of the cathedral in sharp relief, illuminating murals, stained glass, and the priestess who stepped up to the altar.


    The priestess was a beautiful woman, such was obvious even at a distance. Beneath her vestments her skin was a smooth, healthy bronze, broken up only by thin cracks from which poured a soft, divine light. A mane of vibrant red hair fell down her back, the tips of which flickered gently with white flame.


    A simple blindfold hid her eyes from view, yet even unseen they pinned her to the spot.


    ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to meet all of you,¡± her smile was as radiant as the sun, and her voice as smooth as rain. ¡°As the Goddess decrees, I shall lead you all in prayer on this most holy of nights. I am the Priestess Rosalina, and I look forward to spending this night with you.¡±

 Chapter 44 - The Night of Children

    Chapter 44 ¨C The Night of Children


    ¡°As our most holy Goddess¡¯ representative on this mortal plane, I welcome all who joins me on this hallowed eve. Tonight marks the first of seven nights of remembrance. Though we might mourn those we love on all days, the Goddess blesses us with these nights to once more see those we thought lost. They return to us, faded yet vibrant. A reminder that the end is not so terrifying, that for the innocent what suffering we shoulder in life is unburdened from us in death.¡±


    Beyond the priestess the cathedral was silent as the grave, men and women bowing their heads as they solemnly followed her verses. Bleached flames flickered from chancel to nave, casting the building in stark monochrome relief. Under their light the living were pale as ghosts, while the shadows of those who watched from beyond ran like wet ink from its judgement.


    Rosalina spoke her words softly, each syllable that passed through her lips an inevitable truth sheltered in divine certainty. Her name was familiar, it had a sense of unease attached to it that somehow couldn¡¯t be placed. Had they met before? Or was it a name heard in passing, spoken by an unknowable stranger?


    Did it even matter?


    Her words were more important. What was a little unease compared to the glory of the Goddess?


    Then Tintinnia grabbed her arm, fingernails digging into her flesh. ¡°We need to leave. Now.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Palmira startled, blinking heavily. The priestess continued to speak, and she found herself unconsciously mouthing along.


    ¡°It is through only the holy book that we might speak these words, and only upon these days of mourning, for such tragedies are not meant for mortal ears. In the ancient war between Angels and Demons, Kindly Death was slain and her veil torn jagged. For seven days and seven nights heaven and hell alike were abandoned as the shades of those long dead once more returned to life. Yet on the eighth day the Goddess returned, her scythe stained with the ichor of her harvest and her heart set with determination to set the world to rights. With silver thread she wove the veil anew, healing that which should never have been harmed.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s Rosalina,¡± she hissed, her free hand clenched around and invisible handle even as she dragged her to her feet. Despite speaking as quietly as possible, the smaller girl¡¯s voice was deafening compared to the suffocating silence around them. ¡°She was the¡­ erg¡­ uh, the fire mage in Sinbad¡¯s party. You remember what he said about her, right?¡±


    Sinbad¡­ the shitty Paladin? What was he¡ª?


    Her breath caught in her throat as she remembered his words. Of how his old allies had fallen to the Demons, and the dangers they posed. Clarity filtered through the smoke in her mind, even as the priestess¡¯ prayers continued to batter against her soul.


    ¡°Hey,¡± she hissed quietly, grabbing Chiara¡¯s shoulder. Behind her Tintinnia pulled a snail¡¯s shell from her pocket which she tapped against frantically. ¡°We need to get out of here, right now.¡±


    ¡°What? Why?¡± Chiara scowled at her. ¡°We¡¯re in the middle of mass!¡±


    ¡°Because¡­¡± the words wouldn¡¯t leave her mouth. She knew, logically, that they had to leave. But she couldn¡¯t find it in her to speak against the benevolent priestess who prayed for their souls.


    ¡°Yet to restore is not to create, it is merely to remold, and silver thread shines a brilliant scar against the darkness of death. A week of death now stains the tapestry of history, a week which begins tonight. A celebration of tragedy; a lamentation of victory. As Autumn leaves bleed onto frozen ground, the Goddess once more loosens the shackles of our souls, so that saints and sinner alike may once more face those they¡¯ve long left behind. So that we may forever remember the faces of those otherwise lost to us.¡±


    Palmira grimaced. She knew they had to leave. She knew they had to leave. If they stayed¡­ something would happen. Probably. Sure, Tintinnia said so, but she had a skewed idea of morality. It was probably nothing. And if it was¡­


    Would it really be so bad?


    Malocchio¡¯s twin tails tightened around her waist, the pain centering her mind.


    ¡®Reminder,¡¯ he spoke normally, yet his voice ricocheted against her skull. ¡®We cannot protect Our Lady like Morte can. We recommend immediate withdrawal, followed by long range bombardment from a safe distance.¡¯


    Palmira took a deep breath. Chiara was ignoring her again, once more enraptured by the priestess¡¯ sermon. She moved to stand in front of her and tightened her grip on her shoulder.


    ¡°Ow¡ªPalmira!¡± the other girl growled. ¡°What in the world is wrong with you!?¡±


    ¡°To live is to suffer. Such is the price we pay for the sins we have committed. For the sins our forefathers have committed. And to die is to be relieved of suffering. Yet life is not cruelty alone, and a drop of love is enough to save even the most tattered soul. For the world is dark, yet full of wonders.¡±


    It was impossible to tell the truth about why they had to leave, so she needed to lie.


    ¡°I need to pee.¡±


    Why¡ª!? Surely she could have come up with a better lie than that.


    Chiara shot her a weary glare. ¡°Can¡¯t you go by yourself?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s pitch black out!¡± she hissed, mortified but in too deep to back out now. ¡°I¡¯m not going alone!¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± someone behind them snapped. ¡°Don¡¯t they teach kids these days to be quiet during sermons?¡±


    Palmira ignored them. This was far more important.


    ¡°Ugh, fine,¡± she grumbled. ¡°But you owe me!¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Unfortunately, they were just a little too late.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    A chill ran down her spine. Flickers of movement danced in the corners of her eyes. Childish laughter danced behind her ears.


    Palmira blinked as fingers manifested themselves in front of her eyes. They clutched at her hair, her chin, her nose, at every part of her face. A pair of eyes met hers, desperate and relived.


    Are you alive? A voice whispered in her mind, not unlike Morte. Am I alive?


    ¡°Tonight we pay homage to both light and darkness. To mothers who have lost sons, to fathers who have lost daughters. Such tragedies are indiscriminate, no matter class nor race nor creed. Even the Goddess mourns her daughter.¡±


    ¡°Okay, we need to go now,¡± Palmira rushed past Chiara, not even bothering to argue with Lamezia. Dragging the much larger half-orc to her feet, she began the arduous process of scooching through crammed church pews in the dark. Behind her, and exasperated Chiara followed, pushed along by a frantic Tintinnia. She apologized as she went, but not a single person responded to her, all of them simply mouthing along to the sermon.


    The silence unnerved her more than anything else.


    ¡°If you¡¯re afraid of ghosts you could have just said so,¡± Chiara grumbled from behind her. ¡°You didn¡¯t have to make such a scene.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not scared,¡± she muttered back, resisting the urge to light a fire. The blinding white of the church flames made her desperate for the natural orange of her own. ¡°Whatever. Hurry up, we¡¯re almost out.¡±


    Finally, they reached the end of the row, pouring out into the aisle. Lamezia seemed to only now realize what was going on, blinking rapidly as her mouth clicked shut. Her steps hitched, slowing them down but thankfully not stopping them.


    ¡°What is¡­¡± she muttered in a daze. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±


    ¡°Palmira¡¯s scared of ghosts~¡± Chiara snickered quietly behind them.


    ¡°Am not,¡± she muttered, even as she picked up the pace. There was a bone-deep sense that they were running out of time.


    Apparitions watched them as they fled. Old and young, crying and laughing, washed-out and lively. A girl her age held a babe in one hand and her head in the other. A young boy who was nothing but bones snaked between her legs, chasing little more than mist. Hands with too many fingers reached out from shadowy corners as they drew near, only to dissolve the moment they touched.


    Palmira forced herself to ignore all of it. The dead were always unnerving to the living¡ªthey were dead, after all. But that¡¯s all they were. They weren¡¯t the real danger here.


    Though they were surrounded by ghosts, it was the priestess¡¯ prayers which haunted their every step.


    But the cathedral was not so large that it took them long to reach the exit. Before they knew it they had reached the ornate doors of the cathedral, towering over even Lamezia. They were far to big to push, but that was why there was a smaller, human-sized door cut into the bigger door.


    Unfortunately, it was sealed shut.


    ¡°Oh? Leaving so soon?¡±


    Palmira froze, her hand wrapped around the cold iron of the door handle.


    Rosalina the Priestess smiled indulgently at them from the altar. It was a kind smile, warm and understanding even as it gently chided them. There was no cruelty in that smile, no evil. The woman before them was as blessed as the Goddess herself.


    Palmira¡¯s hands dropped to Malocchio, grasping at his hilt in a death-grip. Her hair finally ignited and her pupils dilated as she instantly fell into fight or flight. Tintinnia joined her in pulling out her own oversized hammer, even as Chiara and Lamezia stood confused behind them.


    Nobody else moved. Not a soul acknowledged their existence. The hundreds of people in the pews simply continued to pray, their heads held low in supplication to the Goddess.


    ¡°I understand that you may believe wherever it is you want to go important, but I assure you that church mass is far more vital,¡± she waggled a finger back and forth. ¡°I know you are young, but this is your immortal soul. In the face of that, doesn¡¯t everything else seem so small?¡±


    Palmira wasn¡¯t sure she could fight her. Wasn¡¯t sure she wanted to fight her. Wasn¡¯t sure she wasn¡¯t sure she wanted to fight her.


    The thought began running through her mind in circles so she forcibly cut it off. Desire wasn¡¯t important right now. All that mattered was getting out.


    She thought hard, considered as many options as she could, but only one stood out to her. She grimaced.


    Well, in for a piccoli.


    ¡°I need to go to the bathroom.¡±


    Rosalina paused, having not expected that response. ¡°You¡­ do?¡±


    ¡°¡­Yes.¡±


    ¡°Can you not¡­ hold it in?¡±


    Goddess why couldn¡¯t she have thought of a better excuse? ¡°Not for several hours of sermons.¡±


    The priestess frowned, then shook her head apologetically. ¡°We all must suffer for the sake of our sins. The Goddess has simply decided this will be your penance tonight. Please return to your seats so we might continue. You¡¯ve already distracted us enough.¡±


    Damnit, she¡¯d just embarrassed herself for nothing. What else could she even do? Maybe¡­ set the place on fire? That worked surprisingly often.


    No, no, Rosalina was supposed to be a fire mage, wasn¡¯t she? She could just put it out. Fighting was still out, even Tintinnia¡¯s hammer was whimpering in fear! There¡¯s no way they would be able to¡ª


    The massive doors of the cathedral burst open with a deafening BOOM.


    The girls yelped, having just barely missed getting clipped by a foot of solid oak. Throughout the rest of the cathedral everyone jumped in their seats, whatever spell that had been cast on them dispelled through sheer shock. Palmira spun around along with everyone else, wondering just who had come to their rescue.


    Sinbad the Paladin stood in the doorway, equipped head to toe in full plate and wielding a sword of holy fury in his hand. Palmira felt her shoulders slump at the sight of him, relieved beyond words that he had come to save them.


    Sinbad¡¯s sole eye darted first to Rosalina, then to the four of them, and finally to the hundreds of men and women who startled at having their prayer interrupted.


    He considered them all, before steeling himself and locking eyes with the priestess.


    ¡°Rosalina,¡± his voice was calm and precise, even as it was hounded by an undercurrent of rage. ¡°I did not realize you were in Firozzi.¡±


    ¡°Sinbad!¡± Rosalina gave him a dazzling smile, seemingly cheered by his arrival. ¡°How wonderful of you to show up. I was just beginning evening mass, and you are more than welcome to join us. These faithful followers of the Goddess would be truly blessed to hear you lead us in our evening hymns.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid we don¡¯t have the time for that,¡± he ground out, each word sounding as though they were painfully ripped from his throat. ¡°A dangerous¡­ situation has occurred, one which requires both of us to be elsewhere.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± she drooped, appearing genuinely distraught. ¡°But I just began evening mass. And for All Saint¡¯s Day, no less! I had been so looking forward to it, are you certain the situation is so precarious it requires both of us to be there?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I am certain.¡±


    Rosalina sighed, gently placing her holy book back on the lectern. ¡°I see. I¡¯m truly sorry, everyone, but it appears I will be performing my duties to the Goddess in a different way than I expected this night.¡±


    Worried murmuring from both the living and dead filled the cathedral, though the Paladin was swift to soothe their fears. ¡°To all of you here tonight, please do not be alarmed, the situation is already resolving itself. Simply remain indoors with the priests until mass is over and you may return to your homes after. And if you do happen to hear anything occurring¡ªincluding but not limited to; angry shouting, explosions, or the chanting of an angelic choir¡ªdo not approach and instead find your way to safety. Thank you, and I apologize for interrupting your evening.¡±


    Sinbad saluted the crowd stiffly as Rosalina made her way down the nave. Palmira stumbled out of the way of her approach, every sedate step she took feeling like an avalanche was barreling ever closer.


    Finally the priestess stood abreast with Sinbad, her smile not leaving her lips even as her blindfolded sockets met his sole remaining eye.


    ¡°I admit, I¡¯m looking forward to this more than I expected!¡± she chirped, clapping her hands before her in prayer. ¡°I must thank the Goddess for this day, it¡¯ll be just like old times!¡±


    ¡°¡­I certainly wish it could be.¡±


    His piece said Sinbad stepped out of the way, gesturing for her to leave first. The woman did, but not before turning back to her, causing all of them to tense.


    ¡°Oh, and do remember to finish your prayers, Palmira di Firozzi,¡± her smile was as gentle as her words were damning. ¡°Your soul more than any other certainly needs it.¡±


    With that the two old heroes left the cathedral, leaving behind them a confused crowd and a shaken young girl.

 Chapter 45 - A Rose By Any Other Name

    Chapter 45 ¨C A Rose By Any Other Name


    You know the worst thing about suffering a traumatic, life-changing experience?


    Having to get up early to work the next day.


    ¡°Is this everyone?¡± the guildmaster¡¯s voice suddenly boomed over the crowd, causing her to violently flinch.


    Last night had left her jumpy, and the early morning chaos of her coworkers wasn¡¯t helping. Normally Chiara would¡¯ve mocked her for this by now, letting her take her mind off the event by insulting her back, but whatever mental stuff Rosalina had done to them last night spooked the other girl even more. Now she just stood quietly to the side, grimacing at nothing as light refracted around her.


    This left Lorenzo to place a firm, calming hand on each of their shoulders in his own attempt to help. Which was appreciated, really, but not half as effective as a good argument would be.


    ¡°We¡¯re only missing Rana!¡± Amina called back.


    ¡°Rana¡¯s not coming,¡± the guildmaster shook his head, gesturing to get everyone¡¯s attention. ¡°We need someone to hold down the fort back in the guild.¡±


    Currently they were out on the tourney grounds surrounding the coliseum. They were gathered for one last meeting before the big event began, the guildmaster working to make sure everyone knew their roles in the battles to come. The arena itself loomed in the background, a massive edifice of limestone whose early morning shadow cast the grounds in darkness.


    Every single active adventurer in the employ of the Rosa Dominae Guild was here. Palmira the Human Fire Mage, Chiara the Half-Elven Crystal Mage, Lorenzo the Half-Tree(?) Druid, Teresa the Human Crusader, Amina the Human Water Mage, Johanna the Elven Ice Mage, Lamezia the Half-Orc Shield-Maiden, Matthias the Dwarven Storm Mage, Endrit the B?ce?i Janissary, Charles the Human Knight, Kirishi the Dwarven Priestess, Trinitario Human Swashbuckler, Uomo the Human Shadow Mage, Leo the Orcish Barbarian, Jeanne the Half-Elven Squire, Mario the Human Fighter, Jelge the Dark Elven Timariot, and the twins Emilia the Human Archer and Sienna the Human Gravity Mage.


    The nineteen of them were the only adventurers that remained after the split from the Ambrosi. The reasons varied, though from what she gathered most like her didn¡¯t have anywhere else to go.


    ¡°Right, then let¡¯s get started,¡± he adopted a serious expression, looking each of them in the eye. Beside him, ¨®sma and Johanna stood with various degrees of enthusiasm. ¡°As you all know, today is the Tournament of Heroes. Before we begin, I¡¯d like to thank you all for coming this early, I¡¯m genuinely shocked you all made it on time and that we didn¡¯t have to bail any of you out of jail for starting a bar fight last night.¡±


    His eyes darted over to Johanna, who looked visibly hungover and had a dark circle like muddy snow over her right eye. She refused to acknowledge his gaze, instead chugging a tankard of what was hopefully water like her life depended on it.


    ¡°Management not included¡­¡± he sighed, before shaking his head. ¡°Today is an important day for all of us, and not just because a good showing could set us up for the next year. Today is the day we prove we can stand on our own, to no longer be merely one of dozens of vassals of the corrupt Ambrosi. And we¡¯re going to do that in the only way we know how¡ªby kicking the smug asses of those Rodina bastards until they choke on their own superiority complexes!¡±


    They let out an angry cheer at that, jeers and insults at the Rodina and everything they stood for echoing across the Piazza. Palmira herself made sure to take the opportunity to make her opinions on their hiring process known. A couple other nearby groups of adventurers joined in, sending an echo of insults flowing down the nearby streets.


    ¡°Settle down, settle down!¡± the guildmaster waved them down before it went on too long. ¡°We¡¯ll get there soon enough, trust me. But first, I want you all to know what we¡¯re dealing with. For those of you unfamiliar with the rules, this is a battle of endurance, not just skill. This tournament will be one versus one battles between individual adventurers, with the total knock-outs achieved by a guild acting as the score. Last I checked, there are currently ninety-six guilds in attendance, both local and from allied cities. Of them, over half are owned by the Ambrosi Famiglia.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s so many¡­¡± Palmira muttered. ¡°But wait, doesn¡¯t that mean we¡¯re kind of screwed though? Won¡¯t the Ambrosi guilds just let the Rodina win?¡±


    ¡°Sort of, but not really,¡± the guildmaster made a so-so gesture. ¡°You have to understand, nobody expects the Rodina Guild to lose. The Rodina didn¡¯t get where they are today on blind nepotism alone, and the Ambrosi also need their other guilds to make a profit too. In the end it¡¯s more of a give and take; the smaller guilds get to show off to potential clients by bloodying the nose of a much bigger guild, while the Rodina gets to show off by proving themselves stronger than dozens of smaller guilds combined. This tournament is a chance for the Ambrosi to advertise all of their guilds, not just their most famous one.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s still so many¡­¡± Jeanne muttered, hands before her eyes as though she could use her fingers to count the number of enemies. ¡°How will we fight them all¡­?¡±


    ¡°The Rodina aren¡¯t going to be committing all of their adventurers like we are. Sure, the Rodina guild has an active roster of over five hundred adventurers, but I¡¯d be surprised if we see even a quarter of that.¡±


    ¡°Which is, what, still ten times our count?¡± Johanna pointed out dryly. ¡°There¡¯s a reason they¡¯re able to half-ass something like this and still come out on top. Even if each of their adventurers only take out one competitor, we¡¯d still need to take out ten each just to keep up with them.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not helping, Johanna.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just being realistic,¡± she rolled her snowy eyes. ¡°I, for one, am planning to carve a bloody trail through the competition and take the reward for the most individual victories myself.¡±


    ¡°Hah, you wish!¡± Teresa scoffed. ¡°That prize is mine. You can be satisfied with bronze, after Amina and I!¡±


    Said woman took a step away, rolling her eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t bring me into this, it is too early.¡±


    ¡°Please, you¡¯re two hundred years too young to keep up with me!¡±


    ¡°Wow, two hundred years and still so weak, huh? I couldn¡¯t imagine the shame of living so long only to be outshone by a beautiful young woman in her twenties.¡±


    ¡°At least they¡¯re enthusiastic¡­¡± the guildmaster muttered under his breath as frost began to crackle across the street. ¡°¨®sma, if you would¡­?¡±


    ¡°On it.¡±


    ¡°I know this seems daunting, but we aren¡¯t going at this alone,¡± he turned back to the rest of them as ¨®sma put the two in a headlock of shame. ¡°I¡¯ve been working with several of the other independent guilds, and we¡¯ve formed a coalition of sorts to help break up the competition. We¡¯ve worked to manipulate the battles so that none of our guilds will be fighting each other, letting us thin the competition and raise our own chances of victory.¡±The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°That sounds illegal,¡± Trinitario pointed out, crossing his arms with a frown. Considering what she¡¯d heard of the man, she felt that was hypocritical of him, even if she silently agreed.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine, the Ambrosi do this literally every year,¡± the guildmaster waved the concern off. ¡°They don¡¯t bother banning something only they previously did. Next year though, yeah, it¡¯ll probably be illegal if we pull this off.¡±


    ¡°But why are they helping us?¡± Charles scowled, palming the hilt of his blade. ¡°What do these ¡®allies¡¯ of ours get?¡±


    ¡°Why, the toppling of the Rodina from their gilded throne, of course!¡± a new voice boomed, loud enough to instantly grab the attention of all the adventurers present. ¡°What greater reward could there be, then to watch our former lords grovel at our feet?¡±


    A bed of roses marched towards them on thorny limbs, carrying with it a new group of adventurers. Front and center was a rose nymph with shoulder length blood red petals on her head and spiked thorns growing from her fingers, likely the woman controlling the walking garden. Behind her lounged two elven men and a younger girl, the three of which apparently¡­ having a tea party?


    Palmira ignored them, since they seemed to not be paying attention to them either. Instead she focused on the bombastic nymph, who seemed very¡­ familiar.


    ¡°Ah, but like, where are my manners?¡± the rose nymph sighed dramatically. ¡°We are the Corporazione dei Fiori, the ones who will pave the way for our magnificent coalition¡¯s glorious victory! And it is I, Spinosa, who leads them!¡±


    ¡°Only for today,¡± one of the elves behind her drawled, taking a sip of tea.


    ¡°But what a glorious day it will be!¡±


    ¡°Spinosa,¡± the guildmaster nodded at their apparent ally, not even blinking at the byplay. Then again, with what their own guild got up to every week¡­ ¡°It¡¯s good to speak with you in person. I hope your trip here was uneventful¡­?¡±


    ¡°Oh, we only had to kill like, one basilisk on the way! It was practically a snooze! Why, compared to our last trip to Palunera¡­¡± she trailed off suddenly, locking eyes with Palmira.


    The rose nymph blinked, narrowing her eyes, before they widened dramatically. ¡°My oh my! Like, what a small world this is! If it isn¡¯t little Palmira! Oh, it¡¯s been so long!¡±


    ¡°How do you know everybody!?¡± Chiara muttered incredulously, before Palmira was dragged into a spiky hug by a person she vaguely remembered.


    ¡°Like, look at how big you¡¯ve grown!¡± she cheered, swinging around a still very confused Palmira. ¡°Why, back in Pedemoa you barely reached my hip! And now look at you dearie, you¡¯ve got a job and everything! Like, it makes me feel so old.¡±


    Pedemoa? Wait, that¡¯s right! Now she remembered, that was back when she and Lenna were travelling the countryside! Spinosa gave her free food! That made her a good person!


    ¡°It¡¯s good to see you again as well,¡± she muttered around a face full of vines. ¡°But we¡¯re also in the middle of something, so if you could¡­?¡±


    ¡°Oh right, how could I forget!¡± the rose nymph set her down with a sigh, absently dusting loose petals off her shoulders. ¡°Work must come first, unfortunately. But like, we simply must catch up after!¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± Palmira agreed, mostly to move the conversation along. She really didn¡¯t like how everyone was staring at them.


    ¡°Damn, Three Dukes, you didn¡¯t tell me you knew such a fine-looking lady,¡± Matthias laughed, elbowing her in the side. She set his foot on fire in retaliation, not that he seemed to notice. ¡°You should have introduced us before, I would¡¯ve bought you a drink!¡±


    ¡°Three Dukes¡­!¡± Spinosa squealed quietly. ¡°She even has such a cute nickname¡­!¡±


    ¡°Ahem,¡± the guildmaster coughed in an attempt to regain everyone¡¯s attention. ¡°Right, as I was saying, the Fiori are one of our allies for this tournament. They volunteered to take the first battles, blunting the early push of the smaller guilds this morning. It¡¯ll be our duty this afternoon to finish off the Rodina, hopefully after they¡¯ve already been whittled down by another of our allies. Fiori, are you ready for that?¡±


    ¡°Like, duh,¡± the rose nymph smiled smugly, showing off her sharp and thorny teeth. ¡°We are more than prepared to show the world the might of the Bloody Rose! We¡¯re going to shred the arrogant bastards to ribbons.¡±


    ¡°Thank the Goddess,¡± the guildmaster probably hadn¡¯t meant for anyone else to hear that. Coughing into his hand, he nodded at her. ¡°We look forward to watching you destroy our enemies, Bloody Rose. May your ancestors watch over you in the battles ahead.¡±


    ¡°And like, yours as well, Firozzi~¡± she tittered daintily. ¡°And yours as well~¡±


    -<X>-


    The Rodina Coliseum¡ªnot to be confused with the Rodina Guildhall, which was also an old Coliseum¡ªwas a towering construct of limestone to the north of the city. It overlooked the thickest part of the Rozzi River, and today was decorated with the symbols of the many adventurer¡¯s guilds in attendance.


    During her studies under ¨®sma she¡¯d learned that the arena was not technically owned by the Rodina Guild, but instead by one of their founding members: Raum von Weldtraumstadt, an elf who¡¯d used his centuries of life to master the manipulation of space, which he primarily used to change the size and shape of the arena. For particularly special tournaments¡ªlike the current All Saint¡¯s Day tourney¡ªit could be expanded to squeeze up to a quarter of the population of the city into the stands.


    Personally, she was glad being part of a participating guild gave them preferred seating. Getting crammed like sardines into the upper parts of the stands by a space mage didn¡¯t sound very fun to her.


    The battles took place in a circular sandy pit below them, where individuals could wail on each other without worry of collateral damage. This was because¡ªunlike the practice fights she¡¯d fought back in her own guild¡ªthere was no ¡®out of bounds¡¯ in this arena. Thanks to the aforementioned space manipulator, no matter how far the battle strayed from the center of the arena the combatants never got any closer to the edge, a large bubble of isolated space giving them infinite room to maneuver despite the relatively small area they had to work with.


    Currently, Spinosa the rose nymph was duking it out against a fire mage down below. One that¡ªin her unbiased professional opinion¡ªwas painfully average.


    Or maybe that was just because they were only a dozen fights in and this was already the third fire mage she¡¯d seen take the field.


    Maybe the Rodina had a point. Maybe there were too many fire mages in the world.


    Spinosa yawned dramatically as pillars of roots twisted around her like slithering snakes, batting away fireballs with contemptuous ease. The woman caught her eye and shot her a wink, before with a wave of her hand the thorny vines snapped taut around her opponent¡¯s legs, launching him into the air with a flourish.


    He flew high, arcing straight towards the stands until he hit the ¡®boundary¡¯ of the arena. The man appeared frozen in the air as space was spun around him, holding him in place and warping everyone¡¯s perception of him until he finally began to fall, landing exactly where he was thrown from with a dull ¡®thud.¡¯


    ¡°Fuoco Tristi has been defeated!¡± the referee shouted as space was manipulated one more time, allowing a Rodina priestess to quickly step into the arena to heal the loser. ¡°Spinosa Fanciulla wins her third match, knocking out the Pateticia Famiglia from the Tournament!¡±


    The rose nymph blew kisses to the cheering crowd, and Palmira made sure to clap extra hard, since they were probably friends. She was pretty sure. Chiara, of course, did not clap, because she was a grouch who didn¡¯t cheer for anyone. Lorenzo was banned from clapping, in case he accidentally seduced Spinosa.


    She loved her friends, she really did, but sometimes she wished they could just cheer like normal people.


    ¡°Now introducing the next competitor: Asino !_Culo, representing the !_Culo Famiglia!¡±


    A man swaggered into the arena, fancy sword at his hip and a smirk plastered on his face.


    ¡°FUCK ¡®EM UP, SPINOSA!¡± both she and ¨®sma roared at the same time, lunging to their feet to shout over the edge of the arena. Their words boomed like a physical wave as hundreds of others joined them throughout the Coliseum, spiteful glee etched onto their faces.


    It was like every bureaucrat, pencil-pusher, and administrator in the city suddenly came together for one beautiful moment to watch the smug pricks who ruined paperwork everywhere get their faces beaten in by a pretty plant girl.


    So this was why people loved watching tournaments! She got it now!


    The !_Culo adventurer, now looking somewhat more afraid for his life, uneasily took position across from the grinning rose nymph.


    Then the battle began, and Spinosa swiftly proved herself to be the much more vicious combatant.


    ¡°This is the best day of my life,¡± ¨®sma whispered in awe. Palmira laid an understanding hand against his thigh, sending a quick prayer of thanks to the Goddess herself.


    Chiara side-eyed them even as the screams of the !_Culo adventurer rang out like music in the pit below. ¡°You guys are so weird.¡±

 Chapter 46 - The Tournament of Ghosts

    Chapter 46 ¨C The Tournament of Ghosts


    Johanna


    ¡°We¡¯re too early,¡± Dante growled, glaring down at the arena below. There wasn¡¯t much to see¡ªone of the current mages had covered the field in mist, to the disappointment of the crowd¡ªbut he glared regardless. ¡°The Rodina were supposed to be out by this point!¡±


    ¨®sma shrugged, the old orc seeming unbothered in comparison. ¡°We knew this might happen. There¡¯s only so much we can do to rig the system from the outside.¡±


    ¡°We planned for being late, not early!¡± their young guildmaster grumbled, hands clenched hard enough you could hear the creaking of his crystal bones. ¡°We¡¯re still two guilds away from the Rodina! That¡¯s, what, ten or more battles we need to win before we can even start fighting them? At this point to beat them we¡¯ll have to fight the whole guild!¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t we just wait until they¡¯re here?¡± the newbie¡ªsorry, Three Dukes, such nicknames were important in their line of work¡ªasked from where she was sitting beside the old orc. ¡°Why do we have to go next?¡±


    ¡°Because that¡¯s the timeslot we chose,¡± the old orc shook his head. ¡°When we signed up for this tournament we had to pick a timeslot which would determine when our guild fights. In order to try and stop¡ªor at least slow down¡ªguilds from rigging the matches these slots are then divided into two halves, known informally as the ¡®red¡¯ and ¡®white¡¯ slots. We¡ªalong with all of our allies¡ªtook white timeslots to offset the Rodina who always take a red timeslot, all of which is information available to the guilds so that they can better plan around their probable opponents. We took the ¡®white-25¡¯ to ideally counter the Rodina¡¯s ¡®red-30¡¯ slot. The issue we¡¯re having is that we were already behind, and now the Rorozzi Guild down there have been doing way better than anyone expected.¡±


    ¡°This means we¡¯re going to be fighting way earlier than we wanted, as ideally at least a quarter of the Rodina would have been beaten before we started,¡± Dante grumped. ¡°We didn¡¯t plan to fight the Rorozzi, so I have no idea what their adventurers are capable of. And this,¡± he guestured to the mist-covered battlefield below, ¡°is not helping.¡±


    ¨®sma raised an eyebrow. ¡°You think they¡¯re going to completely wipe against the Rorozzi?¡±


    ¡°Of course they are,¡± the guildmaster scoffed in annoyance. ¡°The Antilliari Guild have lost half their damn adventurers against this one Rorozzi mage. I¡¯m not betting on the competence of fools to buy us the time we need.¡±


    ¡°So we need a plan to fight the girl down there, then?¡±


    Johanna lounged off to the side, half paying attention. Mostly she was nursing her lingering hangover, frozen hands rubbing her forehead as she tried to block out the roar of the crowds.


    It was mid-afternoon by now, over half the guilds having fought by this point. It was moving fast, as most battles lasted between seconds and minutes, with the occasional exception. One guy had gotten disqualified for refusing to fight his opponent by flying away for over twenty minutes, but it had been offset by one of the guilds not showing up so they were still on pace from what she could tell. The battles would likely last into the night, whereupon the ghosts would start getting much more active, though that was half the fun of this tournament. Getting your entire guild clotheslined by some ancient hero who happened to be the ancestor of the person you were fighting was just the risk you took for going last in a tournament like this.


    ¡°JOHANNA!¡±


    She practically launched herself out of her chair at ¨®sma¡¯s shout, slamming her hands over her ears and hissing in pain.


    ¡°What!?¡± she snapped back, wincing as she saw the rest of the guild staring at her. Damnit, she¡¯d missed something important. ¡°You didn¡¯t have to yell!¡±


    ¡°Apparently I did,¡± the orc scoffed, rolling his eyes. ¡°We decided you¡¯re going first. You¡¯re the best option for fighting the mage down there, much less getting us to the Rodina.¡±


    ¡°Sheesh,¡± she grumbled, plopping back down in her seat. ¡°You could have just said that.¡±


    ¡°I did. Were you not paying attention?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± she lied shamelessly. ¡°I¡¯m always paying attention.¡±


    ¡°Really? Then you know that they¡¯ve already called on us to send out our first fighter.¡±


    Shit.


    Grabbing her weapons and¡ªmore importantly¡ªher fancy hat, she instantly switched into battle ready mode, her hangover compartmentalized along with all her other small aches and pains. The very air around her crackled from the cold as she pulled on her magic.


    Giving the stands one last glance over¡ªmostly to make sure she did in fact need to get out there now¡ªshe nodded to her guildmembers, giving the old orc a cheeky salute. ¡°Good luck to all of you, you¡¯ll need it if you want to keep up with me!¡±


    She laughed at the resulting jeers, before sharing a resigned nod with ¨®sma and turning to the waiting arena below.


    Then she took a step over the railing and leapt straight into the battlefield. Why did she do this, you might ask?


    Because everyone knew this was so much cooler than taking the stairs.


    Then she hit the warped space of the arena barrier and faceplanted midair.


    ¡°Oi!¡± she shouted in the vague direction of where she assumed the Rodina were. ¡°Raum you little punk! Let me in!¡±


    She couldn¡¯t believe that brat just ruined her dramatic entrance!


    As the crowd laughed at her she felt more than heard Dante¡¯s groan of embarrassment. But hey, he was the one who wanted their guild to make an entrance, and people were definitely going to remember this one!


    After far too long spent hanging midair the space she was sitting on began to twist, and with a muted ¡®pop¡¯ she fell, landing casually on the ground below with a wet ¡®squelch.¡¯


    Johanna took a moment to plant her feet firmly, taking stock to make sure she didn¡¯t forget anything. Loosely resting her halberd against her shoulder, she gave herself a quick glance over. Her crossbow sat waiting on her hip, and her three-quarter armor shined to perfection. She made sure to project an air of unconcerned confidence¡ªwhich was easy since it was her natural state.


    But today she put a bit of extra effort into it. She always needed to look her best, sure, but more importantly she¡¯d be the one setting the tone for the coming fights. The effects of whether she won or lost would cascade onto the rest of her guild with potentially disastrous results.


    Johanna wasn¡¯t all that great with this bureaucratic bull, but she knew soldiers and she knew how important morale was before a big battle.


    Besides, the past few days had been hell! ¨®sma was a slave driver when he was just her boss, but now he had ¡®expectations¡¯ that she ¡®act responsible¡¯ and ¡®set a good example.¡¯ Psh, like she signed up for any of that shit!


    So she let him know that, and then she got a good reminder of why she followed him in the first place. The Moonlight Spider hadn¡¯t gotten any weaker with age, even if his hands were more stained with ink than blood these days.


    But she needed to blow off some stress, and the cute little lady in front of her looked like an excellent punching bag.


    ¡°Hey,¡± she called out to the woman across from her. The pasty half-elf frowned back, twisting her face into something unfortunate. Well, that may have been a bit mean, even in her own head. The girl wasn¡¯t ugly, but she had a bad scar over her chin which gave her a second frown. ¡°No offense, but I¡¯ve been having a really bad day. I¡¯ve got a hangover, I spent the night in a cell, and I didn¡¯t even get a proper bar fight for my trouble! It sucked!¡±


    ¡°The next battle begins!¡± The referee announced over her prattling, ¡°On the red side, Laila of the Rorozzi Guild! And on the white side, Johanna of the Rosa Dominae Guild! The battle will continue either until one of them is unconscious, surrenders, or I personally call the match! Now, on my mark!¡±


    ¡°What in the world are you talking about?¡± her opponent scoffed at her. ¡°You think just because you¡¯ve had a bad day that¡¯ll make me go easy on you?¡±


    ¡°Ready!¡±


    ¡°Oh, no,¡± her smile was sharp. ¡°I¡¯m just letting you know this isn¡¯t personal.¡±


    ¡°BEGIN!¡±


    Her opponent instantly dropped, barely dodging a crossbow bolt to the shoulder. Hitting the ground her fingers dug into damp earth, steam already wafting from her hands. The mud boiled, and in seconds the few threads of steam had been woven into a full-blown fog which blanketed the entire arena.


    Johanna clicked her tongue. How was she supposed to show off like this?


    Casually shrugging the halberd off her shoulders she prepared herself for an annoying battle. The people who developed these kinds of spells were always the worst to fight.


    With the calm of a seasoned veteran she analyzed the situation. This mist seemed to block most senses, proving that her opponent was enhancing it with magic rather than utilizing a physical reaction. That meant this Laila was either an air mage or a water mage. Judging from her previous matches she should be a water mage, but something about that line of reasoning just didn¡¯t feel right¡­


    Johanna took a deep breath, grimacing at the scent of wet mud that filled her nostrils. Ugh, the sudden humidity was awful. Why¡¯d she agree to this again?


    Then she took a step forward, absently dodging a blast of something that would have taken out her knees.


    Ah, right, that¡¯s why. Because Johanna was one of the few people in their guild who didn¡¯t need her eyes to see. In this dense fog which should have blinded her, the world was instead a gradient of red to yellow to blue, the temperature of the world painted before her frozen eyes.


    And standing a fair distance to her left was her opponent, a bright red blob contrasted against the yellow-green of the mist.


    The girl was obviously shocked that she¡¯d dodged, but rallied herself admirably. Shifting what was probably her arms¡ªit was still difficult to tell in the monochrome yellow-green of the fog, even if she wasn¡¯t totally blind¡ªblasts of somethings came at her, tunneling through the air like orange snakes.


    Johanna dodged the first and jumped over the second, but as a test she let the last one graze her hip.


    Hm, that was wet, but it certainly wasn¡¯t water¡­ a combination of the two, perhaps? No, the girl wasn¡¯t corrupted enough to have learned two different types of magic to that extent. An obscure specialization was more likely. Probably.


    Damn, now she needed to figure this out or else it¡¯ll be bugging her for days!


    Johanna launched herself forward in a feint, idly watching the girl panic and flail right into it. Hm, she had to be young then, or at least inexperienced. Or maybe just too used to people instantly falling over in the face of near total sensory deprivation.


    That was a bad habit mages like this were prone to falling into, and because she was feeling generous Johanna would be certain to teach her the error of her ways!


    Pulling back from her feint she twirled her halberd around, slamming the spiked butt into her opponent¡¯s foot. Or she would have, if the girl hadn¡¯t managed to stumble back at the last second, blasting her back with a wall of heat.


    Ah, so she could see through her own mist then? Or maybe¡­


    Planting her halberd in the mud, she cast her first spell of the battle. The ground before her was frozen over by a thin layer of frost, fractal patterns crisscrossing each other across the entire arena with her at the center.


    A massive six-sided snowflake bloomed to life on the battlefield. Its arms rose, folding in on themselves like the petals of a frozen flower and creating six sprawling towers. Then from their ridges dozens of icy spears launched inward, all of them directed at her increasingly frantic opponent.


    And yet, she dodged every single one of them.


    Considering there was no way to keep track of all of them at once¡ªat least not with the level of skill she¡¯d seen so far¡ªthat meant the other mage likely had total situational awareness within her own fog.


    Fun.


    Unfortunately, by doing that she¡¯d revealed herself an ice mage, something she probably should have kept concealed if her opponent¡¯s follow up was any indication.


    The mist suddenly grew hot. The air itself began to boil, and the towering construct she¡¯d created began to collapse in on itself as it melted to slurry, almost instantly evaporating straight into steam. Even the permafrost which was her own skin had begun to grow slick at the sheer heat that had consumed the arena. The simple act of breathing was now closer to drowning, and the once yellow-green of the world had now darkened to a deep orange, blinding her as much as anyone else.


    Ah, this wasn¡¯t good. Her and her stupid curiosity, she should have just rushed the girl with her halberd and been done with it. Had she been any less competent this level of heat could have been a death sentence.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Luckily, she was a badass. Or more importantly, a dirty, dirty thief.


    See, the new girl at the guild was a fire mage. Pretty standard as things go, barring the creepy staff and multiple regicides. However, she had some fascinating ideas on how heat worked, and as her senior Johanna had the right to shamelessly steal those ideas to make herself more powerful.


    Focusing on the swirling mist around her, she grabbed the boiling air and forced it to slow. She, unfortunately, wasn¡¯t as good at this as someone like Palmira whose whole understanding of magic revolved around movement. But she could pull off a pretty good imitation, and more often than not ¡®pretty good¡¯ was all you needed.


    The air around her cooled down to more manageable levels. Not quite the almost-green it had been, but now a slightly more comfortable yellow. At least it meant she could finally see again.


    And just in time too. Stepping to the left she narrowly dodged another blast of what she was now pretty sure was pressurized air. Marching toward where it had come from she slowly expanded her pocket of cool air, brute forcing her way over to her much less skilled opponent.


    Still, at least she¡¯d finally figured out what kind of mage her opponent was.


    A blotch of red appeared at the corner of her growing bubble, and Johanna smiled. She lunged forward, bringing her halberd low, and¡­


    CRACK


    The shaft of her halberd slammed into the girl¡¯s knee, causing her to let out a scream. Johanna came in for another go to finish it off, only to be forced to back off from another blast of hot air.


    Laila the steam mage stumbled back, mist pouring from her body in thin waves. She glared at her with shaky eyes, heaving with ragged breaths.


    ¡°You¡¯ve done well so far, but you¡¯re pretty outmatched here,¡± Johanna shrugged casually, circling the other girl. This close the heat and chill of their respective magics clashed, and it was only the existing heat in the air that stopped the steam mage from being completely overpowered. ¡°But with a ruined knee you¡¯re on borrowed time. Why don¡¯t you save us all the effort and surrender? No one will judge you, not with the wins you¡¯ve already got under your belt.¡±


    ¡°Go¡­ to¡­ hell¡­¡± she snarled back, panting with wide eyes. ¡°I¡¯m not¡­ done¡­ yet¡­!¡±


    Johanna sighed. Why did she always get the stubborn ones?


    However, as she stepped forward to end it herself, the steam pouring off her opponent seemed to¡­ grow colder?


    An unnatural chill ran down her spine, and Johanna groaned in exasperation. She really should have just ended this early.


    ¡°WELL SAID, GRANDAUGHTER!¡±


    The near purple mist coalesced into a humanoid shape, stepping between the both of them and forcing her back.


    The half-elf blinked, shocked. ¡°¡­Grandfather?¡±


    ¡°INDEED,¡± the mist settled, revealing a giant of a man. Eight feet tall and bulging with muscles, he loomed over the both of them. With a battle axe in each hand and a braided beard which reached the floor the ghost glared down at her, eyes boiling over with murderous intent. ¡°A WOMAN¡¯S BATTLE MAY BE HER OWN, BUT I REFUSE TO LET MY GRANDAUGHTER BE TAKEN OUT BY A DAMN LONG-EARS! AVAST, YE ELF! FOR I SHALL AVENGE MY SON¡¯S HORRIBLE TASTE IN WOMEN UPON YE!¡±


    Laila looked more embarrassed than angry now, though it seemed she¡¯d managed to regather herself with the arrival of an ally. Unfortunate, that would make this much harder than it needed to be.


    Johanna stepped back, quickly taking stock of the situation. While she could easily take the girl alone, she couldn¡¯t keep the air cool and fight two people at once. She was skilled, but not that skilled.


    Well, she¡¯d wanted to save this for later, but two on one was hardly sporting, now was it?


    Getting some distance Johanna slammed her hands together, forming a snowball. Then she threw it at them, before she made a second, and then a third. Her opponents dodged, of course, but that wasn¡¯t what she was aiming for anyway.


    The big ghost charged her as the snowballs hit the ground, but rather than splatter they rolled. Tumbling across to the edge of the arena they slowly grew in size, doubling and tripling in a way she normally wouldn¡¯t bother with. It wasn¡¯t the way she normally cast spells, but times like this she just had to make do.


    Palmira wasn¡¯t the only one of her guildmembers she¡¯d stolen from. Anima was quite the talented mage, even if she had atrocious taste in women.


    Then the snowballs finally met, and then proceeded to fuse. Three perfect spheres of snow stacked themselves upright, picking up pebbles and stones as they went. Three large rocks formed a vertical line across the center sphere, while on the topmost sphere a dozen smaller stones formed a basic facsimile of a face.


    Her new snow golem took in the battlefield with dark, coal-like eyes, its stone smile frozen in an expression of perpetual joy. Then, despite its lack of feet, it charged.


    Johanna grinned as she ducked under another swing of the ghost¡¯s axe and rolled past another blast of pressurized air, even as some of her skin evaporated from the returning heat. Lunging forward she tapped the golem in the back, causing it to instantly grow thick, burly arms of snow and ice. As a final touch she took off her big poofy hat and dropped it on her golem¡¯s head, nodding in satisfaction at her work.


    Fashion was important, after all.


    Her snowman charged forth with silent cheer, clashing with the slightly smaller ghost. They grappled, disposable frigid flesh sloughing off with each swing of his axe. The snow golem wouldn¡¯t last forever, but he¡¯d last long enough, and in her line of work that was all that mattered.


    With the big guy distracted she turned back to the steam mage, who looked equal parts resigned and determined.


    ¡°I won¡¯t make this easy for you.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Johanna cheered, thrusting her halberd forward. ¡°That¡¯s half the fun!¡±


    Orange blasts of pressurized air launched at her like a firing line, so many they nearly created a wall of heat coming straight at her.


    But Johanna had let this go on long enough. She had a reputation to uphold, and while the girl was half-decent the Fraud would never let her live it down if she actually lost her first match.


    Slamming her halberd into the mud she pole-vaulted over the attack, pulled off a badass pose midair¡ªwhich she only realized midway through was pointless with the arena still covered in fog¡ªand landed directly on the wide-eyed half-elf, slamming her straight to the ground and jamming the blade of her polearm directly beneath her chin. The girl stared up at her, wide-eyed and frozen.


    Johanna grinned as the match was called.


    Ah, the taste of victory was sweet as always~


    -<X>-


    ¡°She¡¯s getting her ass handed to her.¡±


    Palmira winced she watched Johanna take another boulder to the face. Chiara¡¯s comment, while crass, was correct. The ice elf had done exceptionally well so far, but it seemed she¡¯d finally met her match.


    Currently, she was galloping around the arena on a reindeer of ice and snow, keeping pressure off her injured leg and taking advantage of the theoretically infinite nature of the arena to keep her distance from the other mage.


    Unfortunately for her, the earth mage she was fighting seemed to specialize in golems, and was fresh enough he could summon a dozen of them at a time compared to Johanna¡¯s sole frantic creation.


    ¡°She¡¯s losing this one,¡± Chiara grunted, scowling. As she said that a stone wolf the size of a house took a massive chunk out of the snowy reindeer¡¯s flank, giving the mage enough time to launch another boulder at her from his own stone horse. ¡°Badly, too.¡±


    ¡°You said that last time,¡± Lorenzo pointed out, as calm as ever.


    ¡°She should have lost last time. That fire mage would have wrecked her if he didn¡¯t keep stopping to gloat.¡±


    ¡°Which is a lesson for all of you,¡± Teresa nodded at them from her seat next to Anima. ¡°Just because it looks like you have an advantage doesn¡¯t mean you should revel in it. Stopping to gloat like that dumbass did is basically begging the Goddess to knock you down a peg.¡±


    ¡°Besides, a win¡¯s a win,¡± Anima shrugged with a grin. ¡°Take what you can get and leave nothing to chance, I say.¡±


    ¡°I wish she could have lasted longer, though,¡± the guildmaster scowled, his expression matching his little sister¡¯s. ¡°We need to get the Rodina out there, but we¡¯re still, what, three more rounds away from that?¡±


    ¡°Two, I think, if that,¡± ¨®sma shook his head. ¡°The Latenic Guild lost a couple adventurers recently, and Johanna¡¯s embarrassed them by knocking out most of their best even after having to fight the two remaining Rorozzi adventurers. At this point Pietro down there is their last hope. If we beat him decisively enough they may just pull out entirely.¡±


    ¡°Who do you think we should send down to counter him then? I¡¯m currently considering Teresa. She¡¯s not a mage but her holy weapons could disrupt the constructs enough to win.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯d work, but can she win decisively? And if she loses that¡¯s a waste of our very limited pool of adventurers.¡±


    ¡°Oi!¡± Teresa shouted at them from where she was sitting five feet away. ¡°I can so beat this bastard!¡±


    ¡°Are you saying that because you really think that or because you want to show up Johanna by beating the guy who knocked her out?¡±


    Teresa spluttered, before turning and grumbling into Anima¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°You guys know Johanna hasn¡¯t actually lost yet?¡± Lorenzo pointed out, gesturing to the arena where the woman had abandoned her own mount for one of the stone golems, a massive rocky bull which she was holding onto for dear life. ¡°You guys spent so long arguing about whether to send Anima out against the fire mage only for him to get knocked out right as you made your decision.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s always important to plan ahead,¡± ¨®sma shook his head. ¡°Better we overthink than underthink.¡±


    ¡°Well, what about Matthias?¡± the guildmaster brought up. ¡°His ability to fly would render most of the earth mage¡¯s attacks useless.¡±


    ¡°Like hell I¡¯m going down there!¡± said dwarf shouted from the other end of their stands. ¡°I¡¯ve got a score to settle with the Rodina¡¯s time mage and I¡¯m not wasting that chance on some stupid pebble bastard! Send someone else!¡±


    The guildmaster groaned, but accepted the reasoning, even as Palmira mouthed ¡®time mage¡¯ to herself. That had to be cheating, wasn¡¯t it?


    ¨®sma shrugged his shoulders. ¡°In that case, we need someone strong enough to not only be able to fight off a dozen massive earth golems at once, but also be able to continue fighting after.¡±


    ¡°¡­Damnit, you¡¯re saying we need to send Charles down there, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    The man in question groaned from where he was lounging in the back, his squire Jeanne the only one sitting near him.


    ¡°He¡¯ll win,¡± ¨®sma pointed out. ¡°You know he¡¯s the best we have for someone like this.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean I have to like it. I was planning to save him for the end. That way no matter what we¡¯d start strong and end strong.¡±


    ¡°Plans change. That¡¯s just the way of things. We have other strong generalists. We can save Leo and Teresa for a powerful finish if we need to.¡±


    ¡°Ugh, fine. Charles!¡± he turned to the old knight. The man was already on his feet, grumpily taking his sword from his squire¡¯s waiting hands. ¡°You¡¯re up next, and I expect you to make a big dent in the Rodina¡¯s forces.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± he grumbled, cracking his back. He already had his armor on, a sterling white plate over pale pink leathers. It was mostly unadorned, barring the carved head of a lion on his left pauldron. His kite shield on the other hand was freshly painted with the new symbol of the Firozzi Famiglia, a red dragon¡¯s head biting a wreath. Finally he put on his sallet, the helmet the same pure white as the rest of his armor¡ªbarring the visor, which was pink as his leathers.


    He made an imposing sight like this, so much so that Palmira could almost forget that he spent most of his days wasted out of his mind at the bar.


    Down in the arena Johanna finally lost, having taken out nine others before her defeat, putting her at the most personal knockouts so far. It was impressive, certainly, though not near enough if they wanted to beat the Rodina.


    The guildmaster nodded at his Knight, who after one final check with his squire marched forth, ready to win glory for the Firozzi Famiglia.


    Then, because apparently nobody in this guild knew how to use the stairs, he also jumped over the railing to the arena below.


    -<X>-


    Charles


    Charles was a knight.


    That didn¡¯t mean much in this day and age. To most knights were the servants of others¡ªelves and demons, specifically.


    Forty years ago, when he¡¯d been in his prime, that hadn¡¯t been the case. Knights were the soldiers of humanity, the greatest warriors of the Empire who fought for justice, chivalry, and glory. They saved princesses from dragons, fought off orcish incursions, and killed demons wherever they appeared.


    Then the Arch-Traitor happened, and all those centuries of glory were wiped away in an instant.


    Now of the many knightly orders which had once roamed the lands, only two remained. The Silver Knights, who protected the royal family of the Holy Volan Empire, and the Black Knights, traitorous bastards one and all.


    Charles tried not to think about such things too much these days. He was old and tired, and alcohol was more than enough to drown his sorrows. There was no bringing back the Age of Chivalry, no bringing back the glories of old. He¡¯d tried¡ªLady knew he tried¡ªbut you couldn¡¯t bring back what nobody wanted. The world had moved on, and the Knights of Man were now to only be remembered as traitors and elves.


    But he couldn¡¯t give it up. Even as his other fellows who survived abandoned their codes and oaths for less noble paths, he couldn¡¯t bring himself to abandon his knighthood. He¡¯d trained since he was a child, he¡¯d even fought beside the late Emperor Lothaire himself when the Demons took the capital. Being a Knight was all he could be, even if the world itself no longer cared for it.


    Charles sighed. This is why he hated being sober¡ªall it did was make him think of things best left forgotten.


    He was a White Knight of a dead empire. He¡¯d never stop being that. And that was all that mattered.


    He planted his feet on rough earth, sword drawn and shield at the ready. Around him prowled beasts of stone the size of houses. Four wolves, two lions, a bull, a tiger, and a bear. The man who¡¯d created them sat far away on an earthen horse, keeping himself as far from danger as he could.


    Charles eyed them all calmly. Their stone hides would dull his sword if he hit wrong, and a single swipe from their claws would damage his armor. They were twice his size even on all fours, and likely twice as strong as well.


    But they were not animals, not really. Within their bodies were not muscles and tendons but solid earth, unable to bring the true strength of such to bear. They were not eight individual minds, but one controlling many. They worked together in a way nature never could, of course, but they were not a pack. He¡¯d paid attention during Johanna¡¯s fight, and while they harried and harassed her rarely more than two attacked at once.


    To the average layman these golems might have been dangerous, but Charles was a Knight with fifty years of battle experience under his belt. These golems were nothing compared to the monsters of his youth.


    And to speak plainly, he was old hat at slaying monsters.


    ¡°On the red side, we have Pietro of the Latenic Guild!¡± the referee announced, much more animated now that he could actually see what was going on. ¡°And on the white side, Charles of the Rosa Dominae Guild! The battle will continue either until one of them is unconscious, surrenders, or I personally call the match! Now, on my mark!¡±


    Charles nodded calmly, not taking his eyes off the surroundings. He¡¯d need to get this perfect if he wanted to win.


    ¡°BEGIN!¡±


    The two wolves came first, lunging at him from both left and right. No howls came from their throats, a byproduct of being solid stone. That didn¡¯t make them any less dangerous, though. As a mere man, he had limited options when dealing with them. But he had options.


    Mages had a tendency to think themselves invincible against non-mages. After all, if you can set someone of fire with your mind while your opponent can¡¯t, you tend to think you have a pretty big advantage.


    In theory, you¡¯d be correct.


    Charles calmly sidestepped the two wolves, watching dispassionately as they slammed into each other, their shapes crumbling under their own weight of their attempted flank.


    In practice, mages were as likely to make mistakes as any other human. And if you exploited that, you could eke out victory even against what should have been impossible odds.


    Charles did not wait for the mage to recover from his blunder, instead rushing the nearest of the golems. It was a lion, its mane a proud red mud to contrast its dusty ¡®fur.¡¯ The stone beast tried to stop him, but with its master distracted trying to reform his wolves it could only try to stomp on him in a poor attempt at an attack.


    The knight dodged easily, running far faster than most would thought plate was capable of allowing. But rather than capitalize on the golem¡¯s distraction, he simply ran right between its legs, ignoring it entirely.


    It was a constructed golem, after all. Destroying it would be a waste of time and effort. Best to cut things out at the source.


    The mage¡¯s eyes widened at the sight of Charles barreling towards him, abandoning his attempts to control his other golems and instead spun around, urging the stone horse he was riding to take him far away from the knight.


    Charles scowled at the sight. No matter how fast he was, he wasn¡¯t outrunning a horse which never tired. And with an advantage like that the mage could simply keep his distance and wear him down from afar.


    How vexing.


    However, before he could think up a new plan, an unnatural chill ran up his spine. Glancing to the side, his eyes widened as a ghostly form coalesced from the ether.


    It was a horse. Faint grey, with a diamond on its forehead and white armor on its back. Grey spots faded into a white belly, and an ethereal arrow was lodged in its right eye, deep enough to show how it had died.


    Charles¡¯ eyes widened, and he had to blink back a sudden wave of tears. ¡°Rep¨¦r¨¦e?¡± he asked, gently laying a hand on its spectral flank. ¡°Is that you?¡±


    The horse of his youth whinnied, the noise a faint echo on the wind. She gently tapped his hand with her snout, flickering her one good eye shut in contentment.


    In that moment, Charles felt forty years younger.


    With a wild grin he launched himself into the saddle, laughing at the familiar feeling. The mage seemed to have realized his distraction and commanded his tiger to attack, but by now it was far too late.


    Charles grabbed the ghostly reins and Rep¨¦r¨¦e galloped forth, the two of them charging down an enemy mage like they had a thousand times in his youth. His opponent only had a single moment to panic before they were on him, his spectral steed far faster than some petty golem could outpace.


    Charles laughed as he claimed victory, taking back some of his earlier thoughts. A hand came down to gently stroke the mane of his long-lost companion.


    True, the past was dead. But that did not mean it was gone. Not forever.


    He still remembered, and that was enough for the both of them.

 Chapter 47 - Beat the Rich

    Chapter 47 ¨C Beat the Rich


    Charles charged forth on his ghostly steed, running down the last of the Latenic Adventurers to the roaring delight of the crowd. He raised his sword in triumph as his horse reared, sunlight glimmering against his pristine armor. In that moment, he looked the part of a hero out of legend.


    ¡°Wow,¡± Palmira murmured, drumming her fingers along Morte¡¯s haft. ¡°I didn¡¯t know Charles could fight like that.¡±


    ¡°He is a knight,¡± her staff reminded her. ¡°At his age, he was likely peer to those Black Knights we fought in Iscrimo.¡±


    ¡°I mean yeah, but he¡¯s always¡­¡± she mimed tipping back a bottle. ¡°You know, wasted? All he does every day is mope at the bar.¡±


    ¡®We concur.¡¯ Her mace nodded, something it could unfortunately do now. ¡®The Knight designated as ¡®Charles¡¯ was not a registered threat to Us. Only a registered alcoholic. We will need to update Our databases promptly.¡¯


    ¡°Goddess, I forget how little experience you two have,¡± Morte bemoaned, sighing. ¡°A word of advice: treat all adventurers as incredibly dangerous unless you¡¯ve personally fought them. Actually, even if you have fought them, treat them as dangerous! You wouldn¡¯t believe how many people hold back their true strength for dramatic effect! Every time you think you¡¯ve defeated them, they pull out some new trick or ability they were holding back for some Goddess only knows reason. Why couldn¡¯t they just use that from the beginning!? It would have saved us all so much time!¡±


    ¡°That sounds dumb,¡± she rolled her eyes. ¡°There¡¯s no way that¡¯s a real thing.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d really fucking think so, wouldn¡¯t you!?¡±


    ¡°Palmira!¡± Chiara elbowed her. ¡°Stop taking to your creepy staff and pay attention! The Rodina are finally up!¡±


    Ignoring Morte¡¯s silent grumblings, she turned to see the first Rodina adventurer arrive.


    ¡°The wait has been long, and the competition fierce,¡± the referee¡¯s voice boomed over the crowd. ¡°But the moment you¡¯ve all been waiting for had finally arrived! Lords, gentlewomen, and all others, please welcome Firozzi¡¯s most famous adventure¡¯s guild, the Rodina Guild!¡±


    The noise level in the coliseum instantly doubled as people rose from their seats, cheering and hollering as the first of their adventurers stepped out of the gates. Flowers, feathers, and papers were tossed in the air in celebration, and a whole section¡¯s worth of people even stood up with large cards to form the Rodina¡¯s symbol across the stands.


    Unlike every other guild so far¡ªwho¡¯d barely gotten an introduction by the referee before fighting¡ªthe Rodina arrived on the field with a pompousness that instantly made even more annoyed at them than before. Why didn¡¯t anyone else get an introduction like that?


    ¡°Do they really do this every year?¡± Palmira murmured, watching the first Rodina adventurer waltz into the arena, each wave of his hand causing another explosion of cheering.


    ¡°Yup,¡± Chiara rolled her eyes. ¡°It¡¯s because they own the arena. Other tournaments are less biased, but this whole thing is just one big publicity stunt to make the Rodina look good. Even the referee¡¯s on the Rodina¡¯s payroll.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s so not fair¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not going to be fair,¡± the guildmaster shook his head. ¡°But that¡¯s the point. We aren¡¯t only here to win¡ªwe¡¯re here to beat the Rodina at their own game. Exhibit A,¡± he gestured to the battle as it began below.


    The first Rodina adventurer¡ªwho had to be some kind of noble with how fancy his armor was¡ªpulled out his sword and began bantering with Charles as the referee began counting them down.


    (Not that she could hear what was being said, but the man¡¯s mouth was clearly moving a mile a minute down there.)


    Charles, in line with what she knew of him, didn¡¯t utter a word in response. This was because he had the disposition of a wet cat, though he had been looking a bit happier ever since he started fighting.


    Was this some form of stress relief for him, she wondered?


    While she was pondering, the battle began, and Charles instantly obliterated his opponent.


    The crowd was silent, just as shocked as she was.


    Palmira blinked, rubbing her eyes. ¡°Shit,¡± she grumbled, moving to poke Chiara. ¡°Hey, what happened? I missed it.¡±


    Then the stands exploded with noise, jeers and cheers as every color of the emotional spectrum was loudly broadcast by everyone all at once.


    ¡°He won, duh,¡± her friend rolled her eyes. ¡°Guy didn¡¯t even put up much of a fight. Or any fight, really. Heh, weakling.¡±


    ¡°But why would they send out someone so much weaker than him?¡±


    ¡°It was probably a political choice,¡± ¨®sma informed her from her other side, though he seemed a bit confused too. ¡°Or at least, that¡¯s the only thing I can think of. Either that man had enough political capital that he could force his way out over better fighters, or someone needed that man humiliated.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s equally likely they underestimated Charles,¡± the guildmaster pointed out. ¡°He¡¯s much stronger than he appears, so it¡¯s likely they simply misjudged his skill level. Or maybe they misjudged their own adventurer¡¯s skill level. I doubt they¡¯d be so willing to risk the first match otherwise.¡±


    ¡°Fair,¡± the orc tilted his head, watching as the healers hauled the Rodina member out of the arena. ¡°But I¡¯m now more worried about the response this¡¯ll bring. We¡¯ve instantly knocked the wind out of their sails¡ªthey¡¯ll be wanting to regain momentum as fast as they can.¡±


    As he finished speaking the next Rodina adventurer stepped onto the field. It was a pale elf, tall and wiry with a black mask over the lower half of his face. Beyond that it was difficult to make out details at this distance, but much more telling was the reaction of the rest of her guild to his appearance.


    ¡°Fuck!¡± exclaimed most of her guild.


    ¡°YES!¡± roared Matthias, launching himself into the air with sparkling excitement.


    ¡°We shall now begin the next battle!¡± The referee announced as the crowd quieted back to manageable levels. ¡°On the red side, Zeitn of the Rodina Guild! And on the white side, Charles of the Rosa Dominae Guild! The battle will continue either until one of them is unconscious, surrenders, or I personally call the match! Now, on my mark!¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe they actually brought him to something like this,¡± the guildmaster dropped his head into his hands. ¡°Fuck. We¡¯re so fucked.¡±


    ¡°READY!¡±


    ¡°Wait, what!?¡± Palmira¡¯s looked around at her guildmates incredulously. ¡°Why are you guys suddenly so fatalistic? Who even is that guy?¡±


    ¡°BEGIN!¡±


    Charles urged his horse forward, sword at the ready.


    Zeitn was standing behind him. A wicked dagger the length of his arm was raised and jabbed into his back.


    Charles¡¯ ghost horse dashed forward, barely avoiding the attack. The knight clung to his steed in shock, but swiftly gathered himself, spinning back around to charge¡ª


    The elf was standing behind him again. The dagger hit this time, digging deep into his thigh. Charles roared in pain, but managing to react brought his shield down to bash his opponent¡¯s face in.


    Zeitn was standing on the other side of the arena, unharmed. He did nothing else, calmly waiting for Charles to realize what had happened.


    The knight¡¯s shoulders heaved with each breath he took. His sword and shield were held before him, and for the first time it didn¡¯t seem like he knew what to do with them. He made an aborted move forward, before stopping. Hesitating.


    The resigned fear he was exuding was something Palmira had never seen before, and it was something she prayed she¡¯d never see again.


    ¡°That¡¯s Zeitn von Uhrenstadt,¡± Chiara whispered grimly. ¡°The Rodina¡¯s time mage.¡±


    The elf tilted his head. Even from here, the gesture felt mocking.


    Then he was standing in front of the horse, causing it to rear back in shock.


    Then he was behind it, taking advantage to ram his blade into Charles¡¯ other leg, and was once more gone before he could retaliate.


    That seemed to be the end of it. Whether from blood loss or the simple fact that his ruined legs could no longer hold on, Charles fell from his horse, crumpling to the ground in a heap.


    He surrendered, and the battle ended.


    ¡°Well,¡± the guildmaster turned to ¨®sma. ¡°You did say they were going to retake the initiative.¡±


    ¡°I wish they hadn¡¯t,¡± he sighed, watching the spectral steed stand sentinel over Charles¡¯ body as the healers arrived. Its attention didn¡¯t waver from the elf across the arena for a second. ¡°This may be more than we can handle.¡±


    ¡°Like hell it is!¡± Matthias grinned, the dwarf flying up to be eyelevel with the massive orc. Palmira, who was now under the miniature tornado he was using to fly, spluttered as her hair was sent flying around her face. ¡°Send me down there, I¡¯ll take the bastard down myself!¡±


    ¡°You really think you can do something against a mage that controls time?¡±


    ¡°Look, ¨®sma,¡± he locked eyes with the orc, serious despite the unhinged grin on his face. ¡°I¡¯ve spent the last decade plotting how I¡¯d break that smug bastard¡¯s nose the next time we fought. You aren¡¯t taking this away from me. Let me down there and I¡¯ll show everyone how poor a choice the Rodina really made!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but¡­¡± The old orc glanced at the guildmaster. ¡°Well? Do you have any better ideas?¡±


    He squinted down at the area, weighing his options. Then he sighed, waving them off. ¡°Fine. Matthias, even if all you can do is take that one elf out, that¡¯s victory for our guild.¡±


    ¡°Sweet! Victory and a raise? Hell yeah!¡±


    ¡°I said nothing about¡ªhe¡¯s already gone,¡± the guildmaster sighed, watching the dwarf fling himself over the railing.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± ¨®sma clapped his shoulder. ¡°We can pay him in beer.¡±


    ¡°I hate the fact you¡¯re right about that.¡±


    -<X>-


    Matthias


    Matthias landed gentle as a breeze, near bursting with violent glee. Finally, today was the fucking day! The day he¡¯d finally get his revenge on that smug prick of an elf!


    Not that it would be easy, of course. Zeitn von Uhrenstadt was, without question, the most dangerous mage in the Rodina¡¯s arsenal. Not the most powerful¡ªhe lacked the largescale destructive potential that even the likes of Creepy Girl and Pretty Boy could dish out¡ªbut if the Rodina needed something dead? They sent Zeitn.


    ¡®Time magic¡¯ was a bit hard for even demons to counter, after all.


    To tell the truth, he was just happy the elf was here in the first place. From what he knew of him he spent most of his time behind enemy lines these days, assassinating dangerous monsters and demons before they could become a threat to the more vulnerable border towns. He¡¯d even made a pass at the Arch-Traitor back in the day, though he¡¯d failed and ended up losing his right hand in the process.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    That he was here, participating in a tournament like this for the first time in years, for a mage as powerful as him¡­ it felt beneath him. The only other mage of his caliber who participated in tournaments like this was Raum, but everyone knew that guy was just in it for the money.


    But now he could finally pay the bastard back for that asskicking he¡¯d gotten a decade ago. He may not have been the most orthodox of dwarves, but even he could hold a damned grudge!


    ¡°We shall now begin the next battle! On the red side, Zeitn of the Rodina Guild! And on the white side, Matthias of the Rosa Dominae Guild! The battle will continue either until one of them is unconscious, surrenders, or I personally call the match! Now, on my mark!¡±


    Matthias grinned, flexing for his adoring fans above as they waited for the ref to start the match. Zeitn watched him silently, rolling sunken eyes at the theatrics. Not that he was any better, edgy fuck, but who gave a shit, he was here to win and look damn good doing it!


    Though the elf looked a bit different these days. More tired, more pale, and the mask that covered the lower half of his face was somehow even edgier than the all black cloak he used to wear. Considering how sunny it was right now, he¡¯d probably end up with a stupid tan after this was over.


    ¡°READY!¡± the referee shouted.


    Matthias turned at that moment, blowing a kiss to an admirer who¡ªoh my, that definitely wasn¡¯t allowed in a public stadium.


    ¡°BEGIN!¡±


    A blade sunk into his shoulder, digging directly between the folds of his armor. The strike was casual, almost practiced. The strike of a man who¡¯d simply walked up to a stationary target and shoved his knife in the weakest spot.


    For the briefest of moments, Zeitn was standing directly in front of him.


    And then there was a faint blur, and the elf was back in his original spot, bored as ever.


    Yet despite the wound, despite the pain, Matthias¡¯ grin only widened.


    Got you.


    He¡¯d noticed. Nobody else had, but Matthias had noticed.


    Zeitn appeared, and then stabbed him.


    It was a small detail, but it was important. Why would a man who could control time stop doing that before attacking? Why not simply stab him while time was slowed down?


    Because he couldn¡¯t. Or, at least, that was his working theory. He wasn¡¯t sure why that was, but in this situation the what was more important.


    On its own, it was a small weakness. But luckily for him, he also knew Zeitn¡¯s true flaw.


    He was a massive fucking showoff.


    ¡°COME ON!¡± his voice boomed across the arena, louder than thunder and twice as powerful. ¡°Is that the best you can do? Prick me with your puny little needle! Hah! I am Matthias, the dwarf who conquered the sky! You think a tiny scratch like that means anything to me?¡±


    An elf as powerful as him couldn¡¯t help it really. After decades of fighting massively weaker opponents, he wouldn¡¯t be surprised if it was instinctual at this point. In a tournament like this, so utterly below his skill level, he was just going through the motions until he got¡­ whatever the Rodina was bribing him with to show up here.


    And as a time mage, was there any surprise in that? The rest of the world might as well be snails compared to him.


    But he wasn¡¯t invincible. He¡¯d lost¡ªto a Demon Lord, perhaps¡ªbut he¡¯d lost all the same.


    Zeitn¡¯s eyes narrowed. His grip on his blade tightened. And then he was¡ª


    No. It wasn¡¯t instant. It was hard to see, even for someone like him¡ªa mage who manipulated lightning¡ªto notice, but he didn¡¯t instantly move from place to place. He blurred.


    Which meant he didn¡¯t stop time, he only slowed it down.


    Matthias¡¯ grin widened even as the elf appeared once more in front of him. Because this time, he was prepared.


    A deafening ¡®CRACK¡¯ rocked the arena, and Zeitn slammed into the ground as Matthias hit his right hip with a bolt of pure lightning.


    The elf fell, convulsing violently for a brief moment, before his image blurred again and he was standing once more, this time much further away. His eyes were wide and he clutched his blade tightly, heaving as he regained control of shaking limbs.


    Matthias laughed at the sight. He¡¯d taken a deep cut along his neck in return, but he quickly disregarded it as not being life-threatening.


    ¡°Not so invincible, are you!¡± he roared, lightning crackling along his arms as a storm began to billow around him. ¡°I know you now, time mage, you weak little shit! You aren¡¯t powerful, you¡¯re just a one trick pony who runs away at the first sign of trouble! Is that what happened when you lost your arm? Took a puny little flesh wound and ran crying to mommy? Hah! How pathetic!¡±


    Zietn was no longer panicking. Now he was enraged, and it showed. He would no longer be holding back.


    Good. Because there was one last weakness he¡¯d noticed, one he doubted even the elf himself knew he had.


    Zeitn von Uhrenstadt didn¡¯t know how to fight.


    He knew how to hurt. He knew how to kill. But when the very use of his magic meant the world stopped moving, how was he ever supposed to learn to fight an equal?


    Zeitn disappeared. Likely to stab him in his blind spot again, the only move he seemed to know how to do. But Matthias had a way around that.


    With a flex of his will, lightning erupted from every pore in his body. In this moment was no longer a mere dwarf, but electricity itself given flesh.


    ¡°You¡¯re fast, elf,¡± Matthias goaded with a wild grin as his opponent blurred around him, unable to find any opening. ¡°But are you faster than light?¡±


    He was done playing defensive. Lunging forth he blasted across the arena, an ear-shattering boom following his every movement. As he reached the stone walls of the arena¡ªonly possible due to moving faster than Raum could possibly comprehend¡ªhe bounded off the side, launching himself back across. This form of his wouldn¡¯t last for long, but it didn¡¯t need to. Just the few seconds he could keep it up would be enough for him to win.


    Once, twice, dozens of times he rocketed through the arena, the searing heat of his passing glassing the dusty ground of the arena. Not aiming at anything in particular¡ªyou couldn¡¯t aim at an elf who could control time¡ªbut instead letting his sheer speed corner his opponent. Each pass he made was slightly faster, each forcing the elf into a smaller and smaller space.


    Ah, this was what he lived for! Laughter swallowed by the storm he was brewing tore itself from his chest. This is why he¡¯d abandoned the old ways, the dirt and the darkness! For it was he alone who¡¯d discovered the truth!


    Dwarves dug holes, such was the way of things. They dug deep, for they were dwarves, and the deeper you dug the better dwarf you were. But why was down the only direction to dig? Why was dirt all his kind cared to mine?


    All it took was a simple paradigm shift to make him realize the truth, that up and down were mere matters of perspective! For what was the sky but an ever-shifting earth? He tore tunnels through the air with each second that passed, dug holes in that which his small minded kin would declare undiggable!


    Finally, he caught the elf. Whether planned or accidental he couldn¡¯t tell, but he slammed into Zeitn with the wrath of a god of thunder.


    Victory was his, but was there really ever any doubt?


    For he was Matthias the Storm Dwarf, the sky was his earth and the earth was his sky! And one day, he¡¯d dig all the way to the stars themselves!


    -<X>-


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe he made it that far.¡±


    Matthias not only defeated the time mage, but managed to carve his way through six more Rodina adventurers before finally flagging. He probably could have made it further, but the injuries he¡¯d taken against Zeitn at the beginning increasingly hampered him until the referee had forced him out lest he risk dying of blood loss.


    The dwarf had adamantly refused, of course, but Raum simply isolated him in a bubble of personal space and floated him out of the arena.


    ¡°True. That went much better than I expected it to,¡± ¨®sma hummed, rubbing his chin in thought.


    ¡°Not well enough, though,¡± the guildmaster grumbled, rubbing his forehead. ¡°We can¡¯t keep this pace up. Johanna, Charles, and Matthias were three of our strongest members. We need to send in some of our weaker adventurers lest we burn out too quickly.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t disagree, but are you sure it¡¯s the right time? The woman down there just took out Matthias. It might be too much of a leap to send out one of our younger members.¡±


    ¡°I disagree. That,¡± he pointed at the young battle priestess standing in the arena, ¡°is not a threat. She only won against Matthias because the idiot was actively dying while fighting her. We don¡¯t need to send a dragonslayer at her, we just need someone competent. Someone like, I don¡¯t know, maybe Lorenzo?¡±


    ¡°Lorenzo? Don¡¯t you think that¡¯s a little mean? ¡­Or are you trying to poach her instead? Play to the kid¡¯s strengths?¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± Lorenzo snapped from where he was sitting five feet away.


    ¡°The girl just defeated Matthias, she¡¯ll have bragging rights for the next decade. Who cares if it¡¯s a little mean,¡± the guildmaster scoffed. ¡°¡­and if she suddenly has a change of heart and joins our guild after this is all over, well, that¡¯s not any of our business.¡±


    ¡°Hey.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Lorenzo,¡± Palmira gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder. ¡°We know you¡¯re more than just a pretty face.¡±


    ¡°Eh,¡± Chiara made a ¡®so-so¡¯ gesture.


    ¡°I hate you all,¡± Lorenzo groaned, standing up. ¡°Whatever. She doesn¡¯t look too tough, I can take her.¡±


    ¡°In a fight, right?¡±


    ¡°When I get back I¡¯m strangling all of you except Palmira!¡± he snapped. ¡°Starting with Chiara!¡±


    ¡°Kinky.¡±


    With a strangled scream Lorenzo jumped into the arena.


    -<X>-


    Lorenzo


    Some days he wondered why he put up with his guildmates.


    Probably because he was aware they weren¡¯t serious, even if he wished they stopped bringing it up all the time.


    Yes, he had been with many people. Yes, he was hot. Yes, his dad was a bard.


    But that wasn¡¯t all he was! People didn¡¯t give Chiara¡ª


    Well, okay, no, people gave Chiara an equal amount of shit.


    People didn¡¯t give Palmira anywhere near as much shit for carrying around a human skull all day! Why was he always relegated to just being ¡®the hot one?¡¯


    Lorenzo sighed. Maybe he just needed to fight more. Get a nasty scar or two. Or would that make things worse¡­?


    ¡°Hey, uh,¡± his opponent called out to him. The battle priestess was, unfortunately, very pretty, with fluffy brown hair and big blue eyes. He really hoped she didn¡¯t find him attractive. ¡°Are you doing okay? You seem a little out of it.¡±


    ¡°We shall now begin the next battle! On the red side, Catherina of the Rodina Guild! And on the white side, Matthias of the Rosa Dominae Guild! The battle will continue either until one of them is unconscious, surrenders, or I personally call the match! Now, on my mark!¡±


    ¡°Thank you for your concern, but I¡¯m fine,¡± he waved her off with another sigh. ¡°Just dealing with some teasing from my guildmates, you know how it is.¡±


    ¡°Ah, I get it,¡± she nodded sympathetically. ¡°It happens to all of us. Still, I hope we can have a pure and righteous battle.¡±


    ¡°READY!¡±


    ¡°Yes, that sounds wonderful, I look forward to beating you as well.¡±


    ¡°Hah! Cocky, aren¡¯t you? Well, I don¡¯t dislike that.¡±


    ¡°Please do.¡±


    ¡°BEGIN!¡±


    Catherina planted her foot, battle-habit fluttering in a nonexistent wind. With a flex of her biceps she readied a claymore longer than she was tall and began to approach, keeping to his left as she circled ever closer.


    ¡°The Daughter was weak, when her flesh was pale and her blood red,¡± she began to pray, the faith of the Goddess enhancing her. ¡°For her soul had been born of silver stars and songs of old. A powerful soul in the body of a frail mortal, throughout her childhood she was a sickly, wretched thing.¡±


    While she was setting herself up, Lorenzo wasn¡¯t idle. Special seeds pushed their way from his arms, falling to the damaged ground to bury themselves in the suboptimal soil. With a flex of his will he forced them to grow, years of growth occurring in seconds under his careful control.


    ¡°Many saw only the surface, and looked down on her. But those of pure hearts and sharp minds knew the touch of divinity when they saw it. Their whispered prayers followed in her wake, knowing her as she knew them. The last Demigod, a final test of the Divine.¡±


    There were many people who heard ¡®nature magic¡¯ and scoffed. They considered it weak, the domain of healers and druids. Fools who thought simply because a tree could not chase them it wasn¡¯t dangerous.


    What arrogance.


    Nature was growth. Nature was change. Nature iterated endlessly upon itself, each generation born slightly faster, slightly stronger, slightly more resilient. Nature¡¯s true power wasn¡¯t in what existed now, but in what it could become.


    Lorenzo wasn¡¯t a mage like Palmira or Chiara, who could come up with new spells on the fly. His magic was slower, more measured. Even as he flaunted the laws of physics to force the vines at his feet to grow faster than mayflies it was still pathetically slower than anything most other mages could do.


    ¡°But some were wicked and coveted this divinity for themselves. The false priest Largor ambushed her, and with blackened blade in hand aimed to steal her pure heart for himself.¡±


    But that was fine. In focusing on her own power his foe was giving him all the time he needed.


    He forced the vines to stop. Seeds within the thin bark budded and bloomed and burst, erupting from their ¡®parents¡¯ and using their corpses as fuel to grow ever larger. These vines were slightly thicker, slightly more agile, and slightly more resistant to holy energy. Plants which were just a little bit better at dealing with the battle priestess before him.


    Better, but not enough.


    ¡°But fool he was. For the Mother is the Daughter, and under the blinding light of her soul, even her frail flesh was turned to steel.¡±


    So he repeated the process. Again, and again, and again. Decades and centuries worth of optimizations condensed into a matter of minutes. Each new generation slightly better suited for the battle ahead.


    But Catherina finally finished her prayer and attacked. Each of her footfalls dug inches into the dirt, and her very skin now glowed with holy light. She brought her massive claymore around and swung, and he was forced to sacrifice the less optimal vines to slow her progress.


    Damnit, maybe he was moving too slowly. He¡¯d hoped he¡¯d get more time.


    Focusing on his opponent he forced half his vines forward, letting the rest continue to iterate behind him. Instead he tried overwhelming the woman, using the tougher vines to distract her sword while the stronger ones pulled at her legs.


    While she couldn¡¯t ignore both¡ªshe wasn¡¯t Teresa, thankfully¡ªthey clearly weren¡¯t doing enough. But that was fine. They just needed to hold her off long enough, and were even helping him refine his true creations as they gathered him more practical knowledge.


    Catherina cut high and then low, spinning her claymore around in large arcs. She was still moving. Slowly, but inevitably getting closer.


    He sent a few more of his better vines to distract her, relieved when they gave her more trouble than the last. That was good, it meant they were developing properly.


    The fight continued in this vein for a few more minutes before, finally, his work was complete.


    The plants he had created were disgustingly optimized. They drew all the energy they needed from the desiccated corpses of their forbearers. Their flesh was harder than steel, they could crush with the force of a dragon¡¯s claw, and they were almost completely immune to holy energy. They also grew way too fast. The last three iterations were simply to slow down its life cycle so that it wouldn¡¯t immediately die upon birth.


    These vines would survive maybe fifteen minutes at most before the sheer weight of their own fucked up genes killed them.


    But fifteen minutes was more than enough.


    He raised his hand, and the last quarter of his vines followed his will. They barreled at the battle priestess, turning what was once a manageable tide into an indestructible wall of leaf and wood.


    As her sword bounced off the vines she had only a moment to widen her eyes before the hordes were upon her. They grabbed her arms, her legs, her torso and her head, dragging her straight down to the earth and burying her as if she were one of their own seeds. Within seconds only her head and shoulders were still visible, leaving her immobile and unarmed.


    Catherina laid there, chest heaving and eyes wide with shock. Then Lorenzo stepped over her, commanding a single vine to place its bladed tip directly under her chin, tilting her head up so she could meet his eyes.


    ¡°Do you surrender?¡±


    ¡°¡­Yeah,¡± she gasped, her brilliant blue eyes staring into his own leafy green. ¡°I do.¡±


    Lorenzo relaxed, calling off the vines as the referee called the match. As he helped her out of the hole he felt a sense of satisfaction wash over him.


    See, Chiara. He could totally win a fight without seducing anyone.


    ¡°And, uh, hey,¡± the battle priestess fidgeted, lingering in the arena even when she really should have left by now. ¡°My full name is Catherina de Nemici. After this is over, why don¡¯t we grab dinner? To, uh, celebrate your victory. What do you say?¡±


    Fuck.

 Chapter 48 - Grandmother (Doesnt) Know Best

    Chapter 48 ¨C Grandmother (Doesn¡¯t) Know Best


    Chiara


    Lorenzo¡¯s first battle went well. He beat the girl he was sent to fight, as most of them expected he would. He also seduced her, which was also to be expected, and now her brother was excited at the prospect of poaching her from the Rodina. Probably the only good thing that came of the battle, in her opinion.


    It kind of pissed her off how often people fell over themselves for the pretty bastard. It would have been better if he at least refused them, but he just had to be such a guy about it every time.


    Luckily, he immediately got his ass beat by the next Rodina adventurer, a fifty-year-old water mage who killed his plants by instantly draining them of water and who was¡ªmore importantly¡ªimmune to his charms.


    She¡¯d make sure to mock him properly when she joined him in the infirmary.


    After all, she was on her third opponent, meaning was already doing better than him.


    It felt good being good.


    ¡°Stop moving!¡±


    A blade of solid bone streaked toward her head, one which she barely dodged in time. The follow-up blade from the second hand she barely parried, but the pale claws of the third hand raked across her hip, drawing blood.


    Right, she should probably focus on her fight. Coming up with new insults for Lorenzo could wait for later.


    ¡°Like I¡¯d ever do that!¡± she snapped back, adjusting her rapier to jab deep into her opponent¡¯s shoulder. The man didn¡¯t even bother dodging, ignoring the wound as he had all the others she¡¯d inflicted.


    It was much harder for him to ignore the crystalline mice which crawled out of her blade. The dozen vaguely rodent-shaped creations let out warbling squeaks as they dug into the massive mound of flesh he called a shoulder, giving her the ability to disengage as her opponent frantically began trying to dig them out of his body.


    Chiara took a deep breath, backing away as far as she dared and preparing another spell. This was, surprisingly, one of the most difficult fights she¡¯d ever had the misfortune of participating in. Her opponent¡ªwhose name she could not recall because she hadn¡¯t been paying attention¡ªwas of all things a flesh mage. He¡¯d turned his body into a ten-foot-tall wall of pure muscle, with five arms larger than her own body and thighs so overengineered they tore every time he took a step forward. On the top of all that body was his head, comically small and protected by a second skull grown outside his skin like an insect¡¯s exoskeleton.


    It was disgusting.


    Also probably heretical, though she wasn¡¯t going to be the one to bring it up. Stones in glass houses, and all that.


    More importantly, nothing she¡¯d hit him with seemed to do anything. Every time she stabbed him he simply knit the wound back together, and any bruises faded in seconds. The mice had been a last-ditch effort, but if she couldn¡¯t figure out a weakness soon she¡¯d lose the fight to sheer attrition.


    Which would be awful. She¡¯d made a bet with Palmira she¡¯d win at least five rounds and she was not losing her dessert again!


    Her opponent finally seemed to realize he wasn¡¯t getting the mice out of his arm. Giving it up as a lost cause, he flexed his shoulder and with a wet ¡®pop¡¯ the arm detached from his body, falling to the dirt with a meaty thud.


    Ugh. Why did she always get the worst ones?


    ¡­Hm, why wasn¡¯t he growing it back?


    Chiara narrowed her eyes, completing her spell. The air warped before her as crystalline cracks burrowed through the fabric of reality, forging a reflective surface from within which something pushed through.


    A hand reached out from the other side, and Chiara grabbed it tight. Straining, she pulled as hard as she could. Soon an arm followed the hand, and then a body followed immediately after. Finally, her creation pulled itself all the way through, stepping gently this reality with the creaking of crystals.


    It was a mirror of herself, exactly the same size and shape and wielding a rapier just as she was. Diamond skin twinkled in the late afternoon light, while in its eye sockets perfect pearls stared blankly out across the arena.


    Chiara grinned, pleased with herself. It had taken her a long time, but she¡¯d finally figured out how to mirror herself.


    She didn¡¯t have time to feel good about herself though. Within seconds her foe was once more upon her, bone spines and blades jutting from his four remaining arms which came down like spiky clubs. She jumped to one side while her reflection jumped to the other, easily dodging his attacks.


    Then she nearly tripped as a wave of vertigo slammed into her.


    Right, there was a reason she didn¡¯t normally try to fight with two bodies at once. And that was because controlling two bodies at once was hell.


    Chiara barely managed to bring her rapier up in time to parry, only realizing after that it was the reflection who had done that. Her main body instead leapt backwards, dodging a blow that would have easily taken her out before lunging in to attack.


    She feinted at him while the reflection attacked¡ªno, wait, she got them mixed up again. Regardless, it worked, and she drew a deep gash from elbow to wrist before swiftly dancing away from the retaliation. Her reflection on the other hand tanked the blow, using her superior durability to jab her own blade straight through the man¡¯s elbow.


    Luckily she didn¡¯t mix them up that time.


    Chiara circled him from two sides, watching the wounds closely. The flesh wound knit itself back together swiftly, but the shattered elbow was much slower to heal. Her eyes narrowed at the sight, considering.


    Was he not able to manipulate bone as easily, or did more complex injuries take more concentration to heal?


    Either way, she grinned as a plan slowly pieced itself together. If she could just focus on his joints, she might be able to wear him down faster than he could¡ª


    A misty form began to coalesce before her, and her heart dropped.


    No no no, this couldn¡¯t be¡ª! She promised she wouldn¡¯t¡ª!


    A ghost appeared, revealing an elderly elf in outdated military attire and a long spear held casually at her side. Close cropped hair framed her face, the expression on which could not be described as anything other than condescending.


    ¡°How pathetic,¡± the ghost sneered down her nose at her opponent, pointing her ornate spear derisively at the much taller man. ¡°To think mine kind hath fallen so far¡ª¡±


    ¡°GRANDMOTHER!¡±


    The ghost turned to her casually, her milky eyes rolling back in her head as she sighed. ¡°Yes, granddaughter?¡±


    ¡°This is my fight!¡± Chiara snapped, flushing as red as rubies. She pointed angrily at her grandmother, her reflection mirroring her on the other side of her confused opponent. ¡°I can win this by myself, so go back to the afterlife! Like you promised you would last time!¡±


    ¡°I refuse,¡± the elderly elf scoffed. ¡°To think this mutt may even breathe in thine presence is an insult to our exalted lineage. And such insults must be paid for in blood.¡±


    ¡°Goddess above, why do you keep doing this!? It is the twenty-first century, nobody cares about ¡®lineage¡¯ or ¡®blood!¡¯ Just¡ªstop embarrassing me and leave!¡±


    ¡°To think, mine own granddaughter might care so little of our good name,¡± her grandmother sighed, shaking her head despondently. ¡°Once, we were a noble house, glorious and true. Have we really fallen so far?¡±


    ¡°You were a baroness, that¡¯s barely a noble! And I live in a republic, nobody cares about nobility here anyway! We vote for our leaders, like civilized people!¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± she sniffed, at last turning away from her. ¡°If that is what mine granddaughter wishes, I suppose I have no choice. You¡¯d best win, child, for even if you do not care for our family¡¯s bloodline it is not something that should be so easily sullied.¡±


    Then, finally, her grandmother disappeared, returning to heaven. Probably. Hopefully.


    Chiara buried her face in her hands and let out a silent scream, her reflection mirroring her in the act once more. Goddess above, did they have to do this every year?


    The flesh mage shuffled awkwardly between the two of her. ¡°Hey, uh, you doing okay? Do you need another minute or are we still fighting?¡±


    Both her heads snapped up in sync. ¡°I¡¯m going to beat your fucking face in.¡±


    It was harder fought than she¡¯d like, but she managed to win that round and the next, and only had to yell at her grandmother to go away one more time. Unfortunately, she did end up losing with only four victories, meaning she now owed Palmira her dessert.


    But she lost all on her own, and at this point she¡¯d take that as a victory.


    -<X>-


    Sienna


    ¡°Hey boss,¡± Sienna walked up to the railing, leaning against it with a barely restrained rage. Her guildmaster barely gave her a glance, eyes locked on the battle raging below. ¡°Send me down next.¡±


    That got his attention. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Send me down next,¡± she repeated, glaring at the Rodina adventurer. ¡°I need to break that fucker¡¯s kneecaps.¡±


    Her twin sister Emilia was down there right now, fighting a right prick who was taking way too much enjoyment out of messing with her little sister. He was a Drowned-Man, all green and scaley with a fancy eyepatch to boot. He used two scimitars and some weird jumpy-magic shit and was making Emilia look like a blind fool in front of the whole damn city.


    It pissed her right off, it did. The only person allowed to beat her sister up like that was her.


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna break every bone in his body. I¡¯ll make him regret showing up today, I will.¡±


    ¡°I admire your drive, but doesn¡¯t Emilia tend to beat you when you two spar?¡± the boss sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. ¡°And he¡¯s currently running circles around her. You¡¯d just lose, and I¡¯d have wasted an adventurer.¡±


    It was at that moment her sister took a final blow to the ribs. The hilt of one of her opponent¡¯s blades definitely breaking something as he finally knocked her out. The jeers of the crowd and the bastard¡¯s smug swagger just added more fuel to her already smoldering rage.


    ¡°Oh no, I ain¡¯t losing to that prick,¡± she growled, feeling herself begin to float in rage. She considered tapping down on it, but being so angry made it hard to care. ¡°I¡¯ll crush him into a fine fucking powder, I will.¡±


    ¡°Sufficient motivation can make up for what she lacks in raw talent,¡± the big ol¡¯ orc rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ¡°And he¡¯s already been worn down, even if he¡¯s doing an admirable job of hiding it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d prefer to bet on more than righteous fury to win us the day. It¡¯ll be a massive waste if she loses.¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°It could also be a waste to send down someone stronger when she suffices. It¡¯s not like we¡¯d need Leo or Teresa to beat him.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s true,¡± the boss sighed. ¡°But we need to do everything perfectly or else we¡¯re doomed. We¡¯ve barely knocked out twenty of the Rodina yet we¡¯ve used nearly half of our own people.¡±


    Sienna listened to them argue with half an ear, far more focused on her sister as the healers dragged her out of the arena. She looked small, despite being big and muscled like all proper young girls should be. It was how beat up she looked, probably. Her tanned face was all bruised, bloody welts hiding her freckles. Worse still, her long black hair¡¯d been all cut up into horrid little chunks by the prick¡¯s swords. Really, did the bastard know nothing of battlefield etiquette? Everyone knew you left a lady¡¯s hair alone in a spar, it was only polite!


    They looked so alike that seeing her this broken up was uncanny. Like Sienna¡¯d gotten her ass beat without actually getting her ass beat. Like Chiara, when she pulled out that fake twin of hers.


    She didn¡¯t like the feeling.


    ¡°I¡¯m going,¡± she growled, tightening her grip on the railing. It was the only reason she hadn¡¯t floated away yet, and the only thing standing between her and her enemy. ¡°I don¡¯t care what you leccaculi think¡¯s right or not, I¡¯m smashing his damn face in.¡±


    The boss turned to her and¡ªlikely upon seeing the rage contorting her beautiful face¡ªgave in with a sigh. ¡°Fine, fine, you can go. Just¡­ try not to actually kill him, will you? Nobody¡¯s died yet today and I don¡¯t want us to be the ones to break that trend.¡±


    ¡°Course, course,¡± she nodded absently, grabbing her own personal weapon. ¡°I¡¯ll only kill him a little.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m worried about¡­¡±


    She ignored him, obviously. Leaping over the railing, she flew high into the air, and then like a falling star slammed into the arena floor with a thunderous BOOM.


    The weaselly faced prick took a step back, smug sense of superiority replaced by something more cautious. Maybe the look on her face was putting him off, or maybe it was the weapon she¡¯d brought with her to magically transform his bones into broken bones.


    See, she had no formal education. Not in the quill and not in the sword. Her Pa was a fletcher and her Ma was a sailor down in Bocca. They¡¯d lived a good life in the city, the salty sea air almost making up for the unfortunate amount of fish they had to eat. ¡®Course, then the Woman-Serpent did what Demons did best, and her and her sister needed to find a new job. Since they were decent hands at fighting off pirates and the like, they decided to join an adventurer¡¯s guild here in Firozzi.


    Her sister Emilia took her bow and arrows, since she¡¯d always been closer to Pa than her. If the flood hadn¡¯t destroyed it she¡¯d likely have taken over the shop. She then used her ¡®arrow magic¡¯ to do ¡®things.¡¯ What those things were Sienna didn¡¯t rightly know, not really, but they sure were impressive!


    She gave it a coin toss on whether her sister could even use magic or not.


    But Sienna never really got the whole ¡®aiming¡¯ part of using a bow, and she didn¡¯t have the cash to buy and learn a new weapon. So instead she¡¯d gone to Ma¡¯s ship and salvaged the heaviest thing she could find.


    The anchor. She¡¯d grabbed the anchor.


    And now it sat pretty in her hands, Eight feet of solid rusty iron with Nonna Bagnata¡ªher old ship¡¯s name¡ªbarely legible along the length of it. She knew it was an impressive sight, casually resting as it was against her shoulder, and she hoped the man appreciated how well he was gonna get to know it.


    The referee¡ªwho had seen far weirder things in the past hour, much less his whole career¡ªdidn¡¯t bat an eye at her choice of weapon, instead simply beginning the match.


    ¡°We shall now begin the next battle!¡± The referee announced as the crowd quieted back to manageable levels. ¡°On the red side, John of the Ambrosia Famiglia¡¯s Rodina Guild! And on the white side, Sienna of the Firozzi Famiglia¡¯s Rosa Dominae Guild! The battle will continue either until one of them is unconscious, surrenders, or I personally call the match!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re that other girl¡¯s sister, aren¡¯t you?¡± the one-eyed freak asked, trying to act cocky as if he weren¡¯t staring at her anchor in fear.


    ¡°Aye,¡± she nodded, adjusting the weight on her shoulder. She could¡¯ve made it weigh nothing, of course, but that wouldn¡¯t have gotten the same point across. ¡°I am. And I hope you understand what that means.¡±


    ¡°READY!¡±


    ¡°And what does that mean?¡± he smirked, falling into his own stance. ¡°That I should be expecting as easy a fight as the last one?¡±


    ¡°Nah,¡± she sneered. ¡°It means I¡¯m bashing your face in with a two-ton mass of pure fucking iron.¡±


    ¡°BEGIN!¡±


    The Drowned-Man leapt into the sky, using his jumpy-magic to swim through the air as though it were water. It looked ridiculous, but he was also moving way faster than he had any right to so she¡¯d begrudgingly admit it probably wasn¡¯t as stupid as it looked. He was closing the distance quickly though, and if he got within arms reach that would be bad for her.


    She knew he was way more skilled than her, she wasn¡¯t dumb. She¡¯d watched him fight. So since she wasn¡¯t dumb, she wasn¡¯t gonna fight him.


    She was just gonna break him a little.


    Sienna pointed at him with her free hand. The scaly bastard frowned in confusion.


    Then he fell like an anchor dropped into the sea.


    He shouted in pain as he slammed into the dirt, pinned flat as a board to the unforgiving earth. He tried to get up, tried to use his magic to help him move, but there was nothing he could do. Because even with his fancy flying, he was as beholden to Gravity as anyone else.


    Sienna smirked, and just as he began to struggle again she metaphorically flipped the switch. Suddenly the force pressing him into the ground was gone, and his futile struggles sent him launching into the sky just like the flying fish he pretended to be.


    Then she flipped the switch back off, and he came crashing right back down.


    Gravity magic was a funny thing, it was. She hadn¡¯t called it that when she was younger, since she didn¡¯t know what ¡®gravity¡¯ was. She¡¯d called it heavy and light magic, since she made things heavy and she made things light. But the orc didn¡¯t think that was a smart enough word for what she did, so instead she was told what she was actually doing was messing with gravity.


    She still wasn¡¯t entirely sure what ¡®gravity¡¯ was, but she¡¯d long since learned what it could do!


    The Drowned-Man was slammed into the earth one last time. By this point even the bubble of space they were given was looking a bit warped, though it swiftly began to fix itself. Her opponent wasn¡¯t so lucky, his scimitars having long since been lost and his armor turned brown from the muck. What visible skin she could see was purpled from all the bruises. He barely struggled now, dazed and likely concussed, but she was a kindly soul and let up, just a little bit.


    Just enough for him to barely stand under his own power, even as he wobbled and strained.


    Sienna sauntered up to him, and the smug look on his face was now replaced with something akin to fear.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you worry,¡± she grinned, flipping the anchor off her shoulder so that the long flat end was facing him. He tried to move away, but the force of her gravity pinned him in place. ¡°I won¡¯t be killing you. I¡¯ll just be hurting you. A lot. Think of it as penance, if that makes you feel better.¡±


    Then she lowered his gravity as much as she was able, and doubled the gravity on herself. With a roar of exertion she swung, the man barely having enough time to bring his arms up to soften the blow.


    ¡°THIS ONE¡¯S FOR YOU, EMI!¡±


    The anchor slammed into him, and he was launched. He flew so fast he cleared the barrier of space with ease, flying straight out of the arena and netting her the only ¡®out-of-bounds¡¯ victory of the whole tournament.


    And the stink-eye from the healers, who now had to send someone running across the city to make sure her opponent didn¡¯t die.


    Not that it affected her much. She¡¯d be riding this high for days.


    -<X>-


    Endrit


    Endrit did not enjoy fighting. In fact, he rather hated it.


    It reminded him of the his time spent in the Sultan¡¯s armies, of killing his own people to support petty human ambition.


    Fighting also meant he risked dying, and that was something he tried to avoid as well.


    Unfortunately for him, fighting was all he knew. It was in his nature as a former Janissary, a slave-soldier trained from childhood to excel in the arts of war. And he had certainly excelled at war.


    But that was the past. This was the present.


    Strange, how similar they often felt.


    A flaming fist came down on his head, and he barely blocked in time. His shield dented and warped under the pressure, and he frowned as he realized he¡¯d likely need a new one after this.


    Endrit clicked his mandibles in frustration. How annoying. Sheilds were expensive, and his current guild wasn¡¯t in the best financial straits.


    The heat eventually became too great, and he was forced to disengage. Stumbling backwards, the B?ce?i eyed his opponent warily. The glow in his eyes flickered instinctively, an old habit that had slowly returned outside the discipline he¡¯d kept to in the military.


    The human in front of him was tall and wide, well-muscled and strong. His dark head was as bald as his own, though an elegant close-cropped beard covered the lower half of his face. He was a fire mage, though unlike Endrit¡¯s guild¡¯s newest member his flames were a deep red which burned hot. They coated his body as he spread them around the arena, boxing him in until he was forced to keep close lest he risk being burned.


    He was Giacomo of the Rodina Guild, and he was the most dangerous opponent he¡¯d faced in years.


    This was because¡ªdespite technically sharing relations with fireflies¡ªhe was not, in fact, immune to fire.


    Endrit huffed, holding his yatagan ready between the two of them. The short sabre had been tempered by the royal armories of the Muhtesem Deviet-i Atlilarin and was far more resilient than his shield, which was now little more than melting slag.


    He was likely to lose this battle, he realized with no little annoyance.


    The reason for his annoyance was because, as the battles went on, one thing had become clear to him¡ªthe Rodina were not in top form this season.


    Perhaps it was decadence. They¡¯d been on top for a long time, such was only natural. Even the strongest warrior could grow soft without a proper challenge.


    Perhaps it was skill. His guild was middling at best, though. Or, maybe it had been middling? They¡¯d lost a lot of their more average and weaker adventurers following the split from the Ambrosi. They had half as many members as they had a month ago, but maybe they¡¯d simply trimmed the fat.


    Or perhaps there was some other reason. Maybe there was multiple reasons. The answers eluded him, so he put the question out of his mind.


    But it was because they were not in top form that he was so frustrated. He¡¯d only defeated one other of their adventurers, and yet the one day they seem to have collectively decided to throw in the towel they send a competent fire mage at him, the bug man.


    Was this how Charles felt fighting the time elf? If so, he owed the man a drink. This just wasn¡¯t fair.


    Still, never let it be said Endrit wouldn¡¯t go out swinging.


    A battle cry passed through his mandibles as he charged his opponent. The bigger man blocked with charcoal bracers, the steel of his sabre digging deep into the charred wood. Not deep enough though, as he was forced to duck under another flaming fist. Pulling his yatagan free he spun around, slicing through a fireball with the blade while using his free hand to go for a punch.


    Blocked, of course. This Giacomo was more skilled in hand-to-hand than him. He could make excuses about how his joints weren¡¯t as dexterous as a human¡¯s were, but he was honest with himself enough to admit it was a skill he¡¯d slacked on for many years. Perhaps this would be what forced him to learn.


    Yeah, right. He was also honest enough with himself to admit he¡¯d probably die long before the lesson ever truly sunk in.


    Endrit tried to disengage again, only to hiss as his foot stepped into the flames. They were getting closer. How long had they been getting closer?


    He didn¡¯t have much time to ponder this, as his opponent then pulled his arm to the side and stepped into the fire itself.


    Damn, so he was fireproof too? Well, that was obvious in hindsight. Was the new girl fireproof too? He¡¯d never thought to ask.


    He was regretting that a bit right now.


    Endrit¡¯s arm was twisted, and he grimaced as he felt something pop. His opponent was sporting enough not to also set the limb on fire, though considering how surrounded he now was that was cold comfort.


    He finally managed to free his arm, but now it was far too late. The fire mage stepped further away, content to outrange him now that he was trapped.


    If only he still had his bow. Unfortunately, that weapon was currently burning some distance to his left, likely little more than cinders at this point.


    Did he even have anything¡ª?


    He glanced down at the ruined shield on his arm.


    Well, it probably wouldn¡¯t win him the match, but if he hit it would be very cathartic.


    -<X>-


    Palmira winced as Endrit chucked his shield at the enemy fire mage. His opponent easily dodged, and surrounded as he was by a sea of flames she knew he¡¯d as good as lost.


    ¡°Damnit,¡± the guildmaster grunted, scowling at the fire. ¡°I¡¯d been hoping he would¡¯ve done more.¡±


    ¡°Me too, but you have to admit we¡¯ve been doing well,¡± ¨®sma crossed his arms with a frown. ¡°Not as well as we¡¯d hoped, but better than we¡¯d feared. It may not be ideal, but we¡¯re not out yet.¡±


    ¡°The bigger question is who we send in next,¡± the guildmaster frowned, turning to scan at the rest of them. At this point their section was looking rather empty, with more than half of their adventurers in the infirmary. Only Johanna had returned so far, acting insufferably smug at the fact she still held the longest streak of victories.


    ¡°Well, the man seems to prefer large area of effect attacks. He set the whole field on fire, after all,¡± ¨®sma pointed out. ¡°And we don¡¯t exactly have a lot of fireproof adventurers ourselves. Unless you want to send in Leo already, we may only have one option.¡±


    It took Palmira only a moment to realize who they were talking about.


    ¡°Me?¡± she yelped. It wasn¡¯t like she hadn¡¯t been expecting to fight, but somehow the thought of actually going down there made her so much more nervous than expected.


    ¡°Hell yeah!¡± Anima grinned, reaching over the seats to wrap her in a one-armed hug. ¡°Time for Three-Dukes Palmira to show what she¡¯s made of!¡±


    Wait wait wait she was not ready for this!


    ¡°Fight fire with fire? The idea has merit,¡± the guildmaster hummed thoughtfully. ¡°But if they¡¯re both fireproof, it means this¡¯ll be closer to a battle of physical might over magic, and I¡¯m not confident she¡¯d win that.¡±


    ¡°You forget, Palmira¡¯s fire magic isn¡¯t focused on destruction,¡± ¨®sma reminded him. ¡°Most of her spells focus on buffing over raw damage. She may not be able to use her fire to hurt him, but she wont be lacking for magical might down there.¡±


    That¡­ made her feel a bit better, actually.


    And, now that she thought of it, wasn¡¯t this a Rodina fire mage? The same guild which refused to hire her for being a fire mage?


    Ah, good, anger was preferrable to fear.


    ¡°I¡¯m ready to go down,¡± she stood up before she could lose her nerve. With Morte in one hand and Malocchio in the other, she marched up to the guildmaster. ¡°Besides, I have to fight eventually, don¡¯t I? Better to do it now, where I¡¯ll have an advantage.¡±


    She looked him in the eye as he considered it, both of them ignoring Anima hyping her up in the background. ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re ready for it?¡±


    She swallowed. ¡°I am.¡±


    He held eye contact for another moment, before looking away with a small smile. Below, Endrit was finally defeated, and the match was called. ¡°Then good luck, Three Dukes. I look forward to seeing if you measure up to my sister.¡±


    Damn, he really did know her well now if he was trying to fire her up like that. And she hated the fact that it was working.


    Palmira shook her head with a scoff, walking up to the railing. Then, she hesitated, and turned back to the guildmaster.


    ¡°Um,¡± she gestured to the railing. ¡°Should I¡­¡±


    He sighed, waving her off. ¡°Whatever, you might as well. It¡¯s not like anyone else in this guild¡¯s taken the damn stairs¡­¡±


    Right. With a nod, she turned back to the arena and leapt over the railing, trusting her fire to help her land safely. Her nerves returned as she left her guildmembers behind, mixing with her anger to grant her an uncomfortable cocktail of emotions that she really wished she wasn¡¯t experiencing right now.


    She pushed them down, though it was hard. The flames which guided her to the floor burned brighter as she landed. Turning to glare down the fire mage across from her, she gripped her friends tight as she prepared herself.


    It was finally time for her to fight.

 Chapter 49 – Everything Is On Fire and It Is Somehow Still Not Palmira’s Fault

    Chapter 49 ¨C Everything Is On Fire and It Is Somehow Still Not Palmira¡¯s Fault


    Palmira stepped into the arena warily, her nerves sending sparks dancing between her fingers. She¡¯d sparred¡ªeven fought real enemies before¡ªbut something about doing it in front of a crowd was making her feel more nervous than when she went on her first quest.


    As he wasn¡¯t going to be as useful in this fight she had slid Morte into the holster at her back to allow her to hold Malocchio with both hands. The mace was heavier than it used to be, on account of whatever Tintinnia had done to it, though hopefully it shouldn¡¯t throw her off too much.


    The arena still burned from his previous match, red-hot dust and sticky, smoldering flames left the air shimmering from the heat. It would likely be sweltering to anyone else, but in this her immunity to heat saved her once again. Far across from her the man she¡¯d be fighting stood calmly amongst the fading inferno, raising an unconcerned eyebrow at her approach.


    ¡°Do you have any advice?¡± Palmira asked Morte, nervously eyeing her soon to be enemy. ¡°I could use a bit of advice right about now.¡±


    ¡°Oh, certainly, there are many things I could tell you,¡± her staff agreed easily, his tone light. ¡°But I¡¯m not going to. You¡¯re in this one alone! Good luck~¡±


    ¡°Wait, what!?¡± she hissed, twisting her neck to glare back at him. ¡°What do you mean you¡¯re not helping!?¡±


    ¡®Disdain. Traitor.¡¯


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be like that. I¡¯ll still act as your catalyst, don¡¯t you worry. But this battle is¡ªpardon my trampling of your guildmaster¡¯s ambitions¡ªas low stakes as it gets, at least for you. The only thing you personally stand to lose here is pride. As such, I think this is the perfect opportunity for a test!¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± she groaned, frustrated. ¡°This is important, Morte!¡±


    ¡°I agree. Which, again, is why I¡¯m not helping you. I¡¯ve helped you a lot ever since you liberated me from the bargain bin, but I think it¡¯s time for you to start standing on your own two feet. So nothing from me, not today! Win or lose on your own merits, not as the student of the illustrious Morte but as the powerful Palmira di Firozzi, destroyer of dukes and arsonist extraordinaire.¡±


    ¡°I hate that you¡¯re making sense,¡± she grumbled, flushing in both anger and embarrassment at how he described her. ¡°What about you Malocchio? Are you still with me or are you gonna be silent too?¡±


    ¡®Agreement. We will stand by Our Lady always.¡¯


    ¡°See, that¡¯s why you¡¯re my favorite.¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡±


    ¡°We shall now begin the next battle!¡± The referee¡¯s booming shout caused her to jump. It was so much louder down here. ¡°On the red side, Giacomo of the Ambrosia Famiglia¡¯s Rodina Guild! And on the white side, Palmira of the Firozzi Famiglia¡¯s Rosa Dominae Guild! The battle will continue either until one of them is unconscious, surrenders, or I personally call the match!¡±


    The crowd roared, and it was all she could do to ignore them. Instead she kept her eyes locked forward, focusing on the man she needed to defeat.


    ¡°Goddess, did they really send a child to fight me?¡± her opponent grumbled, looking more put out than anything. ¡°Please tell me you¡¯ve just run out of adventurers and you¡¯re all they have left. I think I¡¯ll be insulted otherwise.¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± she snapped, anger stirring in her breast at his words. She focused on it, preferring the heat of rage over her nerves. ¡°Who cares how old I am, I¡¯m more than able to kick your ass!¡±


    ¡°READY!¡±


    ¡°Look kid, don¡¯t take this the wrong way, but this is a lose-lose scenario for me,¡± he sighed, rubbing his forehead. ¡°Either I win¡ªin which case I¡¯m known as the guy who beat up a child¡ªor I lose¡ªin which case I¡¯m known as the guy who got beaten up by a child. Either way I don¡¯t come out of this looking good.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like you¡¯re more worried about your image than the fight.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re adventurers, kid. Everything we do is about image.¡±


    ¡°BEGIN!¡±


    Despite his spoken reluctance, the man didn¡¯t waste a second. His arms rose, and she saw flecks of light glint from his charcoal bracers as the flames rose with them. The sea of fire around her reignited, converging on her in an instant in a wave of molten death.


    Damn. He really was ready to burn her alive, huh?


    ¡°As I thought,¡± he hummed, just barely audible under the inferno in her ears. ¡°A fire mage. Or at least someone immune to fire. Maybe they aren¡¯t underestimating me as badly as I feared.¡±


    ¡°We aren¡¯t underestimating you!¡± she snapped at him. ¡°It¡¯s you who¡¯s underestimating me!¡±


    Rather than reply he charged her, the much larger man barreling down on her in an instant. But with his theatrics he¡¯d given her enough time to prepare. With tendrils of flames dancing around her feet she ducked, dodging beneath his wide grapple. Pivoting the moment she was clear of his arms she brought her mace down on his hip with a shout, only to barely miss as he spun away.


    ¡®Mind your footwork!¡¯ Anima¡¯s voice echoed in her mind, reminding her to properly plant her feet after a maneuver like that.


    ¡®Mind his footwork,¡¯ Teresa¡¯s voice followed, and she looked down just in time to barely dodge a kick to the face.


    She ducked beneath it, though that just let him bring his foot down on her shoulder instead. She winced at the pain that ran down her arm but managed to stay standing, if only just. Her opponent on the other hand was unbalanced, bouncing away on one foot after she didn¡¯t crumble from his strike.


    It was an opening, and she intended to take it.


    Palmira darted forward, swinging her mace at his flailing leg. Grimacing, the man was forced to launch himself back to avoid the blow, letting himself fall to the ground with a grunt. He rolled back to his feet in an instant, using his longer limbs to create space between them before she could capitalize on his blunder. For anyone else this would be enough, as a normal mace wasn¡¯t a long-range weapon.


    But her Malocchio wasn¡¯t a normal mace.


    There was a quiet ¡®click¡¯ as his head unhinged itself. Then it shot forward like a viper upon a mouse, the cube of spiked steel slamming straight into her opponent¡¯s foot.


    Giacomo swore loudly, gunky dark red flames spluttering to life around his legs in an attempt to force Malocchio away. Unfortunately for him this was her mace, and so rather than avoid the fire they simply ignored the heat. It continued to move on its own, circling around his legs in an attempt to use the cord which still connected it to the shaft to tie them together.


    But her opponent was faster than she¡¯d expected. Though it looked painful he leapt on his injured foot, managing to barely escape the trap and stumble even further away.


    Malocchio tried to give chase only to reach the end of his cord, the whole line going taut before snapping back to her, the head smoothly returning to its original place.


    Giacomo continued to backpedal even after, heaving great lungful¡¯s of air as he regained his bearings. His gaze was a great deal warier now, something which caused a feeling of pride to smolder in her chest.


    ¡°I¡¯ll admit, I wasn¡¯t expecting that,¡± he said at last, favoring his good foot. It was a bit hard to hear him from so far away, but she was pretty sure she got the gist. ¡°But if one injury were enough to stop me I¡¯d have died years ago. So, sorry about this kid, but I¡¯m not going to hold back anymore.¡±


    He brought up his hands, bracers seeming to almost glow in the flickering light, and the fires surrounding them changed. In an instant they grew leagues hotter, the air beginning to warp and flicker as the smoke pouring from them became thick and dark.


    For a moment she thought he was about to subject her to illusions similar to what Asu Rana could do. However, as the smoke grew ever darker she realized he was doing something much simpler.


    The heat didn¡¯t bother her and the fumes didn¡¯t suffocate her, but she still needed to see. And as the smoke billowed around her she suddenly found herself completely blind.


    This¡­ was not good.


    Crap. Okay, what did she know about fighting blind?


    Nothing. Excellent. Okay, she presumably only had a couple seconds before he attacked her again. What else could she do? Flail wildly? No, he was too skilled for that to work and likely had some way of seeing through his own smoke if he were doing this. She¡¯d need to learn how to do that later, if only because it would be really cool if she could pull this off against someone else.


    Damnit, nothing else was coming to mind! All of her normal tricks involved setting someone on fire, something he was immune to! If it were night she might have been able to use the stars to divine her way through this, but¡ª


    Wait. Could she¡­?


    She had a spell that let her see the stars. She wasn¡¯t all that great at it yet, but it was meant to help her study the cosmos no matter when or where she was. But would it actually work with her divination?


    Screw it, she didn¡¯t have the time to waste thinking on this. Clenching her jaw she forced herself to calm down, focusing on her eyes. It was hard, and maybe it was just the fact she was panicking but it felt like it was taking way longer than normal.


    But then it happened. Stellar dust ignited in her irises as the cosmos bloomed into full view before her mortal eyes. The darkness seemed thinner than normal, as grey ghosts stared back between flickering stars. In the distance she felt more than saw something big and angry pulse, like the soul of a dead god raging in silence against all who came near.


    All of this she ignored, because she could only focus on one thing.


    It didn¡¯t work.


    Shit.


    That¡¯s right, she needed to see both the stars and the smoke for it to work properly. How could she have forgotten¡ª!


    Then an idea crossed her mind. Did she need to use both of her eyes to see the stars?


    She didn¡¯t have time to consider it further. Without hesitation she dropped the spell in her left eye while keeping it active in her right. The now inactive eye throbbed at the sudden absence and she felt herself going cross-eyed as the two wildly different sights blurred together.


    But that didn¡¯t matter, because the stars and the smoke began to move.


    The excruciating pain in her eyes didn¡¯t let up, but a wide, unhinged grin stretched across her face as a prophecy wrote itself in the stars just for her.


    It was a prophecy of her getting punched in the face.


    She got punched in the face.


    Palmira swore as her head was knocked back, her cheek igniting with pain from the blow. She flailed wildly with Malocchio in the hopes of forcing the man back as metaphorical stars joined the literal ones in her vision. She nearly dropped the spell from the pain and shock, but she just barely managed to hold on.


    Which was good, because it meant she was able to see her opponent run around her flailing mace, attempting to take out her knees from behind.


    If her previous understanding of the spell was right, she only had a couple seconds before the prophecy caught up to the present. Which meant she needed to move, now.


    Palmira ran forward, changing her flailing from in front of her to behind her. She saw a rough silhouette she was pretty sure was the real him stumble away from her, though with how messed up her vision was right now she couldn¡¯t be sure. Instead she focused on her spells, using them to keep one step ahead.


    He seemed to be focused on trying to get behind her. After a few dodges she realized he thought she was just seeing through the smoke, not seeing the future, because he kept firmly to her blind spot no matter what. Not that it was helping him that much. Every few seconds the stars would show him sneaking up on her before she caught him, which instantly shifted her prediction as he reacted to her reaction.


    It was disorienting how often the lights shifted, only holding shape for a second before changing again. Simply knowing the future caused it to instantly change as her reactions to his reactions to her reactions rewove the tapestry of fate every few seconds.


    This wasn¡¯t getting them anywhere.


    He couldn¡¯t hit her because she could see the future but she couldn¡¯t see far enough to truly counter him. Her own foresight was messing with her ability to fight. She could see exactly what he was going to do but the second she tried to stop him he was no longer going to do that.


    It was maddening in a way. She suddenly understood why so many old stories were filled with insane oracles, because if she had to deal with this all the time she would definitely go crazy.


    Though it wasn¡¯t the instant win she was hoping for her foresight was the only thing keeping her in the match. She¡¯d need to do the rest on her own then.


    She considered what she knew of him in the brief moments between their clashes. He didn¡¯t have a weapon and he kept closing the distance so he was probably a grappler, but one of his feet were broken so he was favoring his left¡ªno his right! That was her left¡ªside. Could she try and do something about that? But she wasn¡¯t able to fight him directly¡­If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    Palmira glanced down at her mace. Specifically, the twin tails he had wrapped around her arm.


    ¡°Malocchio,¡± she whispered between gasps of breath. ¡°How long can you make your tails?¡±


    ¡®Consideration. As long as Our previous attempt to immobilize our Enemy. They are connected to the same place.¡¯


    She assumed, but it was good to have that confirmed. ¡°Send your tails down to the ground. When he gets close, try and hit his bad foot.¡±


    ¡®Understood.¡¯


    The tails then extended further up her arm, snaking beneath her armor and down her legs. She grimaced at the uncomfortable feeling, but she ignored it in favor of her visions. Her opponent was coming in for another attack, and this time she was planning to let him get close.


    She waited until the last second, until he was right on top of her. Then with mere inches to spare she barely ducked under his punch. As she did she felt Malocchio¡¯s tails strain against her leg, and there was a confused shout of pain somewhere in front of her.


    She saw what was going to happen before it did. Rather than stab his foot like she¡¯d expected, Malocchio had instead tied up his bad leg and yanked, causing the man to fall on his ass. He¡¯d be stuck there for a few seconds, trying to free himself from Malocchio¡¯s living tails. Then she¡¯d kick him in the head.


    Palmira waited patiently for him to fall, waited for him to busy his hands with trying to free himself, and then walked over and kicked him in the head.


    As he was reeling from that she stomped as hard as she could on his shoulder and pushed her mace against his cheek. Not hard enough to draw blood, but enough for him to know she definitely could have if she¡¯d wanted to.


    He froze, before letting out a tired sigh.


    ¡°Fine,¡± he grumbled. The smoke enveloping them began to thin, slowing allowing her to see again. ¡°You win, you violent little brat.¡±


    ¡°You punched me in the face,¡± she shot back, her heart racing. The victory barely felt real. ¡°You don¡¯t have any room to talk.¡±


    ¡°Heh, no, I suppose I don¡¯t.¡±


    As the smoke finally cleared and the rest of the arena was able to see what was going on, the referee finally called the match. Grinning, Palmira slowly let the spells leave her eye, pleased with herself despite how much if felt like her pupils were trying to murder her brain.


    She let the man up, deciding to be a good sport and offer her hand. From what she could see the right side of his body was pretty bruised, though once he was untangled he was able to get back to his feet with only a little help.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe I lost to a kid again,¡± he grumbled, gingerly poking his shoulder. ¡°Ah, well, good fight. Make sure you beat the next couple guys, yeah? I¡¯ll be pissed if I¡¯m the only one to lose to you today.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± she blinked heavily, focusing and unfocusing her eyes. Something she could only see with her right eye was waving at her. ¡°If they¡¯re all as weak as you it¡¯ll be a breeze.¡±


    ¡°Hah! Don¡¯t get too cocky kid,¡± he scoffed, smirking down at her. ¡°You¡¯ve still got some growing to do before you can make boasts like that.¡±


    They fell into a somewhat comfortable silence as they waited for the healers to approach. With the adrenaline draining from her system she felt any anger she¡¯d felt at the man go with it. Or maybe it was just the pain in her eyes overshadowing everything else.


    ¡°¡­Hey, I do have a question though.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you try and wrestle control of the fire from me? I was waiting for it the whole time but you just never did anything about it.¡±


    Palmira stared at him through her throbbing eyes.


    Damnit, why did she think of that?


    -<X>-


    ¡°You did well.¡±


    Palmira jumped at Morte¡¯s sudden words. She hadn¡¯t expected to hear from him again until she finally lost. With a shrug of her shoulders she pulled the staff off her back so she could properly look him in the face.


    ¡°No thanks to you,¡± she scoffed without any heat. Her next opponent was taking a while to get here¡ªdue in part the fact the Rodina still used the stairs¡ªbut that just gave her time to calm back down.


    ¡°I¡¯m aware, and impressed! I thought for sure you were going to lose.¡±


    ¡°What!? You were betting against me? What kind of teacher doesn¡¯t believe in their student?¡±


    ¡°An incredible one,¡± his empty sockets seemed to faintly glow with mirth. ¡°After all, I taught you everything you know~¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t steal credit, you bastard,¡± she rolled her eyes, noting that her next opponent seemed to have finally arrived. ¡°You taught me a quarter of what I know, at best.¡±


    ¡°A quarter!? At least say half, a quarter is far too little!¡±


    ¡®Disagreement. A quarter is too high. One eighth is more accurate.¡¯


    ¡°Gah! Attacked on all fronts, is this how kids these days treat their elders?¡±


    ¡°Nope, just you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re killing me Palmira. Look at your old teacher, you¡¯re killing him. I¡¯m skin and bones, without the skin! Is this what you wanted?¡±


    ¡°Oh no~¡± she droned. ¡°I can¡¯t believe my teacher is dead. Now who will keep me up at night with pointless rants about long dead historical figures?


    ¡°Hey! They aren¡¯t pointless! I know you love my lectures!¡±


    ¡°Such a shame. Sometimes, it¡¯s like I can still hear his voice.¡±


    Any further banter was cut off as her new opponent finally arrived. She locked eyes with him, evaluating the man she¡¯d be fighting¡ª


    Wait. She knew him!


    ¡°You¡¯re that guy!¡± she blurted out, pointing at him in shock. Unfortunately she didn¡¯t have a free hand, so she ended up hefting Malocchio at him on accident. He raised an eyebrow back at her, confused. ¡°The one with the talking spear!¡±


    Whatever he¡¯d been expecting her to say, it clearly wasn¡¯t that.


    ¡°What? How did you¡ªI mean, my spear doesn¡¯t talk!¡± he spluttered back, thoroughly caught off guard. His hand moved to grab the polearm on his back on instinct. ¡°Why would you say that?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t try and lie, you just admitted to it!¡± she snapped back, more animated than she really should have been. But this had been eating at her for days and she needed this to finally get resolved. ¡°How do you have a talking spear? Did Tintinnia make it for you?¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    Palmira squinted at him as though that would somehow convince him to talk. She looked him up and down, memorizing his appearance as best as she was able. As she¡¯d noticed a few days ago he was an unfortunately very pretty half-elf, with dark curly hair which fell to his shoulders. His black leather armor contrasted sharply with his alabaster skin, which was a shade somewhere just above Johanna¡¯s. His dark eyes stared back at her warily, narrowed beneath thin eyebrows.


    ¡°I know I heard it,¡± she told him slowly, locking eyes. ¡°It was back at the market. She¡­ uh, she said something. I don¡¯t remember. But I do remember her voice! A woman was definitely talking!¡±


    He looked like he was going to continue to deny it, only for someone else to cut him off.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine, dear. You can let her know, she doesn¡¯t mean any harm.¡±


    The voice was soft yet firm, a gentle brush against her mind compared to Morte¡¯s imposing presence. It was like a whisper on the wind, as fleeting as a song yet equally unforgettable. It was almost¡­ familiar.


    She¡¯d heard it before. Knew it from somewhere other than that one day in the piazza. But where?


    The man across from her grimaced. Then he sighed, and without anymore hesitation pulled the spear from its spot on his back, holding it up between them.


    Simply calling it a ¡®spear¡¯ was an insult to its beauty. The weapon was a work of art, an ethereal and almost timeless quality exuding from its mere presence in a way that no mortal weapon could ever hope to match. The shaft was a bleached bone-white, painted from top to bottom with vines of red, blue, green, gold, and silver which poured down its entire six feet of length. Attached at its end was a spearhead of what looked to be pure silver, held in place by a pristine skeletal hand.


    ¡°¡­Goddess above, is that really you?¡±


    Palmira blinked. That wasn¡¯t the woman. That was Morte.


    ¡°Is that¡­?¡± the woman whispered, shock and horror painting her voice. ¡°¡­Oh, my dear friend, what have they done to you?¡±


    ¡°Nothing I probably didn¡¯t deserve, even if I¡¯d rather it have never happened.¡±


    ¡°Morte¡­?¡± Palmira glanced down at her staff. ¡°Do you know this woman¡ªuh, this spear?¡±


    ¡°Indeed I do, though its been so long I didn¡¯t recognize her. I suppose you could say we were colleagues, once upon a time.¡±


    ¡°Colleagues, huh?¡± the woman bounced back admirably, masking her mournful tone with schadenfreude ¡°Is that what they call it these days?¡±


    ¡°Wha¡ªDon¡¯t say it like that, you¡¯ll give her the wrong idea!¡±


    ¡°Oh, are you saying you didn¡¯t use me like a tool? That you didn¡¯t spend all of your free time running your fingers up and down my body, covering me in fluids¡ª¡±


    ¡°Gah, stop, stop! Fighting, she¡¯s talking about stabbing people to death! Why are you always like this¡­?¡±


    ¡°What is going on?¡± the half-elf muttered in confusion.


    ¡°This is amazing,¡± Palmira murmured, awed at someone turning Morte¡¯s own Morte-ness back on him.


    Unfortunately, any more conversation was cut off as the referee suddenly reminded them that they were still in the middle of a tournament.


    ¡°We shall now begin the next battle! On the red side, Johan of the Ambrosia Famiglia¡¯s Rodina Guild! And on the white side, Palmira of the Firozzi Famiglia¡¯s Rosa Dominae Guild! The battle will continue either until one of them is unconscious, surrenders, or I personally call the match!¡±


    Ah, so Johan was his name, neat.


    ¡­She probably should have asked that before, now that she thought of it.


    ¡°¡­So, Morte, huh?¡± the woman¡¯s voice murmured slyly as the two living members got into a ready stance. ¡°Is that what you¡¯re calling yourself now?¡±


    Palmira blinked. ¡°Wait, is Morte not your name?¡±


    She let out a scandalized gasp. ¡°Lying to the girl? For shame! And with such a low effort pseudonym to boot.¡±


    ¡°At least he gave her something to call him. It. Whatever they are,¡± Johan grumbled, scowling down at his spear. ¡°You still haven¡¯t given me anything to call you.¡±


    ¡°READY!¡±


    ¡°Hah! You¡¯re just as much a hypocrite as ever! Calling me out for half-assing something you didn¡¯t even attempt, are you?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because you aren¡¯t ready to know my name yet, Johan,¡± she consoled him gently. ¡°Though you¡¯ve wielded me quite a while without dying, so I suppose you at least deserve something to call me by. Hm¡­ I know! How about Vita, that¡¯s quite the lively name, don¡¯t you agree?¡±


    ¡°What!?¡± Morte yelped at the newly christened Vita. ¡°Hey, you can¡¯t just steal my ideas like that! Palmira, tell her she can¡¯t do that!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s nice to meet you Vita,¡± Palmira nodded politely at her. ¡°I¡¯m going to be beating up your wielder now though, I hope you don¡¯t mind.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll try dear, you¡¯ll try~¡±


    ¡°BEGIN!¡±


    ¡°Finally,¡± Johan muttered under his breath.


    Then he was a upon her, the silver spearhead aimed directly at her shoulder. She let out a yelp as she barely spun out of the way in time, remembering at the last second to reignite the flames around her feet. Ducking low she sped forward, aiming a swing of Malocchio at his shins. He managed to jump out of the way though, before bringing the blunt shaft of Vita down on her back in a thunderous blow.


    Palmira yowled at the sudden pain that sparked up her spine, a wisp of flame accidently shooting out her mouth. Stumbling forward she growled, before suddenly remembering that the guy she was currently facing wasn¡¯t immune to fire.


    Raising Morte instead, she pointed it at her opponent and ignited his skull.


    His skull remained stubbornly unignited.


    ¡°What!?¡± Palmira yelped, confused. She didn¡¯t have much time to worry on that though, as her opponent was already charging her again. She tried to dodge but overestimated her own speed, getting clipped in the side instead. She glanced down and realized with horror that her feet also weren¡¯t on fire, meaning she wasn¡¯t even getting her normal speed boost. ¡°What¡¯s happening!?¡±


    ¡°Anti-magic!?¡± Morte shouted, for some reason sounding offended. ¡°That¡¯s bullshit! I thought that was a lost art!?¡±


    ¡°Have you forgotten just who you¡¯re fighting, my dear?¡± Vita chuckled slyly. ¡°Besides, you¡¯re one to talk. Unless you haven¡¯t been teaching your own wielder forbidden magics?¡±


    Her staff spluttered as she continued barely staving off certain defeat. She was completely on the defensive at this point, unable to do much more than dodge or parry. His spear simply gave him too much range and he wasn¡¯t leaving her enough time to use Malochhio¡¯s own range without risking injury.


    Or maybe she was just thrown off by her lack of magic. She¡¯d had her fire as long as she could remember. Even against the other fire mage it was still there. But now she felt almost hollow, a weakness throughout the whole of her body that she could never before remember feeling.


    It was awful. No, more than that, it was terrifying.


    He stabbed at her again, and she dodged, only to realize too late that it had been a feint. Unbalanced, she could only watch as Vita came hurtling towards her, unable to do anything to stop it.


    ¡°Alright, no, enough of this!¡±


    A ghostly hand caught the spear.


    Both Palmira and Johan froze in shock, neither having expected that. Or maybe it was the fact that the hand wasn¡¯t connected to a body.


    A ghostly arm extended from the top of Morte¡¯s skull, tightly gripping Vita¡¯s spear just beneath her own skeletal wrist.


    ¡°You can do that!?¡± Both Palmira and Vita shouted at once.


    ¡°Normally, no!¡± Morte replied cheerily. ¡°But this is a special week, and I happen to have a master¡¯s understanding of necromancy. So for today and today only, I¡¯m going to lend Palmira a hand!¡±


    ¡®Query. You stated earlier You would not help Our Lady in these trials. And yet now You decide to assist?¡¯


    ¡°That was then and this is now!¡± he shot back. ¡°If they get to cheat we can cheat too!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not cheating you ass,¡± Vita grumbled, though without much heat. ¡°Fine, I¡¯ll allow it if you teach me how to do that later.¡±


    ¡°No promises~¡±


    Johan simply stared at the collection of living weapons before him, brows furrowed. ¡°This isn¡¯t how I¡¯d though this was going to go.¡±


    ¡°It rarely is,¡± Palmira consoled him, before attacking.


    With his spear held in place he was unable to block or dodge, so with a roar she awkwardly stepped around his spear and swung Malocchio at his open hip.


    Unfortunately while he was nominally disarmed he was not dislegged, and while she was distracted attacking he kicked her in the sternum, knocking her away.


    She gasped in pain as she was launched back, falling and dragging Morte with her. His ghostly hand lost consistency, letting Johan free his spear. He went to stab her while she was down, but though she and Morte were disoriented Malocchio wasn¡¯t.


    The head of her mace fired itself up at him, forcing him back lest he risk getting brained. It gave her enough time to get back to her feet as his head continued harassing the half-elf, trying to tie up his arms like they¡¯d done to the previous fire mage¡¯s legs.


    But Johan was either more skilled or simply had the advantage of a living weapon of his own and was easily able to keep himself from getting bound. Then, as Malocchio overextended he swung his spear, the shimmering spearhead slicing almost completely through the cord attaching the head to the shaft.


    There was a near-debilitating throb in her skull. Within seconds Malocchio had recalled his head, returning to his normal mace form.


    Or at least¡­ mostly. His head was at a weird angle and one of his eyes seemed stuck half-open.


    ¡°Malocchio?¡± she hissed, putting more distance between her and her opponent. She tried to light another fire, but only got a few sputtering sparks for her trouble. ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    ¡®Query. Negative. Concern. We are fine.¡¯


    ¡°Shit,¡± she muttered. ¡°I need to get you back to Tintinnia.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s quite the weapon you¡¯ve got there,¡± Johan called out to her. They were circling each other slowly from a distance, waiting to see who would make the first strike. ¡°My spear¡ªuh, that is, Vita¡ªtells me it looks new, unlike your staff. Though seeing that staff, and how our weapons seem to know each other so well, I have to ask¡­ were you chosen too?¡±


    Palmira blinked. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Vita came to me in my darkest hour and showed me the path to the light,¡± he continued as if he hadn¡¯t heard her. He might not have, they were pretty far away from each other now. ¡°I may have been born cursed, but with a holy weapon like her at my side, I can see the path to redemption, however murky it may be. For the longest time I thought it was my burden alone to bear, but if there¡¯s more people like me, like us out there in the world¡­¡±


    ¡°Um, look,¡± she cut him off awkwardly. ¡°This sounds deep and all, but I wasn¡¯t, uh, ¡®chosen.¡¯ I found Morte on sale at the back of a weapons shop. I didn¡¯t do¡­ whatever it is you think I did.¡±


    Vita cackled in the half-elf¡¯s hands.


    Her words seemed to throw him off whatever speech he was building up to. ¡°¡­Oh. But, its fate, wouldn¡¯t you say? That you found such a powerful relic that day?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m actually pretty anti-fate,¡± she informed him apologetically. ¡°The magic I¡¯m learning kind of requires that, sorry.¡±


    ¡°¡­Ah.¡±


    It seemed with that answer he decided to stop talking. Rather, he charged forward instead, a frustrated frown on his lips. His still laughing spear stabbed at her, but this time she was ready. Rather than duck or dodge she brough Morte in front of her and was vindicated to see two ghostly arms launch themselves from his skull to grab at the spear.


    The half-elf pulled back in time to avoid the grasping hands, but they did their job in stopping his attack. Once more trying to step into his guard she brought her mace up, only for him to spin the spear on the spot and wack her knee with the blunt end. It hurt and nearly made her lose her balance, but she managed to take another painful step forward.


    Johan was a skilled fighter, good enough to dodge not only her swing with the mace but also both of Morte¡¯s arms at the same time.


    He was not, however, able to dodge the ghostly foot that followed.


    Johan swore as Morte kicked him in the face, stumbling back and for once ceding her the initiative. She grinned savagely, darting forward and finally getting a hit in with Malocchio, clipping his closest elbow with an awkward swing. He managed to avoid the worst of it, though from the way his eyes bulged out in pain it certainly hurt.


    That seemed to somehow help him refocus though, as with a roar he shoved her away, making space between them again. He flexed the fingers on the arm she hit, grimacing.


    ¡°You¡¯re better than I thought,¡± he begrudgingly admitted. ¡°Most of the time, when I subdue a mage¡¯s magic they don¡¯t know what to do without it. You¡¯re the first I¡¯ve met to put up a proper fight.¡±


    Palmira thought back to all the mages in her own guild and wondered if the guy in front of her was perhaps a little bit sheltered. Come to think of it, hadn¡¯t she called him an idiot when they first met?


    ¡°I think you need to fight more mages,¡± she told him.


    ¡°What?¡±


    Palmira ignored him, instead getting ready for their next clash. She could still fight, though her injuries were starting to mount up. She¡¯d probably lose the next match if this kept up, but that wasn¡¯t as important as winning this one. As she prepared herself the air began to flicker and shimmer between them, the heat of her flames distorting the¡ª


    Wait. She couldn¡¯t use her fire right now. Why was the air distorting like that?


    She paused, lowering her weapons. ¡°Uh, hey, are you doing that?¡±


    The half-elf frowned in confusion. ¡°No, I¡¯m not. That looked a bit like what Raum does, though. But why in the world would he be¡ªshit!¡±


    The world around them expanded. Then it contracted and spun and twisted into a pretzel and¡ª


    Then space itself seemed to explode, and everything went to hell.

 Interlude XVI - Space and Time

    Interlude XVI ¨C Space and Time


    Raum


    An elven mage of unparalleled power loomed over the coliseum. His hands spread wide, he conducted the invisible song which allowed this sacred tournament to thrive. To his left and to his right tens of thousands of men and women of every race and class packed themselves into the enlarged stands, a number only possible through his own delicate craft. As he inhaled, the space between each individual expanded, and with each exhale it contracted. In the dirt far beneath them all two mages fought, the crowds above only protected by the inches he stretched into miles. A spectacle only possible thanks to him and him alone.


    It was an intoxicating amount of power. Something that any lesser elf might have lost himself to.


    Luckily, Raum von Weldtraumstadt was an incredibly humble elf.


    ¡°We¡¯re getting destroyed down there.¡±


    Now if only his fellows would allow him to work in peace.


    Raum glanced idly at the woman lounging next to him. Elia, if he remembered correctly. Joined the guild some ten years ago and made a name for herself fighting the Woman-Serpent down in Riposa. She hadn¡¯t done much since, though he was aware he wasn¡¯t in a position to judge.


    ¡°Indeed we are,¡± he hummed, understanding her annoyance. If she¡¯d gone down she could have defeated the girl in an instant. ¡°But we aren¡¯t at risk of losing. The guildmaster¡¯s plan will make certain of that.¡±


    ¡°¡¯The guildmaster¡¯s plan,¡¯¡± she scoffed, rolling her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m not worried about us winning. I¡¯m worried about being able to show my face down at the local bar in the coming months without someone talking about how we lost half our number to some damn upstarts!¡±


    Raum simply shrugged. Though he was still technically a part of the guild, these days he was more of a contractor than a real member. Whatever consequences would come of this day weren¡¯t his problem.


    Even if he privately agreed with her. Their new guildmaster was¡­ fine. He was fine. So long as he wasn¡¯t put in charge of anything which required strategy, or combat, or thinking¡­


    Well, perhaps that was a bit harsh. The man was a politician, same as their last one before he left to sit on the Signora. That the new one spent most of his time rubbing elbows with the other administrators and guilds within the Famiglia was only to be expected. It was how he¡¯d made it this far, and how he¡¯d make it further still.


    The issue was that the man was far too used to thinking as a politician rather than the military captain he currently was. Under normal circumstances this wouldn¡¯t be an issue, since he had a legion of advisors and allies who worked to keep their bloated guild running smoothly. He even listened to them half the time, which was a marked improvement over the last one!


    But today those competent men and women were not here. Only the guildmaster, an untested and panicking politician who only half understood the mess he was creating.


    Granted, even Raum had been surprised that Zeitn had been knocked out so quickly. Lightning, who would have thought?


    But that loss drastically changed the trajectory of their plans for the tournament. They¡¯d been aware of the plot the upstart ¡®Firozzi¡¯ Famiglia had been brewing¡ªobviously, they were corrupt not stupid¡ªbut they hadn¡¯t considered them a true threat. After all, what were even a dozen lesser Famiglia to the great Rodina Adventurer¡¯s Guild?


    Dangerous, apparently.


    It burned at him to consider them so, but after today there was no other choice. Only ten adventurers in and yet they were chewing through what should have been their equals like a pack of nymphs through a fat deer.


    Seeing this, the guildmaster had come up with a simple¡ªif controversial¡ªplan. Rather than send out their strongest adventurers to fight and potentially lose against the powerful upstart guild, they¡¯d send out their low-to-mid-strength adventurers and wear them down through attrition. That would give their best easier victories to more than make up for the losses suffered against the Firozzi.


    In theory, his plan was sound. In practice, the humiliation they were currently suffering would likely offset any potential gain from victory.


    ¡°It¡¯s certainly turning into quite the problem,¡± Raum hummed lightly, shrugging his shoulders. ¡°Good luck sorting it out!¡±


    ¡°Bastard,¡± she groaned without any heat. ¡°Goddess above, why don¡¯t you go talk some sense into the guildmaster? He¡¯d listen to you.¡±


    No, he wouldn¡¯t. He thought Raum a threat to his faction in the guild. He was right, of course, which was also why the elf didn¡¯t bother correcting this misplay. ¡°I doubt that. And besides, don¡¯t you know how hard this is?¡± he slumped against the railing dramatically. ¡°Why, if I look away for a moment I could¡ªshit.¡±


    Elia gave him a look. ¡°What just happened? Why did you say that?¡±


    ¡°Nothing happened!¡± he chuckled, hiding his racing heart behind a bit of poorly timed humor. ¡°Nothing at all! Just wanted to give you a bit of a scare, that¡¯s it. Everything¡¯s fine.¡±


    ¡°¡­If you say so. Just don¡¯t break anything while we¡¯re inside the arena, will you?¡± She didn¡¯t look convinced, but she let it slide. Which was good, because he really didn¡¯t want to reveal the stupid mistake he¡¯d nearly made, one only possible due to the boy currently fighting.


    Johan¡¯s magic¡ªor, well, his ¡®Anti-Magic¡¯¡ªwas quite dangerous, but easy enough to avoid if you knew what you were doing. And it was something he¡¯d made sure he knew how to counter, even going so far as to mentor the boy himself!


    Well, him and a dozen others in the guild. ¡®Anti-magic¡¯ was a lost art after all, and getting to study it could be a once in a lifetime opportunity. Even if it was in the hands of a newbie with a hero-complex.


    But he digressed. Once he knew the ¡®magic¡¯s¡¯ weaknesses dealing with the anti-magic field was easy enough. The field was projected in an invisible bubble around Johan¡¯s body, one which he could only extend so far. So as long as he kept a good buffer between the warped space and the boy¡¯s maximum range his own spells would be unaffected.


    And like an idiot in his poor attempt at a joke he¡¯d nearly sent his own magic straight into that anti-magic field.


    He was lucky Elia was a meathead. If anyone competent had noticed he¡¯d simply die of shame.


    Calming his racing heart Raum turned his focus back to the arena, making certain everything was working correctly and that he wasn¡¯t about to accidentally twist anyone into a pretzel. Keeping track of the whole coliseum was precise work, but he had over a century of experience running such events. Beyond his minor slipup everything else was working smoothly.


    Letting out a quiet sigh of relief, he took a moment to glance back down at the arena. The newbie was fighting the Dominae girl, who from his limited knowledge of the guild was fairly new herself. It was, on paper, an even matchup.


    Idly, he wondered if she¡¯d been in Iscrimo with her guild when the recent political mess had gone down. He dismissed the thought, though. Even such an upstart guild wouldn¡¯t bring such young blood with them to court unstable foreign powers like Iscrimo. Lady Johanna of the Winter Crusade was more likely¡ª


    Wait, no. No, she¡¯d be much worse to bring along.


    Raum hummed, amusing himself for a moment imagining that slovenly elf freezing over the volcano those pompous bastards so loved to harp on about.


    In the midst of doing so he noticed someone approaching. Tilting his head, he raised an eyebrow as Zeitn reentered their private section. The elf looked exhausted, though he seemed to have already been fully healed of his injuries.


    Such wasn¡¯t surprising, considering the skill of the healers their guild had access to. What was more curious was that he decided to come back up rather than rest. Good healers or no, electrical burn scars weren¡¯t the kind of thing someone just walked off.


    ¡°Huh?¡± Elia followed his stare, perking up as she noticed who he was looking at. ¡°Oh, hey, Zeitn! Back already?¡±


    No no, please don¡¯t call him over. Things had been awkward enough this past decade without the two of them having to speak face to face. Especially now that he¡¯d started wearing that awful mask. Really, with all the black he was wearing he looked like some Iscrimo noble! Did he have to waste his beautiful complexion on such an awful wardrobe!?


    Where was he? Ah, yes, Zeitn. And he was coming over. Shit.


    ¡°You really got your ass kicked down there, huh?¡± the woman laughed, her crude joke momentarily distracting the other elf. Which was excellent, truly, since it meant they weren¡¯t looking at him. ¡°You and that dwarf got beef or something?¡±


    Zeitn stared at her.


    He continued to stare at her.


    He continued staring to the point even Raum was starting to feel bad for the meathead.


    Then, slowly, he turned his head to look at¡ªGoddess damnit man, look somewhere else!


    ¡°Ah, Zeitn,¡± Raum smiled pleasantly. ¡°It¡¯s always a pleasure to see you again. Have you been doing well?¡±


    Obviously not, he was painfully thin and clearly exhausted. He¡¯d also been using his magic too much recently, if the extra wrinkles beneath his eyes were any indication. Elf looked like he¡¯d aged half a century since he last saw him a year ago.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Raum waited politely for Zeitn to reply, only for his smile to grow ever so slightly strained as he continued to remain silent.


    Zeitn¡¯s eyes locked onto his. There was¡­ quite the mix of emotions burning in them. Anger, glee¡­ remorse?


    What in the world was going on¡ª?


    ¡°Guh¡ª!¡± Raum gasped, his hands rushing up to his chest. Blood pooled against his fingers as he grasped Zeitn¡¯s dagger, the wicked blade pierced straight through his heart. ¡°¡ªWhat¡ªwhy¡ªZeitn¡ª!?¡±


    The elf tore the blade straight from his chest. Everyone around them jumped to their feet in shock, Elia herself lunging at Zeitn to restrain him¡ª


    She fell back, hands rushing to where a second bloody smile had been carved across her throat. Her eyes bulged in agony as she choked on her own blood.


    Screams and shouts erupted from their part of the stands. Other adventurers around him¡ªmany of them powerful in their own right¡ªalso attempted to subdue the elf¡ª


    But the time-mage was already gone, blurring away to another part of the stands and leaving him to his painful death. The bastard.


    Someone was trying to help him, Raum blearily realized. People were surrounding him, trying to stem the flow of blood, trying to save him after Zeitn yet again destroyed his heart.


    Raum tried to laugh, though all that came out was a wet cough.


    No. No, no, no, he shouldn¡¯t be thinking like that. The shock was subsiding and now only terror replaced it. He was probably going to die here. No, he was going to die. Him, Raum, the only person keeping this arena from reverting back to its original shape and splattering everyone against each other in a non-Euclidean mess was about to die.


    He needed to focus. He couldn¡¯t afford to think of anything else. He tried to speak to warn them, to tell them to flee, though nothing but a wheeze reached his lips.


    Okay, fine. Fine. He had only minutes, perhaps even seconds, but that was enough. It had to be enough. He shut out the noise and the chaos, focusing inward on his own heart, on his own blood. He knew a little bit about biology. Not as much as a healer, but enough to keep himself alive. Maybe. Hopefully.


    Gently, delicately, metaphorical fingers grasped his own veins. A dozen more reached out to grasp the space between those thin red lines, crafting tunnels to allow blood to once more flow properly. It did nothing for what he had already lost, and he wasn¡¯t sure how much time it would buy him, but every second counted. Wrapping his own heart in a cocoon of eternity he then began to force it back into place, his sight blurring as he barely managed to keep the ruined organ together. It worked, if only just, and the relief he felt at that moment was unrivaled.


    Still, he couldn¡¯t help but feel he was forgetting something¡­


    Then he felt it. The spells he¡¯d cast over the arena, the faint threads of warped mass he¡¯d woven across the coliseum. He¡¯d stopped consciously maintaining them as he worked, knowing they¡¯d hold well enough so long as he lived. In any other time, with any other competitors, it would have been fine.


    But currently, in the center of his web of magic, the bubble of an anti-magic field gently caressed the edges of his grand spell.


    Ah, Zeitn, you always knew the best time to strike.


    Resigned terror was the only thing he could feel as everything around them unraveled.


    -<X>-


    Johan


    It started with the screaming.


    Well, that wasn¡¯t very specific. There were many people screaming¡ªthis was a tournament after all¡ªbut those screams were of a different ilk. The roaring of a crowd was not the same as a cry of despair.


    And Johan had an unfortunate amount of experience hearing the latter.


    He didn¡¯t get much time to dwell on such, however, as the space between himself and his opponent began to shimmer.


    Both him and the girl¡ªPalmira was her name¡ªstared at it in confusion. Neither of them knew why it was there, and neither of them were sure what it was.


    He only managed to connected the dots a moment later, and by that point it was too late.


    The space between him and Palmira expanded infinitely. Johan suddenly found himself alone in an endless desert, each grain of dust as thin as a pinprick and as long as a dragon. Then, in the next moment, they were beside each other again, and more of instinct than anything else did he manage to grab her arm before she was splattered against the wall that was suddenly behind him.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on!?¡± she yelped, her voice warbling and crackling from the distorted space between them. ¡°Are you doing this!?¡±


    ¡°How the hell would I do this?¡± he snapped back, grimacing as he pulled her closer. ¡°And I don¡¯t know, something must have happened to Raum! If we can find a way up to him, maybe we can fix¡­ whatever this is!¡±


    He clenched his divine spear tighter in worry. If something had happened to his mentor¡ª!


    Not that it would be easy. It was impossible to see outside the protection of his anti-magic field, a kaleidoscope of colors painting the barrier as everything beyond was stretched in ways no mortal mind was capable of comprehending.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on up there?¡± Palmira whispered, her voice quieter than he¡¯d expected her capable of from the five minutes he¡¯d known her. ¡°Is¡­ could anyone survive that?¡±


    ¡°They should be fine,¡± he reassured her, even if he had no idea himself. But a Hero had to always be brave, and he wasn¡¯t about to let his divine spear¡ªVita¡ªdown by acting cravenly now.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± said spear hummed, seemingly unconcerned. ¡°I don¡¯t think the sky¡¯s supposed to have that much red in it.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m saying this,¡± Palmira¡¯s staff dubiously countered. ¡°But you shouldn¡¯t listen to her. Reality is subjective, and we¡¯re currently staring into a warped mirror from the eye of a hurricane. They probably aren¡¯t dead. More likely just having a very bad time.¡±


    Palmira¡¯s hand tightened against his shoulder. ¡°I swear, if you Rodina bastards just killed all my friends I am going to set you on fire, ¡®anti-magic¡¯ or no.¡±


    That was unlikely. No magic had ever managed to pass through his barrier. Though he was smart enough not to say that out loud. At least not this time.


    ¡°We need to move,¡± he told her instead. ¡°Like I said before, Raum must know what¡¯s going on. If we can get to him he should be able to fix this!¡±


    ¡°And if he did this on purpose we can cave his kneecaps in!¡± the staff agreed cheerfully.


    Johan considered arguing, before deciding it wasn¡¯t worth the effort. Instead he pulled the other girl as close as he could¡ªbeing mindful not to put his hands anywhere indecent¡ªand took a small step forward.


    This turned out to be a mistake.


    See, Johan had forgotten a fundamental difference between what his barrier normally did and what was currently going on. Before he stepped forward reality had been stretched taut like a thin strip of rubber, held in its unnatural shape only by the will of the mage controlling it. This meant that the space around them was currently in an ¡®unnatural¡¯ state.


    And his anti-magic barrier returned the world to its ¡®natural¡¯ state.


    He took a step forward, and what he had once thought was a safe haven turned out to have been more like a small bubble of safety which had miraculously survived the collapsing building above it. A bubble he then unknowingly ¡®popped.¡¯


    Reality broke again. Stretched and condensed and twisted, he and Palmira found themselves everywhere and nowhere at once. Up and down, left and right, apart and together, They were every direction at once and then in some liminal space between. The stone walls of the arena confined them, their bones creaking in protest, only to then be suddenly alone, his eyes unable to comprehend the endlessness he was witnessing. There was laughter and screaming, faces he both recognized and didn¡¯t flashing past, a kaleidoscope of relentless colors blinding him as they tore at his flesh¡ª


    Then suddenly it was over. Reality was normal again. This was good.


    What was less good was the fact they were now several hundred feet in the air.


    Palmira was staring at him from where she was pressed against his chest. Her brown eyes were wide with terror, her lips moving as though she were trying to tell him something only for the roaring wind to steal the words away.


    ¡°¡ªurn i¡ªff!¡±


    ¡°What!?¡± he shouted back, just barely able to hear his own voice. ¡°What did you say!?¡±


    ¡°Tur¡ªoff!¡±


    Tur¡­ turn it off? Turn what off, his¡ªhis anti-magic barrier, right!¡±


    He shut off the field and instantly flames ignited across her body. He winced at the sudden heat, being made all the worse by her proximity, though she kept the worst of it away from his body. Instead she let go of him, and he had to scramble to keep a hold of her as she thrust her hands out beneath them.


    There was a much greater burst of heat and the roaring of fire behind his back. It was even more painful, though he realized a moment later they¡¯d somehow begun to slow down!


    Not enough, though perhaps that hadn¡¯t been the intention. He felt the flames jerk them to the side, and rather than splatter against the hard city cobblestones they instead slammed back-first into the Rozzi, the river barely managing to break their fall.


    It still hurt, but he wasn¡¯t dead and Johan counted that as a win.


    Disoriented he managed to blink the stars out of his eyes, before quickly righting himself. With one hand held tight around Palmira he pulled himself to the surface, the girl more a hindrance than a help with her own pitiful flailing.


    They broke the surface with a gasp. Injured, disoriented and likely concussed, but alive.


    Goddess be good, that was the closest he¡¯d come to death since he fled his father¡¯s castle.


    ¡°What the fuck was that!?¡± Palmira gasped, the water boiling around her. ¡°What did you do!?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t do anything!¡± he groaned, trying to adjust for her weight. It barely helped. ¡°It was whatever the hell¡¯s going on up there that did it!¡±


    She hissed, a small gout of flame darting from between her teeth. But she didn¡¯t argue, likely understanding this wasn¡¯t the time. Instead they both turned toward the shore, paddling their way out of the river.


    Or, at least, they tried to.


    ¡°If you can¡¯t swim just grab onto my back, it¡¯ll be faster,¡± he told her after her flailing nearly capsized them again.


    ¡°I can too swim,¡± she snapped back. ¡°I don¡¯t know why its not working right now though!¡±


    ¡°What in the world does that mean? Either it works or it doesn¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°Well, it normally works in lava just fine!¡±


    ¡°How would that in anyway translate to water!?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ Shut up!¡±


    Finally, after far longer than it really needed to be, the two of them dragged themselves onto dry land.


    Johan fell onto his back, gasping for breath. High above a warped aurora painted the sky with the earth as whatever reality-bending mess was going on in the arena erupted into the heavens.


    He realized with a start that they¡¯d been launched much further than he¡¯d expected. The arena had been on the northern edge of the city, but just down the street he could see the tip of that giant dragon skull peaking over the rooftops.


    ¡°I thought we were going to die,¡± Palmira gasped, tendrils of fire wisping about her body. ¡°Morte, when this is over, remind me to learn how to swim. In water.¡±


    ¡°Sure, sure, I¡¯ll add it to the thousand other things you need to learn. Right below comprehending the machinations of space-time but just above learning how to use a flail.¡±


    ¡®Disagreement. Learning to use a flail is much more important for Our Lady to learn.¡¯


    ¡°Both of you just¡­ shut up,¡± she groaned, planting her face in her hands. ¡°For five minutes. Please.¡±


    Johan watched their byplay, before turning to look at his own spear. No, Vita.


    ¡°¡­What?¡± she asked, before perking up. ¡°Oh, wait, do you want me to criticize you as well? In that case, you really should have some plan for falling from great heights. A little girl isn¡¯t going to be around to save you every time that happens, you know!¡±


    Johan sighed, shaking his head. He wasn¡¯t sure what he¡¯d been expecting. He trusted the spear with his life, but having seen even briefly how Palmira acted with Morte¡­ he felt it didn¡¯t go both ways.


    Whatever. That was a problem for another time. When his mentor wasn¡¯t in danger and the world wasn¡¯t falling apart at the seams.


    Rising to his feet, the half-elf barely held back a groan as his whole body protested. He¡¯d be feeling this in the morning, but so long as he could still move then maybe not all hope was lost.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    Johan blinked, before turning back to the girl. The flames had already dried her off, though her hair was now a poofy mess from the heat. She looked resigned, as though she already knew what he was going to say.


    ¡°I¡¯m going back, obviously,¡± he told her, before turning back to the arena to continue walking. ¡°Whatever¡¯s happened today, someone needs to put a stop to it.¡±


    He heard footsteps behind him, and the girl was quickly by his side. She didn¡¯t look happy about it though. ¡°And let me guess, that someone is us?¡±


    Johan raised an eyebrow. ¡°You don¡¯t have to come. Whatever the case may be, it was my guild which set this up, and so it¡¯s my guild¡¯s responsibility to fix it.¡±


    ¡°Screw off,¡± she scoffed. ¡°My friends are still in there. You can play the hero for all I care, I¡¯m just getting them out and booking it after.¡±


    He felt his lips quirk into a small smile. It was a small weight off his shoulders, knowing he wouldn¡¯t be going into this alone. ¡°Thank you, Palmira.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t thank me until it¡¯s over, you arrogant bastard,¡± she grumbled, glancing away from him. ¡°And if you die I¡¯m taking your spear!¡±


    Well, now that was something he absolutely couldn¡¯t do. He¡¯d made a promise to Vita, after all. One he hadn¡¯t yet seen fulfilled.


    And so, mage and anti-mage marched their way back into the hell they¡¯d just barely escaped. This time to put an end to it, whatever that might be.

 Chapter 50 - Rampant Corruption

    Chapter 50 ¨C Rampant Corruption


    Palmira followed her former opponent north along the river, the two of them making their way back to the arena they¡¯d been launched from mere moments ago. If she were alone she might have been back by now, her fire letting her dart across the city within minutes. But with Johan here she was forced to slow down, worry over what might have happened to everyone else dogging her every step.


    Palmira glanced at the half-elf beside her. She didn¡¯t know him well, and unlike the stories Chiara told her their mutual brush with death hadn¡¯t made them any closer. All she knew was that he had some lost magic, he wielded a living weapon, and he had enough of an ego to go around calling himself a ¡®chosen one.¡¯


    Oh, and he was rather handsome, much as she might wish he wasn¡¯t.


    She wanted to learn more about him. Not because he was pretty, to be clear¡ªLorenzo was much more handsome and had two rows of teeth to boot¡ªbut because his ¡®Vita¡¯ had taught her more about Morte¡¯s past in five minutes than she¡¯d learned in the month she¡¯d had him.


    But no matter how much her curiosity was burning at her, now wasn¡¯t the time. They were in the middle of a crisis, and unlike the majority of her guild she knew how to prioritize.


    Shaking her head, Palmira glanced back up at the sky. The arena was still too far away to see, but the warped sky above stood out like a beacon above the city. People all around them were pointing up in shock, confusion spreading in their wake as the few who¡¯d stayed home tried to make sense of what was going on.


    They ignored them. They didn¡¯t have time to spread the word, and the people out here were likely safer from whatever was happening than anyone where they were going.


    Or, at least, that¡¯s what she thought.


    A commotion erupted nearby. They glanced over, curious yet unwilling to stop, trying to see what was going on.


    A ghost was flickering down the street, the shade frantically stopping everyone it could to wail about its fate. It was a common enough occurrence around this time of year. Unsettling, but nothing worth fretting over.


    ¡°We should see what¡¯s going on,¡± Johan slowed to a stop, much to her frustration.


    ¡°What? Why!?¡± she asked incredulously, gesturing up at the twisted sky. ¡°We don¡¯t have time for that, we need to get back to the arena!¡±


    ¡°They might need our help, though.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re already dead! They can wait a couple hours!¡±


    Unfortunately, the ghost seemed to have taken notice of their arguing. Soulless eyes lit up as they were suddenly before them, relief plastered across its fading face. This close she could see its face clearly. She was a middle-aged woman, her body bloodied and broken. Colorless blood poured down her ruined chest, fading as it dripped from her knees. It was a gruesome sight, one unfortunately common amongst ghosts.


    Those who clung to the mortal realm rarely died peaceful deaths.


    ¡°Adventurers!¡± She wailed, clutching at the half-elf¡¯s armor. Or at least they tried to¡ªher hands instead fell halfway into his shoulders, not that they seemed to notice. ¡°Oh, finally! Please, you must help me!¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Johan the idiot promised without thinking. ¡°What do you need?¡±


    ¡°My husband!¡± she gasped, tears joining the blood pouring from her eyes. ¡°He killed me! He beat me to death in the street! Why, Gerardo, why did you do it? I thought you loved me!?¡±


    ¡°Do you know where he is now? If we can bring this to the authorities, maybe they can arrest him!¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a ghost!¡± she hissed quietly, aware of where he was coming from but getting impatient regardless. ¡°The man who killed her is probably long dead.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no time!¡± the ghost screeched, clutching him tighter. With one broken limb they twisted, pointing down the street to their left. ¡°He¡¯s right down there, you must hurry! Quickly, before he kills again!¡±


    Palmira blinked, frustrations quickly replaced by concern. ¡°Wait, he¡¯s right over there? Did you¡­ no, wait, when exactly did you die?¡±


    ¡°Minutes ago!¡± she began to cry again. ¡°Gerardo was taking me on our honeymoon date. Yet in the middle of our dessert, he¡­ he¡­!¡±


    Johan gave her intangible back a gentle rub, before stepping away. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, we¡¯ll stop him,¡± he told her quietly. ¡°We won¡¯t let him hurt anyone else.¡±


    Then, without even asking her, he rushed off down the street the ghost had pointed to.


    Palmira swore as she followed, fumbling her mace into her hands. She prayed this was worth the delay.


    The street was rather short and thin compared to the larger boulevards which followed the river. Though it was no less wealthy, filled with well-kept shops and cafes from end to end. Normally it was probably much more crowded, but with the tournament going on (and the apparent murder) it was practically deserted.


    The two of them stumbled to a stop as they took in the scene, bile rising in her throat at the sight.


    A fancy restaurant dominated the center, its grand marble arcade jutting out over the outdoor seating. Or at least what was left of it. Most of the verandah had been destroyed, the furniture strewn and shattered while the once pristine marble was now painted with blood and gore. A middle-aged man, heavyset and balding, slammed himself repeatedly into the barricaded doors, a half dozen mangled corpses sprawled across the ruined tables.


    ¡°By the Goddess,¡± Palmira whispered in horror, staring at the carnage before her. Johan didn¡¯t say a word, simply stepping forward and readying his spear.


    That seemed enough to garner the man¡¯s attention. Stumbling around his face lit up with a deranged glee as he caught sight of them. Red faced and wheezing he charged them, cracks spreading across the street tiles with each lumbering step he took. He didn¡¯t bother moving around the broken furniture, the splintered wood tearing at his flesh ignored in his mad stampede. He let out a bellowing roar, his bloodshot eyes swelling over his pudgy cheeks.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    And yet, compared to the people she¡¯d seen fighting just earlier today, this was as threatening as the flailing of a toddler.


    The moment he was in range Johan drilled Vita into the man¡¯s shoulder. As he reeled from the blow she stepped behind and shattered his kneecap with Malocchio, their twin attacks flipping the man horizontal in an instant. His head slammed against the stone curb with a sickening ¡®CRACK.¡¯


    He gurgled, swollen eyes darting between them as his limbs spasmed. Despite that, the look on his face couldn¡¯t be described as anything other than relieved.


    The man let out one final wheeze, before slumping. His eyes rolled back in his head and he fell still.


    The two of them stared at the body.


    ¡°Is¡­ Is he dead?¡± Palmira asked, her limbs suddenly feeling very heavy. Much as he might have deserved it, she hadn¡¯t intended to kill him. She just hadn¡¯t thought¡­ ¡°Did we kill him?¡±


    ¡°I think so,¡± Johan grimaced, stepping towards the body. ¡°I always forget how fragile the average person is. One wrong hit to the head is all it takes for most people.¡±


    Palmira swallowed back the bile which rose at the thought. ¡°Oh.¡±


    ¡°This may have been a mercy, however. I¡¯ve seen this type of rampage before, though I¡¯d never hoped to deal with something like this here.¡±


    Then Johan dug his fingers beneath the dead man¡¯s tunic and yanked it up, revealing the horror that laid beneath.


    Eyes stared back at them. Yellow, bloated things, rooted deep into the stomach and reaching as far up as his chest. The purpling flesh surrounding them throbbed and shuddered, in their death throes turning to glare up at the two adventurers with blank hatred.


    Palmira set the corpse on fire.


    Stumbling away she dry heaved, trying to burn the image from her mind. Johan awkwardly beside her, gently rubbing her back.


    ¡°Nytheloph, huh?¡± Morte hummed, sounding more annoyed than horrified. ¡°I suppose we should have seen this coming.¡±


    ¡°Why,¡± Palmira gasped, finally having regained control of herself. ¡°Why in the world should we have expected the fucking eye demon!?¡±


    ¡°We ruined its plans back in Iscrimo, remember? No Demon worth their salt would take that lying down, much less a Lord. I admit though, I should have been better prepared for this. I must be getting rusty in my old age if something like this blindsided me.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that was you?¡± Vita asked, intrigued and equally unconcerned. ¡°I assumed the young man with the volcano magic was the one who did all the work. But I suppose I should have expected as much. You always were the type to stumble across such dangerous situations.¡±


    ¡°But we barely did anything!¡± Palmira snapped. ¡°It was mostly Iscrimo and the Cantons, why are they attacking Firozzi!?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I have no doubt that everyone else who opposed them are currently dealing with some form of revenge as well,¡± he sighed, sounding both tired and frustrated. ¡°I suppose you could take this as a lesson; just because you¡¯ve won a battle doesn¡¯t mean you¡¯ve won the war. And it certainly doesn¡¯t mean your enemy will stay idle in the aftermath.¡±


    ¡°What do they even hope to accomplish from this?¡± Johan scowled, glaring down at the burning corpse. ¡°I know the Demon Lords are despicable, petty tyrants, but this is little more than random violence! It was sheer coincidence that we stumbled across this at all!¡±


    ¡°You must have a high opinion of the Demon Lords if you think they¡¯re above random acts of petty violence. Or perhaps not high enough, if you think that this is all that the All-Seeing sent.¡±


    Palmira felt a chill run down her spine. ¡°They were the ones to attack the arena, weren¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d assume so. It¡¯s what I¡¯d do if I was trying to attack a city this big and powerful. The majority of the adventurers in Firozzi, all taken out in one fell swoop? I¡¯d call it a ballsy play, but I doubt the bastard has any of those.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re not dead, Morte,¡± she snapped. ¡°We can still save them if we hurry.¡±


    ¡°I sincerely doubt they¡¯re dead,¡± Vita hummed in agreement. ¡°But they¡¯re certainly incapacitated and reeling. And if the whole goal of this is petty revenge, then having his hijacked minions sow chaos across the city while all the adventurers are otherwise occupied in a singularity is certainly a way to go about it.¡±


    Johan frowned, thoughtful. ¡°¡­In that case, rushing back to the arena would only be playing into the Demon Lord¡¯s hands. Er, eyes?¡±


    ¡°You cannot be suggesting what I think you¡¯re suggesting, right?¡± Palmira snapped, glaring at him. ¡°My friends are back there! I can¡¯t leave them to die just because that might be playing into a Demon Lord¡¯s plan!¡±


    ¡°And what of everyone else in this city?¡± Johan shot back with a scowl. ¡°Who knows how many of them could die or get corrupted while we run back into a trap! Look,¡± he pointed at the half-dozen corpses sprawled throughout the arcade. ¡°People are already dying! How can we call ourselves heroes if we don¡¯t do everything we can to save them?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a hero!¡± Palmira snarled, smoke billowing from between her teeth. He wasn¡¯t wrong¡ªpeople would probably die if they did nothing¡ªand that thought filled her with guilt. But the thought of losing Chiara or Lorenzo or ¨®sma terrified her far more than the deaths of some strangers she¡¯d never met. The guilt and the fear mixed with her anger, and she hated the feelings which came from it. ¡°I¡¯m just¡ªI¡¯m me. Why should I have to sacrifice my friends for people who wouldn¡¯t do the same for us!?¡±


    ¡°The girl¡¯s not wrong,¡± Vita hummed, disinterested amusement coloring her tone. ¡°What about your own friends, dear? Are you willing to risk their lives for some strangers?¡±


    ¡°There are hundreds of adventurers in that arena,¡± Johan shot back angrily. ¡°Even with whatever¡¯s going on right now, that¡¯s probably the safest place in the city. Unlike out here, where there are two.¡±


    ¡°¡­Look, kid,¡± Morte sighed, grabbing her attention. ¡°I know you don¡¯t want to hear this right now, but he¡¯s right. The others are in danger, but they¡¯re adventurers. That¡¯s their job. They can handle a little risk.¡±


    ¡°But what if they can¡¯t?¡± she hissed back, tears burning the corners of her eyes. ¡°What if it can¡¯t be stopped from the inside? We¡¯re on the outside, we can to things to help them that they can¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°Oh? I wasn¡¯t aware you knew how to fix that. Because let me tell you, I have no idea how to resolve a spacial distortion that big.¡±


    That brought Palmira up short. ¡°I¡­ was hoping you¡¯d know.¡±


    Vita laughed while Morte sighed again. ¡°I¡¯m sorry if I¡¯ve given you the impression that I¡¯m all knowing, but I¡¯m not a master of space magic. ¡­Well, okay, I did master space magic, but a different kind of space magic! Cosmology is leagues different from whatever the hell that elf was doing to the fabric of space-time.¡±


    Palmira grimaced, clutching his staff tighter. ¡°But I can¡¯t just leave them¡­¡± A thought occurred, causing her to turn back to the other man in desperation. ¡°Wait, what about that Anti-magic you were using? Couldn¡¯t we use that to turn it off?¡±


    ¡°You mean the Anti-magic which launched us halfway across the city?¡± Johan scoffed, before letting up on his glare with a sigh. ¡°I know you want to save your friends¡ªand I want to save mine as well¡ªbut we need to pick our battles. Your guild seemed competent from what I saw, don¡¯t you trust them to make it through a bit of chaos?¡±


    That more than anything took the wind out of her sails. Slumping against Morte she sighed, glaring at nothing. ¡°They¡¯re a bunch of stupid, drunken idiots, most of whom don¡¯t even know how to read. ¡­But they¡¯re powerful idiots. If anyone could survive a Demon attack, it would be them.¡±


    ¡°So¡­¡±


    She groaned, scowling at Johan¡¯s relieved smile. ¡°Fine, fine! I¡¯ll help you save the stupid people of this stupid city from the stupid Demons. Are you happy now?¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t be happy until every Demon in the world is slain,¡± he told her, offering her a serious nod in thanks. ¡°But today we¡¯ll be able to do some good, and that¡¯s more than enough for me.¡±


    ¡°Tread lightly,¡± Vita warned her, deathly serious. ¡°You said they¡¯re here for revenge, yes? In that case, they¡¯re likely targeting you.¡±


    Wasn¡¯t that a cheery thought.


    With that in mind they started moving through the streets of Firozzi again, though this time with a different goal in mind. To protect the innocent from the Demon Nytheloph¡¯s rampage.


    It was a noble goal. She just wished she didn¡¯t feel so guilty about choosing to follow it.

 Chapter 51 - The Clock is Ticking

    Chapter 51 ¨C The Clock is Ticking


    ¨®sma


    ¨®sma furrowed his brow, squinting out into the warped arena around them. Beside him¡ªand above him, and behind him¡ªDante sat despondent, having buried his face in his hands.


    ¡°Just one day,¡± the man groaned, fingers digging into his forehead. ¡°Can we not have one fucking day where things go to plan? Is that too much to ask?¡±


    The orc let out a low rumble, more a scoff than a laugh. ¡°If the world were so kind, adventurers wouldn¡¯t be needed in the first place. And then we¡¯d all be out of a job.¡±


    Dante returned to his grumbling, allowing ¨®sma to go back to studying the mess they were currently in.


    Not that it helped. It was impossible to see more than five feet in any direction, the twisted space distorting reality in such a way that strained the mortal eye. He couldn¡¯t see or hear any of the others¡ªthe only reason he could still communicate with the guildmaster was because they¡¯d been sitting right next to each other. It made the whole situation that much more frustrating to resolve, though any initial panic had long since cooled once they realized that whatever was going on wasn¡¯t going to instantly kill them.


    Whatever caused it killing them might be a different beast, entirely.


    Currently he was far more worried about Palmira suffering that fate than anyone else. The rest of the guild was either in the infirmary or (in theory at least) somewhat nearby, but the girl had been down in the dirt when this began and he worried what she might get up to alone.


    ¡°Do you think Raum is dead?¡± ¨®sma asked, raising an eyebrow. The elf may not have had the storied career the likes of Johanna or Zeitn had, but he¡¯d still been an adventurer for over a century now. He wasn¡¯t the kind of person to die so easily.


    ¡°If he¡¯s not, I¡¯m going to kill him myself,¡± the guildmaster grumbled, before finally rising to his feet with a sigh. ¡°Though it¡¯s likely. I can¡¯t imagine him letting things get this bad if he were still in control.¡±


    ¡°How certain are you of that?¡±


    ¡°Very. While I don¡¯t know nearly as much about magic as you do, I like to think I understand business quite well. And I can assure you that after today not a single person will ever set foot in one of Raum¡¯s arenas again, and I think the elf would rather die than risk his life¡¯s work like this.¡±


    ¡°That assumes he wasn¡¯t corrupted,¡± a new voice interjected.


    The two of them turned around to find Teresa walking up to them. And walking away from them. And¡ª


    You get the idea.


    ¡°Teresa,¡± the old orc smiled warmly. ¡°I was worried it might take longer for us to regroup. How¡¯d you find us?¡±


    ¡°More luck than anything else, I¡¯m afraid,¡± she pointed back the way she came. While the space there was still twisted upon itself, it wasn¡¯t nearly as bad as everywhere else. ¡°It¡¯s possible the Goddess heard my prayers, but the Lady is rare to answer me outside of combat. More likely the world seems to be slowly healing itself of the injuries Raum has rent upon it.¡±


    ¡°I see, so if we give it enough time, it might fix itself on its own,¡± ¨®sma frowned. ¡°But my gut tells me that waiting that long is a bad idea.¡±


    ¡°More to the point, you think Raum might be corrupted?¡± Dante cut in, narrowing his eyes at her. ¡°That¡¯s a dangerous accusation to make, especially considering the situation we currently find ourselves in.¡±


    ¡°Maybe, maybe not,¡± she shrugged. ¡°But the Ambrosi were recently caught consorting with Demons and are not well known for their kindness. If there were ever a time to take out their competition it would be now.¡±


    ¡°But the Ambrosi own most of the adventurer¡¯s guilds in the city! Why in the world would they attack their own people?¡±


    ¡°I never said we were the Ambrosi¡¯s competition.¡±


    The three of them went silent at that, a grim air settling between them.


    ¡°A Demon attack on Firozzi itself¡­¡± ¨®sma scowled, clenching his fists. ¡°How bold. But somehow I¡¯m not surprised. Perhaps I¡¯m just too used to things going wrong¡­¡±


    The guildmaster on the other hand walked closer to Teresa, nearly tripping over her feet in the process. ¡°We need to leave!¡± he snapped. ¡°If Raum really is attacking us, then we¡¯re sitting ducks standing around out here! Do either of you have any ideas on how we can escape this place?¡±


    ¡°Possibly,¡± ¨®sma grunted, fishing around in his pockets. He pulled out a spool of thread, which he then began to work his massive fingers through. He hadn¡¯t used his magic in years, though some things never truly left you. ¡°But I¡¯ll need a moment to see if this¡¯ll even work.¡±


    ¡°Beyond prayer, I¡¯ve got nothing,¡± the Crusader shrugged languidly, before looking behind them. ¡°What about you Leo, do you have any ideas?¡±


    Leo¡ªthe ten-foot-tall muscle-bound green orc¡ªsimply grunted.


    ¡°How long have you been there!?¡± Dante yelped in shock, and even ¨®sma couldn¡¯t suppress his surprise. He must really be getting rusty if he hadn¡¯t noticed him. ¡°Goddess alive, never mind. The four of us are about, what, one third of our group? Is there any way for us to gather the rest?¡±


    Leo grunted again. It was unclear if this was supposed to be helpful.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know about fixing this mess, but I think I should be able to find the others,¡± ¨®sma nodded, raising his hands to show off his work. It had been a long time since he¡¯d last worked a proper spell¡ªand the fact it was still daytime certainly didn¡¯t help¡ªbut he¡¯d managed it. Thin, silvery threads launched themselves from his fingers, snaking out in all directions. Almost immediately they spasmed and twisted off into the rest of the madness surrounding them, but so long as they held in one piece such was of little consequence.


    As long as you knew the path it mattered not how dangerous the labyrinth is.


    ¡°These threads each lead to one of our guildmembers,¡± he handed them out to the others. ¡°If we want to find them all quickly we¡¯ll need to split up. Dante, you focus on finding everyone in the stands and getting them combat ready. Teresa and Leo, you two try and get to the infirmary and let them know what¡¯s going on. From there we can regroup outside the coliseum along with any other adventurers who made it out.¡±


    The Crusader nodded, the Barbarian grunted, but the guildmaster frowned. ¡°What about you? Where are you going?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to find Palmira,¡± he motioned to the last thread in his hand. ¡°She was separated from the rest of us, so I¡¯m going to find her and bring her back. With any luck it¡¯ll only take a few moments and I¡¯ll be back to help you all soon enough.¡±


    Dante¡¯s scowl only deepened at that, but he nodded sharply. ¡°Very well, make sure you keep the kid safe. ¡­And keep her from getting into any more fights while you¡¯re at it! The last thing we need is her setting this place on fire while we¡¯re trying to escape.¡±


    ¡°Now now, I¡¯m not one to make promises I can¡¯t keep,¡± he chuckled, before nodding solemnly. ¡°¡­If you do happen to smell smoke though, make sure you start heading in the opposite direction.¡±


    The guildmaster gave him one last stink eye before departing. Thread in hand, the four of them braved the twisted world before them in search of their guildmembers.


    -<X>-


    Palmira slammed her mace into the back of an elderly woman, the spine shattering blow knocking her to the ground. A moment later a spear ripped through the woman¡¯s throat, nearly tearing her head clean off her shoulders. From beneath her bloody tunic swollen eyes glared up at them, oozing with hatred even as the body they had infected died.


    At this point she couldn¡¯t even bring herself to gag. They¡¯d been at this for nearly an hour now, running from massacre to massacre in a desperate attempt to stop the endless barrage of corrupted people from causing anymore chaos. But their efforts were only met with mixed results.


    In the last hour she had killed more people than she had in her whole life. And even if it was to save others¡ªeven if it was to put those poor broken souls out of their misery¡ªshe could only feel a growing disgust and hatred for everything which had caused this to happen to her home.


    And to think, today had started out so hopeful.


    ¡°Why are there so many?¡± she grimaced, setting the body on fire. The eyes made no noise, but she could swear she heard them squeal as they burned. ¡°Surely someone should have noticed if this many people had been corrupted by a Demon Lord!¡±


    ¡°Firozzi is one of the largest cities on the continent, and has had an endless influx of refugees for the past several decades. It would be child¡¯s play to sneak a few corrupted humans into the city. Even the dozen we¡¯ve killed so far are just a drop in the bucket compared to the tens of thousands of innocents,¡± Morte told her, though he sounded troubled. ¡°What I¡¯m more worried about is why. The All-Seeing was clearly planning something by planting so many of its subjects in the city, and I fear there may be some greater plan we¡¯re missing.¡±


    ¡°You think all of this is just a distraction?¡± Johan scowled, staring at the burning body. The vague outline of a ghost faded into existence, sobbing as it clutched at the flames. ¡°All of this suffering a mere byproduct of some bastard¡¯s evil plan?¡±


    ¡°Suffering is a byproduct of most plans,¡± Vita gave the impression of a careless shrug. ¡°Whether that suffering is yours, your enemy¡¯s, or some poor souls caught in the crossfire, plotting has a tendency to cause suffering by its very nature.¡±


    ¡°Yes, thank you Vita, we¡¯re all very well aware,¡± Morte scoffed, a familiar exasperation in his tone. ¡°But that¡¯s not my point. While the Demon Lords certainly aren¡¯t above petty revenge, this feels too¡­ small scale for a Demon Lord¡¯s plan. Chaos for the sake of chaos isn¡¯t impossible, but if that were the case surely there¡¯d be more chaos. Currently all we¡¯re seeing is little more than petty murder.¡±If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    ¡°Wonderful, that¡¯s just what we needed! Some horrible plot going off in the background while we run around like headless cockatrices trying to put out individual fires,¡± Palmira groaned, rubbing her eyes. Turning to her new ally, she asked, ¡°What about you, do you have any¡­¡±


    Johan raised an eyebrow, wondering why she trailed off. But she didn¡¯t have the time to tell him.


    Because the time mage Zeitn was standing right behind him, wicked dagger raised to strike.


    ¡°Johan!¡± she screamed, her hands moving without thinking. The elf barely managed to nick his shoulder before a fire whip was launched directly at his head.


    In the next blink he was gone, her spell just barely skimming the top of Johan¡¯s scalp.


    The half-elf froze, pupils dilating as sparks fell from the singed tips of his hair. Then her fire was snuffed out as he activated his anti-magic barrier.


    Zeitn instantly appeared a few feet away, walking towards them as though he were out for a Sunday stroll. He froze as they turned to face him, looking as confused as they felt. Then his eyes widened, and turning on his heel he ran away, trying to make as much distance as possible between them.


    Normally Palmira wouldn¡¯t have let him do this, but without her fire she was wary of giving chase. Instead she closed ranks with Johan, putting their backs to the wall as the time mage disappeared the second he crossed the edge of the barrier.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on!?¡± she hissed, swapping Morte out for Malocchio. ¡°Isn¡¯t that guy a part of your guild?¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡± his response sounded more like a question as he regathered himself, readying Vita. ¡°I mean, I never really spoke with him, but he should be?¡±


    ¡°Then why is he attacking us?¡±


    ¡°How should I know¡ªcrap!¡±


    As they were talking the elf suddenly appeared at the edge of the barrier again. But rather than close in he instead launched a knife directly at his head. Johan had just enough time to move out of the way before the blade clanged against the wall behind them.


    ¡°We need to move!¡± Palmira yelped as the time mage appeared again, this time tossing a knife at her. ¡°We¡¯re sitting ducks out here!¡±


    Johan nodded, and the two of them made a break for the nearest shelter. There was enough distance between the edge of the barrier and them that they had enough time to dodge or block the incoming blades, though that didn¡¯t stop it from being a harrowing experience. A nearby arcade provided the cover they needed, the limestone pillars able to act as a shield against the hail of projectiles


    Unfortunately, it didn¡¯t do much else.


    ¡°What do we do?¡± she heaved, crouching behind an abandoned table. ¡°Doesn¡¯t this guy control time? How are we supposed to beat someone like that?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ not sure,¡± Morte admitted, sounding frustrated. ¡°While the kid¡¯s barrier is protecting the two of you from instant death, its also stopping you from attacking out of it. If we had some sort of nonmagical ranged attack we might be able to do something, but with Malocchio damaged our options are limited.¡±


    ¡®Disagreement. We can still protect Our Lady.¡¯


    ¡°Not right now you can¡¯t,¡± Palmira snapped, giving her mace a sharp glare. ¡°Your head was nearly cut off!¡±


    Johan coughed. ¡°Right, um, sorry about that.¡±


    ¡°You could start throwing things back,¡± Vita offered. ¡°He may control time, but he¡¯s still mortal. One good rock to the dome is enough to take down most people.¡±


    ¡°How are we supposed to hit someone who controls time!?¡± the half-elf scoffed, chancing a glance over around their cover. He immediately had to duck back to dodge another knife. ¡°I can¡¯t even look for him without risking my life!¡±


    ¡°Maybe¡­¡± Palmira huffed, thinking hard. They couldn¡¯t use their magic but also couldn¡¯t let down the barrier, so¡­ ¡°Can you make a space inside the bubble where I can use magic without taking down the rest of it?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± he blinked, stumped. ¡°I don¡¯t actually know. Vita, is that possible?¡±


    ¡°Who knows? Why don¡¯t you figure it out yourself?¡±


    ¡°Goddess above¡ªyes, it is possible, so do it quickly!¡± Morte shouted, annoyed. ¡°I swear Vita if your apathy kills my apprentice I¡¯ll haunt you for the rest of our unlife!¡±


    ¡°Please, you don¡¯t have the attention span for that. You¡¯d get bored within a week.¡±


    ¡°Are you willing to bet? These past few decades have taught me quite a bit about patience.¡±


    While the weapons were arguing, their wielders were actually working to solve the problem. Johan frowned deeply, focusing on something only he could see. It took him a few moments, but as his forehead creased and he grit his teeth a second bubble slowly appeared within the first. It expanded in increments, beginning as small as an olive before after several agonizing seconds growing just large enough to fit the two adventurers within.


    Palmira ignited Malocchio, relief filling her with the simple act.


    ¡°Hey, see, you figured it out!¡± Vita cheered. ¡°I knew you could do it!¡±


    ¡°No thanks to you,¡± he grunted, clearly under some form of invisible strain. He¡¯d closed his eyes tight, seemingly unable to move from his spot. ¡°I tried to remove part of it, but that didn¡¯t work. So instead I added a double negative¡ªwe¡¯re still standing in an anti-magic bubble, but we¡¯re also standing in an anti-anti-magic bubble, which is how you can now use your fire.¡±


    ¡°That¡­ is not how that works,¡± Morte told him, bemused. ¡°How did you manage that?¡±


    ¡°See, if I¡¯d just told you the answer you wouldn¡¯t have figured out how to do that,¡± Vita praised him. ¡°Isn¡¯t this so much nicer than being handed the solution?¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s not!¡±


    Palmira silently apologized for ever complaining about Morte. It was becoming clear to her that she¡¯d apparently lucked out in the living weaponry department.


    Unfortunately, they didn¡¯t have any more time to argue. Zeitn rushed into the bubble, perhaps assuming that it had been lowered with her use of magic. Not that she let him get anywhere, igniting another fire whip and forcing him back and keeping him at a distance.


    The elf jumped out of the way, though he refused to retreat back out of range of the barrier. Instead he stood indecisively, eyes darting frantically between her and the street he¡¯d just come from. She considered trying to extend the range of her fire whip, but before she could they were interrupted.


    ¡°Well, what do we have here?¡±


    Palmira froze, the familiar voice instantly activating her fight or flight instinct. Risking looking away from Zeitn, she could only watch in horror as a newcomer approached.


    Rosalina smiled kindly, her blindfold not able to mask the joy which wrote itself across her face. In her hand she held her staff¡ªridged and pale¡ªwhich burned with faith and flame. She wasn¡¯t alone, either; just behind her, a dwarf and an orc followed. They marched silently, hollow gazes taking in nothing as they followed the priestess.


    ¡­Ah, he hadn¡¯t been attacking them. He¡¯d been running from a much bigger threat.


    ¡°You¡¯re that young lady from the cathedral, aren¡¯t you?¡± Rosalina hummed, her pace unhurried. The holy flames in her hair flickered, so bright it made her hard to look at. ¡°How wonderful it is for us to meet again! I¡¯d worried Sinbad might have ruined my sermon with his games, but it seems the Goddess rewards her faithful well! Come, my dear, won¡¯t you join me in prayer as I purge this poor lost soul?¡±


    Zeitn took this as his queue to get the hell out. And with an insurmountable threat blocking one end of the street, there was only one direction he could run in:


    Directly towards them.


    Palmira tensed, readying her mace. The flames burned hotter, and even if she didn¡¯t want to let her guard down against Rosalina she couldn¡¯t just ignore the threat barreling towards them. She raised Malocchio, ready to¡ª


    ¡°Now now, do you really think you can run from me?¡±


    The orc was suddenly upon Zeitn. The elf didn¡¯t even get a moment to react before the orc¡¯s foot was on his back, slamming him into the street with a thunderous ¡®CRACK.¡¯


    Palmira watched, wide-eyed as he fell limp. There hadn¡¯t even been a struggle.


    ¡°There we go. Isn¡¯t this so much better?¡±


    She swallowed, turning back to Rosalina. The priestess did not bother changing her pace, only stopping just outside the range of the anti-magic barrier. Then, with a smile one part chiding and one part amused, she lifted a single finger, placing it gently against the empty air.


    And Johan screamed as Nothing was burned to ash beneath Holy Flame.


    He collapsed on his knees behind her as at once the barrier was dissolved. Wide-eyed and gasping, he could only cling to Vita as he struggled to remain conscious following the sudden shock.


    Palmira wet her lips. ¡°Um, Sister Rosalina,¡± she stammered, unsure what to do. ¡°Uh¡­ thank you for¡­ saving us¡­?¡±


    ¡°You are most welcome, my dear!¡± her smile grew, just as kindly, just as lovely, and yet somehow off in a way she couldn¡¯t describe. A human should not be capable of smiling like that. ¡°Ah, but tell me, did he hurt you? These poor corrupted souls are all so very vicious, and it would wound my heart to know such a brilliant soul as yourself might have been harmed by one of them.¡±


    ¡°No, er, I mean, not really?¡± she shook her head stiffly, eyes darting about the street, searching for a way for them to run. Unfortunately she couldn¡¯t just leave Johan here, and with him incapacitated from the backlash escape didn¡¯t seem possible.


    Wait what was that about Zeitn being corrupted?


    She didn¡¯t have the time to ask about that though, as it was at that moment a thin silver thread rocketed down the street and very gently tapped against her arm.


    Despite herself, she couldn¡¯t help but glance down at it in shock. What in the world¡­?


    ¡°Palmira!¡± the booming voice of her mentor echoed, and she nearly collapsed right then and there in relief. ¡°There you are! How in the world did you get so far away from the arena!?¡±


    ¨®sma rounded the corner, the massive accountant bounding up to her in mere seconds. He crouched on one knee next to her, eyes roving her body for injuries.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she shrugged him off, gesturing in front of them. ¡°But that¡¯s not important, we need to¡ª¡±


    ¡°Ah! If it isn¡¯t old ¨®sma!¡± Rosalina cheered happily, her eyes lighting up. ¡°I assumed you¡¯d retired! What are you doing up and about? Don¡¯t you know there¡¯s Demons at work today?¡±


    The orc tensed, turning to the priestess with eyes both confused and wary. ¡°¡­Rosalina?¡± He asked slowly, frowning. ¡°You¡¯re here? But Sinbad said you were¡ª¡±


    He glanced at the other two next to her, first at the dwarf and then at the orc holding Zeitn down. And as he did so he stopped dead, unable to do anything but stand frozen in disbelief.


    Then, a single word spilled from his lips.


    ¡°¡­Brother?¡±


    The orc shifted its weight slightly. Barely enough to tilt its head, though it seemed just enough for the elf he had trapped underfoot.


    Zeitn suddenly disappeared, the orc¡¯s foot slamming into the ground right after.


    ¡°Ah, shame,¡± the priestess sighed, shaking her head. ¡°And after all the effort we went to tracking him down. Such a slippery elf, that Zeitn.¡±


    ¡°Rosalina!¡± ¨®sma boomed, shock giving way to anger. ¡°Who is that!?¡±


    The woman gave him an odd look. ¡°It¡¯s your brother, isn¡¯t he? I know it¡¯s been many years, but surely you recognize him, no? Ah, my teacher, why don¡¯t you say hi? I¡¯m certain you¡¯ve missed each other dearly.¡±


    The orc opened its mouth, yet no words came out. Only the hiss of displaced air, wet and unnatural.


    ¨®sma could do nothing more than stare with wide, horrified eyes. ¡°¡­Rosalina, what have you done?¡±


    She smiled, beautiful and kind and wrong. ¡°The Goddess returned your brother to life, my old friend. Isn¡¯t such a thing wonderful? That we might be so blessed?¡±


    Her mentor¡¯s fists clenched. Horror and shock giving way to a fury unlike any she¡¯d ever seen from the orc before. He opened his mouth, rage on his lips¡ª


    But it was not his voice that shouted at her.


    ¡°ROSALINA!¡±


    There was the booming of thunder and a choir of angels. An aura of divine fury smashed unto the street with all the subtly of a roaring dragon.


    And suddenly Sinbad was there, the Paladin storming down on them with the wrath of the Goddess on his heels. His sword came down like a bomb, the air shattering in its passing as he carved through it to stab at his old ally. It was a blow that¡ªhad it landed¡ªwould have had enough strength behind it to slay even a Demon Lord.


    The blade didn¡¯t make it though. The orc was instantly between them, catching the sword on his own axe. As they did, she was barely able to catch a glance of Sinbad¡¯s face before the two vanished into a flurry of blows she wasn¡¯t yet skilled enough to follow.


    To call the look on his face angry did not do it justice. The sheer hate which twisted his lips made ¨®sma¡¯s horrified rage look like joy in comparison.


    ¡°SINBAD~¡± Rosalina pouted. ¡°See, I can do it too! But why must you always be so battle hungry? I don¡¯t know if you noticed, but I can¡¯t spar right now. I¡¯m busy!¡±


    The Paladin merely let out a wordless howl, his face contorting into something inhuman. He launched another attack, this one powerful enough that the rest of them were knocked to the ground just from sheer proximity to the blast.


    ¨®sma, meanwhile, had come to his own decision, and that was that he needed to get the kids the hell out of here. Though confused and thoroughly off his game, the old orc didn¡¯t hesitate in this. Throwing one hand out a dozen silver threads erupted from his sleeves, swiftly wrapping around both her and Johan. Then he pulled and the two of them were lifted into the air, flying straight into his waiting arms.


    Then he ran.


    Palmira, hanging over the orc¡¯s massive shoulder like a sack of flour, could only watch as the battle faded into the distance behind them. And yet, even as they fled, she couldn¡¯t help but notice something off about the man she¡¯d begrudgingly come to know.


    Somehow¡­ he seemed in pain.

 Chapter 52 - Rallying the Idiots

    Chapter 52 ¨C Rallying the Idiots


    ¨®sma sat quiet, slumped over a table with his head in his hands. The old orc looked like he¡¯d aged decades, exhausted and melancholic and unresponsive to anyone who approached. Palmira hovered awkwardly next to him, wanting to help but uncertain what she could do. Finding out that your brother was the necromantic thrall of an old comrade of yours wasn¡¯t the kind of situation she knew how to handle.


    Morte¡ªthe one she¡¯d normally go to for advice with this kind of thing¡ªwas equally unhelpful.


    ¡°How dare she,¡± the staff snarled, his voice dangerously soft. ¡°When we see her again, these chains or not I¡¯ll tear her throbbing soul from her mortal flesh and rip it in half.¡±


    ¡°My, you¡¯ve grown quite bitter, haven¡¯t you?¡± Vita asked, the spear resting against the table next to them. Johan himself was too full of nervous energy to sit still, pacing frantically behind them. ¡°The old you would never have made that kind of threat, at least not so seriously. Have the years really changed you that much?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve always been bitter,¡± Morte scoffed back. ¡°I just used to think that if I tried hard enough I could make the world a better place in spite of all the horrors. But I¡¯ve long since learned that was merely a fool¡¯s errand.¡±


    He fell silent after that and Vita¡ªperhaps for once deciding to read the mood¡ªdidn¡¯t try egging him on.


    Palmira huffed at the byplay, smoke pouring out of her mouth. It still frustrated her how little she was learning she knew about Morte. But she supposed she could put grilling him on hold, at least until this crisis had been resolved.


    They¡¯d since returned to the coliseum, ¨®sma having rushed the three of them back as quickly as he could. Once they¡¯d arrived, Palmira had been surprised to see the rest of her guildmates had already escaped the arena. Even now it still loomed a twisted mess in the distance, countless people still trapped inside a non-Euclidean labyrinth.


    Just outside the ruined stadium a temporary headquarters had been set up by her guildmaster, trying to hold to a semblance of order amidst the crisis. The majority of the adventures who¡¯d escaped seemed to have been people who¡¯d already fought, some wandering the piazza aimlessly while most were still too injured to be of any real help. The once sprawling festival market stalls surrounding the coliseum had been cleared out and coopted into a messy infirmary that was packed with the numerous injured and overseen by a handful of stressed and overworked healers.


    Some of those who were well enough to move were patrolling the nearby streets, getting as many civilians as they could inside and safe from the chaos afflicting the city.


    Speaking of, she saw one of them coming back right now.


    ¡°Lorenzo!¡± she waved him down. His face lit up with relief as he saw her and he rushed over, another woman trailing behind. Sourly, she realized it was that battle priestess he¡¯d fought earlier. ¡°Over here!¡±


    ¡°Palmira,¡± he sighed, running a hand through his leafy dreadlocks. ¡°Thank the Goddess you¡¯re safe! When we didn¡¯t see you amongst the survivors we assumed the worst. Ah¡ªthis is Catherina, we fought in my first match. Catherina, this is Palmira. Do you think you could look her over for injuries while we talk?¡±


    The woman squinted at her¡ªand she squinted back¡ªbefore she seemed to realize she was sizing up a girl several years her junior. ¡°I can try,¡± she nodded, leaning down to grab a squirming Palmira. ¡°But I¡¯m not the best when it comes to healing miracles. If there¡¯s anything wrong it would be better to get a professional.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine!¡± she huffed, grimacing as the woman poked a bruise on her arm. ¡°I was with Johan the whole time, and we didn¡¯t¡ªwell, we did get into danger. But I wasn¡¯t hurt! Much!¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°Ah, that¡¯s me,¡± the half elf stepped forward, holding out a hand. Lorenzo shook it firmly¡ªperhaps a bit too firmly, if his wince was any indication. ¡°We ended up outside the arena together when everything kicked off. She was helping me protect the innocent by fighting off those corrupted by the Demons until Monsieur ¨®sma found us.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re make us sound so heroic when you describe it like that,¡± she scoffed, squirming as Catherina grabbed her jaw, holding up a glowing finger to each of her eyes. ¡°But I guess you were right that they¡¯d manage to find their own way out eventually.¡±


    The holy woman gave her one last glance over before nodding. ¡°Right, she seems healthy enough. A couple bruises, but nothing that requires immediate attention.¡±


    ¡°What a relief,¡± Lorenzo sighed, giving her a smile which showed of his shining rows of teeth. ¡°Thank you so much for checking, Catherina. It means a lot.¡±


    The woman blushed and smiled back, absently twirling a strand of her fluffy brown hair. Palmira stuck her tongue out at the both of them from behind.


    ¡°If you don¡¯t mind me asking,¡± Johan cut in, ¡°do either of you know what happened? Everyone¡¯s been too busy to fill us in except Monsieur ¨®sma here and he¡¯s, well¡­¡± he gestured to the unresponsive orc.


    Lorenzo nodded, a solemn frown growing across his face. ¡°I was in the infirmary at the time, so I can¡¯t say for certain, but everyone agrees that something happened to Raum von Weldtraumstadt, the elf who was in charge of the coliseum before space collapsed. It¡¯s split on whether he¡¯s dead or was corrupted, but everyone agrees that if he weren¡¯t he would have fixed this mess by now.¡±


    Johan¡¯s face fell at the news. All at once the frantic energy seemed to leave him and he fell onto the chair next to her.


    ¡°¡­I¡¯m sorry. If I¡¯d known he was important to you, I would have been less callous with my words. ¡­Do you want me to continue, or do you need a moment?¡±


    ¡°Continue,¡± he bit out sharply, fists clenched against his lap. ¡°Please.¡±


    ¡°¡­Right. Well, as I was saying, we were in the infirmary when it all happened. They, uh, they don¡¯t tell you this, but the Rodina didn¡¯t have as many healers as we assumed. They were a bit backed up, with even members of their own guild not having gotten treatment yet. But apparently Zeitn¡ªthat elven time mage who Matthias electrocuted¡ªgot a priority. The woman who¡¯d healed me went and got him back on his feet far ahead of the queue. And then¡­¡±Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°And¡­?¡±


    ¡°He stabbed her,¡± Lorenzo¡¯s face darkened in both rage and disgust. ¡°Right after she finished healing him. Just stood up and shoved his knife in her chest, so casually none of us knew how to react. Then he kept killing. He slit the throats of every healer in the building within seconds. And then he was just¡ªhe was just gone.¡±


    Palmira swallowed. ¡°That¡¯s awful.¡±


    ¡°He didn¡¯t bother with any of us¡ªprobably knew a bunch of crippled adventurers weren¡¯t much of a threat¡ªbut we still tried to send someone out to warn everyone. But then that happened and we weren¡¯t able to do anything to stop him. A while after that Teresa and Leo found us and helped us escape,¡± he nodded over to where the Crusader was currently arguing with the guildmaster.


    Johan ran a hand over his face. ¡°Those healers were all our guildmates,¡± he sighed heavily. ¡°Did¡­ did any of them survive?¡±


    ¡°Only three,¡± Catherina placed a hand against his shoulder gently, grounding him as she joined him in mourning. ¡°Two were on break when it happened. And the last¡­ uh¡­¡±


    ¡°The last was hidden in a closet,¡± Lorenzo cut in dryly. ¡°Shockingly, Matthias was also hidden in that same closet. And out of respect for their privacy that is the most I¡¯ll say on the matter.¡±


    Damn. She wasn¡¯t sure if she should be relieved or disgusted.


    With his side of the story done Palmira explained what happened with them, how they were launched from the arena and stumbled across the corrupted civilians while trying to rush back. When she got to the part about killing them Lorenzo placed a gentle hand on her back, silently comforting her as she forced her way through the explanation.


    It was as they finished that the guildmaster seemed to have finally concluded his business with Teresa. Marching up to the center of the piazza he turned to the desperate adventurers meandering about.


    ¡°EVERYONE, LISTEN UP!¡± he boomed, getting the attention of everyone present. After a few moments waiting for them to quiet down he continued. ¡°Good. As you are all aware, we¡¯re in the middle of a crisis right now. For the first time in decades Firozzi is under attack, the Demon Lord Nytheloph having infiltrated with its followers running amok and causing chaos. As I¡¯m sure you all agree, this is beyond the pale. In order to combat this attack I¡¯ve been working with some of the others to develop a plan to counter the Demons and hopefully return order to our city.¡±


    As the guildmaster finished speaking some of the adventurers from other guilds began frowning. The point he brought up was valid, but to the warriors before him¡ªmany of which were from the wealthier, more famous Rodina guild¡ªit appeared some random nobody was trying to order them about.


    ¡°Eh? Who the hell are you?¡± one of the adventurers scowled. He was a brawny human, one of the many people without any ties to the Rosa Dominae Guild. ¡°Why should we listen to you?¡±


    Her own guildmembers glared at him, though his complaint seemed to have struck a cord with the other nonaffiliated warriors lounging about the piazza. They were only a fraction of those who were still stuck in the arena, but they still outnumbered her own guild three to one.


    ¡°Hey, aren¡¯t you that guy who renamed himself ¡®Firozzi?¡¯¡± Another called out, vaguely recognizable as a woman who Johanna had obliterated during her winning streak. ¡°Arrogant bastard. And you broke away from the Ambrosi Famiglia, didn¡¯t you? Hah, and how¡¯s that been working out for you?¡±


    ¡°That is not important right now,¡± the guildmaster grit his teeth. ¡°What¡¯s important is that we are under attack and I¡¯m trying to create a strategy to deal with¡ª¡±


    But he¡¯d already lost the crowd, those complaints only opening the floodgates as everyone else started shouting over each other.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I want to take strategic advice from the guy who thought he could take on the Ambrosi and win.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, this guy¡¯s what, twenty? Thirty at best? Why should I have to listen to a human a quarter my age!?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s so scrawny. Has he ever even lifted a sword in his life?¡±


    ¡°Eh, I don¡¯t work for free anyway. I¡¯m not about to risk my life without some kinda reward, ya know?¡±


    ¡°Come on, we don¡¯t need to listen to this guy. Let¡¯s just go crush the Demons ourselves.¡±


    ¡°Ugh, I can¡¯t believe him. We¡¯re in the middle of a crisis and he¡¯s just jockeying for power over us. Typical politician.¡±


    That comment, it seemed, was the last straw.


    ¡°THIS ISN¡¯T FUCKING POLITICAL, DUMBASSES!¡± the guildmaster roared, slamming his fist onto a nearby table. The wood crystalized where his fist landed, ruby streaks splattering across the surface like blood. The action caused the crowd to fall silent again, if only just. ¡°A Demon Lord is attacking our city! Infiltrators corrupted by demonic taint are running around slaughtering innocent civilians and the best people who could stop it are either locked in a singularity or too damn busy trying kill each other to save anyone! And now that I¡¯m trying to do something about it you people just spit in my face! So let me be clear, as I frankly do not give a shit what any of you idiots are complaining about, because it does not matter. This right here isn¡¯t about politics or money¡ªwe are adventurers, this is about doing our Goddess-be-damned job!¡±


    There was some shuffling at that, angry and embarrassed but they were at least paying attention now, if begrudgingly. Much as he was right, nobody liked being called out like this.


    ¡°I do not care if you don¡¯t like me. I do not care if you¡¯re from another guild or my own. I don¡¯t even care if you think I¡¯m a greedy idiot with delusions of grandeur! But right now the threat is on our fucking doorstep and the only thing I care about is for all of you to take five minutes to fucking listen.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t the kind of speech that would win hearts and minds, but it didn¡¯t need to. The sheer frustration in his voice cowed even the rowdiest of adventurers, if only for the moment.


    ¡°AM I CLEAR!?¡± the guildmaster shouted, getting muted grumbling in return. It wasn¡¯t agreement, but it was likely the best he¡¯d get from the surly lot before him and they all had bigger issues regardless. ¡°Good. Now, thanks to my scouts we know that the corrupted are attacking civilians seemingly at random, which means until we drive them off or find out what they¡¯re after we¡¯ll need to split up into groups to cover the whole city. I want five people at the smallest and ten at the largest, but nobody goes out there alone! If you get hurt return here as a group to receive healing and get reinforced. The last thing we want in some poor injured schmuck getting offed because he set out alone in the middle of a Demonic invasion!¡±


    There was some more grumbling at his words, though at this point it was as much for the sake of it than anything else. There was even some relief from the few people who¡¯d escaped alone, no longer as worried about surviving without the rest of their guild.


    ¡°As for the lot of you who can¡¯t move,¡± he turned to shout at the dozens of injured adventurers. ¡°Don¡¯t think I¡¯m letting you all off the hook! If you can¡¯t use your bodies, use what little brains you have between you to figure out how to fix that big fucking mess!¡± he gestured at the warped arena in the distance. ¡°The faster we fix that the faster the rest of your guilds can help us return this city to order!¡±


    There was even more groaning from the makeshift infirmary, though more than a few seemed to draw strength from his words. A group of more esoteric wizards hailed the healers to push their cots together and quickly got to brainstorming.


    ¡°Good!¡± he nodded sharply. ¡°Now, let¡¯s get out there and kill some Goddess forsaken Demons!¡±


    There was a much more enthusiastic cheer at that, as for whatever differences they might have all adventurers agreed on one thing; all Demons deserved death.


    Sitting where they were at the back of the crowd, Palmira couldn¡¯t help but feel her own spirits rise. Much as things might seem bleak, at least she wasn¡¯t alone. With the small army arrayed around her, she even felt confident they could win.


    ¨®sma seemed to have agreed, some life returning to his eyes as he watched the guildmaster shout down another group of idiots who tried to gainsay his orders. Behind him the looming form of Leo the Barbarian dissuaded any form of violence, sneering down at any and all who approached.


    ¡°Ah,¡± ¨®sma chuckled softly, a small smile finally returning to his face. ¡°They grow up so fast.¡±

 Chapter 53 - Into the Spiders Web

    Chapter 53 ¨C Into the Spider¡¯s Web


    Following the guildmaster¡¯s speech (more a rant, really) Palmira had been sent back out into the city, though this time with backup. Lorenzo and Catherina, having been standing next to them at the time were drafted into a team with herself and Johan by ¨®sma, whose despondency had been chased away by a burning desire for answers and¡ªif possible¡ªrevenge.


    Personally, Palmira did not think this was the mindset their group¡¯s leader should be in. But even Morte had taken his side and she found herself unable to argue with both her mentors at once.


    This led to now, the five of them making their way further south, linking up with the Ambrosi¡¯s overextended House Guards and the struggling City Watch. The former didn¡¯t have the numbers to defend much beyond the Piazza del Drago while the later didn¡¯t have the power or skill and had half fallen to the corruption themselves to boot.


    The All-Seeing, it seemed, was very thorough in its infiltration.


    ¡°Hold.¡±


    ¨®sma¡¯s massive hand moved to block her way forward, stopping the rest of them from rounding the corner. Rising on her tiptoes to see over it, she frowned at what was approaching them.


    A troop of the City Watch were marching toward them, four in number and in loose formation. The setting sun was at their back, casting long shadows which danced across the glistening streets. Any other day she wouldn¡¯t have batted an eye at the sight, but here and now they looked almost menacing.


    ¡°They¡¯re corrupted,¡± Catherina murmured, smoldering with righteous fury. ¡°The City Watch would never send a group so small alone. Especially not after asking us to come here.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t know that for certain,¡± Lorenzo whispered back. ¡°Maybe the rest of their troop was taken out. We can¡¯t attack without being absolutely certain that they¡¯re lost.¡±


    ¡°I know how we can make sure,¡± Johan crouched down, picking up a large pebble off the ground. Then with a grunt he tossed it, the stone ricocheting off a wall and loudly clattering to the ground.


    Instantly two of the watchmen broke ranks and charged the stone. One stopped right above where it landed, twisting his head in all directions in a frantic attempt to find what made the noise. The other didn¡¯t stop running¡ªhe slammed straight into a wall, bouncing off it with a pained cry.


    The other two stopped, simply standing and staring into nothing as they waited for their fellows to return to their ranks.


    ¡°Yep, they¡¯re corrupted,¡± Johan nodded, tightening his grip on Vita.


    ¡°Not a bad trick,¡± ¨®sma hummed approvingly, flicking a finger. Thin strands of silver thread slid along the ground between the cracks in the cobblestones, silently encircling the watchmen¡¯s feet. ¡°Where¡¯d you learn to do that?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing much, just something I had to come up with when I was younger,¡± the half-elf shrugged self-consciously. ¡°The thing about the corruption is that it can¡¯t force you to do things you don¡¯t want to do. Instead it takes over your mind, twisting your senses and your thoughts to force you to make choices you never normally would have.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s awful,¡± Palmira scowled, eyes softening with pity as she stared at the watchmen. The one who¡¯d run into the wall had returned, but the last one was still trying to find the stone beneath his feet. ¡°Wait, but if they can still think for themselves then why do they end up like that?¡±


    ¡°The answer to that question is time,¡± Morte took over the explanation. ¡°The eyes may hide themselves from outsiders, but they aren¡¯t subtle to the host. If you¡¯re corrupted, you know you¡¯re corrupted. That makes people scared and paranoid, which the eyes want. They¡¯ll mess with your senses, stopping you from getting help and making you push away anyone who could save you. After a couple years of being corrupted you¡¯ll be little more than a puppet, dancing along to the rules of a world only you can see.¡±


    ¡°Unless they don¡¯t have enough time for that. In which case, they simply overstimulate your brain until you¡¯re a rabid, violent berserker who attacks everything around them,¡± Vita chirped, her voice somehow both bitter and cheerful. ¡°It¡¯s quite the awful experience. One of my previous wielders fell to it, so do be careful, Johan dear. I wouldn¡¯t want to find myself turned against you in the future.¡±


    ¡°You make me feel so loved, you know that right?¡±


    ¡°All of you quiet down,¡± ¨®sma shushed them. ¡°They¡¯re moving again.¡±


    The last watchman had finally returned to the others, and now back in formation they began to march once more.


    Or, at least they tried.


    The moment the first one took a step his leg was suddenly yanked to the side, the watchman falling into an impromptu split as his arms were dragged into the air. The others shouted in alarm but were unable to do anything as silver threads erupted from around their feet, a whistling flurry of death which lashed them from all sides.


    The battle was over before it begun, all four restrained by ¨®sma within seconds. Waiting a moment to make sure the men were secure, the orc finally gave them the all clear and led them out around the corner and onto the street.


    The watchmen thrashed against their bindings, some shouting profanities while others snarled wordlessly. One of them even tried to bite at the old orc, not that he paid them any mind. Instead he got to work tearing off their armor, revealing the splatterings of yellow eyes which had been hidden beneath their clothes.


    ¨®sma looked each of the men over with a critical eye, before sighing and shaking his head. ¡°Only this one can be cured,¡± he pointed at the watchman who¡¯d run into the wall earlier. ¡°The rest are too far gone for us to be of any help.¡±


    ¡°Is there really nothing we can do?¡± Lorenzo grimaced at the grotesque sight. ¡°If we can cure one, surely we could cure the others¡­?¡±


    ¡°Not at this stage,¡± ¨®sma shook his head apologetically. ¡°Especially not when they¡¯re so close to the organs. See this one?¡± he pointed at the watchman they could apparently cure, the same one who tried to bite him. Unlike the others, whose eyes were on their chest or stomach, his were only on his left leg. ¡°When it comes to Nytheloph¡¯s corrupted, it¡¯s not the eyes themselves but their roots that are the issue. They dig into your organs, tearing them apart and replacing them with their own distorted mockeries. If you don¡¯t catch it early enough it becomes impossible to heal¡ªeven if you purge every last bit of the eyes from the body, the damage they caused will kill a person long before even the strongest miracles can heal them. Even this one will need his leg amputated and cauterized to be safe.¡±


    Palmira gagged, her face going green. ¡°How is it that everything I learn about corruption makes it so much worse?¡±This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    ¡°There¡¯s a reason people have always hated fighting the bastard,¡± he nodded with a grimace. ¡°At least Edda and Laurence just kill you.¡±


    Having finished his inspection, ¨®sma didn¡¯t waste another second. Flexing his fingers the threads decapitated the three unsalvageable watchmen instantly, a quick death the only kindness left to them. The last he moved over to Catherina, who with holy light and a big sword began the painful process of purging his body of Demonic influence.


    Palmira ended up with the much worse job of disposing of the bodies. With a hollow heart she set them alight, burning them until they were naught but ash. The smell of cooked flesh made her want to puke.


    She¡¯d never liked Demons. But if someone were to ask her when she began to hate them, she¡¯d point to today, to these moments, when the best she could do to save someone was cremate them.


    -<X>-


    They gathered the ashes into blessed urns, before dragging the survivor back with them to the Piazza del Drago for further treatment. Laying him down amongst dozens of other injured the five of them barely got a second to catch their breath before being sent back out into the city.


    As the sun finally set below the horizon they¡¯d attempted to cross the river to patrol the eastern side of the city, but within minutes a group of mercenaries found them and they¡¯d been politely but firmly rebuffed. The east was Capparelli territory after all, and they weren¡¯t about to let Ambrosi affiliates snoop around when they didn¡¯t have the manpower to keep an eye on them.


    Where the Ambrosi owned the majority of the adventurer guilds in Firozzi, the Capparelli owned the majority of the mercenary guilds. But unlike the adventurers the mercenaries had not all been trapped in a singularity and as such were free to protect Capparelli interests at their leisure.


    A similar situation was occurring in the south, with the Holy Hospitaller¡ªthe only Firozzi Holy Order currently not off fighting Demons in the Cantons¡ªgleefully splattering the infidels across the pristine cobblestones of the New Quarter.


    As much of a relief as it was that the whole of the city wasn¡¯t overrun, the fact they were all leaving the Ambrosi territory to deal with it alone was frustrating. Just how many innocent people were going to die because of stupid Famiglia politics?


    It made her angry. A pressure was building in her heart, one which she had no way of relieving.


    When she was younger she hadn¡¯t cared about the Famiglias. They always felt too big, too abstract to form a real opinion on. It was like hating Demons or Angels. They weren¡¯t real, not like the City Watch or the Dukes of Iscrimo. From the perspective of a street urchin, the Signora was just a word.


    But now she was a part of a Famiglia. Now she stood at eye level with the oligarchs who ran Firozzi, and upon seeing them for what they truly are all she could feel is disgust and hate.


    For the first time she found herself agreeing with Dante¡¯s decision to strike his own path. Though their reasoning might differ, one thing was for certain:


    Something had to change.


    Palmira shook her head. Now wasn¡¯t the time for this. She had a job to do, and unlike some people she planned to see it through to the end.


    Even as night fell they continued patrolling the city. The ghosts began to appear in swarms now, the veil between life and death growing ever thinner. As the long dead mixed with the recently deceased it became harder to find the corrupted, as spirits centuries old begged them to find their decrepit killers.


    It wasn¡¯t impossible, though. Every few minutes Men, Elves, Dwarves and more were cut down as they patrolled the winding alleys of the Old Quarter. Each corner turned upon a new murder, each broken door revealed a new tomb.


    The night wore on them, exhaustion both mental and physical grinding them down. But as the Moon and the Angel Threads rose in the sky they finally stumbled across a potential end to the crisis.


    It began with a Drowned-Man standing by the river, chuckling to himself as he stared across it. He twitched with repressed energy, and yet his shoulders were slumped and his head bowed. They approached him warily, fanning out as they prepared to attack.


    Then he turned to look at them, and they halted in their tracks.


    Palmira recognized him, if only vaguely. He was the same Drowned-Man the twins had fought earlier. A smug ass who only stood out from the other dozen smug asses due to the scales which covered his skin. Now the two scimitars he wielded were stained red and his armor torn and muddy. He looked a shell of the warrior who¡¯d competed before the crowd.


    But more than that, the eyepatch he once wore had fallen around his neck, revealing what was hidden beneath.


    A pulsing, putrid eye, far too large for the socket it inhabited. Twitching, it roved over each of them, yellow puss turned orange by bloody tears.


    ¡°John, of the Rodina Guild,¡± ¨®sma growled, a deep frown engraving itself upon his face. ¡°That¡¯s the second Rodina adventurer who fell to the All-Seeing. I can¡¯t help but wonder how poor their security must be, that they¡¯ve been so thoroughly compromised.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± the corrupted adventurer blinked, only one of his eyelids able to close all the way. ¡°You know me? You know me, do you? And yet, I don¡¯t know you. Or perhaps I do? It¡¯s a bit hard to think these days, you know. After the snows melted, my head¡¯s been filled with nothing but water!¡± the Drowned-Man laughed, a twisted, desperate sound. ¡°How horrible! What a travesty! But that¡¯s the way of things, I suppose. Not even Winter can last forever!¡±


    The old orc glanced over at the two Rodina adventurers with them, raising an eyebrow. ¡°Was he always like this?¡±


    Catherina coughed and looked away, while Johan simply shrugged. ¡°There are hundreds of people working at the guild. We don¡¯t know everyone. ¡­I, uh, I didn¡¯t even remember his name until you said it.¡±


    With a sigh, ¨®sma turned back to the Drowned-Man. ¡°Well, John, you seem a bit more coherent than the last few we¡¯ve met. So will you come forth quietly and be cleansed, or have the Demons sunk their hooks too deep into your soul?¡±


    ¡°Cleansed?¡± he blinked again, the action grotesque in its familiarity. ¡°I was already cleansed. In brine and blood and boney broth! I was blind before, don¡¯t you know? I thought ice could form in salty seas. What an ignorant fool I was! Ah, but that was an era long past, and now¡­ now I can see.¡±


    His mad ramblings faltered as he suddenly attacked. He rushed forward, sloppy yet faster than he¡¯d been back in the arena. Within a second he would be upon them.


    Or he would have, if he hadn¡¯t been caught by ¨®sma¡¯s web.


    Over the course of their brief conversation the old orc had filled the air with silver threads, near invisible in the darkness of the night. The moment John had charged he¡¯d doomed himself.


    First his arms were bound, and then his legs. Finally his neck was tied in a noose, and in an instant all he could do was struggle helplessly.


    The Drowned-Man stopped. His normal eye didn¡¯t break eye contact with them, but the swollen Demonic one trundled in his skull, looking for something only it knew to find.


    He smiled. And with a flick of his wrist his scimitar left his hand to fly through the air, shining in the moonlight as it severed a dozen threads at once. His neck and legs were instantly free as they were disconnected from ¨®sma¡¯s magic.


    Then the blade came back down, and he sliced off one of his own hands.


    None of them knew how to react to that, and that gave him the moment needed to escape. Tearing off the last of them with his teeth he turned and ran, blood gushing from his stump and he crossed several blocks in an instant.


    ¡°Quickly!¡± ¨®sma swore. ¡°After him! Don¡¯t let him get away!¡±


    They ran, though it was clear that they wouldn¡¯t be able to keep up. He had some weird jumping magic that let him bound across distances in half the time it took them to run. Already he was but a distant speck along the waterfront.


    Palmira huffed in rage, smoke billowing from her jaws. Maybe the stress of the day had finally caught up to her, but she would not let that happen.


    Her feet ignited. Ignoring the other¡¯s shouts for her to stop, she rocketed ahead, rapidly making up lost ground. Now she was gaining on him, charred footprints sizzling against the bloody trail he left in his wake.


    The Drowned-Man didn¡¯t stop to look back at her, but he must have known she was there. Instantly he turned sharply, leaping up onto a nearby rooftop. Not one to be left behind she followed, barely making the jump as she kept up the chase. She almost lost him there, but at the last moment she caught sight of him soaring across the red tile roofs which were so common in the city.


    ¡°Palmira!¡± Morte shouted, his voice cutting through the rage clouding her mind. ¡°Stop! Wait for the others!¡±


    But if she stopped to wait for the others she¡¯d lose him!


    Given a moment to calm down and think she might have agreed with him acted differently. But right now her thoughts were running as hot as her legs, and she found herself unable to care.


    So when the corrupted adventurer suddenly stopped jumping, when he fell down into one of the dark alleyways of the Old Quarter, she followed him without thinking.


    Following him, she landed with a thud, the mud beneath her burning shoes steaming. Flames blazed up her arms, angry and bright as she held Morte aloft.


    She immediately regretted doing this.


    Because he was no longer alone. Standing before the two of them were Zeitn and Rosalina, the familiar smell of burnt flesh wafting into her nose.


    In hindsight, she really should have listened to Morte.

 Interlude XVII - Times Up

    Interlude XVII ¨C Time¡¯s Up


    Zeitn


    Zeitn von Uhrenstadt was tired.


    Granted, that wasn¡¯t unusual these days. Ever since he¡¯d been humbled by the Demon Lord of the Old Capital his life had become little more than an endless downward spiral of failures and regrets. Now a weary anxiety clung to his shoulders like a ratty shroud, following him through life like a mockery of a king¡¯s cloak.


    Today had been particularly draining.


    In the beginning, the tournament was a welcome distraction, one final hurrah to send his old guild out on before they were torn down. It would be boring, but on a critical mission like this he¡¯d preferred boring any day.


    Then some random dwarf he barely remembered from his youth hit him with enough lightning to kill a giant and left him knocked out in the infirmary for the better part of an hour.


    That unexpected delay hadn¡¯t cost him much, but it had drained him to the point he¡¯d wondered if he could just forget about the plan and sleep the rest of the day away.


    But he¡¯d worked so hard to get here. Did he really want to throw it all away now?


    That annoying thought wouldn¡¯t leave him alone. It chased away his exhaustion and gave him the push he needed to get out of bed and start being productive.


    Things went a bit smoother after that. Quietly carving his way through the Rodina¡¯s support staff had reinvigorated him, reminding him that just because there were people more powerful than him in the world didn¡¯t mean he was by any means weak.


    His power was real. And under his new lord, it would only grow.


    Killing Raum had been the hardest part of the whole endeavor. While any feelings he¡¯d had for the elf had long since been buried, it didn¡¯t make it any easier to so permanently sever that tie. But sacrifices had to be made, and old flames were easy to snuff out.


    And it was worth it, because the distraction the drama queen had kicked off in his death throes was magnificent.


    With most of the city¡¯s population of adventurers trapped in a singularity he¡¯d had all the time he needed to start working his way down his list of targets. Assassinations weren¡¯t anything new to him, though it was rare that he was committing them against people rather than Demons. But times changed, he supposed, and him with them.


    So far he¡¯d taken out two of the Signora, a half dozen councilmen, and the head of the City Watch. With the All-Seeing setting his less important thralls loose on the city he¡¯d even managed to do so nearly unimpeded.


    The only exception had been the two kids on his list, the half-elf Johan and the Fire Mage Palmira. At first he hadn¡¯t been able to believe his luck when he saw two of his targets running around the city alone¡ªif the Goddess weren¡¯t cursing his name, he could almost imagine she was smiling down on him in that moment.


    Though the fact that he¡¯d failed put a damper on that. Anti-Magic was not something he¡¯d expected to face in this day and age. He might would have been able to find a way around it given enough time, but the sudden arrival of her had forced him to flee, lest he get ground down between two dangerous enemies.


    He almost failed in that regard, though luckily his Lord was always looking out for him.


    Unfortunately, that woman was also on his list. She¡¯d been dangerous even before she¡¯d started delving into whatever dark arts had consumed her, and now he worried she might be too much even for him.


    No, it would be fine. He was strong. A simple priestess was nothing to him.


    Right. It wouldn¡¯t do to stew in fear. He controlled time. It didn¡¯t matter how powerful she was if she couldn¡¯t touch him.


    Regardless, she wasn¡¯t his priority yet. With some of the adventurers back on the streets he¡¯d pulled back to assassinating political figures, and with the Ambrosi checked off his list he now turned his sights on their ancient enemies.


    In no time at all he made it to his next destination, Castle Capparelli.


    The castle of the old Dukes of Firozzi dominated the heart of the Duke¡¯s Quarter. Sprawling yet squat, the man-made stone of its construction stood in direct contrast to the organic scales and bones of the Ambrosi¡¯s seat of power beneath Vesuvius. Once it had been the most fortified citadel in the region, though following the populist revolt the outer walls had long since been torn down as a way to limit the Capparelli¡¯s power in the city. What remained today was a dated villa, reduced from its old glory yet still resplendent in its own way.


    In recent decades the Capparelli had clawed their way back into power, year by year seizing another inch of the Ambrosi¡¯s power base. A century ago the idea of the old dukes returning to dominate the city was ludicrous, but time made fools of them all it seemed.


    And after how badly he¡¯d ravaged the Ambrosi, they¡¯d have a clear shot at finishing off their ancient rivals and taking the city for themselves.


    This could not be allowed to happen.


    He would make sure it would not happen.


    Luckily, his enemies liked making his life easy. The main branch of the Capparelli Famiglia had become big and bloated, held together only by the political acumen of their current Matriarch. It didn¡¯t take a Demonic spymaster to know what would happen when she finally croaked¡ªher children practically lived in different cities for how much they hated each other.


    Therefore, his next action should be obvious.


    Zeitn walked calmly through the open gates of the inner walls, having been opened for just a moment to allow a troop of guards to pass through. Near-frozen in time, they moved a bare millimeter as he casually slipped past.


    Now in the inner courtyard he continued on his way, his leisurely pace not slowing in the slightest. Within the gates the opulence of the wealthy elites was on full display. Marble statues by famous artists stood proud between exotic plants from across the sea. Silken tapestries hung motionless in the breeze, beautiful works of art which even he was forced to stop and admire. Standing next to a maid in the middle of cleaning one he hummed, promising himself he¡¯d stop and steal some of these on the way out. Continuing on he passed a dozen men and women kneeling before a priest, a prayer of purification frozen on his lips. Likely they were servants, as he couldn¡¯t see the Capparelli allowing outsiders into their home during such a critical time.


    Not that he cared one way or the other. Even before he¡¯d found his new lord he wasn¡¯t one to bother with what the Capparelli did or did not allow.


    Case in point, this was far from the first time he¡¯d snuck into their grounds like this.


    Ignoring the main door, he meandered over to a corner of the garden where a trellis leaned against the stone wall directly beneath an open window. Vines and moss had overgrown it to the point it was near invisible in its mundanity, and the lack of maintenance it had received was obvious in how much of the wood was pockmarked and rotting. The fact it hadn¡¯t collapsed under its own weight yet was a minor miracle.


    With time so utterly slowed, Zeitn climbed up it as though it were made of solid steel.


    He smiled to himself as he finally entered the main building. The groundskeeper hadn¡¯t moved that trellis in a near decade, much to his amusement. Laziness, he¡¯d found, was the easiest thing to take advantage of when infiltrating a building.


    Walking through halls he knew like the back of his hand, Zeitn considered that perhaps the Capparelli had gotten a bit complacent. Or maybe they¡¯d just never figured out how to properly defend against a time mage. He knew that most of the Ambrosi¡¯s defenses had only been installed after he joined.


    Whatever the case, it just made his job easier. Arriving at the heart of the castle, the elf smiled as he slipped through a closing door to find the woman he was looking for waiting right where he¡¯d expected her to be.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Once the throne room of the Duchy of Firozzi, it now acted as the solar of a family long fallen from grace. In his father¡¯s day tribute from across half the peninsula would find its way here, hoarded by the most powerful men in the region. Now that wealth was sparser, the decorations shiny and new and lacking history. The Ambrosi hadn¡¯t been the only ones to pillage their once-subjugators after the revolts. All that remained of that time was an ancient throne, its only grandeur held in how old it was.


    And sitting on that decaying throne was Matilda dei Capparelli, the Matriarch of the Capparelli Famiglia. Holding court as though she were a Duchess in truth.


    He remembered the first time he¡¯d seen her. She was smaller than her reputation made him expect, a petite little lady who¡¯d likely killed more people than he ever could. Hers was a danger of poisons and perfumes over blood and blades. When dealing with her as a political enemy you could never let your guard down lest she sink her fangs into your neck.


    Admittedly, he had never liked her. She¡¯d led the Capparelli through the majority of his time under the Ambrosi, and some grudges didn¡¯t vanish just because you changed sides.


    That being said¡ªno matter how much he was going to enjoy this¡ªthis wasn¡¯t personal.


    His lord commands, and so he kills.


    Time returned to normal, and the elderly woman¡¯s pupils dilated in fear in the split second it took her to recognize who stood in front of her. He gave her a sardonic smile, his dagger already raised.


    Her guards moved, fast but not fast enough. Shock had a habit of dulling one¡¯s reflexes. Beyond them people shouted as they realized what was going on, her many sons and daughters scrambling in blind panic. It was a familiar reaction, and one he¡¯d grown long used to ignoring.


    With clinical ease he slit the little human¡¯s throat.


    Time slowed to a near standstill once more, a sword mere inches from his back. Stepping away from it, he took a moment to admire the scene. The flailing aristocrats, the worthless guards, and the dying Duchess. Blood even now spurted from the hole in her neck, painting the air in a red rainbow of death. There was fear frozen in her eyes.


    She wasn¡¯t yet dead, and would live hours longer to him than the rest of the world. Until the moment he resumed normal time she¡¯d technically survive.


    It was a heady feeling, being able to control life and death like this. Almost intoxicating.


    There was a reason he decided to become an assassin. And Goddess forgive him, there was a reason he was even now unable to quit.


    Patting himself on the back for a job well done, he left.


    What, expecting him to kill the rest of them? Purge the entire Capparelli Famiglia, root and stem?


    Why would he bother doing that when they¡¯d tear each other apart just fine on their own?


    He did, however, steal one of the tapestries on his way out. They really were too beautiful to let go to waste in a place like this.


    -<X>-


    He continued killing people for much of the afternoon. Important people, dangerous people, and even some unimportant people just to spice things up. Most of them he wasn¡¯t sure why exactly they needed to die, but since when was he one to question orders?


    Unfortunately, however, his list was running low on names. And one near the top stood out like a roach in the corner of the room that he was growing steadily less able to ignore.


    Rosalina the Priestess was dangerous. She was deadly. In a straight fight she would almost certainly kill him without breaking a sweat.


    She also wasn¡¯t at all subtle, which means he knows exactly where she is. Unfortunately.


    Zeitn skulked his way through the alleyways of the Old Quarter. Ashes of the corrupted littered the streets, giving him a clear path to reluctantly follow. Ever since the woman had escaped Sinbad she and her thralls were carving through his lord¡¯s army like a hot knife through butter. From what he¡¯d been able to glean from the hivemind she had yet to suffer even so much as a scratch in the process.


    It was, admittedly, a little intimidating.


    But she couldn¡¯t control time. He¡¯d be fine. All he needed to do was slit her throat and he¡¯d win.


    Right, of course. Regardless, it was far too late to back out now. There was too much at stake, too much already lost for them to fail now.


    With Iscrimo a failure his lord¡¯s original plan was dust in the wind. Firozzi would naturally have been next, giving them free reign to march on the Holy City of Vola. But even if they couldn¡¯t take the city, they could at least make sure it burned.


    Firozzi would collapse under its own weight. The great families would bleed each other dry in a pointless war over a crumbling city. And all it took to set it all off was a little bit of murder.


    Soon enough he found the priestess, the trail of ashes leading directly to her.


    Rosalina stood in the middle of an alleyway, her hair haloed in blinding flame and her staff buried deep into a burning corpse¡¯s chest. A soft divine light poured from the cracks in her skin, chasing away even the barest hint of shadow. Even frozen in time, she was a daunting sight.


    Zeitn paused for a moment, centering himself. Time was still slowed, giving him ample ability to prepare. Thought that would only last until he decided to act.


    That was his magic¡¯s great weakness¡ªas that infuriating dwarf seemed to have figured out. He could slow down time all he wanted, but after he found it impossible to affect the very world he was slowing down. It didn¡¯t matter how hard he cut, whether he focused on flesh or paper, it refused to move. If he slowed down the world enough, even the air itself became difficult to walk through.


    He never went further than that. Some questions had very obvious answers, and he preferred living.


    Though where the what of his magic¡¯s weakness was clear cut, to this day he¡¯d never figured out the why. Maybe the Goddess saw his strength and intervened to prevent him from becoming unstoppable. Maybe there was some hitherto unknown law of physics that he was running afoul of. Maybe it was simply a subconscious block he¡¯d put on himself, a limit a primitive part of his brain refused to cross.


    Maybe none of those things. Maybe all of them. It wasn¡¯t something he dwelled on much.


    It is what it is. Better he focus on what he could do than what he couldn¡¯t.


    Stepping forward, he placed his dagger against the priestess¡¯ neck. Out of instinct he pressed, even knowing it couldn¡¯t break the skin. But sue him, he was nervous. He¡¯d only get one shot at this, and every millisecond wasted was a millisecond he¡¯d be risking his life.


    Sending up a quick prayer¡ªfor all the good it would do¡ªhe returned time to normal.


    And with a flick of his wrist, he buried his blade deep into her neck.


    Rosalina didn¡¯t even bother struggling. The blindfold masked her eyes from him, but he could still feel her attention, like a blazing sun bearing down on his very soul.


    He dug deeper, sweat forming on his brow as he tore through flesh and bone to carve through her neck. She opened her mouth¡ªperhaps to curse him, perhaps to pray¡ªbut he didn¡¯t spare her the moment.


    With one last desperate tug, he pulled his blade straight out the other side, and Rosalina¡¯s head rolled off her neck, thoroughly decapitated.


    It hit the ground with a meaty ¡®thunk,¡¯ rolling to a stop at his feet.


    All at once, the tension which had built up drained away. He¡¯d have laughed if he were able, but as it was all he could do was stumble over to the nearest wall, heavily leaning against it as he calmed his racing heart.


    ¡­Heh. That was easier than he¡¯d expected.


    ¡°Oh dear. It seems a truly vile creature has attempted to desecrate my body.¡±


    Zeitn leapt off the wall, blades in hand in an instant. What¡­ she was dead. He killed her!


    ¡°But for one such as I, is death really so great a barrier?¡±


    Her body still stood. He hadn¡¯t noticed¡ªhadn¡¯t paid attention¡ªbecause who would!? He¡¯d cut off her head!


    ¡°Be not afraid, little one,¡± her head whispered from where it rested at his feet. He stumbled back, eyes wide in fear. ¡°Redemption is still possible, even for something like you.¡±


    She didn¡¯t bleed. He¡¯d been so focused on killing her that he didn¡¯t even notice. There was nothing beneath her skin but light and bone.


    The body took a step towards him, and he took a step back. The head smiled up at him as hands reached down to gently cradle it with long, spindly fingers.


    He watched in horror as Rosalina placed her head back onto her shoulders. From the wound he¡¯d carved a blinding light spilled forth, and in an instant all that remained of the life-ending injury was a thin white crack, barely visible beneath her chin.


    As she did the blindfold which hid her eyes fell off, having come loose on the ground. His breath caught at what he saw beneath.


    Black, soulless pits stared out from her skull. Not simply dark, but empty, like two points of nothingness gleefully pinning his soul in place. They were not the eyes of a human.


    Zeitn realized, in that moment, that he could not kill her. Not by mortal means.


    A moment later, he remembered that he could control time, and that he really should get the hell out of here.


    Unfortunately, that was a moment too late.


    Rosalina was suddenly standing before him, having moved too fast for him to follow. Her hands clasped themselves around his cheeks, her nails digging deep into his skin, her pinkies locking behind his neck.


    Time slowed down, but he couldn¡¯t move. Her grip was too firm, and his body too weak. He¡¯d decapitate himself if he tried to tear himself free.


    And unlike her, he wouldn¡¯t be coming back from that.


    He stood there for what might have been an eternity, staring into the infinite darkness of the woman who was going to kill him. His heart pounded harder in his chest, and hysterically he wondered if dying of a heart attack would be a better way to go out than whatever she had planned for him.


    Then he shook the thought away. No, no. He was Zeitn von Uhrenstadt! A powerful mage of international renown! If he was going to die, he¡¯d go down swinging.


    He brought up his daggers and, when time resumed, buried them both hilt deep into Rosalina¡¯s chest.


    It did nothing. She simply smiled, moving one of her hands to gently cup his chin.


    Then in a single blinding movement she tore off the mask which covered the lower half of his face, revealing what he¡¯d been so desperate to hide beneath.


    A putrid eye the size of an apple throbbed in his mouth, glaring at the human before it with the hatred that only a Demon could possess. Thick veins grew from its sides, twisting across his lips to bury themselves in his chin and nose. The entire lower half of his face was a deep purple, contrasting grotesquely with the yellow eye in the center.


    ¡°What a wretched thing you¡¯ve become,¡± she whispered, fingers tightening against his skull. Some of the veins tore themselves from his face, trying to connect to her fingers only to burn the second they got close.


    Zeitn gagged, unable to speak in his defense. Whatever defense that might have even been.


    He knew what he had become. And, perhaps, he¡¯d always known it would lead him here.


    ¡°But you need not worry,¡± she continued, her fingers beginning to smolder against his cheeks. Despite the agony, her tone was almost reassuring. ¡°Everyone has a place at my side. Even people like you.¡±


    Please, he begged with his eyes. Please.


    ¡°It does not matter how much you sin,¡± Rosalina whispered kindly, divine fire blackening his skin. Her face projected love, even as her eyes promised death. Then she leaned forward and gently kissed his brow, her lips somehow hotter than the flames. ¡°Because I forgive you.¡±


    Beneath blinding light his head burned. And behind his Demonic gag, all Zeitn could do was scream.