Critical Failures IX

No Holds Bard

By Robert Bevan

Copyright 2021 Robert Bevan

Special Thanks to:

My editor, Joan Reginaldo.

My wife No Young Sook.

My cover designer, No Hyun Jun.

My fans who like my Facebook page and subscribe to my newsletter.

(Even if the latter only do so to get a FREE copy of Multiple Orc Chasms)

Chapter 1

The boat ride to the mainland was turning out to be one of the most uncomfortable rides of Julian's life. He and Katherine had convinced the drow of the merits of sending them off to Pargos, the biggest one being that the drow could finally be rid of them. But the vessels they were lent were hardly bigger than rowboats with a single sail, capable of ferrying only three passengers along with the drow they insisted captain the vessel to ensure its safe return.

To make matters worse, the High Drow's cousin went missing during the negotiation. It was suspected that he'd just gone off to wander the island, as he was apparently often wont to do. But with all the chaos going on due to the recent unrest among the Knights of Jordan, the High Drow was concerned enough to organize a search party, meaning that he was only willing to spare one of their number at a time for ferry duty. Katherine and the others would have to take the next boat out.

Even more unfortunately, the drow he assigned as ferryman was Cedric, easily the biggest prick of them all. Chaz's shirt still bore the yellow piss stains of when Cedric urinated on him out of spite because he hadn't been allowed to flay him.

It came as no surprise, then, that Cedric spent the entire trip sullen and snippy. But it didn't explain why Chaz and Akane were in such poor spirits.

Julian suspected Akane's moodiness was likely due to a combination of hunger and her contempt for drow, but he figured she would look at the bigger picture and be happy that they were on their way to get the money she'd flown him all the way here for.

Chaz, on the other hand, was a complete mystery. He'd been positively stoked about Julian's enthusiasm for kicking their musical career back into gear. Sure, all the money from their first couple of shows was already accounted for, but he'd still get to be a rock star. Hell, he was the one who'd been going on about how saving the world was going to do wonders for his reputation. Surely, he could take in the big picture.

But Julian suspected that whatever was wrong with Chaz went deeper than missing out on a couple of gigs' worth of coin. He looked spooked and a little sick. Maybe he was prone to sea sickness.

The only one who seemed to be enjoying the trip at all was Ravenus, but that was probably because he'd been spending most of it high in the air, away from the sulking occupants of the boat.

The wind was steady, helping move their boat along at a nice pace, but it also fueled a persistent chill through their damp clothes. The choppy sea continuously splashed water over the side. Not enough to threaten sinking the vessel, but plenty enough to keep their feet constantly soaked.

The sky was clear, which Julian would normally appreciate. But out here on the open sea, the breadth of vision it afforded him only served to highlight how vastly far away they were from anything that would allow him to put more than a foot of distance between himself and anyone else.

“Why don't you play us a song?” suggested Julian. “It might help lighten the mood, or at least pass the time.”

Chaz narrowed his eyes at Cedric. “I don't know. Last time I played for our captain, he took a piss on me.”

Cedric sneered at him. “Is this voyage not tedious enough without the howling of a hairless monkey?”

“I would like to hear a song,” said Akane. “I am intrigued to hear the means by which you claim to be able to fetch so much coin.”

“Song it is!” Chaz responded like he was answering to a drill sergeant. Without a wasted motion, or the slightest hint of care given to Cedric's feelings on the matter, Chaz grabbed his lute case from where it was stowed under his seat, then pulled out the special lute the fairies of Glittersprinkles Grove had given him. The moonlight amplified the vividly colored designs painted all over it. Flowers, vines, birds, and more abstract shapes that Julian couldn't identify. They were somehow both childlike and elegant at the same time. “Any recommendations?”

It seemed he really did have the hots for Akane. Julian almost wished he'd let Chaz believe she was a hooker. If he made a move on her that she wasn't receptive to before Julian paid her what he owed her, it could mean big trouble for both Chaz and Julian. He made a mental note to have a chat with him about this as soon as they got a moment alone.

“Huaya Anxin?” said Akane.

Chaz gawked uncertainly back at her. “I beg your pardon?”

Akane sighed. “It was optimistic of me to think you might have known any good songs. Play whatever it is that is popular among you mammals these days.”

“Us mammals?”

Whoa! Not a can of worms we need to open right now.

“How about Sweet Caroline?” suggested Julian. He needed something fast, and it was the first one that came to mind.

Chaz groaned. “I'm sick of that fucking song.”

“Play the song, Chaz,” Julian demanded with as much managerial authority as he could muster. “If you're going to be a star, you have to keep playing the hits, even when you're sick of them. Give the people what they want, and always give 100%.”

Chaz nodded. “You're right.” He gave Julian a little smile. “Not half bad, manager. I told you you'd be good at this job. I've got an eye for talent.”

“Just play the song.”

After a few warm-up strums of his lute, Chaz began a nice earnest rendition of the Neil Diamond classic.

Neither Akane nor Cedric seemed very receptive at first, but Akane cracked a smile the first time Julian chimed in with “Ba Ba Ba” after the titular line in the song. The second time it came around, he encouraged her to participate as well.

“Ba Ba Ba!” she shouted along with him and then clapped ecstatically.

“What a pointless waste of creativity!” she said when the song ended.

Chaz frowned. “Thank you.”

“But it was so much fun! Play it again!”

“Do I have to? I've got a lot of other –”

“Play the song, Chaz,” insisted Julian. “Give the people what they want.”

Chaz nodded and sighed. “Okay, here goes.”

Akane needed no further prompting from Julian. She waited eagerly on the edge of her seat, nodding along with the music in anticipation of when she could shout, “Ba ba ba!”

After Chaz had played the song six times in a row, and Akane seemed no less eager for him to keep going with it, Julian began to regret requesting Chaz to play any music at all. He longed for the volatile silence during which he'd felt like the slightest wrong move from anyone might end up with everyone at each others' throats.

“Ba Ba –”

“ENOUGH!” shouted Cedric.

Akane stood up, as steady in the little boat on the choppy sea as she was on firm ground. Her eyes looked like she was itching to vomit lightning straight through Cedric's heart.

“How dare you interrupt me!”

For a fraction of a second, Cedric looked genuinely frightened. But then his expression melted into one of smug satisfaction that he'd gotten a rise out of her.

If ever there was a time for Diplomacy, this was it. An unfortunate roll here would mean they'd be lucky to be swimming the rest of the way to the mainland.

“Please, Akane,” he said. “Perhaps our singing is interfering with the captain's concentration.” That was good. He'd made the issue one of practicality while asserting Cedric's rank upon the vessel.

Akane sat back down slowly, simmering to a lower boil, which Julian supposed was the best he could hope for.

“Captain,” he purposefully addressed Cedric. “How much longer until we reach Pargos?”

“That was the reason for my interruption,” Cedric responded. “I have spotted land.”

Julian squinted out into the darkness ahead of them. But even with the full moon and his elven Low-Light Vision, he couldn't make out anything beyond a few dozen yards besides inky blackness.

“I don't see anything,” he said.

“How could you with those primitive ape eyes? In an hour, your precious sun will begin to cast light in the eastern sky, providing the crutch your vision requires.”

The tension only grew thicker over the next twenty minutes of absolute silence. Akane and Cedric played a long game of scowl tag, one scowling while the other averted their eyes and pretended not to notice. It was only a matter of time before one of them asked the other what the hell they were looking at and all hell broke loose. Julian feared that, after surviving so many hours at sea, they would all die two hours away from land.

“Should I play another song?” asked Chaz, finally breaking the silence as he idly strummed his lute.

“NO!” said Akane, folding her arms and scowling out to sea. “I am no longer in the mood.” She turned her scowl toward Julian. “I am hungry.”

Chaz played a loud, jarring note on his lute, drawing severe glares from everyone on board the boat, then hurriedly packed it away in its case. “Sorry.”

“I'm sure we'll find you something to eat as soon as we make landfall,” Julian reassured Akane, not at all sure what they would find. If they were lucky, they might land next to a farmhouse with a grazing herd of cattle.

“Julian!” squawked Ravenus as he flew down to perch on the side of the boat.

Cedric cringed at the sound of his voice, much the same way Cooper did whenever Ravenus spoke. Except Cedric could understand Ravenus. He simply didn't like him.

“Yes, Ravenus,” said Julian. “What is it?”

“I took the liberty of scouting ahead, and I have good news.”

“You spotted land?”

“Indeed I did, sir! How did you know?”

Julian didn't have the heart to tell Ravenus that Cedric had already beaten him to the punch. He smiled at his familiar. “We're at sea with nothing but miles of ocean around us. What other good news could you possibly have to report?”

Ravenus bowed slightly. “A very astute observation, sir. At the rate you are currently traveling, I estimate that we should reach the city's harbor in just over an hour.”

“Wrong,” said Cedric.

Julian didn't know how much navigation experience Cedric had, but he seemed to be a competent enough sailor for Julian to trust his estimate over Ravenus's.

“How long do you think it will take us to reach the harbor?” Julian asked him.

Cedric shrugged. “If and when you want to visit the harbor is none of my concern, but this vessel will not be docking anywhere but back in the bowels of Roumont Keep.”

“Where is that?”

“Stupid elf. Have you forgotten already where we set sail from?”

“Oh. Was that called Roumont? Nobody ever told me the island's name.”

“Hey, wait,” said Chaz. “If you're not taking us to Pargos, then where the hell are we going?”

Cedric sneered at him. “The Pargosi are no friends of drow. I shall drop you on the beach north of Pargos. You can walk the rest of the way.”

“Our arrangement was for you to take us to the city,” said Akane. “Whatever reputation you have with the Pargosi people, I am sure it was fairly earned. You will honor the terms of our agreement.”

She was just picking at the scab, hoping to draw blood. As usual, it was up to Julian to diffuse the situation.

“I, for one, wouldn't mind stretching my legs a bit,” he said. “It's too early to find any food in town anyway. Everything's likely to be closed when we arrive. We'll have a better chance of finding food on the beach.”

“What the hell are we going to eat on the beach?” asked Chaz. “Sand?”

Julian shot him a warning glare. “Maybe a sandwich... of the knuckle variety.”

Akane shrugged. “I could go for a witch.”

Julian spoke quickly to rid Cedric of his disturbed curiosity. “We would be grateful to have you let us off at the nearest stretch of coast.”

Cedric turned away from him and stared ahead. “Not half as grateful as I'll be to be rid of you once and for all.”

Chapter 2

Cooper had been trudging aimlessly through the Fertile Desert for hours when he started missing the comforts of prison. He had no idea where he was going and nothing to eat or drink but two chunks of rubble. Eventually, he let those drop onto the sand. He could see for miles in every direction, and there were no approaching threats or impending danger. His shitty makeshift weapons had only been weighing him down.

Occasionally, he would stumble across an interruption in the patterns made by the wind constantly blowing over the sand. He'd drop to his knees and scoop up sand craters at every hint of a disturbance he found, hoping to find Nabi buried underneath, or at least a bottle of Gatorade or something.

No such luck. The most exciting thing he'd found so far was the withered remains of a twig. It might have once been part of an enormous grapefruit tree, full of moisture and sour sustenance. But now it was just a fossilized glimpse of what some poor asshole had to look forward to seeing when they dug up his long-dead corpse from the sand.

He'd picked the worst possible time for an unprepared hike through the desert. Dawn was just breaking when he stepped from the barren dirt of Meb Gar'shur onto the fertile desert sand. At the time it had felt like some kind of rebirth, a second chance to not fuck everything up. But from a practical point of view, it only meant that all of the traveling he'd done today took place under the scorching hot sun. And the only rest he'd gotten prior to that had been initiated by a building somehow falling on him.

Not that he had a whole lot of say in the timing of his journey. When a building falls on a guy, he should count himself lucky to be able to walk away from it. What choice did he have but to hightail it out of there immediately? He was a fugitive slave, after all, and the orcs of Olan Meb weren't a particularly kindhearted people even before their only source of entertainment inexplicably crumbled to a pile of rubble.

So now, instead of a nice quick stabbing, he had resigned himself to a prolonged and agonizing death from dehydration. After what he'd done to Nabi, it was more than he deserved. What the hell had he been thinking? And it wasn't just Nabi he'd fucked over. He was all too ready to kill Tim a number of times over the course of their incarceration. And for what? Tim had tried to explain to him on multiple occasions that he was working on a way for them to escape, and that he couldn't tell Cooper any details because he would only fuck things up. Instead of trusting his best friend, Cooper had sulked and fantasized about murdering him.

And look where it got him. Cooper had no recollection of anything that happened after he attacked that carrion crawler. But when he came to, it appeared that Tim had been right all along. His body hadn't been among the dead strewn all over the fighting pit floor. He'd delivered on the escape plan he'd promised. And though Cooper didn't remember how, he had no doubt in his mind that he'd somehow fucked up his chance to escape with Tim. Good for Tim. Cooper hoped he was doing well wherever he'd run off to.

Cooper spotted another anomaly in the sand patterns ahead of him. Not expecting to find anything more than he'd found in the previous half dozen or so, he dropped to his knees and scooped out heaping handfuls of sand. After he'd dug a hole big enough for him to lie down in and die, he discovered exactly what he'd expected to discover. Sweet fuck all.

He stared down into the hole. The temptation to lie down in there and die was strong. After all the people he'd hurt and betrayed, the world would be a better place without him. But now wasn't the time. There was a grievous wrong he had to set right before he let himself succumb to the sweet release of death. He had to find Nabi and pass her along to someone worthy to carry her. Or rather, he just had to hand her off to the first person he came across. She was pretty good about choosing the handler she preferred once she was out and about. But he couldn't die knowing that she was out here buried alone in the sand. He didn't expect her forgiveness for what he'd done to her, and he had no intention of asking for it. But he was determined to fight to his dying breath to find and rescue her.

Up ahead on the horizon, a growing cloud of dust signaled riders approaching.

“Fuck,” Cooper muttered aloud. Only two kinds of people traveled in the Fertile Desert. Idiots who were hopelessly lost and unequipped for desert travel, and assholes looking to capitalize on their idiocy. Cooper was definitely in the former camp.

He stared at the black specks at the center of the sand cloud, hoping they were traveling perpendicular to the way he was going and therefore might not spot him. But the cloud continued to grow. They were headed his way.

Cooper considered his options. He couldn't outrun them. Hell, he'd be lucky to outrun a slug in the shape he was in. He was still bruised and bloodied from his mysterious fight with a building the previous night, so fighting was also out of the question. That same hypothetical slug would likely kick his ass. There was always Diplomacy. Wow. What an unfortunate time for his imagination's option generator to shit the bed.

He looked around frantically for anything to inspire an idea, but there was nothing but featureless sand in every direction. Featureless, that is, except for the feature he'd made directly in front of him. If he buried himself in the hole, with only his face sticking out so he could breathe, they might ride right by without even noticing him.

Cooper jumped in the hole and frantically scooped sand over his body. He covered his legs pretty quickly, then lay flat to shovel what sand he could reach onto the rest of him. By the time he could feel the hoofbeats through the sand, he was pretty sure he'd done a piss poor job of hiding himself. He could see his gut exposed like that big ass rock in Australia, except made out of filthy skin. Still, if he didn't move, there was a chance they might not notice him.

The hooves stopped pounding the ground a moment later.

“What the devil is that, do you suppose?” asked a voice from about twenty yards away.

Cooper dared not turn his head to look in case the speaker was talking about something other than him. Maybe he'd just noticed a weird mole on his arm or something. But whoever was speaking sounded like kind of a pussy. Cooper considered that he might be able to take this guy if he wasn't currently buried in the sand.

“I do believe it is a half-orc,” said a second man's voice. This one also sounded like kind of a pussy. But Cooper didn't think he had it in him to take on two guys at once, even if they were pussies. He strained his eyes to look in their direction without moving his head, but he barely got anything from the very edge of his periphery.

“Do you think he is dead?” asked a third pussy voice.

“I suppose there is only one way to find out,” said the first voice. “Helloooo!”

Cooper continued to lay still. Finally, a stroke of luck. He hadn't even considered playing dead. But now that he thought about it, it was brilliant. What the hell were these assholes going to do with a dead half-orc? Anyone with an ounce of sense would stay the fuck away. Then again, they might decide to loot his body. He wished he hadn't buried himself so that they could see that he didn't have shit on him worth taking.

“Let me try,” said the second voice. “Good evening, sir! Are you injured? Might I interest you in a drink of water?”

That son of a bitch. How could Cooper say no to water right now? But why would they offer him their precious water if not just to lure him into a trap? No, he had to resist. The sun would be setting soon, and he'd be able to cover more ground. How big could this fucking desert be? He only needed to live long enough to find Nabi. If he could dig her out of the sand and leave her exposed for someone else to find, that would be enough. He just needed to hold out a little longer.

“I've got a wedge of lemon in it,” the second voice continued. “It is quite refreshing.”

Cooper closed his eyes, trying to ignore the temptation to give in. But he couldn't block out the sound of water trickling onto the sand. The bastard was pouring it out of his canteen just to show off how much excess he had. It was making Cooper... No!

His bladder didn't listen. The sand around his crotch grew moist.

“By the gods, would you look at that!” said the third voice. “I do believe he's sprung a leak.”

“Indeed he has,” said the second voice. “The poor bastard's pissed himself.”

Cooper found it a little hard to believe that he'd pissed enough to show through all the sand he'd scooped onto his crotch. He knew he wouldn't be able to see past his gut without lifting his head, but his curiosity was too great not to at least open his eyes. When he did, he saw a small tomato plant bearing fruit above his genitals.

“Goddammit,” he grumbled aloud. There was no point in keeping up the charade any longer. The jig was up. He might as well try to see if these guys were as friendly as they sounded, or at least see if the water offer was still on the table.

He turned his head to find two scrawny humans and a half-elf on horseback staring back at him. They were dressed like they'd just ridden out of a Nativity scene. “Um... hey.”

“Good evening,” said the human with the pointy beard and blue headpiece. “My name is Yermek. These are my companions, Abzal and Zhanbolat.” He gestured to the other human and the half-elf respectively.

“I'm Cooper.”

“We are honored to meet you,” said Zhanbolat. “Please satisfy our curiosity. How is it that you have come to find yourself lost so deep in the Fertile Desert with no provisions?”

“I got lost.”

“And where, exactly, were you coming from?” asked Abzal.

Cooper had given as much quid as he was going to give without any quid pro bono. “I believe one of you said something about some water?”

“Forgive my rudeness!” Abzal tossed his waterskin on the sand next to Cooper. “Please, drink until your thirst is quenched.”

Cooper dug himself out of the sand, sat up, and unstoppered the waterskin. It was easily the best drink he'd ever poured down his throat. The lemon wedge was a nice touch. Then again, Cooper was so thirsty that this thing could have been filled with their horses' piss and it probably would have tasted just as good.

After he sucked as much liquid out of the container as it would give, he decided to turn the tables on this interrogation.

“What are you guys doing out here?” he asked.

“We are treasure hunters,” said Zhanbolat. “Many more souls wander into the Fertile Desert than wander out. We travel in search of valuables the most unfortunate of them leave behind.”

“So, you're scavengers?”

Abzal shrugged. “That is perhaps a harsh term for our profession, but not inaccurate. We see no harm in collecting what the desert certainly has no use for. And when we travel back to civilization, we put what coin we collect back into circulation.”

Zhanbolat nodded. “It is really a public service when you think about it.”

Cooper might have chosen dehydration if he knew the alternative was being bored to death.

“Look,” he said. “I don't give a shit about your desert scavenging operation. I'm just looking for a friend.”

“Oh,” said Yermek. “Well, isn't that touching. We would be happy to accompany you to Meb Gar'shur. I am certain you would make plenty of friends in Olan Meb.”

Abzal smiled. “We have a friend there called Zimbra. We have brought him many a lonely desert wanderer. He provides them with food, shelter, and a supportive community of peers.”

“He seemed like kind of a prick when I met him,” said Cooper. “It's nice to know that he does something nice for people when he's not training slaves to kill each other.” He didn't want to be rude after they just saved his life, but he didn't have time to stand around with his dick in his hand while they exchanged uncomfortable glances. “I was looking for a specific friend. Someone I, um... got separated from out here in the desert a few weeks ago. Maybe you might have seen her?”

It was a long shot, especially since he'd left Nabi buried in the sand. But as long as he was talking to people out in the desert, it couldn't hurt to ask before moving along with his search.

“The Fertile Desert is vast,” said Yermek. “And it can be deadly to those who wander through unprepared. If your friend has been out here for weeks, I would not hold out much hope for her survival.”

“She's pretty tough.”

Abzal shrugged. “Who are we to claim knowledge of her fate. She would not be the first unlikely tale of survival I've heard. How would we know your friend should we happen to cross paths with her? What does she look like? Does she have any distinguishing features visible from a distance?”

Cooper thought about it for a moment. “Well, she's about this tall.” He held his hand up to about waist height. “She's black.” A thought suddenly occurred to Cooper, and he gave them all a warning glare. “I hope nobody's got a problem with that.”

They all shook their heads.

“No problem at all,” said Abzal.

Cooper nodded. “Good.” Another thought popped into his head. “Oh yeah, one last thing. She's an axe.”

“An axe?” asked Yermek.

“Yeah. Now that I think about it, I probably should have led with that before racially profiling her.”

“When you say your friend is an axe, is that a euphemism?”

Cooper scratched his ass thoughtfully. “I don't know. Is that a type of axe? She's magical, if that helps.”

The three riders exchanged glances again, but this time they didn't seem at all uncomfortable.

“A prize like that should fetch a pretty coin or two,” said Abzal.

“I don't have any money on me right now,” said Cooper. “But if you help me find her, I promise I'll find a way to pay you back. Maybe I could do your laundry or something.”

Yermek grimaced at Cooper, then turned to the half-elf. “Zhanbolat, can you locate the weapon based on the half-orc's description?”

“I should be able to get at least a general direction, depending on how far away it is.”

“Fuckin' A!” said Cooper, feeling genuinely optimistic for the first time in weeks. “Let's do this!”

“Shall I kill the half-orc?” asked Abzal.

“Wait, what?” Cooper's optimism took a sharp nose dive.

Yermek shook his head. “We may have to press him for more detail if Zhanbolat's divinations are too vague. Besides, he may still be worth a few gold pieces to Zimbra.” He turned to the half-elf again. “Restrain him.”

Cooper got to his feet. “What the fuck do you think you're –” He suddenly found himself unable to move as Zhanbolat thrust his open palm toward him while chanting some bullshit that Cooper couldn't understand. He lost his balance and fell face down onto the sand, struggling against the magic that was trying to bind him. “Son... of... a... bitch!”

Zhanbolat continued chanting as Abzal dismounted and pulled a length of rope from his bag.

Cooper found that, while his movement was greatly hindered, he was having some success fighting against the spell, but it was like trying to swim in a suit of heavy armor. At the very least, he could force out the words that would invoke his Barbarian Rage.

“I'm... really... angry.”

As his vision turned pink and his mind flooded with Rage, he found that his ability to move had now improved to the point that it was merely like trying to swim with a twenty-pound dumbbell in each hand. Still, it was enough so that he could give Abzal one nice punch in the face as he approached with his rope.

“Focus, Zhanbolat!” Yermek demanded.

Cooper trudged toward Zhanbolat, every step a struggle, but Zhanbolat chanted louder, practically screaming the nonsensical words at him.

Movement got even more difficult, like going from wading through waist-deep water to wading through chest-deep wet cement.

Cooper was losing the battle. When Abzal looped one end of a rope around his wrist, Cooper wasn't able to pull his hand out of the way or even take another swing at him. Once his other wrist was looped, Abzal pulled both wrists behind his back, then Zhanbolat continued chanting until Cooper farted out his Barbarian Rage.

“Mercy of the gods!” said Abzal, further securing Cooper's restraints while Yermek looked on with disgust and Zhanbolat looked on with exhaustion. That spellcasting appeared to have taken as much out of him as the Barbarian Rage had taken out of Cooper.

“You pieces of shit!” said Cooper. “You picked the wrong day to fuck with me!” He was pissed off and wanted to kill these guys, but it was somehow different than the bloodlust he'd been experiencing during his time in the fighting pits of Olan Meb. His desire to kill them didn't stem from any craving he felt for the act itself, but rather because they'd wronged him and were a threat to Nabi. “If you hurt her, I swear to God I'm going to tear off your dicks and stuff them in each other's mouths.”

“We have no intention of harming your friend,” Yermek assured him. “We simply want to put her in the hands of a more worthy keeper. Perhaps one who will not leave her stranded in the middle of the desert.”

He actually made a decent point. That's what Cooper wanted to do as well. What difference did it make to him if they made a little money out of it?

“Fine,” he said. “But you don't need me for that.”

“Well, we cannot very well let you go, can we?” said Yermek with a small chuckle. “Not if we intend to keep our dicks from being stuffed in each other's mouths.”

“I'm not asking you to let me go. I just want you to kill me.”

“I am afraid that is also out of the question. Quite the contrary, we shall need to restore your health before we sell you to Zimbra. You would not fetch a very high price in the condition you are currently in, after all.”

Cooper snorted. “Let me save you the trouble. I just busted out of Olan Meb. The arena's a pile of rubble.”

Abzal and Zhanbolat looked appropriately alarmed at Cooper's revelation, but Yermek smiled.

“I give you credit for creativity, half-orc. In all my years of capturing and selling slaves, I have heard pleading, bribing, threatening, cursing, sobbing, and reasoning. But this is the first time I have heard such a preposterous bald-faced lie. You are cleverer than you look.”

“No, I'm not,” said Cooper. “My Intelligence score is almost as  bad as my Charisma.”

Yermek ignored him, turning his attention to his half-elven friend. “See what you can sense of this axe. If it is nearby, we will fetch it now. If it is too far away, we will bring the half-orc to Olan Meb first, then come back for it.”

Zhanbolat got down from his horse, then rummaged through one of his saddlebags until he found a small iron bowl. He set the bowl on the sand before filling it with water from his waterskin. For a moment, Cooper thought maybe he was giving his horse a drink. But then he rummaged through his bag some more until he finally produced a sewing needle that was pierced through a small bit of cork. He got to his knees and placed the needle so that it was floating in the center of the bowl.

Sitting cross-legged on the sand next to the bowl, he closed his eyes and began mumbling more incoherent nonsense. That was fine with Cooper, so long as it wasn't directed at him.

Tied up and having nothing better to look at, Cooper stared at the needle floating in the water bowl. The pointy end was pointing straight up. But when Zhanbolat started mumbling louder, the needle started wobbling. It was just a small tug at first, like the way a fishing bobber barely disturbs the water when an indecisive fish nibbles curiously at the bait. But as Zhanbolat grew more confident with the gibberish he was bleating, the needle moved more purposefully, until it floated sideways on the surface of the water, rotating back and forth on its central cork like a free-falling airplane.

“Nabi?” Cooper whispered as the needle settled on a direction.

Zhanbolat opened his eyes and stood up. “The half-orc speaks the truth.” He pointed the same way the needle was pointing, which wasn't even close to the direction Cooper had been traveling. “The axe is that way, perhaps half a day's journey.”

Yermek frowned at the sun-baked horizon. “And I suppose it will take most of another day for you to pinpoint the exact location once we get close.”

Zhanbolat nodded. “Unless we get lucky.”

“I shall rest easier once the half-orc is locked away in the arena dungeons. Besides, I would prefer not to have something so valuable on hand when we meet with Zimbra. He may value the axe more than he does the services we provide him.” He scanned the horizon all around him. “I do not think we need fear anyone else taking the axe anytime soon. Let us travel to Olan Meb. Once we get rid of the half-orc, we can return for it on our way to Cardinia.”

Cooper would have to shake these guys one way or another. He only hoped he could find an opportunity before they took him all the way back to Olan Meb.

But even if he could give these guys the slip, how would he find Nabi? He knew which way to go from here, but how was he ever going to find here again? The desert was completely featureless. While Zhanbolat drank the water from his bowl and repacked his saddlebags, Cooper scrambled to think of some navigational clue he could use.

The Breakfast Club sequel, shoe-soled socks, and the spnife all had one thing in common. They were all brilliant ideas that Cooper had come up with while he was taking a shit. Needing a similar touch of inspiration, he squatted and closed his eyes.

The desert had sucked most of the moisture out of him, so his shit came out thick and solid. He pushed as hard as he could, ignoring his captors' disgusted groans as he cleared his mind in preparation for it to receive a flash of brilliance.

But aside from a pile of dry turds, nothing came out of his little exercise.

“Are you finished?” asked Yermek.

When Cooper opened his eyes again, he saw that they were all mounted on their horses and ready to go.

He frowned down at his shit pile. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Good. We had better start moving if we hope to make it to Olan Meb by –”

“Wait!” said Cooper. “No!” He dropped to his knees and stared hard at his turds, committing the pattern they were in to memory.

“What is he doing?” asked Abzal.

“I have no idea,” Zhanbolat responded. “Perhaps he swallowed a small piece of jewelry or something.”

“I hope he doesn't start sifting through it with his nose.”

Cooper had been prepared to do just that. But fortunately, that turned out to be unnecessary. There was one errant turd sitting apart from the rest of the pile, and it just happened to lie in roughly the same direction Zhanbolat's needle indicated Nabi was waiting. All Cooper had to do was get away from these assholes, follow their horse's tracks back to his shit pile, then follow the guiding turd.

“Back on your feet, half-orc,” demanded Yermek. “If what you claim is true, and you truly did manage to escape from Olan Meb, I am sure Zimbra must miss you.”

“Nah,” said Cooper. “He'll never know I was gone. He was standing in line with the rest of the orcs waiting to fuck your mom.”

Zhanbolat and Abzal stifled their laughter, but Yermek didn't even try to hide how furious he was. He drew an expensive looking rapier and held the tip near Cooper's neck.

“How dare you make such claims about my mother, you disgusting beast! She is a saint! Do you understand me? A saint!”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Cooper. “She's a saint. I got it.”

Yermek relaxed his sword arm and sighed. “Good. You would do well not to –”

“I mean, at the prices she charges, it practically counts as charity.”

Zhanbolat gasped while Abzal choked on the water he was drinking.

“You filthy animal!” said Yermek, pushing the tip of his sword into Cooper's neck. Cooper made no move to get out of the way. The responsibility to make sure Nabi got into the hands of a worthy wielder was his, but he had every confidence that these guys would be able to find her. If he died here, that would mean a few less days she'd have to spend buried in the desert.

But Yermek didn't finish the job. Instead, he lowered his sword and smiled at Cooper.

“I see what is happening here. You truly did escape from the fighting pits, and you would rather me kill you here than return to that life.” He sheathed his sword. “The satisfaction I would get from watching your blood spill on the sand here is nothing compared to the satisfaction I shall enjoy when I return you to your rightful owner.”

Cooper sighed. “Whatever. Let's get this show on the road, then. Lead the way.”

Abzal cleared his throat. “The sun is already low on the horizon, and our horses need to rest and drink. Perhaps it would be wise to set up the pavilion here for the night.”

Yermek scowled toward the sun, then in the direction of Meb Gar'shur. “Very well. I suppose we have no choice but to spend one night with this pig. We might as well get it out of the way now.” He climbed down from his horse. “Bind its feet and water the horses. Zhanbolat and I shall get started on the tent.”

Cooper didn't struggle while Abzal tied his ankles together and tightened the knots on his wrists. If he couldn't beat them or convince them to kill him, his best course of action was to just behave and try to get this over with as soon as possible. He farted a couple of times, which forced Abzal to back off mid-knot more than once. But it didn't occur to him that farting more aggressively might facilitate an escape until his ankles were already bound. Ah well, he probably would have fucked it up anyway. He had a long day of walking ahead of him tomorrow, so he closed his eyes and went to sleep.

Chapter 3

Harzos, the High Drow of the island, had spent hours pacing on the balcony, pausing periodically to squint into sunlight he was clearly uncomfortable with to scan the village for a glimpse of his missing nephew.

Katherine and her friends waited on the side of the sparsely furnished throne room. Apparently, a race of people who preferred to sit around in complete darkness put little value in interior décor. That was unfortunate, as Katherine would have liked something to focus on other than Harzos.

Between his growing unease, his driders' obvious desire to feast on the flesh of Katherine and her friends, and Lady Vivia's utter contempt for her, Katherine was growing more uncomfortable by the minute.

Harzos abruptly stopped pacing when one of his soldiers finally appeared in the throne room doorway.

“Any sign of Fezzil?” he asked.

“Nothing yet, my lord,” said the drow soldier. “We have thoroughly searched the Temple of Oxlos and the pub by the harbor. No one claims to have seen him all day.”

“Are you certain no ransom note has been delivered?”

The soldier opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it. He offered Harzos an unconvincing smile.

“We have no reason to believe he has been abducted. You know how he wanders off and loses track of time.”

Harzon shot him a severe glare. “It is not like Fezzil to be absent for dinner. Would you stand there and tell me that it is mere coincidence that my nephew goes missing on the very same day the Knights of Jordan awaken from their enchantment?”

“Well, I –”

“I have narrowed my list of suspects down to two parties.”

Katherine exchanged a nervous glance with Tony the Elf, who looked even more terrified than she felt. He was no doubt thinking, much like she was, that they were one of the two parties on Harzos's list.

“It may be a group of radical islanders taking advantage of the day's chaos to strike back against us, their perceived oppressors, in which case we can expect them to issue demands for us to evacuate the island immediately. Have your men search every structure with a basement.”

“Very good, sir.” The soldier bowed and turned to leave.

“I was not finished!” bellowed Harzos.

The soldier's face turned a slightly lighter shade of jet black. “I beg your forgiveness, Your Excellency.”

“Or it may be that one or more Knights of Jordan managed to shield themselves from the bard's song, then decided that more desperate measures must be taken to fulfill their master's quest. If that be the case, they will surely demand passage from the island on the next ship that docks in the harbor. If they reach Jordan Knight with news of what has happened here, Fezzil's life will be forfeit, and this island will be taken by an army of Knights ten times the size of the last.”

Katherine breathed out a small sigh of relief. They hadn't made the list after all. She gave Tony the Elf an encouraging smile, but he didn't look any less concerned.

“What would you have me do in the case of that eventuality?” asked the soldier.

“Man the ballistae at the harbor. Fire upon any ship that approaches.”

“Harzos!” said Lady Vivia. “Have you gone mad?”

Harzos pointed a warning finger at her. “This is my island, Vivia. You will mind your tone with me.”

“You have already suffered too long without trade, and now you have an influx of mouths to feed. How much more will you suffer once you gain a reputation for firing unprovoked upon incoming trading vessels? If the islanders aren't revolting now, they surely will be once they are forced to choose between starving to death and eating one another.”

“It will only be necessary for as long as it takes to find my nephew. The island is small. It should not take more than a week for a thorough search.”

“Has it not occurred to you, cousin, that the perpetrators of the crime might be sitting in this very room?”

Shit.

In case it wasn't glaringly apparent who Lady Vivia was referring to, she sneered directly at Katherine.

Harzos rolled his violet eyes. “Your judgment is tainted by your past interactions with the mongrel.”

Katherine was about to object, but Tanner grabbed her firmly by the wrist.

“What motive has she?” Harzos continued. “As generous as I have already been with her, what more could she hope to gain by abducting my nephew?”

“She is a bloodthirsty monster! Did she hope to gain anything from me when she ate Mittens and scrawled a mocking apology on the wall in his blood?”

Katherine winced, feeling all her friends' eyes staring at her.

“That was her cat?” whispered Jay. “Shit.”

“It wasn't a mocking apology,” Katherine explained. “I really did – do – feel bad about that, but I didn't have anything else to write with.”

“Is that right?” said Lady Vivia. “And did you feel just as bad when you attempted to feed me to my own wolves?”

“You did what?” asked Jay. He lowered his head. “We are so fucked.”

Katherine had had enough of Lady Vivia's shit. She got to her feet. “No, in fact. I don't feel bad about that at all.”

“What?” said Jay. “Yes, she does. I assure you, ma'am, she feels terrible about that.”

“Like hell I do. You brought that on yourself, Lady. I did what I had to do to defend myself, my friends, and my Animal Companion. If you hadn't been torturing a bunch of wolves, you wouldn't have these kinds of problems to begin with.”

Lady Vivia's sneer turned into a scowl. “Speak not to me of your kindness to animals after you –”

“Shut up!” demanded Harzos. “Both of you! This bickering brings us no closer to finding my nephew.”

“Did you not see how many corpses the mongrel spilled from her bag at the temple?” asked Lady Vivia. “If you truly wish to find your precious nephew, I recommend you look there.”

Harzos's furious gaze turned curious as it fell to Katherine's Bag of Holding. “Perhaps it would silence my cousin's accusations if we had a peek inside your bag.” He raised one eyebrow slightly. “That is, unless you have any objections?”

Katherine rolled up the bag into a tight bundle and tossed it his way. “Knock yourself out.” For the first time in quite a while, she didn't have any dead bodies in it. She'd even fibbed a bit at the Temple of Oxlos, claiming that the two Knights of Jordan she and Jay had accidentally killed were part of her crew, getting them included in the resurrections Harzos had promised her in exchange for freeing his island from Jordan Knight's minions.

Harzos held the bag open before Lady Vivia. “Would you care to do the honors?”

Lady Vivia scoffed. “I have seen what becomes of people who enter that filthy bag. Send Wexley.”

“Very well. Wexley?”

“Yes, my lord,” answered the soldier in the doorway, still desperately waiting to be dismissed.

“I would like you to get inside this Bag of Holding and search for Fezzil.”

Wexley swallowed hard, looking nervously at the bag. “As you wish, my lord.” He took a deep breath, then marched toward Harzos, who pulled the bag down over his head until it swallowed him up completely.

While they waited for a sufficient amount of time to pass, Harzos and Lady Vivia stared at Katherine like they were waiting for her to start panicking or make a sudden move.

Katherine crossed her arms and confidently stared right back at them. “I'll want that back when you're done.”

“Of course,” said Harzos. “Provided, of course, that we do not find any unpleasant surprises.” He reached into the bag. “Wexley.”

The drow soldier spilled out of the bag, looking grateful to be alive and able to breathe.

“What have you to report, Wexley?” asked Harzos.

Wexley hopped to his feet. “There is no sign of Fezzil in there.”

“You see?” said Katherine, speaking a little louder than she needed to so that all of her friends from the Whore's Head could hear as well. “Totally clean. No dead bodies.”

Harzos turned to Wexley. “Were there any dead bodies?”

“There were the hacked-up remains of a giant squid.”

Katherine scoffed. “That's clearly for food. Nothing weird about that.”

“Was there anything else of interest?” asked Harzos.

Wexley shrugged. “A few weapons. Some random junk.” His head jerked up like he'd just remembered something. “Oh yes, there was something a bit peculiar.”

Katherine's blood went cold. What had she forgotten about?

Harzos leaned forward, seeming to sense her sudden tensing up. “What was it?”

Wexley nodded to Katherine. “Those strange blue trousers she's wearing. There must be a dozen more pairs inside. Who needs that many pairs of trousers?”

Katherine relaxed. “They're called jeans,” she said. “They're comfortable, and I don't get to do laundry as often as I'd like.”

Harzos turned to Lady Vivia. “Satisfied?”

Lady Vivia glowered at Katherine. “I shall not be satisfied until I am bathing in that mongrel's entrails and devouring the meat from her wolf's bones.”

Katherine sighed. She was really hoping that they could get past this.

Harzos tossed Katherine the Bag of Holding. “It will be hours before Cedric returns, and he shall require rest before he makes his next trip. Perhaps you might enjoy taking a walk outside. I have much on my mind, and your presence here is... distracting to some.”

“I'd love to get out of here for a bit,” said Katherine. “I wasn't sure if I was allowed to.”

“You may come and go as you please. None of you are prisoners here. The main reason I accepted your proposal was to finally be rid of you.”

That was a backhanded bit of politeness if Katherine had ever heard one, but she didn't need to be asked twice.

“Tanner,” she said. “Let's take a walk.”

“I'd like to take a walk,” said Tony the Elf. His eyes still looked nervous, and there was a note of desperation in his voice.

Then it finally occurred to Katherine. Tony the Elf hadn't been all out of sorts about Harzos's missing cousin, or what the drow might discover in her Bag of Holding, or any number of things a sane well-adjusted person might reasonably worry about in their current situation. The bug up his ass was about Tanner being back in the picture. For fuck's sake, man. Let it go, already. This is not a good look for you.

“Stay here, Tony the Elf,” she said just a bit curtly. “We can't risk everyone wandering off and getting lost again, but I need to talk to Tanner alone right now.” Without another word, she, Butterbean, and Tanner walked out of the throne room.

Chapter 4

“Stop!” said Stacy, bringing the entire procession of ettins, orcs, and goblins to another sudden halt. She picked up a twig and brought it to her nose, allowing everyone to see her give it a good long sniff. She even touched the very tip of her tongue to it, then frowned for a moment as if in deep thought. “He's been through here.”

“Which way he go?” asked Grubgar, the ettin's leader, from atop his orc-mounted palanquin.

Stacy picked up a dried leaf, rolled it between her palms, then released the leaf dust into the breeze. She pointed in the direction they drifted. “They went this way.”

“They go this way, they go that way! Two days we follow you, and still no Mugmug!”

This was exactly the frustration that Stacy had been both cultivating and dreading since the start of this journey through the Cedar Wilds. She was surprised it had taken as long as it had for the dam to start showing cracks. If she could harness Grubgar's impatience, it could be the best chance she had at breaking away from the pack and escaping. If she didn't play her cards right, however, he might just squash her with a tree trunk and be done with her instead.

“I'm sorry,” she said to Grubgar. “I'm tracking them as quickly as I can, but they're traveling faster than we are. One of them is probably carrying the dwarf, so they're moving as fast as two freely moving ettins. We, on the other hand, are only able to move as quickly as your orcs can haul you around on that thing.” She knew there was a chance that Grubgar might take that as a cue to beat his orcs to encourage them to move faster. And while that might serve to take a few orcs out of the fight if all hell broke loose, the most likely consequence would be that the whole procession ground to a halt, eventually leading to Stacy getting clubbed to death with a tree trunk. With that in mind, she offered an alternative solution. “If I wasn't chained to this collar, I could run ahead and scout. Maybe I might even be able to injure them enough for the rest of you to catch up.

Grubgar laughed. “Nice try, human.” He tapped a finger to the temple of his living head. “But you no as clever as you think.”

Stacy had no illusion that he was going to go for that suggestion, but she might be able to coax a favorable counter offer out of him. The trick would be making him think it was his idea.

“I don't see how else we'd be able to catch up with your two fastest ettins.”

“Two fastest ettins?” said Grubgar. “Mugmug beautiful yes, but her and Lagra fast no.”

He was clearly going to need a little more prodding.

“Well, that's a relief,” said Stacy. “If you have two faster ettins among you, we might be able to catch up with them before Lugburt and Gurlog gather their forces.” It didn't hurt to remind him of the bullshit threat he wasn't up against.

Grubgar gnawed thoughtfully on a section of his club before coming to his decision.

“We send two fastest ettins out. Catch Mugmug and Lagra. Kill Lugburt and Gurlog.”

Stacy nodded appreciatively. “You know what? That just might work. I wish I'd thought of that.”

Grubgar laughed and tapped his temple again. “You no get be king of ettins by be stupid.”

“We should probably get going,” said Stacy. “I'm assuming you mean to send Snarlgorp, Fubglub, Mugg, and Frubble?” Not coincidentally, these happened to be the two ettins holding the chains on Stacy and Shorty.

“No, no, no,” said Grubgar. “Noorab and Flibzorg faster than Mugg and Frubble.”

Shorty looked at Stacy with a slight hint of panic in his beady goblin eyes.

While it was good that Grubgar had accepted at least one of her two suggestions, the ettin he'd rejected was Shorty's. The other way around would have been preferable since Stacy had convinced them that she was necessary for the tracking, but she had to find a way to get Shorty included in the tracking party without making it seem like that's what she was specifically trying to do.

“Noorab and Flibzorg are fast, sure,” she said. “But do they have the bellicosity for this kind of mission?” It didn't matter that she had no idea how much bellicosity Noorab and Flibzorg were capable of. All that mattered was that Grubgar didn't know what the word meant, and that he was too proud to admit as much.

“I have!” demanded Noorab, lifting the front of his and Flibzorg's loincloth, showing off their enormous junk. “Is right here!”

Mugg chuckled as he lifted the front of his and Frubble's loincloth. “Ours is bigger.”

Stacy wasn't sure how they'd come to that agreement on the wrong definition of bellicosity so quickly, or how no one seemed to question what that had to do with speed or tracking, but she'd take what wins she could get.

Grubgar nodded. “Snarlgorp, Fubglub, Mugg, and Frubble. Go find Mugmug and Lagra. Bring to me. Kill Lugburt and Gurlog. Bring me heads.”

Shorty let out a small, almost imperceptible, sigh of relief.

Stacy felt the familiar tug of her tight collar around her neck as Snarlgorp rattled her chains along with the chains of the goblins on either side of her. They obediently moved forward on their hands and feet like apes, sniffing the ground as they went, as did the goblins chained alongside Shorty. Stacy and Shorty, at least for now, walked upright.

As they distanced themselves from the rest of the ettin pack, Stacy felt good about having heightened the odds of her and Shorty being able to overpower and escape their enemies, even if she'd only heightened them from a snowball's chance in Hell to a snowball's chance in a Mississippi summer.

A coordinated attack at full health and with several additional allies had barely been enough to take down two ettins, even with the element of surprise on their side. Now it was down to her and Shorty against two ettins and four goblins, and both she and Shorty were unarmed and in pretty rough shape.

Judging by Shorty's expression, he was having similar assessments of their situation. When Stacy caught his eye, she gave him an encouraging wink and smile. It wasn't a check she currently had the requisite funds to cash, but there was no point in letting him wallow in despair. That wouldn't do either of them any good. They'd come this far, after all. What she had to do right now, aside from putting as many miles between them and the ettins they were leaving behind, was to inventory their assets.

There was, of course, the fact that they had separated themselves from most of the ettins. But it didn't make much difference with regard to a straight fight. That would still inevitably end with her and Shorty being flattened into puddles of pulp, then eaten by feral goblins.

What was more significant was that they were now separated from the ettin who wielded all the authority. Stacy didn't want to push her luck too far, but she could probably try riskier things, and with less dangerous repercussions, since these two ettins would have to answer to Grubgar if they returned empty-handed after slaughtering his only means of tracking down his beloved Mugmug.

She decided to put that theory to the test about an hour later when Snarlgorp called for a rest.

“Not yet,” she said, despite every muscle in her body begging her to lie down and go to sleep for a week. “We have to keep going while we've got enough light.”

Mugg, Frubble, and even Snarlgorp's brother head, Fubglub, turned to him, curious how he would react to being talked back to by a tiny human woman.

Predictably, he jerked her chain, flinging her to the ground by the neck.

“I no take order from human slave,” he said. “I give order, and I say time to rest.”

Stacy's neck hurt like a bastard, but she struggled back up to her feet defiantly.

“I'm sure Grubgar will understand when we go back and tell him the trail went cold because you were too weak to go on.”

The bravado vanished from his face as the other three heads continued to stare at him. They seemed less curious now, and more frightened.

“Only short rest,” Snarlgorp finally said. She'd already brought him to the negotiating table. “Just time enough to take piss.” He reached into his filthy bag and pulled out a chunk of pink meat. “And eat?”

Stacy held her hand out to accept his bribe. It wasn't much of a bribe considering that she knew they'd have to feed her eventually, but she wanted to give the impression that she was willing to engage in some give-and-take.

Snarlgorp tossed the meat down to her. It was long and slender like a rib, possibly human. Comparing it to her own chest, she judged it far too big. Maybe ogre or half-orc? Close enough to count as cannibalism. Hungry as she was, she wasn't quite ready to go all Donner Party on something that had just come out of that filthy sack. The bone was too big to make for an effective lock pick, but too small to use as a weapon. But since it was currently her only material possession, she decided to hang onto it. The goblins seemed pretty entranced by it. Maybe she could trade it for a favor, or at least some worthwhile information, when the time was right.

In the meantime, they settled for what scraps Fubglub tossed them while Snarlgorp stepped behind a tree to take his piss. When he was done, he manned the leashes while Fubglub did his business.

After both ettins had relieved themselves, Stacy held up her rib like a baton, then pointed it forward.

“Break time's over,” she said. “We've got a lot of ground to cover.”

The ettins sighed and grumbled, and their goblins followed suit.

Snarlgorp yanked one of the grumbling goblin's chains, jerking him back a good five feet.

“Move!” he barked at them, and the march toward nothing continued.

Stacy could sense everyone's relief every time she stopped the procession to sniff out a fake clue, so she made her stops shorter and less frequently. She didn't exactly have a plan just yet, but she knew it would be to her advantage for everyone to be utterly exhausted when they finally stopped to rest for the night. Naturally, she would be equally exhausted, but she hoped she could count on her high Constitution score to keep her awake and alert enough to take advantage of any opportunities that arose.

As evening faded into night, the surrounding cedars seemed to loom taller and farther apart. Stacy knew in her head that it was only an effect of her limited vision, and that the biggest threats to her survival were the ones currently holding her chains, but she couldn't shake the feeling of claustrophobia as darkness closed in on her from all sides.

“Stop!” she said when it was almost too dark to see ten feet in front of her.

The ettins and goblins panted with relief as they came to a halt.

Stacy picked up a handful of dirt, held it to her nose, and gave it a good long sniff. She looked up excitedly at Snarlgorp. “They were here not more than an hour ago. We're getting closer!” She held up the dirt to them. “Can you smell it?”

Both ettins leaned over and took turns sniffing the dirt with each of their heads.

Mugg nodded eagerly. “I smell it!”

“Me too!” said Frubble.

Snarlgorp looked down doubtfully at Stacy. “We keep going?”

Stacy shrugged. “That's your call. It's too dark for me to see subtle clues, which could lead us astray. What's important right now is that the trail is warm again. We know exactly which way they're headed, and we should be able to catch up with them tomorrow, two days at the very latest. We'll be able to track them more effectively after a good night's sleep. But again, I'm not the one in charge here.”

“What you think?” Snarlgorp asked the other ettins. It was a good move on his part. Though it put into question the leadership role he'd assumed for himself among his fellow ettins, it was better than giving the appearance that he wasn't caving in to the demands of a prisoner. And it didn't take an act of sorcery to see that everyone was on the brink of passing out anyway.

“I think sleep here tonight,” said Mugg. “Start fresh in morning.”

“Fine,” grumbled Snarlgorp. “Mugg too weak. We rest here.”

Stacy was impressed. He hadn't put his leadership role into question at all. Quite the contrary, he'd taken the lemon he'd been given and made lemonade. He was cleverer than Stacy had given him credit for. When she got a chance to take one of them down, he'd be the first to go.

“Snot, Turd,” Snarlgorp continued. Stacy wasn't quite sure where he was going with that until two of the goblin slaves stood at attention. One from her group, and one from Shorty's. “You keep watch.”

When Snot and Turd growled their affirmations, the two ettins sat on the ground, back to back, leaning their heads on the other's shoulders. The rest of the goblins, aside from Snot and Turd, curled up on the ground and went to sleep. Stacy followed their lead, going so far as to close her eyes, but willing herself to remain awake.

She had to choose between a proper rest and making a move. She was banged up pretty bad and could do with getting some of her strength back, but she was also running against the clock. She'd promised they would catch up to Mugmug in two days at the latest. If she didn't deliver, there was going to be trouble.

The most obvious solution was to hope that Shorty still had the ettin finger he'd swiped from the corpse shoved up his ass, and that he would be able to use the bones in it to pick the locks on both his and Stacy's collars without getting caught.

That plan had its share of hurdles, however. The biggest one currently was that Shorty had fallen asleep along with the rest of the goblins. Coming in at a close second was the two goblins Snarlgorp had assigned to sentry duty. If there was only one, or even two close together, she might have been able to take them down without waking anyone up. If she could get her hands on a good-sized rock to throw, she had a slim chance of pulling some kind of miracle Jason Bourne move out of her ass, Sneak Attacking one with the rock, then quickly snapping the nearest one's neck. The downside to that plan, however, was that it was extremely stupid.

She always had her charm to fall back on. Maybe she could reason with these guys, offer to help them escape as well. But she knew that was a waste of precious thinking time as soon as it popped into her head. If these goblins were answering to the names Snot and Turd – almost certainly not the names their mothers had given them – and the ettins trusted them to watch over their prisoners while they slept, they were far too brainwashed for Stacy to snap them out of it with a simple conversation. She'd only be showing her own cards prematurely.

The rumble of heavy snoring all around her was a constant reminder of how badly she wanted to join in the chorus. Her body's need for sleep weighed so heavily on her that she had to pinch herself to remain awake. But was it even worth it? If she stayed awake all night, fruitlessly trying to think of some plan that never came, she'd be completely useless tomorrow. Then, if some brilliant plan occurred to her while they were marching, she wouldn't have the stamina to march everyone else to the point of exhaustion again so that she could carry it out. She'd give herself ten more minutes. If she didn't think of anything by then, she'd allow herself to sleep.

Careful not to let on that she was still awake, Stacy cracked her eyes open just a sliver to see if she could find any inspiration in her surroundings. If she was lucky, the sentry goblins might have given in to their exhaustion and fallen asleep on duty. But no such luck. Turd, the goblin in her group, was sitting upright next to his slumbering companion. He had his back to her, but his head was pivoting side to side as he diligently kept a watchful eye on the surrounding wilderness.

Feigning discomfort in her sleep, she rolled over to have a look in the opposite direction. Snot was likewise still awake, also sitting with his back to her as he scanned the dark woods.

With no one staring directly at her, at least she had a bit of freedom to look around a little more. At first, there didn't seem to be a whole lot of payoff for that freedom. But then, as she peered harder into the darkness beyond the surrounding trees, she spotted a pair of yellow eyes reflecting the full moon's light as they stared back at her. Perhaps not directly at her, but definitely at their camp. Normally, that would be a case for alarm. But under Stacy's present circumstances, she tried to think of how she might turn it into lemonade.

When she considered all the weird and terrifying creatures she'd already encountered in this world, and that she was unarmed and unable to flee from danger, she nearly made some lemonade in her pants.

No, Stacy. Don't give in to fear. You can either focus on how you might turn this obstacle into an opportunity or admit that you're dumber than Snarlgorp.

That was all the pep talk she needed. Stacy took a deep breath and focused on assessing her situation. The creature was watching them from a distance, but not attacking. It was curious, perhaps hungry, but not a suicidally bloodthirsty monster. Normally, that would be a good thing, considering that it might lose interest and go away if left unprovoked. But right now, it was the only card in Stacy's hand, and the last thing she wanted was for it to lose interest and go away.

Thinking of how she might keep its interest while not alerting anyone else to its presence, she remembered the rib Snarlgorp had given her.

Keeping a wary eye on Snot and Turd, she tore a small piece of meat from the rib, chucked it as hard as she could toward the creature, then quickly returned to a sleeping position.

She heard small grunts from Snot and Turd, but they sounded more curious than alarmed. When she cracked her eyes open again, she saw Snot picking his nose as he turned back around to face away from her. Risking a peek the other way, she confirmed that Turd's interest in whatever he'd heard had likewise faded.

When she looked back to where she'd seen the creature's eyes, she now saw nothing. Could she have scared it away? If so, then it probably wasn't the sort of creature that could have done anything for her anyway.

But then the yellow eyes reappeared, as if the creature had lowered its head to eat the meat she'd thrown, then raised it to look at her again.

Perfect.

Stacy was tempted to toss out another chunk of meat, this time not quite as far, so that she might draw the creature close enough to see what it was. But since it was the only card she had to play, it didn't really matter what it was. Drawing it close enough to identify it would only tip off the goblins to its presence.

Instead, she decided to go all in. She wagged the bone in front of her for the creature to see, and its eyes seemed to shine a little wider and brighter in response. Hoping for the best, she tossed the bone toward Turd. It was a little too accurate, bouncing off the side of his big goblin head. She quickly dropped back into a sleeping position.

“Huh?” said Turd.

Stacy kept her eyes closed, ignoring the crunching leaves as something came running from the trees, until she heard Turd scream.

“AAAAAAAUUUUUUUGGGHHH!”

She opened her eyes to see a fluffy gray wolf bounding toward him. It was kind of adorable until Turd attacked it. Then it turned scary.

“AAAAAAAUUUUUUUGGGHHH!” cried the goblin next to him, understandably surprised to be suddenly both awake and in a wolf fight.

The snarling and screaming lasted only briefly before Snarlgorp restored order with one swift blow from his club.

THWACK!

He flattened the wolf and both goblins with a single blow.

“Is only wolf,” he said groggily. “Go back sleep. Shit, you keep watch.”

The remaining goblin, apparently named Shit, yawned as he got to his feet, then grunted obediently. The two ettins sat back down and resumed their sleeping positions.

Sad to have sacrificed the wolf, but satisfied that she'd done enough for one night, Stacy decided to reward herself with a bit of sleep as well. With only two goblins left to keep watch, some new doors had just opened up.

She would march them beyond exhaustion tomorrow. And when they settled down for the night, the ettins would have some hard decisions to make. They could volunteer to take shifts keeping watch themselves, which would make them both less alert the following day. Or they could trust the two remaining goblins to take individual shifts, which would allow Stacy to Sneak Attack the awake one then murder the other in its sleep. Or they could attempt to force both goblins to keep a full night's watch, which they almost certainly couldn't do.

They were one step closer to breaking free. Stacy smiled at Shorty to let him know everything was going to be all right, but Shorty didn't return the smile. He was awake. Wide awake, in fact. But he looked deeply troubled.

Unable to communicate verbally, Stacy furrowed her brow to indicate confusion.

Shorty glanced at the two sentry goblins to make sure they weren't looking, then pointed toward the squashed remains of the wolf and goblins.

Stacy turned to look that way but didn't spot anything she didn't expect to. It was grim and bloody, but she didn't understand why that was cause for alarm. Shorty had already made it pretty clear that he didn't give much of a shit about his fellow goblins. Maybe he had a soft spot for animals. That was sweet, but he really ought to be looking at the bigger picture.

When she turned back to him, he was pointing at his fist. Then he waved his other hand around it as if to signify something larger than a fist.

What the hell is he trying to say? Big fist? Big hand?

Stacy shrugged to indicate that she had no idea what he was talking about.

Shorty responded with a frustrated scowl, then nodded. He cupped his left hand so that his thumb was touching the bottom of his right hand's index finger, and his middle finger was touching the top. It looked like the letter D.

Hoping that she was interpreting what he was trying to communicate correctly, she nodded.

He held up a single finger. I.

Stacy nodded again, and Shorty followed with a complicated jumble of fingers that Stacy guessed was supposed to represent the letter R. She tried to think of words that started with that combination of letters to speed things along. Dirt? Dirty? Did he want to take a shower or something?

His next gesture was a single finger held vertical with three fingers from his other hand running beyond it horizontally. E?

She mouthed the word Dire? at him. He nodded enthusiastically.

That didn't bode well, but Shorty wasn't finished.

Fortunately, the next word consisted of letters that were a lot easier to form with his hands.

W-O-L... The last one took a second, but Stacy recognized it as an F.

Dire wolf.

She looked back at the wolf again. It looked like a normal-sized wolf to her. She turned back to Shorty and shook her head.

Again, he started forming letters.

The C and U were easy enough to guess, but Shorty struggled to form the next letter.

A wave of panic flowed over Stacy as the pieces fell into place. Not big fists. Big paws, as in belonging to an animal that hasn't yet reached maturity. Snarlgorp hadn't killed an ordinary wolf. He'd killed a dire wolf cub.

It wouldn't be long before its mother came looking for it. Stacy didn't know what to do, but she knew that she didn't have much time to do it before they were all mauled by a pack of pissed-off enormous wolves.

She got Shorty's attention, then pinched her thumb and index finger together near the lock on her collar, twisting them like a key.

Shorty nodded, glanced back at the other goblins to make sure they weren't looking his way, then shut his eyes and pulled his knees to his chest. When his hand disappeared behind his ass, Stacy turned away. This was something she neither needed nor cared to see.

After she heard a soft exhalation, she visually confirmed that Shorty had extracted the ettin finger he'd hidden up his butthole. Unfortunately, extracting a finger from a butthole wasn't nearly as disturbing as extracting bones from a finger, which was the part she was now witnessing.

Despite just having pulled it out of his butthole, where it had been lodged for at least two days, Shorty used his teeth as well as his claws to flay the skin and muscle from the bone. Stacy desperately wanted to throw up but feared it would draw unwanted attention.

Instead, she kept her eyes focused on Snot and Shit, and her ears focused on the surrounding wilderness for wolf sounds. While Shorty wiggled the bones in his own collar's lock, she tried to think of the quietest way possible to take out the two sentry goblins.

They were closer together than Snot and Turd had been, but not close enough for Stacy to subdue them both before one of them could alert the ettins.

And of course, there was still the ettins to worry about. Stacy wasn't sure how big a dire wolf was, or how many traveled together in a pack, or even how much they cared about the death of one of their cubs. Ideally, she and Shorty would be able to bolt to safety while a giant pack of giant wolves tore apart the two ettins. Maybe they'd even acquire a taste for ettin and hunt down the rest of the tribe. But it could just as easily turn out that a single slightly-above-average-sized wolf turns up to immediately get clobbered to death by an ettin tree trunk.

If that were the case, Stacy and Shorty would be in a whole new world of trouble. The ettins, fearing the wrath of Grubgar, would hunt them down mercilessly. They were faster, stronger, and better rested. And now that Stacy was about to incapacitate their two remaining sentries, the ettins would have little choice to return her and Shorty to Grubgar, who wasn't likely to offer her a second chance.

This was it. Their only shot. It all came down to –

A loud howl not too far off in the distance made Snot and Turd's heads jerk up in attention.

“More wolves,” said Snot. “We should wake the masters.”

Nope. That was an option Stacy couldn't allow. She silently rolled onto her belly and started pulling her knees in to get into optimal pouncing position.

CLICK!

Shorty finally managed to pick his lock. Unfortunately, it was a lot louder than Stacy had anticipated.

“Huh?” said Turd as he and Snot turned their attention toward Shorty and Stacy.

Stacy sprang at Turd, the goblin nearest her, grabbing his skinny throat with both hands as she tackled him.

Not having the same Strength as Stacy, Shorty instead opted to shove his entire fist into Shit's mouth as soon as he opened it to scream. Shit bit down hard, sinking his rotted pointy teeth deep into Shorty's arm just below the elbow. Shorty grimaced but contained the scream that was clearly trying to escape his mouth.

Stacy slammed Turd's head into the ground a few times until she was confident he wouldn't be getting up anytime soon, then strangled Shit until he released Shorty's arm. Fortunately, the arm was still attached, but it was in pretty bad shape.

When both goblins were either unconscious or dead, Stacy was pleasantly surprised to find that both ettins had slept through the entire fight.

She continued to watch them while she allowed Shorty to pick the lock on her collar. The process took longer than she thought it should, and she had a strong suspicion that she could have done it faster. But Shorty had already proven he could pick a lock, whereas Stacy hadn't yet put that rogue skill into practice. Besides, she wasn't thrilled at the prospect of handling ettin bones so soon after they'd come out of a goblin ass.

CLICK!

Finally, Stacy could breathe normally again. The cool night air stung against the raw skin of her neck, but she was grateful to be able to breathe air that was untainted by the blood, sweat, and grime of however many poor bastards had worn that collar before her. She took a moment to massage her neck and revel in her reacquired freedom.

“Hurry!” whispered Shorty. “We must flee before the rest of the pack arrives or the ettins wake up.”

Stacy shook her head. She might not have been the one to swing the club, but it was her fault this dire wolf cub had met an untimely end. There was no reason the rest of its family had to suffer the same fate. Not if she could give them an advantage. If she also happened to rid the Cedar Wilds of some ettins in the process, all the better.

“Go climb the tallest tree you can find,” she told Shorty. “I'll be right behind you.”

Shorty didn't need to be asked twice. He grabbed what was left of the rib Snarlgorp had given Stacy and scampered off into the darkness.

Stacy considered what she had to work with. Not a lot, but that made things easy. It pretty much came down to a few chains. Most of them were occupied by goblin corpses, but hers and Shorty's were empty. Ideally, she could lock them around the ettins' necks, chaining them together to confuse them and limit their maneuverability when they were suddenly awakened by attacking wolves. But Stacy's collar was barely big enough to fit around her own neck. There was no way she could hope to lock it around one of the ettin's considerably thicker necks.

Their ankles, however, looked like they would fit nicely in the collars. They had the added advantage of being more accessible as well. Why bother trying to climb the rest of a sleeping ettin to chain its neck when their ankles are sprawled out just begging to be chained. One end of each chain was already cuffed to each ettin's wrist, so the collar end being locked onto the other ettin's ankle should prohibit their movement considerably, not to mention the other two chains that tethered goblin corpses to their arms.

Stacy started with her own collar. Making sure she had plenty of slack between it and the other end of the chain cuffed to Snarlgorp's wrist, she opened the collar as far as the hinge would allow, then carefully slid half of it under one of Mugg and Frubble's ankles. She eased the collar closed as far as it would go but discovered that it was going to be a more snug fit than she thought. It would lock into place, but he would definitely feel it.

A series of howls and barks rang out from the forest, all closer than that last howl she'd heard, and all coming from different directions. They were closing in, surrounding them and coordinating their attack.

Stacy felt stupid for not having anticipated that. She'd been keeping an eye on the perimeter of her limited vision, ready to hightail it in the opposite direction of wherever the wolves came from in the hopes that the ettins would intercept them while she darted up the nearest tree. Wolves coming from every direction at once threw a big wrench into her already shitty plan.

No time to worry about that now. And also, unfortunately, no time to secure Shorty's collar to Snarlgorp and Fubglub's ankle. Instead, Stacy just clamped her collar down as hard as she could to make sure it locked into place.

Predictably, Mugg and Frubble screamed as they jolted awake. Stacy could imagine what they were feeling. Her neck was still sore and bleeding from where the collar had pinched it.

She bolted for the edge of the clearing, looking for a tree with branches low enough for her to leap up to, but stopped dead in her tracks when she saw a pair of shining yellow eyes staring back at her.

They were high enough to belong to the topmost of three normal-sized wolves in a trench coat, but Stacy suspected she was about to have a new appreciation for what dire meant.

Much like the word giant before she'd encountered her first ettin, the word dire didn't adequately prepare her for the snarling, drooling creature that stepped out from the shadows toward her. Glistening black lips showcased yellow teeth the size of dagger blades. Eyes as big as billiard balls reflected the firelight as the beast stalked closer toward her. It was a wolf in every sense of what Stacy understood a wolf to be, except that it stood as tall as a horse.

Petrified with fear, Stacy locked eyes with the beast only briefly before deciding she liked her odds better with the ettins.

The ettins, however, were so confused by the fact that one of their wrists was shackled to the other's ankle that they didn't even notice the four massive wolves charging straight at them. Stacy dived between them and hoped for the best.

“Hey!” said Mugg. “Why you – Oh shit!” His massive club not readily at hand, he opted instead to swing at the nearest dire wolf with the two dead goblins he still had chained to his arm. Unfortunately for them, Stacy hadn't quite finished them off. They screamed as they were suddenly jerked off the ground, swung through the air, then flung straight into the open maw of a massive white wolf.

Snarlgorp's goblin arm was chained to the other ettin's leg, so he opted to lunge for his club. It was a little out of reach, so he pulled Mugg's leg out from under him. Stacy rolled out of the way just in time to avoid getting crushed by the falling ettin's ass.

Now that she had rolled clear of the fight, she was relieved to see that all four wolves were engaged with the ettins. It looked like a Tasmanian Devil whirlwind of white and gray fur, arms, legs, dead goblins, and screaming giant heads. She backed away slowly, then picked it up to a jog when none of the wolves gave chase.

If she was a betting girl, she would have put money on the wolves being the victors in this fight, but she didn't know by how much. Whichever side came out on top would likely go after her next. Even though her instincts told her to get as far away as possible, she thought it wiser to stick around in a tree to see what she'd eventually be up against.

It didn't take her long to find a suitable one. She climbed as high as she could while still being able to see the fight.

If it was one or more of the wolves who came out on top, she could at least take solace by the fact that they probably couldn't climb trees. They might wait for her at the base of the tree, but she could survive at least a day up in the branches while she rested and restored some badly needed Hit Points. The downside of a wolf victory, however, was that they'd be able to track her scent. If they held a grudge about their fallen cubs and companions, they likely wouldn't stop hunting her until she or all of them were dead.

The ettins might be easier to hide from once she got enough distance between herself and them. But if they somehow managed to spot her where she was hiding now, they'd already proven themselves capable of knocking down a tree with very little effort.

When the screaming and snarling subsided, Stacy could see patches of fur moving around. Some of it was white, and some of it was gray, but most of it was red.

She didn't have a great view of the battlefield, having prioritized hiding over reconnaissance. But it seemed pretty clear that the dire wolves had won the fight. From what little she could see, she estimated that two of them had survived. It was possible, however, that others had taken serious wounds and weren't quite feeling up to walking around just yet.

Stacy and Shorty were still alive, which was as good a result as she could have hoped for. But somehow she didn't feel any great sense of victory. Instead, she felt a little dirty. Of course she felt bad for that wolf pup she'd thrown under the bus, but she hadn't known what it was at the time, and she'd only done it for a chance to survive. In general, she felt worse for the way she'd conducted the entire fight. Pitting one side against the other, then standing back to watch them tear each other to pieces. Again, she was only doing what she needed to do to survive, but it felt like a cowardly way to fight. Like a Dave way to fight.

For a brief moment, Stacy thought the wolves had forgotten about her and might go away. But they eventually did just as she'd suspected they'd do. Neither barking nor snarling, the two remaining dire wolves stood at the base of her tree and stared up at her with their livid yellow eyes. The message was clear. They might not be able to climb up after her, but she couldn't stay up in the tree forever. When she finally cracked and tried to make a break for it, they'd be waiting.

It was a problem she would have to consider in the morning. More than anything right now, she needed sleep.

Chapter 5

Zombies were tireless and obedient, which were two qualities Dave appreciated. Once he got Mugmug to hold her arm in just such a way, he could nod off for a couple hours' much needed sleep against her soft boob while they put some distance between themselves and any possible pursuers.

But zombies weren't without their downsides. For starters, they smelled like dumpsters full of ass. Dead bodies were never known for smelling like pine and potpourri, but Dave suspected that their degree of funk had less to do with them being dead, and more to do with what passed for ettin hygiene. In addition to being unpleasant, their strong odor would likely make them easier to track through the Cedar Wilds. High on Dave's list of priorities was to see that they both got a good hard scrub at the next stream or river they happened upon.

They also weren't very talkative. They could understand basic commands well enough, but whenever Dave asked them a question that required a verbal response, he was lucky to get a grunt or groan in return. He didn't miss Stacy, or any of his friends in particular, but it only took him a day in the company of these almost-people to realize that he missed the company of real people. Trying to fake camaraderie with zombies was similar to what Dave imagined fucking a sex doll to be like. It seems perfectly reasonable right up to the point when you finish. Then it occurs to you just how sad and pathetic you really are.

But the biggest problem with zombies was that they were a limited resource. When Dave had first animated these two ettin corpses, he did so with grand designs of creating and animating more and more corpses, eventually commanding an undead army that would bring any army of the living to its knees. He soon discovered, however, that he'd spent all the zombie mojo he had. If he wanted to raise another corpse, he would have to relinquish his command over one of his ettins. He was sure that he would grow more powerful over time, making him capable of controlling more zombies. But for now, he needed to recruit some living followers. Fortunately for him, all that would cost him was a bit of his own saliva. The tricky part was going to be finding someone worthy of his gift.

The day after he'd parted ways with Stacy, in the early evening, Dave came upon what might prove to be the solution to several of his problems.

A large creek, almost worthy of being called a river, cut through the forest running north to south.

“Stop,” Dave commanded his zombies just in time to keep them from stomping right into it. “Let me down.”

Mugmug knelt down and lowered her arm, releasing Dave.

The water babbled loudly. If Dave had been traveling alone, he probably would have heard it thirty yards back. The fact that it had sneaked up on him was testament as to how noisy his undead companions were as they smashed their way through the forest.

He looked up at his two two-headed zombies. “Stay here.”

They groaned in response.

Fresh water meant that they could all have a much-needed bath. It was also an opportunity for them to travel upstream or downstream a couple of miles to throw off anyone who might be following them. His zombies had left a path of destruction and deep footprints that even the worst tracker could follow. But it would take a hell of a Tracking check to follow footprints under running water.

However, fresh water also meant an increase in the likelihood of running into some fellow travelers. A nice warm body was just what Dave needed right now, but he wouldn't make any friends with two giant zombies in tow.

Leaving the ettins in the relative cover of the forest, Dave stepped out onto the river's sandy bank. It was a windy river, not allowing him to see very far in either direction. But something above the trees downstream quickened his pulse. A single column of puffy white smoke. Someone had built a campfire just around the bend.

A quick sniff of his armpits told Dave that he was not in the ideal state to make friends. The ettins could wait for their baths, but Dave needed a wash right now.

He took off his armor but left his clothes on as he stepped into the river. The current felt quicker than it looked, but it wasn't strong enough to whisk him away. The water was nice and cold, which was refreshing because he'd been sweating like a bastard all day. It soothed the minor aches and scratches he'd accumulated while rinsing away a thick slimy coating of filth. He let himself fall back into it. For the briefest moment, he felt like a kid again, splashing around in the neighborhood pool without a care in the world. But when he opened his eyes and saw the two lifeless ettin carcasses gaping back at him, the cold water felt more chilling than refreshing.

Lacking a bar of soap, Dave got himself as clean as possible by scrubbing himself down with handfuls of sand. When he was satisfied that he'd diluted and scrubbed the jizz stain in the front of his pants down to a sufficiently imperceptible level, he waded back onto the bank.

He started to put his armor back on, then decided against it. For the recon part of this mission, he wanted to give off a friendlier vibe. And if that friendliness was met with hostility, he would turn into a rat and run back to his ettins. Heavy metal armor would only hinder that.

“Stay here,” he repeated to the zombies.

Again, they responded with grunts and groans.

“And be quiet.”

Confident that they could handle the simple tasks he'd given them, Dave trudged down the riverbank, sopping wet but feeling cleaner than he'd felt in months.

The river expanded into a wide pool at the bend, which would be perfect for bathing his zombies when the time came.

“Ho there!” barked a man's voice from somewhere up in the trees.

Dave instinctively put his arms up. “Don't shoot! I'm unarmed!”

“I can see that well enough,” said the voice that Dave still couldn't locate the source of. A thick knotted rope fell out of a particularly dense area of foliage, then a half-elf quickly followed it, landing gracefully on his deerskin-booted feet. His sandy blond hair fell over one of his bright green eyes. His face and roughspun woolen clothes were smeared with mud, like he'd been attempting to camouflage himself. “The question is why.”

“I'm sorry?”

“The woods can be a dangerous place. Lots of hungry creatures roaming about, not to mention packs of bandits who would just as soon put an arrow through your heart as they would say hello to you.”

Dave stared at the tip of the arrow in the half-elf's hand. “Are you...” He couldn't think of a non-awkward way to ask him if he was about to murder him.

“Relax, dwarf. If I was going to shoot you, I'd have done it from up there.” He nodded up at the bough he'd been hiding in. “My brothers and I live in the village three miles upstream. We come here to fish and hunt. I must say, we don't see many lone dwarves around here.”

That last sentence was jarring. It didn't really fit naturally with the first two. He was trying to maintain a cordial demeanor while forcing the conversation back around to who the hell Dave was and what he was doing out here. Dave guessed that he wasn't going to let it go and that he'd better come up with some kind of story to placate him.

“My name's Dave,” he said, stalling while he tried to think of something more to say.

“Pleasure to know you. I'm Ulenas Littlefoot.” He was quick and to the point, then silent, waiting patiently for Dave to spill his guts.

“I got lost,” Dave spat out, knowing that wasn't going to be nearly enough. Unable to come up with a completely original tale on the fly, he decided to throw in some cherry-picked true details. “My friends and I ran into some ettins.”

Ulenas twirled his arrow between his fingers. “Ettins, you say?” Somehow, Dave got the impression that he didn't believe him.

“There are ettins around here.” Dave regretted saying that as soon as he said it. He hadn't even started lying yet and he sounded like he was trying to cover his tracks. Like a murderer immediately offering the forged gas station receipt to the homicide detective to prove he was on the other side of town when the murder took place. He was only making himself look more suspicious.

“I know there are,” said Ulenas. “Nasty bastards, and vicious. You were fortunate to escape them.”

So that was it. How could a fat unarmed dwarf escape an ettin encounter completely unscathed? Time to drop a bit more truth in the pot.

“It had less to do with luck and more to do with cowardice. When they attacked, it was clear that we were going to lose the fight. Instead of helping, I fled.” Dave anticipated the next question. How did he outrun a pack of angry ettins on his thick dwarf legs? Fortunately, he came up with an answer that also explained his lack of equipment. “Ettins might be vicious, but they're also stupid and greedy. I dropped everything I owned when I ran away. My armor, my weapons, everything but the clothes on my back, hoping they'd stop to examine and collect it and eventually lose interest in me. It worked.”

“So I see.” Ulenas frowned. “And your friends?”

Shit. Dave had gotten so caught up in selling his bullshit story that he'd forgotten how much of a douche it made him out to be.

“They didn't make it.” Dave looked at his feet. “I'm not proud of myself.”

Ulenas put his arrow in his quiver. “I cannot judge a man without having faced a similar experience myself. No one really knows their true character until their feet are held over the fire. I am sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks.”

“You must be starved. Come and join me and my brothers. The river has been generous, and we have pulled in more fish than we could hope to carry back to our village. Would you relieve us of some of our burden?”

Dave was starving, and freshly caught fish sounded delicious.

“Thank you,” he said. “I can't even remember the last time I ate a proper meal.” In truth, he only wished he didn't remember. Alroth had fed Dave well right up to the point when Dave served him up to the ettins. He didn't necessarily feel guilty for it, since Alroth had been complicit with Stacy in holding Dave against his will. But he wished he'd thought of turning them rather than outright betraying them. That would have been a far more satisfying revenge. And Stacy would have been so ashamed of how much of a bitch she'd been, and so grateful for her new gift, that she'd almost certainly put out. If he was going to get one guilt fuck out of her, it would have to be a good one. He'd insist on her staying in her human form while he fucked her in his hybrid rat form. He'd make her squeal like a pig and call him –

“You must really like fish,” said Ulenas.

“Huh?” Dave snapped out of his daydream to catch Ulenas looking at his crotch. When he looked down, he discovered that he was pitching a tent. “Oh. I, um...”

Ulenas laughed. “Do not feel ashamed, friend. We are all slaves to our baser urges every now and again. Who among us doesn't nock his own arrow from time to time?”

Dave liked this guy. He didn't necessarily want to talk about unfortunately timed erections with another guy, but it would be nice to have a friend who didn't go out of their way to shit on him at every opportunity.

“Would you like a moment of privacy to relieve yourself before we join my brothers?”

“Oh, I don't know. It would be weird if I knew you were waiting for me. I don't think I could concentrate.”

“Nonsense!” said Ulenas as he began to unlace the front of his pants. Before Dave could think of a polite way to object, Ulenas had his impressively large dick out and was stroking it to erectness. “It isn't weird if I'm doing it at the same time, now is it?”

“It's so much weirder now.”

“Do not be such a prude. We must work up an appetite, after all.” Ulenas turned around and steadied himself against a tree while he went at it. “I am imagining the baker's daughter in my village. How about you?”

Jesus Christ. What had Dave gotten himself into? Not only did he have to perform synchronized masturbation with a dude, but he had to fucking narrate it as well? Even worse, he couldn't very well tell him the truth, that he was fantasizing about rat-fucking the bitch he'd just left to get murdered by ettins. He had to lie again, and he was terrible at that.

What do normal people think about when they're jerking off?

Dave blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Live nude gnomes.”

“My, but that's... unconventional.”

“Sorry,” said Dave. “That probably sounded –”

“Please don't apologize. I find that truly fascinating.”

“Well, you know what they say. Once you go gnome, you never go home.” What the fuck was Dave talking about? Why were they even talking at all? How the hell could this guy keep up a full conversation while jerking off? Dave had lost his erection the second Ulenas pulled his dick out. That was probably for the best, though. If asked, he'd just say he'd done the deed, and they could finally go eat some fish.

“I'm almost there,” said Ulenas, breathing harder and faster. “Are you nearly finished?”

Dave sighed. “Oh yeah. Getting real close.”

“Wonderful. We should compare the size of our emissions.”

“What?”

“My brothers and I like to see which of us leaves the biggest puddle behind when we're done. It's almost never Donfin, so Adelyle and I like to tease him about sneaking away all the time for private wanks.”

“Oh?” Dave was barely listening to what Ulenas was saying now that he had to bring back his erection and crank out some baby batter on the double so this weirdo wouldn't suspect anything was amiss. He almost wished Ulenas was just gay for him. He didn't want his dick in a dude's mouth, but shooting a load down his hatch might take away the question of how Dave was going to pass along his gift. At the very least, it might shut Ulenas up for a minute or two.

“I've never seen a dwarf spill his seed before,” Ulenas continued. “I'll bet you squirt a gob big enough to fill a pint glass.”

“I'm sorry,” said Dave. “Would you mind not talking for just a few minutes so we can finish?”

“I finished a few minutes ago. Not a bad squirt, if you don't mind me saying so. Blasted the trunk of this tree. I think I may have drowned an ant.”

“That's great. I'm really happy for you. But I need to focus, so if you wouldn't mind –”

“It might help if you bend your knees a bit. Give your body a bit of up and down movement while you stroke.”

“Dude, are you watching me?” Dave glanced over his shoulder to see Ulenas staring curiously at him. “Turn the fuck around, man!”

“I apologize. Like I said, I've never done this in the company of a dwarf before. I had no idea your kind was so bashful about it.”

“It's not about me being a dwarf.” Despite being so annoyed with Ulenas, Dave took his advice, bending his knees slightly, and found that it did, in fact, improve the sensation. He soon had a full-on erection again, and was ramping up toward a release.

“It's just you, then? Do you feel inadequate about the size of your member? As I've mentioned, I've not had the opportunity to see that many dwarf peckers. But by half-elf standards, yours looks to be fairly average.”

“Stop looking at my junk!” said Dave. “There's nothing inadequate about the size of my pecker. Just shut the fuck up for a minute and let me... Oh no. Not yet!” He was about to squirt, but he hadn't yet gotten properly back into his rat sex fantasy with Stacy. Trying to deescalate, he stopped stroking. But it was too late. Instead of the explosive eruption he was going for, hard enough to blast some of the bark off the tree he was facing, it dribbled out like the fake lava from a kid's shitty science fair volcano and dripped down over his fingers and onto the front of his pants.

“Goddammit!”

“Are you finished now?” asked Ulenas.

Dave sighed. “Yes, no thanks to you.”

“I apologize. If you required assistance, I would have been more than happy to help. But from your tone, it seemed like –”

“I don't require your assistance!” snapped Dave. He took a few deep breaths to compose himself. “No, it's me who should apologize. I was just embarrassed, and then I lost my rhythm. None of it was your fault. It's just that I hate to waste a good squirt, you know?”

Ulenas smiled. “I am certainly no stranger to that. But fear not. After a nice hearty meal, you'll have a full quiver again. Why don't we wash up in the river, then I'll take you to our campsite to meet my brothers.”

Dave followed Ulenas to the river and scrubbed jizz out the crotch of his pants for the second time in an hour. But he made sure to keep his semen-slathered hand out of the water. He'd planned to spit in their food when none of them were looking. But as long as he had this alternative delivery system readily at hand, it felt like a more satisfactory means of turning these freaks.

Initially, he'd only wanted to turn one of them and have his ettins kill the other two. They were brothers, after all, and might seek to band together and subjugate Dave. One of them, reborn as a wererat and distraught by his brothers' sudden horrific deaths, would be easier to dominate and keep loyal. The first step in building his own wererat army.

But why go to the bother of killing the other two himself? Dave remembered the aftermath of his first transformation. He'd completely lost his mind, tearing out Murkwort's throat for no other reason than that he was there. If Dave got all three brothers to consume his jizz, they all might turn. And when the full moon lit their fuses, they'd all lose their shit and try to tear each other to pieces. Whichever of them survived would be the most worthy to serve under Dave. It was a plan Tim could be proud of.

Dave stared at the stump where Tim had bitten his middle finger off. They'd meet again someday. And when they did, Dave would be commanding an army. He'd tell Tim the whole story of how he amassed his power, pausing briefly to punctuate each of his victories by eating one of Tim's fingers. If the story got too long-winded, he'd move on to the toes. After each removed digit, he'd use a zero-level healing spell. Not enough to ease the pain, but just enough to keep Tim from bleeding out.

“Dave?” said Ulenas.

“Huh?” Snapping out of another daydream, Dave quickly glanced down to make sure he didn't have another erection.

“If you are ready to go, I am quite famished.”

Dave nodded. “Oh yeah. Me too.”

Careful to keep his left hand above the water, he climbed out of the river and followed Ulenas toward the welcome smell of fish over a roaring wood fire.

"Adelyle! Donfin!" Ulenas called out just before he and Dave rounded the bend. "I've returned. Don't shoot."

Someone ahead of them laughed. "That was a quick hunt, brother. Do not tell me you've managed to bag a deer so quickly."

"I've bagged something better than that. Brothers, I'd like you to meet my new friend, Dave."

Dave spotted two more half-elves knee deep in the widest part of the river bend, each holding one side of a large net as they dragged it toward their campsite on the bank. The taller one was tanned and shirtless, clearly more predisposed to spending time out in the son than his brothers. The other was a little on the plump side for a half-elf but still scrawny by Mississippi standards. They both shared Ulenas's bright green eyes, no doubt given to them by whichever parent was passing along the elf genes.

"Welcome, stranger," said the taller of the two with a wide, friendly smile. "You look like you've been dragged through Hell's fiery anus. Have a seat by the fire and help yourself to some fish."

It had been a while since Dave last looked in a mirror. He didn't realize how rough he must look. All that traveling under Stacy's yoke must have taken its toll on him.

"Thank you," he said, sitting on one of three thick logs around the fire. The logs were smooth on top, like they'd been sanded and polished. Or perhaps they'd just been weathered down by asses over the years. They were too heavy and bulky to haul back and forth, so Dave assumed that this was a long-established fishing spot for these half-elven brothers, perhaps even going back to the previous generation or two. He'd get up if the brothers wanted to sit down, but for now, he appreciated giving his feet a long overdue rest.

Aside from the log chairs and the scorched stones around the outer perimeter of the campfire, suggesting they'd seen quite a number of fires over the years, there weren't many other signs of permanence. The canvas tent they had set up was just a little bigger than necessary to keep three men dry overnight, and it seemed easy to break down and pack in their cart at a few minutes' notice.

The cart itself was hitched to a single mule, which Ulenas greeted warmly with a carrot. It certainly wasn't big enough for three people to ride in, especially since it was full of dead or near dead fish, the top layer of which were still gasping for their last few minutes of life under a hefty sprinkling of rock salt.

"My name's Adelyle," said the half-elf who had invited him to sit down as he and his brother dumped their latest haul onto the other fish in the cart. "This is my brother, Donfin."

While all three brothers were distracted arranging and salting the fish, Dave took his opportunity to rub his soiled hand all over five of the six scorched fish that were cooling on a grate set just beside the fire.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he said as he grabbed the one fish he'd spared. "I'm Dave."

They were plump fish with smooth skin like a catfish's, but lacked the horrifying tentacles coming out of their faces. Dave brought the one he'd chosen to his mouth and bit off a big chunk from its side. Bones be damned, he was starving. Beneath the crunchy scorched skin, the meat was white, flaky, and delicious. It would probably be even better properly seasoned and fried, but Dave's hunger was a more than adequate seasoning for the time being.

"So that's how a dwarf eats a fish, is it?" said Donfin with a chuckle. "No utensils, just dive right in."

Dave spat out a bone, then swallowed his mouthful of fish, a little embarrassed by coming off as a feral monster.

"Utensils?"

"Tools we half-elves use to eat with," Ulenas explained to Dave like he thought he was retarded. He picked up two thin sticks from a pile of them on a cloth near Dave's foot, then used them to pluck a small piece of meat from one of the other fish on the grate. "See?"

"Chopsticks," Dave responded, feeling compelled to assert his knowledge of basic utensils.

"Is that what they're known as in the dwarven tongue? How fascinating."

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize those were..." Dave was about to explain that he'd assumed they were there for extra kindling, but that would only make him sound even dumber. "I mean, I didn't see them."

"No worries, friend," said Adelyle as he and Donfin came over to join them. "You eat the way of your people. Donfin here can be a bit insensitive of other cultures at time."

"I was not being insensitive!" Donfin objected. "I was only having a laugh. There's no harm in a simple ribbing."

Dave started to stand up so that all three brothers could have their logs, but Ulenas waved him back down.

"Sit and rest your bones. I've been squatting up in that tree for hours waiting for a deer to happen by. My legs are in dire need of a stretch."

"Well, okay then." Dave took another bite of his fish while he watched Adelyle and Donfin sit down and drink from their waterskins. They did not, however, take any of the fish. Even Ulenas took no more than the speck he'd taken to demonstrate how chopsticks work. It might have been a piece without any of Dave's semen on it, or it might not have been enough to conquer his immune system, or however that sort of thing worked.

"Aren't you all going to have any?" he asked after swallowing another mouthful.

"We have already eaten," said Adelyle. "Please help yourself to as much as you like."

"I couldn't. Ulenas, you've been up in a tree for hours. Surely, you must be hungry."

Ulenas smiled at him. "My hunger can wait, friend. You look as though you have not eaten in days." He gestured back to their cart full of fish. "As you can see, we are not in short supply. I will put more fish on after you've finished these."

"No!" Dave blurted out, then scrambled to think of something that would make that less weird. "Dwarven culture forbids it." Yes, yes. That was good. These yokels would lap up anything Dave had to say about dwarven culture. "A dwarf never eats his host's food alone. It must be shared." He held his half-devoured fish in front of his face and tried to make a remorseful expression. "I never would have started if I thought you wouldn't soon be joining me. If my ancestors could see me now... I bring shame upon my once noble house!"

"Easy, friend," said Adelyle. "We wish no further burden on you. If it shall please your ancestors, we will share in this meal with you." He leaned down to take a pair of sticks from the pile, but Donfin grabbed a fish straight off the rack.

"Donfin!" said Ulenas. "What are you doing?"

"I am being sensitive to our guest's culture." Donfin stared defiantly at his brother while he tore into the side of the fish with his teeth.

Ulenas and Adelyle laughed, then Adelyle abandoned his chopsticks and followed Donfin's example.

Donfin laughed through a mouthful of fish. "You know, I believe I prefer it this way."

Dave smiled to himself as he continued eating his fish. He wasn't sure if it had been Bluff or Diplomacy, but he was pretty sure he'd just passed his first Charisma-based skill check.

When Ulenas finally succumbed to peer pressure and grabbed a fish off the grate with his bare hands, his brothers cheered. Even Dave finally relaxed a little. He was so hungry that he wasn't sure how long he could keep from caving in and eating, and he had no idea if he was going to get another chance to pass his gift to them.

As it turned out, his concerns proved unwarranted. He had plenty more opportunities. As the evening wore on, and the brothers passed their wineskins around the fire, Dave made sure to be a little extra slobbery when his turn came round to drink. And eventually, drinking led to frequent pissing in the river, giving Dave ample opportunities to spit on the additional fish they cooked. By the time those lightweight half-elves were done, they probably had more of Dave's saliva in them than Dave had.

The sun had barely set below the treeline before Donfin was sawing logs slumped over against a tree trunk. Ulenas and Adelyle looked ready to keel over at any second, but Dave barely felt the beginning of a buzz coming on.

He really wished he could stay and enjoy the show, but there was no place to watch from that would guarantee his safety if and when these drunken half-elves ratted out. There was also no guarantee that he'd be able to keep from involuntarily turning himself.

When he'd felt the full moon's tug on his psyche last night, he was able to resist it, and he felt like it would be even easier the next time. He had a high Willpower Save, after all. Still, he'd been lucky last night. If he'd ratted out and gone rabid, he might have destroyed his ettin zombies. If that happened to him tonight, he might very well kill his first disciple. Or even worse, they might kill him.

He'd spent a great deal of the earlier part of the day, as he'd been nestled against one of his ettin's tits as they stomped through the forest, thinking about this little conundrum. He wouldn't be an effective leader if he went berserk and started slaughtering his followers for three nights out of every month. But he thought he had a pretty good solution, at least for the short term.

“Excuse me,” he said when he was pretty sure that neither Ulenas nor Adelyle had the capacity to understand what he was saying. “I'm gonna go take a whiz.”

When they responded without so much as a grunt or nod, Dave was satisfied that he could leave the camp without being missed.

The watery grape piss they passed off as half-elven wine may not have gotten Dave as drunk as he would have liked, especially considering how he planned to spend his night, but he'd been truthful about needing to pee. He waddled out about a hundred yards away from the camp, shivering in the autumn night air because his clothes were still damp and he was now away from the fire, then relieved himself in the river. It was a good long piss, the kind that makes you wish you'd gotten out a stopwatch when you started. Woe be to any poor bastard going for a late evening swim downstream.

It was getting dark, forcing Dave to rely more and more on his Darkvision, which he didn't like. It served its purpose, and Dave appreciated not having to carry a torch to broadcast his position to every hungry creature within a mile radius. But it was a strictly utilitarian means of perception. Gone were the bright vivid colors of day. Darkvision was like perceiving the world through a shitty security camera monitor.

But now that the sun was gone, the moon would be showing its body-twisting face anytime. When he was done with his piss, he waddled as fast as his fat legs would take him back to his ettins. Thankfully, they were standing just where he'd left them, as many thoughts running through their four heads as through a dog turd on the sidewalk.

The forest canopy was thick, and Dave couldn't see the moon when he felt the first tug of its power over him. It was a strong one tonight, and he was grateful that he'd made it back in time.

“Pick me up,” he said to Mugmug. For whatever reason, he found her to be the easiest to talk to of the four heads.

Her massive hand descended like it was going to grip Dave's head like a softball.

“No!” he snapped, slapping it away. He grabbed it and guided it around his waist. “Stop.”

She froze with her hand cupped around his midsection, leaving him room to tuck his arms down by his side. He lowered it to the ground, pivoted it until it was palm up, then spoke as simply as he could.

“I'm going to turn into a rat,” he explained. “Do you understand that?”

“Ungh.”

That would have to do, but Dave regretted not having bailed on the half-elves earlier. This might take a little time to get right.

“When I turn into a rat, I want you to close your hand around me so that I can't escape, but – Wait, no!”

Mugmug grabbed Dave and began squeezing the shit out of him.

“STOP!” he croaked.

She became completely still again but didn't ease up on the pressure. If he remained a dwarf, he was confident that he wouldn't be able to escape her grip. But then, if he was certain he could remain a dwarf, he wouldn't have to go through with all of this bullshit.

Unfortunately, however, he was smaller in his dire rat form than he was in his dwarven form. If he turned, and Mugmug's grip remained fixed, he'd easily be able to escape and attack her. Also unfortunately, he wasn't able to speak in his rat form, so he couldn't turn first and then issue commands.

There must be a way to explain what he needed to be done in simple enough terms for these undead idiots to understand.

“Pick up dire rat and hold in air,” he said, then took his dire rat form. The moon's pull was growing stronger, especially since he was giving in physically to what it wanted him to do, but he was still in control for now.

Mugmug grabbed him and held him up in the air. It was a start, but if he was maddened with lycanthrope rat rage, he could easily start biting and clawing his way through her grip.

He let out a little rat sigh. Maybe he should just accept that his first two zombies weren't going to last very long. But as long as he still had control of himself, it was worth doing further experimentation. This was a good start, after all. If he could get her to hold him up by the tail, he'd be helpless until he came to in the morning.

He turned back into a dwarf and commanded Mugmug to set him down.

“Let's try this again,” he said once he was safely back down on the ground. “Pick up dire rat by tail and hold in air.”

Once again, he turned into a rat and braced himself for the pain of being suspended by the tail. But Mugmug reached down and grabbed him just as she'd done before and lifted him off the ground.

“Stop! Stop!” snapped Dave after turning back into a dwarf again and struggling to pry her thick fingers apart. “Put me down!”

Evidently, he'd discovered the limitations on how complicated directions could be for zombies to follow.

He was so close, though. If only there was a way to...

Then it hit him. Removing the added complication was on him, rather than count on her to comprehend it or learn how to understand rat language. Mugmug grabbed at his head because it was the easiest place to grab him.

The moon's hold on him was growing stronger, and he could feel his muscles twitching as they pleaded with him to take his rat form and slaughter everything in sight. It was like trying to suppress a much needed yawn in a room full of yawning people.

Dave got down on his hands and knees, his ass in the air facing Mugmug.

“Mugmug,” he said, waving his ass back and forth at her. “Pick up dire rat and hold in air.”

Taking his rat form, he continued waving his ass until he could feel his tail muscles. He whipped his tail in the air like the opposite of dangling a piece of yarn in front of a cat.

A hard, painful tug on his ass, followed by the ground falling away from him, let Dave know that she had taken the bait.

Once he was up, the pain wasn't quite as bad as he'd anticipated, but it was still extremely uncomfortable. After trying unsuccessfully to attack Mugmug, he considered giving in to the moon's power over him. Being maddened by rat rage would certainly take his mind off his discomfort. But the more he resisted now, the easier it would be to resist in the future. So he toughed it out, enjoying the distant screams of newly turned wererats until he was finally able to drift into an uneasy sleep.

Chapter 6

Randy woke up in complete darkness to an unpleasantly familiar miasma of vomit, pee, and body odor. Though he could feel solid wood beneath him, he had the sensation of gently rocking up and down. When he registered the sound of creaking wood, he finally recognized where he was. Down in the cargo hold of a moving ship.

He jolted upright and felt his wrists. They were free, unbound by shackles. After a yawn and a stretch, hazy memories began to come back to him. He was pretty sure the parts with Jesus had been a dream, but then he'd woken up aboard a ship. Judging by his present surroundings, that part must have been real.

After cautiously feeling his way to the front of the ship, he pressed his ear against the hatch leading out to the deck. But it wasn't locked, and the force of the side of his head pushing up against it was enough to lift the hatch. Ironically, he got a lot more sensory input from his eyes than he did from his ears. It was overwhelming, in fact, the bright sunlight blinding him as his eyes weren't prepared for such a sudden and stark contrast. The hatch slammed shut again as Randy slipped and fell down the three small steps leading up to it.

A moment later, the hatch creaked open again. Light from outside was barely visible from the glowing dots that were still burned into Randy's retinas.

“Randy?” said Denise. “You awake now?”

“Yeah,” groaned Randy as he sat up from the piss puddle he'd landed in. “It's awful bright outside.”

“That's called the sun, you fuckin' retard. Get on up here and pull your weight. You been sleeping damn near a day and a half, and we're shorthanded.”

Randy crawled back up the steps slowly, not because he was injured, but to give his eyes time to adjust. By the time he made his way out to the deck, his vision had returned to functional.

Looking around, he became immediately aware that the ship they were traveling on wasn't any of the three in Captain Logan's small but growing armada. This ship appeared to be more tar than wood, in a constant state of repair due to its hasty construction. The entire deck seemed to be covered in the sticky black goop, giving the whole ship a dark and foreboding ambiance.

“Whose ship is this?” he asked.

“Who gives a shit?” said Denise. “We jumped in the first ship we came to haulin' ass out of Meb Gar'shur. It's ours now, for what good that does us.” She frowned up at a chunk of wood in the rigging inexpertly nailed to two more important-looking pieces of wood that appeared to be holding them together. “We'll be lucky if this bucket of orc shit makes it through the day.”

Beyond the tar-slathered bulwarks, Randy saw nothing but vast open ocean in every direction. He vaguely remembered Captain Longfellow having mentioned something about them heading for Nazere.

“How much longer till we get there?”

“Get where?” asked Denise.

“To Nazere.”

Denise shrugged. “If I get my way, it'll be sometime around half past fuckin' never.”

Randy squinted at her. He was still a little groggy. “Didn't Captain Longfellow say we was headed for Nazere?”

“Yes, he did say that. However, I used my feminine wiles to convince him to make a pit stop in Cardinia first.”

Randy had a hard time believing the captain was likely to be swayed by anyone's feminine wiles, much less Denise's.

“What did you say to him?”

“Nothin' but the truth. That we was undermanned with lots of folks injured, and that Logan had so big a head start on us anyway that pulling into port in Cardinia for a night wouldn't be as big a setback as replenishing the crew would be an advantage.”

“What's that got to do with your feminine wiles?”

“I let one titty hang out while I was talkin' to him.”

“Oh, Denise...”

“Don't you give me no shit, Randy. It worked. He couldn't take his eyes off it. I had him so entranced that when I requested you and I stay behind when he sets sail again, he agreed without so much as askin' why.”

“Of course he did,” said Randy. “But why do you want to stay in Cardinia? We got to go rescue our friends on them other ships.”

“Rescue? Goddammit, Randy. We been in that fuckin' gladiator dungeon for weeks. Whatever fate had in store for the rest of them is ancient fuckin' history.”

“That don't mean we shouldn't try. If they was sold as slaves or something, it's up to us to go find them and set them free.”

“We had a mission, and that was to stay at the Whore's Head and keep an eye on things. If we hadn't gone gallivantin' 'round the world, maybe they wouldn't be in all this mess.” Denise turned her head and wiped her eye, but Randy didn't see any sign of moisture. “And all my babies might still be alive.”

Randy knew he was being manipulated, but it was difficult to confront a woman about fake weeping for her eaten children.

“Listen, Denise,” he said. “I'm real sorry about all that, but we still got to do what's right by our friends.”

“There's a reason they left us behind, and it ain't no less important now than it was then. We got friends around here who might be in trouble. What about that bitch with the big titties? Or the little fat hairy guy with the big titties?”

“You mean Stacy and Dave?”

Denise shrugged. “I don't know. Probably. Then there's always the chance we might bag ourselves a Mordred.”

“We already know where one of them is,” said Randy.

“Yeah, and we got a boatload of folks already headed that way. Think about it, Randy. If you and I can bust our way out of a fuckin' gladiator arena, what makes you think them others can't cut loose from some dipshit plantation owner?”

“That ain't the point.”

“That is the point, Randy. Whatever they was gonna do, it's already played out. And for us to ignore the responsibilities we got here so we can run off and show up two weeks too late to help anybody across the goddamn ocean... Well, that just don't sit right with me.”

“Since when are you so concerned about doin' the right thing?”

“Don't turn this around on me. I been doin' a lot of thinking on this while you was below deck snoring your ass off. Something else you might want to take into consideration is our esteemed captain.”

Randy eyed the front of the ship, but didn't see any sign of Captain Longfellow.

“What about him?”

“He ain't running a fuckin' taxi service. He's gonna get what reinforcements he can, then go straight after Logan. You seen the beatings he took, not to mention the ship he lost. That man ain't fuckin' around, Randy. He'd go to Hell and suck the devil's dick to get his revenge, and he'll take us and the rest of the crew with him. I still got one baby left to care for.”

Randy sighed. Denise was playing the baby card again. He knew in his heart that she only wanted to go back to the Whore's Head so that she could sit around and drink beer all day, but Randy had to admit that she made some pretty good points. It was worth at least checking in at the Whore's Head anyway while they were so close.

And if they decided to sail on in search of their friends, it might be wiser to hire a ship captain who would take them where they wanted to go, rather than be at the mercy of Captain Longfellow's vengeful whims. If Longfellow's path toward vengeance led in a different direction than Randy's path toward his friends, well... He'd butted heads with the captain before, and it hadn't gone well.

“Where is Fatty?” he asked Denise.

“He's up at the front of the ship, chowing down on some orc.”

“Some orc?”

Denise nodded. “We met a little resistance on our way out of Meb Gar'shur. I convinced some of Longfellow's crew to carry a couple of the orcs we killed onto the ship so that Fatty would have something to eat for the trip.” She glanced nervously toward the front of the ship. “Come on. We'd better go check up on him. I don't like to leave him alone so long in the company of such unsavory characters.”

Randy followed Denise to the ship's bow, where Captain Longfellow and what remained of his crew were laughing raucously. Longfellow looked a little gaunt, like he'd lost some weight during his time in Meb Gar'shur.

“Sit!” he heard one of the captain's men say. “That's a good boy. Now roll over.”

Denise stomped harder and faster onto the bow. “Just what the fuck do y'all think you're doin'?” she demanded.

“Calm yer hairy tits, dwarf,” Captain Longfellow responded. “We just be having a bit of fun.”

Randy caught up in time to see one of the captain's crewmen dangling a severed orc scrotum over Fatty, who was lying on his back and snapping his pincers up toward the treat.

Denise punched the scrotum-wielding pirate in the crotch, causing him to drop the morsel, which Fatty greedily devoured.

The rest of the crew's hands went to the hilts of their swords, except for one man who remained seated with his back against the bulwark, cradling the tightly-wrapped stump of his bleeding arm.

Captain Longfellow waved for his men to stand down. “Do not get ye cunt in a curdle. We was simply teaching the wee lad some new tricks. Furthering his education, if ye will.”

“Bullshit!' said Denise. “This is degrading! Humiliating! Dehumanizing!”

The captain shot her a confused look. “He be not a human.”

“He ain't a fuckin' dog neither! How dare you stand around laughing at him like he's some kind of freak!”

“Ye be mistaken, dwarf,” said Captain Longfellow. “We were not laughing at the child. Far from it! We be laughing at Avery.” He nodded at the man still seated against the bulwark. “He taunted the little feller and got his hand promptly snipped off for it.”

The rest of the crew laughed some more, all at the expense of their newly disfigured shipmate.

Even Avery chuckled through his obvious pain. “Aye, I had that one coming.”

Randy shoved his way past several of the men to the other side of the deck and placed his palm on Avery's head. “In Jesus Christ’s name, I heal you.”

The warmth of divine magic intensified in his chest, then flowed through his arm and out through his hand.

Avery shuddered for a moment, then breathed out a sigh of relief. When he unwrapped the blood-soaked bandage, he still didn't have a hand, but fresh new skin had grown over the stump. Several scrapes and bruises on his face and torso cleared up as well. He would live.

“Much obliged,” said Captain Longfellow. “I'd be a limp-cocked son of a lying sea whore if I said I'd not miss having ye and yer god's healing magic aboard me ship.”

Randy bowed politely. “Thank you, Captain.”

“So it be true, then. Ye truly do intend to ejaculate from me vessel?”

“I might not word it as such, but it's true. Denise, Fatty, and I are gonna stick around Cardinia for a while to check in on some things, see if we can't pick up some folks' trails.”

Captain Longfellow's lips tightened as he nodded. “We've not always seen eye-to-eye, lad, but we've both seen cock-to-arse.”

“Thank you,” said Randy, hoping that was the proper response. “That was... inspiring.”

“My point be that though we've had our differences, we've more in common than not. Ye be a good man, Randy, and I wish to thank ye for everything ye've done for us.”

“I appreciate everything you've done for us as well. I'm sorry we got to bail on you, but Denise and I got different goals than yours, and –”

Captain Longfellow silenced him with a raised hand. “Ye need not explain yerself. But if ever the winds of destiny bring us together again, I want ye to know that me poop deck be always open to ye.”

Denise chuckled and tried to pass it off as a cough.

Randy sighed. “Thank you, Captain. That's awful generous of you.”

“Captain!” one of Longfellow's men shouted from up in the crow's nest. “We are approaching Cardinia!”

Randy peered ahead. Now that his vision was fully restored, he realized that they were a lot closer to land than he'd thought. The outline of the city walls and spires of the king's palace were even visible against the clear blue sky.

“Of course we be!” Captain Longfellow shouted back at him. “Ye fish-brained chunk of mermaid titmilk cheese! Where the devil else would we be approaching?”

The man up in the crow's nest squinted through his spyglass, then lowered it as he leaned over to address the captain again. “That is not all, Captain. Black banners hang from the city walls.”

Captain Longfellow frowned. “Well, I'll be a sperm whale's gaping arsehole.”

“What is it, Captain?” asked Randy. “What's wrong?”

“Black banners bespeak dark tidings,” the captain responded gravely. “The king be dead.”

“How can that be? He was so young.” Randy had met with the king a couple of times and couldn't recall any signs of ailment. He couldn't have been older than his early forties, and he seemed as vibrant as if he was in his twenties.

Captain Longfellow nodded grimly. “Indeed he was. Not that I give a bucket of porpoise piss whose fat arse sits upon any throne, but someone in such a position of power meeting such an untimely demise always tends to straighten the hairs on me coconuts.”

Denise scratched under her right boob. “You reckon this was a case of foul play?”

“I be not one to engage in idle gossip and rumor, but others surely will. I've no doubt the city is in a state of severe unrest, the likes of which a wise man would do well to steer clear of.”

“Does that mean we ain't gonna stop here?” asked Randy.

Captain Longfellow shook his head. “Much like Avery there, I be too shorthanded.” He paused to allow his men a nervous chuckle. “But I'll breathe easier once those spires be staring down at this ship's arse.”

Denise tugged Randy's arm, pulling him aside, then whispered. “Maybe we ought to stick around here a bit longer. The captain's still planning to stop at Nazere to see if he can pick up Logan's trail. We could get off there.”

Randy looked down at him. “And do what? It's an island with nothin' on it.”

“I don't fuckin' know, Randy. Maybe we just hang out and relax a little. You stay on an island long enough with only a woman for companionship, and who knows? It might even sort out your... How do I put this delicately? Hunger for dick?”

“That don't need sortin' out. It was your idea to come here, Denise. We ain't gonna abandon our friends to go hang out on some island just because of some political turmoil in the city. If there are suspicious circumstances behind the king's death, it might even be a lead on another Mordred.”

Denise sighed. “That's just what I was afraid of.”

Chapter 7

Chaz hoped that watching Cedric sail away might alleviate his stress at least a little. But while he was glad to see Cedric go, he hadn't been nearly as much of a threat as Akane still was. He'd tried to think of a reasonable excuse for what he and Tony the Elf had witnessed in the rose garden behind the drow's keep, but it was hard coming up with a situation that would justify eating a person.

Had the drow attacked her? A defensive strike would've been an appropriate response, or Chaz might even be able to stretch his morality far enough to excuse a retaliatory stabbing. Still, he had to draw the line somewhere, and eating people was way the fuck on the other side of it.

But even on the spectrum of eating people, this chick was extreme. If Chaz were ever in a situation where he had to resort to cannibalism, he liked to think he'd at least try to be civilized about it. Cut up some chunks, roast them over a fire, and suffer emotional trauma for every reluctant bite he choked down. He certainly wouldn't tear raw flesh straight off the bone with his teeth.

Also, he'd be a wreck afterwards. Even more chilling than the act itself was the sociopathic calmness with which Akane had tasked Chaz and Tony the Elf to not tell Julian about what they'd seen. That was some Hannibal Lecter-level shit he didn't need in his life.

Though Chaz sincerely hoped that she would leave after she got the money Julian owed her, he had his doubts. But that was a bridge he'd cross if and when they came to it. Until then, he'd sing his ass off until they had the money to pay her.

“You okay, Chaz?” asked Julian. He and Akane were walking a few feet behind, while Ravenus flew ahead to find out how far away the city was.

“Sure, I am,” Chaz responded, trying to hide his apprehension with a facade of cheerfulness. “Why wouldn't I be?”

“I don't know. You just seem kind of quiet.”

“Can you play the Ba Ba Ba song again?”

“It's not called the Ba Ba Ba song,” snapped Chaz, his terror momentarily eclipsed by annoyance. Sociopath or not, she could at least show some respect to Neil. “That's not even a real lyric.”

“I care not what the song is called. I want to hear it.” Her tone was curt, like that of a spoiled child who was used to getting whatever she demanded. Was she going to eat him if he didn't play fucking Sweet Caroline on repeat for the rest of his life?

“Chaz should probably rest his voice,” said Julian. “Hopefully, he'll be performing tomorrow, and we can all enjoy listening to him sing.”

Akane sighed. “Fine. But I am hungry.”

That made the hairs on the back of Chaz's neck stand on end.

“Julian!” shouted Ravenus, scaring the shit out of Chaz. He perched on the bare hand Akane held up for him, and she didn't so much as flinch at his talons digging into her skin. “At the speed you are walking, I estimate that you should arrive at the city walls in about two hours.”

Julian nodded. “Well, I doubt there are any taverns open this late, and I don't think any of us have money for an inn. So we should probably sleep here for the night and go check out the town in the morning. Chaz, why don't you help me gather some wood and get a fire started? And Akane can go rustle up some food in the forest.”

“With pleasure,” said Akane, then took off running into the trees like she was expecting the forest to be full of cupcakes and pizza.

“So, that just happened,” said Chaz as Akane disappeared into the trees.

“What?” said Julian.

“Oh, nothing. Just a ninety-five-pound girl charging alone and unarmed into a scary dark forest full of monsters.”

Julian laughed grimly. “Akane can take care of herself. If you want to worry for someone, I'd worry for the monsters.” He went to the edge of the woods and started gathering twigs for kindling.

Chaz followed after him and picked up a fallen branch that could contribute to a fire, but that he could also swing at whatever might jump out from the trees. “Where the hell did you find this chick?”

“In a place pretty similar to this, actually. I mean, at least with regard to the beach and forest. The whole area was crawling with zombies. Rhonda and I were almost done for, then Akane swooped in and saved our lives.”

“That's nice.” Chaz wanted so badly to tell Julian about what he'd seen in the rose garden. They could ditch the psycho and make a break for the city. If it was even half the size of Cardinia, they shouldn't have any problem losing her. At least, not at first. But a thousand gold pieces was a lot of money, and RazzmaChaz would be easy to find once they started getting gigs. Chaz put his thoughts of betrayal on the back burner for now, concentrating instead on hoping that Akane might get eaten by bears in the woods.

He felt a little better when Julian was satisfied with the amount of kindling they'd gathered, meaning that they could instead gather chunks of driftwood from the beach, which was a lot less spooky.

While lugging back a chunk of wood that was a lot heavier than it looked, Chaz saw a flash of white light come from deep within the forest, accompanied by a faint crackle of electricity.

He dropped his wood. “What the fuck was that?”

“Don't worry,” said Julian, coming up behind him with another chunk of wood. “That's just Akane. Looks like she found something to eat.”

Despite Julian's reassurance, Chaz found that even more worrying.

“What, exactly, do you know about this girl?” he asked.

“Not a lot. I only met her a couple of days ago.”

Chaz jumped at another sudden crackle of electricity coming from within the forest. “She certainly seems very... capable.”

Julian started walking back to the water's edge for more driftwood. “Look, I know it's weird. There is something I haven't told you about her, but that's because I'm not sure if she wants it revealed.”

There you go, Julian. Just mention the cannibalism, and we can talk about it freely. Chaz picked up a smaller chunk of wood and tried to coax the information out of Julian by pestering him with guesses.

“Does she have an ex's name tattooed on her ass or something?”

“No. Stop trying to guess. I'm not going to tell you.”

“So it's something more serious. Is it a swastika?”

Julian dropped another chunk of wood on the pile and stared curiously at Chaz. “Is what a swastika?”

“The tattoo on her ass. You can get those removed or covered over, you know.”

“She doesn't have a tattoo on her ass!”

Chaz figured he had about eight or nine more guesses before he could toss cannibal in there casually enough so that it seemed random.

“Is she a lesbian?”

“Dammit, Chaz! Would you just –” Julian paused suddenly like he was having either a brilliant idea or a stroke, then nodded. “Yes, she's a lesbian.”

“Holy shit!” The cannibalism could wait. This was a lot more interesting. “Are you fucking with me?”

Julian shook his head.

“That USDA Prime piece of ass is batting for the other team?”

“Hey!” said Julian. “Can you maybe tap the brakes a little?”

“I mean, she's at least as hot as Stacy. Jesus, could you imagine the two of them bumping doughnuts? I swear, that's the last video I'd ever need to download.”

“Jesus, Chaz! What the fuck?” Julian let out an exasperated sigh. “This is exactly why I didn't want to tell you.”

“Relax, man.” Chaz nodded toward the forest. “Much like our mutual acquaintance, I'm simply an admirer of the female form. It's nothing for any of us to be ashamed of. I'll be cool about it.”

“I don't believe you. The only reason I decided to tell you is to keep you from hitting on her. I don't know if you've noticed or not, but she is extremely powerful, and she can sometimes be a bit... moody.”

Chaz laughed. “I guess it's been a while since she last had the ol' carpet munched.”

Julian stomped off through the sand. “Would you please just stop talking and get over here.”

“Oh, come on, man! We're not trying to forge steel. How much fucking wood do we need?”

“We've got enough wood,” said Julian. “But now I'm going to start the fire.” He raised his open palm toward Chaz.

It suddenly occurred to Chaz exactly how Julian meant to start a fire.

“Jesus Christ!” he shouted, running as fast as he could away from the pit full of driftwood.

“Fireball!” shouted Julian. A tiny orange sphere fired from his open palm and straight into the woodpile, where it detonated like a star going supernova.

Chaz was far enough away to avoid the fireball itself, but he was pelted with quite a few pieces of flaming driftwood shrapnel.

“Ow!” said Julian, who was rolling around in the sand putting out the tiny fires that dotted his serape. “Sorry about that! Chaz, are you okay?”

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

“That was my bad. I just thought, you know, I've got an unused Fireball spell, and we're going to get our spells back in a couple of hours anyway. I totally didn't take into account the explosive nature of the spell.”

“Oh?” said Chaz. “That part slipped your mind, did it? That's the entire fucking nature of the spell!”

Julian picked up a partially flaming chunk of wood and tossed it into the pit. Fortunately, there was still enough wood in there to keep a fire going long enough for them to pile more wood on top.

“I apologized,” he said. “But to be fair, you were distracting me.”

“What are you talking about?” said Chaz. He had half a mind to sit back and let Julian refill the fire pit by himself, but it was starting to get uncomfortably cool, and he wanted a nice fire going as quickly as possible. “I can't think of anything I might have said or done to cause you to accidentally conjure up a fucking explosion.”

“I was going for a grand dramatic gesture to shut you up.”

Chaz scoffed. “Excuse me? Who made you king of the fucking beach? I didn't know you found my conversation so bothersome. You know, for all that Charisma and Diplomacy you claim to have, you're not exactly a mountain of chuckles yourself.”

“I'm not trying to be a mountain of chuckles!” snapped Julian. “All I care about right now is not pissing off Akane until we can pay her enough money to go away. She's going to step out of that forest any time now, and if she hears you talking about bumping carpets and munching doughnuts... Well, we might just wish we'd gone out in a nice quick fireball.”

Chaz chucked some wood on the fire. “Oh, like I was really gonna say that shit in front of her? Give me some credit, man. I was just fucking around with you.”

“This is neither the time nor the place for it. When Akane's gone, and I've drunk enough beer to tune you out, you can talk as much as you want about your crude lesbian fantasies. But until then, just try not to be an asshole. Don't talk to her any more than you absolutely have to.”

“I was thinking about that,” said Chaz. “Won't that make things more suspicious?”

Julian eyed him warily. “How so?”

“Think about it. She's her. I'm me. We're on the beach under a big full moon. If I don't try to put my Chaz in her Razz, it can only mean one of two things. Either I like to suck the cream out of the Twinkies, or I was tipped off that she doesn't like a wiener in her bun.”

“Can you even hear the words that are coming out of your mouth?”

“I'm just looking out for you. You're the one who outed her to me. Besides, I've got a reputation to maintain. Listen, I'm all for the gays.”

“The gays?”

“But we're trying to build a brand here. We don't know how progressive this society is. RazzmaChaz might not be accepted if word gets around that I'm packing sausages.”

Julian sighed, then jerked his head up at a loud rustling noise coming from the woods behind them. Akane was stomping toward them dragging something big behind her.

Julian leaned toward Chaz and whispered, “Just wait until after she's eaten before you do or say anything.”

Chaz's hormone-addled brain experienced a rare pre-ejaculatory moment of clarity as visions of Akane and Stacy rubbing their naked bodies against one another ceded dominance to Julian's chilling words and the grisly scene he'd witnessed in the drow rose garden. He reminded himself that regardless of Akane's stunning good looks and her oddly helpful behavior, he and Julian were still in danger of being torn apart and eaten alive. He gave Julian his best serious face and nodded his understanding.

“I hope this will be enough for the both of you,” said Akane, dragging the scorched and bloodied remains of a moose to the fire.

“That should be more than enough for us,” Julian responded. “Thank you. Did you get a chance to eat?”

In a shocking display of strength and savagery, Akane tore off the rear legs of the moose, then dropped one beside Julian and the other beside Chaz.

“I had quite enough for now. If you decide you are still hungry, let me know. But first, I must defecate.”

“Thank you!” Julian called out as Akane stomped away from the fire. He didn't even bat an eye when she squatted over an empty space in the sand and started squeezing out a turd like she was giving birth to a Burmese python. Instead, he held the exposed end of his moose leg over the fire and smiled at Chaz. “How's your Twinkie now?”

Chapter 8

Cooper woke up feeling like flame-broiled shit that had just gotten trampled by a stampeding herd of Dave's mom. He'd had some pretty bad hangovers before, but they were usually the price he paid for an epic night of drinking. This, on the other hand, was all payment and no services rendered. He didn't even have so much as a text on his phone with a picture of himself passed out with a dick drawn on his face. What was the point?

He supposed the pain in his head might have been due to dehydration from sleeping in the desert. Back when he could read, he'd read somewhere that dehydration was the primary cause of hangovers. But that didn't explain the burning sensation in his wrists and ankles or the aching pain all over his body. He felt like he'd spent the whole night doing CrossFit in his sleep.

As he yawned and stretched, an explanation occurred to him for why his wrists and ankles hurt. They'd been bound with rope before he fell asleep. So why, then, was he now able to stretch?

Opening his eyes, he discovered that his captors had had an even rougher night than he did. Shriveled pieces of them and their horses were strewn all around him. Small plants grew from where the Fertile Desert had sucked their blood into its insatiably thirsty sand.

Their jerky-like flesh was so dry and distorted that it was difficult to tell if they'd been butchered with a weapon or simply rent limb from limb.

Some badass motherfuckers had torn through this camp but spared Cooper's life for some reason. Whoever – or whatever – it was probably had a personal beef with these guys. That wasn't too hard to believe, considering the circumstances of Cooper's relationship with them.

He farted as he got to his feet, wondering what he should do next. Now that these assholes were dead, the responsibility was once again on Cooper to make sure that Nabi was rescued and delivered into the hands of someone worthy of wielding her. He'd kind of been relieved to be spared that burden and the awkward reunion. But that was something he should have taken into consideration when he pissed on her and ditched her in the desert. He deserved every bit of discomfort that was coming to him.

Still a little groggy from his shitty sleep, he scanned the horizon for a clue as to... whatever. Nothing but sand as far as the eye could see in any direction.

Then he remembered that he'd left himself a clue. He scanned the crime scene he was at the epicenter of for the pile of turd's he'd shat out the previous evening. It took a little searching because the withered remains of his turds looked quite a bit like the withered remains of everything else in the slaughter. Fortunately, he was eventually able to identify his shit pile. But unfortunately, it must have been stepped on quite a bit during the battle and was smeared beyond recognition. There was no errant turd to follow like the star of Bethlehem. Just a dry flat pancake of poo.

Cooper sighed. “Shit.”

The desert was so vast that searching for her by wandering around aimlessly would be like looking for a needle in a –

Needle.

He remembered that weird compass thing that Zhanbolat had used to point in Nabi's direction. It was clearly powered by some kind of magic, which made it useless to Cooper. But maybe he'd run into someone else as he wandered the desert, and maybe that person would be able to use the device.

But to find it, he needed to find Zhanbolat.

He staggered toward one of the heads and picked it up. It was shriveled down to the size of a withered grapefruit, the leathery face stretched so thin against the skull that Cooper wasn't sure which one of them it was.

He set the head down next to the nearest torso, which bore the shredded remains of Yermek's leather armor, then started searching for the other two heads.

He found the next one face down under one of the fallen horse bodies. Its vacant eye sockets and the sand embedded into the quick-dried skin of its face made it even more difficult to identify than the first head. But the general shape of the skull was close enough to that of the first head so that Cooper guessed it belonged to the other human, Abzal. Zhanbolat was a half-elf, which would make his skull a little slenderer than a human's.

He continued searching but didn't turn up any more heads. He thought at first that whoever had done this might have taken a souvenir of their massacre, but then he noticed that other body parts were also unaccounted for. After he put together all the pieces he could find like a macabre jigsaw puzzle, Cooper discovered that an entire person's worth of parts was missing. Zhanbolat must have fled or been taken prisoner. Either way, he probably still had the magic compass thing that could track Nabi.

Horse parts were much easier to identify from a distance, and Cooper quickly identified enough heads and midsections to account for all three horses. If Zhanbolat fled, he must have done so on foot. If he was taken prisoner... well, Cooper would cross that bridge when he came to it.

Circling the perimeter of the carnage, Cooper searched for clues of someone leaving. He stopped when he found a trail of disturbed sand heading from the site, but it was extremely faint and would be difficult to follow. He'd come back to it if the rest of his search turned up nothing.

Fortunately, he spotted a second trail a short time later. It appeared to be much fresher, so much so that he could identify it as a single set of footprints. He guessed the first trail, if it was even a trail, must have been from the previous evening. The gentle desert breeze had almost smoothed it over during the night.

Cooper wasn't one hundred percent sure that this fresher trail was from Zhanbolat fleeing the scene, but it was the only explanation that made sense to him. And since it was the only clue he had to go on, he decided to follow it before it also succumbed to the desert wind. But first, he needed to make sure he'd survive long enough to find Nabi.

He grabbed a nearby arm and placed it so that the fingers pointed in the direction the trail was leading, just in case a sudden gust of wind wiped it smooth while he was scavenging. Then he quickly rounded up what weapons and provisions he could find.

Unfortunately, only one of their waterskins had survived the encounter. But Cooper managed to salvage a couple of cucumbers and a small green pumpkin from the plants that grew from the water spilled by the other two shredded waterskins. They wouldn't be the tastiest meal he'd ever eaten, but they might keep him alive just a little bit longer.

Between the two corpses, he found a couple of daggers, which he slipped into each of his boots, a combined thirty-seven gold pieces, which was more money than he'd had in quite some time, and a longsword. The sword felt too light in his hand, like he was swinging a cardboard wrapping paper tube. It didn't have the same heft as the greataxe he'd grown so fond of wielding, but he supposed it was better than trying to fight with his dick in his hand.

He didn't see much point in taking the gold, since he didn't plan on being able to spend it before he died, but it felt instinctively wrong to leave it behind. Doing so might have weighed more heavily on his mind than the little sack weighed on his body.

Insufficiently equipped for a trek in the desert, but at least better-equipped than when he'd first set off on his journey, Cooper found the arm he'd left in place to guide him, then started following the slowly disappearing tracks into yet another empty expanse of desert.

As he stumbled forward defiantly under the oppressive and relentless desert heat, Cooper turned inward, hoping that some introspection and self-reflection on his recent past might help pass the time. He became acutely aware of some things he'd never bothered to consider about himself before. For example, he'd always known that he didn't much care for the taste of cucumber, but he didn't have any idea how much he loathed the taste of raw pumpkin. Everything about it, from the bitterness of the outer shell to the slimy strands of goo on the inside. It was like eating congealing puke.

After about twenty minutes, he decided that introspection sucked. He focused instead on the seemingly endless trail of footsteps ahead of him, and he noticed something. The footprints he was currently following were deeper and more defined than the ones he'd first discovered. They were fresher, less worn down by the wind. Whatever he was hunting, he was gaining on it.

He chugged down what water was left in the waterskin to rejuvenate him for one last push. It tasted like warm spit, which a large part of it probably was by now. He considered tossing the waterskin aside, then reconsidered, remembering having seen on a documentary that he could drink his own piss once if the situation got dire enough. He had it filled again within an hour.

The tracks were even more distinct now, clearly a set of human-shaped footprints. Cooper squinted ahead at the horizon and spotted something small and dark silhouetted against the sky. As he got closer, he recognized the forest green shade of Zhanbolat's cloak, but the figure appeared to be on its hands and knees.

Had the poor bastard gotten this far only to succumb to the desert heat? Cooper didn't give a fuck whether or not that asshole lived or died, and he knew that looting the body and finding someone else to work the compass was still an option. But those extra steps would take time, and Cooper was already down to nothing but a goat stomach full of his own piss to help him survive his mission.

When he got close enough to make out more detail, Cooper saw that the figure wasn't slumped over and dying, but rather frantically digging in the sand. There was always the possibility that he needed to take a dump and was more concerned than Cooper about other people happening upon his shit, but another possibility might be that... Cooper dared not let himself hope, but his heartbeat quickened along with his pace as he staggered toward the half-elf.

“Zhanbolat!” he shouted, figuring that there was no way Zhanbolat hadn't already spotted him approaching and had nowhere to escape to anyway.

Then Zhanbolat pulled something out of the sand that made Cooper stop dead in his tracks. Silhouetted against the clear desert sky, Nabi's shiny black double blades emerged like a pair of butterfly wings as Zhanbolat brandished her triumphantly in the air. The radiant morning sun crowned the pointed tip of her shaft like a halo.

Too ashamed of himself to look at her directly, Cooper dropped his gaze to the sand at his feet.

“Stay back, half-orc!” cried Zhanbolat. “This weapon thirsts for blood!”

Cooper nodded. “She's got some issues.”

“I will gladly give her yours if you take another step closer.”

“I deserve that,” said Cooper, taking another step closer. “Let's get it over with.”

Zhanbolat backed away from him. “Do you think I'm bluffing?” Nabi trembled in his hands. He was barely strong enough to hold her up.

“I didn't until you started backing away from me.”

“Drop your weapon!”

Cooper shrugged and tossed his shitty sword onto the sand.

Zhanbolat smiled at Cooper's concession. “Good, good. Now the waterskin. Toss it here!”

His mission completed, or at least out of his hands now, Cooper had no further use for hydration. He tossed the waterskin to Zhanbolat and considered warning him of the contents. But this guy was still a dick, and Cooper felt entitled to one last chuckle before dying in the desert.

Instead, he tried to conceal his anticipation as Zhanbolat lowered Nabi to his side and picked up the waterskin.

“Stay where you are!” he warned Cooper, then pulled the cork out with his teeth.

Cooper took a step back and raised his hands in a display of capitulation, but he couldn't help but wince when Zhanbolat started chugging.

The poor bastard must have gotten five or six full gulps down before his eyes suddenly bulged out. He fell to his knees, dropping both Nabi and the waterskin to the ground before puking his guts out into the sand.

“Dude,” said Cooper, noticing the waterskin's contents spilling out. “You've got to re-cork that.”

“You disgusting beast!” Zhanbolat cried, partially obscured by the small blueberry bush that was sprouting out of his puke puddle. “What is that?”

“Piss,” said Cooper. “I ran out of water.”

Zhanbolat struggled to his feet and picked up Nabi. “Why?”

“I thought it would be funny. And it was at first until you ralphed it all back up. Now it's just gross, and you're probably more dehydrated because of it. Sorry about that.”

“Oh, you will be!” Zhanbolat spat out some more of Cooper's piss and staggered toward him. “Our mundane weapons may not have been able to stop you, but the magic in this axe will tear right through you.”

Cooper lay flat on the sand to make sure Zhanbolat had a clean shot. The scorching gritty sand burned his back as the relentless desert sun shined like judgment in his eyes. He felt like an ant resigned to its fate under the magnifying glass of a sadistic kid.

“Tell Nabi I'm sorry, too,” he said. “For everything. And take good care of her.”

“You can tell her yourself, when you see her in –”

Cooper heard the axe come down and chop into something, but he didn't feel anything.

“AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!” Zhanbolat screamed.

“Um... Are you okay?” Cooper looked up to find that Zhanbolat had Nabi's blade buried halfway into his own foot, splitting it in half lengthwise almost up to the ankle. “Dude, you suck at this.”

“It wasn't me! It was the axe.” Zhanbolat leaned back like he was afraid of touching Nabi's handle and panted. “Please, take it away.”

Cooper got up and stared at Nabi for a moment. He dreaded making contact with her almost as much as Zhanbolat now did. But he was the one who shat the bed, and now he had to sleep in it.

He grabbed the handle and yanked Nabi out of Zhanbolat's foot. As he expected, he felt a surge of anger coming from her. As prepared as he'd been to die just a moment ago, he didn't envy the wrath she felt toward Zhanbolat one little bit.

Let me finish him, Cooper! I thirst for his blood!

“Take it easy, Nabi,” said Cooper. “He's unarmed and injured, and he just chugged down a gallon of my piss. Cut him some slack.”

He was trying to kill you.

“Who are you talking to?” asked Zhanbolat as he tore a strip of fabric from his cloak.

“My axe. Shut up.” Cooper turned away from him so he could focus on Nabi inside his head. It felt good to have her back in there. “I was going to let him kill me. I deserved that, and you deserved some revenge.”

I could never want to kill you, Cooper.

“But I pissed on you and abandoned you in the desert.”

“Do you piss on everyone you meet in the desert?” asked Zhanbolat.

Cooper shot him an angry glare. “Dude, we're trying to have a fucking moment. Shut the fuck up.”

You came back. And whatever evil was in you when we parted ways, it is no longer a part of you now.

“I don't know how. I figured it must be tied to the rat thing. But as far as I know, that hasn't changed.”

All that matters is that we are back together again.

“So you're going to forgive me, just like that?”

Just like that.

Cooper could feel a certain warmth, like she was smiling at him. It made him feel even shittier about himself.

“I'm not ready to be forgiven. I at least want to earn it, make things up to you somehow.”

Very well. I shall withhold my forgiveness until you bury me in that man's skull.

“Not like that.” Cooper thought for a moment until he was slapped in the face with inspiration. “I'm going to get you fixed!”

I appreciate the thought, but I have suffered no damage.

“That's not what I meant. I mean, I'm going to get someone to pull you out of this axe and put you back in your proper body.”

Again, that is very thoughtful of you. But even if there was some means of extracting my spirit from this vessel, my former body is long decayed. It belongs to the forest now.

“This is Caverns & Creatures,” said Cooper. “Nothing is impossible. It's just a problem to be solved, and I'll solve it just like I used to solve complicated math problems in school.”

How is that?

“I'll ask someone smarter for the answer.” He turned back to Zhanbolat, who was wincing as he wrapped the strip of cloth he'd torn from his cloak tightly around his bleeding foot. “You seem pretty smart. Let's say I have an axe with the spirit of a fairy trapped inside of it. Would you know how to get her spirit out and put it back in her proper body, which I don't have?”

Zhanbolat shook his head. “I am afraid that is beyond my abilities.”

“What if this axe really wanted me to use her to murder you, and the only thing keeping me from doing so was your ability to do this?”

“Please, sir. I am but a lowly sorcerer. My skills are weak and undeveloped. I beg you to spare my life!”

Cooper sighed. “Fine.”

Personally, I think this endeavor to be an effort of futility, and I shall not make my forgiveness dependent upon it. You shall have to accept my forgiveness in advance.

“I can live with that.”

In the meantime, we need to get you out of this desert. I can survive out here indefinitely, but you require food and water.

Cooper scanned the horizon, but it still betrayed no signs of anything but more sand in every direction. He looked back down at Zhanbolat.

“Do you know the quickest way out of here?”

Zhanbolat looked up at him with pleading eyes. “I am unable to travel in my condition. If I guide you out of the desert, will you carry me?”

“Oh, for fuck's sake. Sure, whatever.” Cooper strapped Nabi to his back and scooped up Zhanbolat in his arms.

Zhanbolat grimaced like he was about to throw up again. “Mercy of the gods! When is the last time you bathed?”

“Hey, fuck you, dude. If you don't like it, you can get off the fucking train at any station. Just tell me which way we're supposed to go.”

“We could travel south,” said Zhanbolat, pointing in a direction that Cooper assumed was south. “That will take us to Meb Gar'shur in a day.”

“That place blows. Is there anywhere else we can get to before we die of thirst?”

Zhanbolat pointed in a different direction. “If we travel east, we should reach the Glenwell Wood in two days' time.”

“That sounds a lot better.” Cooper started walking in the direction Zhanbolat pointed.

Can you survive two days without water?

“I guess we'll find out.”

“Find out what?” asked Zhanbolat.

“Fuck you,” Cooper responded. “When I'm talking to you, you'll know it, because I'll start with, 'Hey, Fuckhead.' So until you hear me say, 'Hey, Fuckhead,' you should shut the fuck up.”

Zhanbolat nodded.

We could cover more ground if you left him behind.

“I'm not leaving him behind.”

Zhanbolat's eyes went wide, which gave Cooper a fun idea to pass some idle walking time.

“No, Nabi,” he said. “The meat will go bad if I chop him up.”

I was not suggesting you eat him.

Zhanbolat let out a little whimper.

“So I'll take a couple of bites from the legs and see how long he hangs on. If he dies, then we can chop him up.”

Cooper! Who are you talking to? Have you lost your mind?

It was enough fun to fuck with Zhanbolat, but Nabi was icing on the cake.

“That's an excellent idea, Nabi. I've always wanted a half-elf arm dickwarmer.”

COOPER!

Zhanbolat was trembling and silently weeping now, which made the ruse considerably less fun.

Cooper let out a long low fart. “Oh, stop. I was only fucking with you. I've got no intention of eating you or stretching your arm skin over my dick.” Now that he thought about it, though, it would be fun to look down and see his dick waving at him.

Nabi sighed in Cooper's head. Very funny. I thought you had gone mad again.

“Not yet,” said Cooper. “But the day's still young.”

Why not make more productive use of this time? Tell me what you have been doing this past month.

As they continued traversing the desert, Cooper told Nabi everything he remembered about his little adventure in Meb Gar'shur, all the way up to when he inexplicably woke up under a pile of rubble to find that the entire stadium had mysteriously collapsed.

So after all that, you simply walked away?

Cooper shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Pardon my intrusion,” said Zhanbolat. “But do you mean to tell me that Meb Gar'shur is completely destroyed?”

“No, just the arena. I mean, the rest of the place is still a shithole, but the arena is totally fucked.”

Zhanbolat sighed. “That's just as well, I suppose, now that my partners are dead.”

What happened to your friends?

“Fuck if I know,” said Cooper. “I guess they all ditched me. I can't say I blame them, really. You witnessed firsthand how much of an asshole I was.”

I am sure there is another explanation. Anyone who knows you half as well as I do would know that you were not yourself. They would not just abandon you.

Cooper didn't want to think about that. Fortunately, his story had passed quite a bit of time. It was late in the evening by the time he finished, and his arms and legs felt like they were only a few more steps away from falling off.

“That's far enough for today,” he said, then dropped to his knees and dumped Zhanbolat onto the sand.

Zhanbolat winced at the pain in his injured foot, then rolled over to face Cooper. “The moon will be coming up soon. Are you in full control of your lycanthropy?”

How the hell did this guy know Cooper was a wererat? He must have used some kind of detection spell.

“I'm still working out some of the kinks, but I'm too tired to try right now.”

“I would much prefer it if you didn't.”

“Good. Then shut up and let me sleep.” Cooper rolled away from him and set his hand flat on Nabi's blade. “It's good to have you back, Nabi.”

It is good to be back.

Chapter 9

“It's nice to be out of there,” said Katherine, admiring the wall of rose bushes that surrounded the rear half of the drow's keep. The air outside was intoxicatingly filled with the scent of roses and so much fresher and less oppressive than the air inside.

She watched with mild interest as a black bird flapped down to land further inside the garden, either a crow or a raven. For a second, she worried that it might be Ravenus, which would mean something had happened to Julian. But that was silly. Neither crows nor ravens were uncommon. And if anything had happened to Julian, what business would Ravenus have in the drow's rose garden? She was letting her imagination run rampant. The past couple of weeks had been so taxing that she was seeing problems where there weren't any. It was better to relax again. Stop and smell the roses, as it were.

“I'll feel better when this island is but a speck on the horizon behind us,” said Tanner. “The sudden disappearance of the High Drow's nephew comes at a most inconvenient time. Lady Vivia is right to be suspicious of us. I would be, and I fear it will not be long before the High Drow shares her suspicions.”

“They said that guy tends to wander, and he seems friendlier than the rest of the drow. He's probably having a drink with some of the locals and lost track of time. I wouldn't worry too much about it.” Katherine caught a whiff of herself in the breeze, then lifted her arm to confirm the source. She was pretty ripe. It had been a while since she'd had a proper bath, and she'd done quite a bit of sweating in the past couple of days.

“Easy for you to say,” said Tanner. “I've spent more time dead than I have alive over the past couple of weeks, and I would prefer to tip the scales the other way if I can.”

“Would you mind turning around for a moment?” asked Katherine. Tanner had seen her without pants on, but she wasn't about to have a hobo scrubdown in front of him. When his back was turned, she grabbed two handfuls of apricot-colored rose petals and gave her pits a good hard scrubbing. When they were ground down to nothing, she gave herself another sniff. Definitely an improvement.

She dropped the remains of those petals and grabbed some fresh ones. After scrubbing her arms and neck, she stuffed some petals into her pockets. As she was grabbing another handful to drop down the front of her shirt, she spotted another black bird flapping down to land in the same area as the first one she'd spotted.

“What do you suppose that's all about?” she wondered aloud.

Tanner turned around. “What?”

“Probably nothing,” said Katherine, despite the unease growing inside her. “Let's take a walk further into the garden.”

“I suppose there are worse ways to spend an afternoon.”

“Butterbean, let's go.”

Butterbean looked up from the armpit-tainted rose petal remains he'd been idly sniffing, then trotted toward a break in the rose bush wall.

Katherine followed, even more unsettled that Butterbean didn't need to be told where they were going. She considered turning into a wolf herself to pick up whatever scent he'd latched on to but wasn't sure she was prepared to know.

Butterbean led them swiftly through the maze until they reached a clearing with a lovely white gazebo. Considerably less lovely were the partial remains of a drow engulfed in a swarm of buzzing flies and feasting birds. At least a dozen crows were greedily tearing into what little flesh remained on what appeared to be not nearly enough bones.

“Oh, my,” said Tanner. “I suppose the mystery of what happened to Fezzil has been solved.”

“Not hardly.” Katherine closed her eyes and took some deep breaths, wondering what to do. A longshot idea occurred to her, but it was one worth ruling out early.

“Excuse me,” she said to the birds in a hastily contrived British accent. “Do any of you talk?”

Tanner stared at her like she was losing her shit. “I believe these are ordinary crows.”

“Then they can fuck off!” Katherine ran at them, waving her arms wildly until the whole flock abandoned their meal. “Shit! What the hell are we going to do?”

Tanner shrugged. “I suppose the only thing we can do is bury the evidence. It is admittedly less ideal than if Fezzil were to return home alive and unharmed, but that option is clearly now off the table. We must move forward with the next best thing.”

“Or we could just leave it and pretend we never saw it,” suggested Katherine. “We know we didn't kill him, but that's going to be a pretty hard sell if someone happens by and catches us burying his body.”

“Then we'd better be quick about it. As long as we are the only ones who know he's dead, the drow can hold on to the hope that he's simply missing, giving us a chance to escape.”

“What if we stuffed him in the Bag of Holding? We can get rid of him later.”

Tanner frowned. “Do you really want to go back to the High Drow while you have what little is left of his dead nephew in your bag?”

“He already checked it. What are the odds he'd want to check it again?”

“I would imagine those odds grow higher with each passing hour he remains missing.”

Katherine sighed. Tanner was right. It was one thing to hang around in their presence with the knowledge that she knew the missing drow was dead, but it was something else entirely to be carrying around the body in front of them. Her psyche couldn't take that kind of strain right now.

“The earth is soft,” said Tanner, squatting down and scooping up a handful of dirt. “And there isn't much of him to bury. You rest your mind and keep an eye out while I dig.”

Katherine nodded. She didn't want to pass off all the responsibility to him, but he seemed confident with what he was doing, and resting her mind sounded like a good idea.

Tanner and Butterbean dug while Katherine focused on breathing in the natural beauty around her. That only lasted about five seconds before a drow guard rounded a corner of the rose garden.

“You!” he said. Katherine recognized him as Wexley, the guard who Harzos had sent away to search for Fezzil.

“I, uh...” Katherine flashed him her best fake smile. “Hi!”

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

Katherine stepped fully out of the clearing to block his progress. “Nothing. What are you doing here?”

“I am here because I witnessed a murder.”

“Oh?” Katherine's spike in panic started to fade as she considered what this meant for herself and Tanner. “Thank God!” That didn't come out right. “I mean, I'm really sorry about Fezzil. But if you saw it happen, then you know we had nothing to do with it.”

Wexley narrowed his violet eyes at her with even more suspicion. “What are you talking about?”

Katherine started to feel that tingle of panic run back up her spine. “What are you talking about?”

“I witnessed a murder of crows suddenly fly away from this area, and I came to investigate.”

“That's something I wish you'd been just a bit clearer about when you first said it.”

“What is going on over here? What schemes are you and the other mongrel getting up to?”

“No schemes,” said Katherine. “What other mongrel?” She tried to think of something else to stall with so that Tanner had enough time to finish burying the body. “Did you know that sharks urinate through their skin?”

Wexley drew his sword. “Stand aside, mongrel!”

Katherine's first instinct was to reach into her bag for a weapon, but the last thing she needed right now was a second body to bury, especially if Tanner had successfully hidden the remains of the first one. One missing drow might not warrant enough suspicion to detain them, but two drow going missing in such a short amount of time would definitely cross that threshold. She raised her hands and backed away from the break in the rose wall.

Tanner and Butterbean were digging as fast as their hands and paws could dig, but they'd barely scratched the surface. The partial drow remains lay on the ground as clear as day.

“Shit,” said Katherine.

“Fezzil!” cried Wexley. He gawked at Tanner, then at Katherine.

“This isn't what it looks like,” said Katherine. “We didn't –”

“Where is the rest of him?”

“We don't know the answer to that. He was like this when we found him.”

Wexley stood there frozen for a moment, considering his options. If he'd happened upon either Tanner or Katherine alone, Katherine got the feeling he would have stabbed first and asked questions later. He seemed to be considering that option even now until his gaze dropped down to Katherine's Bag of Holding. He'd seen the weapons she had in there and most likely surmised that she'd easily be able to pull one out in the time it took for him to kill her, Tanner, and Butterbean. Instead, he turned tail and bolted back toward the keep.

“Shit!” Katherine said again. Once Wexley cleared the rose garden, he'd be home free. She did the only thing she could think of that had even the remotest chance of stopping him before he could give them up to the High Drow. She turned into a wolf.

The transformation was fast, but she felt something strange in her mouth. Spitting it out, she remembered that she'd hidden the magic die in her wolf form. Having no time to lose and trusting that Tanner remembered the die's importance, she set in on the ground in front of him and ran off in pursuit of Wexley. Butterbean followed enthusiastically.

They caught up to him in no time. He looked back with barely enough time to let out a whimper before Katherine tackled him to the ground. She still hoped to be able to reason with him or bribe him to keep quiet long enough for them to escape, rather than straight up murder him, so she tried to shove a paw in his mouth to keep him from screaming. Wexley responded to her restraint with a boot to her chest, throwing her off him.

Butterbean didn't take kindly to that response at all and wasn't privy to the plan she had in mind. He went straight for Wexley's throat, and had torn out a large chunk of it before Katherine was back on her feet.

“Shit,” Katherine said a third time after she turned back into a half-elf. “Butterbean, stop!”

But it was too late. Wexley was gone.

“Oh, my,” said Tanner, slowing down to a jog as he approached from behind her. “We'll have to take our chances with the bag now. Without shovels, I don't think we'll be able to dig a deep enough hole to bury both bodies before the rest of the drow grow suspicious of our absence.”

Katherine shook her head. “I've got a better idea. Help me drag him back to the gazebo.”

Wexley wasn't particularly large for a drow, so he was easy enough to drag. And fortunately, the gaping wound in his throat bled mostly down his chest, so they didn't leave too conspicuous a trail behind them.

“So what's this great idea?” asked Tanner when they got back to the clearing.

“I'm going to do what I should have done the second we saw Fezzil.” Katherine felt uneasy about what she was going to say next, and pretty horrified by what she was about to do. “I just want you to know, this is only because it's an emergency. This isn't something I'm into, or that I take any pleasure in.”

Tanner looked doubtfully at the dead drow bodies, then at Katherine. “What are you suggesting?”

“I need to eat them.”

It was the first time Katherine had seen Tanner utterly at a loss for words. “Oh,” he finally managed to spit out. “That is not what I... I am not certain that would... What I mean to say is that, while I admire your commitment to survival, I cannot see how that would take less time than digging a hole.”

Katherine shook her head. “Freshly turned earth is too easy to spot. Wild animals might sniff out the bodies and dig them up. This is the only way we can be certain the bodies are never discovered. But it's not going to be easy.”

“I should think not.”

“I'll need your help.”

“I am not sure what help I can provide. You may certainly count on me for discretion. And if you ever feel the need to talk about it afterward, I shall be happy to –”

Katherine laughed in spite of what she'd just done and what she was about to do. “I meant logistically. I need you to feed them to me. And you have to be quick about it, because I won't be able to breathe.”

“I'm sorry,” said Tanner. “I'm afraid I don't quite follow you.”

“Then I'll make it nice and simple for you.” Katherine turned into a shark.

Immediately uncomfortable on dry ground, she thrashed her tail back and forth. But that only made things worse.

Tanner stood there dumbfounded for a moment, and Katherine regretted not telling him in more specific detail what she was planning. She'd thought it would be easy enough for him to figure out.

Fortunately, he shook off his initial shock and cautiously guided one of Wexley's arms into her mouth. She bit it off and swallowed it, followed by the other arm, then both legs. The torso and head were a little harder to take in, but she managed to bite them into reasonable chunks.

After Wexley was gone, Tanner seemed a little squeamish about handling Fezzil's remains. And to be fair, the meat tasted a little off. Katherine would have preferred starting with him so that she could have the taste of fresher meat in her mouth when she was done. Then again, the discomfort from not being able to breathe had grown so great at that point that she probably wouldn't have been able to enjoy the taste anyway.

When it was done, Katherine felt relieved to be able to breathe again, but a little sick and bloated. She curled up on the ground and clutched her stomach until she was confident that she wasn't going to throw up. Those last few mouthfuls were tough to choke down. But the situation was contained, or at least as contained as they could reasonably hope for. She and Tanner spent a few minutes smoothing over the hole he'd begun to dig, smearing blood into the dirt until it wasn't recognizable as such, and cleaning Butterbean's bloody muzzle.

“Should we think up a story?” asked Katherine as they started back to the keep. She was a little nervous since Tanner had barely spoken since he witnessed her eat two guys.

“There is no story,” he responded. “Because we saw and heard nothing.”

“So what are we supposed to have been doing this whole time?”

“Precisely what we came out here to do. Take a walk, breathe in some fresh air, clear our heads. None of those require further explanation, and we have not been away long enough to arouse suspicion.”

“What if they ask us about Wexley?”

“There is no reason for them to,” said Tanner. “He was meant to be searching basements. It was only an eruption of crows from the rose garden that caused him to stray from his assigned task. Since you and I are the only ones who know that, we need not fear anyone asking about it.”

There was something about his tone that put Katherine off. He was just a few degrees colder, a couple of inches more distant. Maybe it was the stress of their situation, or maybe he was preoccupied trying to come up with a scheme to get them all out of there if things went sideways. But Katherine was troubled by the small nagging insecurity that he was revulsed by having watched her eat people.

Was that the sort of thing that could irreparably alter a relationship? If the tables were turned, and she'd walked in on him chowing down on some random cadaver, would she ever be able to look at him the same way again? Under normal circumstances, if he wasn't a shark and was just doing it casually while an ample supply of more conventionally acceptable food was readily available, then she could see that as a difficult hurdle to overcome.

But if he had turned into a shark first, and he was eating that cadaver strictly to save her life, she liked to think she'd look even more fondly upon him. Thank you, Tanner, for eating that guy. You just saved all our lives.

Katherine sighed. It was one thing to imagine herself reacting that way, but something else entirely to know what her honest reaction would be if that set of circumstances were suddenly dumped out in front of her like a garbage can full of aborted babies. That's just not something a person can prepare themselves for.

But maybe her bigger concern shouldn't be what Tanner currently thought about her. For what he'd just witnessed, she should be grateful he was being so chill about it. She would be better off looking inward, examining herself to determine why she'd barely given a second thought to “eating people” as a solution to the problem.

Was there a part of her that had wanted to eat those guys? Had she willfully overlooked other more reasonable solutions because deep down in the cold dark pit of her soul she craved sapient flesh?

No, that was stupid. If anything, she'd been craving chicken wings. Though not so much now because she was extremely full. How dare Tanner judge her for making a quick decision and doing the shit that needed to get done. She'd just saved his ass again, and this was how he was going to treat her?

Not on my watch, buddy.

“You've got a lot of fucking nerve!” she blurted out.

Tanner looked at her like she was a speeding bus rushing toward him. “I'm sorry?”

“I didn't want to eat those guys.”

“I never suspected you did.”

“I suggested we put Fezzil in the Bag of Holding, but that wasn't good enough for you.” Katherine felt tears welling up, but she held them back, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

Tanner stopped just short of the rose garden exit and looked at her with soft, kind eyes. “Katherine, I am extremely grateful for what you've done. While I was frozen with fear and indecision, you took charge and saved our lives. Would that I had more than one life to offer you in return, I'd owe you at least three of them.” He took one of her hands in both of his. “I have nothing but admiration for you. It is without indulgence or hyperbole that I can say you are the most extraordinary person I've ever met.”

Katherine snorted back some snot and cleared her throat. “Well, that's more like it.”

Tanner smiled against a backdrop of rose petals dancing in the breeze. “Do you need some time to compose yourself before we go back to the keep?”

She would have liked to stay there all day, maybe longer. Not because she needed time to compose herself, but rather because it was the most at peace she'd felt since bathing in Millard's giant pumpkin bath. Maybe it had something to do with Tanner being there, or maybe it had more to do with the natural beauty and heady scent of roses. It very well could have been a combination of all those things. Unfortunately, though, she'd just finished eating two dudes.

“No,” she said. “I need to get back there, like, yesterday. I really have to go to the bathroom.”

Chapter 10

Stacy woke up from an restless sleep with a crook in her neck. There was something particularly unrestful about sleeping high up in a tree, knowing that even if she survived falling out of it, she'd immediately be devoured by giant wolves.

She peered down, hoping the wolves had gotten bored and wandered away, or had at least fallen asleep. She was disappointed, but not surprised, to see that only one of them was sleeping. The other stared hungrily back up at her. After a quick glance confirmed that no coconuts or massive acorns grew on the tree she was in, she had to consider her other options.

A straight up fight probably wouldn't end well for her. Both wolves were injured, and one was sleeping, so this was as ideal a time for an attack as there likely ever would be. But without the element of surprise to grant her a Sneak Attack bonus to damage, Stacy didn't like her odds of finishing off the conscious wolf without waking the other.

Diplomacy was out. As far as the wolves were concerned, she was just as responsible for the death of their cub as the ettins had been. Also, she didn't speak wolf.

The only other option she could think of was to stay in the tree and hope they starved to death before she did. That didn't seem likely, since there were two perfectly good ettins sitting right there, which would probably last them for weeks. All the while, they would heal as she deteriorated from malnutrition and dehydration.

Of those three options, Stacy decided that her highest probability of survival stood with attacking them, and soon. The longer she waited, the more they would recover from their tangle with the ettins. She had to be smart about this, though. Simply jumping down from the tree and taking wild stabs with her dagger would certainly get her killed.

If she could somehow distract the wolf that was staring at her, she could Sneak Attack it while its back was turned. While the tree she was in unfortunately wasn't growing a nigh-endless supply of projectile weapons she could rain down, it did have an abundance of branches. At its core, a dire wolf was still just a dog, after all. And what dog doesn't like to chase a stick?

Now she was cooking. She could throw a stick and get the wolf to run off after it. While its back was turned, she'd hop down from the tree and hide behind the trunk. When it returned and looked for her up in the tree, surprise motherfucker! She'd drive her dagger through the exposed underside of its jaw and up into its brain. Either her Sneak Attack would drop it in one stab, or she'd be mauled to death. At least she would be killed by a noble creature rightfully seeking vengeance rather than by a bunch of two-headed assholes.

She climbed further up the tree in search of a branch ideally suited for a far throw. Hell, if she could throw it far enough, she might even rethink the whole plan. Time allowing, she could dispatch the sleeping wolf while its partner was away, then scramble back up the tree to try it again.

As she continued her search for the perfect branch, it occurred to her that one branch was as good as any other. She was only stalling for time until she could think of something less shitty because she knew this whole stupid idea was inevitably going to lead to her death.

“Come on, Stacy,” she whispered to herself. “You have limited resources and even more limited time. You're smart as fuck. If there were a better option available, you would have thought of it by now. This is the best chance you've got, and the longer you wait, the lower your odds of beating them. Grab a stick, throw it, and hope for the best.”

She scooted out on the bough she was sitting on so that she could find a small enough branch to break off. When she heard the first faint hint of a crack, she froze. That couldn't have been what she thought it was. It was probably just her imagination and rogue paranoia playing tricks on –

CRACK!

“FUCK!” she cried as the bough fell out from under her. She was barely able to grab a branch in time to keep from free falling to the ground. Her back slammed hard against the tree's trunk, knocking the wind out of her. The bough she was clinging to must have been hanging onto the trunk by only a tendril of bark.

Even worse, she was now dangling lower than she had been, very close to within jumping range of the angry dire wolf, as evidenced by how near its sharp, inch-long teeth were snapping at her toes.

Praying it would hold just a few more seconds, she climbed up the broken bough until she caught hold of one still solidly attached to the trunk.

When she was safely out of immediate harm's way, Stacy and the wolf both took a breather. She was surprised that it neither barked nor growled during all the excitement, as if it was being considerate of its partner's need for rest. That was touching, and it made Stacy feel even worse about having to destroy them both.

She looked down apologetically at it and was surprised to see a golf-ball-sized rock fly at it in a downward trajectory and bounce off its side. The wolf also seemed surprised, if not further injured, and sniffed the rock for clues as to who might have thrown it. Stacy, on the other hand, had her list of suspects narrowed down to one.

“Shorty?” she called out softly, trying to project her voice in the direction the rock had come from while still being considerate of the sleeping wolf's need for rest.

“Over here!” Shorty shouted back from a tree not too far away. Stacy could pinpoint almost exactly where he was by the sound of his voice, but couldn't see him through the foliage. “I gathered some rocks while you were distracting the wolf.”

Stacy was grateful to hear a friendly voice. If nothing else, at least she'd have someone to talk to until they both died.

“How many more rocks do you have?” she asked.

“Two.”

“Oh.” She hoped he didn't catch the disappointment in her tone.

“You didn't give me a whole lot of time. I grabbed what I could.”

“Throw one to me,” said Stacy. “If you can distract him, I can use my Sneak Attack to – Ow!” She nearly lost her balance as she tried in vain to catch the rock that bounced off her left tit. “I said to me, not at me!”

“Sorry!” Shorty called back. “I can't see you well from here.”

“It's okay. Just give me a little warning this time.”

“Okay,” said Shorty. “I'm going to throw you my last rock. Here it comes.”

The rock sailed high out of Shorty's tree, but Stacy was able to catch it without falling out of her own.

“Great,” she said. “Now distract the wolf so I can attack.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“The same way you did with the ettin.”

“I am not going to jump down from the tree and try to run from a dire wolf.”

“You don't have to come all the way down,” said Stacy. “Just hang down a bit so he can see you and taunt him a little. I'll take care of the rest.”

Shorty dropped down from his tree, hanging from one of the leash chains he must have swiped from the ettins. “Hello, wolf!” he sang. “We killed your baby! He's sucking demon cocks in Hell now!”

That seemed like an unnecessarily cruel taunting, but it got the job done. The dire wolf charged at Shorty, who was hanging just a bit too low for Stacy's liking. She hopped down, hoping he was out of the wolf's jumping range. Her heart told her to divert its attention with her rock to keep it from jumping up at him, but her brain told her to neutralize as much threat as she could while she had the opportunity.

The sleeping wolf was a huge threat that could be taken off the board immediately, so she approached quickly but silently, then drove her dagger down hard into the side of its head.

Stacy wasn't an expert of wolf anatomy, but she figured she must have severed an artery. Blood gushed out of the wound, warm and bright red, completely coating her hand before she could even pull the dagger out. With a small shudder and whimper, one dire wolf was gone.

Fortunately for Shorty, that was enough of a distraction to draw the other wolf's attention away from him. Unfortunately for Stacy, however, she'd just blown a great opportunity for a ranged Sneak Attack.

The wolf charged at Stacy, leaving her no time to do anything but brace herself for the attack and try to dodge it somehow. She wouldn't be able to jump over it like she might a normal-sized wolf, neither could she sidestep out of its way like a matador. The dire wolf's neck had more reach and flexibility than that of a bull. There was only one way she'd be able to spare herself the worst of the attack.

Waiting until the wolf was almost on top of her, she dropped to the ground, barely escaping its snapping jaws. After a quick roll under its front paws, she thrust her dagger upward into the wolf's belly, then rolled sideways as it yelped in pain.

Still slick with the previous dire wolf's blood, her hand was unable to hold on to the dagger. The wolf thrashed on the ground for a moment to dislodge it, but was back on its feet in no time.

With only a couple of seconds before the next charge, Stacy was forced to grab whatever she could find to defend herself. The nearest thing at hand was a chain leash. Unfortunately, the collar end was still firmly locked onto the neck of a dead goblin. The extra weight would complicate any kind of Indiana Jones-esque whip move she might have tried to jump and catch a tree branch with, and Stacy was doubtful that a game of go fetch was still on the table. That only left one option.

She swung the dead goblin overhead by the chain until the wolf charged at her again. When she deemed the timing right, she flung the goblin corpse at its head. But instead of falling down dead like she had no reasonable expectation for it to do, it caught the goblin's head in its massive teeth and jerked back.

Stacy gripped the chain, determined not to lose her only weapon, despite its clear ineffectiveness. She was yanked into the air and might have been able to catch hold of a tree branch and pull herself back up out of harm's way if she'd had more time to think rationally. Instead, she kicked off the branch to target her fall so that she landed on the wolf's back.

It wasn't ideal, but as long as she could hold on, the wolf couldn't bite her. She let go of the chain to grab two handfuls of thick, long fur, but the wolf's back was too wide for her to grip securely between her legs. A couple of hard bucks would send her flying off.

Fortunately, the wolf was focused on tearing apart the dead goblin, which it apparently considered a living threat. That gave Stacy just enough time to pull herself up to where she could wrap her legs around the base of its neck and grab hold of its ears.

The wolf let go of the mangled goblin corpse, snarled, and shook its massive head violently from side to side. Stacy felt like she might throw up, but she squeezed her legs together even tighter to avoid being shaken off. They weren't long enough to strangle the wolf, but they were plenty strong enough to keep her firmly clamped around its neck.

“Shorty!” she shouted. “A little help down here?”

“No, thank you,” he responded. “But if there is anything I can do from up here...”

“Shorty!” Stacy's grip on the wolf was solid, but she wasn't sure how long she could maintain it before exhaustion set in. The wolf ride was taking a lot out of her, and she was beginning to regret not escaping back up a tree when she had the chance.

“I'm very sorry,” Shorty shouted down at her. “But I am a goblin. That is a grown dire wolf! Did you see what it did to the goblin you just threw at it?”

She hadn't seen it, but she imagined it must have been a pretty gruesome sight. When the wolf rolled over onto its back to shake her off, she got a close-up view of just how gruesome it was. She was grateful to have pulled herself up to the wolf's neck because it likely would have crushed her under the full weight of its body, but she now felt a nausea that had nothing to do with motion sickness. The dead goblin's head was torn clean from its neck. What was left of it looked like an Old Testament god had worked out his personal frustrations on it with a giant meat tenderizer. But it gave her an idea.

Letting go of one ear, she grabbed the chain leash. Now that the goblin was minus a head, the collar came away from the neck with little resistance. She pulled the chain over the back of the wolf's neck and gave the ear she was still holding a good hard yank. The wolf snarled with rage as it rolled the other way. When she got within reach, she grabbed the collar, then ran the other end of the chain through it so that it was looped around the wolf's neck. She pulled tightly, constricting the loop.

The wolf's snarls turned to desperate chokes. It thrashed even harder at first, but that only made Stacy pull harder on the chain. She sacrificed her hold on the other ear so she could use both hands to strangle the wolf. They both laid all their cards on the table, but in the end, Stacy had the less shitty hand.

As the wolf's struggling lessened, Stacy's position only grew stronger. Finally, after minutes that felt like hours, it stopped struggling, closed its eyes, then stopped moving altogether.

Breathing hard from the exertion, Stacy slowly pulled herself out from under the wolf's neck and lay down to catch her breath. Shorty approached with her bloody dagger in his hand.

“We should make sure it's dead,” he said.

Stacy shook her head. “It's suffered enough. I lured its cub to its death, killed its mate, stabbed it in the gut, and strangled it. The wolf was only defending its family and didn't deserve any of this.”

“If it wakes, it will pursue us.”

“Then we'd better get the hell out of here.”

Shorty frowned at the huge sleeping wolf. “We're in deep enough as it is. I don't think it wise to set loose another creature in this forest that wants to kill us.”

Stacy stomped threateningly toward him like she meant to punch him in the face. But when he raised his arms to shield himself, she simply swiped the dagger from his hand.

“If you wanted to kill the wolf, you had plenty of opportunities to do so while I was riding it like a rodeo bull.” She wiped the blood from her blade on the wolf's fur, then sheathed her dagger.

“I'm sorry about that,” said Shorty. “But I don't recall ever telling you I was suicidal or even brave. I certainly didn't ask you to jump down and fight two dire wolves all by your lonesome. We might have thought of a better way had you not acted so impulsively.”

Stacy turned away and started walking back the way they came from, following the path of light destruction the ettins had left in their wake. “You can bitch while we walk,” she said. “Or you can stay here.”

Shorty was right, and she was frustrated with herself for diving headfirst into another situation in which she very nearly got killed. But she was also hungry, tired, and needed to vent. Shorty may not have been the most courageous warrior in the world, but he was tough enough to eat some of the shit she needed to dish out until she eventually apologized to him. She was relieved when she heard his little footsteps jogging up behind her.

“I hope you don't mind me asking,” he said. “But why are we heading directly toward where we know there are more ettins? You're not thinking of fighting them, are you?”

“Of course not,” Stacy lied, unable to think of little else. She stopped to pick up a nice-looking chunk of rock off the ground. It was a little bit bigger and heavier than the rocks she'd used on the first couple of ettins she'd encountered, but the extra weight felt good in her hand, as did the points and jagged edges. This was a rock that could really ruin a person's day.

Shorty looked at her doubtfully. “Then might I suggest we travel in another direction? East sounds nice. Maybe we could get some Arby's?”

There was no point in continuing to lie to him. He'd done more than what she reasonably could have expected from him, and hadn't even brought up the fact that he hadn't been paid yet for his services. She owed it to him to be straight with him.

“You can go if you want, Shorty. But this is something I need to do.”

“You can't possibly!” he pleaded with her. “There must be eight or nine of them left. You are unquestionably strong and brave, but you have only one rock. How do you expect to take on so many ettins?”

Stacy started walking again, pumping her rock up and down like a dumbbell. “I only need to take down one. Once Grubgar falls, the rest will either scatter or kill each other trying to fill the power vacuum.”

Shorty sighed. “I like you, Stacy. But not enough to get myself killed for you.” He stared off into the dense dark wood. “But I also don't think I'll make it back to civilization alive on my own. I have seen you do things that I never would have thought possible. Tell me you have a plan for what you hope to accomplish, and I will follow you and assist you to my limited ability.”

Up til now, Stacy's plan involved sneaking into the ettin camp under the cover of darkness, getting close enough to Grubgar, and bashing his living head with her rock. But Shorty's plea had moved her. With a little more effort, they might be able to come up with something better.

“All right, then,” she said. “Let's think of a plan. What do we know about the ettins that we can use to our advantage?”

Shorty shrugged. “They're stupid.”

“That's definitely a good one. But we might have dipped in that well too many times already. Grubgar didn't fully trust me to begin with, and he's got to be suspecting I was bullshitting him about Mugmug by now. I don't think we're going to be able to get him with another ruse.”

“They're big,” said Shorty.

Stacy nodded. “True, but that's hardly a disadvantage.”

“That depends on the situation. I've survived more than one encounter in the past by being small enough to escape into places my pursuers were too big to follow me into, like a mouse fleeing from a cat through a hole in the wall.”

Stacy chuckled at Shorty's complete lack of shame in comparing himself to a scared rodent.

“That would be applicable if we were trying to run away from them,” she said. “But I still don't see how it helps us if we're trying to confront them.”

“But we're not trying to confront them,” Shorty responded. “You are only trying to confront one of them. And that ettin just happens to be the one least suited to chasing after a traitorous goblin. It's like you said before. Thinning the herd, I believe were your words?”

As Stacy recalled, those had actually been Dave's words, which he used while he was plotting his own little act of treachery. But she liked the direction Shorty was going with this.

“So you run away, and I stay behind by myself to fight however many ettins don't chase after you?”

“It doesn't sound very good when you put it like that, but yes. We each play to our strengths. My strength is running away from fights, and yours is hitting massive creatures with rocks.”

Stacy was definitely getting the raw end of that deal, but she had to admit it was better than her previous plan.

“I suppose that could work,” she said. “But where would you run away to? Surely, you can't outrun an ettin.”

“Not out in the open,” said Shorty. “But look there.” He pointed at what Stacy could only make out as simply more forest. “The trees are younger and denser there. They haven't yet grown large enough for their roots to battle for dominance. I could slip between them with ease, but an ettin would be greatly slowed down trying to plow through them.”

Stacy nodded. “Looks good. So, I guess we settle down here and wait for the ettins to come to us.” She looked back uneasily in the direction they'd come from. “I'd be more comfortable with that if we'd put more distance between ourselves and that dire wolf.”

Shorty laughed. “Have no fear of that. I tore its throat out before I ran after you.”

Chapter 11

Dave woke up too soon from an fitful sleep with a severely aching rat ass.

Unable to bear the pain of his stretched tail any longer, he changed to his standard dwarven form. He briefly rose higher off the ground as his tail shrank, then fell as it disappeared from between Mugmug's pinched fingers. He wasn't fully awake yet, leaving him unprepared to brace himself for the fall. But the ground was soft so near the river, and hitting it proved more startling than painful. Even as a dwarf again, the skin just above his ass crack was tender. He would need to find a better sleeping situation before the next full moon came around.

Dawn had barely broken as Dave lay cold and naked on the riverbank, unprotected by a thick layer of rat fur. He wanted to pull a blanket over himself and get a couple hours of restful sleep on the relative comfort of the sandy soil. But he had no blanket, and he wanted to assess the situation at his new friends' camp before any possible survivors woke up.

A splash of cool river water on his face went a long way toward rousing him out of his drowsiness, and it felt good to wipe away days of accumulated filth. While he was at it, he gave his pits and crotch a good scrubbing as well. The cold water on his junk had him as awake and alert as if he'd just chugged down an amphetamine smoothie.

He quickly threw on his clothes, which pretty much negated his paltry excuse for a bath. Every movement released a waft of putrescence that made him feel sick to his stomach. He had to concentrate to avoid puking up fish and bile all over the inside of his shirt when he pulled it over his head. A nice hard scrubbing in the river would surely get rid of most of that funk, but Dave had more immediate concerns.

After struggling to pull his pants up over his wet legs and ass, he walked cautiously back to the fishing camp, listening carefully for any signs of... Well, he wasn't exactly sure what to expect.

He made it closer to the camp than he expected without seeing any traces of blood and thought that maybe the screams he'd heard the night before as he was drifting off to sleep might have been wishful thinking or the early stages of a dream.

He smelled the campsite before he saw it. There were the familiar scents of a smoldering fire and fish that had been sitting out all night. But there was a heavier scent in the air as well. Something bitter and metallic. He couldn't quite place it until he saw the first spatter of red on the ground.

When he rounded the bend and saw the actual camp, the amount of blood was staggering. The whole scene was painted red. He could hardly believe that a mere three men could hold so much blood.

The excessive amount was partially accounted for when Dave spotted the mule lying dead in front of the brothers' cart like a used condom. Its body riddled with deep scratch marks, it was completely exsanguinated.

It would have been impossible to avoid stepping in the blood, so Dave didn't even try. Whatever had gone down here last night must have happened quickly. No one had the opportunity to make a run for it. Or maybe all three of them turned and no one wanted to.

The first body Dave recognized was Ulenas, the half-elf Dave had first encountered. He was the youngest of the three brothers, and the only man with whome Dave had ever shared a jerk-off session. He was completely naked, suggesting that he had turned. His skin was pale and covered in deep gashes just like the mule. Dave hoped that Ulenas's last jerk had been a good one, because his jerking days were over.

The next body was a little harder to identify, having been mutilated beyond recognition. The face had been all but completely torn away. Dave was only able to guess his identity based on what little remained of the clothes he was still wearing. Donfin, the middle brother, appeared to have resisted the infection only to be mauled to death by his two infected brothers.

The eldest of the brothers, Adelyle, lay naked and face down on top of the smashed remains of their tent. Like his two younger brothers, his body was slathered in blood.

Dave sighed. What a waste. Not only had these three idiots all killed each other, leaving Dave no protégé with which to start his army of minions, but he hadn't even been able to watch the spectacle.

He would have to try again, but not on an empty stomach. If nothing else, at least these brothers had left him with a cart full of fish and a couple of glowing embers in the fire. Food was scarce for someone who wasn't accustomed to foraging in the wilderness. It was best to fill up when the opportunity presented itself.

Getting the fire back up to a respectable burn was easy enough with a little pine straw to get a flame going, some twigs to get it burning hotter, then degrees of more substantial kindling until he was finally able to get some logs flaming.

The fish were all dead but hadn't yet started to smell too bad. Plenty of good meat on them for today, but Dave didn't envy the next person to set foot in this camp after a few days had passed.

Dave gorged himself on fish until he couldn't eat another bite. Then he skewered another one on a stick and held it over the fire just to watch it burn. As he idly watched the dead fish's eyes crumple like raisins, he pondered what his next move should be.

The obvious answer was a nap. He didn't have anywhere to be, after all, and he might be able to squeeze one more meal out of these fish if he hung around. He'd had a rough night and felt he deserved a few hours of shuteye without having to hang upside down from his ass.

He'd just nod off for an hour or two, then pray for his spells, have another quick meal, and be on his way. There was no point in hurrying when he didn't even know where he was –

“AAAAAUUUUUUUGGGGGHHH!”

Dave bolted upright, suddenly wider awake than when he'd washed his junk in the frigid river water. Adelyle had survived the night after all. He struggled to get to his feet, but kept slipping in the bloody mud.

“Donfin!” he cried, crawling through coagulating puddles of blood toward the faceless remains of his dead brother. He scanned the camp frantically until his horrified gaze landed on his other dead brother. “Ulenas!” He collapsed down to his elbows, looking like he was going to either puke or pass out until his gaze met Dave's. “You?”

Dave sighed. “It's Dave.”

“What happened here?” he pleaded, then his eyes went from devastated to maddened as he got to his feet. “What did you do to my brothers?”

Dave could see that Adelyle was confused and bereaved by the sudden loss of his two brothers, and he needed someone to blame, a target to lash out at. While Dave understood he was going through a difficult time, he was done being other people's punching bag.

He likewise got to his feet and braced for an attack. When Adelyle lunged at him, he leaned out of the way and drove a fist into Adelyle's gut.

Adelyle collapsed into a ball and puked his guts out. Typical zero-level NPC. It was hardly worth the bother of turning him.

“Are you done now?” asked Dave. “Did you get that out of your system?”

“I will avenge my brothers' murder!” Adelyle responded. “Or I will join them in death!” He was quicker getting back up than Dave expected. He came at Dave again, but this time Dave didn't have enough time to get out of the way. A wild haymaker caught him in the side of the head, leaving behind a sharp pain and a ringing in his left ear.

Dave stuck with his tried and true move, responding with a fist to the gut. But he followed it with some hard kicks when Adelyle dropped to the ground again, just to make him think twice before coming at him again.

When Katherine got turned by that vampire, she'd been bound to him by some kind of enchantment. Dave had hoped the same would be true for wererats, but that didn't seem to be the case. That made things a little trickier. Now he couldn't let on that he was responsible for Adelyle's brothers' deaths and still expect a follower.

“What makes you think I had anything to do with this?” he asked when he got tired of kicking him. “Is it because I'm a dwarf?” Dave had no reason to suspect that there was any racial motivation to Adelyle's suspicion, and no knowledge of any commonly held dwarven stereotypes, justified or otherwise, that associated them with random bloodbaths. But he hoped the implied accusation of racism would at least put him on the defensive and make him stop to think a bit.

Adelyle turned over as he caught his breath. “You are the only thing in this camp not covered in my brothers' blood.” He pointed to a gash in his chest. “Even I have been wounded. So if you were not the one who committed this atrocity, then how is it that you were completely spared in the attack?”

Dave hoped this conversation would wrap up soon. He'd overdone it on the fish and needed to drop a deuce. That gave him the perfect alibi.

“I got really drunk on your elven wine,” he said, trying to keep from laughing at how preposterous an idea that was. “I wandered off to take a dump in the woods and passed out.” His alibi established, it was time to turn the tables. “But you're not even thinking straight. If I was the one who attacked you last night, I'd have more blood on me than anyone. And how do you even know I wasn't spared? I'm a cleric. I can heal myself.” Now was as good a time as any to extend an olive branch. “If you'd calm down for a second, I can heal you too.” He reached down slowly to place his palm on Adelyle's chest, ready to make a fist again if he had to, but Adelyle remained still. “I heal thee.”

The gash in Adelyle's chest closed up. But instead of thanking Dave, he hugged his leg and started weeping uncontrollably. Dave supposed that was a form of thanks.

“I cannot believe they are gone!” Adelyle choked out between ugly sobs. “I shall never see my brothers again.”

Dave yawned, still tired and suffering a sore ass from the night before. “There, there,” he said, patting Adelyle's head in his best effort at expressing sympathy. “They're in a better place now.”

Adelyle pushed away from Dave. He had crazy eyes again, but this time accompanied by the hint of a wicked smile on his face as he stared out at nothing in particular.

“No,” he said. “Those who are slain do not always remain dead. If I can gather together enough coin, I can take my brothers' remains to the temple at Crystalwind and have them resurrected.”

Dave didn't have time for any of that bullshit. He thought up some of his own to counter it with.

“You might spend your whole life working to save that much money while your brothers' bodies decay beyond any cleric's power to restore them. They would want you to spend that time living the best life you can.” That was some good stuff, and Dave was willing to bet the self-help industry here wasn't even in its infancy yet. He could make a fortune if he played his cards right.

“Who said anything about working?” said Adelyle. “More than half of my village is owned by a single family, the Balrens. My family has worked under their yoke for generations. If a few thousand gold pieces were to suddenly disappear from their coffers, they probably would not even notice. And if they did, few in the village would mourn their sudden passing.” He shuddered as he grinned. “I do not know what has come over me. I have never had such thoughts before, but I find them exhilarating.”

If Dave had had any doubts as to whether or not the lycanthropy had taken in Adelyle, they were gone now. It had spread quickly in him.

More interesting, however, was the potential score Adelyle had just presented. If he could get his hands on a big chunk of money in some bumblefuck half-elf village out in the middle of nowhere, that might prove to be fertile soil in which to germinate his army.

“I'd like to help you,” said Dave. “If you give me an hour, I'll prepare a spell that will keep your brothers' bodies from decomposing until we can have them resurrected.”

Adelyle scowled at him. “Their bodies are not even cold, and already you seek to exploit my grief? My brothers and I were but humble fishers and hunters. I have not the coin to pay for your spells.”

“I didn't ask for coin. I only asked for an hour.”

“Am I to believe, then, that you offer your assistance solely from the kindness of your heart?”

Dave chuckled. “You're wise to be distrustful. So many people out there would slit their own mothers' throats for five silver pieces. It's true that my motives aren't entirely altruistic. I want a share of the plunder from the Balren estate.”

Adelyle continued eyeing Dave warily, but the contempt was mostly gone from his eyes. He recognized that there was more honor in honest exploitation than there was in false altruism.

“How much of a share?” he asked.

“You may have however much you need to have your brothers resurrected. I want the rest”

“Fat greedy dwarf!” Adelyle spat on the ground in front of Dave. “Burn in the Abyss.”

“I wasn't finished,” said Dave. “After we've brought them back to life, you and your brothers are to serve me.”

Adelyle's scowl turned into a grimace. “You want us to service you? Like common whores?”

“What? No! I want you to serve me. Swear allegiance to me and be the first soldiers of my army.”

Adelyle laughed. “This is the most pathetic display I have ever witnessed. What army? You do not even carry a weapon. You turned up at our campsite begging for food with naught but the filthy clothes on your back! How delusional must you be to believe you command an army?”

“I don't command one yet,” Dave explained, a little annoyed that Adelyle wasn't acting as if he appreciated the position he was negotiating from. “But I have plans that I can begin putting into action once I get my hands on that Balren gold.”

“And why would we swear allegiance to you? I am not yet convinced that you weren't the one who murdered my brothers.”

“Look at me!” Dave spread his arms wide. “Look at their wounds. What means do I have to do that to anyone?”

“You might have hidden your weapons in the forest.”

“You can accept my help or not. But whatever attacked you is still out there, and it might return to finish what it started. If those were my brothers, I'd want to do everything I could to make sure there was something left of them to resurrect.” Dave turned his back on Adelyle and started walking away. “Thanks for the fish. Good luck.”

He didn't make it three steps before he had the satisfaction of hearing Adelyle call out to him.

“Wait!”

Dave stopped and looked back.

“Please help me,” said Adelyle. “If you can bring my brothers back to life, I shall swear my allegiance to you.”

“Good. Stay here and watch over their bodies. I'll be back in an hour.” Relishing in the first taste of true power over another person, Dave continued walking away from the camp.

When he got back to his ettin zombies, he took a much-needed shit, then treated himself to a victory wank before sitting on the sand to pray for his spells.

Chapter 12

“Well, it's still standing,” whispered Randy as he stared at the Whore's Head Inn from behind the ruined remains of what was probably a very nice house before this section of the city's sewer collapsed. “I reckon that counts for something.”

It had been a strange walk from the harbor, but not in the way that Randy had expected. He wasn't sure what to expect. Maybe buildings on fire or widespread looting. But outside of a few whispers of gossip he caught here and there, life in Cardinia seemed to be continuing much like it had been when he'd left. It was like the person sitting on the throne had almost no effect on the day-to-day lives of the common people.

“Don't get your panties wet just yet,” said Denise. “Let's give it a few more minutes to see if there's any movement inside.”

“I don't see much point in that. Either there's people in there, or there ain't. We gotta go in and check it out either way. Otherwise, what's the point of us having come here?”

“But what if Mordred's in there?”

“All the better. We'll subdue him and send word to the others.”

“Don't be a dumbshit, Randy,” said Denise. “He ain't just gonna bend over for you like a kid in a playground.”

Randy shot her a warning glare.

Denise flinched, despite the fact that Fatty was between her and Randy. “Take it easy. It's just a figure of speech.”

“I don't think it is.”

“What I mean is, Mordred's gettin' more powerful all the time. You rush in there like fuckin' Rambo, and you might find yourself penetrated by more than big black cocks.”

“That sounds better than standing around listening to you,” said Randy. “The way I see it, there ain't no better time than now to see what's what. Mordred ain't expecting us. The longer we wait out here, the more likely he'll discover us. You, me, and Fatty lurking around in the rubble ain't exactly subtle.” He scanned the area to see if anyone was looking at them. There weren't a whole lot of people hanging around in this part of town, and the ones that were looked even sketchier than they did. “Also, only one of Mordred's avatars can be awake at any given time. If one of them's in the Whore's Head, the other one's probably got more important stuff to do. He'll most likely be sleeping.”

“But what if he ain't?” asked Denise.

Randy shrugged. “It's pretty much a free open bar in there. Maybe he's drunk. You and Fatty stay here. I'll go in alone and signal you if the coast is clear.”

Denise nodded. “Good idea.” She hugged Fatty close to her. “I hope nobody looted all the stonepiss.”

Perhaps it had been optimistic for Randy to hope for Denise to resist, or even insist that she could help, or at least offer to create a diversion or something. Then again, she had Fatty to think about. It would be hard enough growing up as a scorpion monster without being an orphan as well. Denise had maternal responsibilities now, and Randy respected her commitment.

Watching her embrace her half-arachnid child, Randy was surprised at how fast Fatty had grown over the past couple of weeks. It seemed like only yesterday that Denise was able to hold him on her lap while he suckled her hairy breasts, but now he looked almost big enough for her to ride him.

“Ran-Dee,” said Fatty. He was learning fast, having picked up a vocabulary in excess of one hundred words, and only about a quarter of them were racial slurs.

“Stay here and keep quiet,” Randy whispered back. “I have to go and make sure it's safe for you and your mamma to follow.” He pinched Fatty's cheek affectionately, then strode quickly but quietly across the street. He had no fear of what he might find inside the inn, but neither did he want to give up the element of surprise. To that end, he decided to kick in the door rather than knock.

However, when he got to the front door, he found it slightly ajar. A piece of the frame where the lock had been was completely busted off. Someone had already kicked the door in. The air inside smelled heavily of mildew and faintly of pee.

Unwilling to be dissuaded after all he'd endured to make it this far, Randy drew his sword and kicked open the door anyway.

“It is open,” said a gruff, distantly familiar voice from inside.

Randy stepped in to spot two rats feasting on the remains of a larger animal, perhaps a raccoon or cat. Cobwebs filled every nook and corner of the  ceiling, and dust motes hung in the air like volcanic ash. The floor was strewn with tiny rat turds, and black mildew covered much of the walls.

A mechanical click drew Randy's attention to a large man sitting at one of the tables with a bottle of stonepiss in one hand. His other hand was wrapped around the handle of a crossbow that would have taken most men both hands to wield. To be fair, it was resting on the table, its aim fixed on the entrance, but the man looked big enough to wield it one-handed just the same.

He had a face as distantly familiar as his voice. Randy was sure they'd met somewhere before, but neither recognized him as anyone from the Whore's Head gang nor as any of the Mordred avatars he'd encountered so far. It was a ruggedly handsome face, or at least it had the potential to be after a shower and perhaps a shave.

Randy wasn't sure how to greet someone in this set of circumstances. He didn't want to fan any flames, but he refused to stand down against a hostile foe. Instead, he sought a neutral catalyst to move the conversation forward.

“Um, hello.”

The stranger removed his hand from the crossbow and took a swig from his stonepiss bottle. “Oh, it's you.”

Randy sheathed his sword. “Yes, it is.”

The stranger chuckled mirthlessly. “You do not recognize me, do you?”

“No, I don't.”

“I cannot say I blame you. Our time here was brief, and I must appear much more unkempt than I did then.”

Randy imagined the stranger's face clean-shaven but for the thick handlebar mustache that he'd obviously had before letting the rest of the hair on his face grow wild and untamed. Once the spark hit him, his imagination filled out the rest of the picture, bringing back Randy's memory of this man in gleaming armor and a red cape as opposed to the rough civilian clothes he wore now.

“Captain Righteous?”

“Oh, you do remember.”

“You look so...” Randy tried to think of an honest but non-insulting way to finish his thought. “...different.”

Captain Righteous set his drink down on the table. “The past couple of weeks have weighed heavily on my mind. Retirement has been difficult to adjust to.”

“You're retired?” Somehow, Randy didn't feel like congratulations were in order. “I take it you wasn't quite ready?”

“An officer in the Kingsguard is sworn to defend the king for life, either his own life or that of the king's. In times of transition, it is the custom for officers to swear their swords to the next king in line, though it is not required.”

“That sounds like a tough decision.”

“It was not before. I have served under three kings, renewing my vows each time without so much as a second thought. For as far back as I can remember, this is all I have ever wanted to do, wanted to be. Whatever the circumstances or rumors festering behind the transitions, my loyalty has always been to the Cardinian throne. But this time was different.”

“How so?” asked Randy.

“Would that I had a clear answer to articulate, perhaps my mind would not be so burdened. A feeling nagged inside me telling me I should be doing something else with my life, something more. It steered me to this abandoned hovel where I have sat alone since, with only my thoughts and bottle after bottle of cheap stonepiss. Does that sound like a noble endeavor to you? One worthy of forsaking my oath to defend the throne?”

Randy reached behind the bar to grab a bottle of stonepiss for himself. He wasn't exactly yearning for a drink, but he thought Captain Righteous might feel better if he wasn't drinking alone. However, he didn't want to dive quite so deep into the bottle, so he grabbed himself a shot glass as well.

“You ain't forsook nothin', as far as I can tell,” he said as he sat opposite Captain Righteous and poured himself a drink. “You said so yourself that your vow to the king ended with his passing. From what I've heard about you, you served as loyally and diligently as any man who ever served, and the king was lucky to have you.”

“That is generous of you to say.” Captain Righteous raised his bottle to Randy's glass, and they both had a drink.

Randy wheezed after his shot. It had been quite some time since his last drink, and stonepiss wasn't exactly the drink to ease a person back in.

“So,” he said after he shook off the initial burn and started to enjoy the residual warmth in his belly and bloodstream. “What brings you back to the Whore's Head?”

“The Whore's Head.” Righteous spat out the name as if uttering it was akin to licking a turd. “I pray my father does not look down upon me now to see me in such a place and in such a state.”

Hoping it wouldn't fall on him to get the conversation rolling again, Randy stalled by having another shot. Fortunately, that was enough for Captain Righteous to start talking again.

“To answer your question, though, I know not what compelled me to come here. Perhaps it was my shame that drove me to find this moldy rock to slither under, but I am also plagued by questions I have yet to answer.”

“What you got?” asked Randy. “Maybe I can help.”

“Part of the problem is that I do not even know what questions to ask. It is more of a vague mystery I have yet to uncover, a strange and unnatural feeling whenever I find myself in the presence of...” he waved his hand abstractly at Randy, “... you people.”

So that's what it was. Randy was getting a little sick and tired of people dumping on him after he'd tried so hard to extend a hand in friendship.

“It ain't that hard to figure out,” he snapped. “Some men just prefer the company of other men, and there ain't nothin' strange or unnatural about it.”

Captain Righteous looked suddenly sober as he stared back at Randy. “I beg your pardon?”

Something about his reaction didn't add up, and a thought occurred to Randy.

“Unless by 'you people,' you was referring to all the folks who generally frequent this establishment.”

“Of course,” said Captain Righteous. “What else would I have meant?”

“I don't know. I thought maybe you was... Never mind. You know what? I just remembered Denise is waiting for me outside. I'd better let her know it's safe to come inside.”

“Wait!” demanded Captain Righteous, stopping Randy in his tracks on the way to the door.

Randy turned around to face him. “What's wrong?”

Captain Righteous chugged down what remained in his stonepiss bottle, then slammed it down on the table. “All right. Carry on.”

Randy opened the door and waved his arms until he spotted Denise poking her head up from behind the rubble. When she started waddling across the street toward him, he understood Captain Righteous's sudden need to finish his drink and regretted not getting a little more buzzed himself.

“Who's in there?” she asked while Fatty snapped his claws curiously at a dead cat on the side of the building. “Is it Mordred? Did you knock his ass out? You want I should hogtie him?”

“Take it easy, Denise,” said Randy, holding the door open for her. “It ain't Mordred.”

“Then who is it? Tim? I'll fuck that little son of a bitch up if he –” Denise stopped as soon as she walked into the Inn and stared at Captain Righteous. “Who the fuck are you?”

“This is Captain Righteous,” said Randy. “You remember, we met him last time we was here.”

Denise took a good hard look at Captain Righteous. “Well, I'll be a son of a bitch. What the fuck happened to you? You look like you just got kicked out of a goddamn soup kitchen.”

“Captain Righteous has been going through a rough patch lately,” Randy explained.

“Is that right?” Denise pinched her nipples through her shirt provocatively. “I've got a rough patch you can go through. You strike me as the sort of man who appreciates a nice hairy vag. What do you say you and I go down to the cellar, and I'll make you forget all about whatever's got you down.”

“No, thank you,” said Captain Righteous. Then he turned to Randy with a flash of annoyance in his otherwise sleepy eyes. “And you must stop calling me Captain. I have given up my rank. Hearing it only reminds me of what is likely the greatest mistake of my failed life.”

Randy found a scrap of dirty cloth behind the bar and started wiping dust off the counter. “Don't talk like that, Righteous.” Calling him by his first name felt awkward, but if that's what he preferred, so be it. “You just need something to take your mind off things.”

“Jesus Christ, Randy. Don't act so fuckin' desperate. I already offered him a trip to Jizztown, and he ain't interested. If he didn't want to park in my garage, what makes you think he's gonna... Oh, wait. That is, unless... Hey Righteous. Do you like to... What's the PC term for this nowadays? ...put your Twinkie in the stinky?”

“Denise!”

“What? I weren't passin' judgment. I was just asking is all. Whatever two grown men want to insert in each other's buttholes ain't none of my –”

“Mercy of the gods!” said Captain Righteous, jumping up to his feet as he gaped at the door. “What in the Seven Hells is that?”

Randy turned that way to find Fatty standing in the doorway holding half of the dead cat in each of his pincers.

“Damn, Righteous,” said Denise. “This the first time you ever seen a black man? Where we come from, that kind of reaction is not okay. Ain't that right, Randy?”

Randy appreciated Denise's effort, however misguided it was, but right now he was more concerned with calming down Righteous.

“That's just Fatty,” he said. “He won't hurt you.” Looking doubtfully at the severed cat pieces, Randy wondered if he was putting too much faith in Fatty. “I mean, probably. Until we're sure he understands right from wrong, it's probably best to keep your distance.”

“My baby wouldn't hurt nobody,” said Denise. “He's sweeter than chocolate syrup on the Gingerbread Man's rock hard gingerdick.”

Righteous composed himself. “Pardon my alarm. I have of course heard of scorpionfolk, but I have never met one until now. I certainly did not expect to encounter one in –” He turned to Denise with a curious stare. “I'm sorry, did you say your baby?”

“Too fuckin' right, I did. He came straight out of my rough patch, as the saying goes. Fatty, you put that cat back outside and come suck some of this milk out of my titties. They're all swelled up like goddamn cantaloupes, and don't nobody in here appreciate a woman with so ample a bosom.”

“Mama,” said Fatty as he scuttered across the floor to Denise and laid the two halves of the dead cat at her feet.

“Thanks, Fatty. That's awful kind of you. Come on over here and eat.” She sat at a table next to the bar and pulled one of her hairy tits out. “Randy, would you mind getting rid of that cat when he ain't looking?”

“How did...” Righteous shook his head. “No, I am quite sure I do not want to know.” He smiled grimly at Randy. “I will give credit where it is due. You certainly know how to distract a man from his troubles.”

Randy took a broom from the corner and started pushing the front half of the dead cat back toward the door. “That ain't exactly what I had in mind. We got some friends who may or may not be in trouble, and we could use a man with your skills to help us find them.”

Righteous eyed him with uncharacteristic interest. “These friends of yours. Would they include Katherine?”

“Yeah, she was there on the island with us before we all got captured by pirates.”

“Pirates?” Righteous's eyes went wide as he slammed his fist down on the table. “How did you two manage to escape and not her? What kind of paladin saves his own skin while leaving a woman behind?”

“Hey, calm your tits, Righteous,” said Denise as Fatty sucked on her right tit, which was now only about half as big as the left. “We ain't left behind shit. Those motherfuckers divided us onto three separate boats and all fucked off in different directions. It ain't like we been sippin' mojitos on the fuckin' beach. We done spent the past month in an orc gladiator arena getting our asses whupped six ways to fuckin' Sunday.”

Righteous turned to face Denise, then quickly turned away. “You have been to Meb'Garshur?”

“Yes, sir,” said Randy. “That's where we just came from.”

“How did you escape?”

Denise chuckled. “The same way we escaped Nazere. We smashed that place to the fuckin' ground.”

Righteous turned back to Denise, and this time kept his gaze on her. “Nazere? But, that is impossible. Nazere is...”

“Did I neglect to mention that last time we spoke?” asked Randy, thinking back to their previous conversation.

“I do not remember. So much of your story was obvious nonsense that I found myself drifting. So, you claim to have defeated the Ice Queen of Nazere?”

“Not me alone. It was a team effort between Denise, Katherine, and myself.”

Righteous chuckled. “Your previous story was more believable. She has ruled over that frozen rock since I was a child. Stronger men than you have tried to stop her, precious few of them ever to return.”

“You don't got to take my word for it,” said Randy. “Go on down to the Temple of Life. They'll tell you. We got back the Eye of Rasha for them, and they brought my Special Mount back from the dead. Well, at least in a manner of speaking.”

“Special mount?”

“That's right.” Randy pointed to a relatively open space on the floor. “Basil!”

The dim interior of the Whore's Head Inn brightened with Basil's celestial glow, causing Righteous to shield his eyes. He lowered his arms for a second look, then shielded them again.

“Mercy of the gods!” he said. “Is that a basilisk?”

“You ain't got to worry.” Randy put his arm around Basil's neck and pulled him in for a hug. “He don't turn people to stone. But he does sometimes mistake people for food when he gets hungry, so I wouldn't get too close until he gets better acquainted with you.”

Basil swung his tail excitedly. It connected with a chair, sending it flying across the room to smash against the wall.

“Truth be told, he's more of an outdoor pet.” Randy gave Basil another squeeze. “It was good to see you again, buddy. You go on back to the Celestial Plane, and I'll call you back when I got something for you to eat.”

When Basil disappeared, Righteous lowered his arms. “I am prepared to believe enough of what you say to join you in your search. Do you have any idea where Katherine might be?”

Randy shrugged. “She weren't on our boat, so I reckon she ain't in Meb'Garshur. I don't know where the other two boats was going. Last place we saw her was the beach on Nazere.”

“Then Nazere is where we must begin our search.” Righteous sat down and started drumming his fingers thoughtfully on the table. “I shall have to make arrangements and call in some favors, but I may be able to secure passage on a vessel within a week.”

“We got a friend who's headed that way,” said Randy. “If we hurry, we might be able to catch him.”

“Goddammit, Randy,” said Denise. “We only just got here. I ain't even had time to drain my tits yet.”

Righteous stood tall. “There will be time enough to drain your tits at sea. Katherine's trail grows colder with every passing minute we spend here. Let us not waste another second.”

Randy grabbed some stonepiss bottles off the shelves behind the bar and started shoving them into his bag. “I'll be with you in just a moment.”

Righteous frowned at him. “I do not begrudge a man a drink from time to time, but it disheartens me to see a pious man such as you claim to be so shamelessly succumbing to the bottle's grip on your soul. Should not the triumph of justice over evil be enough to quench your thirst?”

“He's got a point,” said Denise. “I mean, who the fuck do you think you are? Charlie Sheen?”

Randy shot them both an annoyed glare. “This ain't for me. At least, not all of it. Captain Longfellow may be our friend, but it ain't right to turn up empty-handed and ask for a ride.” He glanced again at Denise pressing Fatty to her breast, and then at Righteous, standing proud and noble with renewed vigor. “Besides, the captain ain't always the easiest fellow to get along with. I anticipate there might be some personality conflicts that a little stonepiss might help smooth over. As a matter of fact, do either of y'all got any room in your bags?”

Chapter 13

Whether because he was in constant fear for his life, or because he hadn't cooked his moose leg quite well enough, Chaz hadn't slept well. But despite that, he felt good about walking through the gates of a bustling city.

He didn't have any hard evidence that Akane wouldn't straight up murder him in the middle of a crowded street, but maybe some guards would intervene, or at least provide enough of a distraction for him to run away. At any rate, this change of scenery gave him a sense of security, and even if it turned out to be false, he'd take what he could get.

It was also satisfying to see Knights of Jordan walking around. They hadn't taken iron-fisted control of this city like they had with the drow island. Pargos was far more populous, and they had no way of controlling the coming and going of people through the gates. Instead of being a crippling menace to society, they were merely a nuisance, annoying whoever they encountered with their shitty chants and being promptly told to fuck off.

“So,” said Julian, taking in the scene just beyond the northern city gate. “This is Pargos.”

Chaz scanned the buildings immediately surrounding them. They looked cleaner and newer than the buildings in Cardinia, but in quite a few places, the outer layer of plaster had worn away, exposing the masonry underneath and betraying the buildings as being older than they appeared.

He didn't see any place that stood out as somewhere a man might get himself a stiff drink in the early morning hours, which would've steadied his nerves.

“Nice place,” he said as he gleefully watched a Knight of Jordan get pushed into a puddle by one of the locals. He knew the poor guy was only a song away from no longer being an evangelizing douchebag, but it wasn't like he was getting stabbed or anything. He was reaping what he'd sown with no permanent harm done.

Julian cradled Ravenus in his arm while stroking the feathers on his head. “What should we do?”

Chaz shot him a look. “You're the manager. Manage.”

“I've never been to this city before. I don't know where to start.”

“That looks like a city guard,” said Chaz, pointing to a man in a black and green uniform resting idly against a wall with a spear as he bit into a piece of fruit and watched some citizens pelt a Knight of Jordan with rotten vegetables. “Go ask him where the nightlife is around here.”

Julian sighed. “All right.” He gave Akane a sterner look than Chaz was comfortable with. “We don't want any trouble here, so let me do the talking. Got it?”

Chaz nodded.

“Of course,” said Akane. She produced a scrap of moose flesh from her satchel and popped it in her mouth.

“Good.” Julian took a deep breath, then strode toward the city guard. “Excuse me, sir.”

The guard scowled with annoyance, like they'd just walked in and interrupted his favorite TV show. “Yes?” he said through a mouthful of fruit as its pink juice ran down his beard. “What is it?”

“My name's Julian, and I was wondering if –”

“Are you a lord?”

“Um, no. I'm just –”

“Emperor?”

“I beg your pardon?”

The guard spat out a gob of seeds and pulp. “Are...you...an...emperor?” He spoke slowly and extra-articulately, as if to imply that he thought Julian might be retarded.

“No, I'm not an emperor,” said Julian. “I'm actually –”

“High priest?”

Julian sighed. “No.”

“Are we related?”

“I don't think so.”

“Then why should I give a toss what your name is?”

Chaz cleared his throat, then whispered, “Dude, you are nailing this Diplomacy.”

“Look,” said Julian, a hint of annoyance in his tone. “I didn't mean to bother you, but I –”

“Oh, did you not?” asked the guard, a less-than-subtle hint of sarcasm in his tone. “Did you trip over a stone and stumble this way accidentally before inane ramblings just fell out of your mouth?”

“No! I –”

“Can you not see that I was enjoying a snack and a –”

“I had a simple question,” snapped Julian. “One that could have been answered a long time ago if you'd just let me ask it.”

The guard took another bite of his fruit as he returned to watching the townsfolk hurl insults and rotten vegetables at the Knight of Jordan. “Fine. What wisdom might I bestow upon you?”

“My friends and I were wondering where one might go in this city to enjoy some live music.”

“Live music?” The guard turned sharply to Julian and stared at him as if he was just seeing him for the first time, then eyed Chaz and Akane up and down. “You're not one of them, are you?”

“Them?”

“A Knight of Jordan.”

“Oh, no,” said Julian. “We're not even remotely associated with them.”

Chaz didn't feel that Julian was doing his managerial diligence in taking advantage of this opportunity to introduce him.

He flashed a grin at the guard. “They call me RazzmaChaz. Perhaps you've heard of –”

“What cruel god did I anger to be sent hordes of fools to introduce themselves to me?”

“I'm rather well known in Cardinia and on the Crescent Shadow.” At least one of those was partially true, and Chaz had every confidence that he'd be well known throughout the world soon enough. “You might be familiar with some of my songs.”

“Oh!” cried Akane. “Play the Ba Ba Ba song! That one is delightful.”

“It's not called the Ba Ba Ba song!” Chaz snapped at her, too overcome with frustration to fear being murdered and eaten. After composing himself, he turned back to the guard and started to open his lute case. “September Morn feels more appropriate for such a fine crisp start to the –”

“Please!” cried the guard. “Torment me no more! I shall provide you with the information you desire if you promise to go away.”

Chaz closed his lute case and nodded at Julian.

Julian smiled at the guard. “We accept your terms.”

The guard grimaced back at him. “If it be music you seek, follow the thoroughfare to the city center. You'll find it that way, just in front of the keep.” He pointed to a massive walled structure in the distance, easily visible above all the other buildings in the city, topped with a massive bronze dome. “But be warned. If I catch you harassing any of the good people of this city with your Knights of Jordan nonsense, it will be my pleasure to personally escort you beyond our gates.”

“And it will be our pleasure to comply,” said Julian. “Though you needn't worry about –”

“Tarred and feathered!” the guard added.

“We understand. But you don't –”

“Dragged by the feet behind my horse!”

“I assure you, we have no intention of –”

“I'll piss on your open wounds and leave you for dead!”

“You've made your position extremely clear, but I don't –”

“Julian!” said Chaz.

“What?” Julian snapped at him.

“We should go.”

Julian sighed and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

The guard watched them warily as they walked away, then went back to eating his fruit.

“Can you believe that guy?” asked Julian when they were far enough away to not be heard.

Chaz shrugged. “I kind of get it.”

“You get it? What's there to get? He was openly hostile right out of the gate. What did I say that could have possibly set him off?”

“Perhaps he smelled your weakness,” suggested Akane. “If anyone ever spoke to me in such a way, I would guarantee he never spoke that way to another.”

Chaz had every reason to believe her but no wish to hear her elaborate.

“It wasn't you,” he said to Julian. “It's the situation he's in. Try to look at it from his point of view. Pretend you're a keeper of the peace in a pleasant little city like this. You've got a wife, kids, maybe a dog. Life is pretty routine. You walk the same beat every day, exchange pleasantries with the local shopkeepers, break up the occasional bar brawl, then go home to your family knowing that you've done your part to make sure they'll live happy and stable lives.”

Julian looked at him like he was nuts. “That's what you saw in that guy?”

“I wasn't finished. Then one day, from out of fucking nowhere, this group of religious nutbars invades your town like a swarm of Mormon termites and starts trying to convert everyone.”

“Dude, that's not –”

“You see that your friends and neighbors are bothered. Maybe you've heard rumors about what damage they've done in other nearby places. But what can you do as a keeper of the peace? They're not technically breaking any laws, so there's really not much you can do about them but to stand around with your dick in your hand while your city goes to shit all around you. It's enough to put anyone on edge.”

Akane picked up a discarded tomato, then hurled it at a Knight of Jordan bellowing a chant at a group of clearly disinterested older women, striking him directly in the head with enough force to knock him off his feet. The women laughed and cheered as the Knight lay still on the ground. The tomato pulp gave him the appearance of having a massive head wound.

“I believe she's killed him,” said Ravenus, still cradled in Julian's arm. “Would it be bad form for me to take his eyes?”

“He's not dead,” said Chaz, breathing a sigh of relief as the Knight struggled back to his feet. He'd also been fooled for a second. If Akane had thrown a turnip rather than a tomato, she very well might have killed him.

“I can think of better ways of dealing with them,” she said, looking very pleased with herself.

“Stop that, Akane!” said Julian, looking around to see who else might have witnessed that. “There are rules here. That's what allows civilized society to thrive.”

Akane scoffed. “This is what you call thriving? It seems to me like your rules are the very things bringing your so-called civilized society to its knees.”

Despite his fear of her, and his disdain for cannibalism in general, Chaz had to admit that he admired Akane's take-no-shit-from-anyone attitude. He wondered what that poor drow bastard had said to her that prompted her to eat him.

“You can criticize the rule of law all you want,” said Julian. “But if you want your money, you'll abide by it until Chaz and I can land enough gigs to pay you. Tavern owners want a good show to bring in customers. But they also want to provide a safe environment for those customers to enjoy the show. If they see us as troublemakers, no one will want to hire Chaz. I'm not asking for much. All I want is for you to lay low and not make my job any harder than it already is.” Julian stopped, his eyes glazed over like he just had a great idea. “That is, of course, unless it's not worth it for you to stick around. If this is too uncomfortable for you, we could just forget the whole thing and you could go home.”

Akane looked at him in a way that made him take a step back. “Are you threatening to renege on your part of the deal?”

“I'm not threatening anything,” said Julian, finally expressing something close to the appropriate tone of fear. “I'll happily pay you what I owe you, but I can only do that if you stop making it impossible for me to do so.”

“I will continue to play your game for now, elf. But my patience wears thin.”

Julian breathed out a long heavy sigh. “Great,” he said. “We'd better move along then.” He gestured at the nearest building's signage. “This place looks promising. Let's give it a try.”

Chaz read the sign. “The Infected Wound?”

“Pubs have a time-honored tradition of having disturbing or subversive names that contradict the pleasant atmosphere within. Take the Whore's Head Inn, for example.”

“The Whore's Head Inn is a shithole.”

“Maybe that's not the best example,” said Julian. “But you know what I mean. Anyway, a gig is a gig. Nobody knows us here yet, so we should probably start with a humble venue, then work our way up to the big leagues. You know, just like we did on the Crescent Shadow. It doesn't hurt to go in and have a look, does it?”

Chaz glanced back up at the sign. “I don't know. It might.”

“Trust my managerial instincts. Follow me, and let me do the talking.” Julian held up his arm for Ravenus to perch on. “Why don't you stay here on the roof and act as lookout.”

“What should I be looking out for, sir?” asked Ravenus.

“Anything suspicious.”

“Very good, sir. You can count on me.” Ravenus jumped from Julian's arm and flapped up to the roof.

The inside of the Infected Wound betrayed no hint of subversion. As far as Chaz was concerned, the place was just as advertised. The only effort at interior décor were stains on the walls that nobody had bothered to clean. He wouldn't even have recognized it as a pub if not for the heavyset sleepy-eyed half-elven barman standing behind a bar that could have easily passed for the front counter of a long-abandoned Rite Aid.

“What do you want?” asked the barman with the air of someone greeting a Jehovah's Witness.

“Excuse me?” said Chaz, neither accustomed to nor appreciative of being addressed in that kind of tone by someone in the service industry.

The barman sighed. “This is a pub, in case the sign outside did not give that away. Do you want a drink, or do you not?” He gestured to the haphazardly arranged liquor bottles on the shelves behind him.

“I'll tell you what I want,” said Chaz. “I want you to bend over and shove one of those bottles up your –”

“Hello!” interrupted Julian. “My name's Julian. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr...”

“Garin.”

“I'm so happy to meet you, Mr. Garin. These are my friends, Akane and RazzmaChaz. We were just passing by when I saw your sign and said to myself, 'I'll bet that's an interesting place'. Would you do me the honor of telling me how it came to have such an unusual name?”

Chaz crossed his arms and scowled at the wall. “Probably from someone who walked in and looked at the place.”

“It was named for my father,” said Garin. “He scratched his arm on a nail when he was building the bar.”

Julian smiled broadly. “Well, how about that! Isn't that a fun bit of trivia. I'll bet he has some fun stories to tell.”

“He died shortly after. His wound got infected.”

“Oh,” said Julian, his smile instantly disappearing. “I'm so sorry for your loss.”

“Don't be,” said Garin. “I was only a baby when it happened, and by all accounts he was a piece of shit. He used to beat my mother for refusing to suck the landlord's cock in exchange for a break in the rent.”

Chaz felt bad about his initial reactions. “That's horrible.”

Garin shrugged. “It wouldn't have made no difference. She was already sucking his cock for free, or so he told me years later after she passed.”

“Oh my,” said Julian. “That's so tragic.”

“Not so much. It was kind of a relief, to be honest. She used to beat me for refusing to suck the landlord's cock in exchange for a break in the rent.”

“Jesus Christ!” said Chaz. “That landlord sounds like a real son of a bitch.”

“He's not so bad. He adopted me after mum hung herself.”

“She hung herself?”

“Chaz!” snapped Julian.

“Yeah,” said Garin. “When the debts grew too burdensome to handle, she strung herself up from that beam there.” He pointed up at the ceiling behind Chaz. “Last thing she said to me was, 'This is all your fault,' then she stepped off the chair and snapped her neck.”

Chaz couldn't believe what he was hearing. “She did that in front of you?”

Garin nodded.

“Of course you know,” said Julian. “that it wasn't at all your fault.”

“I don't know,” said Akane. “It sounds to me like he had the opportunity to alleviate some of that burden, but refused.”

Chaz and Julian gawked at her for a second, then Garin chuckled mirthlessly.

“The joke was on her. Turns out the landlord never wanted me to suck his cock. That was all mum's idea.”

Akane smiled. “Ah, then I stand corrected. Julian was right.”

A moment of awkward silence passed, and Chaz wasn't about to be the one to break it. He glanced at the door and considered just walking the hell out of there when Julian finally spoke up.

“Say, do you like music?”

Garin shrugged. “I suppose.”

“Perhaps I could convince my friend here to play a song for you.” Julian nodded at Chaz.

“Huh?” said Chaz, surprised that Julian was still pursuing this venue. He'd been under the impression that Julian had been looking for a polite way to get the fuck out of this place since the second they'd entered it. “Oh, sure. I guess.” He set his lute case down on a table and opened it.

The obvious choice for an audition was Sweet Caroline. It was light, fun, and sure to appeal to any pub owner looking to draw a crowd. But since Chaz wasn't convinced that he actually wanted to pass this audition, or that he could stop himself from clobbering Akane with his lute the second she started belting out 'BA BA BA', and because he didn't feel like such a happy upbeat song was appropriate immediately following the story of Garin's abusive parents and their horrible untimely deaths, he opted for the more somber Brooklyn Roads.

Through the entire song, Garin stood there like a statue carved out of a giant petrified slug turd, his face not once betraying a hint of emotion or appreciation of what Chaz considered a stellar performance. Even Akane, the psychopath cannibal, shed a tear or two, but Garin just stared blankly like he was waiting for the end of his shift at the cardboard factory.

“So,” said Julian after it was finished. “What do you think?”

Garin looked at Julian as if he wasn't sure at first if the question was meant for him. “To be honest, I'm curious.”

Julian smiled. “Curious is good! We can work with that. Artistic interpretation can be a difficult road to navigate, especially for something so different from anything you've heard before. Is there any specific question you'd like me to address?”

“You have been in my pub for a quarter of an hour, but none of you ordered a drink. Why are you here?”

“It's a little early in the morning for that. We actually didn't come in here for a drink. We came in here to make you an offer.”

“You want to buy me a drink?”

Julian's confident facade started to crack. “No. I was thinking that RazzmaChaz could play some songs in here tonight.”

Garin frowned at Chaz. “I suppose that would be okay so long as he doesn't bother the customers.”

“Bother the customers?” said Chaz, his frustration bubbling back up. “Did you not hear what I just –”

“Our intention,” Julian said loudly enough to cut Chaz off, “is not to bother your customers, but rather to entertain them, and even bring in more from outside. We've had tremendous success with this in the past, and I'm willing to bet we could have this place packed wall to wall with people.”

Garin scratched under his flabby chin. “That sounds like more work.”

“Well, of course it will be,” said Julian. “But more customers means more money.”

“I make enough to get by as it is.”

Akane slapped a gold coin down on the bar. Chaz didn't dare speculate where she'd been keeping it until now.

“I would like a drink,” she said.

Garin stared idly down at the coin. “What would you like?”

“Whatever you are having.”

“I wasn't having anything.”

“You are now,” insisted Akane. “Pour us both something and listen to me.” As Garin poured two glasses of something that looked like antifreeze, she continued. “I do not think you have a proper appreciation of what money really is.”

Garin stopped pouring and eyed the coin again, this time with a hint of suspicion in his eyes. He picked it up and looked closer at it, then bit down on it. Satisfied, he put it in the till.

“I know what money is,” he said as he finished pouring. He slid one glass across the bar to Akane and took a sip from his own.

“Tell me, then,” she said. “What do you think it is?”

“It is coins that I trade for goods and services.”

Akane took a small sip from her drink, winced, and set the glass back down on the bar. “It is that, but it is so much more as well. Money is power.”

“It is to some, perhaps. But not to people like me.”

“You only say that because you have never wielded it as power before. Amass enough coin, and you will own people.”

“Whoa,” said Julian. “Pump the brakes a bit. I'm not sure that's the lesson we want to –”

“Take this elf, for example,” Akane continued. “He owes me a sizable debt. Because of that, I own him and his clown until his debt is paid.”

“That's not exactly true,” said Julian, straining to remain Diplomatic. “We're not slaves.”

Chaz was enjoying this back-and-forth until a thought occurred to him. “Hang on a second. Am I the clown?”

Akane laughed. “Of course you're not slaves. I believe I have made my feelings on slavery quite clear. Slaves make terrible workers. They have no motivation or morale, and they are always so mopey. A person who owes money, on the other hand, is constantly motivated by their illusion of free will. Control a person's money, and you effectively own that person.”

Garin took another sip of his drink. “I have always dreamed of owning people, but I was born poor and common.”

Chaz and Julian exchanged a concerned glance, but neither spoke up.

“That is why you must work hard in the beginning,” Akane explained. “Invest your labor and coin into machinations which will make money for you. Once you have gathered enough customers and amassed enough coin, you will be able to hire an underling to share in the labor. You will pay him a pittance compared to how much he makes for you. Then, when you have saved enough again, hire another. Before long, they will bring in enough coin so that you need not work at all.”

Garin topped off his drink, then sipped it thoughtfully. “But will they not complain that their labor is rewarding me significantly more than it is rewarding them?”

Akane shrugged, then took a slightly larger sip from her glass. She didn't wince quite so hard this time.

“They may complain. But as simple laborers, they can be easily replaced and/or eaten.”

Julian looked like he wanted to say something, but Akane paused only long enough to take a breath.

“Eventually, you will hire laborers who depend too greatly on the paltry sum of money you toss down to them. Rather than complain, they will work harder to keep you appeased. That is when you know you truly own them.”

“That sounds nice,” said Garin. He turned to Julian. “Very well. I can offer you fifty gold pieces for your clown to play here tonight.”

“I'm not a fucking clown!” said Chaz. “And fuck your fifty gold pieces!”

Julian grabbed Chaz by the arm and smiled at Garin. “Excuse us for a moment.” He dragged Chaz to the other side of the pub. “Keep your shit together, man. We knew going in that this was going to be a small-time gig. We're working our way up the ladder, remember? Just like on the Crescent Shadow.”

Chaz wanted to tell Julian to go fuck himself as well, but he knew he was right. “At least try to negotiate a little. We've got expenses, after all. No offense to your psycho girlfriend, but I'd rather not sleep outside or eat raw moose any more than I have to. That fifty gold is going to go fast between the three of us.”

Julian nodded. “I'll see what I can do, but you've got to keep your temper under control. You're not big enough for this prima donna bullshit yet.”

“Fine, I'll chill. Just do your job.”

Julian closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, he was wearing his serious face.

“Mr. Garin,” he said as he strolled back up to the bar with passable confidence. “I've discussed your offer with my client. Frankly, we consider it a bit on the low side for a man of his talent and reputation, especially after the success he's had at similar establishments.”

“That is all the money in the till,” said Garin. “I could ask Dad for more, but you might have to suck his cock.”

Julian turned to Chaz with an expectant look on his face.

“What?” said Chaz.

“You heard him. What do you think of the offer?”

“To suck his old man's cock? No thank you.”

“I will suck his cock,” said Akane. “I have never done that before.”

“No!” insisted Chaz. The last thing they needed was for her to bite some old guy's dick off. And there was also the matter of Chaz's pride. He'd already proven that he didn't have to suck dicks to make it in show business. “I've got the goods! If we're going to succeed, it's going to be on merit alone. I don't need anyone to suck anyone else's cock to make me a star!”

Julian rolled his eyes. “I wasn't suggesting that you do anything of the sort. I was asking if you'd be willing to do the gig for the original fifty-gold-piece offer.”

“Oh,” said Chaz. “Sure, I guess. We can think of it like a paid rehearsal.”

“That's the spirit.” Julian held out his hand across the bar to Garin. “You've got yourself a deal.”

Garin frowned at Julian's outstretched hand. “I will pay you after the show.”

Chapter 14

Cooper lay on his back in the soft wet grass, staring up at a cloud drifting overhead that was shaped like the perfect pair of tits. He reached under his loincloth and was pleasantly surprised to find his junk not soaked with pee.

“That's a nice set of jugs,” said Nabi, fluttering into view above him, her bright blue butterfly wings glistening with morning dew.

“Shit!” Cooper jerked his hand away from his junk and sat upright. “I was just scratching.”

Nabi drifted down to land on a bar stool and smiled at him. The sharp, elf-like angles of her face were framed by a messy bob of pink hair. Her green eyes sparkled like emeralds in the sun.

“What can I get you?” asked Mr. Ferguson, Cooper's seventh-grade math teacher. He was wearing clown makeup and had amazing tits, but it was definitely him.

“I'll have a beer,” said Cooper. “Whatever you've got on tap. And maybe a shot of –”

“We're fine,” said Nabi. “I am afraid we cannot stay long.”

“Suit yourself!” said Mr. Ferguson. He honked his nose and disappeared.

As long as the bar was untended, Cooper decided to reach across and help himself. But right when he was about to grab the tap, it turned into a snake and snapped at his hand.

“Well, shit,” he said. “You could have at least let me have a drink before you...” Cooper looked around. Something wasn't quite right, but he couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was. Then it hit him. “Wait a second,” he said, staring suspiciously at Nabi. “Since when do you call tits jugs?”

Nabi laughed like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. “You are dreaming, Cooper.”

“Nice try, Tinkerballs. If I'm dreaming, then how can I be awake?” He crossed his arms and gave her his best smug look.

“You always think you're awake in a dream. What is the point of dreaming if you only watch yourself sleep?”

“Whoa,” said Cooper, considering Nabi's point. “This is some Inception-level shit.”

“I am still an axe,” Nabi explained. “And you are still asleep in the desert. You will awaken shortly.”

Cooper started to feel a wave of panic wash over him. The desert sucked. He wanted to stay in this bar and stare at Mr. Ferguson's clown tits. It then began to dawn on him just how fucked up this dream was, and he became uneasy about Nabi being in his head to witness it.

“What are you doing here?” he asked her. “Do you have to warn me about something? Are we about to be attacked? Is there, like, a prophecy or some shit?”

“Nothing like that,” said Nabi. “I just wanted to see if I could do this. Spending all that time buried under the sand, I became better at projecting myself. Honestly, there was not much else to do.”

Cooper didn't get the feeling that she was trying to passively-aggressively remind him again that he'd ditched her in the desert, but it still stung.

“I'm really sorry about that.”

“I know you are, but you have nothing to be sorry for. I am privy to your thoughts and feelings, and I know the goodness in your heart.”

Cooper sighed. “That's all well and good. But as the saying goes, think in one hand and shit in a bucket.” He ran that back through his mind a couple of times. “Never mind. That saying doesn't make any sense. My point is, I'm going to make it up to you. I don't know how yet, but one way or another I'm going to do it.”

“First, you need to wake up.”

The bar began to fade. The tit-clouds above him dissipated into mist. The wet grass beneath him turned dry and coarse. Even worse, it felt lumpy.

“Oh, come on!” he called into the void. “Five more minutes!” But it was no use. He was slipping back into consciousness. And though he felt well-rested, he was extremely uncomfortable.

“What the fuck?” he said as he sat up on the Fertile Desert sand.

Zhanbolat yawned as he sat up. “I trust you slept well. Your snoring kept me awake most of the night.”

“I slept fine,” said Cooper. “No thanks to this fucking sand.” He dug under some small plants that had grown from his sweat to see what the lumps underneath were, then pulled out a softball-sized potato. “Well, I'll be damned.”

When he was done digging the lumps out of the sand, he'd pulled out eight more oversized potatoes, as well as a basketball-sized one from beneath where his crotch had been while he slept.

“At least we know we won't starve to death.”

Zhanbolat grimaced at the huge potato. “I might.”

Cooper packed up his potatoes, which he hoped to be able to keep long enough to make French fries out of, then helped Zhanbolat onto his back. He held Nabi in his hand to keep the two of them separated, then started walking.

The walking was good at first. He really had gotten a great night's sleep despite the lumpy sand. And having Nabi back was a boost to his morale as well, especially since she was being so cool about how they'd parted ways.

Nabi was also good for passing the time. Being buried in the sand for a month had given her a lot of time to think, and she filled hours asking Cooper questions about himself, his friends, and the world they'd all come from.

“It's not a window,” Cooper explained. “And there aren't three naked Asian women in my room. That's just a computer screen. It projects images using... I don't know, cathode ray tubes or some shit. It's not real. I mean, it was real, but I wasn't there to witness it when it happened. Someone recorded it, and I'm just playing it back on what's called a website.”

Nabi's increased ability to delve deeper into Cooper's mind seemed like it should make things less complicated, but it was doing exactly the opposite.

You said you were a human in this world. Are you not the enchanter with the multi-tooled belt?

“He's not an enchanter. He's a fucking plumber, and I wish my dick was that big.”

What is a plumber?

“They're guys you call when your roommate gets his used condoms stuck in the garbage disposal or your toilet explodes.”

“I'm sorry,” said Zhanbolat. “I am having a little trouble keeping up. I can understand why the plumber would want to copulate with the three ladies, but I don't understand the appeal for them. They are clearly going through some kind of emergency for which they require assistance. Surely, they would be able to control their baser urges until after his services are rendered.”

Cooper could no longer ignore what he sincerely hoped wasn't an erection digging into his back. “Control your own urges, or I'll render your dick off.”

“It is not my fault I can only hear half the story. I was only trying to –”

“Story time's over,” said Cooper. “I don't want to talk about this anymore.” As much as he appreciated having Nabi back, her unbridled access to his mind was a lot to get used to. “Can we please talk about something else?”

Very well. Tell me more about your friend, Tim.

Cooper sighed with relief. He kind of wanted to vent about Tim anyway. And since they'd been friends nearly their whole lives, he could ramble on about him for hours without any fear of diving back into thoughts of how much he missed internet porn.

Wanting to kill as much time as possible, he started at the beginning, going as far back as he could remember about when they were kids.

“My family was poor as shit. I developed a knack for getting along with other kids pretty early on. Getting invited to stay for dinner at other kids' houses were some of the only hot meals I ever ate. When Tim's family moved into the neighborhood, he wasn't exactly the easiest kid to get to know. He didn't talk much or play sports or even go outside all that often. But he had two things that made me determined to be his friend. A Nintendo Entertainment System and a cute older sister.”

“I am sorry,” said Zhanbolat. “What is a Nin-Ten–”

“It doesn't matter. Shut up.” Cooper took a moment to remember where he'd left off. “Eventually, I got to know him better, and we formed kind of a symbionic relationship. You know, like a shark and those little fish who clean shit out of their teeth?”

“You mean symbiotic?”

“Dude, do you want to tell the fucking story?”

“I apologize. Please go on.”

“Tim was always smart enough to make decent grades without ever studying, and I was smart enough to copy his work. He was never what you'd call a popular kid, but nobody ever gave him too much shit because they didn't want to fuck with me. But that wasn't, like, an arrangement we'd made or anything. We just became really good friends over our mutual love of video games, which is as deep a bond as two boys can share in our world.”

Unfortunately, due to his poor memory, lack of oratory skills, and the fact that most of the interim time was indeed spent playing video games, it didn't take him as long as he would have liked to bring Nabi and Zhanbolat to events in the more recent past.

“He was swallowed by a basilisk?” asked Zhanbolat incredulously. “And he survived long enough to be defecated? Your plumber's tale was more believable.”

“No!” said Cooper, frustrated at how shitty he was at telling this story. To his credit, he hadn't given it his full attention when it was being told, and he was hazy on some of the details. “I'm just not telling it right. He didn't survive. Now that I think about it, it might not have been him at all. That's not the point. All that matters is that Katherine believed it was him.”

Katherine is his sister, correct?

“That's right.”

“What's right?” asked Zhanbolat.

“Shut up and let me tell the fucking story.” Cooper chuckled. “This is the best part. The next time the basilisk took a shit, she scooped it up and put it in a jar.”

Neither Nabi nor Zhanbolat seemed to find that as funny as he did.

“Is that how you honor your dead where you come from?” Zhanbolat asked after a short pause. He asked a lot of annoying questions, but Cooper was relieved that he no longer seemed to have an erection.

“Fuck no,” said Cooper. “That's fucking disgusting.”

So, why did she do that?

“Because she thought that, if there was still bits of Tim in the basilisk shit, she might be able to get him resurrected at a –” Cooper stopped walking as a flash of brilliance struck him like a lightning bolt in the nuts. “Holy shit, Nabi! I know how I'm going to set things right between us!”

Cooper, I have already told you there is no need to –

“Fuck what you told me! I'm getting you out of this axe and back into your body.”

My body is gone.

“Not all of it,” said Cooper. “Your wings are still buried in that tunnel. If those temple clerics can bring a guy back to life from being a jar of lizard shit, they can pull a pixie out of an axe.”

“Hold on,” said Zhanbolat. “Nabi is a pixie?”

Cooper turned his head back as far as it would go to give him some stink eye. “You got a problem with pixies?”

“I have just had some troublesome encounters with them.”

“Well, I've suddenly got shit to take care of and less motivation than ever to carry your sorry ass around. So if you don't want to crawl to the nearest healer, you'd better start getting over that shit right now.”

Zhanbolat laughed nervously. “I am sure Nabi is lovely.”

Cooper, do you really think this could work? Might I actually be able to spread my wings again?

“Of course it's going to fucking work. It's just a matter of getting back to Glittertitties Grove, digging them up, and finding a high enough level cleric.”

I don't know. It sounds too good to be true. I could not bear the heartbreak of going through all that only to find out it cannot be done. Perhaps it is best that I remain an axe.

“Fuck that. Nabi, I love you. But I need to get you out of my fucking head. This is happening, so deal with it. We're going to dump this shithead at the next town we come to, then go after those wings.”

Nabi didn't respond. Cooper walked in silence for a while hoping he hadn't hurt her feelings. He wanted to apologize, but not if it meant giving her the green light to continue being so intrusive. There's nothing wrong with friends establishing boundaries, after all. At least, there shouldn't be.

“So,” said Zhanbolat, clearly uncomfortable with the tension between them. “Where is this Tim fellow now?”

“Who the fuck knows?” said Cooper. “He said he had an escape plan for us. I guess he went on his own after I turned. He's been even more of an asshole since he became a wererat.”

Zhanbolat laughed, his bad breath burning on the back of Cooper's neck.

Cooper turned his head back. “Something funny?”

“I beg your pardon. I do not mean to make light of your situation. I just find the idea of a wererat and werebear friendship comical. You must admit, it is an unlikely pairing.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I meant no offense. I was just imagining the two of you walking alongside each other, a bear and a rat. It is not something one sees every day.”

“Dude, did you chop off your ears as well as your foot? Tim's not a fucking werebear. He's a wererat, just like me.”

“Of course he is not a bear. If he were the bear, that would make you the – Just a moment. Are you unaware of the nature of your affliction?”

After hours of a relatively enjoyable walk, Cooper now felt like he had a cloud hanging over him. But instead of what would have been a much welcomed rain, he was feeling showered with annoyance. What was this guy's problem? Hadn't he ever been to a fucking zoo? Then again...

“Wererats don't turn into normal-sized rats,” he explained. “We turn into dire rats, which are a lot bigger. I mean, they're not as big as bears, but –”

“I know the difference between a dire rat and a bear,” Zhanbolat said with a hint of contempt in his tone. “And I know what I witnessed last night. The creature who tore my companions and their horses to pieces was no rat.”

You have to admit, something is different about you. It was the rat that turned you against me.

Great, now Nabi was getting in on Zhanbolat's delusions. Cooper planted her handle in the sand and shook Zhanbolat off his back.

“Listen, both of you!” he said, wagging a finger between them. “It's hard enough being a wererat as it is. You don't know what it's like to wake up covered in blood with no memory of slaughtering everyone around you. Granted, there's some relief in finding out that it was a couple of assholes who were going to sell you into slavery, but it's still not fun. It sucks, and I don't need the added stress and confusion of being told that I'm a different kind of fucked up than the kind I've already begun to come to terms with. Are we clear?”

Nabi was unresponsive since she wasn't in direct contact with him, so Cooper glared at Zhanbolat.

“Sure,” said Zhanbolat. “Quite clear.”

Cooper had the sneaking suspicion that Zhanbolat was just telling him what he wanted to hear, and that didn't put his mind anymore at ease.

“Clear about what?”

“I shall make no further reference to the nature of your affliction.”

“Which is...?”

Zhanbolat frowned at him. “How would you like me to answer that?”

“Honestly.”

“By honestly, do you mean what I honestly witnessed, or what I honestly believe you would prefer to hear.”

Cooper sighed. “Goddammit! Fine, you don't believe me? I'll fucking show you. Nabi, wherever your eyes are, focus them right here.” He still hadn't perfected his transformation, but he should at least be able to shit out a tail or some other feature ratlike enough to set them straight.

Closing his eyes, he willed himself to change. He concentrated hard until he felt pressure building up inside him. It released through his asshole like a popped balloon, spraying the sand directly below him until he felt leaves tickling his cheeks. When he looked back, he saw the world's most unfortunate zucchini plant.

“Well, shit,” he said, then turned back to Zhanbolat and Nabi. “Turning into a rat is more art than science. I'm still working on some of the finer details.” He reached under his loincloth to scratch his balls, then jerked his hand away when his hand felt different between his legs than it normally did. It was bigger and furrier, with much sharper claws. It felt like someone else was trying to scratch his balls, or that he was wearing an extremely impractical oven mitt.

When he saw his hand, the oven mitt theory seemed the more plausible of the two. His forearm was thick and covered in coarse brown fur from his elbow all the way up to where he used to have fingers. In their place, he now had a paw with gray pads and Freddy Krueger claws jutting out from the end.

“What the fuck is that?” he asked. Since the answer was plainly obvious, he immediately moved on to the next question. “When the hell did I become a werebear?”

Zhanbolat shrugged. “It was sometime before last night, if that helps.”

Cooper grabbed Nabi with his non-bear hand. “Nabi, are you seeing this?”

Yes.

“What the hell is wrong with me?”

Calm down, Cooper. Now is not the time to panic.

“This is a perfect fucking time to panic! I'm changing into random animals. What if I turn into a bird? They don't even have dicks!” A troubling thought occurred to him. “Wait a second.” He tucked Nabi under his other arm and reached under his loincloth. Thankfully, he felt no suspiciously ursine qualities of his junk.

There is nothing random about this. You are clearly a werebear now. That explains your change in disposition.

“You mean why I'm freaking the fuck out right now? Yeah, I'd say that pretty much explains it.”

Relax, Cooper. Close your eyes and let your tension flow out of you.

That turned out to be easier than Cooper expected. Nabi's presence soothed his mind, and he soon felt his tension flowing down the inside of his leg. When he opened his eyes again, his arm had gone back to normal. He scratched his balls gratefully.

“I don't know how that happened,” he said. “I swear I was a rat. I had a rat tail and everything. And I don't mean like the kind you see kids wearing in trailer parks or at monster truck rallies. I mean a literal fucking rat tail growing out the top of my ass.”

I am sure there is a rational explanation for this. Since you became infected, have you been in contact with any werebears that you know of?

“There was this guy, Yavin. But he didn't bite me or scratch me or anything.”

Was there any time you came in contact with any of his bodily fluids?

“We fought in the arena. I guess we might have bled on each other a little. And there was a lot of sweat.”

“Can you catch lycanthropy through sweat?” asked Zhanbolat. “You've been sweating all over me!”

To the best of my knowledge, lycanthropy is not transmitted through sweat. And I have not heard of it spreading through casual contact. Unless you were pouring his blood directly into your own gaping wound, I doubt it would have been enough to override your body's natural resistance.

“You're cool,” Cooper said to Zhanbolat. “Nabi says you can't catch it from sweat.”

Zhanbolat rolled his eyes. “Oh, thank the gods. The axe has given me a clean bill of health.”

Did you at any time ingest his blood or saliva?

Cooper thought about it for a moment, then remembered something. “He puked in my mouth. Does that count.”

“He puked in your mouth?” said Zhanbolat, grimacing.

It only then occurred to Cooper how that must have sounded. “We weren't kissing. We were, like, a good three feet away from each other. He just hurled super hard, and my mouth was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” That sounded so lame even he almost didn't buy it. “Believe whatever you want. I'm totally into women.”

Zhanbolat shrugged. “I never suspected other–”

“Fuck you, homophone! I'm talking to Nabi.”

“Homophone?”

I think we have discovered the answer to the riddle. When this Yavin vomited into your mouth, you must have ingested enough of his saliva to catch his affliction.

“But I already had my own affliction,” said Cooper. “Am I a wererat and a werebear now? That's more were than I think I can handle.”

My knowledge of the subject is limited, but I have never heard of anyone afflicted with multiple types of lycanthropy. If I had to guess, I would imagine the two afflictions battle for dominance inside the host. Perhaps the host's own nature plays a role in determining which one comes out victorious. I see you as more of a bear than a rat.

“Thanks, I guess. I'd rather not be either. This shit is fucking exhausting.”

You should try being an axe.

That made Cooper feel bad for bitching about his current situation. At least he was free to move around.

“We're going to get you out of there,” he said, peering ahead at the seemingly endless sandy horizon in front of him. “if we ever get out of this fucking desert.” He sighed. “I wish I hadn't killed those fucking horses. We could cover a lot more ground if we –” Another idea popped into his head. He held Nabi up in front of his face. “You know how you got in my head and helped me turn my arm back to normal?”

Yes. It was nothing, only a matter of getting you to calm down and feel your true self.

“Do you think you might be able to help me do the opposite?”

How do you mean?

“Can you help me turn fully into a bear?”

“What?” cried Zhanbolat, his eyes wide with terror. “I am not sure that is the wisest course of action.”

“Dude, bears are fast as shit. We could be out of this desert in no time.”

“I could be dead in less time! Do you not recall what happened last time you turned into a bear?”

Cooper actually had no recollection of that at all, but he was able to put the pieces together pretty well from the aftermath.

“I wasn't in control of myself last night,” he said. “When the full moon makes me turn, I go berserk. But when I turn voluntarily, I'm in complete control.”

Zhanbolat eyed him doubtfully. “Did you not just admit that you have never been able to change into your animal form voluntarily?”

“Well, sure. But I saw Tim do it plenty of times. He seemed like he was still at the wheel.”

“I am not sure if that is a chance I am willing to take.”

“That's okay,” said Cooper. “I'll take it for both of us. What do you think, Nabi? Can you do it?”

I can certainly try.

“Great. Let's do this.” He held up Nabi and closed his eyes. Then he quickly opened them again. “Hey, Nabi. I can't carry you if I'm a bear, so Zhanbolat's going to have to hold you. Don't chop off his legs or anything, okay?”

Nabi sighed inside Cooper's head. Very well.

Cooper grinned at Zhanbolat. “Don't worry. Everything's cool.”

Zhanbolat smiled. “Oh, wonderful.”

Cooper closed his eyes again and tried to concentrate.

Very good, Cooper. Look deep within yourself. Be one with the bear. You have done it before. Let your body's memory take over.

Nabi's voice in his head soothed Cooper again almost to the point of putting him in a trance. When the transformation started to happen, the change was barely perceptible. It started with a wave of warmth over his entire body, like he was wearing a thick Snuggy. The only jarring part of the change was when he dropped Nabi, breaking their communication. He opened his eyes to discover that he was standing on four sturdy and furry bear legs.

It didn't feel natural at first, so he reared up to stand on his hind legs alone. The sand shifted under his feet, but he managed to remain standing. He was top-heavy, and wouldn't be able to maintain his balance for any significant amount of time, but damn did he feel tall. He turned around to look at Zhanbolat, who looked like a child trembling in the sand.

“Dude, I did it!” he said, but it came out as an inarticulate roar.

Zhanbolat screamed and tried to back away from him, and Cooper realized that he must look terrifying.

Lying flat on his belly, Cooper tried to appear as non-threatening as a 700 pound grizzly bear could manage and gave Zhanbolat an expectant look. If he wanted a ride, now was the time. Otherwise, Cooper would pick up Nabi with his mouth and leave without him.

Zhanbolat crawled slowly and nervously toward Cooper. His hesitation seemed pointless. If Cooper wanted to kill him, his odds of getting away were pretty fucking slim. He wanted to tell him to pick up the pace, but he knew the resulting roar would only make him more hesitant.

Finally, Zhanbolat picked up Nabi and crawled up onto Cooper's back. When he got himself situated, Cooper got to his four massive feet and took a few steps.

When he got his rhythm down, and was confident that Zhanbolat was secure enough to not fly off his back, he gradually increased his pace. Before long, he was moving faster than he'd ever moved before. It was the single most awesome feeling he'd had in a long time. The only thing that could make it better would be if they happened upon some more slave-trading assholes in the desert. Imagine how hard those motherfuckers would shit themselves if they saw a dude wielding an axe and riding a fucking grizzly bear running at them.

As it turned out, after several hours of intermittent running and walking, and a couple of breaks to load up on carbs from the sweat potatoes, Cooper saw something even better. He saw trees on the horizon.

Chapter 15

The third floor of the keep, where the drow were allowing Katherine and her friends to sleep until they could be ferried away to the mainland, was even drearier than the throne room. She'd seen janitor supply closets with more care put into their appearance. There was neither a stick of furniture nor stitch of adornment on the whole level. When the door shut behind the drow soldier who had escorted them there, Katherine was almost relieved by the paltry visibility provided by the moon through the narrow windows.

Fritz, the elf who'd crafted the infamous dildo-stake, apparently felt differently. A few seconds after the door shut, he cast a Light spell on what was either an old cat turd or a rock that looked like one. The room filled with bright white light.

“We're in some serious shit,” said Katherine once everyone had claimed their section of hard stone floor.

“All we had to do was sit tight and wait,” said Tony the Elf. “What did you do?”

“I didn't do anything!” Katherine hugged Butterbean close to her as she glanced at the thick wooden door, wondering who might be just on the other side of it and how well they could hear her. She lowered her voice. “At least, not at first.”

“What happened?”

“Tanner and I were just taking a walk in the rose garden, and we found Fezzil.”

Tony the Elf sucked air through his teeth. “Oh.”

“The missing drow?” said Jay. “That's good news, isn't it?”

Katherine sighed. “Not really. He was dead.”

“Shit. Did you –”

“No!” said Katherine. “How could you even think that? I want off this island as much as anyone. Why would I just up and murder someone?”

“I was going to say, 'Did you check his pulse?'”

“Oh.” Katherine shook her head. “No. That wasn't necessary. He was pretty fucking dead. He looked like he'd gotten attacked by a pack of wolves or something. Most of his body had been eaten, and crows were picking at his remains when we found him.”

“It was Akane,” said Tony the Elf.

Katherine stared at him dubiously. “Julian's hooker?”

Tony the Elf nodded. “Chaz and I caught her in the act. I tried to warn you, but you took off before I could get you away from the drow.”

“You must be mistaken. That chick weighs eighty-five pounds soaking wet. There's no way she could have eaten as much of what was missing from that dude's body.”

“I don't know how she did it, but I'm telling you what I saw. It was near that gazebo, right?”

Katherine nodded.

“Chaz and I were walking in the rose garden, and we heard this noise. When we turned the corner, Akane was chowing down on drow arm.”

“That sucks for the drow,” said Jay. “But at least it should eliminate Katherine as a suspect.”

Katherine turned to him hopefully. “Why's that?”

“If you'd killed him, he'd just have a stab wound or something. I can't see anyone seriously thinking you would have torn his body apart and eaten him. I mean, at least now that you're not a vampire anymore.”

“You're right!” Katherine sighed. “I just wish I'd thought of that before Wexley found us.”

“Who the hell is Wexley?” asked Tony the Elf.

“The other missing drow.”

“Other missing drow? Since when is there another missing drow?”

“Since a couple of hours ago.”

“Shit!” cried Tony the Elf, then slapped his hand over his mouth and glanced back at the doorway. He eyed her Bag of Holding and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Is he in there?”

“Of course not,” said Katherine. “Do you think I'm an idiot?”

“Where is he? What did you do with the body?”

“Don't worry. I ate it.”

“You what?” Tony the Elf turned to Tanner, who nodded.

Katherine cocked an eyebrow at Jay. “Now that I think about it, your argument for my innocence has some holes in it.”

“There's no way they're going to believe we didn't have anything to do with this,” said Tony the Elf, pacing near the doorway. “What are we going to do?”

Jay looked out the window at the sea glistening in the light of the waning moon. “Tony the Elf is right, and the drow don't strike me as the innocent-until-proven-guilty types. If we want to live, we've got two choices. We can kill the drow before they kill us, or we can get the hell off this island.”

“I vote for the latter,” said Fritz, the elf who'd crafted the infamous dildo-stake. “The drow have been nothing but accommodating to us, and the sort of preemptive strike you're suggesting sounds a lot like straight up murder. Also, I already got stabbed to death a few days ago. It's not fun.”

“I wasn't suggesting a preemptive strike. I was just laying it down as one of our two realistic options.”

“Those options might not be so easy to separate,” said Tony the Elf. “The only way off the island is on those boats under the keep, but the door to the underground dock is on the other side of the cellar where all those driders live. We can't get to the boats without tangling with a cellar full of spider elf monsters. Even if we could take them all down without losing any of our own, which is unlikely, it wouldn't be a quiet fight. The drow would be on our asses before it was finished. I don't know about the rest of you, but I think we should discuss some ethical gray areas. For example, the preemptive strike. If we were to gather a team of the stealthiest among us, sneak from room to room, and kill each of the drow in their sleep, some of you might consider that murder.”

Most of the people in the room nodded.

“Premeditated,” said Fritz. “First degree, textbook definition.”

“But if we know for a fact that they're going to kill us in retaliation for their fallen comrades, could it not be considered self-defense? If it comes down to a fair fight, both sides will suffer losses until one side is completely eliminated. But if we kill them in their sleep, no one on our side will have to die, and the drow won't even know what hit them. That's fewer total deaths and a negligible amount of suffering. Doesn't that sound more humane?”

Jay chuckled. “It sounds like I know better than to ever steal one of Tony the Elf's French fries.”

A few people laughed nervously, while others took a small step away from Tony the Elf.

“I don't like this situation any more than the rest of you,” said Tony the Elf. “But here we are, and we're going to have to deal with some harsh realities tomorrow morning when two drow don't turn up for their shifts. If anyone has a less violent solution, I'm all ears.”

“Hang on a minute,” said Fritz, his brow furrowed like he was trying to work out a complicated equation in his head. He looked up hopefully at Katherine. “What if we just take the boats without killing anyone?”

Tony the Elf rolled his eyes. “Brilliant. Why didn't I think of that? Oh, wait, I totally did. Remember the part when I said the door to the underground dock was guarded by a bunch of driders?”

Fritz shrugged. “So we don't go through the door.”

“Are you suggesting we go down to the ground floor and burrow through the stone?”

“Of course not. That's preposterous. But the boats have to exit the island from somewhere, don't they? There must be some subterranean canal that opens into the sea. If we leave through the window and find the exit point of the canal, we could travel through it back to the keep, steal a couple of boats, and disable the rest. The drow would be none the wiser until morning and unable to follow us.”

That sounded good to Katherine. She turned to Tony the Elf to give him a chance to object.

He nodded. “Yeah, okay. That sounds a lot better than my plan.”

“Great,” said Katherine. “We'd better not waste any more time.” She stuck her head out the window and scanned the terrain. There was about fifty yards of open ground between the base of the keep and the forest. The trees made it hard to estimate how far beyond that the ocean was. The land sloped down from the front of the keep to the back, making them significantly higher from the ground than she'd anticipated. “I'd say that's a good sixty-or-seventy-foot drop. Does anyone have ropes or a grappling hook?”

Everyone shook their heads.

“Not a problem,” said Tony the Elf. “Everyone take off your clothes. We'll make a rope.”

Katherine laughed. “Nice try, Tony the Elf. But I've got a better idea.” She opened her Bag of Holding. “Everyone get in the bag. I'll toss you to the ground and Spider Climb down the wall.”

Surprisingly, not one person raised an objection. They filed into the bag quickly and efficiently. Katherine supposed the fight on the ship had been a wake up call, and that would do whatever it took to avoid that kind of violence in the future. That wasn't the lesson she'd wanted them to learn. They had a hard road ahead of them, and if violence was unavoidable, they needed to be ready to have each other's backs. She needed to toughen these people up if they were going to survive the trials to come. But for now, she took what small victories she could get and was grateful that none of them whined about getting in the bag.

With only a few breaths of breathable air per person in the bag, Katherine knew she had to move quickly as soon as the last person was in. She took a quick peek out the window again to make sure there were no possible witnesses. It was all clear. She held the bag out the window at arm's length, then let go. It landed a couple of seconds later with a distant but audible thud.

“Spider Bitch,” she whispered, then climbed a couple of feet up on the interior wall just to make sure the spell took. Satisfied that she wasn't going to fall to her death, she climbed through the window and started down the wall. She only made it a couple of feet down before she heard a woman's scream cry out from somewhere in the keep above her.

“Muffin!”

It sounded like Lady Vivia. She must have had a bad dream, or perhaps a baking accident. Whatever it was, the timing was horrible. Katherine scooted down the wall as quickly as she could hoping that Lady Vivia would go back to sleep.

“You!” shrieked Lady Vivia.

Katherine looked up to find Lady Vivia glaring down from the window she'd just crawled out of.

“Hi,” said Katherine, forcing an awkward smile. “This probably looks –”

Lady Vivia disappeared back inside the room.

Katherine hopped down the rest of the way to the ground and landed next to the Bag of Holding. Her friends were running out of air, but Katherine had a feeling that Lady Vivia was about to show up with a bunch of drow soldiers any second now. She wasn't sure what she'd done to piss her off, but she knew she had to find some cover before pulling her people out.

Scanning the area behind the keep, she decided the woods beyond the rose garden would be their safest bet. She picked up the Bag of Holding and was about to start running when something underneath it caught her eye. It was flat, beige, and furry.

“Shit,” said Katherine. “You must be Muffin.”

There wasn't enough time to leave an apology letter, and that gesture had fallen flat last time anyway, so Katherine ran for the trees. As she ran, she let the carbon dioxide out of the bag, then held it open to let fresh air into it, hoping that would buy everyone inside another breath or two until she got to some cover.

She made it about halfway to the trees and was starting to feel confident that she was going to make it, when the barking started. If she had to guess, there were more than a dozen dogs. They sounded big, mean, and like they were rapidly gaining on her.

Katherine had grown pretty tough and could probably take on a few dogs if she had to. If she pulled all of her friends out of the bag, they could probably take on the whole pack. But the dogs would get in a few bites, and most of her crew still didn't have more than a handful of Hit Points. Besides, the dogs' purpose was probably to hobble them until the drow arrived to finish them off with arrows and swords. Fighting them here in the open would only delay the inevitable. But what was the alternative?

If she made it to the trees, the underbrush might be thick enough to slow down the dogs while she passed through at normal speed using her Woodland Stride ability, but a pack of slowed-down dogs was probably still faster than a running half-elf. And she wouldn't be able to lose them. As soon as she slowed down to take a breath, they'd sniff her out and be on top of her in no time. Then she'd have to fight them while she was exhausted and out of breath. She didn't want to fight them at all. These dogs had likely been treated the same way Lady Vivia treated the dogs in her underground lair. They didn't deserve to die, but what other choice did she have?

She wished she hadn't already blown her two Wild Shapes for the day. Everything would be so much easier if she could just turn into a bat and fly out of harm's way. Then again, what the hell? There was no harm in trying.

Continuing to run as fast as she could, she concentrated on turning into a dire bat. Her feet gave out from under her, and she fell hard face-first on the ground.

“Shit!” she said, but it came out as a high-pitched squeak and an echolocative image in her mind of the trees up ahead.

It worked!

She was a bat. As such, her highly sensitive ears reminded her that she was being chased by a pack of vicious snarling dogs. She didn't know how far back they were, but they might as well have been inside her head for as loud as their barking sounded now.

Launching from the ground was a challenge even in ideal circumstances, and her present circumstances were far from ideal. Still, she pounded the ground with her wide leathery wings. For all the good they did, she felt like a fish flopping around on a dock.

Come on, Kat. You got this. Just catch a little pocket of air with both wings, and you'll be high enough to catch more with the next flap.

She flapped again, spreading her wings extra wide to catch as much air beneath them as possible. She got a little bit of lift, then pumped them down hard a second time. This time, she barely felt the tips of her wings brush against the tall grass. She was airborne.

Her third flap pulled her just out of reach of snapping teeth. The dogs had caught up to her, but a heartbeat too late to tear her to pieces. She climbed higher out of their reach, wishing she'd given her friends in the bag one more breath of air but hoping that they didn't need to breathe while being absorbed into her body.

She flew over the trees, relieved that the sound of angry barking was fading quickly behind her. It didn't take long for her to reach the edge of the island after that, and she started looking for a waterway that led back to the keep.

From the air, she spotted a small cave that would have been difficult to find on the ground. The terrain surrounding it was rocky and steep, with trees growing right up to the edge. Standing on top of it, one might have easily mistaken it for a simple cliff.

She flew down and landed in a sandy area near the cave entrance, turned back into her half-elven form, then reached into the Bag of Holding.

“Butterbean!” she said. Her Animal Companion spilled out of the bag. He looked annoyed, but he was still breathing.

She reached in again. “Tanner!”

Tanner fell onto the sand. “That was... Wait, where are we?”

“On the beach,” said Katherine. “Jay!”

Jay came out of the bag like a baby calf being born. “What... just happened?”

“Tony the Elf!”

“What?” said Tony the Elf, disoriented after landing on the sand. “How did we –”

“You know everyone else's names, right?”

“Huh?” Tony the Elf nodded. “Yeah, why?”

Katherine thrust the bag at him. “Pull them out, would you?”

While Tony the Elf started releasing everyone from the Bag of Holding, Jay stood up and took in their surroundings.

“How did we get here already? Weren't you supposed to let us out as soon as you got to the ground?”

“Something came up,” said Katherine. “The drow are hunting us.”

“What? Why?”

Katherine grimaced. “I sort of killed Lady Vivia's cat.”

“That's not exactly breaking news. She knew you killed her cat yesterday. Why did she wait until just now to lose her shit over it?”

“That was a different cat. Apparently, she's taken a new familiar since then.”

“And you killed it?” cried Jay. “Seriously, what is your beef with this woman?”

“It was an accident!”

“This isn't a big island,” said Tony the Elf, handing the depopulated bag back to Katherine. “And since there's only one way off the island, it's not going to take the drow long to figure out what we're up to. Our only chance of getting out of here alive is getting to those boats before that happens.”

Katherine knew that Tony the Elf was right, and she was grateful to him for interrupting her conversation with Jay. Turning into a shark was her best bet for beating the drow to the boats. If she could take an animal form three times a day now, maybe she'd gotten to the point where she could just do it at will as many times as she wanted.

She jumped in the water and concentrated. When she failed to change, she supposed she could only use that ability three times a day after all.

“Katherine,” said Jay. “What are you doing? There's a path running along either side of the tunnel. We can walk.”

“Sorry,” she said, climbing back out of the water on the other side of the tunnel. “There might be trouble ahead. There's only enough room to walk single file. We'll have better odds of surviving a fight if we come at them in two columns.” It was a good save. She reached into her Bag of Holding. “Logan's sword.” When she felt the hilt in her hand, she pulled it out. It glowed with a faint green light. That, along with her Low-Light vision, was enough for her to see where she was going down the dark tunnel. “Half of you join me on this side. Tony the Elf, lead the others down that path.”

Tony the Elf unsheathed his machetes and nodded.

Being slow and cautious wasn't a luxury they had time for. Without a plan for some kind of surprise attack, they were better off gambling on making it to the boats before the drow figured out what they were doing.

Katherine retrieved her Light stone from the Bag of Holding and handed it off to Stuart, who was directly behind her. “Everyone try to keep up. If you've got weapons, have them ready.” She wasn't sure how much good that was going to do. If it came to a fight, she and Tony the Elf would be the only ones able to engage without getting in the water. Then again, it might do the rest of them some good if she and Tony the Elf got killed.

As it turned out, all the fuss was for nothing. Everyone breathed a huge sigh of relief when they arrived at the subterranean dock to find six empty boats and no one waiting to murder them. The boats were a little larger than rowboats, with seating to accommodate four passengers. Each boat came equipped with two oars and a small sail on a collapsible mast. There wasn't much in the way of shelter, but the rear walls of the boats were high enough to perhaps block some wind.

“Four boats should be enough to carry all of us,” said Tony the Elf. “We should sink the other two.”

“There's no time for that,” said Jay. “We'll be in the clear once we're out at sea. It's not like they can follow our trail. But every extra second we spend hanging out here increases the chances of us being discovered.”

Katherine hopped into one of the boats on the far end of the dock. “You guys start loading into the boats and pulling them out. I'll take care of sinking the last two.” She pulled out her Portable Hole and placed it on the bottom of the boat she was in. A geyser of water sprouted up from it, and the boat slowly began to sink into the water.

The tunnel was too narrow to use oars, and the ceiling too low to raise the sails, but each boat had two coils of rope tied to the front, the purpose of which became evident when Tanner grabbed one and started pulling his boat down the tunnel. A dwarf whose name Katherine felt bad for not remembering followed Tanner's lead and grabbed the rope on the other side.

Stuart and his wife grabbed the ropes on the second boat and followed behind them. By the time Katherine was satisfied with the submersion of the first boat she was sinking, she grabbed her Portable Hole and moved on to the other surplus boat.

“Leave it, Katherine!” shouted Fritz from the last retreating boat in the procession. “Let's go!”

“Just give me a second,” she called back as she slapped the Portable Hole down on the bottom of the second boat. “I'll catch up with you in a –”

“There she is!” cried Lady Vivia from the doorway at the top of the stairs. “I told you they'd come here!”

“Shit!” Katherine grabbed her Portable Hole despite only having left a puddle on the floor of the second boat. If the drow wanted to follow them, they wouldn't have to waste any time bailing it out at all. But maybe they could waste a bit of time getting it through the tunnel. She kicked both coils of lead rope into the water, chopped them free of the boat with Logan's sword, then jumped from the boat onto the path running alongside the right of the tunnel.

“Get her!” shouted High Drow Harzos. “They are not to leave this island alive!”

Katherine and Butterbean ran for the rearmost boat being led through the tunnel, but not fast enough to avoid catching an arrow just below her left ass cheek. The pain seared all the way down her leg, causing her to stumble, but she managed to keep her balance.

“Fuck, that hurt!” she cried.

“Katherine!” Tanner shouted from three boats ahead.

“I'm okay!” Katherine lied, limp running for the nearest boat. “Keep pulling!”

Another arrow hit her just below the right shoulder, and a third one narrowly missed Butterbean.

“Son of a bitch!” she cried but continued running through the pain. A few agonizing steps later, someone grabbed her arm and pulled her onto a boat. Butterbean jumped on behind her.

Thumps from at least five arrows startled her as the tips of their arrowheads pierced the rear wall of the boat behind her. She took a moment to catch her breath. As long as nobody peeked over the wall, they were safe.

“Shoot the leaders!” cried Harzos.

Katherine didn't know who Harzos thought their leaders were, but she was a little insulted that he hadn't recognized her role in the party. It wasn't until she heard the scream of one of the men pulling her boat that she realized he was talking about the people pulling the lead ropes.

He fell over, and the other occupant of the boat pulled him in. With only one person now pulling the boat, and that person crouching to make himself a smaller target for drow arrows, Katherine's boat started trailing behind the others.

“Get in!” she shouted at the other guy pulling the boat. He didn't need to be asked twice, jumping in just as a volley of arrows clattered against the wall next to him.

“Katherine!” called Fritz from over the rear wall of the boat in front of her. “You're dead in the water! You've got to keep pulling!”

Ignoring the pain from the arrows still poking out of her back and leg, she climbed over the other passengers to the front of her boat and grabbed one of the lead ropes. She pulled it out of the water and coiled it, then threw the coil to Fritz.

“Keep us moving!” she said. “I'll do my best to hold them off.” Relieved that he caught it and that they started moving again, albeit more slowly since whoever was pulling the boat in front of them was now dragging twice the weight, she turned her attention to her injured companion.

He was a human, someone she'd never exchanged more than a few words with since arriving in this world. The arrow that hit him was so deep in his lower back that she was surprised that she didn't see the arrowhead poking out the other side. Fortunately, he was still breathing.

As serious as the wound looked, Katherine reminded herself that it was just a matter of Hit Points, and that he was likely a first or second level character. As far as she knew, there weren't any other healers in the party, and she wasn't much of one herself. She needed to keep a level head for the sake of everyone she was leading. She'd start with a Level 1 healing spell and work her way up from there, depending on his condition.

Placing her palm on his sweaty forehead, she said, “Heal.”

He convulsed in agony for a second, causing Katherine to wonder if she'd fucked up the spell somehow. But when his body pushed the arrow out of him, and his wound closed up, he opened his eyes and smiled at her.

“Thank you,” he said.

She smiled back. “You're welcome. Get some rest. I think we're through the worst of –”

“OW!” cried someone ahead of her as more arrows struck the stone walls and floor. It didn't sound like too serious a wound, but the drow were moving in. They weren't even close to out of the woods.

Katherine closed her eyes, pushed away her pain, and concentrated on the spells she still had available. She had recently gotten her first access to Level 4 spells and chose Cure Serious Wounds to fill her one slot. That would almost certainly come in handy once they made it out to sea, but it would only put off their inevitable deaths if she blew it right now. She needed something to help them flee the drow.

For her Level 3 spells, she'd used both slots to prepare Spider Climbs, one of which she'd already used. That seemed even less useful in her current situation, so she went down her repertoire hoping to find something useful in the random selection of Level 2 spells that she hadn't put much thought into preparing.

Fortunately, one of those turned out to be just the thing she needed.

“Smokescreen!” she shouted as her chosen incantation for a Fog Cloud spell. Immediately after saying it, a thick cloud of opaque white vapor poured out from her mouth. The cloud grew quickly, filling up the tunnel behind them as they slowly moved forward, like she was competing for Biggest Douche in a vape contest.

Instead of reeking of pineapple or cotton candy, however, the cloud was completely odorless. But even with her Low-Light Vision, Katherine couldn't see more than a couple of feet into it. Judging by the erratic clatters of the next volley of arrows, the drow couldn't see shit either.

“They're getting away!” shouted Lady Vivia from beyond the cloud. “Draw your swords and go after them!”

“Shit!” said the guy Katherine had just healed. He got to his feet faster than anyone who'd just had their kidney pierced had any business moving and grabbed the lead rope tethering them to the boat in front of them. “Let go of the rope!” As soon as it went slack, he hopped out of the boat and resumed pulling. The guy who'd been pulling the other rope followed his lead, and soon they were picking up speed again.

It was up to Katherine to hold off the drow who would soon be attacking from the rear. She knew that she was technically justified in using lethal force to defend herself against people who were coming to murder her, but she also understood Lady Vivia's perspective, as well as Harzos's. Also, stabbing drow still felt like a hate crime. So she bagged her sword, picked up an oar, and waited for the first dark figure to emerge from the fog.

She did not, however, raise any objections when Tanner hopped from the back of the boat in front of them onto theirs with a shortsword and a hungry look in his eyes. He had an unpleasant history with the drow, and she wasn't about to tell him how to deal with his feelings about them.

As soon as she spotted the first drow lunging toward her from the fog, she jabbed him in the face with the business end of her oar. He went down like a sack of coconuts and splashed into the water behind them. Satisfying as that was, especially considering that she'd neutralized the threat without killing anyone, she felt it would have been much more fun to swing the oar. Unfortunately, there wasn't enough room for that.

“Help!” he cried. “I cannot swim! Plea–” The rest was lost in a fog-obscured gurgle.

Katherine felt bad for him, but her compassion had its limits. She hoped for his sake that one of his friends would jump in and save him.

Tanner, on the other hand, seemed to be absolutely relishing his interactions with the drow, driving his sword into one after the other as they came at him.

After nearly losing her oar to a drow that successfully dodged her first jab but ultimately joined his friend in the water, Katherine switched to a downward swat tactic, which proved a little more effective in shoving her enemies into the water, and a lot more fun.

The fun didn't last long. Katherine only got to use her swatting technique a couple more times before the drow stopped coming at them.

“Do you think that's all of them?” she asked Tanner.

He shook his head. “They're holding back.”

“For what?”

“I don't know, but I don't like it.”

Katherine, on the other hand, welcomed a bit of respite from the chase. But just when she was about to relax and treat herself to a healing spell, Tony the Elf called back to them from the lead boat.

“We've got trouble up ahead!” he shouted. “Driders!”

“Dammit,” said Katherine. “Stay here and hold them off. I'll see what's going on up there.”

Tanner grinned at her. “It will be my pleasure.”

Katherine moved to the front of the boat, figuring she'd hop from boat to boat like Tanner did getting back here. Unfortunately, it was a lot harder to jump from the lower bow of one boat to the higher wall on the rear of the one in front. Running along one of the paths on either side of the canal would be quicker and easier, except that they were both blocked by the people pulling the lead ropes. Trying to rush her way past them would almost certainly involve one or both of them falling into the canal.

Then the perfect solution occurred to her. If she couldn't go around them, she'd go over them.

“Spider Bitch!” she said, casting her last Spider Climb spell for the day. She hopped out of her boat, then climbed up the wall and along the ceiling. When she was directly over the front boat, she let go of the ceiling and let herself drop into it. It was an awkward landing, something she still needed to work on. But nobody saw it, as they were all preoccupied with the masses upon masses of white webbing between them and the mostly obscured light from the end of the tunnel ahead.

“They must have sent the driders ahead to block our path,” said Tony the Elf. “It'll take us hours to cut through those webs.”

“Then we'll cut for hours,” said Katherine. “The drow stopped attacking from the rear. Maybe they gave up.”

Jay, who was pulling the left lead rope of the front boat, stopped as he approached the beginning of the web blockade. “We don't have hours.” He pointed down at the path he was standing on, where water was beginning to slosh over the sides and wet the bottom of his boots. “They stopped attacking because they don't need to. The tide is rising. We'll either drown while we try to cut through these webs, or they'll mow us down with arrows when we retreat back to the dock in two easy-to-shoot columns.”

Katherine pulled her scythe from the Bag of Holding. It had a longer reach than the sword, and the curved blade seemed like it would be good for efficiently cutting through web strands. The webs were stronger and stickier than they appeared, though. After a minute's worth of effort with little to show for it, she felt like she'd be able to suspend herself from them if she held onto the scythe shaft.

“Maybe we could burn through them,” she suggested. “Does anyone have anything to make a fire with?”

Everyone visible within the dim glow of her Light stone shook their heads, then Katherine remembered something.

“Tanner!” she called out.

“Yes?”

“Do you have anything we can start a fire with?”

“No.”

“What about one of those...” Katherine tried to remember the name of that thing he'd lit up the sewer with way back when she first met him, “...twinklesticks?”

After a short pause, he called back, “Do you mean tindertwigs?”

“Yes!” Katherine answered excitedly. “Do you have one of those on you?”

“No.”

“I thought you always kept one handy in case of emergencies.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I haven't had a whole lot of opportunities to stock up since I was a jar of basilisk shit.”

Katherine sighed. “Damn. Well, I guess we'll just have to make do with what we've got. Let's get cutting.”

“I can cut over here,” said Jay, chopping at the webs with a shortsword with one hand while he held on to the rope with the other. “If Katherine keeps at it with her scythe from inside the boat, and Tony the Elf cuts through the other side, that's three times the cutting. Maybe we can get through before the tide drowns us.”

Tony the Elf stared doubtfully into the dense webs. “I doubt it, but we might as well give it a shot.”

“I've got a better idea,” said Katherine.

“Good,” said Tony the Elf, lowering his machete. “Because I don't think this is going to work.”

“Keep chopping, Tony the Elf!” Katherine turned around and looked for the strongest-looking person she could find. “Stuart!”

Stuart looked up from the boat behind her. “Yeah?”

“Come up here and take over with the scythe.”

“That's your great idea?” said Tony the Elf. “Handing off your job to someone else?”

Fortunately, Stuart wasn't as much of a whiny prick. He leaped from his boat to the back of hers and effortlessly pushed himself up over the rear wall like a gymnast.

She handed him her scythe, then hopped out of the boat and started climbing the wall, not yet having spent the entire duration of her Spider Climb spell. “Four cutters are better than three.” She pulled Logan's sword out of the Bag of Holding and jabbed at the webbing connected to the ceiling. She was pleasantly surprised to find that the sword went straight through it. The webs didn't ignite, but they shrank back from her blade like a plastic supermarket bag over a candle flame.

She sliced downward through the web, which fell to either side of the blade offering negligible resistance.

“Holy shit, guys!” she said. “This sword's cutting through the web like it's not even there!” In less than a minute, she cleared away enough web for the boat to move another teen feet forward. There was still another fifty feet or so to go, but at the rate she was going, they'd be out on the open sea in no time.

A large, sinister silhouette appeared against the faint glow of the moonlit sea beyond the webs. It grew larger as it crawled toward her, completely unhindered by the sticky white strands, hissing and snarling as it weaved between them on its eight arachnid legs. It was no wonder conventional weapons had difficulty cutting through the webs if they were strong enough to hold up this creature's enormous round spider ass.

That gave Katherine an idea.

Instead of retreating or attacking it, she clung to the ceiling and waited for it to come at her.

“Katherine!” shouted Jay. “Watch out!”

As if she didn't see a giant fucking spider monster crawling toward her. But she decided to use Jay's warning to her advantage.

“Huh?” she said, looking his way and feigning distraction.

As expected, the drider took that opportunity to lunge at her. It hugged her tightly with its two drow-like arms and four of its spider legs, using the four remaining legs to hold on to the webs.

Katherine was ready for it, though, returning its embrace with her left arm as she held her sword arm outstretched to keep it free.

It bit down hard into her lower neck, which hurt like a bastard. She remembered when Millard bit her hard enough to kill her, and this felt worse than that. It burned as if its teeth were secreting acid. That made sense, now that she thought about it. Spider monsters were probably venomous.

Ah well, there would be time for pain when all of her friends were safe. For now, she had to fuck this bitch up.

“Fucking asshole!” she said. “But I'll bet you're not much of a swimmer.” She swung her sword overhead, slicing through the webs it was holding on to.

The idea was that it would immediately let go of her and use all of its arms and legs to scramble for a grip on surrounding webs, either sending it down into the water, or leaving it vulnerable for attack. Instead, it seemed to have been taken completely by surprise, maintaining its hold on her until they both splashed down into the canal. Then it let go, flailing every appendage it had wildly as it sank.

As Katherine suspected, its spindly arachnid legs couldn't displace water fast enough, and its drow arms weren't nearly strong enough to keep its huge ass afloat.

Something else wrapped an arm around her waist, however, and pulled her close. She was about to run her sword through whatever it was when the effects of the drider's venom really started to kick in.

Vomiting underwater was one of the most unpleasant feelings Katherine had ever experienced. It felt like her head was exploding in a mushroom cloud of puke.

Her body drifted upward. Whether she was being pulled to the surface by whatever creature now had its appendages wrapped around her or her vomit had been dense enough so that expelling it made a significant difference in her overall buoyancy, that was the direction she wanted to go anyway.

She broke the surface, trying desperately to suck in air while her body tried to force out more puke.

“Katherine!” said Jay. “Help me out here. Grab the side of the boat.” His voice was right up next to her ear. He must have been the one holding her. She was glad she hadn't had it in her to stab him.

Fighting the urge to go to sleep then and there, she raised her left hand to grope for the boat. Two hands grabbed her wrist and pulled her up.

Her vision was blurry, and the sounds around her were starting to lose definition and run together, like chocolate chips being stirred into cookie batter that's too warm. There was a lot of splashing and shouting and fighting, but Katherine couldn't make heads or tails of who was winning or losing.

All of it faded as she began to slip out of consciousness. If she was going to die tonight, at least she'd sleep through it.

Chapter 16

“That's eight,” said Stacy as she admired the sharp point on the most recent stake she'd whittled from the branches that she and Shorty had gathered.

Shorty glanced at her handiwork but didn't look very impressed. “Each of us only has two hands. At best, you are wasting your time. At worst, you will arm our enemies.”

“These aren't for stabbing. I've been thinking about your plan to take on the ettins. It's not bad, but I think it has room for improvement.”

“Oh?”

Stacy tossed her stake down next to the others she'd carved. “How about this? What if, instead of you running away and leaving me to fight whatever decides not to chase you, we both run away?”

Shorty frowned thoughtfully. “Perhaps I have missed something. But if we want to avoid them, there are any number of other directions we could travel.”

“I don't want to avoid them. I want to take them down, but we're not going to be able to do that in an outright fight. Follow me.” She grabbed a couple of stakes and led Shorty off the path into the cedars. “These trees look far enough apart for an ettin to run through, wouldn't you say?”

Shorty eyed the trees she was indicating. “I suppose.”

Stacy dropped to her knees between them and drove one of her stakes hard into the ground. When she pulled it back out, it was darkened by the rich black earth. She flipped it over and put the dull end in the hole, leaving the pointy end sticking up. “One of these through their foot ought to slow them down a bit.”

Shorty shrugged. “It might succeed in pissing off one or two of them.”

“Think about it,” said Stacy. “A group can only travel as fast as its slowest member. If we succeed in putting a hole in even one of their feet, they'll have to either leave that one behind or travel more slowly. If they leave one behind, he'll be alone and crippled, an easy target. If they stick together, they're slower and a bit weaker. You and I regroup ahead of them and set more stakes in the ground.” She demonstrated with a second stake about a foot and a half away from the first one she planted.

“Ettins are not the brightest creatures in the world, to be sure,” said Shorty. “But I cannot see them falling for the same trick again so soon.”

“What's the alternative? Not chase us through the woods? That'll just make them sitting ducks to throw rocks at.”

“They will send their goblins and orcs after us. They can run as quickly through the trees as you or I can.”

“Even better,” said Stacy. “I'm done feeling sorry for them. If we take out enough orcs, they won't have enough to haul around the ettin leader's fat ass. They'll be brought to a standstill, and that might even lead to some of the other ettins questioning his leadership.”

Shorty scratched behind one of his big floppy ears. “You just might be onto something.”

Stacy smiled at him. “That's the spirit! I'll take this side of the path. You grab some stakes and set them up on the other side. Just make sure you remember where they are so you can avoid them when you run past.”

Shorty nodded, then ran off to set up his stakes.

Wishing she'd thought of this idea sooner, Stacy decided that two stakes would have to suffice for one set of trees and went further into the woods to find another suitable bottleneck to plant two more stakes in.

She made mental notes of landmarks on her way back to make sure she knew the route she needed to run in. A tree with a conspicuous knot, a rock with a big patch of moss growing on it, a dead tree with all the bark stripped off. Those would do. After the second trap, it would come down to either losing whatever was still pursuing her or fighting it. She and Shorty could rendezvous farther up the trail, put a bit of distance between themselves and what was left of the ettins, and start whittling some more stakes.

She met Shorty a few minutes later back on the trail, and they discussed possible rendezvous points. Unfortunately, neither of them had been paying close enough attention while they walked, since they weren't planning on having to meet back at a landmark until just a few minutes ago. Next time they did this, they'd be better prepared.

“Let's just try to meet somewhere up the trail,” she finally said. “If we get as far as the dead ettin and dire wolves, we'll stop there.”

Shorty nodded, then they each found a suitable place on either side of the path to lie low and wait for the approaching ettin party.

The ettins must have had a few bathroom breaks during their journey, because it was hours before Stacy heard the first telltale sound of destruction coming their way. A faint ettin roar followed by the crunch of trunk against trunk, then the loud slow crash of a falling tree. She started to sweat with nervous anticipation.

She wiped her palms on her pants and readied the two best throwing stones she was able to forage, then gave a small whistle to get Shorty's attention.

His big head jerked in her direction, and he gave her an eager nod.

It was almost completely dark by the time Stacy could make out approaching footsteps and grumbling ettin voices, and there wasn't enough moonlight shining through the treetops for Stacy to see much of anything beyond fifteen feet of her. Hoping that goblins had Darkvision, she raised her hand to signal Shorty to wait before making himself known. The more she thought about it, however, the more that seemed like a misguided hope. Shorty wasn't likely to make himself known to a bunch of angry monsters unless he was explicitly told to do so, if even then. And goblin Darkvision would only serve to give the other goblins an advantage over her while running and fighting at night.

Given her revised thoughts on the matter, she was happy to spot two torch flames bobbing toward her. At least some members of the approaching party must have needed a source of light to see where they were going.

As they got closer, Stacy estimated by the height of the flames that they were being carried by goblins. That didn't necessarily mean that the goblins were the ones who needed them. Anyone who would force a bunch of orcs to carry him instead of walking wouldn't have any reservations about forcing goblins to carry his torches. That gave her an idea. Not much of one, just a small tweak to her plan. When the first of the procession was about one hundred feet away, she stepped out onto the path.

From there, she could barely make out Shorty staring curiously at her from behind some brush. She gestured for him to join her.

He hesitantly stepped out from his cover and came out onto the path.

“What are we doing?” he whispered. “Should we not wait for them to come closer? The goblins and orcs will spot us when they get within sixty feet.”

Stacy breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that she hadn't waited any longer. Less than thirty feet would have been ideal, allowing her to add her Sneak Attack bonus, but she'd take what she could get.

“That'll do,” she said. “Just enough time to sow a little bit of chaos in their ranks.”

“How do you intend to do that?”

Stacy waited until the nearest torch was about seventy feet away, wound up for a pitch, then hurled one of her rocks at the torch bearer's illuminated head.

With a soft grunt, the flame dropped to the ground.

Alarmed and confused chatter erupted from the halted procession. Stacy guessed that, if she acted quickly, she had one more shot before they figured out what was happening. She let loose her other rock.

“OW!” shouted two ettin heads in unison. The remaining suspended torch flame didn't so much as waver. Her second rock had missed its target and alerted the party to their presence. The chatter erupted into angry shouts in the ettin tongue.

“What was the purpose of that?” asked Shorty, leaning to his side of the trail like he wanted to make a break for it. “You have, at best, killed a single goblin.”

“That's one less goblin we have to worry about,” said Stacy.

“It is not the goblins I am worried about.”

“Cool your jets. They were going to spot us sooner or later. That's the point, remember? Just be ready to run when I tell you.”

“Have no fear of that,” said Shorty. “I have never been more ready to run than I am right now.”

The torch flame on the ground rose suddenly into the air, much higher than if a goblin were carrying it. Stacy could make out the form of an ettin in its light. Similarly, the other torch ascended to ettin height, clearly having been passed from goblin to ettin.

“They're coming!” said Shorty, no longer bothering to whisper. The torch flames were still back by the stalled procession, so whoever was coming after them probably didn't need much light to see.

“Who's coming?” asked Stacy. “And how many?”

“Four orcs and five goblins!” They were obviously within sixty feet and closing fast.

“Do you remember your route through the traps?”

Shorty nodded.

“Then go. Now!”

Shorty bolted, but Stacy trusted her speed and stamina enough to stay on the path and get a look at her pursuers. She readied her dagger. Two orcs and three goblins were almost on top of her by the time she spotted them running out of the darkness toward her. The orcs looked pissed in the way that angry orcs were wont to look, but the goblins looked absolutely feral, scrambling like rabid wild dogs, moonlight glinting in their furious eyes. Either they were severely put out by the sudden death of their companion, or the ettins had beaten every last shred of humanity out of them. Stacy suspected it was a bit of both as she darted for the trees.

Running through the woods at night was considerably more challenging than she had anticipated, especially when she knew that her pursuers weren't suffering the same challenges. She had to milk her high Dexterity score for all it was worth just to avoid running into trees and tripping over roots and underbrush.

Spotting the landmarks she'd committed to memory proved impossible under the circumstances. She'd only been running for about ten seconds before she realized she had no idea where she was in relation to any of the traps she'd set up. That was just as well, considering that she'd set them with ettins in mind. It would have been a colossal stroke of luck for one of the orcs or goblins to step on one instead of simply running between them. And with all of Stacy's attention focused on not slamming her face into the nearest tree, that luck could very easily have gone the other way, putting a big nasty hole in her foot instead.

She didn't need to look back to know the orcs were gaining on her. Every split-second hesitation she made when dodging a tree or stumbling over some unseen obstacle closed the gap between herself and them. It was going to come down to a fight, but she kept running for as long as she could. If she could leave the goblins behind for a few rounds, then at least she'd only have to face two foes at a time instead of five.

When their grunts grew so loud that she thought she could feel their rancid breath on the back of her neck, she gripped her dagger tightly, stopped dead in her tracks, and punched her blade into the first target she spotted upon turning around. It was a solid hit. She practically lost her fist in the cavernous gut of the half-starved creature. He roared with what sounded to Stacy more like rage than pain.

His companion orc, not distracted by any knife holes in his belly, drove a fist into Stacy's face.

With the force compounded by the orc's forward momentum from running, Stacy felt lucky to come out of that with her head still attached. Her vision was nothing but twinkling lights and her mouth was overwhelmed with the taste of blood. She pushed herself up off the ground and spat out what felt like a pint, then gasped for air, unable to breathe through her nose.

The orc had gotten in a solid first hit, and the goblins wouldn't be far behind. There was no time for her to recover. She had to strike back fast and hard. Unfortunately, she realized that she was no longer holding on to her dagger.

Just as her vision started to come back, one of the orcs kicked her hard in the gut. She hoped that she'd killed the one she stabbed, but the frequency of kicks to her gut, chest, and face suggested that they were definitely coming from more than one orc.

Stacy did her best to defend herself as she tried to take in the scene around her through quick glances between kicks. One of the orcs must have had her dagger, and the only reason she could think of why he hadn't stabbed her with it was that they thought she was helpless and were having too much fun kicking the shit out of her.

Her only chance was to suffer through enough additional kicks so that she could feign incapacitation without suffering so many that she wouldn't be feigning it. Kick after kick, she lowered her defenses, as if she was getting weaker and weaker, until she finally let herself go limp.

As expected, they still kicked her a few more times, but it soon lost its luster.

Panting heavily, the orcs spoke to each other in their own language. Stacy couldn't understand what they were saying, but she strongly suspected they were discussing whether they should take her prisoner or slit her throat.

Grubgar might be pleased with them for capturing her alive. He'd probably enjoy prolonging her suffering before killing her himself. Then again, she'd proven to be quite a nuisance, not to mention a slippery fish. Killing her now might save everyone a lot of headaches down the road.

Stacy cracked one eye open a sliver to try and gauge which way they were leaning. Judging by the orc standing over her, bleeding from the gut and brandishing her dagger, they'd decided to save everyone a lot of headaches down the road. Forcing herself to remain motionless, she waited for the right time to make her move.

Both orcs took a knee on either side of her. The orc with the dagger said something to the other one, who grabbed her head with both hands and tilted it back, leaving her neck nicely exposed for a slicing blade.

As soon as the dagger was within reach, Stacy grabbed the arm wielding it as she jerked her head free. She pulled the orc's wrist to her mouth and bit down as hard as she could while wresting the dagger from his hand.

With her teeth still buried deep in his filthy arm, she thrust the dagger up into the soft tissue of his lower jaw. She could see the blade through his screaming open mouth.

Using his weight as an anchor, she swept her right leg at the other orc, knocking him off balance. Before he had the chance to get back on his feet, she had removed the blood-and-brain-slathered dagger from his companion's head and was on top of him, stabbing viciously and repeatedly until he finally stopped struggling.

The goblins came onto the scene just as she was catching her breath. Whatever horrors they had suffered under Grubgar were briefly forgotten as they stopped in their tracks upon seeing Stacy. She must have been quite a sight. Bruised all over, covered in blood spatter, a curtain of orc blood dripping down her chin. It would have been enough to put anyone off their game. But the goblins quickly snapped out of it, remembering their place and purpose.

All three of them lunged at her at once, their chains jangling behind them. Stacy should have been on death's door after the beating she'd just suffered, but she was as pumped for a fight as she could ever remember being. She didn't even wait for them to come to her. Instead, she stabbed one of the dead orcs one more time in the chest so she'd remember where she'd left her dagger, then sprang toward the approaching goblins.

On Earth, she'd never been a violent person. She'd never even been in a real fight before. Aside from the giant scorpion incident, life at Bayside Poison Control was pretty quiet. But something inside her had changed when she came to this world, and she didn't think it had anything to do with any of the stats on her character sheet. It was like a switch had flipped, some dormant part of her that had always been there but was only now coming to the surface. Maybe when societal constraints were stripped away, this was who she really was.

She felt a sense of freedom as she swung a goblin on its chain around her head like a flail while kicking another in its big snarling head like a football. Here, she didn't have to take anyone's shit or laugh at anyone's unfunny jokes.

But she wasn't going full Lord of the Flies either. These goblins and orcs had come after her. She was only pushing back as hard as she was pushed. If she was enjoying it, well then good for her. It was still on them.

One last goblin refused to stay down, so Stacy altered the trajectory of her goblin flail, timing it so that it would catch the advancing goblin on the upswing. It was a flawless execution, connecting the almost certainly dead goblin at the end of the chain with the advancing goblin and sending the latter into the air like a golf ball from a sand trap.

When the last of them finally stopped coming at her, Stacy released her weaponized goblin into the darkness. Finally, she had a moment to breathe.

The moment didn't last long, however, when she considered how Shorty might be faring. If these orcs and goblins put up this much of a fight against her, Shorty might be in some real trouble.

She wished that realization had occurred to her before she let herself calm down. Now that her adrenaline rush was starting to fade, the pain of that beating she'd taken was setting in. A nice long sleep was what she craved, but it would have to wait. Shorty needed her.

After grabbing her dagger from its temporary orc-heart scabbard, she started jogging in a direction she hoped was back to the path. Her intuition proved a little too good when she heard some grumbling voices and realized she was about to burst through the trees straight into the ettin party.

She stopped short and paused to see if she'd been made. When the grumbling conversation went on uninterrupted, she changed course, circling wide around the congregation of ettins before finally crossing to the other side of the path.

Once she was there, it was anybody's guess where to go next. Her eyes weren't currently much use to her, so she closed them and focused on picking up an audible clue.

After a few seconds of concentration, she heard the faint sound of crunching leaves in the distance. That wasn't necessarily a clue. It could have been anything, even a deer or squirrel. But with nothing else to go on, at least it gave her a direction to travel.

Her entire body throbbed with pain. Every movement made her wince, which also hurt. But she pressed on, jogging toward the sound she'd heard as fast as she could while barely making any noise herself. She was impressed with how quietly she was able to run over the blanket of dead leaves that covered the forest floor. All those skill ranks she'd been putting toward Stealth were really paying off.

Another crunch of leaves made her stop. It was louder than the last. If it was made by the same thing, she was a lot closer than she had been.

Changing course slightly to zero in on the sound, she jogged until she could hear it more frequently, then continuously. Something was dragging through the leaves. Stacy hoped it wasn't Shorty's dead body.

She slowed down to a brisk but silent walk. Whatever was making that noise, she was almost right behind it. Finally, she spotted a hulking dark figure limping away from her. An orc, and it was injured. Maybe Stacy had misjudged how well Shorty could handle himself in a fight when he was backed into a corner.

The orc continued limping as if Stacy wasn't even there. She couldn't believe how close she was to him. It would have been fun to push the envelope and see how much closer she could get until he noticed her, but Shorty might not have that kind of time. She had to act.

She could either kill him and have one less orc to deal with down the line, or she could try to beat some information out of him about where the rest of his hunting party was.

He was injured, which would make him easier to control in an interrogation. But she was also injured. For all she knew, she might only be one lucky punch away from death. After about ten seconds' worth of thought, the choice became an easy one. He probably didn't have any useful information anyway.

Three rapid plunges of her dagger into his back were all it took. One in each lung so he couldn't cry out, and the third in the small of the back, skewering a kidney. He didn't even know what hit him, barely breathing out a whimper before falling dead to the ground.

A brief examination of his body revealed a hole in his right foot, about an inch in diameter and straight through from bottom to top. One of her stake traps had actually worked. Good for her!

One more orc off her plate, Stacy continued in the direction her unsuspecting victim had been traveling. It wasn't long before she heard the other orc barking orders at the goblins that were hunting down Shorty.

“Find him!” demanded the orc in the common tongue, probably the only language he and the goblins shared. “If we return without a prisoner, Grubgar will have all our skins!”

Stacy slowed down to a walk as she got closer. Shorty was clearly not in immediate danger, so she had time to get a better lay of the land rather than rush in like a jackass.

She had to constantly remind herself to not rely on the cover of darkness, as it seemed both orcs and goblins had Darkvision. She stayed close to the trees, sneaking silently from one to another as if she were moving in broad daylight.

The goblins made no such effort to hide or keep from being heard, instead opting to cover as much ground in as little time as possible. The telltale jangling of their chains helped Stacy keep track of exactly where each one of them was as they tore through underbrush in search of their hiding prey. But the rush of Stacy's bloodlust had passed. She no longer relished the idea of swinging a goblin over her head or stabbing an orc to death. Her entire body hurt, and she just wanted this whole ordeal to be over so she could get some rest.

With only a vague idea of where the orc was, she sought to single out each of the goblins first, taking them out one at a time so she wouldn't have to worry about getting flanked. As soon as their chains sounded far enough away from each other, she moved toward the nearest one.

When she was finally close enough to spot him, he was tearing apart bushes near a small clearing. Stacy waited and observed. If he kept searching the clearing perimeter, he would eventually come to her. The waiting part didn't appeal to her, but it let her get into optimal pouncing position without having to risk moving.

Squatting, she soon discovered, was exceptionally painful. She must have suffered a pretty bad wound on the outside of her upper thigh. It was something she'd have to take a look at when the sun came up if she didn't bleed out from it overnight.

The goblin was seething as he ripped up saplings and pulled away brambles. Both of his hands were torn to shreds, but he didn't even seem to notice. His wild angry eyes and heavy breathing suggested that he'd been Stockholmed well beyond the point of no return. She was doing him a mercy by putting him down.

When he finally got to the bush she was hiding behind, Stacy sprang at him, plunging her dagger into his wiry chest. She was so used to taking them down with a single blow that she was more startled than hurt when he cried out in pain and swiped his bloody clawed hand across her face. One more stab put him down, but she'd blown her cover.

The orc and the other goblin would certainly have heard the goblin cry out. They would be on high alert now, but for all they knew, it could have been a bear attack or something. As long as they didn't know she was there, she could still –

A rattling chain drew her attention across the clearing. In the moonlight shining down through the treetops, Stacy could barely make out the figure of the other goblin. He was staring right at her. With no time to close the gap between them before he shouted for help, Stacy grabbed her dagger by the blade and hurled it hard at his big head.

Unfortunately, she aimed a little high. It sailed straight over his head and stuck in the trunk of the tree behind him.

“The human girl!” he shrieked. “She is here!”

Unarmed and bleeding from fresh claw marks on her face, Stacy ran at him through the bushes. Even as injured as she was, any sane goblin would have run from her. This one, however, did her the courtesy of meeting her halfway in the middle of the clearing.

One downward punch was all it took to knock him out. Normally, that would have been enough for her, but Stacy didn't need any surprises coming back to bite her in the ass. To make sure he wouldn't be getting up again, she put her foot on his back and twisted his head until she heard the neck snap.

With a small sigh of relief, she stood up straight again. Two down, one to –

She turned around just in time to see an orc fist flying at her face. The crunch of cartilage in her nose reverberated through her entire head. The sudden total darkness was punctuated with random flashes of dancing white lights. Stacy had to will herself not to pass out.

Not knowing which way was up, she tried to move. But the orc was on top of her, pinning down her arms. For a moment, she feared a fate much worse than death, so she was pleasantly surprised when he bashed her face with his forehead.

The second bash was all Stacy could take. The fight had finally been completely knocked out of her. She stopped struggling, almost relieved by the promise of an end to her pain, and hoped it would be over quickly.

But instead of a third bash of orc forehead, she felt something unexpected. A gushing shower of warm salty liquid. Fearing he'd just sprayed an enormous load on her face, Stacy opened her eyes. Shorty was staring back at her. He was on the orc's back, one hand holding the orc's head up, and the other holding her blood-slathered dagger which he'd just used to slice its neck wide open.

“Not bad,” she said, concentrating to keep his face in focus.

Shorty pushed the dead orc off to the side and reached down to help her up. “You look like shit. Come with me. I found a place where we can hide until you have regained your strength.”

That sounded just fine to Stacy. She struggled to her feet and limped after him.

Chapter 17

After Dave finished preparing his spells for the day, he had to figure out what to do with his ettin zombies. Adelyle was already suspicious, and suddenly discovering that Dave had been hiding a couple of undead two-headed giants probably wouldn't make him more inclined to let his guard down.

On the other hand, Dave was broke, homeless, and his clothes were barely holding together. These two zombies were the only real power he currently had at his disposal. It would be foolish to just release them or instruct them to stay put indefinitely. There must be some way to put them to good use.

He didn't have much time. He'd spent the past hour praying for his spells, and Adelyle wouldn't wait long past that before coming to look for him. Thankfully, the perfect solution hit him like a slap in the face.

Ettins were known to roam these woods. Adelyle and his brothers had confirmed this around the campfire last night. Even alive, ettins weren't the brightest creatures in the world, and these two were pretty fresh kills.

If they attacked a village, Dave doubted anyone would even realize they were zombies. For all the terrified villagers knew, these were just a couple of giant two-headed dumbasses looking to stir up some shit.

The ettins would probably be destroyed, but hopefully they would sow enough chaos to distract the villagers and make it easier for Dave and Adelyle to seize the Balren gold. At worst, it would appear to Adelyle as nothing more than a much-needed stroke of good fortune for them. At best, if Dave could successfully spin it as such, a touch of divine intervention.

“Mugmug,” he said barely above a whisper so as not to get Adelyle's attention. “Lugburt.”

One of each ettins' heads looked down at Dave, and their other heads followed.

Dave pointed upriver. “Follow the river. Find the village. Attack.” He hoped his instructions were simple enough for them to understand.

Much to his surprise, they turned upriver and started walking. Even if the rest of the instructions were lost on them, the villagers would likely attack them on sight.

Satisfied with what he counted as a win, Dave went back to Adelyle's fishing camp. Adelyle was shaking and sweating like heroin addict in withdrawl, leaning against the fish cart that was surrounded by piles of dead fish.

“What's going on?” asked Dave. “Why are there fish everywhere?”

“I had to make room for my brothers,” said Adelyle.

Dave turned to the scene of the massacre. Adelyle's brothers weren't where they'd been when he left.

“You put them in the cart? You were supposed to dig holes so we could bury them.”

“If we are to have them resurrected, then why should we bury them?”

“So we'll know where they are when we come back for them!” said Dave, a little frustrated that he had to go over this again. “We can't cart two dead bodies into town. Hell, we don't even have a mule!”

“You and I can pull the cart. Did you prepare the spells you mentioned?”

Dave nodded, not wanting to push his luck with Adelyle any more than he already had. Maybe this was for the best. Lugging a cart of corpses behind them would slow them down severely, giving his ettins more of a head start. He would have preferred to arrive in the heat of the attack to take full advantage of the villagers' distraction, but they should still be pretty well distracted during the aftermath, calling town meetings and shit. It was far better to turn up late than it was to risk catching up with them on the way.

He went around to the open front of the cart and grabbed one of Adelyle's dead brothers by the leg. It was cold and stiff.

“Preserve,” he said. A surge of magical energy flowed from his chest, through his arm, and into the corpse. He did the same thing to the other brother, annoyed that he had to blow two Level 2 spell slots on something so pointless. But he supposed that was the cost of doing business. If you want to sell a stereo, you might have to waste a few precious minutes of your life listening to some asshole talk about her grandkids. If you want to build an army, you might have to waste a couple of spell slots preserving the corpses of people you don't give a shit about.

The bodies didn't look any different after he'd cast the spells, but Dave guessed that was kind of the point. If they still didn't look any different after a few days, he'd know the spells were working properly.

He stared glumly at the rough dirt path ahead of them, not at all relishing the thought of pulling a cart down it.

“You ready?”

Adelyle nodded, then they each grabbed a handhold on either side of the cart and started pulling. Getting started was the hardest part, but it wasn't so bad once the cart was moving. They trudged down the path for the better part of an hour before Adelyle finally said anything.

“I have never killed anyone before.”

Dave wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. It was some pretty heavy shit to lay on a stranger, but he supposed these were the sorts of things you want to get out in the open before you try to pull off a big heist.

“That's good,” he responded unhelpfully.

Adelyle shot him an annoyed sideways glance. “Have you?”

A tricky question to answer. He didn't want Adelyle to think he was comfortable with murder, especially since he likely still ranked as the top and only name on the suspect list for the murder of his brothers. But he wanted to inspire at least a little confidence that they could pull this off.

“I've had some unfortunate encounters with people who thought they could take advantage of my generous nature. It turned out more unfortunate for them.”

Whoa, Dave! Where did that come from? He came off sounding like a good guy, but also one who doesn't take shit from anyone. Nice work!

“I was angry before,” Adelyle went on. “I still am, of course. But I do not wish to hurt anyone who does not deserve it.”

“What are you saying?” asked Dave.

“No amount of Balren blood will bring my brothers back.”

“That's decisively untrue! You were the one who came up with this idea. You know exactly how and why it's going to work.”

“We will find another way.”

Dave dropped his side of the wagon. “What is this we shit? Your dead brothers don't mean shit to me. I only agreed to this on the condition that we were going after a big score.” He knew what a complete and utter asshole he sounded like as the words were coming out of his mouth. Not until now had he fully appreciated how important a decent Charisma score could be. Still, his point stood. “I'm sorry, but I've got plans. If you're not going to be a part of them, then I just can't help you.”

Adelyle lowered his head. “I understand.”

Dave turned his back on him and started walking away. This time he wasn't bluffing. If Adelyle wanted to pussy out on him, then Dave would just empty the Balren coffers for himself. It would have been a lot easier with Adelyle to point out exactly who the Balrens were, where they lived, and any other useful information about them. But if he was this squeamish about getting his hands dirty at this point in the journey, he was more likely to be a liability than an asset. Still, Dave was all the more pissed about having burned those two spell slots. They might have proven much more useful when he reached the village.

Despite his resolve to cut the cord from Adelyle, Dave was annoyed that Adelyle didn't call out after him. It would have been much more satisfying to ditch him while he was begging for another chance. Not so much because Dave wanted to dick him over nice and hard, though that was a part of it. But Adelyle's indifference to being abandoned said something about the faith he had that Dave could deliver on his promises.

Just like everyone else, Adelyle saw Dave as a loser who talked a big game but couldn't walk the walk. Just a fat stupid dwarf destined to rise no higher than mid-level management at Home-Tec. Well, Adelyle and destiny could both suck his big hairy dwarf nuts.

On the bright side, now that Dave had ditched Adelyle, who had to pull a cart full of his dead brothers alone, he was finally faster than someone else. He headed down the path as quickly as he could until he rounded a bend. When he looked back and didn't see Adelyle behind him, he took his hybrid rat form and started running. Depending on how far away this village was, he might be able to catch up with his ettin zombies before they got there.

Even in his hybrid form, he was pretty out of shape. He ran as far as he could, maybe a quarter of a mile at a time, before slowing down to walk. Still, it was far faster than he'd ever traveled as a dwarf.

Around his eighth or ninth stop to take a rest, he heard something that distracted him from the pounding of his heart in his rat ears. A woman's scream. It sounded like it was coming from about a hundred yards ahead of him. His zombies had been discovered.

Dave took a few more breaths, then sped toward the scream. The trees soon gave way to wide open farmland running from a small house on one side all the way down to the river.

Beyond the field of an odd purple crop Dave didn't recognize, a small wooden palisade marked the village border. It might have kept a lazy dog or two out, but Dave's ettin zombies would easily be able to punch through it if they couldn't simply step over it.

Unfortunately, the village had more in the way of defense than a mere wall of sticks. Two archers began shooting Dave's zombies as soon as they came within one hundred feet of the gate, and they were calling for backup. In hindsight, slow-moving two-headed giants might not have been the best choice with which to capitalize on the element of surprise.

Still, they were certainly effective at providing a distraction. With two ettins attacking the main gate, nobody would notice a dire rat scurrying across the field. The forest was probably crawling with them anyway.

A dire rat dragging a full set of clothes behind it, however, might draw some unwanted attention. The clothes he'd been wearing were just about done for anyway. Dave would have to breach the palisade nude, then sort out clothes when he was safely on the other side. In a small village like this, where everyone knew everyone else, he'd already be looked upon with suspicion if anyone spotted him. So being naked wouldn't be that much of an additional disadvantage. Besides, how hard could it be for him to find some drunk hobo taking a piss between two buildings, kill him, and steal his clothes?

The more time he spent trying to convince himself that this wasn't a stupid idea, the less difference his ettin zombie sacrifices would make in its success. Enough overthinking. It was time to act.

He tore what remained of his clothes off to strengthen his resolve. There was no turning back now. He was naked and would remain so until he found himself some new clothes.

After taking his dire rat form, he darted into the field, toward the palisade but not near the gate. His path took him through the crops, which were taller than he was. That was great for concealment, but not so much for being able to see where he was going.

Whatever these crops were, some kind of beans in dark purple pods, the plants they grew on had thorn-covered vines. He might have been shredded to death trying to plow through them without his damage resistance. But as a wererat, he merely suffered decreased mobility and the discomfort of constantly snagging his fur on every vine he passed.

His hindered movement also screwed up his perception of how far he'd traveled. He felt like he should have come to the palisade a long time ago. Was it possible he could have been thrown so far off course that he missed a whole fucking village? It didn't seem likely. Judging by the sounds of released bowstrings and men shouting orders, he was still headed the right way, perhaps even a little too close to the action. He changed course slightly to the right and kept plowing through the obnoxious bean plants. Finally, he emerged from the crop right next to the base of the palisade.

The ettin zombies were both still standing, and they'd finally reached the gate and were smashing either side of it. The hastily formed village militia had pulled back, clearly hoping to do as much damage with ranged attacks before any of them dared face the enemy in hand-to-hand combat. That was good. The longer they survived to wreak havoc, the more damage they could do, keeping all attention in the village squarely focused on the current problem and dealing with the aftermath.

Dave scurried along the base of the perimeter looking for a weakness he could exploit. It didn't take him long to find one. He spotted some upturned soil where something had recently tried to dig its way under the palisade. Probably a hungry wolf that smelled some food cooking or garbage dumped out someone's window.

Now that he thought about it, all that fish he'd eaten felt like forever ago. He wished he'd gotten to put a little more away before Adelyle came to this morning.

Whatever had started to dig under the fence either gave up or was chased off, but Dave figured it was the best head start he was likely to get.

When he started digging with his front claws, he was happily surprised to find the soil even easier to dig through than he expected. The claws of his rat feet tore through it as effortlessly as a child digging a hole in the sand at the beach.

Even better, he found one of the spiked palisade stakes was loose. He couldn't manipulate it very well with his rat paws, but a quick glance to his left and right revealed no risk of briefly taking his dwarven form. Tearing it loose wouldn't just make a gap in the wall, but he could also use it as a spear. Not his weapon of choice, but a far cry better than being completely unarmed.

Even as a dwarf, the sharpened tree trunk took a bit of effort to pull away, but he finally got it. His sense of accomplishment, even if it was a small one, was cut short when he spotted a young human girl staring curiously at his naked form through the gap in the fence. She was wearing a simple but clean pale blue dress and a matching bonnet on her chestnut hair. She couldn't have been more than eight years old, and her large brown eyes betrayed not the slightest hint of fear.

Dave, on the other hand, was horrified. He dropped his crude spear and covered his junk with both hands and tried to think of something to say.

“Are you a druid?” asked the girl.

“What?” said Dave, still processing her question.

“You were a rat just a moment ago, when you were digging in the dirt. Then you turned into a dwarf. My uncle is a druid. He can turn into all sorts of animals.”

Dave nodded. “Yes, that's right. I'm a druid.”

“Why are you digging under the fence?”

For once, a perfect answer came to him right away.

“There's some trouble at the gate,” he said. “I had to find another way in.” If his ettin zombies served no other purpose, at least they provided him this one explanation. “Do you mind if I finish tunneling under?”

The little girl shook her head.

Dave took his rat form again and looked up at the girl through the gap in the fence. She smiled giddily like he was some kind of circus exhibition.

That was fine. Better she be entertained than run off and warn someone. Still, the entertainment capacity for watching a rat dig a hole was bound to be limited. He had to dig fast if he was going to get to the other side of the fence and deal with this girl before she got bored and wandered off to tell everyone about the mysterious rat-man she'd discovered breaking into town.

He dug furiously, throwing dirt out of the hole behind him like a woodchipper, until he was finally able to squeeze himself through to the other side.

Thankfully, the girl was still there and didn't seem any less interested in him. But he didn't exactly relish the idea of morphing back into a naked man in front of her.

There was a small building nearby made of sticks with dry mud packed between the cracks. It stood on four thick tree stumps, presumably to keep it above floodwaters. Dave ran around to the other side of it, turned back into a dwarf, and peeked around the corner.

“Hi,” he said, just to get the conversation rolling again.

“Why don't you have any clothes?” asked the girl.

“They fell off when I turned into a rat.”

“When my uncle changes form, his clothes change with him.”

“That's very impressive,” said Dave. “He must be more advanced in the druidic arts than I am.”

“Last Blossom Day, he turned into a bear and killed a deer for the festival.”

“That's lovely.” Dave tried to think of something to steer the conversation away from her fucking uncle. “What's your name?”

“Lissa Balren,” she said. “What is yours?”

Dave was so shocked that he nearly stepped out from behind the building. “I'm sorry. Did you say Balren?”

“Yes.”

What a stroke of luck! This was exactly the sort of leverage he needed, and it had just fallen right into his lap.

“What is your name?” Lissa repeated.

“Oh, I'm sorry. My name's Dave. It's a pleasure to meet you.” He immediately started thinking of how he could best capitalize on this unexpected bit of good fortune.

Taking her hostage was the first thing that came to mind, but it would be difficult to issue demands without someone to run communications back and forth. Also, he didn't have anywhere to hide her or anything to constrain her with, which would make it easier for her to escape.

Killing her, on the other hand, would guarantee she wouldn't escape. If he cast a Gentle Repose spell on her body, he could send pieces of her to her family along with his demands, and they wouldn't be any more decomposed than if he'd cut them off while she was alive.

That still left him with the problem of hiding her and sending messages. But maybe if he –

“Would you like me to fetch you some clothes?” asked Lissa.

Dave lost his train of thought. “What?”

“My father is fat. His clothes would probably fit you.”

“Thank you. That's very thoughtful but I don't –”

“Wait here. I will be back soon.”

“Wait!” said Dave to her back as she darted behind the other side of the building. His choices came down to running nakedly out in the open to tackle a little girl on the street or standing there with his dick in his hand hoping she'd return without telling anyone about him. In the time it took to weigh the two options, the former had pretty much left the station.

For once, though, dick in hand was merely a figure of speech. Dave had nothing but time and privacy at his disposal. And if he was discovered, the humiliation of being caught masturbating would be the very least of his worries. But Dave didn't even have the slightest urge to tug his tamale.

Instead, he listened for clues as to how his ettin zombies were faring. The sounds of battle had died down to nothing, which most likely meant the villagers had prevailed. Dave only hoped his first two undead minions had done a fair bit of damage before they fell. Even if they hadn't, disposing of those two huge bodies would take a fair chunk of time and manpower.

But were the Balrens the sort of people who would dirty their hands with those sorts of tasks? For all Dave knew, the men of House Balren were all sipping cognac in their mansion's grand conservatory, blissfully unaware that anything outside their sphere of wealth and privilege was untoward.

That was, at least, until sweet little Lissa skipped by with her fat-ass father's favorite smoking jacket. Then she'd tell them all about the naked dwarf she'd met crawling under the palisade, and how he could turn into a rat. They'd put two and two together and summon a posse to hunt him down with torches and pitchforks.

The more he sat and stewed about it, the stupider he felt for thinking this plan had any merit at all. Hell, it wasn't even a plan. Dave didn't know what the fuck he was doing. He should have torn out that kid's throat the second he crawled out from under the fence. Or even better, he should have turned her. The walls of the Balren house could have been painted with blood by morning, the treasures within it unguarded and ripe for the picking, if he'd just used his head. Once again, he'd fallen victim to his failure to act. Mayor Merriweather was right about him. Dave was nothing more than a giant pussy.

He clenched his fists in frustration with himself.

No! No more feeling sorry for myself. I fucked up, and it cost me two powerful zombies. But now I'm going to learn what I can from the experience and move on. I can make more zombies, after all. I'll just kill some normal people. Hidden in cloaks, they might even be able to walk around town without drawing any suspicion.

Hell, there were two dead bodies on their way to the village right now! And Adelyle probably didn't have a whole lot of fight left in him after spending so many hours hauling around his brothers' dead asses. That was three more zombies he could have immediately if he intercepted Adelyle before he got to the –

“Dave?” said a soft voice that made Dave's heart nearly burst out of his chest. Lissa had returned, but was she alone?

Dave didn't answer. He pressed his back against the rear wall of the building, covered his junk, and listened for signs of other people with her.

“There you are!” she said cheerily as she came around the corner, startling Dave again. She was carrying a large stack of thick folded fabric in shades of brown and green, which made Dave realize just how chilly it was outside.

“You came back,” said Dave.

Lissa smiled at him. “Of course I did.”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes. I did not tell anyone about you.”

She must have picked up on his desire for secrecy. Maybe she was more clever than he'd given her credit for.

“Thank you.”

Lissa set the pile of fabric on the ground. “These are some of Father's clothes. I also brought you a blanket in case you want to sleep in the stable. It is empty now, since Father is away on business. It may not smell very nice, but it will keep you out of the weather for a few days until he returns.”

“That's very generous of you,” said Dave. “I don't know what to say.”

“It is no trouble. I shall leave you to get dressed, then return after dark to take you to the stable.”

Fate had given him a second chance. He could still infect this girl, and no one would be the wiser until she was ripping their hearts out in the middle of the night.

“Okay,” he said. “Thanks again.”

Lissa disappeared around the corner again, unmurdered and uninfected. But that was okay, Dave told himself. She knew to keep his secret, and she was even helping him hide. An empty stable might make a suitable base of operations, or at least a place to keep hostages hidden if that was required. What's more, she was a source of valuable information. She'd just let slip that her father was currently away on business. Looting the estate might be a lot easier with the Balren patriarch and his bodyguards out of the picture. Dave might not have to take a hostage or shed even a single drop of blood. If he played his cards right, Lissa might be the key to him getting his hands on her family's money.

Adelyle and his brothers could wait. As a newly turned wererat, Adelyle might wreak more havoc on the unsuspecting village folk than his ettin zombies had. And thanks to Dave's Gentle Repose spells, his two brothers wouldn't be getting any deader. They'd still be prime zombie material when Dave needed them.

Mr. Balren's clothes were a little snug around Dave's midsection, not to mention a bit long in the limbs. They weren't the fine satin garments Dave was expecting from the legendary Balren clan, but they were thick and warm, and they covered Dave's junk.

Feeling a little more optimistic about his situation, Dave sat against the building and watched the sun set over the palisade.

Chapter 18

Captain Longfellow put up a front of begrudgingly allowing Randy, Denise, and Righteous to board his ship, citing a lack of room for freeloading stowaways, but Randy could tell he was happy to see them again. The nine bottles of stonepiss Randy offered in gratitude were just icing on the cake.

“Righteous, ye say?” Captain Longfellow muttered as he circled slowly around Righteous on the ship's deck, eyeing him up and down like one might inspect a cow he was considering buying. “Ye have a certain stiffness about ye, and I do not mean yer mainmast.”

Righteous stood tall with his large chin held high. “Forgive me if I do not skulk as if I have the spine of a jellyfish. Perhaps I would better fit in with this gang of seafaring miscreants and ne'er-do-wells.”

Randy had hoped that Righteous would keep his goals in mind while interacting with the captain and keep his disagreeable thoughts to himself for the greater good of accomplishing them. But much like Denise, he appeared to have a difficult time not blurting out every opinion as soon as it popped into his head.

Captain Longfellow stopped in front of Righteous to look him directly in the eyes. He grinned, showing off his shiny collection of teeth made of a variety of precious metals.

“If I did not know any better, I might suspect me dear friend, Randy, has brought a Kingsguard aboard me ship.”

Randy hadn't known that was going to be an issue. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Righteous beat him to it.

“What need has an upstanding ship's captain like yourself to fear the Kingsguard?” he asked. “Those who obey the laws of the land need not fear those who enforce it.”

Captain Longfellow spat on the deck. “The laws of the land can suck me sea cucumber. There not be but one law aboard this ship, and that be mine.”

“You ain't got to worry,” said Randy. “Righteous recently retired his position in the Kingsguard. He ain't got no authority to enforce nothin'.” He felt both Longfellow and Righteous could benefit from that reminder. “I think we can all agree that all of our individual goals would be better served by a smooth and speedy voyage.”

After a moment of tense silence, Righteous nodded. “I shall do whatever is required of me to ensure we reach our destination as swiftly as possible.”

“Aye,” said Captain Longfellow. “Ye can start by staying out of me crew's way.” He took a swig from a newly opened stonepiss bottle, then stepped up onto a higher tier of the deck to address his men. “Pay your whores and pull up your drawers! We set sail in one hour!”

“Goddamn,” said Denise, holding Fatty's face firmly against one of her hairy breasts. “I didn't realize we was leaving so soon. What's got such a hot fire held up to your nuts, Cap'n?”

Longfellow stepped down from his elevated position and peered out at the spires of the king's palace, his expression as dark as the columns of smoke rising over different parts of the city. “I have never had so easy a time recruiting new crewmen. Seems every semen-guzzling half-wit and his uncle be itching to get out of this city. Whatever be transpiring here, I want it far in me wake as soon as possible.”

Randy spent the next hour chatting with the crewmen he was familiar with and introducing himself to the new recruits.

“Hi there,” he said to a sweaty plump half-orc who was on his hands and knees vigorously scrubbing what appeared to be a blood stain on the rear deck. “I'm Randy.”

The half-orc stopped scrubbing and looked up at him. “I am Ovaud.” He looked exhausted, and perhaps a little overdressed for this type of work. His brown suede doublet seemed more appropriate to a merchant or low-level aristocrat than to a deckhand.

“This your first time working on a ship?”

“Is it that obvious?” Ovaud frowned at the stain he'd been scrubbing. “As hard as I scrub, it just won't come out.”

Randy shrugged. “Sometimes, stains are just stubborn like that. I seem to recall that stain being there since before the first time I boarded this ship. Did the captain tell you specifically to clean it?”

Ovaud shook his head. “I am a tailor by trade, or at least I was. I have no experience at sea, but I thought my skills may be of use for mending torn sails and nets. In the meantime, I seek to make myself useful in whatever way I can.”

“The tailorin' business ain't doing so hot?”

“My shop burned down,” said Ovaud. “Since the king's passing, things have been bad in Shallow Grave. I count myself fortunate just to have gotten out of there alive. Sometimes, I feel like it was a mistake to have ever fled Meb Gar'shur.”

Randy laughed. “Things ain't exactly rosy over there either, I can assure you.”

“You have been to Meb Gar'shur?”

“We only just got out of there. Me, the captain, most of this crew, we was all down in the fighting pits for the past month.”

Ovaud laughed as he got to his feet. “That was you? I heard rumor of an uprising and that the arena had fallen, but I did not believe it.”

“It's true.”

“How did you escape?”

Randy started recounting his adventure in Meb Gar'shur from their capture off the coast of Nazere. As he went on, a few more new crew members stopped what they were doing to listen to his tale. Even Righteous, who had recently heard the story, and Denise, who had lived it, seemed to enjoy Randy's increasingly dramatic retelling.

But just as he was getting to the chaotic climax of the Full Moon Brawl, commotion from the front of the ship diverted his audience's attention.

Cardinia was miles behind them by now, and the sun had gone down, but the moonlight was bright enough for Randy to make out an angry mob of sailors kicking the snot out of one of their own.

“The fuck's goin' on over there?” asked Denise.

Randy stood up. “Should we go and help?”

“I'm always up for a good bit of ass-kickin', but I reckon they've got it covered pretty well.”

“I meant help the guy who's getting his ass kicked.”

“Are you out of your fuckin' mind, Randy? Those motherfuckers is mad as hell about something. Ain't no good gonna come from jumping in on the wrong side.”

Randy ignored Denise's advice and started making his way toward the mob. Fortunately, Captain Longfellow stopped the commotion with a single shouted word.

“ENOUGH!” he said, standing on the small raised platform at the front of the ship. He was holding something in front of him about the size of a head of cabbage, but heavy enough to require both hands.

Two of his men picked up the guy they'd been beating on and held him up by the upper arms before the captain.

The man struggled to wrest his arms free of his shipmates' grips, but the effort proved futile. “Please, Captain!” he cried. “Nothing happened! I swear it!”

Captain Longfellow stared down at him with pure contempt in his eyes. “There be little I cannot tolerate in how a man behaves, few lines crossed I shan't abide.”

“Captain, please! Listen to me! Nothing ha–” A swift punch to the gut allowed the captain to continue speaking.

He shook his head. “Wallace, ye have sailed under me well long enough to know me thoughts on stealing the innocence of one so young.”

Ovaud gasped next to Randy. “Ollie!” he whispered.

“Who the fuck is Ollie?” asked Denise.

Randy shushed them so he could try to get a better idea of what was going on.

Captain Longfellow dropped what he was holding. It landed with a loud thud and a rattle of chain at Wallace's feet.

Wallace looked down at it in horror. “No, Captain! Not the Deep Penetration!”

“Goddamn,” said Denise. “Longfellow must be feeling extra frisky tonight.”

Randy hoped that he and Denise had both misinterpreted Wallace's fear.

Wallace struggled in vain as another crewman clamped an iron collar around his neck, then shoved the heavy metal ball it was chained to into his gut.

“Release him,” ordered the captain, drawing a sword and  pointing it at Wallace. “Ye know the drill. Gods know ye have seen it performed enough times by better men than yerself.”

Wallace stumbled backward, cradling his heavy load, toward two men who were picking up a large wooden beam.

“Holy shit!” whispered Denise. “You think that's going up his ass?”

“No, I don't,” said Randy. “I reckon he's about to walk the plank.”

Denise shrugged. “That's almost just as good.”

Randy's suspicions were confirmed when the two men extended the beam out from the side of the ship. While he felt some small relief that Wallace wasn't about to be butt raped, Randy couldn't idly stand by and watch a captured prisoner be murdered in cold blood.

“Captain!” he called out.

Captain Longfellow shot him an annoyed glare. “I shall be with ye in a moment, Randy. I be a touch busy at present.” He stepped down from his platform and wagged his sword at Wallace, who backed away from it slowly as the crewmen stepped out of his way. They formed solid lines on either side of him, leaving him nowhere to go but toward the plank.

“This ain't right, Captain,” said Randy. “You at least ought to hear him out.”

“Stand down, Randy,” said Righteous. “Need I remind you that this is not your ship?”

Randy glared back at him. “You picked a fine time to get petty. How can you say that? That man's about to be executed, and we don't even know what he's done wrong!”

“Bring the child!” shouted Captain Longfellow.

One of his men shoved a small half-orc boy out onto the deck. He didn't look to be more than ten years old. His black hair was long and disheveled, and his face was covered in soot.

“Ollie!” cried Ovaud.

“Father!” the boy cried back.

Denise scratched under her tits. “Well, I reckon that's one mystery solved.”

“Wallace here was discovered in the cargo hold, knickers 'round his ankles, set to bugger this boy,” said Captain Longfellow. “'Twas only by the mercy of the gods that he be discovered in time. To let the crime go unpunished would be akin to pissing in their divine faces.”

“I meant no harm to the boy,” pleaded Wallace, taking his first backward step onto the plank. “I was only having a wank is all.”

Randy sighed. Wallace wasn't doing himself any favors.

“I ain't saying not to punish him,” said Randy. “But this is murder.”

Denise cleared her throat. “Hey, Randy. You sure this is the hill you want to die on? It ain't such a good look for you, especially considering your... history.”

“I ain't got no history, Denise! And I don't give a rat's hairy behind about my look. This ain't right!”

“This is not your fight, Randy,” said Righteous. “I say that not out of pettiness, but as a man of the law. We are beyond the jurisdiction of Cardinia. This ship is governed by the laws of its captain. And I, for one, will shed no tears at the loss.”

Captain Longfellow advanced slowly toward Wallace, sword held out. “Me sword has drawn not a drop of Wallace's blood. The choice be his to die like a man or live like a sniveling sea slug.” He lowered his sword and scowled at Wallace. “What would ye choose?”

Whatever the captain had in store for those who opted not to walk the plank, it must have been a fate worse than death. Wallace offered Captain Longfellow a small nod before jumping into the water.

“NO!” cried Randy, unable to refrain from trying to stop a senseless and avoidable death. He made for the side of the ship, but Denise must have anticipated the move. She responded quicker than an Olympic sprinter, wrapping her arms around his leg to hinder his movement. Randy could have shaken her off if Righteous didn't grab him by the opposite arm.

Still, Randy struggled to break free of them and rescue Wallace from a cold dark death at sea. Captain Longfellow and his remaining crew stood back and watched with mild interest. One thing life on a ship lacked was an abundance of entertainment.

“I'm really angry!” shouted Denise, as if she thought she could distract Randy by suddenly opening up about her feelings. But when she suddenly got as heavy as a baby elephant, squeezing the circulation out of Randy's thigh, he remembered that phrase was how she and Cooper invoked their Barbarian Rage.

“It is too late,” said Righteous, relaxing a little now that Denise had Randy pretty well immobilized. “There is nothing you can do to save him.”

“AAAAUUUUUUGGGGGHHH!” Denise added, punching Randy hard and repeatedly in the gut.

The crew howled with laughter as Randy lost his balance and fell backwards on the deck.

Randy didn't want to hurt Denise, but he couldn't take much more of a pounding before his internal organs started rupturing.

“I smite thee!” he shouted, slapping his hand lightly against Denise's cheek. The idea was to minimize the attack damage, hoping that the added Smite damage would be enough to bring Denise out of her Rage. But when his palm made contact with her beard, he didn't feel the divine power flow through his hand.

And Denise didn't appear to have felt anything at all. She continued shouting like a hairy banshee and pounding the tar out of Randy. Fortunately, Righteous, Ovaud, and one of the new orc crewmen restrained her and pulled her off of him. Denise struggled for a moment, but soon deflated down to her normal size.

“Has everyone gotten the madness out of their systems?” asked Righteous as he released Denise.

Denise sat back against the bulwark, catching her breath. She gave him a thumbs up. “Sorry about that, Randy. I got carried away. I ain't gonna lie, it felt pretty damn good to lay into you like that. But it was for your own good.”

Randy nodded. “I know. I reckon that's why my Smite didn't work on you. It's supposed to be used against evil, but you was only trying to save my life.”

“It's all water under the bridge now. Between my Rage fatigue and Fatty sucking all the life force out of my tits, I'm fuckin' bushed. You ready to turn in?”

Resigned to the fact that he'd done all he could, and Wallace's life was now beyond his ability to save, Randy was more than ready to put this day behind him.

“Not just yet,” said Captain Longfellow, coming toward them. “There still be the matter of the wee orc anklebiter aboard me ship.” He was glowering at Ovaud. “Might ye know something about this?”

“Apologies, Captain,” said Ovaud. “I meant no harm. You were not even supposed to know he was there.” He winced just after he said it, as if suddenly realizing how bad that sounded.

“He ain't meant nothin' by it, Captain,” said Randy, now understanding why Ovaud was trying to make such a good impression. He had more than his own life on the line. “His tailoring shop burned down, and he's just trying to get him and his boy somewhere safe to start over again.”

Captain Longfellow shot Randy an exasperated scowl. “Has not the authority ye hold upon me vessel, as well as the weight I lend to yer opinion, been made plain enough to ye yet? Me trust has been breached, and punishment must be served.” He held out his hand, palm up, and one of his crewmen slapped the handle of a cat o' nine tails down on it.

“Oh, come on!” said Randy. “This ain't that big a deal. It ain't enough for you to send a man to his death?”

“The sea be a dangerous place, Randy. Apart from the terrors that lurk beneath the waves and cutthroats who would board me ship and take it as their own, there be the matters of isolation and limited resources. Not that I need explain meself to ye, but it does the crew good to be reminded every now and again. The less trust I have in me crew, the more risk we all run of starving to death or falling prey to a rival captain with a better-disciplined crew. Rest assured, I take no pleasure in flogging one of me own men, but the wounds will heal. The lesson, one hopes, shall remain in the memories of all who bear witness to it for some time to come.”

There was logic there that Randy wasn't sure he necessarily agreed with, but couldn't outright deny. Still, Randy felt compelled to save at least somebody today.

“Let me take his place,” he said.

“No, Randy,” said Ovaud. “The crime was mine. I shall take the punishment.”

Randy shook his head. “Your boy's been through enough tonight. I can't let him watch his daddy get flogged on top of that.” He turned to Captain Longfellow. “Whip me instead. Everyone can bear witness, just like you said.”

Captain Longfellow scratched his neck behind his beard as he considered Randy's proposal. “Ye be a persistent barnacle on me arse, Randy. But ye have caused in me a change of heart.”

His crew murmured quietly behind him.

Randy was shocked. Had he actually gotten through to Captain Longfellow?

“Does that mean you ain't gonna flog me?”

Captain Longfellow laughed. “Oh, I'm going to flog you, all right,” he said. “But for once, I just might take some pleasure in it.”

Chapter 19

“BRAVO!” shouted Julian, clapping loudly as Chaz wrapped up an impressive performance of Billy Joel's Uptown Girl. They were nearing the agreed-upon minimum number of songs for the set, but the bar was filling up and Chaz was finally losing himself in the adoration of his growing audience again.

They wouldn't make a ton of money tonight, but Julian needed Chaz to give every show the same energy and enthusiasm he would give a Superbowl halftime show if they were ever going to book comparable venues. The sooner they paid back Akane, the sooner they could get back to the task of helping their friends.

“What is an uptown girl?” asked Akane when the applause died down.

Rather than try to explain the complexities of class struggles in his world when she wasn't exactly tuned in to the cosmopolitan norms of her own, Julian made up an easier answer he hoped would satisfy her.

“An elf,” he said, hoping that didn't come off as arrogant. “Female, of course.”

Akane looked like she might ask him to elaborate, but then Chaz began playing Journey's eternal barroom favorite, Don't Stop Believin'.

Julian was happy to see him expanding his repertoire from strictly Neil Diamond songs. It was healthy for him and good for the show, especially at small venues where he could test the crowd's reactions to new songs before attempting them for larger audiences.

“What kind of music is this?” asked a middle-aged elf who had squirmed his way through the crowd to stand next to Julian. At least, he looked middle-aged. Julian had no idea what that might be in elf years. He might have been seven or eight hundred years old. His bright orange tunic and the way he kept his long slightly-graying black hair back in a ponytail suggested that he was still trying to hang on to his youth, but that might have just been the style among elves in this part of the world.

“Classic rock anthem,” Julian responded before considering how that might lead to a further series of questions that he had neither the time nor the patience to get into with a complete stranger.

“Are you this kid's manager?”

That made the hairs on the back of Julian's neck stand up. Could this be another Mordred? That was the last thing he needed while he still had Akane to deal with. He turned to give this (hopefully) complete stranger his full attention.

“How did you know that?” he asked.

The older elf tapped the tip of one of his long ears. “I hear things.”

Julian relaxed a little. “Of course you do.” After a few weeks of being plagued by his extra-sensitive elf ears, Julian had grown accustomed to tuning out background noise. But if he wanted to, he could listen in on nearly any conversation in a crowded room.

He offered his hand. “Yes, I'm his manager. My name's Julian.”

The elf glanced down doubtfully at his hand, then made a similar gesture, cutting the air with his open palm and stopping just short of stabbing Julian in the gut with the tips of his fingers. “I am Argo. I own the Howling Owlbear across the street.”

What the hell was the Howling Owlbear? Some sort of circus exhibition? Julian was sure he would have noticed some caged screaming abomination if he'd passed within a hundred yards of it on the way in.

“Is that, like, your familiar?”

Argo laughed. “Is that my familiar, he asks. That is fantastic! The Howling Owlbear is the name of my club. It is easily three times the size of this shit dungeon.” He frowned as he quickly scanned the interior of the Infected Wound. “And infinitely more tasteful.” He leaned in closer to Julian and whispered, “I have been seeking a new act, something fresh and exciting. Do you mind if I ask you how much this knuckle-dragging troglodyte is paying you?”

Now was as good a time as any for Julian to put on his manager big boy pants. All his life, he'd been timid about lying. Even if it seemed impossible that he'd get caught, the unease of having the lie out there and the fear of ambiguous potential damage to his reputation were seldom worth whatever benefit he might gain from it.

But this was different. As manager, he was expected to get the best possible deal for his client. Not lying would be more detrimental to his reputation than lying would. A man in Argo's position knew how the game was played. Julian had to let him know that he, too, could bring his A-game to the negotiating table.

“One hundred gold,” Julian proudly lied.

“HA!” said Argo. “In this rat trap? I know a steaming pile of orc shit when I smell one.”

Clearly, it would behoove Julian to put more ranks in his Bluff skill. But he wasn't going to let himself get nickel-and-dimed by the first sleazebag to try and lowball him. He'd seen firsthand what kind of power Chaz's music could have over a crowd and how it could be used to move a lot of drinks. Argo himself was evidence of that. Julian didn't reach out to him, after all. He'd come to Julian.

Julian smiled politely. “I'm sorry you don't feel we're worth it.”

“Hey, now,” said Argo. “I never said you are not worth it. I merely expressed my skepticism that you are being paid so much here. I will pay you one hundred gold pieces for a trial performance at my place tomorrow night if those terms are agreeable to you.”

Holy shit! Ten shows like that could have Akane off his back forever.

“One hundred gold –” Julian cleared his throat and composed himself. “I'd say that would be adequate for a trial performance.”

“Wonderful. That's the Howling Owlbear. Get there at least an hour before sundown.” Argo glanced uneasily at the bar. “Now, if you will excuse me, I should get out of here before Garin forces me to buy a glass of the horse piss he serves here.”

“Thank you!” Julian called out after him as he weaved through the crowd toward the door. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

As Chaz belted out about people and streetlights, Julian sniffed his drink. Confident that Argo was being facetious about what it was composed of, he enjoyed a celebratory sip.

Ecstatic as he was, he didn't let himself get too carried away. He nursed that same drink for the rest of Chaz's set, wanting a clear head for when he broke the good news.

Akane, however, made no such effort to restrain herself. She pounded back drink after drink until she was singing nonsense lyrics at the top of her lungs to songs she'd never heard before. Julian was concerned that all the alcohol might lead to a brawl, or that she might start blasting the place with lightning or accidentally slip out of her human form. Despite those concerns, he wasn't about to be the one to cut her off. Fortunately, she seemed like a pretty happy drunk.

Chaz grinned at her several times during the next couple of songs like he was trying to keep himself from laughing. In fact, he was in such a good mood by the end of the show that he closed with Sweet Caroline. Predictably, Akane went nuts as soon as she recognized the beginning of the song.

She drew some annoyed glances at first with her seemingly random interjection. But by the end of the song, she had every customer in the place shouting, “BA BA BA!” until Chaz finally stopped repeating the chorus.

When Chaz finally left the stage after his final encore, Julian made his way to the bar and set his glass down.

“Would you like another drink?” asked Garin.

“No, thank you,” said Julian. “So, what do you think?”

Garin shrugged. “I am surprised at the unusual number of customers I have had tonight.”

“Well, that was sort of the point.”

“It is the strangest thing. Even factoring in the money I owe you, I have made more money in a few hours than I normally do in a week.”

“It's not all that strange. This is what we were trying to explain to you. That's why you agreed to pay us, remember?”

Garin furrowed his brow in confusion as he stared at Julian. “You are good luck?”

Julian nodded. “Sure. Speaking of the money you owe us, do you think I might get that now? It's been a pretty intense night, and I think RazzmaChaz would appreciate a chance to wind down.”

“Very well.” Garin placed a small cotton pouch on the bar in front of Julian. “You may count it if you like.”

Counting a pouch of gold coins in a crowded bar didn't seem like the wisest idea to Julian. He kind of wished Garin had been more discreet about handing it to him.

“That won't be necessary,” he said. “I'm sure you're a man of your word. Thank you.”

“Would you like to play here again tomorrow?”

Julian felt a little tug of guilt in his chest. Even if it was a solid business decision, he didn't have the heart to tell the first guy to hire them in this town that they were going to play for the competition tomorrow.

“That might be a little too soon,” he said. “He really sang his heart out up there. He needs to give his voice a chance to rest.” Lying to Argo had felt like a power move in a high-stakes game of chess between two worthy opponents, but lying to Garin felt more akin to pushing bullshit alternative cancer treatments on the elderly.

No, he told himself. This wasn't like that at all. Garin might not have been the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree, but Julian wasn't taking money out of his pocket. Quite the opposite, he'd put money into his pocket. If his stepfather ever took a break from perpetually trying to get his dick sucked and wanted to deal, RazzmaChaz would be easy enough to find.

“Hot damn!” said Chaz, bellying up to the bar on Julian's right. “Daddy needs a drink!”

Julian winced at Chaz's self-reference as “Daddy.”

“Drink!” Akane obnoxiously repeated on Julian's left, slamming her glass down on the bar. Fortunately, Garin was attending to customers on the other side of the bar.

“I was thinking we might carry on somewhere a little quieter,” said Julian. “I've got some news to share.”

“Oh, come on, man!” said Chaz. “These people adored me! I'm not leaving here until I'm waist-deep in pussy.”

Instead of trying to visualize what that meant, Julian managered up. “Business first, Chaz. We've got shit to discuss, and you're going to want to hear this.”

Chaz sighed. “Fine. Where are we going?”

“I know a place.”

“You've never been to this town before. You don't know shit.”

Julian laughed. “Trust me.” He discreetly slapped the coin pouch into Chaz's palm. “You're buying.”

Chaz's tone changed when he felt the weight of the gold in his hand. “All right,” he said. “Lead the way.”

Ravenus flapped down to greet Julian as soon as he stepped out into the refreshingly cool air and perched on the back of a wooden bench. “Hello, sir! How went the performance?”

“It was great. How did everything go out here?”

Ravenus lifted his wings in a shrug. “Can't complain. I met a couple of pigeons, but you know how they are.”

Julian didn't, nor did he want to.

“We're going to check out another place,” he said. “Would you care to join us?”

“I would be honored, sir!”

The Howling Owlbear wasn't hard to spot now that Julian knew where to look for it, but the signage hardly screamed for attention. Just a small sign above a dingy staircase that led down to a creepy dark basement. He was a little concerned that his promise of great news to share may have been premature.

“What the fuck is this place?” asked Chaz, following Julian down the stairs. “If you were anyone else, I'd assume I was about to be raped and eaten.”

If Julian was honest, he wasn't sure that wouldn't happen to all of them once they got to the bottom of this staircase, but he kept that to himself. When he got there, a large iron door stood between them and an uncertain fate on the other side.

“Maybe it's closed,” he suggested as an alternative to trying the door.

“Lucky for us,” said Chaz. “Let's get the fuck out of here and get some drinks down us before these walls give me leprosy or some shit.”

“I would like a drink,” Akane agreed.

Julian nodded. “Fine. We'll come back in the –”

The door creaked open, flooding the stairwell with soft red light and the sounds of laughter and smooth jazz. The laughter was coming from a group of drunk halflings who were on their way out.

“Watch it, long ears,” said one of them, nearly slamming into Julian as he stumbled out the door.

The halfling woman in an unflatteringly tight red dress behind him giggled. “Easy, Higgle. You know what they say about a fella with long ears.” Her insinuation didn't help Julian shake his initial impression that she looked like a plump prepubescent hooker.

Higgle stopped and turned around to face her. “Oh yeah? What's that?”

The halfling woman swayed like she was about to fall over, but caught herself just in time with a hand to Julian's crotch. The other halflings gasped, but she didn't even seem to realize where her hand was.

She grinned at Higgle. “They say – BLLLAAAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHHH!” She puked up more beige vomit than three people her size should have been able to have in them. Julian was grateful to be wearing waterproof boots.

Higgle laughed heartily. “Cheers to They! I concur with their assessment!” His friends shared a raucous laugh at that, then took the woman by the arms to escort her up the stairs.

“That was rude,” Julian muttered.

“What are you complaining about?” said Chaz. “That was more action than I've gotten tonight.”

At least the door was open now, and there didn't seem to be a human trafficking den or rancor pit on the other side. Julian shook the vomit off his boots and crossed the threshold.

The inside of the Howling Owlbear was exactly the opposite of what the grim entrance suggested it would be. Vast and well-lit, it boasted more than a dozen tables with clean red tablecloths, a polished mahogany bar with shiny brass trim, and a crowd of happy patrons.

“Do come in,” said a sharply dressed elven greeter. “Will it just be the three of you this evening?”

Julian glanced down at Ravenus, cradled in his arms. “Four, counting him. Is it okay for me to bring my familiar in here?”

“We would have it no other way, sir!” He slid out of their way with the grace of a ballerina, raising a puffy-sleeved arm to gesture them inside. “Do come in out of the cold.” His overly polite smile faltered after Chaz and Akane stepped in to reveal the huge puke puddle outside.

“That wasn't us,” said Julian. “It was the halflings who just left.” He had no wish to harm the halflings' reputation, but he couldn't have their own sullied the night before their first gig here.

“Yes, sir. Of course,” said the greeter. “Quite the rambunctious crowd, they were. But not without their charms.” He raised his hand high and snapped his fingers until three goblins came running out of the shadows with mops and towels. “Clean this up, would you?”

Chaz grimaced and backed against the wall as the goblins scurried past him.

“Dude,” whispered Julian. “Not cool.”

Satisfied that the vomit situation was being attended to, the greeter shut the door then scanned the room.

“I think you may find yourselves comfortable at that table over there,” he said, pointing to a small unoccupied table near the stage, where a band of uniformly dressed musicians was providing the establishment's auditory ambiance. “A server shall be with you shortly.”

“Classy joint,” said Chaz as he sat down at the table and ran a finger along the red linen tablecloth. “How the hell did you come to find out about it.”

Julian smiled at him. “I'm the manager. That's my job.”

“Greetings,” said an eloquent voice from behind Julian. He jumped slightly when he turned around to see a drow standing so close behind him.

“JESUS!” said Chaz, then relaxed when he took in the waiter's uniform and tray of champagne flutes full of some bubbling pink liquid. “Sorry, I wasn't... Not because you're... We didn't expect such immediate service.”

The waiter did an admirable job of masking his contempt with a polite smile. “Of course, sir.” He placed a glass down in front of each of them. “Here is something to start you off. My name is Nindrol. I shall be your server this evening. Is there anything else I can get for you, or would you like some more time?”

Akane poured her entire glass into her mouth, then immediately sprayed it all over the waiter.

“What is this?” she demanded, staring at her empty glass like it had been filled with raw sewage. “I want what we had at the other place.”

Julian sighed. He always expected a little turbulence, but he hadn't anticipated how disruptive a shitfaced Akane could be. But refusing her drink of choice might have far worse consequences than continuing to feed it to her. With any luck, she might pass out.

“A bottle of stonepiss for the lady,” he said to the waiter, then sipped from his champagne flute. Whatever was in there wasn't crisp and bubbly like champagne, but it was light, fruity, and refreshing. “I'll have another one of these, please.”

The waiter bowed slightly. “Of course, sir.”

“Stonepiss for me, too,” said Chaz. “Best bottle you got. We're celebrating tonight.”

“How delightful. I shall return momentarily with your –”

“I just put on a big show across the street. I'm RazzmaChaz. Maybe you've heard of me?”

Nindrol blinked, unsure of how to respond to that. “I am afraid I have not had the pleasure. If you will excuse me, I shall –”

“Don't worry,” said Chaz. “You'll know me soon enough, mark my words.”

“I have no doubt, sir. If I may beg your pardons, I shall –”

“Can I have your sparklewater,” Akane asked Chaz, who looked momentarily stunned by the question.

“What, now? Here?”

Akane stared longingly at his champagne flute. “I have a terrible thirst, and the service here is so slow.”

Chaz breathed out a sigh of relief. “Oh, you mean the champagne. Yeah, knock yourself out.” He shot Nindrol an annoyed look. “Who's a guy got to blow to get a drink around here?”

In a Herculean feat of tolerance, Nindrol refrained from bashing Chaz over the head with his tray. “A thousand pardons, sir. I shall return with your drinks right away.”

“Chop chop. It's like the fucking Sahara in my throat.”

“Dude,” said Julian when Nindrol was far enough away. “Can you chill out?”

“No, I can't,” said Chaz. “It's all part of the game. If I'm going to be a star, I'll have to swing my dick around a bit.” In response to Akane's curious look, he added, “Metaphorically speaking. It's a psychological thing.”

“It sounds like bullshit to me.”

Chaz sighed. “People see me treating some poor schlub like a piece of shit, and they say, 'Who the fuck does that guy think he is?' Nine times out of ten, that's a rhetorical question, the answer to which is, 'Just some rando douchebag.' But when it's me, people answer, 'Are you kidding? That's RazzmaChaz!' Word starts spreading like wildfire. It'll make more sense after I explain it again with a couple drinks in me.”

“It's not a question of it making sense,” said Julian. “I understand what you're getting at. You're just full of shit. You don't need to treat people like garbage to get people talking about you.”

“Yeah, and we didn't need nukes to bomb Pearl Harbor.”

Julian had trouble articulating his disbelief. “What are you – We didn't – Are you being serious right now?”

“My point is, I'm just trying to extradite the process.”

“Expedite!”

Chaz stared blankly at Julian. “What the fuck was that? Did you just cast a spell on me?”

Fortunately, Nindrol arrived to interrupt the conversation with some much-needed booze. Julian was starting to regret not having ordered a bottle of stonepiss for himself. A glass of bubbly might not be strong enough to drown out Chaz's idiocy.

“I hope this will meet your demanding standards,” said Nindrol as he placed an ornate conical glass bottle on the table in front of Chaz. “This is the finest stonepiss we offer.” He placed an identical bottle in front of Akane, along with three shot glasses in the middle of the table.

“Hang on a second,” said Julian as Nindrol was setting down his second champagne flute. “Just how much is this fancy stonepiss going to set us back?” He hated to sound like a cheapskate, but that wasn't half as embarrassed as he'd feel if the price was so off the charts that their payout at the Infected Wound wasn't enough to cover it.

“These are ten gold pieces each, sir,” said Nindrol.

That was far beyond what Julian could imagine paying for a bottle of stonepiss, but he understood the need to splurge a bit after what they'd all been through recently. Chaz had earned the money, after all, and they owed it to Akane. So if the two of them wanted to blow it on top shelf stonepiss, he'd let it go just this once.

“I've got to know what ten-GP stonepiss tastes like,” said Chaz.

Julian nodded. “One bottle. Then we're going back to the cheaper stuff.”

Chaz dismissed Nindrol with a douchey wave of his hand, then unstoppered his bottle and filled the three shot glasses. Apparently, Julian was also going to find out what ten-GP stonepiss tasted like.

Smoother than any stonepiss, or any other liquor for that matter, he'd ever drunk, it was the sort of drink that could easily put him on his ass before he even realized he was tipsy. Nice as it was, one shot was enough for him.

As the bottles emptied, Julian actually caught himself enjoying Chaz's and Akane's company. They were delighted when Julian finally shared his big news, that Chaz would be playing on this very stage tomorrow night, and for a bunch more money.

After Ravenus got a couple of drinks in him, he got in on the conversation as well. Julian enjoyed getting a couple of digs in at Chaz's preposterous British accent, but eventually they were all talking like they wanted to get the shit beaten out of them outside a pub in London.

All was going swimmingly until it came time to pay the bill. It came to just under twenty-two gold pieces, but Julian insisted they round it up to twenty-five to compensate Nindrol for having to deal with Chaz.

Chaz agreed that was fair, and he counted out twenty-five gold pieces, so Julian was a little concerned at the confused look on Chaz's face as he stared into the coin purse.

“What's wrong?” Julian asked.

“We got paid fifty gold pieces, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you take a manager's cut or something?”

Julian shook his head. “Why? It's not all there?”

Chaz shrugged. “I'm pretty fucking drunk, but twenty-five is only half of fifty, right?” He slid the purse across the table. “What's in the bag doesn't match what's on the table.”

Julian looked in the purse. Sure enough, there were only a few coins left inside. As discreetly as he could, he dumped them on the table and counted them.

“There are only fifteen coins here.”

“For a total of...” Chaz started to do some math in his head.

“Forty,” said Akane.

Julian slid the fifteen coins off the edge of the table back into the purse, trying to think of anything that could account for the missing ten gold pieces, but his mind was also a little hazy from the booze.

“Do you think Garin stiffed us?” asked Chaz.

“That would have been pretty ballsy of him,” said Julian, “considering he offered to let me count it in front of him. I guess it could have been a reverse psychology thing, but he didn't strike me as a Hannibal Lecter.”

“Maybe he charged us for the drinks, like in the Blues Brothers.”

“I don't know, man. Ten gold pieces is a lot of money for the swill they serve at the Infected Wound.” Julian glanced at Akane as she chugged down what was left of her second bottle of the Howling Owlbear's cheapest stonepiss. “Even at the rate she's been drinking. I only had one glass of whatever that was, and I know you didn't drink anything.”

Chaz shrugged. “Maybe Garin wised up to the fact that he could charge more per drink from a captive audience.”

“I doubt it. Garin barely seemed to be able to comprehend the concept of investing in live entertainment to draw in more customers. He genuinely seemed to believe he made more money tonight despite the fact that he had to pay us, rather than as a result of it. And that's when I was actively trying to spell it out for him.”

“Who gives a shit about ten gold,” said Chaz. “We should have enough to get a couple of decent rooms for the night. And starting tomorrow, we'll be on the road to Moneytown.”

Akane coughed on her stonepiss. “I thought we were playing here tomorrow. Where is this Moneytown?” She wasn't even bothering with shot glasses anymore, instead drinking straight from the bottle, and she was beginning to slur her words.

“It's a figure of speech,” said Julian. “There is no Moneytown.” He felt that point needed to be reinforced to both of them. “One hundred gold is a good start and a nice chunk of change, but it's only ten percent of what we need just to get back up to zero. And if we keep blowing through cash at the rate we're going tonight, we've still got a long road ahead of us. We're playing here tomorrow night, so it's about time we found a place to sleep.”

Chaz nodded. “Agreed.” He braced himself with the table as he rose unsteadily to his feet. “Don't worry. I'm on it.” He zigged and zagged like he kept changing his mind about the direction he wanted to walk in, but eventually made his way to the greeter's table.

“So,” Julian said to Akane. “What did you think about your first night out on the town?”

She stared back at him like she was trying to pinpoint his exact location amid all the spinning versions of him she was seeing.

“I had a wonderful time,” she said, following it up with a loud belch and a dry heave. Julian feared for a second that she was about to puke up twelve gallons of liquor and four or five half-digested bodies, but she soon composed herself. “The music, the people.” She held up her bottle. “The stonepiss. I never thought there could be so much more to life than slumbering atop my mound of gold and occasionally electrocuting an animal or zombie. Why did no one ever teach me the joys of alcohol?”

Julian could think of several reasons off the top of his inebriated head, but those were the same reasons he chose not to share them.

“Bottoms up, bitches!” said Chaz, stumbling back to the table with a fresh bottle of stonepiss in each hand. “RazzmaChaz got us all hooked up.”

“You were supposed to be finding us a place to stay,” said Julian.

“I did. I gave the greeter three gold pieces for a recommendation.” Noticing Julian's look of increased frustration, he lifted his two stonepiss bottles. “These are for the road.”

“What road? How far away is this place?”

Chaz cocked his head back toward the entrance. “It's just next door.”

“Three gold pieces seems a little excessive for telling us to go next door.”

“I was just following your advice,” said Chaz. “Treat people right and all that.”

“So what's with the stonepiss? Next door isn't exactly that long of a road.”

“We'll need something to do once we get there. Somehow, I doubt they're going to have a TV.”

“What is a TV?” asked Akane.

Julian started herding his party toward the entrance. “Chaz can explain it to you when we get settled in. That should put us all to sleep soon enough.”

Chapter 20

Before they arrived at the treeline Cooper had spotted on the edge of the Fertile Desert, he, Nabi, and Zhanbolat had to pass through about fifty yards of vegetable garden. It seemed like every inch of the desert's border was being exploited for the sand's supernatural fertility.

“The crops grow in perfectly straight lines,” Zhanbolat observed. “My guess is that they have some sort of underground irrigation pipe system.”

If Cooper gave a shit, and wasn't currently a bear, he would have voiced his agreement with that assessment.

We may be better received in the town if you arrive in your half-orc form.

Cooper wasn't used to being particularly well received in his half-orc form, but Nabi was probably right. Bears could be pretty fucking scary.

Rather than stand up and let Zhanbolat fall off his back like he'd done the first few times he wanted to stop for a break, Cooper lay flat on his belly and let him climb down.

Zhanbolat wasted no time at all, sliding down from Cooper and hobbling to the nearest plant to pluck off one of its fruits. It was pale green and cucumber-shaped but had bumpy, citrus-like skin. Zhanbolat bit off one end of it, squeezed the shaft, and started sucking like it was Jesus's dick.

Once Cooper got past that image and turned back into his half-orc form, sucking the juice out of a fruit dick started to look more appealing. He plucked a fruit and followed Zhanbolat's example.

The juice was sweet and sticky, but pleasantly cool. Between the two of them, they drained at least three dozen fruits, leaving a pile of shriveled husks that he hoped he wouldn't have to explain to anyone.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” said a middle-aged man with a tanned, weathered face, wearing a pair of overalls that looked to be made more of patches than its original fabric. His tone was a notch or two less friendly than the words he used to greet them. Several crossbow clicks from behind the nearby bushes suggested he wasn't alone.

Cooper pointed down at the pile of drained dick fruits. “Those are fruit,” he explained. “We were just sucking the juice out of them. Not anything weird.”

“I know what they are, son,” said the man. He plucked one for himself, then pulled a dagger with a long curved blade out from under the front of his overalls. Cutting away from himself and toward Cooper, he started whittling the peel off with the sharp inner curve of the blade in a way that made Cooper want to hide his junk. “They are mine, after all.”

“We apologize for the intrusion, sir,” said Zhanbolat. “We have traveled many miles through the desert, and our terrible thirst made your beautiful crop of logfruits too tempting to resist.”

Cooper didn't trust Zhanbolat any further than he could shit out a cannonball, but he recognized that Zhanbolat almost certainly had a better Charisma score than he did, and he couldn't think of any reason he'd want them both to get their dicks flayed. So he decided to let Zhanbolat continue to do the talking for now while he came to terms with the fact that he'd just been sucking on something called a logfruit.

The man with the knife bit off the peeled front end of his logfruit and chewed on the pulp as he stared at Zhanbolat's injured foot.

“You been walking on that?”

“My friend Cooper carried me most of the way.”

“Cooper?” The man eyed Cooper up and down with an air of mild disgust. “You don't look like any cooper I ever met.”

Cooper had spent as much time with Zhanbolat and this hillbilly dick farmer as he wanted to spend.

“And you don't look like any puppet I've ever seen, but that doesn't mean –”

COOPER! Do not tell this man you intend to shove your fist up his ass.

Cooper really needed to get Nabi out of his head. But more immediately, he needed to satisfy the expectant stares pointed his way by finishing that sentence. “– anything.”

“And my name is Zhanbolat,” said Zhanbolat to break the awkward silence that followed.

“I am Grenard,” said the dick farmer. “This is Grenard Farm you've stumbled into, the biggest logfruit farm on the continent. We supply logfruits all over the realm. You ever had a logfruit at the king's palace in Cardinia?” He didn't wait for an answer before continuing. “If you had, it damn sure came from this very farm.”

Zhanbolat smiled. “I thought they tasted familiar. Well, I apologize again for the intrusion. We should probably be on our –”

“I ain't finished my introductions,” said Grenard.

“Oh?” Zhanbolat's smile faltered.

“The twelve men with crossbows currently pointed at your heads are my sons.”

“Jesus,” said Cooper. “Maybe keep your logfruit out of the missus for five minutes.”

Grenard took a step toward Cooper, brandishing his knife. “What did you say to me, orc?”

“Nothing!” said Zhanbolat. “That is, I think what he meant to say is that he will miss your logfruits after only five minutes away from your farm.”

Grenard grinned broadly at Zhanbolat and Cooper. “Well, then I got some good news for you boys. You ain't going nowhere anytime soon.”

“I'm sorry,” said Zhanbolat. “Why is that, exactly.”

“You got yourselves a debt to pay off.” Grenard nodded down at the pile of logfruit husks on the ground. “I reckon that after we add up the logfruits you've already eaten, and the additional ones you'll have to eat while you stay here, and of course the cost to house both of you, that should be worth about a week of picking and packing.”

“A week!” Zhanbolat quickly composed himself. “I apologize. That is more than fair, of course. Generous, even. However, I am afraid I shall not be a very productive worker in my current state.” He gestured down at his injured foot. “Perhaps you should keep my friend here twice as long while I seek a healer in the nearest town.”

“What?” said Cooper, suddenly realizing that he was the friend in question. “Fuck that. I'll pick and pack your ass.”

“Calm your buns, gentlemen,” said Grenard. “We can get that foot sorted out here and now.” He put two fingers in his mouth and let out a loud shrill whistle. “Buford!”

His call was answered by a rustling of nearby logfruit plants. A behemoth of a country boy emerged from the crop, easily trampling three times as many logfruits as Cooper and Zhanbolat had eaten. He was wielding a hefty crossbow and wearing a set of sweat-stained brown overalls that made him look like he was stepping out of a Walmart.

“Yeah, Daddy?”

“Buford here is studying to be a cleric,” Grenard explained to Zhanbolat. He turned to his son. “Why don't you see if you can work some of that healing magic on this man's foot?”

Buford frowned. “I don't know, Daddy. I don't think I'm ready.”

“Well, now is the perfect time to find out, ain't it?”

“But you didn't even trust me to heal Edda when she scraped her belly on those rocks.”

“Of course I didn't,” said Grenard. “Edda's my prize sow. She's valuable. This man here is a trespasser who can't even work. That is negative value.”

“Forget what I said,” said Zhanbolat. “I can work! I mean, I'm not going to pick and pack with my feet, am I?”

Buford frowned at Zhanbolat. “But what if I hurt him?”

“Then that is the will of the gods,” said Grenard. “I have paid too much coin for this damn hobby of yours, and I ain't seen so much as a divine dog turd for my investment. Now, you either heal this man, or I stop paying for you to attend that cleric school.”

“No, Daddy! I got to keep going there. If I drop out, Krysa Whitestone will go to the Supplication Ball with Bram Wexley!”

Grenard crossed his arms and gave his son a stern look. “So there it is. Somehow, I had a notion all this cleric nonsense was just about you chasing tail.”

Buford's face turned red as several of his brothers snickered from behind the logfruit plants.

“It ain't like that, Daddy,” he said. “I want to be a cleric more than anything.”

“Why?” pleaded Zhanbolat. “You are the heir to a logfruit empire! You have everything you could ever want here on this farm. Surely, there are other women who would be sufficiently impressed by that.”

Cooper scratched himself under his loincloth. “I don't know, man. Krysa sounds pretty hot. It'd be a shame to see her supplicating Bram's balls. That dude sounds like a douche.”

Buford nodded. “You are right. I shall do it!”

Grenard slapped him hard on the back. “That's my boy! Go on, son. Heal that little bitch.”

“No!” cried Zhanbolat. “You do not have to do this. She is not worth it!”

“Hold my crossbow, Daddy,” said Buford, handing his weapon to his father. “Now, what was that first step again?”

“Please!” said Zhanbolat. “I do not need two feet. I can get by on one just fine.” To demonstrate, he tried to hop away, but Buford caught him by the arm in one of his big, meaty, farmwork-strengthened hands.

“If the patient's wounds are severe enough,” Buford recalled his lessons aloud as Zhanbolat struggled unsuccessfully to break free from his grip. “he may be in a state of shock or panic. In his mind's weakened state, demons may pervert his speech, causing him to say things that would run counter to his recovery. In that case, he must be calmed before the healing process can begin.”

“No!” said Zhanbolat. “I know what I am saying! There are no demons in my –”

Buford calmed him with a swift punch in the face. Zhanbolat dropped like a sack of shriveled logfruit husks.

“Well, I'll be damned,” said Grenard. “That seemed to work out well enough. What's the next step? You got to mix a potion or rub some magical ointment on him or something?”

“No, Daddy.” Buford placed his hand over his heart. “The power to heal comes from here.”

“I reckon we'll see about that.”

Buford lifted Zhanbolat's injured foot off the ground, then wrapped both of his huge hands around the ankle and closed his eyes. “Merciful gods, let your power flow through me and heal this poor sinner.”

Zhanbolat's eyelids snapped open like a couple of springing mousetraps. He screamed like a slutty camp counselor in a slasher film.

Cooper felt bad for encouraging him to go through with this. He didn't know it was possible to fuck up a simple healing spell so hard that it killed the patient.

This is not your fault, Cooper. You only meant to help him.

Nabi was mostly right, but Cooper still felt a little guilty about the tingle of joy he'd experienced while watching Zhanbolat suffer.

“Son of a spectre, that hurt!” Zhanbolat shouted as he caught his breath and yanked his leg free of Buford's grip.

A wave of relief washed over Cooper, and he resumed his enjoyment of Zhanbolat's suffering.

“We thought you were dead,” he said.

“After the past couple of days I have endured, it is only by the grace of the gods that I remain alive.” Zhanbolat stared curiously down at his injured foot as he wiggled his toes. “Despite his attempts to destroy me utterly, it seems the big oaf actually managed to heal me.” He unwrapped the makeshift bandages to reveal a filthy, blood-crusted, but otherwise perfectly healthy foot.

“Well, I'll be a griffon's hairy anus,” said Grenard, wrapping an arm around his son. “You actually learned something. I didn't think you had it in you.”

“Thank you, Father.”

Zhanbolat cleared his throat and looked up at Buford. “Thank you. I hope you will forgive my outburst. Your healing, though effective, was a deal more painful than what I am accustomed to.”

“It's all piss off the tree trunk,” said Grenard. “Every man loses his temper now and again. The important thing is that you're fit to work. Hop up on those healthy feet of yours and follow me. I'll show you where you'll be staying for the next month.”

Just as Zhanbolat was getting to his feet, he nearly fell back down.

“A month?” he cried. “I thought you said we would only be working here for a week.”

Grenard turned back and narrowed his eyes at him. “This ain't a charity house, son. You want your foot healed, you got to pay for it. That is the way of the world.” Not waiting for a response, he turned and continued walking down a path between two rows of logfruit plants.

“I explicitly asked for my foot not to be healed!” said Zhanbolat, hobbling behind him for a couple of steps before he realized he could walk normally again.

Cooper followed quickly behind him, hoping they'd outpace the fart he'd just squeaked out before anyone noticed.

“This is nothing short of extortion and slavery!” Zhanbolat continued.

Shut him up before the farmer decides you are less troublesome as fertilizer than you are as farmhands.

“We will not stand for this sort of –”

Cooper slapped him in the back of the head. “Shut your fuckhole, dickbreath. It's not like you've got big plans lined up for the next month. Just be happy you're alive.”

Zhanbolat sulked silently for the next few minutes until Grenard led them to a tiny shack on the edge of the desert. It reeked of rotting fruit.

“This will be your home for the next week,” Grenard said to Cooper. Then he smiled at Zhanbolat. “And yours for the next month.” He stepped into the shack, then emerged dragging two heavy iron balls behind him by thick chains. “I'll need an ankle from each of you.”

Once the balls were manacled to Cooper's and Zhanbolat's ankles, Cooper considered how much of a hindrance they actually were. They were certainly heavy enough to be noticeable, but not so heavy that it tethered Cooper to a fixed position. The chain was long enough so that, if he wanted to, he could easily tuck the ball under his arm and go anywhere he wanted. It was more of a nuisance than anything.

Grenard chuckled like he was reading Cooper's thoughts. “I usually let folks find this out the hard way while I watch from a distance. But it's a busy time of year, and I need as much help picking and packing as I can get, so I'll let you two geniuses in on a little secret. These balls chained to your feet are set to explode if tampered with or if they breach the farm borders.”

“Thank you,” said Zhanbolat with a defeated sigh. “That is indeed useful information.”

“I'm glad we understand each other.” Grenard grabbed a wooden crate from a pile of them on the side of the shack. “Now, let me show you how this is done.” He moseyed over to the nearest logfruit plant and, with the sharp inner curve of his knife, sliced through the thick stem as close to the ground as he could. After plucking off the fruits and placing them carefully side-by-side in the bottom of the crate, he peeled the stem apart like fibrous string cheese. When he was done, the stem looked like a big wad of green cotton candy. He stuffed it in the crate, spreading it over the first layer of fruit. “Some of these crates travel quite a distance to reach their destination. This keeps them from bouncing around and bruising against each other.” He winked at Cooper. “It also takes up a bit of room, adding to my profit margins.”

Ask him how far he ships his fruits.

Cooper wasn't sure what Nabi was going to do with this information, but he wished she could ask for herself.

“So,” he blurted out, trying to sound casual. “How far, exactly, do you ship these fruits?” He sounded just as much like a suspicious asshole as he thought he would. “I've, um... been thinking about getting into the produce distribution game for quite some time.” That was probably as low a Bluff check roll as he could have made without telling Grenard to suck his logfruit.

But to Cooper's surprise, the cold, curious suspicion in Grenard's eyes melted away as he sighed.

“I wish I could say the same for any of my sons,” he said. “They all want to be clerics and kingsguard and treasure hunters, going on wild fanciful adventures to achieve fame and fortune. Do you know how hard I've worked to acquire this land and build this farm up from nothing?”

Cooper shook his head. “No, sir. I do not.”

“Too damn hard to see it neglected by these lazy, ungrateful brats, that's how hard!”

“That's pretty hard.” Cooper made an effort not to snort.

Grenard let out another sigh as he listlessly tossed another logfruit into the crate. “To answer your question, I'll ship these fruits damn near anywhere in the world if folks are willing to pay the shipping fees. I've sent crates as far as Pargos before.”

Cooper nodded, pretending he knew where the fuck Pargos was. “That's very impressive.”

“Is there anything else you'd like to know?”

“I hope not.”

Grenard gave him a quick, confused stare, then shrugged. “Then I suppose I'll leave you to it. See how many of these crates you can fill up in an hour, and I'll come back to reassess how long you'll need to stay here.”

“Reassess?” said Zhanbolat. “We discussed no reassessment! You said I would only have to stay here a week. Then you said a month. Have you not already reassessed enough?”

“You got a debt to work off, son. It don't do me no good to set you free in a month if you've only done a week's worth of work, now does it?”

At Nabi's request, Cooper slapped Zhanbolat in the back of the head again before he could complain any further.

When Grenard walked off toward his farmhouse, accompanied by his sons who emerged from the logfruit crop, Zhanbolat turned to face Cooper with an angry glare.

“Would you please stop hitting me?”

“If you'll stop whining. Come on, we've got work to do.”

Since Cooper had the axe, he cut the logfruit stalks. He didn't go at them with the surgical precision that Grenard had displayed, slicing the stalk so close to the ground. But what he and Nabi lacked in precision, they more than made up for in efficiency, even if it came at the cost of quite a few logfruits.

“Careful!” said Zhanbolat as Nabi felled five stalks in a single swipe, cleaving through two or three logfruits in the process. “The more fruit we destroy, the longer we will have to stay here!”

“Fuck that,” said Cooper. “Like that dude's counting every dickfruit on the farm. The only reason we're here at all is because he caught us red-handed next to a pile of them. If we'd been a little more discreet, he would never have known they were gone.” He picked up half a logfruit off the ground. “Besides, he already said this is what we'll be living on while we're here. We can just eat the ones Nabi destroys.”

I can only be held partially responsible. It is you who wields me so recklessly.

Zhanbolat started tearing apart one of the fibrous stalks like he was working out some personal issues. “Eat well. I am sure you are keen to get the taste of our master's ass out of your mouth.”

The only ass taste in Cooper's mouth was his own. These logfruits were making him gassier than usual. But he suspected Zhanbolat was speaking more metaphorically.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he asked.

Zhanbolat held up a handful of fibers to either side of his head like they were pigtails. “Please, sir. Tell me all about your logfruit farm. I am so keen to learn about produce distribution.” He sighed, then let go of his sarcastic tone. “Never in my life have I witnessed such a flagrant display of ass-kissing. And for what?”

“Fuck you!” said Cooper. “I wasn't ass-kissing. I was just passing along a question from Nabi.”

“Knobby?”

“Dude, she already doesn't like you.”

“Oh, of course. Your talking axe.” Zhanbolat rolled his eyes. “Now it all makes sense. What axe does not dream of someday commanding a produce empire?” He really seemed to have a bug up his ass since he got his foot healed.

Cooper ignored him for now, instead turning his attention to Nabi. He held her up in front of his face.

“What was that all about?” he asked.

I had an idea.

“Are we going into business? I'm not all that great with money, to be honest. I paid my last electric bill with quarters after they shut off my lights.”

Listen, Cooper! I thought of a way we might be able to save ourselves a trip back to Glittersprinkles Grove. If we can get a message to my sister, she can find my wings and have them delivered to Cardinia.

“That's great, but starting a business sounds a lot more complicated than just walking there. We're hardly experts in the industry, we've got established competition, and just think of the fucking forms we'll have to fill out. I can't read, you know. And you don't have hands.” A brilliant idea suddenly occurred to Cooper. “But what if we did like in Ratatouille? You could get in my head and guide my –”

COOPER! Nabi was so loud in his head that he was sure Zhanbolat must have heard her. But he was still just staring at him with a look of mild confusion on his face.

“Sorry,” said Cooper. “I guess you probably didn't see Ratatouille.”

We are not going into business together. At least, not for the foreseeable future. But if we have a box of logfruits delivered to Glittersprinkles Grove, we can put a message in the crate.

“Like, Happy Birthday?”

No! Like, please dig up my wings and deliver them to Cardinia as soon as possible.

Cooper scratched his ass thoughtfully. “Hmm... Straight to the point. Clever.”

While they continued to pick and pack logfruits, Cooper relayed Nabi's idea to Zhanbolat. It wasn't that he valued his opinion or sought his insight, but he needed someone to compose the letter that was to be included in the crate.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” said Zhanbolat, shutting the lid on a full crate. “Except for one small detail.” He went over to the side of the shack to retrieve an empty crate.

Cooper sighed. “Yeah, I'm illiterate. Why the fuck do you think I just told you all that?”

Zhanbolat scooped up an armful of picked fruits and began lining the bottom of the fresh crate. “That is not the detail I had in mind.”

“What is it, then?”

“How do you mean to pay for a box of logfruits to be delivered to Glittersprinkles Grove on the far side of the Fertile Desert? I imagine that would be quite expensive, considering the danger involved.”

Cooper hadn't thought about that.

“Shit.”

There is one thing the farmer seems to value at least as much as coin. What if you were to offer him more of your service in exchange for the delivery?

“Oh, man. You mean I've got to suck his dick?”

Zhanbolat dropped his logfruits. “I beg your pardon?”

No, Cooper. I mean, why don't you offer to stay and work here longer.

Cooper breathed out a sigh of relief. “That's a much better idea. I'm not saying that, if it came down to it, I wouldn't necessarily –”

“What is this mess?” demanded Grenard, stomping angrily toward them. “Look at this! You've destroyed half the crop!”

Cooper scanned the area. There were stalks of logfruit plants as far as he could see. They hadn't put a dent in the total crop.

“I was just trying to get things done faster,” he said.

“Did you not see how carefully I cut the stalk so close to the ground without letting a single fruit go to waste?” Grenard shook his head. “This is unacceptable. That's at least three more days for each of you.”

“About that,” said Cooper. “I was thinking I might stay on a little longer anyway.”

Grenard scoffed. “At the rate you're going, you may never leave.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin and narrowed his eyes at Cooper. “But what, exactly, are you getting at?”

“I'd like to get a box of these logfruits delivered to a friend of mine in Glittersprinkles Grove.”

“Glittersprinkles Grove? That's on the other side of the gods-damned desert.”

“I thought I could pay for it by working here a little longer than we previously agreed on.” Glancing down, Cooper remembered that their “agreement” involved him being manacled to a bomb. He started to doubt that Grenard would go for it, seeing as how he seemed to be holding all the cards.

“A trip like that is long and dangerous to deliver a single crate. I reckon that'll cost you at least another month.”

Ideas weren't exactly Cooper's strong suit, but one popped into his head that he couldn't help but blurt out.

“On second thought, maybe I could leave today.”

What?

“What?” repeated Zhanbolat.

Grenard chuckled. “You're more than welcome to try, son. All I ask is that you let me fetch my spyglass so I can better enjoy the explosion.”

“If it's all the same to you,” said Cooper. “I'd prefer not to explode. I was thinking you'd unlock this thing from my leg first.”

“And just why would I do that?”

“Because Zhanbolat's going to agree to stay here longer so that I can take off early.”

“The fuck I am!” said Zhanbolat.

Cooper, what are you talking about?

Grenard shrugged. “It don't matter to me who stays and who goes, so long as the work gets done.”

Cooper turned to Zhanbolat. “I've got a confession to make. I fart in my sleep.”

“What difference does that make?” Zhanbolat asked. “You fart constantly.”

“Think about it. We'll be sleeping together, in that little shack, under the full moon.”

“Ohhhh...” Zhanbolat's eyes widened as he caught on to what Cooper was getting at. If Cooper turned into a bear tonight, Zhanbolat wouldn't just have to avoid getting torn to shreds and eaten. The transformation itself might accidentally set off the bomb. Cooper might be able to survive the blast in bear form, but Zhanbolat was all kinds of fucked.

Well played, Cooper.

“How much longer are we talking?” Zhanbolat asked Grenard.

“Well, that all depends. Do you still want that crate delivered to Glittersprinkles Grove?”

“I don't think that's –”

“Absolutely,” said Cooper. “As soon as possible.” He turned to Zhanbolat. “And I'm still going to need your help writing a letter to put in with it.”

Zhanbolat sighed. “Of course.”

Within an hour, a crate of logfruits was in a cart and on its way to Glittersprinkles Grove, Cooper was a free man, and Zhanbolat was looking at six months' worth of indentured servitude.

Chapter 21

Katherine woke up cold, wet, confused, and generally feeling like shit. People nearby were shouting, but she could barely hear what they were saying over the howling wind. She felt like a sock being thrown around in a dryer. If it was an option, she would have gone right back to sleep to wait out whatever this bullshit was going on around her.

Instead, she opened her eyes. Vague memories returned as hard rain pelted her face like icy needles.

Sitting up, she found herself in a small boat with Butterbean, Jay, Tanner, Tony the Elf, and his dog, Dave. Jay was shielding his eyes as he peered ahead into the rain, but there wasn't much to see beyond fifty feet in any direction. Tanner was kneeling beside Katherine, letting water from the floor of the boat into her Bag of Holding. Tony the Elf stood at the rear, scanning the sea behind them.

“You should rest,” said Tanner. “You're hurt.”

“How the hell am I supposed to rest? I feel like a fucking pinball in a – Oh god.” She quickly leaned over the side of the boat and puked her guts out. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten, and her smooth brown vomit betrayed no clues as to what that last meal might have been.

When she was confident that her stomach had nothing left to give, she sat back. “I'm supposed to be a pirate captain. Since when do I get seasick?”

Tanner smiled at her. “I do not think it is the sea that is making you sick. You took a nasty dose of drider venom. For a while there, I was doubtful that you would ever wake up. It pleases me to see that my doubts were unfounded. You are remarkably strong.”

“Yeah, that's me. A fucking picture of health.” Now that Tanner mentioned the drider, Katherine's memories came flooding back. They were in one of the boats they'd stolen from the drow.

“Stuart!” Tony the Elf shouted into the rain from the back of the boat. “Fritz! Anyone!”

That didn't bode well.

“Where's everyone else?” Katherine asked.

Jay hopped down and took a seat across from her. “The storm separated us during the night. I was hoping to spot the other boats when the sun came up, but I can't see shit out there.” He looked up at the small mast. “I only hope they were smart enough to lower their sails until the wind dies down. These little boats weren't made to handle this kind of weather.”

“I'll find them,” said Katherine. She started to stand up, but Tanner blocked her with a hand on her shoulder. Not having the strength to resist him, she started to get an idea of just how shitty her condition was.

“They could be anywhere,” said Tanner. “We don't even know where we are. Besides, this wind would blow your bat wings miles away in a matter of minutes. Your friends know where you're headed. We will meet them in Hollin, but only if we make it safely to land.”

“I can't just sit here.” There was nothing more frustrating to Katherine than inaction, which was ironic since she'd lived her life back home doing as little as possible to keep the lights on and her liver pickled. “There must be something I can do.”

Tanner offered her the Bag of Holding. “You can bail.”

“Fine.” She snatched the bag from him and opened it by her feet to collect more water.

Hours passed, and the storm raged on. Bailing the boat was one of the most excruciatingly boring tasks she'd ever undertaken, almost worse than doing nothing at all. The worst part was the rate at which the rain filled the boat. It wasn't fast enough so that she was constantly filling the bag, but neither was it slow enough so that she could nod off and take a nap between bails.

Just when she thought things couldn't get any worse, she looked up to see Tanner and Jay pissing off either side of the back of the boat. She quickly turned her head before they spotted her. People pee. It's perfectly natural. Then she realized that she also needed to pee.

Her options were limited. She couldn't stand up and piss off the side of the boat like a guy. Squatting over the side would pose some risks and challenges, and almost certainly require some assistance. That is, unless she used one of her Spider Climb spells.

She shook her head, quickly dismissing that option when she pictured herself clinging to the side of the boat with her bare ass hanging out. For as discreet as that would be, she might as well ask Tanner and Jay to hold her hands while she squatted over the side.

Another option was just straight up pissing herself. It was raining so hard that no one would be able to tell. But they'd know. They would hopefully have the tact and decency not to mention it, but they'd know she hadn't held it in during this entire sea voyage.

Now that she was thinking so much about it, her bladder started to get more demanding. Everything around her reminded her of how badly she needed to go. From the waves crashing against the sides of the boat to the rain streaming down her face, even to the trickle pouring out of her – That's it!

“Tanner,” she said without looking up at him. “When you're done, I need a favor.”

“I am quite finished,” he responded. “What can I do for you.”

“I need to get inside the Bag of Holding.”

“What for?”

“Never mind what for. Can you just pull me out in, I don't know, nine minutes?”

“Of course I can. But in your condition, I am not sure if it is a good idea for you to –”

“Nine minutes,” Katherine repeated. “Not a second sooner.”

“If you tell me what you are looking for, I could go in –” Whatever he said beyond that was lost to Katherine as she pulled the bag over her head.

The peace she felt inside the Bag of Holding was just what she needed. So calm and silent compared to the raging storm outside. As many times as she'd sworn to herself that she'd never get back in here, this was the first time she felt good about going back on her promise. Hell, once she relieved herself, her inner peace would be so absolute that she wasn't sure she ever wanted to leave.

The sooner she accomplished the task at hand, the longer she'd be able to enjoy that inner peace. She immediately started taking off her clothes.

Normally, only her pants would suffice, and she wouldn't need to completely remove them. But since she had a solid nine minutes for what would hopefully only be a one-minute job, it seemed like a good time to wring out all her clothes. Of course, they'd get drenched again as soon as she was pulled out of the bag, but at least she could enjoy a couple minutes' worth of relative dryness.

There was also the matter of  peeing in zero gravity to consider. With her clothes neatly bundled in her hands, she could better avoid soaking them in a floating nebula of piss.

She didn't realize just how bad the drider wound was until she tried to remove her top. Flexing the muscles involved caused excruciating pain in her lower back. Even worse, she knew she'd have to endure it again if she didn't want to reappear before Jay and Tanner with her tits on display.

Despite being tighter and soaked through with rainwater, her jeans were easier to remove. Once she was completely naked, she twisted all of her clothes together and gave them a good hard wringing. Tiny blobs of water undulated as they floated away from her clothes in random directions. Some of them joined together like cosmic dust around a young star, forming larger blobs. It was kind of mesmerizing, but it reminded her again that she really needed to pee.

Making sure to keep her clothes out of the line of fire, she tucked her knees up and relaxed her bladder. The cosmic imagery was even clearer now as she slowly revolved backward, her urine stream jettisoning from her to form a golden liquid corona. She was the young star. Her pee was the cosmic dust that would, over billions of years, coalesce into planets and moons, some of which may go on to spawn life and great civilizations of piss people. It was somehow so beautiful and so gross at the same time.

When she was done, she took a brief moment to bask nakedly in the void. But since she hadn't been keeping careful track of the time, and she didn't want to be pulled out of the bag with no clothes on, she cut the basking short and started getting dressed again.

Having braced herself for the pain, her top was the easier garment to put back on. Her jeans were dryer than they'd been when she entered the bag, but they were still pretty wet and a bitch to pull back on. It was a struggle, but she finally managed to do it.

Once again fully dressed, she decided to spend what remained of her time in the Bag of Holding basking in its peace and beauty. She gazed out at the golden ring around her, but its charm had somehow worn off. She was unable to recapture that feeling of awe and wonder. Instead, she became all too aware that she was floating helplessly in a bag of piss and wanted nothing more than to get out of it.

Fortunately, it wasn't long before she felt Tanner's grip on her arm. The roaring sounds of wind, rain, and waves came crashing back to her. Her clothes were soaked through almost instantly, but she still felt relieved.

Butterbean sat up and gave her a cheerful bark. Jay glanced her way and offered a nod, then went back to peering into the rain for their missing friends.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” asked Tanner.

Katherine held the mouth of the Bag of Holding over the side of the boat and put her hand inside. “Pee.” She quickly jerked her hand away as the bag spilled her piss into the ocean.

“Oh,” said Tanner.

It felt a little weird to pour her pee out in front of him like it was a receipt. But if she wasn't going to provide the evidence, what was the point in having gone through the ordeal. Whatever happened going forward, neither Tanner, nor Jay, nor Tony the Elf would be thinking in the backs of their minds that she'd pissed herself during their time at sea.

“Water,” she said, putting her hand in the bag again. She kept her hand in this time so that the rainwater could rinse the pee off her fingers. When the water stopped flowing, she handed the bag back to Tanner. “You can take over bailing duty again. I've got to prepare my spells for the day.”

“Of course.” Tanner took the bag and started collecting the water that had accumulated in the boat while she was relieving herself.

More relaxed than she'd felt in a while, Katherine closed her eyes and started to pray. She prayed not only for her daily allotment of spells, but also for safe passage across the sea, and that they would make landfall before she needed to take a shit.

Chapter 22

Stacy couldn't believe how much better she felt when she woke up in a ditch, covered in leaves under a thick fallen tree trunk. She was still in pretty bad shape, but not nearly as close to Death's door as she'd been when Shorty rescued her from that orc.

She lay still for a moment, taking in what was in her limited field of view before deciding whether or not it was safe to move. The chirping of songbirds and patches of blue sky she could see through the thick cedar boughs above told her it was morning. She'd survived the night. When she neither saw nor heard anything alarming, she chanced a whisper.

“Shorty?”

His big head appeared over the log.

“You are awake,” he said loud enough to startle her. “I suppose I shall not be having breakfast this morning after all.” He grinned at her, showing off his pointy teeth.

Disturbing as the implication was, Stacy gave him the benefit of the doubt that he was joking. If he'd wanted to eat her, he'd had plenty of opportunities.

She sat up and brushed the damp leaves off her. “Thanks for hiding me. Did you manage to get any sleep?”

“I nodded off for an hour or two, but I have been keeping myself occupied.”

“With what,” asked Stacy, not sure she wanted to know the answer.

Shorty leaned over, then flung something in her direction. She was still a little groggy, so her reaction time wasn't quite up to speed, but whatever he'd thrown hit the ground about a foot and a half away from her.

It was a stick poking out of the ground. When she pulled it out, the end was whittled down to a long, sharp point.

Stacy smiled up at him. “You made a stake.”

“Stakes,” Shorty corrected her. “I do not know how many. I stopped counting after twenty.” He hopped down from the log, Stacy's dagger in hand, then cleared the leaves away from a different section of the ditch she'd been sleeping in. It was full of stakes.

“Well done, Shorty!” said Stacy. She picked up a stake with each hand. They weren't meant to be used in hand-to-hand combat, but they still felt good in her hands as she stabbed at the air. “These are going to give us quite the advantage on our next assault.”

Shorty sighed. “I was afraid you were going to say that. Do you think it wise to continue on this course of mindless vengeance after we were both nearly slaughtered by a couple of orcs?”

Stacy had a high enough Wisdom score to know it was wiser to walk away while they were still ahead, but she also knew there was absolutely no way she was going to let that happen.

“It's not mindless vengeance. Those ettins will destroy this forest if we don't stop them.”

“What concern of yours is this forest? Is it not the same as any other clump of trees in the world?”

That was a good question. Her response had been nothing more than a bullshit excuse to cover her desire for mindless vengeance. But as she said them, the words rang true in her heart. She did care about this forest, more than she had any business doing. What's more, the mindless vengeance she sought to wreak on the ettins was only part of the reason she wanted to destroy them. She hated them in a way she found kind of frightening. Not just the one-headed piece of shit who was calling the shots, either. She hated them all with every fiber of her being, and she wouldn't rest until she –

A movement in her periphery caught her attention. She turned and flung one of her stakes up into a nearby tree. It came down with a thud, skewering a nice fat squirrel.

“Well, how about that?” she said, walking over to examine her kill. “I guess we're going to have some breakfast after all.”

“That was very impressive,” said Shorty.

“I know, right?” Stacy noticed that the stake she was still holding was in her right hand. “That's strange. I'm not even left-handed.”

Three dead squirrels later, Stacy cleared some ground and gathered some sticks to start a fire. While she was gathering them, she spotted some wild herbs that she recognized from her time in the forest with Alroth. She picked some of them as well.

Getting a fire started without a lighter was challenging, but not as much as she'd expected it to be. Getting enough friction between sticks to start them smoking was no problem. The difficult part was getting that first spark to ignite her tinder without the breeze blowing it out. She got around that by positioning herself in the way of the breeze, then moving to allow some in to fuel the fire once she got the tinder lit.

“You learned quite a lot from Alroth,” said Shorty through a mouthful of raw squirrel.

“I was barely paying attention,” Stacy responded, sweating from the exertion. It both diluted and expanded the blood stains on her clothes. “I was so focused on Dave. Imagine how much I could have learned if I'd actually applied myself.”

Once she was satisfied that her kindling was burning sufficiently, she built a cone of twigs on top of it, then a cone of larger sticks over that. Before long, she had a nice strong fire going.

“Do you think the smell will attract the ettins?” asked Shorty.

“So what if it does? I'll shove their ugly fucking faces in the fire.” Stacy took a second to reflect on what she was saying. “Sorry. That came off as more hostile than I meant it to.”

Shorty shrugged. “I have no more love for the ettins than you, but I would prefer to avoid being clubbed to death with a tree.”

“You're right. We've got to be smart. I'll be able to think more clearly after I've eaten.”

Stacy used her dagger to clean and gut one of her squirrels. It was about as gross as she anticipated, but not nearly as difficult. In only a few minutes, she had a completely skinless squirrel impaled on a stake and roasting over the fire. She felt bad about discarding its pelt, but she'd played enough Survivor Woman for one day. Her squirrel skin tunic would have to wait until she had more time to be crafty.

Even after a bellyful of roasted squirrel, however, she still found herself thinking more angry than smart. She tried to force out a little bit of the latter.

“Have we determined whether or not ettins can see in the dark?”

Shorty tossed what was left of his bloody mangled squirrel onto the fire. “Judging by what little I observed, I would guess they can.”

“Then why did they light those torches last night? We know goblins can see in the dark, and I'm pretty sure orcs can as well.”

“Fire is useful for more than illumination,” said Shorty. He gestured to the fire between them. “You are using it right now.”

“I don't think they were cooking with it.”

Shorty shrugged. “Perhaps they meant to set some trees on fire or fend off some wild animals.”

This conversation wasn't getting them anywhere useful. Stacy changed course.

“Let's assume, then, that they can see in the dark. That puts me at a disadvantage at night, so it's probably best if we attack during the day.”

“Is it, though? Or would it be best to surprise them while some of them are asleep? I honestly do not know, but I wonder if you are simply too impatient to wait until nightfall.”

Stacy spat out a speck of bone. “That might have something to do with it. It just frustrates me so much that they're... alive. That sounds kind of bad now that I say it aloud.”

“It does make me question the impulsiveness you seem to be acting on,” said Shorty. “Let me tell you a story from my childhood.”

“Okay,” said Stacy. “I'd like that.”

“I was the youngest of nineteen children. Our fathers never stayed around for long, and Mother had her hands full trying to keep us all alive and fed.”

“I should think so. That's a lot of kids for a single mother.”

“She was a gifted tinkerer and would construct wild boar traps that would keep the animals contained and alive so that the meat would not spoil before we had a chance to eat it.”

Stacy nodded. “Clever.”

“One day, when I was perhaps six or seven years old, a dwarf got caught in one of Mother's traps.”

“Oh no.”

“Naturally, we were very curious. None of us had seen a dwarf before, and we wanted to poke him with sticks.”

“I guess that's what kids did before video games were invented.”

“The dwarf did not like that at all. Mother was furious when she caught us.”

“It is kind of disrespectful,” said Stacy. “Did she make you apologize?”

Shorty chuckled. “No. She took away our sticks and beat us with them.”

“I can't say I agree with beating children, but I'm sure her heart was in the right place. What did she say to the dwarf when she released him?”

“Released him? She did not release him. He was very angry, and she feared for our safety if he ever escaped.”

“Then what did you do with him?”

“Eventually, he went mad and took his own life. We ate him.”

“I don't understand,” said Stacy. “If your mother was just going to leave him to die, why did she punish you for poking him with sticks?”

“A dwarf is more clever than a pig, she said. If we get too close, it can take our sticks and use them against us.”

“That was her only objection? She was okay with you prodding a defenseless boar?”

“Of course,” said Shorty. “That is what children do, is it not?”

Stacy shrugged. “I don't know. I had video games when I was growing up. Was there a reason you told me this story? Early on, I thought maybe you were making a point that could be applied to our present situation.”

“You do not see? The ettins are like the dwarf in my story. With a crippled leader, and without their orcs and goblins, they are effectively trapped. You seek to poke them with sticks, but I think maybe it would be better to reinforce the cage bars and wait for them to destroy themselves.”

Stacy thought about it. Shorty made some good points, but there was one small problem with his logic.

“But I want to destroy them.”

Shorty shook his head. “You remind me of the halfling when I first met him.”

“Tim?”

“Yes. I think that was his name.”

Stacy scoffed. “You take that back!”

“I will not!” said Shorty, clenching his tiny fists at his sides. “Just like he did then, you dragged me out of a comfortable situation with steady employment, then you put my life at risk for your own selfish purposes. For him, it was cowardice.” He pointed a scrawny accusing finger at her. “But for you, it seems to be some kind of sadistic bloodlust. Either way, it is my life you do not factor in when making your rash decisions. Your arrogance makes you stupid.”

“You're not the first person to say that.”

“If Mother was here, she would beat you with a stick.”

Stacy stared into the fire. “I guess I deserve that. I'm sorry, Shorty. I don't want to put your life at risk. Right now, you're the only friend I've got. From now on, we can do things your way.”

Shorty grinned. “Wonderful! Let us go now. What is it you people say? Get our fuck out of this forest?”

Stacy laughed. “What? We're not going anywhere.”

“But you said we can do things my way. My way is to leave the forest.”

“I meant we don't have to poke the dwarf with a stick. But we're certainly not leaving here before we watch those motherfuckers tear themselves apart. Get your stakes. We've got a cage to reinforce.”

Going back to her logic at the beginning of the conversation, she decided it was better to plant the stakes during the day than at night. She wouldn't be any more or less visible to the ettins, but at least she could keep a better eye on them, giving her plenty of warning if they spotted her.

When breakfast was done, Stacy led the way back to the trail. She wielded a dagger in one hand and the longest stake Shorty had whittled in the other, while Shorty hugged the rest of the stakes in a bundle against his chest. The trail was easy enough to find, but the ettins were nowhere within sight of where Stacy and Shorty emerged onto it.

“Do you think they were north or south of here when we left them?” she asked Shorty.

Shorty shrugged. “I was not paying close attention.”

Stacy scanned the trail again, then stepped onto it to see if she could spot any signs left behind by ettins passing through. It didn't take long before she saw a small green pile of poo.

“Somebody's been here,” she said, squatting over the poo to examine it. She prodded it with the tip of her stake and found that it had developed an outer crust. “Seems at least a day old. I'm no expert, but it looks too small to have come from an ettin.”

“That is goblin shit,” said Shorty. He grinned at her. “And I am speaking as an expert.”

Stacy stood up. “If this came from one of the goblins traveling with the ettins, we must be north of where we left them.” She peered into the trees for signs of movement. “Then again, there may be goblins native to the area. This might have come from one of them.”

“I do not think that likely,” said Shorty. “When you need to take a shit in a forest, do you seek out an open path?”

“No, I guess not.” Stacy hoped she hadn't offended Shorty by insinuating that goblins don't know better than to shit in private. “That honestly never even occurred to me. I guess I'm still a little groggy.”

Shorty squatted over a dull brown rock on the path. “This one is orc shit. That can hardly be a coincidence.”

“You know your shit,” said Stacy. “I'll give you that.” She didn't bother examining the orc shit any more closely, willing to take Shorty at his expert opinion. “So we must be north of the ettins. If they turned back, I'm thinking at least one of these piles of shit would be flattened. So they're probably still heading south. That leaves us two choices. We can set a trap here, assault them from behind, and hope that they give chase. Or we can run ahead of them and set up an ambush. Which do you prefer?”

“Neither,” said Shorty. “But if I must choose, the latter sounds less dangerous.”

Stacy sighed. “That's what I figured you'd say. We'd better get moving.”

She led Shorty far enough off the path so that they could move quickly without being seen or heard by the ettins. Unfortunately, that also meant that she wouldn't be able to see the point at which they passed them. But after about thirty minutes, she caught a small whiff of familiar body odor on the breeze that led her to believe they were close.

“Stop,” she said. “I'm going in for a closer look. Wait here.”

As she jogged back to the trail, the ettins' stench grew stronger, like roadkill tossed into a dumpster full of sweaty gym socks. She didn't have to keep going to know they were there, but she wanted visual confirmation of her prey. When she crested the small hill in front of her, she found that they were even closer than she thought. She and Shorty had been traveling in a straight line, but the trail must have curved toward them.

Six ettins remained in the pack, two of which were supporting either side of their crippled leader now that he lacked orcs to carry his fat ass around. Stacy was surprised that they were that loyal to him until she remembered at least one of them was a blood relative. Then again, they probably suspected they were being hunted, and they'd be safer if they stuck together.

At the speed they were traveling, Stacy figured another thirty minutes' worth of jogging should put her and Shorty far enough ahead of them to hide a few stakes in their path. Despite what Shorty gave her credit for, she was thinking smart. She didn't need to kill them all today. Crippling one or two of them would slow the whole procession even more, reinforcing the bars on the cage she was building around them.

After entertaining a brief fantasy about charging down the hill and driving both dagger and stake into the first ettin she could reach, Stacy took a deep breath, then retreated back to meet Shorty. He seemed indifferent to the news but followed her as quickly as he could with his bundle of stakes.

Squirrels darted out of the way and scampered up trees as Stacy ran, and she occasionally heard the sounds of larger creatures crashing through the underbrush as they fled. She felt more alive than she had in a while, jumping over fallen trunks and ducking under low-hanging boughs. It was almost like being a kid again.

“That should be far enough,” she said when she didn't feel like running anymore. “Let's look for a place to hide some stakes.”

Shorty dropped his bundle, panting and sweating. “Wonderful.”

Stacy had planned on hiding all the stakes to maximize their chances of piercing ettin feet, but maybe Shorty had the right idea. They might not have time to plant all the stakes, and certainly not if they were going to take the time to conceal them. If the ettins spotted a bunch of stakes on the path before any of them stepped on one, the whole effort would be for nothing.

“Good idea,” she said.

“What?” said Shorty.

She handed him the dagger. “Four stakes should be enough for this mission. Stay here and guard the rest.”

Shorty sat down against a tree and wiped the sweat from his brow. “I shall guard them with my life.”

That didn't inspire much confidence, but Stacy reasoned that both the stakes and Shorty's life were safer here than down on the trail with her.

When she made her way back to the trail, she paused to sniff the air before stepping out onto it. There was no sign of the telltale ettin stench, and the trail itself appeared to be free of ettin footprints or turds. That was good enough for her.

Unfortunately, the trail was free of pretty much anything else. It was one of the clearest and featureless sections of trail Stacy had seen in this forest, which would make it difficult to camouflage stakes poking out of it as anything else.

Not a problem. I'll just have to get creative.

The path was clear, but it wasn't like it was paved or anything. Just because it looked featureless now didn't mean that a feature or two would be conspicuous.

Stacy scanned the area for something that would conceal a stake poking out of the bare ground. She spotted it hanging from the trees all around her. Some sort of greenish-gray moss not unlike the Spanish moss that hung from the oak trees back home. There wasn't much of it lying on the ground, but she didn't expect the ettins to be observant enough to notice.

After taking a minute to assess the surrounding trees in terms of easiest to climb and moss content, she picked a tree and started climbing. Going out on the most heavily moss-laden branch, she brushed piles and piles of the stuff onto the ground. She accumulated so much of it so quickly, in fact, that it gave her an idea for a small enhancement to her plan if she had enough time. She could scatter little mounds of moss along the trail before the stakes so that the ettins would grow accustomed to seeing them. But first, she had to plant and hide those stakes.

She found a suitable rock and started hammering the first stake, pointy end down, into the path. The ground was packed hard by however many feet had traveled this path over however many years, but she was able to penetrate it with some effort. After she pulled it back out and inserted the dull end in the hole it left behind, she stepped back to take a look.

Yes, it was definitely conspicuous. A person would have to be blind or incredibly stupid to not notice that sticking out of the ground. While the ettins had proven themselves to be pretty damn stupid, Stacy wasn't confident that they wouldn't notice. But then, that's what she brought the moss for.

She fluffed a bit of it around the stake, then stepped back to assess her handiwork. It still looked pretty conspicuous, like someone had deliberately tried to hide something on the path under a tee-pee of moss.

Shit.

There was only one solution Stacy could think of. More moss. Forget about scattering little mounds of moss. If the whole path was flooded with the stuff, who's to say that wasn't just a naturally occurring phenomenon? Hell, a passerby might even think it would feel nice and soft beneath their travel-weary feet. She wished she hadn't left Shorty behind. Small enough to crawl further out on tree limbs, he'd be the perfect moss gatherer. Going back for him would take time away from planting the stakes, but it would severely increase the amount of moss she could gather.

Shit again!

Rather than waste any more time doing math in her head with variables she had no way of accurately calculating, she ran back into the woods to get Shorty. She deliberately ran noisily so that he would hear her coming, hoping to save precious minutes getting his attention before she actually reached him.

But when she was certain she'd gotten back to the spot she'd left him, he was nowhere to be seen.

“Shorty?” she whispered.

His big head popped up from behind a large rock a few feet away. “Here I am.”

“What the hell, Shorty? What are you hiding from?”

“I heard someone coming.”

Stacy rolled her eyes. “That was me. Come on. I need your help. Bring the rest of the stakes.”

He followed her back down to the path, and she explained her altered plan.

“Do we have enough time to do all that before they get here?” he asked.

“We'll find out soon enough. Hurry up and dump as much of that moss down here as you can.”

While Shorty got to work gathering moss, Stacy got to work planting stakes. Since she doubted she'd come up with a better idea involving the stakes, and the ettins would probably be warier about mysterious foliage obscuring the path after this little encounter, she decided to go big or go home. She would plant as many stakes in the path as she could until she heard those two-headed fuckers stomping toward her.

When she'd gotten more than half the stakes planted, she felt a lot better about her decision to go back and get Shorty. He had stripped the nearby trees of enough moss to fill a couple of vans. She was about to start hammering another stake into the ground when she heard a faint crack in the distance.

A lot of things could have made that sound, but Stacy strongly suspected it was an angry and frustrated ettin smashing the trunk of a tree. She whistled up at Shorty, then waved him down.

“That's going to have to do,” she said. “I think they're coming.”

Shorty peered up the trail from his branch, then dropped down to hang from his hands. When Stacy positioned herself to catch him, he let go.

“Where do we hide?” he asked.

“I don't know,” said Stacy. “I haven't thought that far ahead. First, we need to cover all these stakes.”

“You were supposed to do that while I gathered the moss!”

“I was driving stakes into the ground. Come on. This won't take long if we work together.” Stacy picked up an armful of moss and started raining smaller clumps of it over some stakes.

Shorty followed her example but kept complaining. “Have you noticed how far apart the trees are here? The ettins will have no trouble running between them. If they see us, we are as good as dead.”

“So we'll hide,” said Stacy. “They don't even know we're –”

A snapping branch up the trail suggested that the ettins were a lot closer than Stacy had thought.

“Go!” she whispered to Shorty. “Find a place to hide. I'll finish up here and catch up with you.”

Shorty needed no further invitation. He grabbed one of the leftover stakes, presumably for what little self-defense it might offer, and darted ahead on the right of the path until he disappeared behind some trees.

Stacy hurriedly dumped as much moss as she could over the remaining exposed stakes, then gathered up the ones she didn't have time to plant. A quick glance at the fruits of their labor didn't inspire much confidence. The whole thing looked suspicious as hell. What made her think this was a good –

The trembling earth brought Stacy's attention up the path, where she spotted her first glimpse of an ettin coming into view. He was only about one hundred feet away from her.

She quickly ducked behind a tree, hoping she hadn't been spotted. A couple of seconds passed without any alarmed shouts, only the continued lumbering footsteps getting closer and closer.

Of all the terrible places she could have picked to hide. Whether the ettins fell for her stupid trap or simply just stopped to examine it, they'd be stalled right next to her. If she could make it to the other side of the trap without being seen, she'd feel a lot better about her and Shorty's chances of escaping.

She got down on her belly and slithered like the first slimy aquatic creature to ever crawl out of the sea. Dragging her body along the ground reminded her of just how injured she still was. She could also feel every approaching ettin footstep as they shook the ground underneath her. They were getting closer. Stacy had to sacrifice a little bit of stealth for a little bit of speed exactly when she should have been doing the opposite.

She froze when one of the ettins said something. Without the need to communicate with goblins and orcs, he spoke in whatever their native ettin language was, so she didn't know what they were saying. But she noticed that their footsteps had stopped, which suggested they'd spotted something that made them wary of moving forward.

When another ettin responded, Stacy began to calm down. The ettins didn't sound particularly alarmed. And they weren't whispering, which Stacy took to mean they didn't think there was anyone around to hide their conversation from. With an iota of restored confidence, and little other choice, she continued crawling along the side of the path, now favoring stealth once again over speed.

“Stacy!” Shorty whispered.

It took Stacy a couple of seconds to spot him peeking up from behind the roots of a particularly wide tree next to the path. It would have been a fine place to hide from a casual passerby. But if someone was looking for them, which Stacy imagined would almost certainly be the case soon enough, it was probably the most obvious spot in this entire section of forest. Still, it was better than nothing until she could think of a better idea.

“I might have misjudged how effective this trap would be,” she admitted to Shorty after she crawled into the roots to join him. “Can you understand what they're talking about?”

Shorty listened as the ettins continued chatting. One of them was laughing.

“My Giant is a little rusty. Something about –” his beady little goblin eyes went just a bit wider, “fire moss.”

Stacy chanced a peek back at the ettins. They were both laughing now as one of them lit a torch. The idiots weren't suspicious of a trap at all. Far from it, they were just like a couple of hillbilly teenagers who saw an opportunity to set something on fire. Stacy didn't know much about fire moss, but judging by its fluffy airy quality, she guessed the stuff would flare up big and bright, but not so hot that it would burn the stakes. Instead, it would just reveal them.

“We've got to stop them,” she said.

“What? No!” objected Shorty. “We must stay and hide.”

Stacy shook her head. “Once they see the stakes, they'll know we're here. They'll avoid the stakes, and it will only be a matter of time before they find us. There are only two of them. We've got to take the shot.”

“Two ettins!” Shorty reminded her. “And the others are not far behind.”

“I know. If it makes you feel any better, my plan involves us running like hell.”

Shorty hung his head and sulked. “That makes me feel a little better.”

“Do you want to ride on my back?”

“You are planning to run away from them, right?”

Stacy smiled at him. “Yes.”

“Very well.” He climbed onto her back like Yoda with a mouthful of pointy teeth.

When he was secure, Stacy bolted out from her cover, making sure to crunch as many leaves under her feet as she could.

One of the ettins finally shouted something that sounded appropriately alarmed, and the ground started trembling again.

Stacy hadn't run more than fifty feet when the trembling gave way to screaming. She couldn't resist the urge to stop and turn around.

“Mercy of the gods!” whispered Shorty.

Her trap had worked far better than she ever dreamed it would. The ettin with the torch must have led the charge. He was rolling around in a sea of six-foot flames. The other one had avoided the fire but was hopping behind it, screaming in agony as he cradled an injured foot.

“I can't believe it actually worked,” said Stacy.

“Yes, it is very nice,” Shorty said curtly. “The fire will not last long. We must keep running.”

Stacy felt an almost overwhelming compulsion to charge into the fire and finish at least one of the ettins off. Faced with having to choose between that figurative monkey on her back and the literal goblin on her back, she savored the howling of four ettin heads a few seconds longer, then turned to flee the scene.

She jogged until she could barely hear their screams, then slowed to a walk.

“Why are we slowing down?” asked Shorty. “We should keep going as long as we can.”

“They're faster than we are,” Stacy answered. “If they give chase, they'll catch up with us easily.”

Shorty hopped down from her back. “So you want to give up?” He scoffed. “Or make your heroic last stand here and now?”

“Honestly, I do kind of want to do that. I'm not sure what's gotten into me. But that wasn't what I had in mind. If we go off the path here, we should be able to find someplace to hide. Staying on the path, however fast or long we run, is probably the worst possible thing we can do.”

“I suppose that sounds less stupid than a lot of what you have been saying lately.”

“Thanks.”

Stacy surveyed the scene around her. The ground sloped slightly downward to the left of the path, and slightly upward to the right.

“What do you think?” she asked. “High or low?”

Shorty looked back nervously in the direction they came from. “It does not matter to me. I only want to get away from them.”

“Higher ground will give us a better view of the ettins when they pass if we choose a hiding spot close enough to the path.”

“Such a choice would give them a better view of us as well.”

“You're small, and I'm good at hiding. We'll stay out of sight easily enough.”

“There are senses other than sight with which to seek prey.”

“We'll keep quiet,” said Stacy. “And I wouldn't worry about them sniffing us out. Did you smell them? They could be walking through raw sewage and not be able to smell anything beyond their own stench.”

“Forgive me if I do not share your confidence.”

“Higher ground might also give us a slight fighting advantage if circumstances come to that.”

Shorty glared up at her. “We should be doing everything in our power to avoid such circumstances.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. But there are always going to be variables that we have no control over. It's better to be prepared for the worst, just in case.”

“Bull's shit!” snapped Shorty. “You want a fight.”

Stacy smiled at him. “It's bullshit.”

“You are bullshit!”

She stifled a giggle. He was kind of adorable when he was angry, but she didn't want to push her only friend too far.

“Come on,” she said. “You'll feel better when we get settled in. I'll round us up some more squirrels.”

“I do not want your squirrels,” snapped Shorty. “I want an explanation.” He folded his skinny goblin arms over his chest. “And I refuse to help you any further until I get one.”

Stacy took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. What is it you'd like me to explain?”

“Why is it so important for you to kill all the ettins?”

“They killed my friend.”

“Alroth?” Shorty scoffed. “You hardly knew him. You were closer to the dwarf who left you for dead.”

“That's not entirely true,” said Stacy. “Alroth was like a mentor to me, or at least I got the feeling that he could have been. There was a lot that I felt I could have learned from him.” She could see that, although what she was saying was true, Shorty doubted that she was being completely honest with him. “But you're right. That's not the whole reason.”

“Of course it is not,” said Shorty. “So what is it?”

Stacy glanced back to make sure the ettins weren't approaching, then dragged Shorty by the arm off the trail.

“You told me a story about your childhood. Let me tell you one about mine.”

Shorty sat on the ground against a tree and stared attentively at her.

“My little brother's name was Eric,” said Stacy. “When we were young, we lived near a forest not unlike the one we're in now.”

“Ettins killed your brother.” said Shorty with an air of understanding. Stacy could have stopped the story there and he would have been satisfied, but she felt like that would be dishonoring her little brother's memory.

“There aren't any ettins in Mississippi.”

Shorty's beady goblin eyes grew wide. “You hunted them to extinction, and you seek to do the same here?”

“No,” said Stacy. “There never were any – Do you want to hear the story or not?”

Shorty shut up and nodded.

We used to play in the woods all the time. Our friends and I would build forts, make boats out of garbage and float them down the stream, go sledding on dry leaves.”

“Sledding on dry leaves?” asked Shorty.

“We didn't get a lot of snow that far south. Anyway, one summer, when I was ten and Eric was eight, we were playing in the woods just like we always did, when Eric got bitten by a cottonmouth.”

Shorty frowned. “That sounds like the least painful creature imaginable to get bitten by.”

Stacy laughed in spite of the painful memory she was dredging up. “It's a snake. They call it cottonmouth because they usually tend to warn predators to stay away by exposing the white lining of their mouth. This one either decided to forego that courtesy or else Eric just didn't see it. Anyway, it sank its fangs deep into his thigh. He was in a lot of pain, and he couldn't walk. That left me with two choices. I could either leave him there alone in the woods to run and get help, or I could pick him up and try to haul him back home.”

“Which did you choose?”

Stacy sighed. “The wrong one. Eric wasn't exactly a skinny kid, and I wasn't the strongest girl in the world. It took me almost two hours to get him home and call 911. By the time the paramedics arrived, there wasn't a whole lot they could do. Nobody wanted to tell me it was my fault, but researching it years later, I discovered his chances would have been greatly improved if I'd gone for help instead. That's what eventually led me toward a career in toxicology.”

“I am sorry,” said Shorty.

“It's okay. You didn't know, and that was a long time –”

“No, I mean I am sorry to interrupt. But I do not understand half of what you just said.”

“My little brother's dead because I fucked up. I tried to save him, but I failed.”

“That is indeed tragic. You have my condolences.”

“Thank you.”

“However,” said Shorty. “I fail to see how this relates to our current situation.”

Stacy had a feeling that was coming. Halfway through her story, she started to wonder that herself.

“I don't know,” she said. “Maybe I thought that if I'd been stronger or smarter, I might have been able to save him. But now that I am stronger and smarter, I still can't seem to save anyone. I couldn't save Cooper. I couldn't save Dave. Even Alroth died under my watch.”

“And yet you continue to put both of our lives at risk.”

“If I let these ettins go, they're going to continue to hurt innocent people. Even if I can't see the concrete data, I can at least assume I'll have saved someone.” She looked down at her feet. “But if I'm being completely honest, there's more to it than that. Something I can't explain rationally. I just really hate ettins. It's like there's some kind of driving force in me that wants to see them all dead. At first, I worried that maybe Dave spat in my mouth or something and I was turning into a wererat. But I don't have any murderous impulses toward anyone but ettins. I even felt a little bad for slaughtering all those goblins and orcs. I mean, not bad enough to keep me up at night, but bad enough to feel confident that I haven't turned evil. Also, I have no desire to bite the ettins or turn them. I just want them to stop being alive, and I want to be the one to make that happen.”

Shorty stood up to take a cautious glance toward the trail. “By your own admission, your motivations are irrational. You have friends who need your help, yet you choose to stay here.”

Stacy shrugged. “Yeah, I do. I've been as forthcoming as I can. I'm sorry I can't explain any better why I have to do this, but I'm not leaving this forest until I'm satisfied that I've made enough of a difference here.”

“Very well,” said Shorty, all defiance gone from his tone. “Then let us seek higher ground.”

Chapter 23

“Dave?” called a soft voice, barely above a whisper from outside the stable's front door. It still startled Dave to full alertness. He was snug under the blanket Lissa had brought him and was just about to drift off to sleep.

“Huh?” he responded. “Who's there?”

“Who do you think?”

The door opened wider, letting in light from the waning moon. Lissa stood in the doorway with a steaming bowl of something in her hands. It smelled really good, a mix of meats, vegetables, herbs, and spices, like an entire Thanksgiving dinner condensed into one of those KFC bowls, only less sad.

Dave sat up. “Hi, Lissa. Sorry. I was nodding off.” The cold air on his chest reminded him that he'd taken off Mr. Balren's shirt. He'd seen enough male nipples in this world to suspect it wasn't a big deal, but it still felt weird to be half-naked in front of a child. He pulled the blanket up to cover himself.

“I thought you might be hungry. I brought this from the kitchen.”

“I'm starving.” Dave gratefully accepted the bowl and took a cautious first sip. It was rich and meaty. Hot, but not scalding. He slurped it down faster and faster until he was practically chugging it. Not even bothering to chew, he savored the feeling of warm chunks of meat sliding down his throat in a river of broth. When it was done, he licked the bowl clean. He was about to hand it back when he remembered it was slathered with his infected saliva. Still unsure as to whether or not he intended to pass his gift on to her, he decided not to chance it. Using her father's shirt, he wiped his spit out of the inside of the bowl.

“That is not necessary,” said Lissa.

“Sure it is,” said Dave. “It would be rude to give you back a dirty bowl after you've been so generous.”

“You are not really cleaning it, though. We have soap and water in the –”

“Lissa!” said someone suddenly appearing in the doorway with a lantern. Half blinded by the light, Dave couldn't make out much more than the vague figure of a woman. “What are you doing in the stable at this time of –” She gasped. “Who are you?”

“I'm... uh... Dave.”

“What are you doing with my daughter? Mercy of the gods! Are you naked?”

“Huh?” Dave pulled the blanket back up. “Only from the waist up. I wasn't –”

“Lissa! Get away from him!”

Dave was in deep shit, and it would only get deeper if Lissa's mother started screaming for help. He needed to act fast before he lost his only bit of leverage.

“Do not worry, Mother,” said Lissa. “Dave is my friend. He would not –”

Dave dropped the bowl, grabbed Lissa by the arm, and yanked her back toward him. Lissa screamed until Dave clamped his hand over her mouth.

“Let her go!” cried her mother. “What do you want?”

“I want you both to shut the fuck up,” said Dave. “Don't say another fucking word, lady, or I'll bite the little bitch!”

To drive home the true nature of his threat, lest she think it was just some kind of weird fetish thing, he took his hybrid rat/dwarf form. His claws dug into Lissa's skin during the transformation, but she kept her mouth shut.

Lissa's mother stood in the doorway, the light from her lantern shaking all over the interior of the barn from her trembling hand. She stood there gawking at Dave like she couldn't decide whether she wanted to puke, scream, or run. The light finally settled as she composed herself and stopped shaking.

“Please do not hurt her,” she said as calmly as she could. “All that I have is yours. Just let my daughter go.”

Unable to speak in his hybrid form, Dave hissed threateningly at her. Honestly, what part of 'Shut the fuck up' was she having trouble understanding?

“Lady Balren?” called a male voice from a distance outside the stable. “Is anything amiss? I heard shouting.”

Lissa's mother stepped farther into the stable and dimmed her lantern to the point where Dave could see her more easily. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Let her go now, and you may escape unharmed. If Dudley catches you, you will find that rat head of yours on the end of a pike.”

Dave didn't like the idea of running away from a fight with a man named Dudley, but engaging with him might only draw more attention from a village that was already on edge.

Fleeing was the wiser option. He'd take Lissa hostage, find a place to hide, let the family stew about the situation, then issue his demands.

Leaving out the front door would risk being spotted by Dudley, so Dave dragged Lissa to the rear wall and started trying to unlatch the wider back door. If he could get to the breach he'd made in the palisade, he'd only need to break off one more post for them both to squeeze through.

The latch was giving him a little more trouble than he'd anticipated. He had to take his eyes off of Lady Balren for a second to see what he was doing. The latch was stuck, like it hadn't been used in years, but he finally managed to get the door –

CRASH!

The pain in the back of Dave's head was sudden and intense as shattered pieces of red porcelain rained down his body. The bitch had clobbered him with the bowl.

“Let go of my daughter!” she cried, grabbing his arm and trying to pull it away from Lissa.

Dave backhanded her across the face, perhaps a little harder than he'd meant to. She fell to the ground, and her lantern flew out of her hand and smashed against the wall, splattering it with burning oil.

Rather than the quiet escape he'd been planning, Dave now found himself in a burning stable with a screaming child. At least the back door was open.

“Lady Balren!” shouted Dudley, his voice getting closer now.

Dave clapped his hand back over Lissa's mouth and dragged her out of the stable to the breach in the fence outside. The posts on either side of the one he'd already dislodged were pretty solid. If he didn't have this brat to deal with, he might have been able to pry one of them loose, but he was running out of time.

Since they couldn't go through the fence, and Lissa was unlikely to be cooperative about crawling under it, Dave was left with only one option. He grabbed her by the arms, swung her around, then threw her as high as he could over the palisade.

Fortunately, she cleared the top without impaling herself on the spikes. Hopefully, she didn't break anything upon landing on the other side. He took his dire rat form and crawled under the fence to find out.

When he finally squeezed himself out on the other side, Lissa wasn't there. Dave panicked for a second until he spotted her running toward the village gate. She was a tough kid. Dave was impressed, but he couldn't let her go.

Fortunately, he was fast enough in his hybrid form to catch up with her long before she got to the gate. He wrapped one arm around her waist, clapped his other hand over her mouth, and picked her up off the ground. She squirmed violently and tried to bite him, but he managed to get control of her without too much trouble.

The poor girl was obviously terrified. Dave didn't feel great about hitting her mother and throwing her over a fence, but unfortunate circumstances had left him no other choice. Dudley would have plenty of time to pull Lady Balren out of harm's way, and Dave would find a way to make things up to Lissa. But first, he had to find somewhere for them to hide.

Still in his hybrid form, he carried Lissa into the woods.

Chapter 24

“You there,” said Righteous, pointing to one of the five crewmen on the ship's bow. “Attack me.”

He had taken it upon himself to train the captain's men in the art of honorable and disciplined fighting techniques to pay his fair passage. This was neither required by the captain nor wanted by most of the crew, but at least it kept him busy. And it provided a bit of distraction from the searing pain in Randy's back as he swabbed the deck.

Righteous had started out with ten of Longfellow's toughest and cockiest sailors two days prior. Of the five that remained, the big man who stepped forward was anything but cocky. He lunged at Righteous, not holding anything back.

Instead of dodging the blow to his gut, Righteous shifted slightly to absorb the impact and take advantage of his adversary's loss of momentum. He barely seemed to move before he had the man face down on the deck with his foot pressed against his neck.

“A solid effort,” he said to the four men observing. “But as you can see, discipline always triumphs over recklessness.”

“Jesus Christ, Randy!” said Denise as she approached from behind.

Randy stopped swabbing and turned around as he stifled a wince. Every gust of salty sea breeze felt like a blanket of fire being dragged over his back. “I'd appreciate it if you didn't take the Lord's name in vain around me.”

“I weren't takin' nothing in vain. I was merely suggesting you use your Jesus powers to heal those fuckin' wounds on your back. It's been three goddamn days.”

“The wounds are a punishment,” Randy explained, not for the first time. “It don't serve no purpose if I go and heal them straight away.”

“Well, then at least throw on a shirt. Your back's torn all to hell like you got caught running from a plantation. Makes me sick to look at.”

Captain Longfellow had certainly done a number on him. Randy had been a pain in his ass on more than one occasion, and the captain paid him back with interest. Part of him was glad it had happened, even grateful. If he and Longfellow were square now, maybe they could go back to being friends. But like the wounds on his back, it seemed their friendship would take some time to heal.

Randy hadn't seen much of the captain over the past two days, and there was an awkward silent tension between them whenever they found themselves on the same part of the ship. He got the impression that Longfellow felt a little guilty about how zealously he'd flogged Randy. Perhaps he, like Denise, had assumed that Randy would immediately heal himself.

“The point of the punishment was to serve as a warning to the rest of the crew,” said Randy. “Nobody's gonna learn nothing if I ain't seen to suffer. Besides, I reckon the sea air is good for my back.”

A clearing throat turned their attention to the other side of the ship. Captain Longfellow stared solemnly at Randy with an extended spyglass in his hand.

Randy nodded at him. “Captain.”

“Randy, Denise.”

“Is something the matter?”

“We be coming up on Nazere,” said Longfellow. “Any moment now, there should be a spot upon yon horizon.”

“That's excellent news. You got any idea of what you're gonna do once we get there?”

Captain Longfellow shook his head. “I fear we be on a fool's errand. It be beyond me to know what clues I can expect to find on that abandoned spit of dirt. But there be naught for me to do but keep looking for me ship.”

Randy had been having similar concerns about how they might go about finding the others they'd lost but was hoping Longfellow might be privy to some kind of nautical detective techniques. Sadly, that didn't seem to be the case.

“Don't worry, Captain,” he said. “We'll find her. I reckon she's got to pull into a port sooner or later. You can just keep hitting up folks at different harbors until you get a lead.”

“Ye be a good man, Randy. Madder than five blind rats in a chamber pot mayhap, but tougher than most and brave to a fault.”

“Thank you. That's kind of you to say.”

“I hope there be no bad blood between us on account of the flogging I gave ye.”

Randy smiled at him. “None at all. You did what you had to do, and I completely –”

“LAND HO!” shouted the crewman stationed up in the crow's nest.

Longfellow, Denise, and Randy spun toward the ship's bow. Even Righteous turned to look until his view was interrupted by a fist to the face. The other four trainees cheered their comrade for finally landing Righteous on his ass.

“Get yer semen-soaked bums out of me way,” Longfellow demanded as he shoved his way past them to the very front of the ship. He raised his spyglass and peered through the smaller end. “Tickle me testes! Thar she be!”

He sounded a little more excited than seemed warranted for an island he was expecting to arrive at.

“Nazere?” asked Denise.

“No, ye damned hairy-breasted sea skank!” Without looking away, Longfellow thrust his spyglass into Randy's belly. “The Maiden's Voyage!”

Randy extended the tube and peered through the eyeglass. It was crude by modern standards, but he managed to get a view of the island ahead of them. Once he had his sights locked on it, he scanned the beach until he spotted a ship off the coast.

The Maiden's Voyage was never an impressive ship by any stretch of imagination. Randy didn't know much about seamanship, but this ship they'd stolen from the harbor of Meb Gar'shur, despite being held together by tar, seemed like a more seaworthy vessel than the one he was staring at. Captain Longfellow's old ship looked more like a shantytown piled onto a barge. Half of the cabins were gone, and most of the other half was a charred husk. The masts and rigging appeared to have been cobbled together from freshly felled trees. It was difficult to tell from this distance, but Randy was pretty sure he could see small branches with leaves poking out from parts of the mainmast.

“She looks like she's seen better days.”

“Haven't we all?” said Captain Longfellow. “But there be more to a ship than slippery wood and salty seamen.”

“Those weren't even the first two things that came to mind.”

Denise snorted. “Sure they weren't.”

Captain Longfellow took his spyglass back from Randy and collapsed it down to a foot-long tube. “To be frank with ye, I grow weary of a life at sea. A man cannot rest while another man sails his ill-begotten ship, so I was prepared to spend me dying breath in search of what's mine. But now that I've found her, mayhap it be time to lower me sails for good.”

That sounded vaguely ominous. Maybe the events of the past few weeks had finally caught up to him. Randy prodded him to elaborate.

“What are you saying, Captain? You ain't thinking about killing yourself, are you?”

Captain Longfellow scoffed and turned to Randy with a squinting glare. “Do not be daft, ye animated sack of monkey sperm! I've lived far longer than any man in my position has any business living, and each passing year be another stream of piss in the faces who've passed before me!”

“I guess that's a good thing,” said Randy, not quite clear on the captain's metaphor. “But what do you mean by lowering your sails for good?”

“What do ye think I mean? I speak of retirement, of course. Nazere was once a great trading hub before that frozen-tittied harlot cast her spell upon it. Once word spreads that the island has thawed, ships' captains will come from all over the world just to take in the history of it. A clever man who gets there early to stake a claim on some of the more inviting natural harbors might find himself a very rich man indeed.”

“Hot damn!” said Denise. “Randy, you and I could get in on this action. This island's plenty big to support more than one beach resort.”

“We got higher priorities than that,” said Randy.

“Like what?”

“Like finding our friends, for one.”

“You ain't thinkin' big enough, Randy. I'm talkin' strippers, casinos, rub 'n tugs. Once we hit the big time, our friends can come find us.”

“Not if they're slaves. Besides, we don't know the first thing about running no island resort.”

“Aye,” said Captain Longfellow. “This be not a venture to undertake lightly. I have put a lot of thought into this since I first heard of the Ice Queen's demise. It be the dream that kept me going in Meb Gar'shur. I even made some special arrangements while we were docked in Cardinia. Go with Randy and find yer friends. Should ye choose to return, I can put ye to work until ye be ready to set out on yer own.”

Randy appreciated Longfellow's support and sought to return it. “I think it's great that you're gonna set up shop in Nazere. I reckon you got a bright future here, and I hope I get to come back and see it once you got everything set up.”

Longfellow looked through his spyglass again and laughed. “A sorrier-looking crew I've never set me weary eyes upon. Look at them scrambling about the deck like chickens with their arse feathers on fire.”

Randy took the offered spyglass and had another look. The ship was a little clearer now that they'd sailed closer, and he could make out figures scurrying about in a panic. They must have suspected that an enemy ship was approaching. It was a fair assumption, considering that they were advancing rapidly in a stolen orc ship.

As amusing as it was to see, Randy wished he could signal to them that they didn't have to worry. Given the state of the Maiden's Voyage, they had no hope of raising sails, pulling up anchor, and sailing away. They must have been terrified with no other option than to –

THUNK!

An arrow lodged into the hull just below Randy's left elbow.

“We're under attack!” shouted Righteous.

Captain Longfellow collapsed his spyglass and turned around to face his crew. “Arm yerselves and prepare to return fire!”

“Wait!” cried Randy as two more arrows thudded into the deck nearby. “I think those are our friends.”

“They've a fine way of showing it. Stand aside, Randy. I cannot say I fancy flogging ye again, but so help me –”

“If those were Logan's men, then what are they still doing here? Look at this ship we're in. Anyone would be a fool not to attack us!”

“So what be yer suggestion, then? Lie down and wait until we've been penetrated by more shafts than yer whore of a mother?”

“Of course not. But if we all get below deck or duck behind the bulwarks, they won't be able to hurt us with arrows. Then, when we get closer, we can show them who we –”

“FIREBALL!” bellowed the man up in the crow's nest.

Randy, Longfellow, Denise, and Righteous instinctively dropped to their asses behind the bulwarks.

Before Randy could even process what was happening, he was blinded by a flash of bright orange light and heat. When his vision returned, he could see several small fires on the deck, and the right side of the mainsail was singed. Several crew members were coughing and had suffered minor burns, but it didn't appear that anyone had died.

“Lower the sails!” shouted Longfellow, then he glared at Randy. “Friends, ye say?”

“That only goes to prove it,” said Randy. “Ain't none of Logan's men was wizards. Our friends must have taken over the ship and come back here to find us. It's the only explanation that makes sense.”

“So what do ye propose we do, then?”

Randy could sympathize with Longfellow's position, and the last thing he wanted to do was be a pain in his ass again so soon after their last altercation. But he appreciated that the captain was at least open to hearing a suggestion this time.

“Let me go to them,” said Randy.

“Don't be daft! Ye cannot hope to swim that distance before they burn this ship into the sea. Ye will be lucky to survive the journey yerself before ye get swallowed by a kraken or filled full of arrows.”

“I ain't gonna swim. I'm gonna ride.”

“Ride what? Yer hairy dwarf harlot?”

Randy stood up and pointed at the water in front of the drifting ship. “Basil!”

His glowing white celestial basilisk mount appeared standing as steadily on the water as if he'd been summoned on solid ground. Longfellow and several of his crewmen took their chances against the arrows and fireballs flying their way to witness the spectacle.

Now that Randy thought about it, there wasn't currently much risk to be had. The few arrows that had managed to fly out this far had been wildly inaccurate if the shooters had been aiming for living targets. But now they seemed to have stopped altogether. The Fireball spell hadn't been repeated either. Randy guessed that since Longfellow's men had lowered their sails, the crew of the Maiden's Voyage was giving them the chance to retreat peacefully.

Under most circumstances, that would have been the wisest option. But Randy had come to this island for a purpose. He needed to reconnect with his friends and rescue any who might need rescuing.

Riding Basil over there might even be more dangerous than continuing to sail, though. The closer he got to his friends, the easier he'd be for them to hit with their arrows. Even that was assuming his assumption was correct on who was aboard the Maiden's Voyage. If it was manned by sailors who didn't know him, a big man riding a magical basilisk toward them across the open sea could be very scary indeed.

Randy started to climb over the bulwark, but Captain Longfellow grabbed him by the arm.

“Do not do this, Randy. They'll plug more holes in ye than a pod of dolphins fucking a whale carcass!”

If that was a regular enough occurrence to warrant an expression, it was more than Randy wanted to know about dolphins.

There were other ways to communicate with the Maiden's Voyage if they all put their imaginations to it. They could paint a message in big red letters on the sail and hoist it back up. Or even a big peace symbol. Or they could sail around to the other side of the island, make landfall, and hope to have a peaceful encounter on land. And there was always the tried and true method of shoving a message of peace up Basil's ass and summoning him aboard the deck of the Maiden's Voyage to shit it out.

But all of these alternative methods took up precious time which would be better spent pooling together their knowledge in the hope of rescuing any of their friends who were still missing.

“Don't you worry about me,” said Randy. “If I don't make it back, go easy on Denise. She's... Well, just go easy on her.” He gently removed Longfellow's hand from his arm, then heaved himself over the bulwark and into the cold salty water.

As it turned out, the temperature of the water barely registered. The salt on his shredded back made him feel like he'd just jumped into a cauldron of boiling battery acid. He was pretty sure he had to make a Willpower saving throw to keep from succumbing to shock and passing out.

He felt no shame in expressing his pain, but he didn't want to make Captain Longfellow feel any more guilty about that lashing he'd given him. So Randy got all of the screaming out of his system while he was still underwater. Much to his surprise, it actually helped. The scream served as a long-overdue catharsis. While physically he still felt like hard-boiled dog poo in a dumpster fire, he felt spiritually better than he'd felt in some time.

Unfortunately, the screaming had let a lot of air out of his lungs that might have served him better to maintain his buoyancy. When he looked up, Basil's feet were farther above him than he'd expected.

Sensing Randy's distress, Basil plunged his long tail down through the water's surface, and Randy managed to swim high enough to grab the end of it. Being lifted out of the water felt kind of exhilarating. If nothing else, Randy was certainly awake now.

Secure on Basil's back, Randy gave him a gentle squeeze with his heels. “Straight ahead, Basil. We're heading for that boat up there.”

The one shooting arrows at us?

Predictably, now that it was clear that they weren't going to stop advancing, the crew of the Maiden's Voyage had started firing again. Arrows plunked down into the water near Randy and Basil.

Randy sighed. “Yeah, that one. Don't worry, though. I reckon they'll stop once they recognize me.”

There was a lot of sea to cross between the two boats, and Basil wasn't exactly the fastest creature on eight legs. As Randy had suspected, the arrows got closer and closer to him the farther Basil went. Eventually, when they'd made it about a third of the way to the Maiden's Voyage, the arrows started finding their target.

Ouch.

Randy plucked one of the nearest arrows out of Basil's shoulder. They were still far enough away that the arrows lost speed before reaching them. That, combined with Basil's thick, leathery skin, meant that the wounds they were currently inflicting were mostly superficial. Still, Randy felt bad about calling Basil down from the Celestial Plane just to get shot at.

“You'll be all right, Basil. Just keep moving forward. They're bound to recognize me any minute now.”

But it seemed the perceived threat of a magical basilisk approaching across the surface of the water couldn't be overestimated. As Basil moseyed further, the arrows began hitting him harder and more frequently. Randy was grateful that the crew of the Maiden's Voyage seemed to have spent their one Fireball already, but he didn't know how many more arrows Basil could take.

I do not like this, and I am hungry.

Randy couldn't do much at present about feeding Basil, but he could at least alleviate some of his pain.

“In Jesus Christ's name, I heal you!” He let all of his paladin healing power flow into Basil. Arrows fell out of him and plopped into the water as the wounds closed up.

Thank you.

“We're almost there, buddy,” said Randy. “Just hang on a little bit longer.” They were only about halfway to the other ship, but Randy was referring to the point at which the crew should finally recognize him and stop shooting.

Aside from the wind and waves, and Basil's voice in his head, Randy started to hear faint shouting coming from the Maiden's Voyage. If he could hear them, then...

“HEY!” he shouted. “Knock it off! It's me, Randy!”

Still, arrows continued to rain down. Basil was starting to look like a pin cushion again. Randy had lost him once already in this very same part of the sea, and he wasn't about to let that happen again.

“Go on, Basil,” he said. “I can make it the rest of the way.”

No, Randy. I am fine. We go together.

“I appreciate that, but I ain't askin'. Go!”

Basil vanished from beneath him, and Randy splashed down once again to feel the sting of seawater in his wounds. It wasn't quite so bad as when he first jumped in since he'd been wet this whole time.

Thankfully, the arrows stopped flying at him. Without Basil, he was a significantly smaller target and presumably much less of a threat. He swam as hard and fast as he could for a few minutes before his body finally couldn't give any more. Complete and utter exhaustion engulfed him to the point that floating adrift on the open sea felt as inviting as his own bed. All of his pain would go away if he could rest his eyes for just... a few...

NO!

He had to keep going. Too many people were counting on him. One stroke after the other, he continued swimming toward the Maiden's Voyage. Whether swimming was a matter of pulling one's self forward through the sea or pushing the sea behind was really just a matter of perspective, and Randy's current perspective definitely favored the latter.

“STOP!” shouted someone about thirty yards ahead of him.

Randy used what felt like the last of his strength to lift his head and look forward. He was impressed with how far he'd swum. The Maiden's Voyage was just ahead. He could even make out the person shouting. It was that portly woman from the Whore's Head Inn. What was her name?

“Rita?” he called back to her, hoping he'd remembered her name correctly.

“Rhonda!”

Randy shook his head. “No, I'm Randy!”

“What the hell are you doing out here?”

“We was looking for y'all.”

“Stand back!” said a skinny elf from the ship's bow. He started swinging some kind of small heavy object over his head by a length of rope. When he had enough momentum built up, he released it in Randy's direction. It hit the water about fifteen feet in front of Randy, and the rope it was attached to instantly disappeared beneath the surface.

“Hang on,” said the elf, pulling the rope back onto the ship. “I'll try that again.”

The window of accuracy required for the weight to land close enough so that Randy could grab the rope but not so close so that it bonked him in the head and knocked him unconscious was a narrow one. Randy appreciated the effort, but he favored his chances of mustering up enough strength to swim the rest of the way.

When he was close enough, a few of the folks let down a rope without any weights tied to it. Randy wrapped it around his wrists a couple of times, and they hauled him up like a half dead tuna.

“Thank you, Rita,” said Randy as she grabbed his arm and pulled him onto the deck.

“My name's Rhonda.”

“Oh.” Randy was too exhausted to feel embarrassed. “I'm sorry about that. It's been a rough couple of –”

“Oh my God!” said Rhonda when Randy staggered forward a couple of steps. “What happened to you?”

“It ain't nothing,” said Randy. “I was flogged. I'll be all right.”

“That's not all right, Randy. I don't know if you realize how bad these wounds are. Don't you have healing spells?”

“I used the last of my power to heal Basil while y'all was shooting arrows at us.” Randy didn't want to make them feel guilty, but he was compelled to blurt out the truth.

Rhonda's gaze fell to her feet. “I'm sorry about that.” She peered out at the sea. “But what did you expect? Where did you get that ship? It's terrifying.”

Randy turned around to follow her gaze. It was the first time he'd seen their commandeered orc ship from a distance. Rhonda wasn't wrong about it being a frightening sight to behold.

Coated in some kind of black organic shell, it looked like advanced tooth decay. The intended message to anyone seeing this vessel sailing toward them was that their day was about to take a severe turn for the worse.

“I didn't realize it looked like that,” said Randy. “I was unconscious when they took me aboard.”

“Who took you aboard?” asked the little elf who'd tried to throw him a rope.

“Everyone I escaped with. We was all brought to Meb Gar'shur to fight in the gladiator pits. We met Tim and Cooper there.”

“Cooper is with Tim?” asked Rhonda. “That doesn't sound good.”

“I ain't exactly sure what's going on with those two. We was sending messages back and forth to plan our escape, but that all fell apart when Tim disappeared and Cooper turned into a bear.”

“A bear?”

Randy nodded. “Like I said, it's been a heck of a month. Speaking of sending messages, do you reckon one of you could signal to the other ship that it's safe to approach?”

Rhonda turned to the little elf.

He nodded. “I'm on it.” He turned to some others and shouted, “Raise the mainsail!”

The others raised the sail, which caused the ship to tilt slightly, but not to go anywhere. Then he mumbled a few words that Randy didn't understand, and a bright orange peace symbol appeared on the sail.

Sure enough, a couple of minutes later, Randy saw the orc ship's sail begin to rise.

“Is there something wrong with this ship?” asked Randy. “Why ain't it going nowhere?”

“We had some trouble when we made our escape,” said Rhonda. She gestured up to the mainmast. “As you can see, we've had to do a little DIY ship repair. None of us have a whole lot of sailing experience, and we've been reluctant to set any of Logan's men free to help us. We thought we had everything under control until we hit a sandbar.” She sighed. “We've been stranded here for about a week.”

“Oh my. Is everybody all right?”

“We're better now that you're here. Honestly, it's been a little stressful these past couple of days. We've seen creatures in the water that made us all terrified of trying to swim to the island, so we've been facing some difficult decisions. We can't very well set Logan's men free. So even if we swim for the island, do we leave them here to starve to death? But if we stay here too long, we'll be the ones starving. Do we trust them or eat one of them?”

“That is a conundrum.”

“If the captain of your ship is a better sailor than we are, we'd be grateful to be able to forget we were having these sorts of conversations.”

“Have you tried fishing?” asked Randy.

Rhonda laughed. “Yes, with a little bit of success. We're not starving yet. It's just kind of scary to be stranded at sea. There comes a point when everyone realizes that all the small talk you've been making to pass the time is just delaying the dark thoughts everyone's starting to think about.”

That was as much dark thought as Randy was currently prepared to handle. He scanned the gathered crew and noticed a peculiar absence.

“You're all magic folks, right?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Shouldn't Julian be with you?”

“He flew off on a dragon.”

“Oh.” Randy certainly hadn't been expecting that answer, but it was better than the alternative explanations that came to mind. He was happy to learn that they hadn't eaten him, at least. “Where did he fly off to?”

Rhonda shrugged. “He went to look for the others. My best guess is that he probably started there.” She pointed to the nearby island. “But that was a couple of weeks ago. He could be anywhere by now.”

“How did y'all happen to befriend a dragon?”

“I wouldn't exactly call us friends.” Rhonda's annoyance seemed to go up a notch at the mention of the dragon, but she told him the whole story while they waited to be rescued by Captain Longfellow.

Chapter 25

Julian woke up on a soft purple rug in the nicest room he'd stayed in since their adventures on the Crescent Shadow. Sleeping felt like such a waste of time now that he didn't need it, but that last bottle of stonepiss must have done him in.

Chaz was still asleep, propped up in a corner of the room with an empty stonepiss bottle in his hand and drool running down his costume shirt. Akane was likewise asleep, but at least she'd made it to the couch. A large puddle of vomit was congealing on the floor next to her, from which Ravenus was pecking at the choicest chunks.

Normally, Julian would have told him to stop, but he didn't have the energy or the will to continue looking in that direction. Judging by the amount of light coming in through the window, it was still pretty early in the morning. What he needed right now more than anything was to do his daily meditation. Hopefully, clearing his mind would rouse him out of his grogginess.

A few minutes later, he was feeling quite a bit better, but his mind was still a little sluggish. It was almost like he still had a bit of a buzz going on, except he didn't feel impaired at all. If he was still a little drunk, it hadn't stopped him from preparing his daily allotment of Mount spells. It should be a relatively easygoing day, and he hoped no spells would be necessary to get Chaz ready for his big show, but there was no point in letting the slots go to waste.

“Feeling better, sir?” asked Ravenus.

Even though he was, he chose not to look in Ravenus's direction. “Yes, thank you. And yourself?”

“Right as rain, though I worried you might never awaken.”

Julian took another glance toward the window. “What are you talking about?”

“You've been asleep all day.”

“What?” Julian rushed to the window and looked down at the street. It was full of people, but they weren't yawning and shuffling to work. Rather, they were stumbling, singing, drinking, and fighting. He looked up at the pink sky above the horizon. The sun wasn't rising. It was setting. “SHIT!”

“Is there a problem, sir?” asked Ravenus.

Julian tripped over some decorative floor pillows on his way across the room, then started slapping Chaz gently on the face. “Chaz! Wake up!” When he got little more than a groan from Chaz, he slapped harder. “Dude, we're late!”

“What the fuck, man?” Chaz finally answered.

“We slept through the day. You're supposed to be onstage in, like, I don't know. Probably now. Get up!”

Chaz's eyes opened wide like he finally realized what Julian was saying.

“Shit!” he said, staring at his clothes. “I can't go on like this! I'm all covered in spit and stonepiss, and...” He felt his crotch, then sighed with relief. “Just spit and stonepiss.”

“We have neither the time nor the money to go shopping. Go in the bathroom and freshen up as best you can. We're leaving in five minutes.”

While Chaz lurched toward the bathroom, Julian stepped carefully around Akane's puke puddle and roused her awake.

It was amazing that one person could produce that much vomit, even if she was a dragon. Julian hoped housekeeping didn't come in to tidy up while they were away. He didn't relish the thought of cleaning up this mess himself, but he liked the thought of trying to explain himself come checkout time even less.

“Akane,” he whispered, shaking her gently. She didn't budge. If Julian didn't know any better, he would have thought she wasn't even breathing. With a rising sense of  panic, it occurred to him that he didn't, in fact, know any better. She was an adolescent dragon who had just consumed more alcohol during her first experience with it than most frat boys do over spring break. He shook her harder, and she still didn't react.

“Chaz!” he shouted.

“What?” Chaz answered as if he had something in his mouth. Was he brushing his teeth? Did this place have toothpaste? Questions for another time.

“Get in here! We've got a problem.”

Chaz staggered out of the bathroom with a pink towel wrapped around his head. “What is it? I'm trying to get ready for the – Oh, Jesus, that's a lot of puke.”

Julian's heart was pounding like a prisoner beating on a cell door. Feeling like he might faint, he steadied himself on the high arm of the sofa.

“I think Akane's dead.”

“Oh, shit.” Chaz put to fingers on her neck, jiggled her head, then shrugged.

“What have we done?” said Julian. “What are we going to do?”

“Take it easy, Julian,” said Chaz. “Let's look at this rationally.”

Julian nodded. He was ready to accept any kind of guidance. “Go on.”

“It's not so much of a problem as it is... How do I put this delicately? A solution.”

“What?”

“Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying it isn't sad. But that means we're off the hook, right?”

“You're such a fucking asshole.”

“I'm just trying to find the silver lining. We didn't kill her.”

“I think we kind of did. We brought an underage girl to a nightclub and got her shitfaced.”

Chaz held up a finger. “One, we have no idea how old she is.”

“She's an adolescent.”

“Two, I haven't seen any evidence that there's a... What's the word? Age of consent in this world.”

“Age of consent? What the hell are you talking about?” A terrible thought suddenly occurred to Julian. “Chaz, tell me you didn't –”

“Jesus, Julian! Cut me some fucking slack. I just woke up. I meant legal drinking age.”

“Who gives a shit? I'm not worried about the legality issues.”

“Well, I sure as shit am. We've got to find some way of getting rid of this body. Do you want to skip the show or shove her in a closet for now and come back for her later?”

Julian couldn't believe what he was hearing. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Chaz nodded. “Sorry, you're right. Debt or no debt, we'd be crazy to pass up this gig.” He grabbed Akane by the wrists and started to drag her off the couch.

Julian was about to punch him in the face, but Akane beat him to it.

Chaz staggered backward, both hands covering his bleeding nose, until he tripped over a coffee table.

Akane yawned as she sat up on the couch. “I apologize. I am not accustomed to being accosted in my sleep.”

“Akane!” said Julian. “You're okay!”

“Far from it. I feel as though I've been chewed up, swallowed, and shat out of a tojanida.”

Julian had no idea what a tojanida was, but he was thrilled to see Akane alive. “You've got a hangover.”

“I'm okay,” announced Chaz, picking himself up off the floor. “Don't everyone worry about me all at once.” He pulled the towel off his head and wiped away the blood from under his nose.

“Please,” said Akane. “Not so loud.” Her pupils turned reptilian, shrinking down to tiny vertical slits. “And would someone mind closing the curtains?”

Julian was more than happy to oblige. He pulled the curtains together until there was just enough of a crack between them so that he could still see.

“Chaz and I have to go do our show now,” he said. “Would you like to come along?”

Akane yawned again and lay back down on the sofa. “I do not think I can go anywhere. What I really want is to go back to sleep.”

“I thought you might say that. Stay here and sleep it off. Chaz and I will bring you back something to eat when we –”

“Mercy of the –” Akane leaned over and made another contribution to the vomit puddle on the floor. She looked like a busted hydrant, spewing out easily twice her own volume in bile and partially digested moose meat.

As horrible as it was to watch, both from an empathetic and aesthetic point of view, Julian was pleased that Akane was both alive and unable to accompany them to the Howling Owlbear. Chaz was enough of a liability to keep track of on his own.

“Or maybe we'll hold off on the food until you're feeling better. Sleep tight and make sure you don't let anyone in. We'll clean up this mess when we get back.”

“The fuck we will,” said Chaz.

Julian grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to the door. “I don't want to hear another word out of you until you're up on that stage. We're in this mess together. And if that means cleaning puke up off the floor, then we're cleaning it up together.”

Chaz frowned down at the vomit puddle. “If we're lucky, Ravenus will have done most of the work by the time we get back.”

“Ravenus!” said Julian. “Are you coming or not?”

“I shall do as you please, sir,” Ravenus answered, stumbling forward a bit and flapping his wings to keep from falling over. “Though I thought you might like me to stay here and watch over Akane.”

“Are you drunk?”

“I might still be a little tipsy.”

It now made sense that Julian couldn't shake the shadow of intoxication. He had sobered up after his meditation, but his Empathic Link with Ravenus was causing him to pick up his drunk familiar's state of mind. Akane's vomit must have had quite a bit of alcohol in it. The last thing Julian needed was a drunk bird flying into things while he was trying to manage Chaz during such a crucial performance. And maybe he could prove useful staying behind.

“Take it easy on the vomit,” Julian instructed Ravenus. “And if anyone knocks on the door, tell them to come back later.”

“Very good, sir. I can do that.”

“Let's go, Chaz. We're late enough as it is.”

Julian hustled to the unassuming door of the Howling Owlbear and led Chaz down the stairs.

The greeter who answered the door flinched with a brief expression of disgust when he first laid eyes and nose on Chaz and Julian. In his defense, they weren't at their most presentable. Given more time, they would have bathed and changed into fresh clothes.

But Argo, the owner of the establishment, spotted them before the greeter had a chance to shoo them away.

“You are late!” he said. “My musicians have been stalling, but the customers grow weary of their tired tunes. I promised them a performance unlike anything they had ever heard.”

Julian fought the instinct to admit their fault and apologize. What Chaz had said about being a dick was starting to make sense. If they were going to continue being unreliable, which Julian had every confidence they would, he might as well make it part of some prima donna persona.

“And we have every intention of delivering on that promise,” he said, stepping confidently past the greeter. “But an artist like RazzmaChaz cannot perform until he's found his muse.”

“His muse?” Argo sounded skeptically annoyed, but also a little curious.

“The spark of divine inspiration that ignites a true artist's passion, as well as the hearts of those who behold his art.” Julian couldn't believe the shit coming out of his mouth. He had either just rolled a 1 or a 20 on his Bluff check.

“Has he found it?” asked Argo.

Julian was so caught up in his own bullshit that he lost track of what they were talking about. “Found what?”

“His muse.”

“Oh, right.” Julian turned to Chaz. “Have you?”

Chaz grinned and raised his right hand with a devil horns gesture. “Let's rock 'n roll.”

Argo stared at Julian for a translation.

Julian smiled. “He's ready to perform.”

The audience's initial response to Chaz walking onto the stage was underwhelming, which was fair considering that Chaz looked like Elvis three days after they pulled his dead body off the toilet.

Julian accompanied Argo to the bar while Chaz huddled with the musicians on stage.

Argo took two glasses of some milky green liquid from the bartender and handed one to Julian. “This had better be good.”

Not wanting to be rude, figuring he deserved some hair of the dog, and a little nervous about the performance Chaz was about to give, Julian gratefully accepted the drink. An initial sip revealed it to be some kind of minty Irish cream. Not strong enough to get him plastered again, but strong enough to cover the morning funk in his mouth. It was just what he needed.

The first few picks and strums of Chaz's lute could barely be heard over the chatty crowd, then became clearer as pockets of silence spread among an increasingly curious audience. He continued playing an extended musical introduction as he coaxed each of his supporting musicians through halting attempts to follow the tune. One by one, they played along to Chaz's satisfaction until they all sounded surprisingly good playing together. Finally, Julian recognized Elvis Costello's Lipstick Vogue a fraction of a second before Chaz started singing it.

The audience sat as still as terracotta soldiers. Not a single glass was raised to a single set of lips while they tried to process what they were hearing.

“Mercy of the gods!” said Argo. “What manner of music is this?”

Julian shrugged. “Something they've never heard before. Isn't this what you wanted?”

“No! This is nonsense. I can scarcely understand a word he is singing. It is like some kind of contained chaos.”

Contained Chaos. Good name for a band.

When the song finished, the air was as still and quiet as before the first shot of a battle that neither side wanted to fight. For a second, Julian thought that perhaps Chaz had crossed a line these people weren't ready for, that he should have warmed them up with a few tried and true Neil Diamond tunes before fracturing their minds with something this aggressive. But then a dwarf in the middle of the room stood up at his table and raised his frothing glass of ale.

“AGAIN!” he shouted.

“More!” shouted a half-elven woman two tables away.

Soon, the rest of the audience was shouting and applauding with a fervor that would have surely seen Chaz on the end of a noose if he'd stirred them equally as profoundly in the opposite direction.

Chaz and his backup musicians bowed to a ravenous audience that Julian found a little bit terrifying.

As soon as Chaz began strumming the beginning of his next tune, thankfully a slower-paced one, Julian noticed a bunch of small animals rushing toward the exit. Some flying, others scurrying or jumping.

“What is this?” asked Argo. “Some sort of omen?” He took a step toward the exit, but Julian stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Don't worry,” he said. “They'll be back. You'd better make sure your bar staff is ready to kick it into overdrive.”

“Speak plainly, elf. Your words are as nonsensical as the lyrics to that madman's song!”

His hand still on Argo's shoulder, Julian turned him toward the stage. “Look at the audience.”

While many of them were still paralyzed in awe of what they'd just witnessed, others were beginning to sway in their seats or tap their feet to Chaz's lute rhythm in anticipation of what new musical wonder they were about to behold.

“What of them?” asked Argo.

“They're mesmerized,” Julian explained. “You have sorcerers and wizards in the audience, and they've sent their familiars to summon friends here. That's what that little animal exodus was about.”

“How do you know?”

Julian smiled at him. “Because I've seen it before.”

Argo shook his head. “No, I am sorry. I have made an error in judgment. This is not the sort of music we play here.”

“This isn't the sort of music anyone plays anywhere. That's the point. You, my friend, are on the ground floor of a phenomenon that is about to take this world by storm. Whether or not you like the music is inconsequential.” He gestured out toward the audience. “As long as they crave more of it, and as long as you're the only venue providing it, they'll keep coming back in droves.”

Chaz was now about a minute into Brooklyn Roads, and he had some in the audience openly weeping. More importantly, he had many others drinking again. Servers were rushing back and forth between the tables and the bar, taking and filling drink orders.

“Well,” said Argo. “I suppose this one is not so bad, though I still have some trouble comprehending it.”

“Forget the lyrics,” said Julian. “That isn't what this kind of music is about. Take in the song in its entirety and let it move you.” He shrugged. “Or don't. We are men of business, after all, are we not?”

A trickle of new customers arrived with their friends' familiars leading the way. As if to confirm Julian's prediction, the ones who had sent the familiars waved the newcomers over to their tables.

“Astounding,” whispered Argo.

Julian laughed. “This is only the beginning. Imagine what you could do with a little bit of planning and promotion.”

As if suddenly realizing his mouth had been hanging open, Argo cleared his throat. “I suppose I can find an opening for tomorrow night if you would like to come back.”

He was playing it cool. Julian could appreciate that, but he could tell that the potential to capitalize on this was beginning to dawn on Argo. It would be best to let him stew on it a bit longer.

“We can discuss the details after the show.”

Chaz played a variety of songs, and his backup musicians did an admirable job keeping up. The crowd grew denser with cheering men and swooning women, every one of them blissfully emptying their glasses and coin purses as they listened to Chaz sing.

But like all good things, the show eventually had to come to an end.

“Thank you, Prego!” said Chaz. Julian could only assume he meant to say Pargos. “It's been an honor to play for all you lovely people tonight. I'd just like to play one last song before I leave you.”

Julian hadn't heard Sweet Caroline all night. He didn't know if that was because Chaz was sick of playing it or because he was saving it for his finale. But if he tried to end the night with anything else, Julian was prepared to go up on stage and throttle him.

Fortunately for Chaz, and for their future in show business, Chaz took one for the team and started strumming that all too familiar beginning.

The crowd was already wet clay in Chaz's hands, but Julian decided to push them straight over the edge. When the appropriate time came, he shouted, “BA BA BA!” as loudly as his elven lungs could force the words out.

Argo, who had been standing right next to him, choked on his drink in reaction to Julian's sudden outburst, but he seemed to get it the next time around when others started to join in. By the end of the song, even Argo was shouting, “BA BA BA!” The predator had become the prey.

“Exhilarating!” said Argo when the final applause had died down. “I shall pay you fifty percent of drink profits every night for a month.”

That sounded good on the surface. Julian knew from personal experience that this place was pulling in ridiculous margins for stonepiss that didn't taste all that different than what he was used to at the Whore's Head Inn. Customers here were paying for the ambiance, the entertainment, and to be seen spending stupidly high prices for average quality drinks.

On the other hand, Julian had no expectation that Argo would share what he actually paid for the liquor he served. And would those “profits” be so simply calculated as a function of how much a bottle of liquor cost Argo vs. how much the customers paid to empty said bottle? Or were Argo's other business expenses included, such as rent, maintenance, and staffing the establishment? It seemed there was some wiggle room to fudge quite a lot of numbers. And even that was taking for granted an accurate count of the drinks that were served. Short of spending the entire night trying to count every drink as they were poured, Julian had no way of estimating the accuracy of Argo's final tally.

“About how much would that be on any given night?” Julian asked.

Argo gulped down what was left of his drink. “Who can say? The number of guests fluctuates greatly from night to night.”

That was just what Julian was afraid of. Argo was laying the groundwork to pay them whatever the hell he felt like paying them. Julian liked to think he was a little more business savvy since the terrible deal he'd brokered with Fazul.

“I'm sorry,” said Julian. “But my client and I prefer to work with more concrete numbers.”

Argo stewed on it for a moment. He was clearly uncomfortable not being the one calling the shots. “I can pay you fifty gold pieces a night.”

If Julian kept Chaz on a short leash with regard to how much money they spent, he could have Akane paid off in less than a month. But he didn't know what was going on with his captured friends. Did they have a month to wait for him?

Their original plan was to work their way toward Hollin playing gigs along the way to keep Akane confident that paying her was their top priority. Gigs like this weren't guaranteed in the villages and cities between here and there, especially considering that the closer they got to Hollin, the more influence the Knights of Jordan would likely hold over the population. They needed to have Akane off his back before they had to face that kind of trouble. But accepting Argo's offer would keep them locked in Pargos for nearly a month.

“That's less than half of what you're paying us tonight,” said Julian, hoping that was a subtle enough reminder that they hadn't yet been paid for tonight.

Argo shrugged. “Tonight was a special occasion. I want to try you out, so I make a big offer. But how long can you live on one hundred gold pieces? Now, I offer you steady employment. You can live like kings on fifty gold pieces a night.”

Julian scanned the crowd. It was easily twice the size of what it had been when he and Chaz first arrived. The servers were all sweaty with the effort it took to keep a steady stream of drinks flowing to the insatiable clientele. The customers were all here when they could have been at any other joint in town. Continuing to play here would make this guy a fortune. Playing anywhere else would cripple his business. Julian knew it, and Argo certainly knew it.

“Hey, guys!” said Chaz, pushing his way toward them through a crowd of adoring fans. “What did you think?”

Julian turned to Argo, maintaining his best poker face. “One thousand gold pieces per week.”

Chaz suddenly looked like he'd just been kicked in the nuts. “Wait, what?”

Argo waved his hand dismissively at Julian. “You waste my time with such madness.” He pulled a coin purse out from an inner pocket of his jacket and thrust it into Julian's hand. “Spend it wisely, for you will be playing for copper pieces on the street within a week.”

“Hang on a second,” Chaz said to Argo. He turned to Julian. “Surely, we can be reasonable. I mean, I know I'm good, but –”

“Come on, Chaz,” said Julian. “I saw some nicer-looking clubs up the street. I'm sure one of them wouldn't mind having a crowd like this.” He turned his back on Argo.

“Wait!”

Julian was feeling giddy, and he kind of needed to pee. The drinks Argo had given him were taking effect. But he composed himself before turning back around to face Argo.

“I have no intention of wasting anymore of your time or mine.”

Argo sighed. “Yeah, yeah. You made your point, elf. I will pay what you demand.”

“Holy fucking shit!” said Chaz. “Really?”

Julian shut him up with a look, then turned back to Argo. “Up front,” he said. “In addition to what you paid us tonight.” He had a feeling Argo was going to try to claim that tonight's payment was included in the arrangement they were making, so it was best to get that out in the open now.

“Up front?” cried Argo. “Where do you expect me to get that kind of money tonight?”

Julian cocked an eyebrow. Though he was making every effort to come off as disdainful of having to deal with Argo's insufferable tediousness, he was enjoying himself immensely.

“Please don't pretend you didn't make at least that much tonight. If you didn't, you wouldn't be making this deal with me now.”

“How do I know you two do not take my money and flee the city?”

“Why would we?” asked Julian. “It's like you said. One big score is only temporary. Steady employment keeps going. We'd be fools to skip town and blow the opportunity to keep this going week after week.”

Argo nodded. “Yes. I think even you are not as mad as that, elf.” He grinned. “But there are better reasons not to double-cross Argo. There are two ways a man can react to being wronged. He can suck the cock of the man who wronged him, or he can cut it off and feed it to him.”

“I'm sure there are other reactions,” said Chaz a little nervously. “I can think of, like, two more right off the top of my head.”

Argo didn't take his eyes off Julian. “A man does not get as far in life as I have by sucking the cocks of those who have wronged me. Do we understand each other?”

There wasn't much nuance to read between the lines of Argo's threat.

“We understand each other just fine,” said Julian. He had no intention of ripping Argo off. In fact, the whole reason he made this deal was that a week was as long as he was willing to stay here. He wanted to catch up with his friends as quickly as possible, and this felt like the fastest and safest way to do it. He would pay off his debt to Akane and still have 100 gold pieces in traveling money for him and Chaz to make their way to Hollin without any further interruptions.

“Very good,” said Argo. “Follow me to my office.”

Julian and Chaz followed him through a door to the right of the bar. When Chaz closed the door behind them, all the noise from the crowd was snuffed out like a candle flame.

Argo's office was like a shrine to opulence. Gold-framed portraits of large-breasted women covered the walls. His polished oak desk was as big as a car from the 70s. The leather upholstered chairs behind and in front of it looked too nice to sit on.

“Have a seat,” said Argo, sitting on the chair behind the desk.

The chairs were even more comfortable than they looked. Julian couldn't remember the last time he'd sat on something designed for comfort. The closest thing in recent memory would probably be a tree stump or rock. Now he felt like a baby against his mother's breasts. If not for his debt to Akane, along with the guilt of knowing so many of his friends were in danger, he would have gladly given up all the money Argo was about to pay him if he could walk out of his office dragging this chair with him.

Argo thrust his arm down at something that Julian couldn't see behind his desk. It sounded kind of like when he used to scoop out ice from the machine at Papa Joe's. It made sense, then, that what he lifted from behind the desk did indeed look like an ice scoop. But instead of being filled with ice, Argo's scoop was filled with gold coins.

He dumped them all over the desk. They featured a different face than the one Julian was accustomed to seeing on the coins in Cardinia, probably a past leader of whatever nation Pargos belonged to. A different currency hadn't occurred to him. He hoped they weren't like pesos or yen, which would screw him on the exchange rate.

No, this currency wasn't made out of paper or cheap metal. This was valued based on the gold it was made of. Different face or not, they were roughly the same size as the coins he was used to. And the weight of the bag Argo had already paid him was consistent with what one hundred gold pieces ought to feel like. Besides, Julian's deal with Akane was for one thousand gold pieces. Where they came from didn't enter into it.

Argo began gathering the coins together and stacking them into neat stacks of ten, which he then slid beside each other until he'd formed a line ten stacks long. He started on a second line but was only two stacks in when he needed to dump another scoop of coins on the desk.

Eventually, while Julian and Chaz watched, Argo had lined up ten rows of ten stacks of ten coins.

“One thousand gold pieces,” he said. “Are you satisfied?”

Chaz looked to Julian. Finally, he was respecting his position as manager.

Julian nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“I want your asses here at least two hours earlier tomorrow, and every day this week. Tell your muses they work for me now. Got it?”

“Absolutely,” said Julian. “I have no doubt they'll be nothing less than completely cooperative.”

“Good.” Argo tossed a crumpled black pouch across the desk to Julian. “The Howling Owlbear” was embroidered on the side of it with gold thread. “I suggest you head straight back to your room. You don't want to be walking around with this kind of money at this time of night.”

“We should have at least one celebratory drink before we turn in,” said Chaz as soon as they got outside. It seemed he was determined to piss in the face of Argo's warning, common sense, and any self-preservation instincts he had.

Julian's main objection, however, was more of a practical one. One thousand gold pieces weren't exactly comfortable to carry around. Not only did it make him a walking target for any ruffian who they might happen to pass on the street, but it was heavy. Still, he did feel like celebrating.

“Let's drop off Akane's money first and check in on her. As soon as it's in her possession, we're no longer responsible for it. Besides, she might want to have that celebratory drink with us.”

Chaz laughed. “Maybe she'll offer to pay for it.”

Julian didn't think that likely, but he didn't care. She was about to be out of his hair for good.

“We can't go nuts tonight like we did last night,” he said as they entered the hotel lobby. “We've only got one hundred gold pieces to get us through the week and then travel to Hollin. And we want Argo to get his money's worth so we can work this gig again after we finish rescuing everyone. So one or two drinks max, then we get some rest.”

“I completely agree,” said Chaz. “But it wouldn't be right not to celebrate this turning point in our career.” He jogged up ahead of Julian to open their room door for him. The stench of stale vomit immediately hit them in the face.

“Ravenus?” called Julian as he stepped inside. “Akane?”

“In here, sir!” Ravenus squawked from the bedroom.

Akane groaned, also from the bedroom. “Please. Not so loud.”

Her vomit puddle in the common room still covered a large section of the floor around the sofa, but it was mostly bereft of the chunks Ravenus had been snacking on. Fortunately for him, she'd started a new puddle in the bedroom.

“Still not feeling so hot, eh?” said Julian.

Akane raised her head weakly. “A little better than before.”

“This might make you feel better.” He shook the sack of coins just hard enough for the ones on top to jingle a little. “I've got your money. It's all here.”

Akane lay back down and waved listlessly toward the wall. “Just put it over there.”

“Listen, I know you're probably not feeling up to it, but I thought I'd invite you just the same. Chaz and I are popping out for a couple of celebratory drinks.”

“Ugh! I never want to drink again!”

“Oh no?” said Chaz, stepping into the bedroom with a mostly full bottle of stonepiss left over from the night before. “I was going to suggest some hair of the dog.”

Akane groaned. “I am not hungry.”

“No, I meant more stonepiss. Sometimes, the best cure for a hangover is to have another drink.”

“I'm not sure that's such a good idea,” said Julian. “She obviously doesn't take well to alcohol.”

“Not as much as she drank. That's why she's feeling so shitty right now. You can't go from being as shitfaced as an Irish sailor to as sober as a Mormon judge just like that. You need to take it down in stages.” Chaz stepped carefully around the vomit puddle and set the bottle down on the nightstand. “Anyway, it's here if you need it.”

“Shall I stay here and look after her, sir?” asked Ravenus, lying on his side on the floor next to the puddle, his feathers sticky with puke.

Julian could tell by the fogginess in his head that his familiar was blissfully drunk but in no shape to be flying anywhere.

“Sure, Ravenus,” he said. “We won't be gone long.”

Relieved to have let go of the physical weight of the money and the emotional weight of his debt, Julian was happy to be going out for a drink with Chaz. Sure, he still had other problems to solve, but it was important for his emotional well-being to take stock of victories when he accomplished them. And today's victory had been a big one.

“You want to check out one of the other clubs?” asked Chaz as soon as they were back out on the street.

Julian took a deep breath of the cool night air. It smelled faintly of pee, but heavily of freedom.

Like Cardinia, the streets of Pargos had lampposts at regular intervals, each lit with a Light-imbued stone. But the intervals were farther apart here, leaving gaps of darkness where anything could be lurking in wait for two naive tourists to happen by.

“Huh?” said Julian. He shook his head. “No. This isn't Friday night in Vegas. We're just having one or two drinks, remember?”

“Yeah, but we could just have one or two drinks at –”

“Besides, it wouldn't be a good look for us if Argo caught us at a competitor's club.”

Chaz sighed. “I guess that makes sense.”

Julian scanned the street until he spotted a pleasant little cafe with a couple of tables out in front.

“What about that place?”

“Which one?”

Julian read the signage above the door. “The Classy Grape.”

Chaz gawked at him like he had tentacles growing out of his ears. “The Classic Rape?”

Julian pointed at the sign.

“Lame,” said Chaz after he read the sign. “It looks like a place I'd take my grandma to make sure she kept me in her will.”

“I think it looks nice. It's got outdoor seating. We can have a glass of wine like a couple of normal people for once and take in the ambiance of the city at night.”

Half a block away, a half-elf threw up on a hooker he was trying to bargain with.

“That's some nice ambiance,” said Chaz. “Please, lead the way.”

Julian crossed the street and stood next to one of the unoccupied wrought-iron tables in front of the store. “Do you think we need to go in? Or should we just sit down and wait for someone?”

“How the hell should I know?” asked Chaz. “This was your idea.”

Before Julian had time to think about it, the shop door opened. A plump smiling young human woman wearing a frilly beige apron stepped outside to greet them.

“Welcome to The Classy Grape,” she said. “My name is Millie. Would you like to see our wine list?”

Julian smiled at her. “Thank you, Millie, but that won't be necessary. I'm sure you know your wines better than we do. Please bring us a bottle of your favorite red.”

“Of course, sir.” She curtsied and went back inside.

Julian and Chaz sat in silence for a moment until Chaz spoke up.

“This isn't so bad,” he admitted. “It's been a while since I've really stopped to people-watch.”

“It's nice, isn't it?” Julian had been expecting him to complain or say something to ruin his mood. It was refreshing that they were actually on the same page for once.

“As a performer, I'm so used to being observed. It feels good to be the observer for a change.”

So much for refreshing. Julian hoped Millie would return quickly with the wine so that he could more easily ignore Chaz's self-indulgent bullshit.

“I can only imagine,” he said, hoping that might be the end of it.

“I don't know if you can,” said Chaz. “The constant pressure to live up to the hype. People make me out to be this legendary godlike figure, but I'm really just a man. Can you even begin to imagine what kind of toll that takes on me?”

Julian had heard about all he could stand to hear. He was about to ask Chaz what the hell he was talking about, but Millie chose that exact moment to arrive with the wine.

“This is my personal favorite,” she said as she placed glasses on the table in front of Julian and Chaz. “It is from a vineyard near where I grew up.” The bottle was wrapped up to the neck in twine to keep the light out, and the wine she poured from it was deep burgundy. “I hope you enjoy it.”

“I have no doubt we will,” said Julian. He pulled a gold piece out of the bag Argo had given him for tonight's performance. “Will this be enough to cover it?”

Millie laughed shyly. “That is more than enough. Let me run inside to fetch you some change.”

“There's no need for that, sweetheart,” said Chaz with a leering grin as he raised his glass to her. “I'm RazzmaChaz.”

“Oh,” she said, smiling back as politely as the awkwardness allowed. When Chaz cocked an expectant eyebrow at her, she added, “I am Millie.”

“Thank you, Millie,” said Julian. “Go ahead and keep that.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Millie. She gave them another curtsy before hurrying back inside.

Chaz  leaned back in his chair. “What a fucking weirdo. What was her deal?”

“Clearly she was in awe of your godlike figure.”

Julian took a sip of his wine. It was smooth and just a little bitter. Not incredibly strong, but a bottle between him and Chaz should put them in the perfect state of mind to settle in for a good night's rest.

Finally, he could take a breather. He savored the next sip, allowing himself to fully enjoy its taste on his tongue, its warmth down his esophagus, and the relaxation he felt as the alcohol entered his –

“SHIT!” he said, jolting up and spilling his wine all over his serape.

Chaz took a cautious sniff and sip of his own glass. “It's not that bad.”

“There's something wrong with Ravenus.” Julian stared at their hotel across the street. Most of the windows were dark, but one was lit up with bright flashes of blue light. “Akane?”

“Julian!” cried Ravenus from somewhere not too far away. Julian couldn't see him against the black night sky.

“Ravenus!” Julian called back. “We're down here!”

Ravenus flapped into view, bounced off a lamppost, then the shop's wall, and finally landed on the ground where he wobbled on unsteady legs.

“Here I am, sir. I don't know what's happened. All of a sudden, she just –” Ravenus puked up several chunks of partially re-digested moose meat.

Julian sighed. “I never should have let him drink so much.”

“He'll be fine,” said Chaz. “It happens to the best of us.”

“Are you okay now? Did you get that all out of your system?”

“I think so,” said Ravenus.

“Calm down and tell me what happened.”

“She started drinking from the stonepiss bottle you left next to the bed,” said Ravenus.

Julian scowled at Chaz.

“Don't pin this on me,” said Chaz. “When have you ever heard of someone losing their shit after they have a little drink to take the edge off a hangover?”

“Are you sure that was stonepiss in there?” asked Julian. “You didn't, like, piss in the bottle or something, did you?”

“Of course not. I had a swig from that bottle myself. It was stonepiss, and the good stuff too.”

Julian looked back down at Ravenus. “So she had a drink, then started freaking out?”

“No, sir,” said Ravenus. “The drink seemed to lighten her mood.”

Chaz raised his wine glass and smiled. “You're welcome.”

“So what happened?” asked Julian, nervously keeping an eye on the hotel. The lightning had stopped, but there were a couple of tendrils of black smoke coming out of the window.

Ravenus steadied himself against a chair leg. “I don't know, sir. She picked up the bag you brought her, then started ranting about it being light. She said you had cheated her, and that she would be paid what she was owed in blood.”

“How could it be light?” Julian wondered aloud. “We watched Argo count every coin. I slid them into the bag myself.” A troubling thought occurred to him. He glared at Chaz. “Did you skim any money out of the bag?”

“I didn't touch the fucking bag!” said Chaz. “It was in your possession the entire time.”

Julian nodded. “That's true.” He looked down at Ravenus. “Did she say how much was missing?”

“No, sir.”

“If we miscounted by a couple of coins, I can pay her from what's left in –”

“JULIAN!” bellowed a thunderous voice from the entrance to their hotel.

Julian and Chaz simultaneously picked up wine menus to hide behind.

“Maybe now isn't the best time to approach her,” observed Chaz.

Akane staggered out onto the street like Karl emerging from Nakatomi Plaza at the end of Die Hard. In her right hand, she carried the black bag of gold that Julian had left for her.

“Yeah,” Julian quietly agreed. “Maybe we'll give her a chance to cool down a bit.”

“Shit!” whispered Chaz. “She's coming this way!”

It was true that Akane was stumbling in their general direction, but it didn't seem like she was headed specifically for them, or that she could see anything clearly more than three feet in front of her face. But the closer she got, the more likely she was to spot them.

Fortunately, a couple of human men ran interference.

“Hey there, beautiful,” said one of them. “What do you have in that heavy sack of yours.”

“Where is Julian?” she demanded.

The two men laughed.

“We know no Julian,” said the one who had first spoken to her. “But why don't you let us help you carry that heavy bag?” He leaned in to grab it, but Akane kicked him in the chest.

He flew backward to the other side of the street, two storefronts down from where Julian and Chaz were seated.

The other man was paralyzed with shock until Akane swung the sack over her head once and swatted him in the side with it. He only flew a couple of feet, but he didn't get back up.

Everyone on the street stopped to watch the spectacle, and Akane seethed at them as if hoping someone else would try to come steal her precious gold.

“There's something I didn't tell you about Akane,” said Julian.

Chaz didn't take his eyes off the commotion in the street. “You mean aside from the lesbian thing?”

“She's not a lesbian.”

“Are you sure? Because she fights like a –”

“Chaz!” snapped Julian. He sighed. “She's a dragon.”

“What?” Chaz finally broke his gaze away from the fight to stare at Julian. “What the hell does that mean? Like, she's half-Asian or something?”

“What? No! I mean she's an actual lightning-breathing – Oh shit.”

Alone, angry, probably still a little drunk, and surrounded by a growing mob of seemingly-hostile strangers, Akane grew into her true form.

“DRAGON!” someone shouted, then people started to flee in every direction.

“Holy shit!” said Chaz. “What the fuck is that? Where's Akane?”

“That is Akane,” said Julian.

Akane ignored all of them, placing the sack of gold in her mouth, then tilting her head up to ease it down her long throat.

“She ate it,” said Chaz like his brain was still trying to fully process what he was seeing. “Dragons eat gold?”

“That's probably the most convenient way for her to carry it,” speculated Julian. “She'll shit it back out once she gets home. But that rules out us being able to count it and see how big a discrepancy we're dealing with.”

Chaz gawked wide-eyed at Julian as if just coming out of a vividly disturbing dream. “We need to get the hell out of here.”

Julian agreed. He picked up Ravenus while Chaz grabbed the wine bottle, and they took off down the nearest alley.

Chapter 26

It seems like old times. Walking on this road together, I mean.

Cooper had a lot of unpleasant memories on this stretch of road toward Cardinia, and he was tired of traveling it. It seemed like he'd memorized every pasture and farmhouse they passed. It was no more fantastic than any stretch of open highway in Bumblefuck, Mississippi.

But it was also the first stretch of road that he and Nabi had traveled on for a considerable distance together.

“How long do you think it's gonna take for your sister to dig up your wings and have them delivered to the temple in Cardinia?” he asked.

The more important question is how long it will take for that crate of logfruits to arrive in Glittersprinkles Grove. Once my sister knows of our intentions, she will delegate every resource in the forest to the tasks of retrieving my wings and delivering them as swiftly as possible to Cardinia.

“We're probably still looking at a week at least. Is there anything you want to do in the meantime?”

We could hunt down another nest of wererats if you like.

Cooper had enough blood on his hands and mind at present. “I was thinking more like hanging out at the Whore's Head Inn and drinking beer for a week.”

I am unable to drink in my current form.

“So I'll soak you in it or something.”

I look forward to the day when we can share a proper drink together.

“You and me both. I can't wait to introduce you to my friends so I can prove I'm not fucking bananas for talking to an axe.”

Cooper hoped everyone was all right. He hadn't been able to talk much to Randy and Denise. But whatever had led them to the fighting pits of Meb Gar'shur might have had consequences for the others as well. It seemed like he'd been away from the Whore's Head forever. Who knew what kind of shit had gone down during his absence. Had Mordred gotten the better of them? Would he have sold them into slavery? If so, why only Randy and Denise? What had he done with everyone else?

There is no point in such speculations. It will only drive you mad. You will find the answers you seek when we reach –

“Holy shit,” said Cooper when he rounded a bend in the road and the uppermost spires of Cardinia came into view. Several plumes of black smoke billowed up from behind them. “What the hell happened?”

It would appear to be a fire. There is nothing to worry about, I'm sure. Fires happen occasionally. That is part of living in a crowded city, so I'm led to understand.

But it wasn't just one fire. Cooper counted at least three plumes of smoke far enough apart to indicate separate fires burning independently of each other. This wasn't normal. There was some Rodney King-type shit happening in Cardinia, and Cooper had a strong suspicion his friends were somehow involved in it.

“We've got to get to the Whore's Head right away,” he said. “Fuck, I really hope Tim hasn't done anything that –”

A series of clicks stopped him in his tracks.

What is it? What was that noise?

Cooper sighed. “Tim.”

They weren't the simple clicks of cocking crossbows. They were more mechanical, a sound Cooper had only previously heard in movies.

He was less surprised than his ambushers were probably expecting him to be when they emerged from the trees on either side of him wielding assault rifles. There were four of them, each dressed in clothes made from scraps of green and brown wool.

“Stay where you are, orc,” said one of the men. None of them were particularly large, but it was the scrawniest of the group who addressed him. “Keep your hands where we can see them.”

Cooper obediently and calmly raised his hands.

What are you doing? These cretins are armed only with metal clubs, and they reek of evil.

“Those aren't clubs,” said Cooper. “Those weapons could tear me apart in a matter of seconds.”

The leader smiled as he and the others approached slowly and cautiously from all sides.

“Indeed they could. You are smarter than you look. How do you know of our weapons?”

“Because I'm a fucking American. Is Tim with you?”

The men stopped approaching and exchanged bitter glances. Clearly, they weren't fans of Tim. That little name drop hadn't gone as well as Cooper had hoped.

The leader kept a safe distance as he leveled his weapon at Cooper. “What know you of the halfling?”

They may spare your life if you have information that is useful to them. Claim knowledge, but reveal no more than you must.

“I know all sorts of shit about him,” said Cooper. He nodded toward the burning city. “Is he responsible for that?”

After acknowledging that Cooper was well-covered by the rest of his gang, the leader glanced back. “Only in his dreams could that little drunk hope to sow such chaos.”

Cooper snorted. “That's Tim, all right.”

“Several factions are vying for the throne since His Majesty the king has passed without leaving an heir.”

“Thank fuck.”

The gang leader stared at him with a puzzled expression. “Did you have a grievance with the king?”

“Huh? Oh, no. He was cool, I guess. I'm just relieved to hear that my friends aren't responsible for whatever the fuck is happening.” There still seemed to be some unresolved tension in the air. “I'm sorry for your loss.”

“You are a friend of the halfling?”

“I'm more than that. I'm his best friend.”

Cooper, that is too much. If they think you are too valuable, they may –

“In fact, I might be his only friend right now.”

Cooper!

The rodent-faced leader gave Cooper a leering smile. “We would very much like to ask you some questions about your best friend.”

Cooper shrugged. “Sure. Whatever you want to know.”

Cooper! What are you doing? You cannot give away everything at once.

The leader lowered his gun and produced a large leather sack. “But first I would ask you to surrender your weapon.”

“My axe? I don't think it's going to fit in your bag.”

“Oh, I assure you it will.”

Cooper nodded appreciatively. “A Bag of Holding? Bonus.” He removed Nabi from his back and held her upside down at arm's length as he slowly approached the leader.

Do not put me in that bag, Cooper! I cannot influence him unless he holds me in his hands. Cooper! Can you hear me?

Nabi went silent as Cooper inserted her blades into the mouth of the bag. He felt bad about ditching her again, but he welcomed the sudden quiet in his mind.

“What do you want to know?”

The leader rolled up the bag and tucked it away in a steel tube on his belt. “Follow me.”

With half a dozen guys pointing assault rifles at his back, Cooper followed their leader into the woods until they came to a well-established campsite. Judging by the amount of charred wood and ash around their fire, the amount of dead rabbits, boars, and deer they had in various stages of the cleaning process, and the laundry hanging on lines to dry, they must have been working this ambush point for at least a week or two.

“Please have a seat,” said the leader. “My name is Jonin. May we offer you something to eat?”

Cooper sat on a log next to the fire. “Yeah. I'm fucking starving.”

“Stinger, fetch the orc as much meat as he desires. And bring him a wineskin.”

One of the men lowered his weapon to follow Jonin's command, but five others kept their guns trained on Cooper. If he was going to die tonight, at least he'd be drunk and well-fed.

“What is your name, orc?” asked Jonin.

“Cooper.”

A couple of the men exchanged excited glances.

“We have heard of you. Do you come from the same strange world as Tim?”

“Yeah.” Cooper nodded toward Stinger. “Do you think we could hurry the food along. I'm really hungry.”

Jonin turned around. “Stinger!”

“I'm coming!” said Stinger. He hurried back with a corpse of something about the size of a fat rabbit, which Cooper snatched from his hand and immediately tore into. The bones were fragile enough so that Cooper didn't bother trying to eat around them. Grease dripped down the sides of his mouth as he greedily ingested the much-needed sustenance. He chugged down some wine as he gestured for Stinger to bring more meat.

But Jonin raised a finger to stop Stinger. “Not until we get some information.”

“I'll talk,” said Cooper. “Whatever you want to know. Just keep the food coming.”

While their gun-wielding associates looked on with distress, Jonin and Stinger lugged a small roasted pig to Cooper and dropped it in front of him. They had clearly been saving it for a special occasion, and now they had to watch their half-orc prisoner eat it in front of them. As far as Cooper was concerned, there was no better seasoning.

He tore off a hind leg and bit off a nice big chunk of it.

“Now, talk!” demanded Jonin.

“What, exactly, do you want to know?” asked Cooper through a mouthful of ham.

“Tell me everything.”

“Everything?” Was he supposed to spill his guts like when Chunk told the Fratellis about the fake puke in the movie theater?

“Everything,” Jonin clarified. “I have seen glimpses of the strange world you come from.” He raised his gun but didn't point it at Cooper. “Where these come from. I wish to know more about your world and more about your halfling friend. Tell me everything.”

Cooper shrugged. “Okay.” As he continued to devour the pig piece by piece, he regaled Jonin and the others with the entire history he had with Tim, starting as far back as he could remember, which was sometime around the third grade.

He told them about summers at the neighborhood pool, discussions they had about girls, sleepovers during which they played earlier editions of Caverns & Creatures, and several generations of video game consoles.

As he went on, the sun began to set, and several of Jonin's gang showed signs of boredom, impatience, or exhaustion. It wasn't until Cooper got as far as the Nintendo 64, however, that Jonin finally interrupted him.

“Stop!” he said. “None of this is useful information. I scarcely understand most of it. What is Mario Kart?”

“It's this game where you –”

“I do not care!”

“Dude, you asked.”

“I need you to tell me something I can use. Something that will help me capture him. What are his weaknesses?”

“Simple,” said Cooper. “Alcohol and self-esteem. You feed him enough booze or make him think he's got something to prove, and you can get him to fall into whatever kind of trap you want.”

Jonin scrutinized Cooper with narrowed eyes. “Perhaps. Or could it be that you are just telling me what I wish to hear?”

Cooper took a second to think about that. “Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?”

“A clever man sprinkles in a bit of known truth to make the lies seem more believable. For example, I referred to Tim as a drunk, so you betray nothing by telling me that he has a weakness for drink. But then you tell me about his self-esteem issues. Might you be setting me up for a trap the two of you have concocted?”

Cooper snorted. “I'm not that clever.”

“Then why do you so easily tell me of your friend's weaknesses.”

“Because what the fuck are you going to do about it?” Cooper bit off a chunk of pig ass. He was long past full of pork, but he was still enjoying the look on these assholes' faces as they continued to lose hope that he'd leave any for them.

“I intend to exploit those weaknesses, of course,” said Jonin, sounding a little less confident now.

“Good luck with that. Say, do you have any more wine?”

Jonin pointed his gun at Cooper but didn't cock it. “I warn you, orc. Do not tempt me! I have been generous thus far but make no mistake. I am the one in charge here. You are a prisoner and shall do as you are told!”

Cooper felt a sudden painful tug in his gut. “I've got to take a shit. Do you mind if I step away for a sec?”

Jonin laughed. “You must think me a fool. If you must shit, shit where you are. I cannot imagine it would make this place smell any worse since your arrival.”

A couple of his companions joined in his laughter.

Despite his Charisma issues, Cooper hated shitting in front of people. Fortunately, Nabi wasn't able to witness the result of him having eaten most of a pig, some of which hadn't been cooked through all the way. As for those who were about to witness it, he comforted himself by remembering that they didn't really matter. Even if they did, the fuse had been lit, and nothing was going to stop his cannon from firing.

He rose from the log he'd been sitting on, braced himself with his hands on his knees, and waited for nature to take its course.

He didn't have to wait long. It came out at first like one of those super explosive volcanoes that shoots ash miles up into the atmosphere. He was pretty sure the force must have left a small crater in the ground behind him. What followed the initial blast was more like a volcano that secretes a steady flow of lava down its side, a seemingly never-ending river of molten rock.

“Mercy of the gods!” cried Jonin. “How can there be so much?”

The pain in Cooper's gut barely lessened as the puddle of shit began to pool around his feet. Unable to focus on anything else, he dropped what was left of his pig into the shit.

“NO!” cried one of Jonin's crew who had apparently still been holding out hope for a nice chunk of ham.

If Cooper hadn't been in so much pain, he would have laughed at him. Fuck that guy.

The shit flowed and flowed, but the pain didn't let up. Instead, it grew stronger. That's when Cooper realized that his plan was finally going into effect.

*

He woke up late the next morning with a different sort of pain in several parts of his body. Every wound hurt like a son of a bitch, but none were so severe that they prevented him from getting up. When he looked down at himself, he found he was covered in more blood than shit. That was probably the better option, but he still thought it would be a good idea to roll around in a stream a bit before heading into the city.

In the light of the late morning sun, he sorted through unidentifiable body parts and human viscera until he finally located what was left of Jonin. He was only able to identify him because of what he was actually looking for – the steel tube attached to his belt.

Cooper yanked the tube free, unscrewed the cap, then pulled out Jonin's Bag of Holding. After unrolling it, he reached into the mouth.

“Nabi.”

What is happening? Why did you put me in that – Mercy of the gods! What happened here?

“I got rid of those guys.”

But how?

“I'm not really sure.” Cooper frowned at the gore dripping from the trees around him. “If I had to guess, it wasn't through Diplomacy.” He winced as he took a step forward.

Are you hurt?

“Yeah. I was hoping my damage resistance in bear form would have lessened the punch of those bullets. And I guess it did, considering I'm still alive. But they still took a toll.”

You could have told me your intentions. Do you know how worried I was when you put me in that bag?

“Sorry. I couldn't say it out loud, could I? And you know I'm not very good at thinking.” He picked up one of the guns and aimed it at a thick-trunked tree about twenty yards away. “Check this out. This will make you feel better.”

The gun was perfectly silent when he pulled the trigger. If not for the muzzle fire, the kickback, and the bark exploding off the trees near the one he was aiming at, he would have thought it was broken.

Stop that, Cooper! You are hurting the trees. How is that supposed to make me feel better?

“I just figured it was something you hadn't seen before.”

You figured correctly. What is that thing?

“It's a gun. Tim's been running these from our world to here. More importantly, it's our ticket to getting you out of this axe.”

How is that?

“The clerics in the temple aren't going to bring you back for free.”

That is true.

“So I was thinking I'd charge in there with a ski mask, blast the shit out of some of their statues and windows and shit, and demand that they bring you back.” He blasted a few more rounds haphazardly into the forest. “Hey, motherfuckers! Bring back my friend or eat my ass!” It would have been more effective if the gun actually made noise.

Cooper!

Cooper stopped firing. “What? Is the ski mask too much?”

I think a weapons merchant might part with a fair amount of coin for such a unique and powerful weapon.

“Sure, but I think you're getting ahead of yourself. We should focus on bringing you back before we start thinking about making bank.”

Nabi sighed in Cooper's head. He hated when she did that.

I meant, we could sell the weapons, then use the money to pay for my resurrection.

Cooper thought about Nabi's suggestion for a moment. The sigh had been warranted.

“Okay,” he finally conceded. “We'll try it your way first.”

He packed away all the guns into his new Bag of Holding, along with what money he found strewn among the bandits' shredded remains. Unfortunately, most of their camping equipment was destroyed during the fight, and whatever food they had was intermingled with their body parts and viscera.

The water in the nearby stream turned pink briefly when he first jumped into it. But before long, he'd washed enough gore from his body to feel comfortable that city guards would be more inclined to stay away from him than question him. That would have to do.

With a full stomach, a sack of assault rifles, and about a dozen bullet wounds, he got back on the road to the burning city of Cardinia.

Chapter 27

Katherine had never been so relieved to set foot on dry land. She'd grown up on the Gulf of Mexico and never had a problem with the water. More recently, she'd enjoyed quite a lot of her time as a ship's captain once she got the hang of it. But spending such a long time on such a small boat without even a modicum of privacy was quickly driving her nuts. She couldn't even imagine how the others felt, considering the fact that they hadn't spent nearly as much of that time sleeping as she had.

“I guess it's optimistic of me to even ask,” said Tony the Elf in a tone that made Katherine want to drive his face into the sand. “But does anyone have any idea where we are?”

Katherine stifled her violent urges, reminding herself that they'd all just been through a harrowing experience. She scanned north and south. Nothing but empty beach on either side as far as she could see. Ahead of her, a vast field of long yellow grass eventually gave way to some sparse woodland.

“No idea,” she finally said.

“So which way do we go, Captain?” asked Tanner.

She didn't know if he was sucking up to her or dumping the responsibility for their fate in her hands, but she didn't like his tone either.

“North.”

Tony the Elf squinted northward to where the dull gray sand met the cloudy gray sky. “Why north?”

Katherine resisted the urge to say, “Because fuck you, that's why,” and instead tried to think of a more diplomatic way of saying that picking a random direction was better than them just sitting on their asses.

“Hollin's our ultimate destination, right?” said Jay. “It's up north, and it's on the coast. Following the beach should get us there eventually.”

“Yeah,” said Katherine. She was so grateful for his support that she didn't even want to punch him.

“But what about the others?” asked Tony the Elf.

Katherine shrugged. “We've got no idea where they are, so north is as good a guess as any.

“Okay, so what about Julian and Chaz? Didn't they have to go to Pargos for something?”

“Do you know where Pargos is?”

Tony the Elf shook his head.

“Then north is still just as good a guess,” said Katherine. “Besides, they weren't moving there. That was just their first destination. They know we're all headed to Hollin eventually, so it stands to reason that they might already be on their way there.”

“I guess.”

Guessing was all they had. Katherine didn't wait to be second-guessed anymore. She whistled for Butterbean to follow, then stomped hard through the sand southward.

“You're going the wrong way!” Tony the Elf called after her.

Katherine smiled to herself before turning around. “That's exactly what I want anyone who finds this boat washed up on the beach to think. We'll leave tracks in the sand heading south for half a mile or so, then double back on the grass.”

It wasn't the most brilliant tactic in the history of deception, but it was something she hoped would boost morale while they were all at each others' throats.

They'd walked a little more than a quarter of a mile before Butterbean came upon a small stream flowing into the sea.

“We should turn around here,” said Tanner.

Katherine looked back at their progress. She could still see the drow boat they'd ditched on the shore. “This isn't even close to half a mile.”

“It is far enough to establish a direction, and the stream provides a plausible excuse for our footprints to stop. If they lead into a random section of grass for no reason, that may arouse suspicion. Why would we suddenly decide to leave the beach and wander off into the grass?”

“Maybe we got attacked,” said Katherine.

“There is no evidence in the sand to corroborate that. But it is not unreasonable to think we would have followed a stream, hoping it might lead us to a village.”

“That's not only not unreasonable,” said Tony the Elf. “That actually sounds like a better idea than our original plan. Maybe we should just follow the stream.”

Katherine's instincts told her they ought to stick to the original plan, but she couldn't think of a reason off the top of her head to justify arguing that position without coming off as just being argumentative.

“No,” said Jay. “Those black elves are going to be right on our asses. We should take every opportunity we've got to give them the slip.”

“Well said,” said Katherine. “If not a little racially insensitive. They're called drow.”

“Who gives a shit what they're called?”

“I would think you of all people would...” What's wrong? Why are they all staring at me like that? Oh no. Have I done the thing again?

Jay let out a long, patient sigh before continuing. “My point is, you killed that bitch's cat again, and then we stole their boats. They aren't going to let that shit go.”

“She also ate two of them,” said Tony the Elf. “Just putting that out there.”

Katherine rolled her eyes. “Not relevant.”

Tony the Elf laughed incredulously. “How is that not relevant?”

“Because Jay was listing motives they have to hunt us down and kill us. I ate those bodies specifically to get rid of the evidence that we were involved in their deaths.”

Tanner nodded. “She makes a good point.”

“Thank you,” said Katherine. The babble of the stream over the sand and rocks reminded her that it had been some time since she last peed. Since it was anybody's guess as to when she would have access to clean running water again, this was probably a good time for all of them to relieve themselves and freshen up a bit. Wherever they were going, it wouldn't hurt to look as presentable as possible.

“Pee break,” she announced. “Don't wander off too far. We'll meet back here in five minutes.”

Everyone split up and made their own private nooks in the tall dead grass. While Katherine squatted, it occurred to her that if they filled that drow boat with water and everyone tossed their clothes in, she could clean all their laundry with a Purify Water spell like she'd done to the dirty dishes at that minotaur bar. As much as she would have liked to wear some clean clothes, however, she had neither the time nor the desire to stand around naked with three dudes. Still, not a bad thought. She'd bank it for later.

When she returned to the stream, she was pleasantly surprised to find everyone had managed to take a leak without being attacked by leopards or inadvertently starting a war or whatever.

“Everyone feeling better now?” she asked.

The others nodded.

“We should get moving while it's still light out,” said Tony the Elf. “So whatever we're going to do, let's just get to it already. We're heading back north through the grass, right?”

“Yes,” said Katherine.

“No,” said Jay.

Oh, come on, Jay. Not you too.

“Is there a problem?” Katherine asked as politely as she could fake.

Jay pointed to the flattened grass where he'd just come from relieving himself. “Look where I just peed.”

“What's wrong with your pee?” asked Katherine. “Is it brown?” Oh my God! I didn't just... “I meant because of kidney failure or something. Not because you're... I didn't mean...”

“I didn't ask you to look at my pee,” Jay patiently explained. “I said look where I just peed.”

“What about it?” asked Tony the Elf. “We're wasting so much time with this. Whatever you've got to say, just spill it.”

“This dead grass stays down when we step on it. Our path through that is going to be more visible than our tracks in the sand.”

“So what do you suggest?” asked Tanner.

“We follow the stream?” asked Tony the Elf, sounding hopeful. “Find a village? Ask the locals about the surrounding area?”

Jay shook his head. “That's not what I was going to suggest.”

Tony the Elf looked at him like he just told him Santa Claus wasn't real. “You don't mean... Oh, come on. Not again. We don't even know how far away Hollin is!”

“We don't have to get all the way to Hollin,” said Jay. “We just need to get far enough into the grass so that our path isn't visible from the beach. We can continue on foot from there.”

Tony the Elf sighed. “Fine.” He turned to Katherine. “Let's get it over with.”

Katherine nodded. “All right. Everyone get in the bag.”

Once everyone was in, she considered which animal form would be best. As a dire bat, she could cover more ground in a shorter amount of time. But a huge-ass bat flying around in broad daylight might attract the sort of attention they wanted to avoid. The only other flying animal she had in her repertoire was a normal-sized bat. That wasn't ideal either, but it would have to do. She really needed to interact with a bird sometime soon so that she could – Of course! She'd had plenty of interaction with Ravenus. It was worth a shot.

She closed her eyes and concentrated on taking the form of a raven. She had grown so used to her Wild Shape ability that she hardly noticed the transformation anymore. When she opened her eyes again, she found she was much lower to the ground. Spreading her arms, she was pleased to discover they were black feathered wings.

“Well, I'll be damned,” she said, surprising herself at first by the higher pitch of her voice. But the even bigger surprise was, “Holy shit! I can talk!”

Looking around her for the bag, she remembered she'd been holding it when she transformed. She must have absorbed it, along with Jay, Tanner, Tony the Elf, and Butterbean into her bird form. That's usually the sort of thing you want to get consent for before doing it.

“Oops,” she said aloud just to hear the sound of her bird voice again. But whatever harm was done was done. There was no point in wasting her bird form.

It took a moment for her to get her flapping down correctly. Bird wings, she found, were a little different than bat wings. But once she got the hang of it, she much preferred the sensation of flying as a bird to that of flying as a bat. It was a lot less herky-jerky, and she could stop flapping and glide for extended periods.

Within a minute, she'd flown plenty far enough to satisfy what Jay had in mind. But they had a few more minutes' worth of air in the bag, and this new flying sensation felt too good to quit after so short a time. Also, she was a lot faster in the air. She might as well give them all a bigger head start toward wherever they were going now that the opportunity presented itself.

She climbed higher and higher until she reached a comfortable cruising altitude. Small farms and villages stood out in the wilderness like bare patches of skin shaved from a furry animal. Circling around to get a better view of her entire surroundings, she spotted a larger town far to the south. That was good to know in case heading north didn't work out for some reason, but she decided it best to stick to their plan.

She followed the coastline northward, keeping an eye out for any of the other boats that might have found their way to shore, or for their drow pursuers, but the water was bereft of any vessels she could see.

After a few minutes, she spotted a town on the horizon. It didn't look quite as big as she imagined Hollin would be. It wasn't even as big as the town to the south had been, but it looked plenty big enough to grab a drink and a bed for the night.

But as she flew closer, Katherine noticed something about the people roaming around in the seemingly idyllic beach town that made her pause in her flapping. They looked more organized than what she was expecting for a beach town. Rather than wandering around and smoking weed or whatever she was expecting, they seemed to be patrolling. Everyone she saw was half of a pair, each armed with spears and wearing identical white – Shit!

She went into a nosedive free fall, plummeting toward the ground until she had to flap for a landing. Just wait until the others get a load of – Shit! Shit!

How long had she been flying? Reveling in the sensation, she'd lost track of time. They probably weren't dead, but they were going to be pissed when she pulled them out of the bag. Not a great time to spring the news that they were about to be up to their tits in Knights of Jordan again.

Quickly changing back into her half-elven form, she found the Bag of Holding in her hand where she'd been gripping it when she turned into a bird. She pulled the mouth open and reached inside.

“Butterbean!”

Her wolf spilled out of the bag and licked her face.

“I'm really sorry about that,” she said, pulling him in for a quick hug before reaching into the bag again. “Tanner!”

As soon as she felt his wrist lock with hers, she yanked him out of the bag. He'd barely had time to fall ass-first on the ground before she reached in again. “Jay!”

“Ow!” said Tanner when Jay spilled out of the bag on top of him.

“Sorry,” said Jay. “Katherine, chill out. What's the hur–”

“Tony the Elf!” said Katherine just before piling the last of her male companions on top of the other two. When she saw they were all alive and breathing, she relaxed. “I'm really sorry guys. I didn't mean to leave you in there so long. I lost track of...” It occurred to her then that none of them were gasping for breath. The only one who seemed to be at all short of breath was Tanner, and that was because Jay had landed pretty hard on him. “You're all okay?”

“Yeah,” said Tony the Elf. He stood up and started to brush himself off, but Katherine yanked him back down to squat next to her.

“What's wrong?” asked Tanner. “Have we been spotted by drow?”

Katherine shook her head. “Worse. I found the first town to the north.”

“How is that worse? And how did you find it so quickly? I barely had time to orient myself in the bag void.”

“Why is that? You were in there for at least ten minutes. You should all be gasping like fish on a dock.”

Tanner stared at her quizzically. “We were in that bag for less than a minute.” Jay and Tony the Elf nodded their agreement with Tanner's assessment.

“How can that be?” asked Katherine. “I'd swear I was flying for... unless... Holy shit!”

“What is it?” asked Jay.

“When I turned into a raven, I was holding the bag. It transformed with me. I absorbed all of you into my body!”

Jay frowned. “We talked about that.”

“Sorry, I did it without thinking. But it must have put you into a stasis mode during which you didn't need to breathe. Do you know what that means?”

“The ethical ramifications are certainly worth discussing.”

“Screw the ethical ramifications. This means that next time we bag ourselves a Mordred, we have the perfect place to store him!”

Tony the Elf nodded. “In other words, you're saying you need Mordred inside you?”

Katherine glared at him. “Really? Is that where you're going?”

“Sorry. Someone had to say it.”

Jay shrugged. “He's not wrong. What were you saying about the town up ahead?”

An uneasiness came over Katherine as she remembered the cult-like behavior of the Knights of Jordan and the violent altercation they'd had with them. She stood briefly to peek over the top of the grass to reassure herself that none were approaching. The grass was clear as far as she could see.

“It's crawling with Knights of Jordan.”

“That makes sense. The closer we get to the source, the stronger their presence will be.”

“Should we go around it?” asked Tony the Elf. “Keep on heading toward Hollin?”

That seemed like the wisest option on the surface, but there were some issues with it.

“What if the others turned up here?” Katherine voiced her concerns aloud. “If they accidentally let on that they know anything about Mordred or his dice, these nutcases will interrogate the shit out of them.”

Tanner busied himself braiding blades of the long-dead grass together. “Avoiding them will only make things more difficult once we reach Hollin. We would be better off trying to infiltrate them here where our blown cover would be less disastrous. The more we learn about how they interact with each other, the easier it will be to move freely among them in Hollin and get close enough to their leader to...” He glanced down at Katherine's Bag of Holding. “Well, to do whatever it is you intend to do with him.”

Katherine nodded. “Tanner's right. If we charge into Hollin dressed like this, Mordred will spot us coming from a mile away.”

“Do we still have those tunics we took off the Knights of Jordan on the beach?” asked Tanner.

“Yeah, but only two.”

“Then two of us will have to infiltrate first. They can procure more garments and return for those who stay behind.”

“These tunics are in pretty rough shape,” said Katherine. “From what I could make out, the Knights seemed to have this town under control. All their tunics were clean, and I didn't notice any signs of an uprising. I'm guessing they've already killed, contained, or converted everyone who's tried to stand up against them. If we go in there with our clothes all torn and bloodied, we'll be facing a bunch of questions we don't know how to – Oh, my God.”

“What's wrong?” asked Tony the Elf.

Katherine smiled. “I feel so stupid for not doing this before.”

“Doing what?”

“I'll show you in a few minutes. You guys stay here and dig a hole. I'll be right back.”

“Whoa, hold up,” said Tony the Elf. “You're not taking off by yourself.”

“Of course not. I'm bringing Butterbean.”

Tony the Elf shook his head. “Not good enough. If anything goes wrong, we need someone who can come back and tell us what happened and where you are.”

He was annoying, but he wasn't wrong.

“Fine,” she said. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of asking him to accompany her, she considered asking Jay. But if there was any trouble on the beach, Jay was still a bit skittish when it came to a fight. “Tanner, you come with me. Tony the Elf and Jay, dig a hole.”

“How big a hole do you want us to dig?” asked Jay, his tone vaguely suspicious. “Like, big enough to bury a body?”

Katherine laughed. “No, not quite that big. How about the size of a washing machine?”

“What is a washing machine?” asked Tanner.

“I'll show you in a few minutes. First, we need to fetch some water.”

She led Tanner and Butterbean through the tall grass toward the beach. Their path of flattened grass would be visible if the drow happened to land ashore here, but it was a risk she had to take.

When they got to the edge of the grass, Katherine peeked out from it and scanned the coast, which appeared to be deserted in both directions.

“Stay low, and stay quiet,” she whispered, then darted toward the sea.

Butterbean followed quickly and excitedly after her. Tanner was more cautious, keeping a wary eye in either direction as he jogged toward the water.

Katherine ran straight into the water, then dropped down to her knees to conceal as much of herself as possible. She held the Bag of Holding under the surface and opened it to let in as much seawater as she could.

Tanner slowed down to a stop and averted his eyes when she turned to look at him. “Are you... I mean, do you need some privacy?”

“Why would I need...” Jesus Christ, he thinks I'm taking a dump. “I'm filling my bag with water.”

“Of course. And why wouldn't you be?”

“No need to be a smart ass. You'll see what I'm doing when we get back to –”

“You there!” said one of two Knights of Jordan jogging toward them from a trail of flattened grass not far from the one they'd just made. “Stay where you are!”

Shit. As if these guys weren't annoying enough on their own, they were doubly annoying by validating Tony the Elf's warning.

“We can make a break for the grass,” Tanner whispered. “If we lead them to the others, we should be able to take them easily.”

It wasn't a terrible idea, but if they suspected she and Tanner were leading them into a trap – a very reasonable suspicion – then they might choose instead to run back to town and report them.

“Just stay where you are and look non-threatening. But be ready to fight when I give you the signal.”

“Understood.”

“Also, these are innocent people. They're being controlled by someone else. So we only want to subdue them.”

Tanner sighed. “Very well.”

As the Knights jogged closer, spears held slightly forward, Katherine saw that the smaller of the pair was a human woman and the larger a male half-orc. She was a little shocked every time she saw a half-orc that wasn't Cooper. On the whole, they weren't nearly as offensive to look at as he was.

“What are you doing here?” demanded the woman as they stopped about twenty feet away from Tanner.

“Nothing,” said Katherine. “I was just washing this bauble I found on the beach.

The woman exchanged a quick glance with her partner, then pointed her spear at Katherine. “What sort of bauble?”

Katherine shrugged. “It's not like anything I've ever seen. A small, twenty-sided stone.”

“The master's prize!” The woman raised her spear and took a step toward Katherine, but her partner grabbed her arm.

“Stop, Elania. It may be a trap.” He eyed Katherine warily. “Come out of the water slowly and hand over the bauble.”

Katherine gambled on their zeal trumping their common sense. “No.”

The half-orc looked unsurprisingly flustered. “In the name of Jordan Knight, I demand you hand over my master's prize!”

Tanner stared at Katherine, eagerly awaiting a signal from her, but it wasn't quite time.

“In the name of me, go fuck yourself,” she said. “It's my bauble. I found it fair and square.”

“You leave us no choice but to take it from you by force.” He led the way as both of them stomped into the water with their spears pointed at her. That was exactly what Katherine was waiting for.

“Squid!” she shouted, instantly conjuring up a squid nearly as big as the poor woman it was wrapping its tentacles around.

Elania screamed and let go of her spear to try to wrestle the tentacles away. Katherine took advantage of the distraction to run up and punch her in the face.

The male Knight charged through the knee-high water toward them. Katherine wasn't sure whether he meant to attack her or the squid that was almost completely engulfing his companion, but he never got the chance. Tanner was on him in a flash, his left elbow locked around the Knight's throat.

By the time Katherine's squid disappeared, both Knights were subdued and unconscious.

“Well,” said Tanner. “That is two fewer Knights of Jordan we shall have to deal with, I suppose.”

Katherine dragged Elania out of the water. “Not if we don't get them secured with something.”

“The Bag of Holding?”

“I guess that's the easiest way to bring them back to the others, but I don't want to keep them in there any longer than that. We have a habit of forgetting people in there.”

Since the man was heavier and more cumbersome, he went into the bag first. Elania was easier to slip inside, taking up less of their precious few minutes of oxygen. It didn't make much of a difference, as they rejoined the others with plenty of time to spare. Jay and Tony the Elf had made impressive progress with the hole they were digging, especially considering the only tools they had to dig with were their bare hands.

“The soil is really loose,” Jay explained. “So, what is this for?”

Katherine reached into the Bag of Holding. “Knights of Jordan.” Both unconscious bodies spilled out onto the ground.

Jay shook his head. “I specifically asked you about this. How the hell are we supposed to fit these two in a hole the size of a washing machine?”

“Again with the washing machine,” said Tanner. “My curiosity is piqued.”

“It's not for them,” said Katherine. “I need to fill it with water.”

Tony the Elf scooped a handful of loose soil from the bottom of the hole and held it up. “I don't think this is going to hold water for very long.”

“It doesn't have to. And besides, I brought a lot of water. Take their clothes off.”

“Whoa,” said Jay. “If you're going to kill them, then just kill them. We don't need to get into any freaky shit.”

Katherine sighed. “We're not going to kill them. But we need their clothes. Now we have enough for all four of us to infiltrate the town.”

Tanner pulled off Elania's tunic, which left her completely naked. Katherine felt bad about that, but she had bigger things to worry about. Jay maneuvered the male Knight's body while Tony the Elf pulled off his tunic, leaving him also as naked as the day he was born.

“These people really need to invent underwear,” said Katherine. “Does anyone have any rope?”

Tony the Elf and Jay shook their heads.

Tanner held up the braided strands of grass he'd been fiddling with. “I don't suppose this will suffice.”

“Hang on a second,” said Tony the Elf. “We can't just leave them tied up and naked out here. They'll die.”

“We can send someone after them after we check out the town,” said Katherine. “The only other choice we have is to kill them if we don't want our cover blown. Toss their tunics in the hole.”

Tanner and Tony the Elf tossed in the white tunics.

Katherine retrieved the other two tunics from the Bag of Holding and tossed them into the hole as well. “Here goes nothing.” She held the bag over the hole and reached inside. “Water.”

Bluish-green seawater gushed out of the bag, filling the hole. But as soon as she cut off the flow, she could see the water level quickly lowering.

She dropped to her knees to act while the tunics were still submerged and plunged her hand in. “Purify!”

The seawater turned instantly clear. As it continued to lower, the cleanliness of her arm below the point where she'd had it submerged made it look like she was wearing a white glove. When she pulled the tunics out, they were as white as a line of coke on Snow White's ass.

“Impressive,” said Tony the Elf, nodding appreciatively.

Clean as they were, one still had a gaping tear in it. But after a 0-Level Mending spell, it was as though it just came off the rack at the tunic store.

Katherine tossed everyone a tunic. “Wring them out as much as you can.”

The wet tunics were uncooperative, but everyone finally managed to pull them on. They clung tightly to everyone's clothes underneath, but Katherine hoped that, after a little time in the sun, they would dry off and start to fit naturally enough for them to pass as Knights of Jordan.

“There is still the matter of these two,” said Tanner, gesturing down at the two naked knights sleeping on the ground. “To the best of my knowledge, we have nothing to restrain them with.”

This had been nagging at Katherine the whole time she was changing, and she'd only been able to come up with one solution that didn't involve either killing them or leaving them be.

“We've got dirt, sand, and a big ass hole.”

Tanner nodded solemnly. “So be it.” He picked up one of their spears. “You need not watch if you do not wish to.”

“Hey!” said Jay, gripping the shaft of Tanner's spear firmly. He glared at Katherine. “What happened to not killing them?”

“I'm not suggesting we kill them,” said Katherine. “I meant we should bury them.”

Tony the Elf stared at her like he was questioning her mental stability. “You do realize that's a much more horrible way to die, right? I mean, being buried alive is at the top of most people's Worst Ways To Go list.”

“And I feel like I've mentioned this already,” said Jay. “That hole isn't nearly big enough for that.”

“I didn't mean all the way,” said Katherine. “Just up to their necks. That should hold them in place long enough for us to check out the town. Right before we leave, we'll tell someone where to find them.”

Jay shrugged. “That's good enough for me.”

Tanner dropped his spear. “Very well. Let us be quick about it before they awaken.”

The two Knights were buried up to their necks within minutes. One added bonus that Katherine hadn't even considered was that it covered their nakedness. She felt good about that.

“How far up do you think the tide comes?” Tony the Elf wondered aloud.

“Only as far as the grass line,” said Tanner. “Otherwise, the grass would not grow here.”

“Okay. Then I feel a little better about what we're doing. But maybe we should cover their heads with grass or something?”

That seemed like an odd suggestion to Katherine.

“Why would we do that?”

“I don't know. To give them some shade from the sun? Or what if birds spot them from above and come down to eat their eyes or some shit? I realize we don't have a lot of great options here, but I'll feel better about leaving them helpless to defend themselves if I know I've done everything I can to protect them.”

Tanner shrugged. “I do not know how much good it will do, but there is plenty of grass around.”

A few minutes later, the two Knights' heads were covered with a thin blanket of dead grass.

Katherine gathered their spears and put them in the Bag of Holding. “I was thinking. If we just walk into the town, the guards outside will probably ask us for some kind of patrol report or something.”

“No sweat,” said Jay. “We'll just tell them we didn't find anything.”

“Yeah, but if they've got some specific way they're supposed to answer questions... I don't know. I just feel like it would be easier if we bypassed them altogether.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Katherine held open her Bag of Holding. “They won't look twice at a raven flying over the wall.”

Chapter 28

Stacy was impressed by how well she'd prepared the squirrels she and Shorty had hunted and the herbs and mushrooms they'd gathered. Despite never having been much of a cook and the lack of kitchen equipment she had at her disposal, she managed to put together a surprisingly adequate meal. Unfortunately, it wasn't nearly enough to fill her.

She peered out into the darkness, hoping to see some fat, delicious, easy-to-kill beast lurking beyond the light of their small campfire. “I'm still hungry.”

Shorty spat out a lump of squirrel skin he'd been gnawing on. “As am I.”

“Do you want to see if we can bag something a little bigger?”

“No. You are still injured and must rest. We have enough enemies in this forest without seeking more.”

Of course, he was right. But Stacy was hungry and bored, and she didn't feel like turning in for the night just yet. She caught a whiff of something burning, but it was a different smell than the smoke from their fire.

“Do you smell that?”

“Sorry,” said Shorty. “I have not eaten squirrel in some time. It is making me gassy.”

“It's not that.” Though now that he mentioned it, Stacy thought she picked up a hint of goblin fart in the air. “I think it's another fire.” She got up and took a couple of steps away from their campsite.

“Where are you going?” demanded Shorty. “You need to rest!” He'd made the point several times already that his survival through this ordeal depended heavily on hers, but Stacy liked to think he was developing a soft spot for her.

She shushed him, walking slowly along their perimeter of light until she picked up the unfamiliar smokey scent again. “There it is!” she said. “I'm sure of it. It's coming from downstream.”

“Then keep your voice down!” whispered Shorty. “Whatever it is, leave it be and hope it goes away.”

Stacy limped closer so they could speak more quietly. “It would behoove us to know what's out there, would it not?”

“I do not wish to be hooved, nor gored, nor stabbed, nor eaten. If anything, we should move away from it.”

“I'm going in for a closer look.”

“Stacy!”

“Don't worry. I'll be careful.”

Shorty sighed. “I cannot let you go alone. I need to know if you are dead.”

“Then stay close and stay quiet.”

Stacy entered the stream beside their camp. It's steady babble made enough noise to cover their footsteps, and it provided a decent view of the banks on either side. Anyone else who would have started a campfire out here would have done so next to a fresh water source.

The stream cut deep enough into the earth so that they could easily duck close to one side or the other in time to avoid being spotted.

As they slowly followed the stream, the scent of smoke grew stronger. The terrain rose higher on both sides as the stream cut through the middle of a hill, severely decreasing their visibility.

“We should pick a side,” said Stacy. “We can follow alongside the stream until the land is low enough so that we can –” She spotted a flicker of light near the top of the hill. “There it is, over there!”

Shorty squinted toward where she was pointing, then nodded. “Excellent. We have seen it. Now we should return.”

Stacy ignored him, gripping a small tree trunk to help pull herself up onto the bank. When she was up, she lowered her hand to assist Shorty. He hesitantly accepted her assistance.

At its highest, the edges of the gorge at the top of the hill looked to be about fifteen feet up from the stream that ran between them. Not likely high enough to kill them, but high enough to make a quick escape by dropping off the edge.

Stacy crept slowly up the hill until she could make out the very top of the silhouette of someone – or something – sitting next to the fire. Whatever it was, it was between her and the fire, which hopefully meant its back was to her. After waiting half a minute for any signs of movement, she crept a little closer. She stopped when she realized she was looking at the back of two giant heads atop one massive pair of shoulders.

Turning back to Shorty with a finger pressed firmly against her lips, she pulled out her silver-tipped dagger.

Shorty gave her a pleading look as he shook his head.

He had a point. They were only about thirty feet away from this asshole, and their combined Hit Points could probably be counted on a shop teacher's hand.

Taking that into consideration, Stacy had to also take into account that a rare opportunity had just fallen into her lap. A single unsuspecting ettin sitting with its back to her within Sneak Attack range.

Maybe it wasn't camping out here alone. But even if there were one or two more ettins who just happened to have chosen this exact moment to step away from the fire to relieve themselves, that was all the more serendipitous. It was as though some cosmic force was guiding her. Look how far she and Shorty had come already. Maybe it wasn't arrogant and reckless of her to take on these monsters after all. Maybe the universe wanted her to destroy these horrible creatures. Not taking advantage of this opportunity would be like spitting in the universe's face.

She scanned the ground around her as far as she could see, but there weren't any adequately sized rocks. If she was going to attack, it would mean temporarily surrendering one of the few proper weapons she currently possessed. Even with the added Sneak Attack damage, she didn't have any delusions about being able to kill an ettin with one hit. The best she could hope to do was fuck up its day, then retreat until another opportunity presented itself. The next time they crossed paths, it would be injured enough for her to finish off, and she'd get her dagger back.

That was enough self-convincing. Stalling any longer was only asking for the ettin's companions to return. It was now or never.

Stacy climbed a little higher up the hill, grabbed a tree branch to steady herself, then hurled her dagger into the ettin's back.

It stuck like she'd thrown it into a side of beef at a butcher's shop. The ettin didn't scream, flinch, or even seem to be aware that it was housing six inches of steel in one of its kidneys.

Pumped up on adrenaline and ready to run like a bat out of hell, Stacy had a difficult time registering what was happening. She looked back at Shorty, who was staring up at her with panicked curiosity in his eyes. Not knowing what to tell him, she shrugged.

His curiosity got the better of him, and he climbed as silently as he could up the hill to join her.

“What happened?” he whispered, too short to see as much of the ettin as she could.

“I don't know. He didn't react.”

“Did you miss?”

“No,” said Stacy. “The dagger is sticking out of his back.” She picked him up. “See for yourself.”

“That is peculiar,” said Shorty. “Perhaps he is meditating.”

“I don't think so.” Stacy put Shorty back down. “Stay here. I'm going to get my dagger back.”

She crept slowly and silently up the rest of the hill on her hands and feet, keeping sharp eyes and ears for any suspicious sounds or sudden movements, but it was her nose that picked up on something terribly wrong. She'd tangled with enough ettins by now to expect a certain level of foulness in the air, but the one she was currently approaching reeked of barbecued ass.

When she was close enough to the fire to examine it more closely, she confirmed what she'd suspected when he'd failed to react. He was dead.

It wasn't her dagger that did him in, though. This ettin was covered from head to toe in severe burns. Some were moist and blistery, and others were dark red, dry, and leathery. Seeing no evidence to suggest he'd been burned by the campfire he was now sitting in front of, Stacy reasoned that this was probably the ettin who had fallen into her moss fire trap.

So what was he doing here?

Were the ettins culling their own herd, leaving behind their weakest member to fend for himself or succumb to his injuries? That was a possibility, but Stacy didn't believe they'd do him the courtesy of lighting a fire for him to sit next to, and he didn't look like he would have been in any shape to do it himself.

Stacy scanned the forest around her as far as the firelight would allow, listening for any signs of ettins returning from their private excursions. She didn't expect to hear anyone, as it was becoming increasingly more obvious that this was a campsite for one. The only piece of equipment was a threadbare cloth sack stuffed full of dry leaves. Stacy wasn't sure what to make of that. Was it some weird ettin thing?

Thinking back to her long history of watching crime shows during her long stretches of down time at the toxicology clinic, she tried to recreate the last few minutes of this ettin's life in her imagination.

The tribe kicked him out. He's severely burned and in a tremendous amount of pain, so he... builds a fire and fills a sack with leaves? Then he sits down and dies?

Even for an ettin, that didn't add up. It wasn't cold enough for a fire to provide the comfort needed to take his mind off his burn wounds. Hell, the last thing she'd want after going through what he'd just gone through is to sit next to a fire. And what was with the leaves? Ettins might be stupid, but they spent enough time in the forest to know that leaves burn way too quickly to provide anything more than a bunch of smoke.

Nothing about this made any sense until it occurred to Stacy that this entire scene might have been set up specifically to lure her to this very spot. But if that was the case, she'd taken the bait. So why wasn't anyone setting the hook and reeling her in?

Maybe she'd gotten lucky after all. Perhaps she'd pulled a Pulp Fiction and stepped into the trap just as John Travolta was taking a leak. Whether or not that was the case, she didn't have anything to gain by hanging around here to get ambushed. She pulled her dagger out of the dead ettin's back and wiped the blood and pus from the blade onto a relatively clean part of the ettin's skin, then jumped to avoid him as he fell flat on his back.

She was about to flee when she noticed a series of what appeared to be fresh wounds on the less-burned parts of the ettin's torso. Knife wounds, by the looks of them. Closer inspection revealed that someone had sliced the ettin's throats from ear to ear and carved a message into its chest.

ME WISH TALK. U AGREE BURN LEAFS AND WATE.

So much for Stacy's CSI career. She'd been trying to sort out a crime scene without having thoroughly examined the body. That's got to be CSI 101.

The scene had been set up to lure her in after all. Someone wanted a truce. These were some evil and disgusting sons of bitches who'd killed her friend and tried to kill her, but Stacy was curious about what terms they'd offer. Hearing them out wasn't a guarantee of accepting their terms, after all. And besides, they'd proven they had enough wits between them to lure her into a trap. If this had been a trap similar to the one she'd set for the crispy bastard lying at her feet, then she might be in similar shape. It would be best to hear what the ettins had to say and make sure she didn't underestimate them again.

She picked up the sack and dumped the leaves onto the fire. Keeping her dagger down but visible in her hand, she stepped away from the sudden flare and billowing white smoke and into the shadows.

A few minutes passed, giving Stacy plenty of time to second guess the wisdom of her decision. She was about to abort and run back down the hill when she heard heavy footsteps approaching from the other side of the gorge that split the hill in half.

A solitary female ettin stepped into view, a basketball-sized rock in each of her hands. Stacy recognized her as the leader's daughter. The left head smiled coolly at Stacy, but the right one nervously scanned the area, looking as doubtful of the wisdom of this meeting as Stacy felt.

“I am Bogga,” said the left head. “This is my sister, Dogga.” Their filthy complexions and matted hair were good matches for their unfortunate names.

Their choice of meeting location was craftier than Stacy thought ettins capable of. The massive gorge between them meant that neither would be able to easily follow the other after they parted ways.

“Pretty names,” Stacy lied. “I'm Stacy.” She pointed her dagger at the dead ettin's chest. “Did you write this?”

Bogga rubbed her rock under her exposed left boob. “Father does not know, but we have been teaching ourselves to read and write in secret.” She seemed very proud of herself, so Stacy didn't have it in her to point out their spelling and grammar mistakes.

“It's, um... You're really coming along.”

“You kill many of our tribe and all our slaves.”

“You started this when you killed my friend,” said Stacy. “I just mean to finish it.”

Dogga glared at her with unveiled contempt as she raised her rock. “Maybe we finish now!”

Stacy prepared to dodge for all she was worth, knowing she didn't have the Hit Points to survive a successful hit.

“Give me your best shot,” she challenged, trying to mask her fear.

“Put rock down!” snapped Bogga. “We are here for talk.” When Dogga lowered her rock, she turned her attention back to Stacy. “Two rocks. Maybe we kill you now. Maybe we miss.”

Stacy held up her dagger. “Maybe I'll throw this straight through your eye into your brain.”

Bogga shrugged the shoulder she controlled. “Maybe. Or we can make deal.”

“Deal?” Stacy lowered her dagger, ostensibly to hear the ettin out, but actually more because her arm hurt. “Have you seen what I've done to your people? It's only a matter of time before I take every last one of you down. What makes you think you're in any position to negotiate?”

“You get lucky so far,” said Bogga. “Maybe next time you no get lucky.”

“Luck has less and less to do with it every time I drop another one of you. I've taken out all your little servants. You've got nobody left to watch over you. You're getting more and more tired with each passing day.”

Bogga nodded. “If you no want make deal, we have no reason not throw rocks.”

Again, Stacy tried to mask her fear. Bogga was a shrewder negotiator than she'd given her credit for. It couldn't hurt to at least hear out Bogga's terms, but she didn't want to let on that Bogga had the upper hand.

Ask not what I can do for Bogga, but what Bogga can do for me.

“What are you offering?” she asked.

“My father.”

That was a bigger prize than Stacy had expected. Given her knowledge of what ettins valued, she'd been expecting to be offered something like a sack of sea shells, buttons, and broken glass.

Before going any further, she needed to confirm that she had correctly identified this ettin.

“Your father?” she said. “The one with the dead head?”

Dogga raised her rock again. “You speak not of his brother!”

“Dogga!” snapped Bogga, then scowled at Stacy. “He is the one you speak of.”

“And you're just going to hand him over to me to...”

“To kill him, yes.”

That was a pretty tempting offer. If Stacy could cut off the head of this gang, the others might scatter and be easier to hunt down individually.

“What do you want from me?” asked Stacy.

Bogga and Dogga shared a confused glance, then Bogga squinted suspiciously at Stacy.

“Did I not speak clear? We want you kill our father.”

“Oh, I thought that was still part of...” There was no point in offering more than what they were already asking for. “Never mind. So, you want me to kill your father.”

Dogga sighed. “His leadership is disaster since brother die.”

“Brother was brain,” Bogga agreed. “Father is stubborn and stupid. We lose everything to ugly human girl because his bad decisions.”

Stacy could only assume that she was the ugly human girl being referred to. She let it slide.

“Why don't you just kill him yourself? He shouldn't be too hard to take down. He can barely move.”

“Other ettins will not follow if we kill our father. We seek lead tribe in new direction.”

That gave Stacy an idea.

“I'll kill your father on one condition.”

Bogga narrowed her eyes menacingly at Stacy. “What condition?”

“That new direction you take your tribe in is out of this forest. I don't ever want to see another ettin in the Cedar Wilds again.”

Neither Bogga nor Dogga looked happy about Stacy's terms as they exchanged a glance, but they both nodded.

“Very well,” said Bogga. “Tomorrow night, follow stream to north. By side of lake, we make camp. Me and Dogga keep watch while everyone else sleep. When we step away for make shit, you sneak in and kill Father.”

Stacy considered pointing out that since there would be no one awake to witness the murder, they could easily do it themselves and blame her for it. But she didn't feel right outsourcing Alroth's justice to someone too stupid to think of that on their own.

“You've got yourself a deal,” she said.

Bogga lifted a finger from her rock to point at Stacy. “You kill only Father. No kill other ettins.”

Stacy smiled. “I wouldn't dream of it.” The degree to which she was lying would depend on her assessment of the scene at the time and how much preparation she and Shorty could get done in the meantime.

Their agreement sealed, Stacy and the ettin backed away from each other into the darkness beyond the firelight.

Knowing Bogga and Dogga could see in the dark, Stacy continued backing away until the curvature of the hill blocked their line of sight to her, then jogged down toward the stream to share her news with Shorty.

Chapter 29

Dave ran until his rat heart felt like it was about to explode, and then he ran some more. Lissa wasn't making things any easier for him, constantly squirming and trying to scream through the hand he kept firmly clamped over her mouth.

Finally, when his body threatened to completely shut down, he stopped. Turning around to get an idea of how far he'd run from the village, he saw nothing but pine trees. That had to be far enough to have earned him at least a little break.

Lissa was still squirming and trying to bite his hand. He pinned her hard by the throat against a tree trunk and put a finger over his lips.

Unable to scream or talk through her constricted windpipe, she nodded.

Dave let her go as he morphed back into his dwarven form. When he was done, Lissa was on the ground next to him, crying as she struggled to catch her breath.

After checking that the clothes she'd lent him had made it through the transformations unscathed enough to still adequately cover his junk, he squatted next to her.

“I didn't mean for this to happen.”

“Who cares what you meant?” Lissa snapped back at him. “You are the worst kind of trash.” Then, before Dave knew what hit him, she swung around and backhanded him in the face. He lost his balance and fell hard on his ass.

By the time he sat up and spotted her, she was twenty yards away, running at top speed back toward her village.

“That fucking bitch!” he muttered aloud. All his life for as far back as he could remember, people had treated him like trash. The kids at school, Cooper, Stacy. But for this little whore born with a silver spoon up her ass to actually call him trash to his face, that was more than he could take.

As rage bubbled up in his head, he began to cede control of himself to his rat mind. Almost without even thinking about it, he found himself in his hybrid form giving chase, snarling and slobbering with murderous hatred.

He caught up to her in no time, tackling her with ease and pinning her shoulders to the ground. Her screams were like music, and her exposed neck was like a rare bloody steak after a week of fasting. Salivating profusely, he wanted to tear into it with every fiber of his being. Every fiber, that is, except one. Deep inside his mind, beneath the feral rat brain that was currently in control, a nagging little voice asked him if he really wanted to murder a child.

You've done a lot of fucking up, Dave. But if you do this, you're truly beyond redemption.

Closing his eyes, he forced himself back up to the surface of his mind. He released Lissa and rolled away as he took his dwarven form again. By the looks of her, she was as exhausted from the ordeal as he was.

“Please,” he said, panting. “Don't run.”

Lissa sat up and spat on the ground. “Why not? If it is ransom you are after, I am no good to you dead. What are you going to do that you haven't already done?” She was not only stronger than Dave had given her credit for but also more savvy about the ways of the world.

“I honestly don't know,” said Dave. “And I don't want to find out. I'm not a bad person. There's a part of me that I can't always control. It's the rat in me. It's...” It was finally time to admit it to himself. “It's a disease.”

Lissa spat on the ground again. “You might have mentioned that before you drooled in my mouth.”

“I did what?” Dave sat up. “Are you sure?”

She glared at him like he was an asshole for even asking. “I am pretty sure.”

Maybe it was all for the best. This had been the plan all along, hadn't it? What better start to his wererat army could he hope for than an impressionable young girl? Someone he could guide and teach. Sure, she didn't much care for him right now, but that would change once the rat took control of her.

On the other hand, did he really want to turn this innocent child into a bloodthirsty freak like him? This girl who had given him soup, shelter, and clothes when he was at his absolute lowest?

Then again, those gestures of kindness made Lissa the closest thing Dave had to a friend. Was he ready to let that go?

“Please let me go,” said Lissa. “If I am infected, I must return home as quickly as possible.”

Dave shook his head. “You need a cleric. I seriously doubt you have one powerful enough to get rid of this in your little village.”

“My father will know what to do. He can take me to a healer.”

Her father was another thing to consider. Lycanthropy infection aside, the whole point of taking Lissa hostage was for a big score. Letting her run back home now would put him in a worse position than when he'd first showed up at her village. He'd have to live with the uncertainty as to what became of her, he wouldn't get paid, and he'd almost certainly have a team of hunters tracking him down.

Dave had had enough of moving backwards, digging himself into increasingly larger holes. From now on, he was determined to move forward. Every obstacle could be a blessing in disguise if he played his cards right. So what if he drooled in her mouth. That was no guarantee she'd been infected. And even if she was, she had a solid month before there was another full moon. That would be plenty of time for Dave to get word to her father of what happened and arrange a safe drop for a shit ton of gold. At the same time, however, it would serve as a ticking clock for her father. He wouldn't dare fuck around trying to nickel-and-dime him while his daughter came closer and closer to turning into a monster. He'd know Dave wasn't bullshitting him either, because his wife had seen him. There was a solid plan in there somewhere, but Dave needed time to sort out the details.

“I'll take you to a healer,” he said. “How far away is the nearest city?”

“Dhala is twenty miles west of here. They have a temple, but they require a donation. My father will take me there if you let me –”

“I got you into this,” said Dave. “I'll be the one to get you out.”

“But how? It is dark, and we have no food or water.”

“We'll just have to march through the night. If we maintain four miles per hour, that should get us there in around five hours.” Now that he thought about it, four miles per hour was a reasonable pace for a human. He wasn't exactly sure how much slower he was as a dwarf, but he was sure they could handle it. They didn't really have a choice. Without any rope to tie her up, he couldn't risk sleeping out here.

Tears began streaming down Lissa's cheeks.

“I want to go home,” she pleaded.

Dave shrugged. “And I want a swimming pool full of gold. Do what I tell you and don't fuck with me again, and maybe we'll both get what we want.”

It was a tough walk. It wasn't bad enough that Dave was running on a nearly empty stomach and no sleep, but he wasn't entirely convinced that there was a city at the end of the journey. He'd feel a lot better if he had more than a child's vague directions and more confidence in his own ability to find west in the dark. But sitting around waiting for the sun to come up wasn't an option. Dave was slow, and nothing short of constant progression was going to keep them ahead of whoever or whatever Lissa's mom had searching for them.

They were traveling on hilly terrain, and the cedars in this part of the forest were thick. Even if Dave's Darkvision extended beyond sixty feet, he still wouldn't be able to see very far ahead.

When the sun finally rose high enough so that Dave could tell which way the light of dawn was coming from, he was grateful to discover it was behind them. At least he had that much going for him. Unfortunately, they still hadn't come upon anything that could be mistaken for a road. Even more unfortunately, he was still no closer to forming a workable ransom plan.

Just ahead of them, at the center of a grassy clearing, Dave spotted a fat brown rabbit nibbling on some wild herbs. It was the most delicious-looking thing he'd seen since that turkey leg that had given him lycanthropy.

He sighed. Even the gods mocked him. The plumpest, juiciest, least able to defend itself morsel of food was less than thirty feet away from him, but there was no way he could catch it. Even in his hybrid or rat form, the rabbit would be much too quick for him. Without a ranged weapon, he might as well be staring at an empty Pringles can one of his coworkers had left on his desk as a practical joke.

Still, Dave would be damned if that rabbit was going to enjoy its meal while denying him his.

“Stay here,” he whispered to Lissa.

Staring at the rabbit as hungrily as he was, she nodded.

Dave crept forward. A natural 20 in Move Silently could get him close enough to make a standard melee attack. That was five percent odds, which was better than he imagined he could do in the real world. His first step into the clearing didn't spook it. That was good. Nice and easy. He took a second step, then –

“SHIT!”

It was the only way he knew how to respond to the rabbit suddenly sprouting an arrow from its gut. With a terrible, high-pitched scream, the rabbit twitched, jerked, and convulsed until it finally succumbed to its wound.

“What the fuck?” said Dave, peering into the woods beyond the clearing as he backed away from the slain rabbit. “Who's out there?”

A silver-haired elf laughed as he stepped into the clearing from the other side. He was clothed in strips of brown and green fabric to blend in with the colors of the forest. Three dead rabbits hung from his belt.

“I apologize for startling you,” he said. “But I feared you would scare away my quarry.”

Dave took another step back and chuckled nervously. “That's quite all right. I was just –”

“Hubbard!” cried Lissa.

Shit.

The elf turned to her, surprised and confused. “Lissa Balren? What are you doing so far from home?”

Dave grabbed her as she tried to run to the elf. He barely had time to force her in front of him before the elf had another arrow nocked and pointed at him.

“I take it you know each other.”

“Let the girl go, dwarf,” said Hubbard.

“I don't think so. Lower your bow, or I'll tear her throat out.”

Hubbard  kept his arrow trained on Dave's face. “With what? Those fat dwarf hands couldn't tear curds from whey. I, on the other hand, am rather a keen shot, as you may have noticed.”

“Your arrows don't scare me,” Dave lied. “I'm a wererat.”

“It is true,” said Lissa. “And he spat in my mouth!”

“I didn't... Don't tell people that. It wasn't on purpose.”

“You have made a grave error in judgment, friend,” said Hubbard. “The Balren family is rich and powerful. They will not let such an offense go unpunished.”

“I didn't ask for your criticism,” said Dave. “I asked you to lower your bow. If I have to ask again, the girl's going to start bleeding.”

Hubbard relaxed his bowstring and lowered the arrow. “What do you want?”

That was a damn good question, and it was time for Dave to decide. An idea occurred to him that would simultaneously get rid of Hubbard and get his ransom plan rolling.

Dave tightened his grip on Lissa's arms. “First, I want you to drop your bow.”

“Very well.” Hubbard dropped his bow and arrow. “Now, release the girl.”

“Not fucking likely,” said Dave. “Now drop your quiver, your bag, and your rabbits.”

Hubbard did as he was told, then stood over his belongings with nothing but the clothes on his back. “If you let the girl go, you may take me in her stead.”

Dave laughed. “This girl's worth a fortune. You're not worth shit. Step away from your stuff.”

“Please do not harm her. I will do whatever you wish.”

“Good. Now we're getting somewhere. All I want from you is to deliver a message to her family.”

“What sort of message?”

“Tell them if they want to see their daughter again, they'll deliver five thousand gold pieces to this spot in exactly two days.” Dave hoped that would give him time to work out the finer details of how not to get caught. One such detail occurred to him immediately. “Whoever makes the drop should come alone. My men and I will be watching. If we see more than one person, the girl dies.”

Hubbard took a cursory glance at the forest beyond Dave. “Your men?”

That had been a step too far. He knew Dave was bullshitting him. But that didn't matter. He still had Lissa.

“I'm getting impatient and hungry. What's it going to be?”

“I shall deliver your message, dwarf,” said Hubbard. “But I cannot overstate how great a mistake you are making. The Balrens are not a family to be trifled with.”

“How about you let me worry about that?”

Hubbard nodded. “Very well. Fret not, Lissa Balren. You have nothing to fear from this loathsome coward. May your house's vengeance be swift upon him.”

With that, he dashed into the woods toward the rising sun.

Chapter 30

Despite a foreboding sense that he had a lot more traveling ahead of him, Randy was thankful to be on dry land again. He, Denise, Righteous, Fatty, and one of Longfellow's men made up the first party to land on Nazere. Afterward, Longfellow's man returned to the ships to ferry another group ashore.

Randy looked up and down the beach, then across the expanse of fallen trees and the saplings that were taking their places. About a quarter of a mile inland, at the top of a hill, he could make out the skeletal remains of what appeared to be a pre-freeze structure that looked like it would have collapsed long ago if not for the masses of vines holding it up. He couldn't see the entire island from there, but he could see enough to make a confident assessment of what they'd come to find.

“I don't reckon there's nobody here.”

“That is as we expected,” said Righteous. “As soon as everyone who wishes to stay is safely ashore, we can set sail for Hollin.”

“That might be easier said than done,” said Denise. She was staring back at the ships. When Randy followed her gaze, he spotted the fallen mainmast of the orc ship being lowered into the water.

Randy jogged a couple of steps into the water. “What the heck are they doin'? What happened to the ship?” His first thought was that maybe there had been a mutiny, but he could make out people on the ships clearly enough and there didn't appear to be any signs of a struggle. Whatever they were doing, they were doing deliberately.

“We are powerless to interfere from here,” said Righteous. “Our time would be better spent confirming that Katherine was not marooned on the island.”

Preoccupied as he was, Randy agreed. Under Righteous's direction, they moved inland just short of losing sight of the shore. From there, they spread ten feet apart and circled the island clockwise, searching for clues and shouting Katherine's name.

A little under an hour into their search, Randy spotted something that made his heart skip a beat.

“Oh no.”

A leg was poking out from under a fallen tree trunk. He almost mistook it for a branch because of the same black moss that was growing on both. But closer inspection confirmed the rest of a decomposing body on the other side of the trunk. It didn't smell nearly as bad as Randy expected it to, but that was probably on account of the whole island had sort of an earthy decay smell to it.

“Do you think it's Katherine?” he asked, fearing the worst.

“Fuck no,” said Denise.

Randy appreciated her positive attitude for once, but no amount of positivity could change the facts.

“What makes you so sure?”

“I seen my fair share of dead bodies on the job, Randy. If Katherine's dead, she ain't been dead near long enough for this much decomposition to have set in. It ain't been that long since we last seen her. Whoever this poor fucker was kicked the taco at least a month ago.”

Righteous squinted at her. “Kicked the taco?”

Denise rolled her eyes. “He bit the farm, got his final stiffy, shuffled off his motor oil.”

“He died,” said Randy. “...is what I believe Denise is trying to say.”

Righteous eyed the corpse. “This person died well more than a month ago.”

“Is that right?” challenged Denise, putting her hands on her hips. “And who died and made you Detective Christopher Columbo?”

Righteous paused only briefly before ultimately deciding to ignore her. “This person was an elf. As I am sure you are aware, elven bodies take longer to succumb to the forces of nature than other races.”

“Well, of course I fuckin' knew that. Everybody knows that. My point still stands. It ain't Katherine.”

“Ma-ma,” said Fatty.

“Huh?” Denise turned to Fatty, then back to the corpse. “Yeah, sure. Knock yourself out.”

Before Randy could think of a reasonable objection, the young scorpionfolk child was devouring the body. Moss-covered decaying flesh tore clean away from the dead elf's bones like overcooked spare ribs.

“Mercy of the gods!” said Righteous, but he made no move to interfere.

Denise shook her head. “Y'all need to grow the fuck up. It ain't nothin' but meat, no different than a pork chop or chicken leg.” She grabbed one of the legs and lifted it off the ground, exposing a group of small black beetles that scuttled away to hide from the sunlight. Thick clumps of flesh fell off the bone, which Fatty greedily gobbled up.

It was more than Randy could stomach. He turned away. “Are you sure he's supposed to eat that?”

“How the fuck should I know?” asked Denise. “I missed the chapter about bug babies in Mr. Spock's What You Expect About Expectin'... or whatever the fuck it's called. If it gives him the shits, we'll know better next time. But my nip-nips need a nap-nap. He damn near bit the left one off last time I fed him.”

“You just make sure you wash your hands.”

After Fatty had his fill of dead elf, they resumed their walk around the island. The search turned up a few more corpses, each in either comparable or more advanced stages of decomposition. A couple of hours later, they were back where they'd started. The beach was littered with what appeared to be crucial parts of the orcish ship.

Captain Longfellow waved a bottle as he walked up to meet them. “Any news of yer friends?”

“Good news and bad news,” said Denise. “The bad news is, we ain't found no sign of them. The good news is that the folks we did find weren't them.”

Longfellow looked concerned as he peered inland. “There be others here?”

“Long deceased,” said Righteous. “As far as we could see, the island is completely uninhabited by the living.”

“Aye, that be good. Spares me a bit of trouble.”

“Speaking of trouble,” said Randy. “I couldn't help but notice our ship's missing a couple of pieces.”

“We be using them to build our settlement.”

“But we was planning on using that ship to go after our friends.”

“Shit not yer pants with worry, friend. Soon, this island will be bustling with ships coming and going. Ye can catch a ride on any number of those. Mayhap ye'll even grow a cock and take one for yerselves.”

“We have no time for that,” demanded Righteous. “If Katherine is in trouble, I must go to her immediately.” He stared out at the ships. “The damage to the other ship appears to be reparable. Perhaps we can take that one instead.”

Longfellow's weathered eyes turned suddenly cold as he stared at Righteous. “Aye, ye can take her... as soon as ye pull her out of me cold dead arse!”

“Please, Captain,” said Randy. “You're retiring. What do you need two ships for?”

“Never mind what my needs be. I've been captain of the Maiden's Voyage since before yer father squirted ye into some bargain whore's leathery sperm trap!”

“Honestly, could we have one conversation that doesn't involve –”

“Enough!” said Righteous. “I have no quarrel with you, Captain. But we shall not let our friends wallow in peril while you dismantle two ships. If violence is the only language you understand, then violence is the language I shall speak!” He stepped back and drew his sword.

Captain Longfellow drew his sword in response, along with a long curved dagger he'd somehow managed to keep hidden in the crotch of his pants.

“Aw shit!” said Denise. “It's fuckin' on!”

Randy shot him a scowl. “Not helping.”

Longfellow's crew took notice and started running toward them from the beach. For a second, Randy worried that this was going to turn into an all-out bloodbath, but not a single one of them drew a weapon. When they started hollering and cheering, Randy realized they were only interested in watching the spectacle.

The two combatants circled each other slowly, each waiting for the other to make the first move, until Randy stepped in between them.

“Come on, guys,” he said. “We're better than this. Y'all ain't got to resort to violence.”

Righteous continued circling, craning his neck to look past Randy. “Stand aside, Randy,” he demanded. “Our captain has left me with no choice. Katherine will not suffer for his greed, and I will not be held prisoner on this island.”

Captain Longfellow laughed. “Take yer best shot, ye son of seven horse fathers! I'll put enough holes in ye for me entire crew to have their way with you at once.”

“Goddamn,” said Denise. “That's fuckin' grim.”

Randy put his imagination into overdrive trying to come up with a solution that didn't involve anyone getting stabbed. The first idea he had was one he normally would have passed on if time permitted holding out for a second. It involved leaving most of the Whore's Head gang here on the island with Longfellow until Randy could return to pick them up later, which wasn't ideal. But time wasn't currently a luxury any of them could afford.

“Wait!” he cried, waving his hands down at both Righteous and Longfellow. “I got an idea. Don't nobody got to stab nobody, and we can leave this island right now.”

Righteous was the first to lower his weapon. Longfellow sighed, but eventually lowered his as well.

“Goddammit, Randy,” said Denise. “That was shaping up to be a hell of a fight.”

“What is this idea?” asked Righteous. “Speak now or stand aside and let us resolve this on our own terms.”

Randy nodded. “All right. Here goes.” He stepped away from Longfellow and Righteous, then pointed at a patch of sand a safe distance away from any people. “Basil!”

Chapter 31

It had been a rough night, and Julian and Chaz were long overdue for a rest, but adrenaline kept them moving as fast as they could away from Pargos. It was late morning, and they'd been trudging northward since last night. At Julian's insistance, they traveled along the treeline in case they needed to duck out of sight in a hurry. Julian didn't mind the feel of nature under his feet, but he spotted Chaz staring longingly at the road more than once.

“What the fuck happened back there?” asked Chaz, presumably just to take his mind off his sore feet and lack of sleep. It was a question he and Julian had raised several times as they fled, but neither of them had the faintest idea.

“Just stay close to the trees,” said Julian, glancing back for any signs of a dragon flying toward them. He couldn't think of any way that Akane could have predicted where they'd run off to, especially since they didn't really know where they were going themselves. But his familiarity with dragons was limited, and he needed every reassurance he could get.

When dawn finally broke, he relaxed a little. In the light of day, they should be able to spot a big ass dragon in the sky well before she spotted them.

“I don't think I can keep going,” said Chaz.

“Come on, man. Don't flake out on me now. We're running for our lives.”

“I put everything I had into that show last night.”

Julian turned away from him to roll his eyes. He couldn't believe Chaz was fishing for praise at a time like this. But, whatever kept him moving.

“Nobody's saying you didn't. It was a great show.”

“Yeah, I fucking know it was. I was there. That's not what I'm getting at. I mean it was, like, physically demanding. I'm literally about to fall over and pass out here on this shitty road. Seriously, do you have any idea where we're going?”

Julian double-checked that the sun was rising to his right. “We're going north. This road has to lead somewhere. But more importantly, we're going as far as we can away from the psycho dragon who wants to murder us.”

“We can't keep going like this indefinitely,” said Chaz. “Can't you summon up some of those horses you're always conjuring? This is one time they would actually be useful.”

“I need to rest before I can prepare my spells.” As soon as the words escaped his lips, Julian knew they'd come back to bite him in the ass.

“Well, there's a novel fucking idea! I wish I'd thought of it.”

Julian glanced back at a clear, dragon-free sky. Chaz was right in that they couldn't keep going like this indefinitely. If Akane had a means of tracking them, they'd most likely be dead by now.

“All right,” he said. “Let's go into the woods a little. Ravenus should have gotten enough sleep by now to watch over us while I meditate.”

“I don't care if Molesto the Murder Clown is watching over me at this point. I just need some sleep.”

They found a nice little patch of moss-covered ground about fifty yards away from the road. Chaz took off his jacket, bundled it into a pillow, and was snoring loudly within a matter of seconds.

Julian took Ravenus out from under his robe and tickled him under the beak.

“Ravenus,” he whispered. “Wake up.”

Ravenus raised his head and looked around groggily. “Good morning, sir. Where are we?”

“I'm not sure, but I need you to keep watch while I meditate. Can you do that?”

“Of course, sir.” Ravenus hopped out of his hands and flapped to the ground, then gave his feathers a good ruffle to shake off the grogginess. “You can count on me!”

Julian found a comfortable place to sit, then closed his eyes and relaxed his mind. All of his fears and worries evaporated, and the seemingly chaotic noises of the forest took on patterns and rhythms. With every meditation he did, he felt he was coming one step closer to understanding something fundamental about the universe. Then, four hours later, he snapped out of it. His mind was clear and refreshed, but he remained aware of the danger he and Chaz were still in.

Ravenus wasn't anywhere Julian could see when he woke up, but Julian could tell through their Empathic Link that his familiar was nearby and in good health and spirits.

Chaz was still snoring, and Julian didn't have the heart to wake him. They'd both be better off if Chaz felt as refreshed as he currently did.

That left Julian with four hours to kill. He spent the first ten minutes preparing his daily allotment of spells. There wasn't a lot to think about. He stacked the deck heavily with Mount spells.

When he was done, he started thinking about Akane again. How could he have possibly ripped her off? He'd watched Argo count every coin, and nobody but Julian touched the bag from the time Argo handed it to him until he set it down for Akane. The only one with access to it besides Akane was Ravenus, but Julian couldn't think of any reason why Ravenus would steal money from her. He wasn't even sure if Ravenus understood the concept of currency. Julian dismissed the idea. If it didn't involve slurping down eyeballs or rubbing cloacas with some other bird, Ravenus wouldn't be interested.

But that left Julian back at square one. The only other explanation he could think of is that Akane miscounted, but that didn't seem likely. Surely, she would have recounted before flying into a murderous rage.

With no other explanations jumping out at him, Julian opened the smaller pouch of gold that Argo had paid them for Chaz's “trial” performance. It was supposed to have one hundred gold pieces in it. Julian had no reason to suspect it wouldn't, but he had some time to kill and a mystery to solve. One by one, he started removing coins from the pouch and stacking them on the ground in front of him.

As he came closer to counting the fiftieth coin, it was becoming more and more obvious that there were significantly more coins on the ground than there were left in the pouch. By the time he was finished, he was staring confusedly at eight stacks of ten coins. He shook the pouch and even turned it inside out to make sure there weren't still twenty stragglers inside, but the pouch was empty.

Had Argo ripped them off? If the first night's payment was twenty gold pieces short, who knew how much gold Argo had shorted them for their big advance?

Julian shook his head as he put the coins back in the pouch, reminding himself again that he'd personally witnessed Argo counting out the coins. It was a straightforward process. There wasn't any sleight of hand going on. Even if there had been, Argo couldn't have expected them not to notice so much of their money was missing before they fulfilled their part of the bargain. Something didn't add up. He needed someone to bounce some theories off of.

“Chaz,” he said, nudging Chaz with his foot. “Wake up.”

“Huh?” Chaz yawned as he reluctantly cracked his eyelids open.

“Wake up.”

“Five more minutes.”

Julian nudged him harder. “Come on, man. Wake up!”

Chaz sat up and leaned against a tree trunk. “Dude, I'm still fucking tired. What do you want?”

“Count this.” Julian tossed the coin pouch to him.

“One.” Chaz tossed the pouch back. “Can I go back to sleep now?”

Julian rolled his eyes and tossed the pouch again. “Count the coins inside, idiot.”

“You're the manager. Isn't that, like, a basic part of your job description?”

“Just count the damn coins please.”

“Fine.” Chaz dumped the coins on the ground, then counted them as he put them back into the pouch. “...seventy-eight, seventy-nine, eighty.”

Julian nodded. “That's what I came up with too.”

Chaz scowled at him. “Then why did I have to... Never mind. Can I go back to sleep now?”

“Do you not see the problem here?” asked Julian.

“I don't know, man. I'm not really in the mood for riddles right now. Did I mention I'm tired?”

“This is the pouch Argo paid us for your first performance.”

“Shit,” said Chaz. “We blew through twenty of that already?”

“No! That's just it. We haven't spent any of it yet.”

“So, what are you saying? You think Argo ripped us off?”

“It looks that way.”

“What a dick. Though, I'm not sure why this news couldn't wait another couple of hours.”

“Don't you see? If he ripped us off for this payment, he might have ripped us off for the payment we gave to Akane as well.”

“Oh shit.” Chaz lifted his head. His eyes grew wider and more alert. Then he relaxed. “No, that can't be right. He made us sit there and watch him count it out. Don't you remember? It took fucking forever.”

“I thought about that. But that's the only explanation I can think of that even comes close to making sense. Unless...”

“Unless what?”

“I've got to run a little experiment. We need to get to the next town as soon as possible.” Julian pointed to an empty patch of ground. “Horse!” A slender gray mare appeared.

“What kind of experiment?” asked Chaz. “What are you talking about?”

“Horse!” Julian repeated, calling into existence a rugged black stallion.

“What's going on?”

“Ravenus!”

“Right here, sir!” said Ravenus, flapping down from a high branch in a nearby tree. “All is clear. Nothing to report.”

“No news is good news, but we've got to go.”

“Dude!” said Chaz. “What the fuck?”

“I'll explain on the way,” said Julian. “Saddle up.”

The sun was setting over the ocean when Julian finally spotted signs of civilization ahead of them. Not a metropolis by any means, but rather a handful of shacks arranged in a circle. Music came from inside the circle, upbeat but rough around the edges as if produced by improvised instruments.

“We should leave the horses behind and get a closer look on foot,” Julian whispered.

“What, exactly, are you looking for?” asked Chaz. “I've already seen this movie. All you're going to find in there is banjos and butt rape.”

“Lose the attitude and turn on the charm. You're about to go on.”

“Go on? As in perform? What the hell are you talking about? These hicks aren't going to have three copper pieces between them. What are they going to pay us with? Toothless blowjobs and meth?”

“Just follow my lead.” Julian didn't wait for Chaz's further objections before climbing down from his horse and walking as quietly as he could to what could generously be called a village. Fortunately, Chaz held his tongue as he followed, protesting only with his petulant expression.

When Julian peeked between two of the shacks, he saw about three dozen people, mostly human, gathered around an elderly fiddler playing next to a bonfire. Men and women in colorful but weathered cotton clothes drank from wooden cups and clapped with the music, and children danced. Nobody, as far as Julian could make out, was dressed in the telltale vestments of the Knights of Jordan. That was exactly what he'd been hoping for.

“I think it's safe,” he whispered to Chaz, who responded with a jerking-off gesture.

Julian waited for the song to end before stepping into the circle to make himself known.

He cleared his throat. “Excuse me.”

Everyone turned toward him, their revelry coming to a sudden halt like a record scratch. Several women pulled their children toward them, and a few of the men put their hands on the hilts of their weapons.

“Can we help you, strangers?” asked the old fiddler. His tone wasn't unfriendly, but neither was it warm or welcoming.

“I'm sorry to bother you,” said Julian. “We don't mean any harm. We were passing by and were moved by your joyful music.”

“I appreciate the compliment, but mayhap you best keep moving along.”

A polite but unmistakable 'fuck off'. These would be tricky Diplomacy waters to navigate. Julian would have to segue straight to the point before the old man took a more direct approach.

“My companion here is also a talented musician,” he said, gesturing to Chaz's lute case.

The old man cocked a bushy white eyebrow. “Is that so?”

Excellent. Julian had found his way in with the fiddler's love of music.

“Perhaps he could play you a song for a modest donation.”

“Jesus,” Chaz whispered. “Are you serious? Look at them!”

Julian shot him a quick glare.

“I'm afraid we'll have to decline,” said the old man. “This is not that sort of village. You might try your luck in one of the bigger towns up north, like Bogwell or Hollin.”

“We'd really like to play here,” said Julian.

“Dude!” whispered Chaz. “Take the fucking hint.”

Julian ignored him. “We don't ask for much. Five copper pieces will do.”

Chaz hung his head. “I swear to God, you are the worst fucking manager in the world.”

“We are not wealthy people,” the old man explained. “We cannot afford such luxuries. Now I must insist that you –”

“I'll pay you a gold piece.”

“What?” said Chaz, not even bothering to whisper anymore. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“We are not interested,” said the old man, his tone noticeably more curt.

Shit. Julian was losing him. If he failed another Diplomacy roll, things could turn ugly. He decided to give it one last try.

“Two gold pieces.”

“You test my patience, elf. If I have to tell you again to –”

“Just a minute, Daddy,” said a muscular middle-aged man, holding up his hand to interrupt the old fiddler. He gulped down what was left in his cup, tossed it on the ground, and took a step toward Julian and Chaz. “Let me get this straight, elf. You want to pay us two gold pieces in exchange for us paying you five copper pieces to listen to this young lady sing us a song?”

Chaz shook his head. “Goddammit.”

Julian smiled at the man. “That is correct, sir.”

The man shrugged. “I reckon that's a pretty good deal. Let's see the coin.”

Julian took two gold coins out of the bag Argo had given them and placed them in a smaller coin pouch, which he tossed to the fiddler's son.

He caught the pouch and held the coins up to examine them in the last of the evening light. “They look and feel real enough. I reckon you got yourself a deal.”

Julian smiled politely. “There is, of course, the matter of our payment.”

“I believe we was promised a song first.”

“Oh, right. Of course.” Julian turned to Chaz. “Do your thing.”

Chaz looked more confused than angry, like he was trying to figure out what kind of angle Julian was working. He spoke in a whisper again. “Do you want me to cast a Charm spell on them or something? Put them to sleep?”

“No,” said Julian. “Just sing them a song.”

“What song do you want me to sing them?”

“Any song.”

Chaz sighed. “This is so fucking stupid.” Without even bothering to take his lute out of the case, he sang the most aggressively lackluster rendition of Happy Birthday to You that Julian had ever heard. He sounded like someone begrudging their grandmother hanging on another year as she pissed away more of his inheritance. The villagers stared in awkward and confused silence, like they were embarrassed for Chaz. But it technically counted as a performance and should be good enough for Julian's experiment.

When it was finished, the fiddler's son narrowed his eyes at Chaz. “How'd you know today was my birthday?”

Chaz turned to Julian. “Can we go now?”

Julian smiled at the fiddler's son. “Just as soon as we collect our fee.”

The man shook his head in disbelief. “That was the most piss poor performance I have ever witnessed. You folks got some nerve charging five copper pieces for that. But I s'pose a deal's a deal.”

Julian watched carefully, counting the five copper pieces as the man transferred them from the pouch on his belt to the smaller one Julian had tossed to him.

The man tossed Julian's pouch back and laughed. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

Julian caught the pouch, dropped to his knees and dumped the coins out onto the ground.

“What the hell are you doing?” asked Chaz, squatting down next to him.

“Look!” said Julian, pointing at the coins. “There are only four copper pieces.”

Chaz stood up and glared at the fiddler's son. “Really? You cheap fucking hillbilly piece of –”

“CHAZ!”

“What?”

“It's not him. It's Fazul.”

“Who?”

“Fazul. Remember that guy we signed the contract with?”

“Yeah, I remember. You signed away twenty percent of our earnings for a one-way ticket to Shithole Island. Thank God he doesn't have any way to enforce that. What about him?”

“Twenty percent of 5 is 1. Twenty percent of 100 is 20.”

“What are you, fucking Rain Man? What the fuck are you talking about?”

Julian sighed. “The contract we signed gave Fazul twenty percent of all the money we earned from your performances. It must magically deduct his cut every time we get paid.”

“Sweet,” said Chaz. “That's pretty convenient for keeping on top of the numbers.”

“But it's not so convenient when you didn't realize it works that way and accidentally rip off a dragon for two hundred gold pieces.”

Chaz's face turned a shade paler. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“So what the hell are we going to do?”

“I don't know,” said Julian. “I guess we'll have to lie low and wait for her to cool off, then try to explain. We'll have to come up with the rest of her money in the meantime.”

“That's going to be a little difficult.” Chaz lifted his lute case. “The way we make money is the opposite of lying low. It doesn't work if we're not drawing people's attention.”

“Then we'll just have to keep moving.”

“That is a fine idea,” said the old fiddler. “I recommend you start right now.”

Chapter 32

The situation in Cardinia wasn't quite as bad as Cooper feared it would be when he'd seen it from a distance. A few plumes of black smoke rose skyward from deeper in the city, closer to the palace. But on the outskirts where he and Nabi entered South Gate, folks seemed to be going about their business normally. Merchants hawked their wares, children chased stray cats into alleys, and pickpockets relieved visitors to the city of their coin purses.

Cooper wanted to unload his guns as quickly as possible so he could get to the nearest temple right away. He didn't know how long it would take for Nabi's wings to get delivered, but he was in desperate need of some healing.

Being illiterate wasn't so bad most of the time since he spent so much of the past few months out in the desert and in a gladiator dungeon where there was nothing to read anyway. It wasn't really much of a burden during his time in Cardinia either, since he was usually accompanied by a literate friend. But now that he was alone, trying to find a specific store was a huge pain in the ass.

Nabi could read, but it wasn't the same as having a living, animate friend. If he was with Tim or Julian, they could say, “There's a weapon shop,” and lead the way there. With Nabi, he had to hold her up and scan their surroundings until she identified what they were looking for, or until they gave up and moved somewhere else to start the whole process over again. And then she'd have to describe to Cooper exactly which building she was referring to, which was challenging because the only distinctive feature on a lot of these places were the words on their signs.

It got old really quickly, so Cooper decided to stop someone on the street and ask for directions.

“Excuse me,” he said to a young half-elven woman carrying an infant across the street.

“Mercy of the gods!” she cried. She dropped to her knees and started bawling. “Please don't kill my baby!”

A few people stopped to gawk, but no one actually interfered.

“Fucking hell, lady,” said Cooper. “I just need some goddamn directions.”

I'm sure your appearance is rather alarming. You are covered in blood and brandishing an axe.

“Oh, right.” Cooper lowered Nabi and offered the crowd a friendly wave. “Don't worry. This is my blood. I mean, most of it, anyway.”

That didn't seem to have the calming effect he'd intended, least of all for the wailing woman kneeling in front of him, or her also wailing baby.

Perhaps you should move along before you attract more attention.

Cooper was no stranger to this sort of reaction. It was part of having a Charisma score of 4. But he was usually able to mitigate it by letting someone else do the talking. That not currently being an option, he couldn't see any reason why fleeing the scene and trying again would result in improving their situation. Since he already had the attention of several people, he addressed the gathered crowd instead of the screaming woman.

“Can anyone tell me where the nearest weapon store is?” he asked, only realizing as he said it how alarming the question sounded. Maybe it was more common to ask in this world than it would be back home, but he still felt like he should follow it up with some sort of explanation. “My axe is... um... sick.”

“There's a weapon store right over there,” said a dwarf, pointing across the street. “The Best Defense.”

Cooper looked in the direction he was pointing and found a small cluster of buildings. “Which one is it?”

“The one with the sign that says 'The Best Defense'.”

“Thanks, motherfucker. That would be really helpful if I could read.” He glared at everyone who was staring at him. “Yeah, soak it in, assholes. Everybody look at the big dumb illiterate half-orc with the giant dong. Fuck all of you.”

It is the shop in the middle. You are being rude and unreasonable.

Cooper sighed. “Sorry, everyone. I didn't mean... It's just been... You know...” Unable to find the right words, he let out a long, loud fart. “Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.” As he walked away, the crying woman started coughing, and the rest of the crowd quickly dispersed.

What was that all about?

“I'm in a lot of pain right now.”

You have been in pain before. What is really bothering you?

“I don't know. I've got a lot of shit going on. I'm full of fucking bullet holes. I've got at least one infectious disease that turns me into a bloodthirsty monster. My best friend left me to die in a gladiator pit. I don't even know if my other friends are alive or dead. Also, I can't fucking read.”

You can learn to read anytime you want.

Cooper shrugged. “I just tacked that one on at the end for something else to bitch about. I don't really give a shit about reading.”

And you need not worry about your friends. I will help you find them. It's the least I can do after what you are doing for me.

“That's another thing,” said Cooper. “What's going to happen to us once you get your body back? You've got your own shit to get back to in Glimmerskittles Forest.”

Glittersprinkles Grove.

“I don't want to keep you away from your home and your family, but I also don't want to lose you. Losing Tim has been hard enough and... Fuck, I guess it's really shitty of me to bitch about this after I left you stranded in the desert for a month.”

It's not shitty. It's sweet. And you have not yet lost Tim. The evil within him is the same evil that poisoned you. You have proven that it can be undone. As for you and me, we shall cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, let's sell some guns.

Any trace of doubt that Cooper was in the right store vanished as soon as he entered. The inside of the place smelled like oiled leather and steel. Subtlety was not high on the interior designer's list of priorities. Every sort of era-appropriate weapon imaginable was displayed on shelves or mounted on the walls. Smaller or more expensive-looking wares were showcased in glass display cases, including a set of silver-tipped caltrops artfully displayed spilling out of a leather pouch. Cooper winced at the thought of stepping on one. The swords alone were enough to overthrow the city.

“Hands where I can see them, orc,” said a muscular human woman behind the counter who looked like she'd been in her fair share of fights over the years. She leveled a big black crossbow at him. The loaded bolt had a barbed and shiny tip, probably made of silver.

Cooper held up Nabi with one hand and raised the other. “I'm not looking for trouble, lady.”

“Oh, no? Well, it looks like you found some. How about you put down that big axe of yours, nice and slow?”

“Yeah, sure.” Cooper put Nabi on his back, then raised both hands. “Are we cool now?”

“That is yet to be determined.” The unnecessarily hostile woman produced a small wooden cup from under the counter and placed it on the edge nearest Cooper. “Come on up here and stick your finger in there.” She took a step back but kept her weapon trained on him.

“Christ, lady,” said Cooper, stepping slowly up to the counter. “The least you could do is buy me a drink first.”

She grinned at him. “Don't flatter yourself, big guy. You couldn't handle this.”

Cooper dipped his finger in the water, then immediately yanked it out again. It felt like it was on fire.

“Son of a bitch!” he shouted. “What is that? Acid?”

The woman cocked her crossbow. Her grin had vanished, replaced by a don't-fuck-with-me scowl.

“That's just water mixed with powdered silver,” she said. “You're one of them, aren't you?”

“One of who? What the fuck is your deal, lady?”

“Another gods damned filthy wererat. You should have learned a lesson from the last two of your kind who tried to rob my store. A wizard friend of mine paid me handsomely for their teeth.”

“That's really fucking disturbing,” said Cooper, his hands still raised. “I'm not a wererat, and I'm not here to rob you.”

“That silver water says different.”

“I'm a werebear.”

“Oh yeah?” said the woman. “Prove it.”

Cooper took a moment to think about how he might go about proving he was a wearbear. “Okay. Ask me something that only a werebear would know.”

She lowered her crossbow slightly to look at him as if he was the one being unreasonable. “What?”

“Try to keep it non-math-related, if possible.”

“Turn into a bear right now or I'm going to shoot you.”

Cooper nodded. “That's an even better idea. I've never tested well. One of my high school teachers asked me point blank if I was retarded.”

Cooper! Concentrate.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” He closed his eyes and tried to focus on being a bear. Now that he'd voluntarily made the transformation once, it was easier to get in the right head space. When it felt unnatural to be standing on two legs, he opened his eyes and looked up at his large hairy paws.

The shopkeeper smiled up at him and uncocked her crossbow. “That will do. Bears, I can work with. My name is Myrna.”

Cooper turned back into a half-orc and lowered his hands. “I'm Cooper.”

“I apologize for the hostile welcome. You can't be too careful nowadays. Ever since the king passed, every pack of wererats in the city has been trying to take advantage of the chaos. They've tried to hit my store twice already. I keep hoping they'll try again.”

“If I see any, I'll tell them about your free dental work.”

Myrna laughed. “So, what are you in the market for today?”

“I'm actually looking to sell. Do you buy weapons?”

“On occasion, if something catches my eye. That's a fine-looking axe you've got there. How much are you looking to get for it?”

“Huh?” Cooper shook his head. “Oh, she's not for sale.”

Myrna cocked an eyebrow. “She, eh? Well, you don't appear to have any other weapons on your person. That is, unless you've got a halberd shoved up your arse, in which case I'm definitely not interested.”

Cooper pulled the Bag of Holding he'd taken from the bandits he'd massacred the night before from where it was tucked into his loincloth.

“I've got something in here you've probably never seen before.”

“Is it one of those gun contraptions I keep hearing about?”

Cooper sighed. “I really thought I was going to surprise you.”

Myrna's weary eyes widened like a child's on Christmas morning. “You cannot be serious.”

“I'm serious as fuck,” said Cooper. He reached into the bag. “Assault rifle.” When he felt the cold hard steel of the stock in his hand, he slid the gun carefully out of the bag and put it on the counter. “How's that for serious?”

Myrna gawked at the weapon like it was a newborn child. “May I hold it?”

“Sure, as long as you don't shoot me.”

She picked it up carefully and peered down the barrel. “How does it work?”

“Pretty much the same way your crossbow does. You point that end at something you don't want to be alive anymore and pull the trigger.”

“And where, exactly, is the –”

CRASH!

A glass display case on the other side of the store exploded into a billion shards as the ornamental daggers it contained fell to the floor.

Cooper pulled his finger out of his ear. “Yeah, that's more of an outside toy.”

“This is incredible,” said Myrna. “Do you have more?”

“Yeah.” One by one, Cooper pulled an assortment of guns out of the bag. When he was done, there were three assault rifles, six handguns, and three submachine guns. “I don't know how much ammunition these have left in them, and it's probably going to be difficult to get more.”

“Do not worry about that,” said Myrna. “I know a gnome.”

Cooper didn't know if that was relevant to their conversation or if she was just trying to impress him. “That's cool, I guess.”

“I would like to buy all of these. How much do you want for them?”

Cooper scratched his ass thoughtfully. “I don't know. I've got to get my friend's soul put back in her body. Do you happen to know how much that costs?”

“Not off the top of my head.”

“I'd also like to not be a werebear anymore, and some food would be nice. Maybe a little beer money.”

“I can offer you five thousand gold pieces,” said Myrna.

“Oh. What do you think, Nabi?”

Yes! Take it!

Cooper nodded at Myrna. “I guess we'll take it.”

“I do not have that much money here in the store. Come back tomorrow, and we can make the exchange then.”

“Yeah, sure.” It was a reasonable request, but Cooper really didn't want to spend another whole day full of bullet holes.

As he started putting the guns back into the Bag of Holding, Myrna picked up one of the submachine guns.

“Would it be too much to ask that I hold on to one of these until tomorrow? I would very much like to show it to some potential investors. I can offer you an advance of two hundred gold pieces now.”

Cooper thought that should be more than enough to get himself patched up.

“Fuck, yes!” he said. “Also, can you point me toward the nearest temple? I'm in a shitload of pain right now.”

“The Temple of Life is right up the road. You can't miss it. Follow the statues of gods and saints until you pass through the curtain of vines.”

“I saw that place on the way in. I figured it was some kind of high-end whorehouse.”

Cooper gratefully accepted Myrna's money and left the store. A few minutes later, he stepped through the vine curtain of the Temple of Life.

It wasn't exactly what Cooper was expecting, looking more like a park or a hippie commune than a temple. Here and there, people were planting young trees under the guidance of men in white dresses.

“Is this the right place?” he asked.

It must be. I can sense a powerful holy aura.

“Are you sure that wasn't me? I just let one go.”

Perhaps it would be wise to step away from that before we speak with one of the clerics.

If Nabi was referring to the men in white dresses, one of them was approaching him now. Cooper walked quickly to meet him, hoping that not too much of his fart followed.

“Greetings, friend,” said the portly balding man. “Welcome to the Temple of Life. My name is Brother Mayfair. Would you care to plant the Seed of Life?”

“Goddamn, dude. Not in you.”

Cooper!

Brother Mayfair grimaced briefly but quickly composed himself. “How may the Temple of Life be of service to you?”

Cooper couldn't understand how that wasn't completely obvious, but he spelled it out for him. “As you can see, I'm bleeding like a fucking sprinkler, and I would much prefer not to be.”

“We do provide healing services,” said Brother Mayfair. “But I'm afraid we require a donation to the temple.”

“I understand. How much are we talking?”

Brother Mayfair looked down and cleared his throat. “Three hundred gold pieces.”

“For a fucking healing spell?” said Cooper. “That's abortion!”

What?

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“You heard me, pork chop. Abortion, plain and simple.”

“It most certainly is not!”

Cooper, I think you meant to say either abhorrent or extortion.

“Oh, shit. I'm sorry. What I meant was, that's abhorrent, and it's extortion, and fuck you. Pick up on some fucking context.”

“I apologize, sir. It is true that we do not normally require so generous a donation, but the Temple is currently in dire need of money.”

“For what? You don't look like you've been missing too many meals.” Cooper grabbed a handful of Brother Mayfair's dress. “I'll tell you what. How about you cast a healing spell on me right now, and I'll give you two hundred gold and not kick your tubby ass?”

Cooper! Stop it!

Cooper let him go.

Brother Mayfair staggered back away from him. “I apologize, sir. But your wounds are severe, and the Temple is desperate.”

Ask him what the Temple needs the money for.

“Why does the Temple need so much fucking money?”

“Our High Cleric has been abducted. She is being held for ransom in Shallow Grave. With the city in chaos, the Kingsguard simply do not have the resources to rescue her. We have no choice but to come up with the ransom, or her captors will kill her.”

Cooper felt bad for grabbing him. “That sucks.” But if they were jacking up the prices on simple healing spells so high, Cooper wondered if five grand would be enough to get Nabi back into her body.

“Just out of curiosity,” he said. “How much would a resurrection spell go for?”

“I'm afraid there is no cleric here powerful enough to perform one. Only the High Cleric would be capable.”

Cooper sighed. “Son of a bitch.”

The weapons merchant said that wererats have been exploiting the chaos in the city to grow their power and influence. This man claims the High Cleric is being held in Shallow Grave. I would wager that her captors belong to the same organization that kept us in that pit.

“Yeah, so?”

My blades thirst for the blood of the wicked. You and I shall rescue this High Cleric.

“Look at me. I'm not in any shape to rescue shit.”

“I did not mean to suggest any such thing,” said Brother Mayfair, looking unsure as to whether Cooper was speaking to him or to himself. “The other clerics and I have decided the safest course of action is to pay the ransom.”

“Fuck that,” said Cooper. “We don't negurgitate with terrorists.” He reached into his Bag of Holding. “Two hundred gold pieces.” Coins rained down out of the bag and piled up between him and Brother Mayfair. “Give me as much healing as that will buy. I'm going to fuck up some rats.”

Chapter 33

Without having to worry about her friends running out of air, Katherine took her time searching for a good place to land. She settled on a relatively quiet part of town near the wall, but far from the northern and southern gates, and flew through the open window of what appeared to be an old, abandoned shack. The walls were rotted through in several places, vines grew in through the windows, and the roof looked like it might collapse if she landed on it. It was the perfect place to turn back into a half-elf and unpack her friends without being seen by any Knights of Jordan.

“Is everyone okay?” she asked after pulling Tony the Elf out of her bag.

The others nodded, all of them a bit jittery.

“There's nothing to be nervous about,” she lied. “Just play it cool and act like you belong here.”

“Should we try to strike up a conversation about Jordan Knight?” asked Tony the Elf.

“Not unless you have an exceptionally high Charisma score.”

“I think mine's an eight.”

“I don't remember mine off hand,” said Jay. “But I don't think it was anything special.”

“I don't know what any of you are talking about,” said Tanner.

Katherine laughed. “Don't worry about it. Let's just observe for now. Try to get a feel for what these people are like.”

Jay raised his right hand, palm forward. “Hang tough.”

It took her a second, but Katherine recognized the greeting from their non-violent exchange with two Knights of Jordan on the drow island.

“That's perfect,” she said. “Those are exactly the sort of things we need to be looking out for. Little details like that will help us blend in when we get to Hollin. The Knights travel in pairs, so we'll have to split up. But as long as we stay within –”

“Who's there?” cried an old woman's voice from the shack's front entrance. “Who's in my house?”

Butterbean and Tony the Elf's sheepdog, Dave, stood at attention and growled.

“Quiet, Butterbean,” said Katherine. “Damn it. I didn't think anyone lived in this shithole.”

An old half-elven woman barged into the room wielding a garden spade but dropped it when she saw them. She bowed low, not daring to look in their eyes. “Forgive me, Knights of Jordan.”

“It's okay,” said Jay. “We're not here to cause trouble. We're just...”

“Looking for the die,” said the old woman.

Jay glanced at the others, then turned back to her. “You know about the die?”

She let out a hollow laugh as she raised her head to meet his confused stare. “How could I not? It is all you people ever talk about.”

“Whoa!” said Katherine. “Time out. What do you mean, you people?”

“Katherine!” snapped Jay. “Not helping.”

The old woman sighed. “You have already searched my house from top to bottom. I do not know what more you expect to find.”

“We apologize for the intrusion. We'll be on our way now.”

“That worked out well,” said Tanner once they were all out on the street.

Katherine was a little hurt that he was giving her shit over an honest mistake.

“Okay, so I fucked up,” she said. “I'm sorry, but I've never infiltrated a cult before. I could do without the sarcasm.”

“I was not being sarcastic. That was a genuinely beneficial encounter.”

Seeing no obvious benefit to their exchange with the old woman, Katherine couldn't help but still suspect sarcasm. But it wasn't like Tanner to be that big of a prick for no reason.

“How was that beneficial?”

“We were taken completely by surprise and unprepared, and we made a woefully poor attempt at improvisation.”

“Why do I still feel like you're being sarcastic?”

“Don't you see?” said Tanner. “She did not suspect even for a second that we were not who we claimed to be. As long as we don't make any catastrophic blunders, we should easily be able to pass ourselves off as Knights of Jordan to the common folk.”

“That's just one old lady,” said Tony the Elf. “I'll need a few more encounters like that before I'm convinced. Besides, it's not the common folk we need to worry about. If we want to get close to Mordred, we're going to have to pass as Knights of Jordan to other Knights of Jordan.”

Katherine shot him an annoyed look. “It's still a step in the right direction. Let's enjoy what little good fortune we've got.”

“Tony the Elf is right,” said Jay. “Early wins aren't going to do us any good if we fail later on. It would be better to get discovered right now than when we're balls deep in those motherfuckers.”

“Exactly!” said Tony the Elf. “Finally, some common sense.”

“And that's why we need to get rid of the dogs.”

Tony the Elf frowned at his sheepdog, Dave. “What?”

Jay shrugged. “Have you seen any other Knights of Jordan walking around with dogs or wolves?”

“These aren't unwanted Christmas presents we begrudgingly take care of,” said Katherine, annoyed that she had to side with Tony the Elf about something. “These are our Animal Companions. What do you mean by get rid of them?”

“I don't know. Maybe you could kennel them or something.”

“Fuck that.”

“Then put them in the Bag of Holding.”

Katherine scoffed. “For ten minutes at a time?”

“No,” said Jay. “I mean like you're planning to do with Mordred. Absorb them into you.”

It wasn't a bad idea, but Katherine didn't like doing that to Butterbean. She turned to Tony the Elf, hoping that he would make an objection.

He sighed. “Couldn't we ask around first? I mean, maybe it's not completely unheard of for a Knight of Jordan to have a pet.”

“Not completely unheard of isn't good enough,” said Jay. “The goal is total anonymity, indistinct faces in a crowd of Knights. Mordred will see us coming from a mile away if we walk into Hollin with a dog and a goddamn wolf. I understand your reluctance. But if you insist on keeping your Animal Companions out in the open, then we need to come up with a different plan, because this one's DOA.”

“So let's think of another plan,” said Katherine.

Tony the Elf shook his head. “No. This is our best shot. The more time we waste trying to think up something better, the greater Mordred's chance of acquiring another die.” He took a knee and hugged Dave. “Don't worry. You won't even know you're in there.”

As much as Katherine hated to admit it, he was right.

“Speak,” she said, then looked down at Butterbean. “I'm going to have to put you in the bag for a while.”

“I understand,” said Butterbean. “I'm starting to get used to being in there.”

“I'm not. And believe me, if there was any other way, I wouldn't make you go in there. But we're trying to blend in with these cultists, and you and Dave would draw too much –”

“Wait. You're putting me in there alone with Dave?”

“Yeah, why? What's wrong with Dave?”

“He's so annoying. All he ever talks about is how great his elf companion is.”

“I can see how that would get old pretty fast. Do you talk about me at all?”

“Occasionally, but I've got other interests as well. Running, hunting, bitches.”

“Butterbean!”

“Yes?”

Katherine laughed incredulously. “Bitches? Really? Since when do you talk like that?” She shot Tony the Elf a stern glare. “Did you learn that from Dave?”

“Dave isn't really a wealth of knowledge,” said Butterbean. “Female wolves are called bitches.”

“Oh. Well, it has some negative connotations in people-speak. Anyway, don't worry about Dave. As far as you'll be aware, you'll only be in there for a couple of seconds.”

Butterbean stepped into the bag, and Dave followed after him.

“Hurry up,” said Tony the Elf. “Don't let the air get too stale.”

Katherine stood up and looked at him. “Listen, Tony the Elf. I hate to be a bitch, but...” She turned into a wolf, then looked up to see if anyone was laughing at her joke. Tony the Elf just seemed confused, and Jay and Tanner were both preoccupied looking out for Knights of Jordan. What a waste.

Making a mental note to use that line again, hopefully to a more receptive audience, she picked up the Bag of Holding with her mouth and changed back to her half-elven form.

“What was that?” asked Tony the Elf.

“What?”

“You started to say something, then turned into a wolf mid-sentence.”

“Forget it.”

Katherine turned to the others and considered how they would best pair up. Being relatively new to the game, Jay could benefit as a rogue from spending some time under Tanner's wing, but that would leave her paired with Tony the Elf, which he would no doubt read too much into.

Tony the Elf tended to be kind of a Negative Nellie about being stuck in the game, but Jay was looking forward to spending the rest of his life here. If she paired those two together, some of Jay's optimism might rub off on Tony the Elf. Then again, it could just as easily work the other way, which could cast a cloud over Jay's decision to stay.

“Jay,” she said. “You're coming with me. “Tanner and Tony the Elf, take a walk up and down the side streets of town. Jay and I will cover the town center. Remember, we're only observing. So speak as little as possible. We'll all rendezvous near the north gate in an hour.”

They parted ways but kept in visual range of each other until they made it farther into the denser part of town. Along the way, they passed a few villagers and two or three pairs of genuine Knights of Jordan.

The villagers all took deliberate measures to avoid them, which was fine by Katherine. Even better, every real Knight of Jordan they passed offered little more than a “Hang tough” by way of acknowledging them.

“Maybe I was overthinking it,” said Jay. “Maybe it really will be this easy.”

“I thought you made some really good points,” Katherine admitted. “There's a lot at stake here, so it's good to take precautions. And if you're really going to make a life for yourself here, that kind of cautious thinking is going to save your ass some day.”

When they finally got to the town center, Katherine's attention was drawn to all the pubs and taverns lining the main street. The Rusty Bucket, The Spoiled Oyster, The Soiled Trousers. It seemed like forever ago since the last time she had a drink.

“Do you feel like popping in for a quick one?” she asked, trying to sound more casual than begging.

Jay nodded. “I really do, but should we? What if Knights of Jordan don't drink alcohol? Like Mormons or Muslims or something?”

“That would be valuable intel worth knowing before we go into Hollin.”

“That's true,” said Jay. “And what better place is there than a bar to observe people?”

Katherine shrugged. “None that I can think of.”

“We can just pop in for one.”

“Agreed. One and done, in and out.” Katherine led Jay into one of the larger taverns on the town's main thoroughfare, a place called Demon Sweat.

The inside was cleaner than what Katherine preferred, lacking the lingering stench of stale cigarette smoke and blood soaked into the floorboards from bar fights of years long past. But it had the essentials, namely a bar to sit at and booze to drink.

To their collective pleasant surprise, there were a few pairs of Knights enjoying a mid-day drink in the mostly empty tavern. Valuable intel indeed.

“Great,” said the dwarf behind the bar. “Two more of you. I suppose you'll be wanting a couple of Gin and Jordan's?”

Katherine really just wanted a beer, but her curiosity was piqued. “What the hell –”

“ – else would we want?” Jay finished for her.

She was about to give him a piece of her mind when she realized how suspicious it would be for a Knight of Jordan to not know what a Gin and Jordan was.

“No need to be snippy,” said the bartender. “It would be rude of me not to ask. My dear old mother taught me to always be courteous, even to those who seek to oppress you.” He winked at Katherine. “That is, up until the time comes to fight back.”

While Katherine wasn't thrilled that he was making a not-so-veiled threat of violence against her in particular, she was happy to hear there was clearly an underground resistance to the Knights of Jordan brewing.

The bartender had two pale orange drinks already prepared, probably to minimize the amount of interaction he had to endure with the Knights who came in.

Katherine had no doubt that one of the ingredients in a Gin and Jordan was dwarf spit, but she hoped that accounted for less than the gin.

Despite being room temperature, she found the drink light and refreshing. It had a faintly sour citrus taste, kind of like watered-down grapefruit juice.

After finishing their drinks rather quickly, Katherine and Jay agreed that there was no harm in having just one more.

Katherine waved to the bartender, but he was attending to a woman who had just come down from the second floor of the tavern.

“Holy shit!” whispered Jay. “Do you know who that is?”

“I don't think so,” said Katherine. “Is she famous?” Then, when the woman turned so that Katherine got a better look at her face, it hit her. “Holy shit!”

“I know, right.”

“Isn't that Julian's hooker?”

“Not according to him, but...”

“We should go talk to her.”

“I don't know,” said Jay. “Remember what Tony the Elf said about her eating a dude?”

“I don't think she's going to eat me in a public bar. Besides, if she's here, Julian and Chaz might be here too. You stay here. I'll go and talk to her woman to woman.”

“That's fine by me,” said Jay. After a moment, he said, “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Are you going?”

“Not before I get my drink.”

Katherine and Jay watched as the bartender poured an entire bottle of stonepiss into a glass for Julian's lady friend. She took a nice big gulp as casually as if she was drinking lemonade.

“Damn,” said Jay. “She can handle her liquor.” He waved to get the bartender's attention. He came over with two more Gin and Jordans and set them down in front of him and Katherine without saying a word.

Katherine took a sip of her drink. “Okay, I'm going over there. Stay cool, but be prepared to back me up if anything happens.”

“Like if she starts eating you?”

“As an example, yes.”

“Sure, I've got you covered.”

Katherine took her drink over to the other side of the bar.

“Excuse me,” she said.

The woman turned around in her stool, grinning and slightly cross-eyed. Either she didn't have the tolerance for alcohol Jay had given her credit for, or this wasn't her first drink.

“Katherine!” she said when her eyes sorted themselves out.

“Yeah!” Katherine responded, wishing she could remember this woman's name.

“Is this woman bothering you, Akane?” asked the bartender. While he may have intended to be a prick to Katherine, he actually took a heavy weight off her shoulders.

“Heavens no, Brak,” said Akane, taking Katherine's hand in hers. It was cold and slightly moist to the touch. “Katherine and I are good friends.”

The surly dwarf grumbled to himself as he left them to their conversation.

Katherine was about to ask about Julian and Chaz, but Akane spoke first.

“Did you know that human men will give you coins to expose your bosom and fondle their genitals?”

“Not from personal experience,” said Katherine, “but I'm aware of the concept.” A sudden thought made her pull her hand away. “Is that why your hands are sticky?”

“Yes. The man I most recently serviced squirted an unusually large quantity of fluid.”

Katherine grabbed Akane's stonepiss bottle. “May I?”

“Please. Help yourself.”

She poured a shot's worth on her open palm, then rubbed her hands together.

Akane watched her curiously, then followed her example. “You have not by any chance seen Julian or the other one around, have you?”

“Chaz?” said Katherine. “No. I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

“We were separated in Pargos. I would very much like to reunite with them. I was hoping to find them here.”

“What makes you think they'd turn up here?”

“This is the nearest adequately-sized town to Pargos. I thought they might inquire about doing a performance here.”

The poor girl was obviously smitten. Had Julian just ditched her one night after he'd gotten tired of her? That didn't sound like Julian, but Katherine had a notoriously bad track record for judging men's characters. Maybe she wasn't such a great judge of women's characters either. She felt bad about judging Akane by her profession. She couldn't imagine how difficult it must be to work as a prostitute in a world like this. And if she was being completely honest with herself, part of her resented Akane for her stunning good looks. But now that she sat down and talked to her, she seemed like a nice girl. At any rate, Julian owed her a proper goodbye.

“We're hoping to catch up with them in Hollin,” she said, hoping Akane wouldn't ask to tag along. Akane may be a gifted sex worker, but one thing she was not was inconspicuous.

“Excuse me, ladies,” slurred an overweight man with beer suds in his beard. “Which one of you is polishing swords for five silver pieces?”

Akane smiled brightly. “That would be me.”

The fat man let out a big sigh of relief. “Thank the gods.”

“What the fuck?” said Katherine.

“I beg your pardon, miss. I meant no offense.”

“Are you saying a hand job from me wouldn't be worth five fucking silver pieces?”

“Not at all. I mean, after a few more drinks and if this one wasn't around.”

“Fuck you.”

“Don't go anywhere,” said Akane. “I should not be long. I've found that the portlier ones tend to squirt faster.” With that, she took the fat drunk by the hand and led him up the stairs.

Katherine turned to Jay, but his stool was unoccupied. She spotted him backing away from a window.

“We've got to go now,” he said, walking briskly toward her.

“What's wrong?”

“Drow. Four of them are coming this way, and they look pissed.” He slapped two gold coins on the bar. “Does this place have a rear exit?”

The bartender looked up from the coins and for the first time addressed them without a trace of contempt. “Yes. Right around that corner.”

Katherine gulped down as much of her drink as she could before Jay yanked her away by the arm. She felt a little bad for ditching Akane, but it was for the best. If she blew their cover, it might get them all killed.

After slipping quietly out the back door, Katherine and Jay sprinted toward the northern gate. Thankfully, Tanner and Tony the Elf were already there waiting for them.

“What took you two so long?” Tony the Elf demanded as they approached. He sniffed the air in front of  Jay's face. “Is that alcohol? Are you drunk?”

“I've got a little bit of a buzz going,” Jay admitted. “But there are four pissed-off drow hot on our asses.”

“Shit. We'd better get out of here.” Tony the Elf turned to Katherine. “Get your bag out.”

“For what?”

“So we can get in, and you can turn into a bird and fly us the hell out of here.”

“I'm all tapped out on turning into animals for the day.”

“And you're just now thinking about that? There are two Knights of Jordan guarding the gate. What was your plan for getting us out of here?”

Katherine scowled at him. “My plan was to do exactly that, but then we decided to blow one of my transformations on putting our Animal Companions in the bag. So even if I had one left – which I don't – I'd need to use it to turn back into a wolf first to access the bag, and then into a bird. We're just going to have to bluff our way through the gate.”

Tanner shrugged. “That should not be a problem.”

“That's more like it. Less bitching, more positivity. Let's go.”

As they walked up to the gate, Katherine scrambled to come up with a credible explanation for why they had to leave. Then again, maybe she was overthinking it. Maybe the guards would just let them walk through. They were all Knights of Jordan, after all. These guys were probably just there to monitor the comings and goings of non-Knights.

“State your reason for leaving and intended destination,” said the Knight on the left as they approached.

Shit.

Katherine cleared her throat. “We have... um... an urgent message for the... uh... Knight Commander in Hollin.”

The guard scoffed. “Knight Commander? By whose authority are you leaving?”

There wasn't much point in trying to keep up this charade. Katherine glanced around to make sure there weren't any other Knights of Jordan within sight, then turned back to the guard.

“By my own authority,” she said, then punched him as hard as she could in the face.

“Hey!” said the other guard, raising his spear, but Tanner was one step ahead of him, pouncing on him like a puma and tackling him to the ground.

“Shit,” said Jay, but he grabbed the spear away from Katherine's guard before he could get his bearings.

“What the hell are you doing?” asked Tony the Elf.

Katherine decked her stunned guard in the gut, then got behind him to put him in a chokehold.

“We're subduing them,” she said, despite it seeming perfectly obvious. “Help Tanner.”

“I've got mine pinned,” said Tanner, kneeling on his guard's back as he relieved him of his coin purse. “Shall I dispatch him?”

“No,” said Katherine. “Bring him over here so we're out of sight.”

Tanner turned to Tony the Elf. “In that case, I could use your help.”

Tony the Elf reluctantly helped Tanner pick up the guard and drag him outside the wall to join Katherine and Jay.

“What happened to blending in?” he asked.

“We didn't have a choice in this case,” said Katherine.

“Sure, we did. In fact, I would argue that not violently assaulting two Knights of Jordan would have been the easier option.”

“Killing us will not stop our master from getting his prize,” said Katherine's Knight, looking up at her from where Jay had him pinned to the ground. Jay also had an uneasy look on his face.

“Nobody's killing anybody,” said Katherine.

Jay and the Knight let out small sighs of relief.

“But do not forget to take his money,” said Tanner.

“Please,” said Jay's Knight. “Take all that I have. Just spare my life.”

Jay looked uncomfortable as he took the coin purse off the Knight's belt. He tossed it to Tanner.

“What, exactly, do you intend to do with these guys?” Tony the Elf asked Katherine. “You can't access your Bag of Holding right now. And if we let them go, they'll bring the whole town after us.”

“We'll knock them out and tie them up. That should give us a big enough head start so they can't follow us. But we need someone to go dig up those two Knights of Jordan we buried in the sand.”

Tony the Elf's annoyed expression disappeared. “Oh, right. I totally forgot about them.”

“Traitors!” said Tanner's Knight. “How could you murder two of your fellow Knights of Jordan? That is akin to driving a knife into the heart of Jordan Knight himself!”

Katherine laughed. “We didn't kill your friends. We just buried them up to their necks in sand. Follow the south road out of town and look for a flattened path in the tall dead grass. You'll find them easily enough.”

“It is you who we will find with ease!” he said. “And when we do, you shall rue the day you crossed the Knights of –”

Tanner knocked him unconscious with a quick jab to the face, then turned to Katherine. “Sorry. I think the other one will be more cooperative.”

Katherine turned to the Knight in Jay's custody. “Did you catch all that?”

He nodded.

“Repeat it back to me.”

“South road. Flattened path in the grass.”

“Good. I'm sorry I had to jackjaw you like that. But since you're being so cooperative, I'm not going to knock you out.”

“I appreciate that.”

“I am, however, going to have to tie you up, gag you, and blindfold you.”

“That's only fair.”

“All I ask is that you count to one thousand before you make any attempt to escape or call for help.”

“Better make it ten,” said Tanner, scanning the northern horizon.

Katherine thought that sounded reasonable. “Very well. Ten thousand. Can you do that?”

The captive Knight nodded.

“Good.”

None of them had any rope, so they tore strips from the unconscious Knights clothes to tie up, gag, and blindfold the other with.

After an hour traveling north with no hordes of Knights chasing them down, Katherine started to relax.

When the sun began to set, it was time to start thinking about sleeping arrangements for the night.

“Does anyone know how much farther it is to Hollin?” she asked.

“Not much farther,” said Tanner. “If we keep going at this pace, we could arrive sometime late tonight.”

“I'd rather arrive in the morning,” said Katherine. “We could all do with some rest, and I need to get my Wild Shape ability back so we can bypass the guards.”

Jay looked back. “Speaking of guards, we should probably get off the road. You can believe those Knights will be hunting us down before long.”

Tanner nodded. “Agreed.”

“I don't know,” said Tony the Elf. “I think we should just keep going. If they make it to Hollin before we do, they can warn the rest of the Knights that we're coming.”

“They have no reason to suspect we are headed for Hollin,” said Tanner. “As far as they know, we are nothing but common bandits. That is why I  made a show of taking their coin purses. Since we're masquerading as Knights of Jordan, they should expect us to be hitting smaller towns and villages. Hollin would be far too dangerous a place to pull these sorts of disorganized muggings, and should therefore be the last place they would expect to find us.”

Katherine smiled and nodded at him. “Impressive.”

“I guess that makes sense,” said Tony the Elf. “I just want this all to be over with.”

“We all want that. So it might be a good idea to discuss what we're actually planning to do when we get into the city.”

“I vote we find someplace to eat. I'm starving.”

“I'm kind of hungry too,” said Jay.

“All the more reason to spend the night out here,” said Katherine. “We're all rangers and rogues and druids. I'm sure we can hunt ourselves something good to eat.”

They left the road, walking single-file through the tall dead grass until they came to a forest. It was far enough away from the road so that they didn't have to travel too deep in to feel adequately hidden from sight. Katherine chose a nice clearing among the stout pines large enough for everyone to be able to sit around a campfire. She dug a small pit to contain and conceal the fire while Jay and Tony the Elf gathered wood for fuel. Tanner volunteered to hunt, claiming his Darkvision gave him an advantage at night when certain animals let their guard down.

Once Jay and Tony the Elf returned with their first load of twigs and branches, Katherine got the fire going easily with a Produce Flame spell. While they waited for Tanner to return, she pitched in with the wood foraging, and they gathered more than enough wood to keep the fire going all night.

After an hour of darkness passed with no sign of Tanner, Katherine started to grow concerned.

“Do you think he's okay?” she asked Jay and Tony the Elf over the fire.

Jay peered out into the dark silent woods. “Hunting might just take a while. You've got to find your prey and sneak up on it and all that. Plus, he's only working with a spear. Can you imagine trying to hunt a rabbit with a spear? Personally, I think he's wasting his time.”

“If he's actually hunting,” said Tony the Elf.

Katherine tossed another stick on the fire. “What else would he be doing?”

Tony the Elf shrugged. “For all we know, he could be getting shitfaced in some seedy tavern.”

“You're suggesting he bailed on us?”

“I'm just saying I wouldn't put it past him. I mean, what do you really know about this guy? Why is he even with us? This isn't his fight.”

“He's a friend of mine,” said Katherine. “And this is his fight. If Mordred gets his hands on one of those dice, it's Tanner's world he'll be taking over again.”

“Yeah, but he doesn't know that. What's in this for him that makes sense from his point of view?”

“Maybe he's just grateful that I saved his life, twice.”

“That's the thing, though,” said Tony the Elf. “You didn't save his life. You got him brought back to life after he died as a direct result of the actions of you and your degenerate brother.”

Katherine stood but refrained from pushing Tony the Elf into the fire. “You talk all the shit you want about my brother, but in some ways, you two are a lot alike.”

Tony the Elf laughed. “Like how?”

“Like you're a fucking prick!”

Jay snorted.

“Tim may have gone off the rails after the girl he liked rejected him, but I'll take a psychotic breakdown over your mopey, passive-aggressive, beaten-dog bullshit any day of the week.”

“The girl he liked? How, exactly, is that supposed to relate to me? You don't think... Oh please, Katherine. Don't flatter yourself. I'm much more interested in women who haven't eaten people.”

“Hey, now,” said Jay. “Take it easy, man.”

“I don't think I will take it easy, man. She could do with a nice big dose of reality.” Tony the Elf turned to Katherine. “I've never met someone with their head shoved so far up their own ass. You think everybody's so obsessed with you, don't you? That's why you're so sure Tanner's coming back. Not because of any inherent loyalty or nobility on his part. You just can't even fathom that any man wouldn't worship you to the point of gladly laying down their life a third time for you. You think of yourself as some kind of goddess, so radiant and beautiful and strong and special that no man can help but throw themselves at your feet. But I've got news for you. You're not.”

Katherine didn't know how to respond to that. On one hand, she reasoned that his harsh words were just him lashing out because she'd rejected him. But on the other hand, maybe that line of reasoning only proved him right.

“It looks like someone disagrees,” said Jay, smiling as he peered over the fire.

Katherine turned in the direction he was looking to find Tanner limping out of the darkness toward them with some kind of beast she couldn't identify slung over his shoulder.

“I apologize for taking so long,” he said. “But this one didn't go down without a fight.”

Now that he was closer, Katherine could see that the part of the creature he was holding was the top of its long neck. Below his hand was a head that looked like it belonged to a giant chicken, but the body had very few feathers on it. When he dumped it next to the fire, she, Jay, and Tony the Elf stood over it to get a better look.

A little larger than a goose, the creature had the head and legs of a chicken, leathery bat wings, and a long lizard-like tail. It looked like some kind of genetic cross-breeding experiment gone horribly awry.

“What the fuck is that thing?” asked Jay.

Tanner took a seat by the fire. “What does it look like? It's a cockatrice. Nasty one, too.” He lifted his hand, wrapped up tightly with a strip of cloth.

“Oh no,” said Katherine. “Are you okay?”

“Anyone who gets scratched by a cockatrice and doesn't turn to stone can consider himself fortunate indeed.”

“Hold up,” said Jay. “That thing can turn you to stone?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then why would you hunt it? Why not go for something less dangerous, like a rabbit or deer?”

Tanner shrugged. “Wander too close to a cockatrice nest, and it becomes less about choosing what to hunt and more about saving one's own ass. These creatures are fiercely territorial and always fight to the death.” He licked his lips. “Also, they are delicious.”

Food helped ease the tension, as did the process of cooking it. Tony the Elf barely said a word, and Katherine did her best to put their altercation behind them. Even though she felt she deserved an apology, she didn't want one. That would be far more awkward than simply refusing to acknowledge that tonight's conversation ever took place. With any luck, they might finally be heading back to their new lives in a couple of days. Katherine and Tony the Elf could ignore each other until then.

Unfortunately, Jay and Tanner weren't making it easy. Jay was grilling Tanner about the magical properties of different fantasy creatures, leaving Katherine with the options of either pretending to be interested and engage with them, or risk having to fill an awkward conversational void with Tony the Elf.

Neither was ideal, but the latter option was less work for her. The onus was on him to make the first move. If he wanted to apologize, Katherine supposed it wouldn't be the end of the world. She would gracefully accept, then they could move on with their lives having set clear, responsible boundaries. If he wanted to carry on ignoring each other, she was absolutely fine with that as well.

“Hey, um... Katherine?” Tony the Elf said when Jay and Tanner walked off to find the cockatrice head they'd tossed into the woods. His tone sounded uncertain. It seemed he was going to apologize after all. Unless...

Oh God, no.

What if he was going to apologize for the wrong thing? What if he was going to own up to her being totally right about his feelings for her and confess his undying love for her or some shit? That he was a really nice guy, and they could be happy together if she gave him a chance? How was she supposed to react to that? There was only one way. Rip the Band-Aid right off. Don't be unnecessarily cruel, but don't sugar coat it with any of that 'I value our friendship too much' bullshit either. Just be clear and firm.

Sorry, Tony the Elf. I'm just not into you. That's not a reflection of you. Sometimes, two people just don't click. It's not that I dislike you, but I don't particularly like you either. I'm completely indifferent toward you. I know that's probably not what you want to hear, but that's the way it is.

Okay, she was ready for this. She could do it.

“Yes?” she answered.

Tony the Elf yawned. “I'm kind of sleepy after eating all that cockatrice. Do you think you could take the first watch?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Thanks.” Tony the Elf lay on his back looking up at the stars for about thirty seconds before falling sound asleep.

What a fucking prick.

Katherine was so annoyed at Tony the Elf's casual indifference to her that she declined Jay and Tanner's offer to take the first watch instead. She wanted some alone time with her thoughts. But as if the universe was conspiring to deny her that simple pleasure, an hour after the others all fell asleep, she heard footsteps approaching from behind her.

Chapter 34

With no clear plan for how to best deal with their Akane situation, Julian and Chaz continued northward. Julian's best idea was to either find a venue big enough to make the money they still owed Akane, or catch up to their friends and hope they had a couple of hundred gold pieces to lend him.

It was early in the evening when Ravenus flapped down to report a decent-sized town up ahead.

“Excellent,” said Julian. “We can try to do a gig there. If we make enough money, we'll leave a message for Akane explaining the misunderstanding, letting her know we have the rest of her money and proposing a safe place for us to deliver it to her. If not, we'll find a different town and try again. What do you think?”

“I think she's going to kill us,” said Chaz.

“She's bound to have cooled down by then.”

“How do you figure? She's hunting us. Every day we give her the slip, I'd expect her to be more pissed off than the day before.”

“That's why we need to get a message to her. Once she knows we've acknowledged our mistake, she can look at things from our perspective. We're a sorcerer and a bard. Our combined Charisma is through the roof. We don't need her to forgive us right away. All we need is for her not to kill us immediately. If we can just get in a couple of words before she blasts us with lightning breath, we'll be able to deescalate the situation.”

“How much of the shit coming out of your mouth do you actually believe?” asked Chaz.

Julian sighed. “As much as I have to to keep moving forward.”

“Who knows? Maybe you're right. It's not like we have many other choices available.”

“Speaking of moving forward,” said Julian. “Ravenus, how far ahead of us is that town?”

“About two miles, sir.”

“That would put us there in a little over half an hour. If there's a tavern owner looking for entertainment, we might be able to play a gig there tonight. Ravenus, why don't you fly ahead and do some recon?”

“Very well, sir.” Ravenus spread his wings to start flapping, but Julian stopped him.

“Don't talk to anyone. Just observe what you can from afar and wait for us just south of the town.”

“As you command, sir.” Ravenus launched himself into the air and soon disappeared over the horizon.

When Ravenus was gone, Chaz turned to Julian. “If I'm going to do a show tonight, I'll need to take a shit first.”

“I could use a pit stop as well.” Julian only needed to pee but didn't feel as obligated as Chaz to discuss it in detail. “We can go in the tall grass over there. It looks like someone's already had the same idea.”

“If it's all the same to you,” said Chaz, “I'm going to carve out my own little men's room.” He stomped into the grass, leaving a flat trail branching off from the one that was already there.

Julian followed the original trail to the end, which certainly smelled like a toilet. It opened into a wide, circular clearing with a mound of dead grass piled at the center. That's where the strong urine odor was coming from, so Julian assumed that was the designated peeing area. He lifted his robe and began to relieve himself.

“Hey!” shouted a man's muffled voice. “What the...”

At first, Julian thought it was coming from the mound he was peeing on. But then he heard a voice that was clearly coming from behind him.

“You there! Put your hands in the air and turn around.”

Julian hadn't expected anyone to be so territorial about their favorite pissing spot, but he was relieved to find out that he wasn't urinating on a man's face like he'd just now suspected.  He tucked the bottom of his robe under his chin so that he could raise both hands while continuing to pee.

“I'll be with you in a minute,” he called out.

“Mercy of the gods!” cried a woman's voice. “Is that... Stop pissing on my face!”

Horrified, Julian quickly pivoted his stream away from the grass mound but continued peeing. He turned his head to find two knights of Jordan standing side by side, having stepped onto the trail behind him.

“Oh great, it's you guys.”

Two more knights, accompanied by the drow woman, Lady Vivia, emerged from the grass into the clearing.

“That is one of them,” said Lady Vivia coldly.

Having concluded his business and finding himself in the presence of a lady, Julian quickly lowered his robe.

“This isn't what it looks like.”

“Elania?” shouted a Knight of Jordan who appeared to have recently had the shit kicked out of him. “Halron?”

“Jarron! Is that you?” said the pee-soaked mound of grass. “We are down here!”

The injured Knight used the back end of his spear to clear the dead grass away, revealing the glistening heads of a man and woman buried up to their necks in sand, then stared accusingly at Julian.

“I didn't know they were there,” said Julian. “I swear. I just needed to pee, and this smelled like a place where people do that.”

“We couldn't help ourselves!” said the woman in the sand. “We have been buried here all day!”

“Thank the gods you're alive,” said Jarron as the guards beside him started digging their friends out of the sand. “Who did this to you? Was it him?” he pointed his spear at Julian.

“No,” said the woman. “It was a different elf. He was with a human man, a half-elven woman, and one of their kind.” She nodded up at Lady Vivia.

Lady Vivia scowled down at her. “That mongrel is no drow.”

“Those are the very same people who attacked me,” said Jarron. “You know who they are?”

“I do, and this elf is indeed one of them, even if he was not a party to this specific attack.”

“One of who?”

“The very same group of people who exterminated the Knights of Jordan on the Isle of Drow.”

“We didn't exterminate anyone!” said Julian. “We just set them free!” When he saw the shock and anger on the faces of the Knights surrounding him, he realized that he must have sounded like a terrorist to them.

Lady Vivia smiled at Julian as she threw him deeper under the bus. “They claim to have personal knowledge of Jordan Knight, which they intend to exploit in order to overthrow him.”

The Knights all gasped.

“Shall we kill him?” asked one of the other Knights eagerly.

“No,” said Jarron. “If he has information about our master, it stands to reason he may have information about our master's prize. Tie him up and take him to Hollin where Jordan Knight can personally interrogate him.”

“No!” said Julian, knowing it wouldn't make any difference, but unsure if it was really such a bad thing. The alternative was being stabbed to death here and now, so at least he bought himself an extra day or two. And Mordred had kind of a soft spot for Julian. At least he had when he first sent Julian here. Now that Mordred was a PC in the game, he might be vulnerable to Julian's Diplomacy skill. Maybe Julian could talk his way out of this, or even convince Mordred to stop this whole super-villain thing. Just like with Akane, a good long talk might be just the solution he needed.

“The elf is not alone,” said Lady Vivia. “He arrived here with a human couple.”

Jarron prodded Julian in the gut with the back of his spear, the end with his pee on it. “Where are they?”

Julian needed to think up a convincing lie quickly, so he sprinkled some truth in it. “I caught them in bed together, so I stole their money and ran.” He tossed his bag of coins on the ground. “Take it. I never even wanted the money. I only wanted to hurt her the way she hurt me.” If he wasn't neck deep in shit right now, he would have been pretty pleased with that performance.

“One will do for now,” said Jarron. “We'll send out riders to neighboring villages to be on the lookout for the others. In the meantime, I think our master will be pleased with our discovery.”

Julian put forth no resistance when they tied his wrists together, so he found it particularly rude when one of the Knights behind him jabbed him hard in the back of the head with the back end of his spear.

“OW!” cried Julian. “What the hell was that for? I was cooperating!”

“You are an enemy of the Knights of Jordan,” Jarron explained. “And you are too valuable a prize not to take extra precautions with. If our master learns that you somehow managed to escape our custody, our punishments will be far worse than a mere tap on the head.” He nodded to the Knight who'd struck Julian. “Hit him again!”

Thankfully, the next crack on the head put Julian out.

Chapter 35

There's nothing cowardly about hiding silently with your pants around your ankles while your friend gets abducted by cultists to be served on a silver platter to a homicidal madman if trying to interfere would only result in the same fate for both of you.

In fact, you might even call it brave. Suicide is taking the easy way out, so they say. It's much harder to face your friends and tell them that you squatted with your bare ass over a hole doing nothing while one of them was beaten unconscious and dragged away. But if you hadn't done exactly that, you wouldn't be able to find them and organize a search and rescue, which is your friend's only chance at getting out of this alive.

Does that make you a hero? Maybe.

As he walked toward the town to the north, Chaz repeated this rationalization in his mind over and over again until he finally started to believe it.

Sure, he could have pulled up his pants, pulled out his lute, and played a song to snap the Knights of Jordan out of the hold Mordred had over them. But that wouldn't have worked on the drow. He only heard Lady Vivia, but he had no idea how many drow were silently accompanying her. There could have been dozens for all he knew. When he caught up to the others, it couldn't hurt to add a few more drow to sell the story. In the meantime, the hardest sell was flapping straight toward him.

Shit.

“Where is Julian?” asked Ravenus as he landed awkwardly on the ground in front of Chaz. “I cannot feel his presence.”

“He's, um... He's been taken.” Breaking bad news was even harder while speaking in a phony British accent.

Ravenus ruffled his feathers. “Taken? By whom?”

“By the Knights of Jordan and the drow.”

“Why did they only take him? Why not you?”

Chaz broke eye contact. “I was hiding.” Fortunately, he hadn't looked far enough away so that he didn't see Ravenus fly up to attack him.

“You craven piece of shit!” squawked Ravenus as he raked his talons across Chaz's forearms in an attempt to get at his face. “Julian was taken prisoner while you sat around stuffing acorns into your vagina!”

“What? I wasn't stuffing acorns in – Ow! Stop it! I didn't have any choice. If they took us both, nobody would know to come rescue us.”

Ravenus stopped clawing at him and landed on the ground again. “Where did they go?”

“I don't know. I couldn't see which way they went. They said they were taking him to Mordred.” Chaz shielded his face again while Ravenus flew up for another assault.

“Stupid human!”

“Knock it off!” shouted Chaz. “That fucking hurts!” He understood Ravenus's anger, but there was a limit to how much abuse he was going to take from a bird.

Ravenus landed again. “Where is Mordred? I must rescue Julian before he gets to him.”

“As far as I know, Mordred's up in Hollin. But what the hell are you going to do?”

“I'll kill every last one of them, then Julian and I shall feast upon their eyes!”

“I'm not sure if Julian would want – Ravenus, no!”

Ravenus turned around and started to flap, but Chaz dived down to grab him.

“Let go of me!” cried Ravenus, clawing and pecking at Chaz's already bleeding arms.

Chaz winced at the pain but held on even tighter. “If you go after them, they'll kill you.”

“I would gladly suffer a thousand deaths to free my master from captivity.”

“You don't have a thousand deaths, and getting yourself killed isn't going to free Julian. Hell, they might not even kill you. If they find out you're his familiar, they might capture you instead and use you against him. I know you're pissed, but charging straight at them is the absolute worst thing you can do for Julian right now.”

Ravenus stopped struggling. “Then what can I do?”

“We can rescue him,” said Chaz. “But only if we work together. And we're going to need help.”

“Julian has no time to wait for us to seek help. We don't even know where anyone is.”

“That's not true. I overheard one of the Knights of Jordan say he was attacked by Katherine and her group. I'm guessing they're somewhere between this town up here and Hollin. If we can find them, we'll have a much better shot at rescuing Julian.”

“Fine,” said Ravenus. “You make compelling arguments, and I shall accept your assistance for now. But if I feel that your motivations favor cowardice over strategy...” He closed his eyes, and his body tensed. Then a warm glob of white shit gushed from his cloaca and ran down Chaz's arm. “Do we understand one another?”

Chaz let him go and shook the shit from his arm. “Fucking hell.” He sighed. “I guess I deserved that.” He opened his lute case and pulled out his lute.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” demanded Ravenus.

“Healing myself,” said Chaz. “I felt guilty about Julian getting captured, so I was going to let myself suffer a little, but then you shit in my wounds. That could turn septic and kill me, which won't do anyone any good.”

“Make it quick.”

Taking care to get as little blood and bird shit as possible on his lute, Chaz began to strum and sing. Ravenus had really done a number on his arms, so he treated himself to the strongest healing spell he had available.

“Cure Moderate Wounds. Hear my moderate tunes. Cure Moderate Wounds.”

He hit a few jarring notes as the healing magic seared in his arms. The pain soon turned into pleasure as his wounds closed. His shirtsleeves still looked like he'd been trying to repair a running lawnmower, but the skin underneath them was now completely restored.

Rather than face a town overrun by Knights of Jordan, Chaz decided to go around it. He plowed through the tall grass until he reached the forest beyond. Staying close to the trees to avoid being spotted, he continued traveling northward.

Ravenus flew ahead of him, ostensibly to scout, but Chaz got the feeling that had less to do with scouting and more to do with his disgust and contempt for him. Every time Ravenus returned to make sure he was still following, Chaz was surprised. He would have bailed by now, but he supposed the bird had more integrity than he did.

The first time Chaz stopped to rest, Ravenus was on his ass like an abusive drill sergeant.

“Get the fuck up!” squawked Ravenus, brandishing his talons as he flapped down toward him.

Chaz leapt to his feet and shielded his face, but Ravenus didn't actually attack him this time. It seemed he'd moved on to psychological torture. That was probably the main reason Ravenus kept returning to check up on him. It wasn't out of concern that he was being attacked by monsters or wild animals. He'd been waiting to catch Chaz slacking off just the tiniest bit so that he could berate him.

Only yesterday, Chaz was a rising star on a path toward unimaginable riches and worldwide fame. Now he was filthy, exhausted, penniless, friendless, and subservient to a bird.

After the sun sank below the glistening horizon, Chaz knew he couldn't keep Ravenus's demanding pace up much longer. He'd been stopping to lean against a tree for a few precious seconds every time Ravenus flew out of sight, but what he needed was some proper rest.

And food. He was starving. Not like those kids on TV all covered in flies starving, but creeping up on suck a dick for a sandwich starving. Since Julian gave the Knights of Jordan all of their money, that was about all he had to offer for his next meal. In a few more hours, he'd probably be willing to do it for the caloric value of the semen alone.

As evening turned to night, every step was a struggle. But Ravenus was relentless, fueled by his desire to rescue Julian and his thirst for vengeance against those who took him. Chaz didn't envy those poor motherfuckers one little bit.

It was getting more and more difficult to see Ravenus returning, cloaked as he was against the night sky and surrounding darkness. But the next time he returned, he surprised Chaz with more than the terrifying flapping of wings from out of nowhere. This time, he also dropped a fat dead rat at his feet. Squatting down to take a closer look, Chaz discovered that the rat was missing both eyes.

He looked up at Ravenus, who had perched on a branch above him. “What is this, some kind of warning? I'm going as fast as I can.”

“It is not fast enough. We must try to catch up to them before they reach Hollin. In the city, they will be much more difficult to find.”

“I've been walking all day. I can't physically go on much farther. I haven't even eaten anything since yesterday.”

“What do you think I brought the rat for?”

Chaz's stomach turned as he looked down at the rat again with a disgusting new perspective.

“I'm not eating that!”

“Why? What's wrong with it?”

“It's a fucking rat! It's not even cooked.”

“If that is not good enough for you, then stop complaining and start walking.”

It's during times of crisis that a man discovers new things about himself. If someone back home had asked him whether he'd rather suck dick or eat a raw dead rat, he would have certainly chosen the former. Now that he was potentially faced with such a decision, he couldn't have Ravenus thinking he was gay.

He tore off one of his shredded shirtsleeves, wrapped up the rat, and put it in his bag.

“I'll save it for later,” he said, then carried on walking.

That brief rest didn't do anything to curb Chaz's hunger, but it did provide him with a little bit of an energy boost. He walked the next few miles not quite so miserably as he had the miles leading up to them. If he demonstrated some spring in his step, he wondered if he might convince Ravenus to let him take a quick power nap. Even thirty minutes would do him a world of wonder.

“I found them!” said Ravenus before Chaz could even hear the telltale flapping of wings.

“Jesus Christ, Ravenus,” said Chaz. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“I found them!” Ravenus repeated.

“Who did you find? Julian?” Chaz sincerely hoped not. If Ravenus found the Knights of Jordan who'd taken Julian, there was zero chance of Chaz being able to convince him that they shouldn't attempt a rescue here and now. And seeing as how Chaz didn't currently have the strength to lift his own dick, he'd be as dead as the rat in his bag.

Ravenus sighed. “Alas, no. I've found Katherine and the others.”

That was a hell of a lot better.

“That's fantastic news!” said Chaz. “Where are they?”

“Just ahead. Follow me.”

Ravenus flew from tree to tree so that Chaz could follow him more closely. Chaz picked up his pace considerably now that he knew there was some kind of light at the end of this tunnel. Before long, he smelled a nice wood fire. The rat in his bag was growing more and more appealing.

The trees gave way to a small clearing. Tony the Elf, that new guy, and Katherine's drow friend lay asleep around the fire, and Katherine sat with her back to him.

Before Chaz could speak, he stepped on a stick, which cracked loudly under his foot.

Katherine turned around, looking only mildly surprised to see him.

Maybe it was because he was nearly as starved for sex as he was for food, or maybe it was the ambiance of the firelight, but she looked exceptionally attractive.

She smiled at him. “Hello, Chaz.”

“Hey.”

“You look different than the last time I saw you.”

“So do you.” Chaz wasn't just saying that. Katherine had indeed changed since the last time he saw her. She had a certain radiance about her. Maybe it was increased confidence in herself. Or maybe she'd leveled up and put a point in Charisma. Or it might simply be the fact that this was the first he'd seen her smile in a long time.

When she said he looked different, he'd assumed she was referring to all the blood and bird shit on his torn shirt, but that smile suggested otherwise. Maybe he'd grown too. RazzmaChaz had certainly boosted his self-confidence. Might she be reacting to some subliminal signals or pheromones he was subconsciously putting out? Holy shit, was she coming on to him? Were they about to strip down and go at it by the fire like a couple of ancient Mayan teenagers? Or was he perhaps reading too much into this?

Even if she was ripe for the plucking, Chaz had a couple of good reasons not to succumb to his basest desires. First, there were three other dudes present. They all appeared to be asleep, but he couldn't be sure that Katherine would be able to contain her ecstatic cries in the throes of their passion.

Secondly...

“Did you tell her about Julian yet?” asked Ravenus.

Secondly, if Chaz tried to bone Katherine while Julian was still missing, he was pretty sure Ravenus would literally murder him in his sleep.

“What about Julian?” asked Katherine. “Why is he not with you?”

“He was kidnapped,” said Chaz, closing the door on any lingering hopes he had for making it with Katherine tonight. “The Knights of Jordan took him. The drow were with them. They're looking for you. Lady Vivia wants to personally murder you.”

Katherine smiled again, but this time it was more sinister. “I sincerely hope she tries.”

“Really? Because I kinda thought we had enough on our plate right now what with Julian missing and trying to hunt down Mordred before he gets his hands on one of those magic dice. Your ongoing beef with this bloodthirsty drow bitch feels like something we should put on the back burner for a while if possible.”

Her smile faltered, and she bit her lower lip in thought. “Do you know where they took him?”

“They said they were taking him to Mordred. So probably somewhere in Hollin.”

“There you go,” said Katherine. “That is two items we can cross off our list at once. Get some rest. You look like you've had a rough day. Tomorrow, we will find Julian.”

Chaz relayed everything she'd just said to Ravenus, hoping that either Ravenus would finally allow him the rest he so desperately needed or, failing that, Katherine would put Ravenus in her Bag of Holding while he got some sleep.

As it turned out, Ravenus was at least as exhausted as Chaz was. Upon hearing Katherine's assurance that they would indeed find Julian in a timely manner, he lay on the ground and instantly fell fast asleep.

Grateful that this long, shitty day was finally over, Chaz followed his lead.

Chapter 36

“This must be the place,” said Stacy, surveying the surrounding area for potential trap locations and natural choke points. The clearing was wide and sandy, but there were plenty of shrubs and thick cedars along the perimeter to hide behind. The creek ran a little smoother here than she would have preferred, but it should provide at least a little cover to give her Stealth rolls a bit of a boost.

Shorty frowned, scanning their surroundings nervously for ettins. “Are you sure?”

“It's a big bend in the creek half a mile downstream of where I had my meeting with Bogga and Dogga last night. There's fresh water and plenty of space for them to build a fire and lie down.” She went to the center of the wide, sandy creek bed and held her hand over the charred logs of a previous campfire. They gave off no heat. This wasn't a recent fire. “They wouldn't be the first ones to use this spot.”

“You've seen it,” said Shorty. “We should leave before they turn up.”

“Don't worry. They're not doing anything this early in the morning. The whole point of coming here is to see how we can use the terrain to our advantage.”

“Advantage for what? Isn't she setting her father up for you to kill him while the others are sleeping?”

“That's the plan, but I trust her as far as I could throw her. Besides, it's always good to have a contingency plan in case something goes wrong.” Stacy frowned at the fire pit. “There's too much visibility here. If they build a fire here, I'm going to have a hell of a time trying to sneak up on them.”

“So have them build their fire somewhere else.”

Stacy laughed. “I don't think they'll be open to my requests.”

“What makes you think they will build their fire here?”

“Why wouldn't they? There's already a hole dug and some dry charred wood.”

Shorty stared at her like he was waiting for something to click. It did.

“We dig a different pit,” she said, suddenly realizing what he had in mind. “We can move the wood to the other pit, then fill this one up. Not bad, Shorty.”

“That remains to be seen,” said Shorty. “If we wish to have them build a fire in a specific location, that is how I propose we would do it, but I am still not convinced that such an endeavor is worth the time, effort, and risk of getting discovered.”

“That all depends on how we can apply this means of manipulating the playing field. For example, if we had them build their fire a few yards away from that big fat tree over there, I'd give myself pretty good odds at being able to sneak close enough to listen to their dinner conversation without being seen. If this is all some kind of ruse, I can know not to take the bait. Or better yet, I can flip it on them.” She took Shorty by the arm and pulled him to the spot she was thinking about having the ettins build their fire. “Stand here.”

Shorty was visibly uncomfortable standing alone out in the open in a place where they were expecting ettins to show up, but he did as she asked.

Stacy ran over to the big fat tree and hid behind it. “Can you see me from there?”

“No.”

She turned to find the next tree that most closely lined up with this path of obstructed visibility. The best contender wasn't as wide as the one she was hiding behind, and it was a little farther away than she would have preferred, but she should be able to make it work with halfway decent Stealth rolls.

Looking at the scene in broad daylight offered her a perspective on how the ettins, with their Darkvision, would perceive it at night. Without being able to take advantage of darkness as part of her cover, Stacy would have to rely entirely on being absolutely silent and staying keenly aware of which way everyone's attention was focused at any given time.

If they moved the fire pit to exactly where Shorty was currently standing, Stacy felt good about her odds of being able to sneak onto the site long enough to slit a sleeping giant's throat and be gone again before anyone realized she was there.

The sandy ground was easy to dig through, allowing Stacy and Shorty to dig a nice big fire pit exactly where she wanted the ettins to build their fire. While Shorty moved the burnt logs from the old pit to the new, Stacy gathered cobblestones from the creek to make a nice perimeter around the pit, making it both more attractive and more of a pain in the ass to recreate in a different location.

“Not bad,” said Stacy after standing back to look over their handiwork. Shorty had done a nice job of filling the original fire pit and raking fresh sand over it so that a casual observer would never know it had ever existed. “It's too bad we can't set up any traps.”

Shorty wiped sweat from his forehead. “Why can't we?” He looked up at the sky. “It is still early yet. We might be able to conceal a stake or two.”

Stacy was glad he seemed to have chilled out since they arrived here, and she would have loved to take advantage of the knowledge Bogga and Dogga had given her to take down one or two more of these freaks, but...

“Any traps we set up could be tripped or discovered upon the ettins' arrival. If we're being handed an opportunity to take down the leader, I don't think it's worth the risk of tipping them off that we're on to them. Also, Bogga and Dogga might look at it as an indiscriminate attack on all of them, which would be a fair call on their part, but it would probably not bode well for them giving us a second chance.”

“Every time we survive an encounter with these brutes is another second chance to abandon this ridiculous vendetta and get on with our lives.”

“They killed a friend of mine,” said Stacy. “They took us as slaves, and they cost me the chance to get Dave cured of his lycanthropy. God knows what sort of mess he's gotten himself into by now. My point, is that I have no intention of stopping until I at least take down that dead-headed prick in charge.”

Shorty squatted at the edge of the creek to splash some water on his face. “Vengeance is a hollow reward. Pursuing it is wasted effort, especially if we do not even eat the bodies.”

Stacy smiled at him. “So that's what's got you down? You're hungry?”

“I genuinely believe this to be a pointless pursuit,” said Shorty. “But yes, I am also hungry.”

“We've got a few hours before the ettins are likely to show up. Let's go hunt down some lunch.”

Expecting the ettins to arrive by way of following the creek, Stacy led Shorty away from it to hunt for food. As she strolled through the forest looking for an animal they could eat, she was surprised to find herself confident at her ability to identify plants they could eat as well, and even a few that they most certainly did not want to eat. That was strange, considering she had never noticed any of these plants before.

She plucked a few safely edible leaves and stems to chew on. But like Shorty, what she really craved was meat.

“There!” whispered Shorty after about twenty minutes of wandering. He tugged on Stacy's arm and pointed to their eleven o'clock.

Stacy squatted to his eye level and spotted a doe twenty yards away that was obscured by tree branches from her standing height.

“That looks like a good dinner to me,” she said. She readied the heavier of her two daggers in her hand, halfway confident that she could hit the deer from this distance, but she didn't like her odds of killing it with one hit. If it ran off with her dagger stuck in its ass, that wouldn't be an improvement to anyone's situation. “Let's try to get a little closer. You circle around that way. I'll go this way. Be as quiet as you can, but if you do startle it, you'll only drive it in my direction.”

Shorty nodded and started creeping along the forest floor away from Stacy. He almost immediately crunched a particularly noisy pile of dead leaves.

Stacy looked up at the deer, hungry enough to risk losing her dagger for the chance to fill her belly with venison. The deer raised its head idly in Shorty's direction, like it was more curious than frightened. It did turn to flee, but less like a frightened deer and more like a drunk at closing time.

It was clearly a full-grown doe, but she staggered on wobbly legs like she was just learning how to walk.

“What are you waiting for?” asked Shorty. “Kill it so we can eat!”

“I don't know if that's such a good idea,” said Stacy, not bothering to avoid alarming the deer that was fleeing more slowly than Stacy casually walked toward it. “I think she's sick.”

“Goblin stomachs are not quite as delicate as humans'. Civilization has made you weak. Your bodies are only equipped to digest the narrow range of plants and animals you grow and domesticate. Believe me, this will not be the first diseased deer I have consumed.”

“I do believe you,” said Stacy. “But I think it's wise to at least consider –” As she got closer, she noticed something rusty brown on the deer's side. Some kind of weird mosquito/bat hybrid, it was about two feet from wingtip to wingtip. Its stiletto-like proboscis was plunged deep into the deer's back, and a small trickle of blood ran down from the wound. “What is that?”

“Stirge!” cried Shorty with more emotion than he'd shown during any of their ettin encounters. He hurled a rock, missing the stirge but hitting the deer in the side right next to it. It was enough, however, to get the stirge's attention. It pulled its nose out of the deer and flapped away.

Strangely enough, the meager force of Shorty's rock was enough to drop the deer. But Stacy suspected that was coincidental timing, and that the stirge was the true cause for the deer's untimely demise.

“What the hell is a stirge?” she asked, snapping a young, slender tree at the base of its trunk. She wanted to get a closer look at this thing, and figured she'd have a better chance of hitting it by swatting it with a tree rather than throwing a rock or dagger.

Shorty kept a watchful eye on the stirge until he finished swallowing his mouthful of deer throat. He was squatting over the deer, fresh blood coating both hands and the bottom half of his face.

“Disgusting little creatures,” he grumbled. “Once they get their hooks into your skin, they'll suck blood out of you until their bellies are full. Extremely dangerous.”

“Why? Do they carry malaria or something?”

“I don't know who that is.”

“What makes them so dangerous?”

“The blood-sucking, of course!” said Shorty. “As a goblet, I once poked a nest of them with a stick. They nearly killed me. Fortunately, they're delicious, so my tribe caught most of them to eat in time to keep me from being completely exsanguinated.”

Stacy didn't have a frame of reference for what normal stirge flight looked like, but the one currently trying to flee seemed a little sluggish to her. It had probably overindulged on the deer blood and could do with a post-Thanksgiving-dinner nap. She knocked it out of the air with one good smack from her tree. The hit wasn't enough to knock the creature unconscious, but she'd stunned the shit out of it.

As the creature struggled to orient itself, Stacy gently pressed her left foot down on it to keep it pinned to the ground.

“What are you doing?” asked Shorty. “Kill it and pick up the deer and let us go somewhere else. Where there is one stirge, there are sure to be others.”

“We might be able to use them.” Stacy lifted her foot and backed away from the disoriented stirge.

Shorty picked up another rock. “What are you doing? It is getting away!” He started to throw, but Stacy caught his arm.

“We need it to lead us back to the nest.”

“What for?”

“If I'm guessing correctly, the stirge's blood drain attack lowers the victim's Constitution score, at least temporarily. Did you see that deer? She didn't know what day it was.”

Shorty tilted his big head as he stared up at Stacy. “I'll be more impressed when you show me a deer that does know what day it is.”

“You killed it with a rock to the side of its ass,” said Stacy. “It was obviously in pretty bad shape.”

“On that, we are agreed, which is why I am opposed to willfully disturbing a stirge's nest. I, unlike you, learn from my mistakes.”

While Stacy kept her eyes on the stirge as it got to its feet and stretched out its brown, leathery bat wings, she pruned some branches off her makeshift stirge swatter to eliminate drag from anywhere except the actual swatting surface. Then she snapped the trunk in half to make the weapon easier to wield with one hand.

Just as she'd hoped, the stirge decided that this was a battle it no longer wanted to pursue and began flying away from Stacy and Shorty.

“Hold this,” said Stacy, handing her stirge swatter to Shorty and jogging after the stirge. “And try to keep up!”

“What about the deer?” asked Shorty.

“It's not going anywhere. Come on!” Stacy was easily keeping pace with the injured stirge, so she kept her eyes open for another young tree she could turn into a swatter. Finding a worthy candidate, she snapped it off the trunk leaving about two feet of stump behind. After tearing off a few of the lower branches as she continued to chase the stirge, she was satisfied with her effort.

The stirge eventually led them to what looked like a dumpster-sized statue of a turd made out of some kind of stucco-like substance and riddled with a bunch of two-inch round holes. The area smelled faintly of rotten meat, as if this was a part of the forest where many animals met their ends, but their bodies didn't tend to stick around for too long. One of nature's recycling centers. The stirge they'd been following crawled into one of the holes.

“I'm guessing that's the nest,” said Stacy when Shorty finally caught up to her.

Shorty trembled upon seeing it. “Yes. That is a stirge nest. An exceptionally large one, I might add.”

“It's probably got more stirges than we need.”

“That number being zero, I would agree.”

“We'll bag as many as we can hold, then kill or flee from the rest.”

“What do you mean, bag?”

Stacy took out the old cloth sack that had held the leaves for Dogga and Bogga's signal fire. She passed it to Shorty as she took back her first swatter. Taking a few practice swings with both swatters simultaneously, she felt surprisingly competent wielding two weapons at once.

“I'll stun them,” she said. “You put them in the bag.”

“For what?”

“Think of it as an insurance policy in case Dogga and Bogga try to double cross us.”

“What is an insurance policy?”

“Never mind,” said Stacy, spotting a stirge crawling out of one of the nest holes. “Just watch.”

This one was a lot more quick and nimble than the one she'd followed here, but Stacy felt confident that she could hit it with at least one of her two swatters.

The stirge flew erratically at first, buzzing angrily as it tried to move into position behind her. Just like the other one had with the deer, this one was trying to catch Stacy with her back turned so it could latch onto her in a place that was difficult for her to reach.

“I'm going to turn my back on it,” she said to Shorty, who was ducking behind a bush a little farther away from the nest. “Tell me when it starts to close in.” She stopped moving while the stirge circled around behind her.

“Now!” said Shorty almost immediately.

Stacy had been ready for that. She whirled herself around, locked her sites on the stirge just as it was reconsidering its attack, and swatted hard with one of her trees, smacking the creature out of the air so that it hit the ground with an audible thud.

“Hurry!” she said, pressing on it gently with her foot. “Bring the bag.”

Shorty came out from behind the bush, bag in hand. “Perhaps if you explained to me the purpose of –”

“No time. There are more coming. Put the bag over it before it gets up.” She took her foot off the stirge and readied herself for another attack.

With little other option, Shorty brought the bag quickly down on the stunned stirge, then bunched up the mouth.

Stacy swayed, spun, and danced as three more stirges tried to position themselves for a clear shot at her back.

“This is going to start happening more quickly, so I'm not going to have time to step on them. I'll need you to bag them as soon as they hit the ground.”

One stirge mistook Stacy's stopping to talk as a distraction, but that was exactly what she was counting on. She spun around too late to attack, but just in time to duck out of its path. She made a desperate swipe at it anyway, but it completely whiffed.

Another one abandoned its pursuit of Stacy in order to catch Shorty by surprise while he was trying to bag the temporarily incapacitated stirge. If he got stirged in the back, she'd never hear the end of it.

She lunged toward him and swatted at the stirge closing in for the attack. Her swing was premature, failing to connect with anything more than a couple of outer leaves, but good enough to knock it off course a bit. As it attempted to correct its course, she swatted with her other tree. This time she connected hard, and the stirge smacked the ground right in front of a visibly distressed Shorty.

Shorty quickly lifted the lip of the bag and brought it down again on the second grounded stirge.

“I cannot keep doing this,” he said. “If I lift the bag again, the ones I've captured will surely escape.”

Stacy dropped one of her swatters next to him as she kept an eye on the remaining two stirges that were still buzzing around her, as well as three more that were crawling out of the nest. “Keep me covered.”

Shorty held up the tree with both hands but didn't look like he'd be able to swing it effectively. Katherine grabbed the bag by its bunched mouth, swung it over her head once, then slammed it down hard on the ground. She dropped it and snatched her tree back from Shorty. “There. Now they're not going anywhere.”

“If you wanted to kill them, there are more efficient ways.”

“That didn't kill them. I just want them pissed off, and I guarantee you I accomplished that.”

With five stirges now surrounding them, and several more on the way, they were beginning to get more aggressive. One at a time, they swooped down just out of Stacy's swatting range. Then they started swooping in pairs from opposing sides. Stacy was beginning to think Shorty might have been right about the folly of this plan until the stirges decided to lay their cards on the table and start attacking in earnest.

The first two that came at her did so from opposite sides, but she sent both of them to the ground with a whirlwind counterattack.

Three more came at her after that. She knocked one out of the air but missed another as she prioritized dodging their attacks.

After a little more bobbing, ducking, and weaving, she got into a rhythm and decided not to attack the stirges that were attacking her, but instead to go after the ones that swooped down for Shorty. Crawling around on the ground bagging fallen stirges, he made himself look nice and vulnerable for attack, and the stirges weren't bright enough to focus on both prey and potential threats at the same time.

Considering his initial vocal objection to the idea, Shorty was doing an admirable job of keeping his cool. He got into his own rhythm, bagging two stirges at a time before slamming the whole bag of them against the ground. Stacy could tell he enjoyed that part.

“The bag is getting full,” he said after a little while. “It cannot hold many more.”

Stacy nodded. “Okay. My arms are starting to get tired anyway.” She tossed away her swatters and pulled out her daggers, stomping the stirges that Shorty hadn't yet bagged as she sliced at the ones who tried to attack them.

With more of them still crawling out of the cave, she briefly considered playing Stab-a-Mole at the nest. But if she stabbed too hard, she might accidentally break off a big chunk of it, setting loose more stirges than she could handle at once.

“Let's head back to the campsite,” she said. “You lead. I'll keep fending them off.”

As she'd hoped, the stirges were less aggressive the farther away she and Shorty ventured from their nest. After a while, they gave up trying to attack her altogether.

“Now,” said Shorty. “Do you want to tell me what you intend to do with a bag of live stirges?”

Stacy shrugged. “I'm not sure yet. It's one of those things that's better to have and not need than need and not have.”

Chapter 37

“Are you sure you don't want any?” Dave asked Lissa, offering her a charred rabbit leg. “It tastes better than it looks.”

She scowled at him. “I want nothing more from you, rat. The next thing I put in my mouth will be a cleric's elixir to rid me of your filthy curse.”

“Watch that attitude, or I'll put something in your mouth.”

Lissa's eyes widened in terror. She glanced at the opening of the small cave where Dave had decided they would spend the night.

“I mean, like, a gag! Just something to shut you up. Jesus, why would that even occur to... Never mind. We should get some sleep. I'm going to tie you up, but not in a weird way.”

Among Hubbard's discarded belongings was a coil of hemp twine. With food, shelter, and a means to keep Lissa from running away, Dave saw no reason to rush into a strange town with no plan and no sleep. He'd bought himself a little time to breathe and think. It wasn't enough to dilly-dally for long, and he'd certainly have to start hashing out some major details about his intentions after he woke up, but that would be much easier to do after a nice long sleep.

Lissa put up no resistance when Dave started wrapping her wrists together with twine. She knew she didn't have the strength to overpower him, nor the speed to outrun him in his rat or hybrid form. Instead, she was biding her time, hoping for some long-shot opportunity, or an early rescue, or maybe just hoping Dave would get attacked by wolves. Whatever was going on inside her head, she must have reasoned that her best odds of getting through this alive were in cooperating.

This must be how concentration camp administrators and serial killers maintain control over their victims. A combination of asserting total dominance over their captive while at the same time allowing them to believe, however erroneously, that there was a sliver of hope if they'd keep doing what they were told.

That's not to say that Dave fancied himself a concentration camp administrator or serial killer. One can acquire any number of practical skills from monsters without actually becoming one. Hitler loved his dog. Does that make all dog lovers monsters? Of course not.

“You're going to get through this,” Dave reassured Lissa as he tied her ankles together. “And I'm not just saying that so you'll be calm. If you do what I say, you'll be with your family again in no time.”

“I am not afraid of you,” said Lissa, a touch more confidently than Dave was comfortable with. “You are pathetic. You have no idea what you are doing or what you are up against. It must be a foreign concept to a bastard dwarf like yourself, but there are people out there who care about me. And they will come for me. My father has turned powerful men into beggars simply for trying to cheat him. What do you think he will do to the worthless vagrant dwarf who abducted his only daughter and infected her with his filthy disease?”

Dave pulled the twine tighter until she winced, then tied a knot. “I warned you about mouthing off to me.” He took a rabbit pelt from Hubbard's things, forced Lissa's mouth open, and stuffed it inside. Satisfied with the fear in her eyes again, he secured the pelt in her mouth with twine wrapped around her head, then squatted so that his face was only about two inches away from hers. “If I have no idea what I'm doing, then that should scare the shit out of you. Because I promise that I'm not going down alone. Now, I'm going to go outside and take a piss. If you so much as blink while I'm gone, we can forget all about this whole ransom thing. I'll take you away somewhere and spit in your mouth over and over again until the next full moon. Then, after you turn, I'll send you back to your family so you can slaughter them in their sleep. Then I'll take you to a cleric and get the curse removed so you can think back in horror about your dead family. Are we fucking clear?”

Lissa nodded, and Dave felt his dick starting to get hard.

“Good,” he said, then waddled out of the cave as fast as he could to tend to his quickly forming erection.

I'm not masturbating to a little girl I've got tied up and gagged in a cave. It's the power I'm aroused by.

He pulled out his dick and started going at it.

It would be the same with any display of power. Her dad would know what I'm talking about. I bet he rubbed one out after every time he turned powerful men into beggars. That's a natural biological response. To power, that is. Not to little girls tied and gagged in caves. That's not me. That's not who I am. That's...

Dave had a repertoire of memories and fantasies in his mind that he enjoyed losing himself in as he gradually built up to a climax. But he hadn't even managed to get himself fully primed before dousing some poor ant on the trunk of a tree with fifty cc's of dwarf seed.

His post-come switch flipped before he could even get his dick tucked away again.

Oh my God, I just masturbated to a little girl I've got tied up and gagged in a cave. Why do I have a little girl tied up and gagged in a cave at all? What the hell am I doing? Why did I say those horrible things to her? Who the fuck am I?

Dave tucked himself back in then staggered forward before dropping to his knees. Inescapable realities were barging into his mind like loan sharks it owed money to. He crawled to the nearby creek to wash the sweat off his face. After a few splashes, he managed to stop hyperventilating. But he now understood that he was way out of control.

He also understood that he wasn't going to maintain this clarity for very long. As soon as his balls were full of man batter again, he'd go right back to being fucked in the head.

Filled with shame and self-revulsion, he plodded back into the cave to confront Lissa. She still looked terrified. Shiny streaks of tears ran down both of her cheeks.

Dave sat down on the ground in front of her. “I'm so sorry,” he said. “There's something deeply wrong with me. I never should have said those things to you. None of it was true. I'm going to get you back to your family, I promise. Heck, I'd untie you right now, but I can't have you killing me in my sleep. When I wake up, we're going to get this all sorted out. I'll get you to the temple. They can contact your family from there, and you'll never see me again. How does that sound?”

Lissa made no acknowledgment that she felt any sense of relief. That was unfortunate, but Dave had done his best. All he could do now was try and get some sleep.

He worried that his troubled thoughts might keep him awake, but those worries proved completely unfounded as soon as his head touched the ground.

Chapter 38

Righteous had been as comfortable on a boat as he was on dry land, or so it seemed to Randy. Unfortunately, that comfort didn't extend to riding upon the back of a celestial basilisk as it walked across the open ocean.

Randy enjoyed the gentle rise and fall of the sea as Basil's eight feet remained firmly atop the water's surface, which had lulled him into a pleasant nap more than once over the course of the past few days. He also appreciated this extra time he got to spend with Basil.

It was strange for someone besides Denise to be the most unpleasant person in a group that included Denise, but Righteous was making a solid effort to usurp that throne. Randy had lost count of how many times this tough-as-nails former captain of the Kingsguard had puked his guts out into the water.

The silver lining was that fish seemed to be attracted to Righteous's vomit, and Denise was proving herself exceptionally skilled at spearing fish with the harpoon Captain Longfellow had allowed them to take from his ship. She caught more than enough fish to keep herself, Randy, Righteous, Fatty, and even Basil satisfied.

“Come on, Righteous,” said Denise, waving a chunk of freshly caught tuna on the end of her harpoon in front of Righteous's face. “Just one bite.”

Righteous pushed the offering away. “Please, I cannot.”

“You got to eat, man. These fish go fuckin' bananas over your puke”

“You must allow me time to recover. I have severe discomfort in my –”

“You've got severe discomfort?” snapped Denise. You best count your blessings, son. Just be thankful you got these big soft titties to lean back on when you get tired. All I got behind me is two hundred pounds' worth of armored death bug. Don't get me wrong. I love my Fatty, but he ain't worth shit as a pillow.”

“Mama,” said Fatty.

“Ain't that the sweetest thing?” Denise handed the harpoon to Righteous. “Hold this. I got to go take a dump.”

“You ain't got to announce it every time,” said Randy. “Next time you get down in the water and hold on to Basil's tail, we'll take for granted that's what you'll be doing.”

“You don't know what I'm doing down there. For all you know, I could be ticklin' my taco.”

Righteous managed to look somehow even more nauseous. “Tickling your taco?”

“Or spearing the tuna, if you prefer a metaphor closer to home. I might have Basil's tail shoved halfway up my cooch.”

Randy turned back to scowl at her. “Have you been doing that?”

“Fuck no,” said Denise. “That thing's far too prickly. It hurts bad enough just to wipe my ass on.”

“What?” said Randy. “You've been wiping your behind on Basil's tail?”

Denise shrugged. “It's all I got handy.”

“Why didn't you tell us you was doing that?”

“It seemed kind of vulgar to bring up. I mean, just a second ago you was saying how I shouldn't announce going to take a dump. But now you want a full report on every shit-related detail of my life?”

“Only the ones that affect us,” said Randy. “Where do you think we put our hands when we go down there to take our dumps?”

Denise scooted backward onto the top of Basil's tail and allowed Fatty to climb over her. “Is that what this is about? Fuckin' relax, Randy. I'm sure most of it rinses off. Besides, seeing as how Basil's now a celestial creature, I reckon this white glow of his probably has some kind of antibacterial properties.”

Righteous leaned over and threw up. It was an impressive amount for as little as he'd eaten today.

“Oh, come on!” said Denise. “My dam's about to burst. You couldn't have held that in until I got back? I – Oh shit, no time to talk now.” She scooted faster down Basil's tail until her bottom half was submerged in the water. “But when I get back, you're gonna eat some goddamn fish.” Holding on tight to the end of Basil's tail, she submerged completely under the water for privacy while she did her business.

“Pass me the harpoon,” said Randy. “Ain't no point in letting good vomit go to waste. I'll see if I can spear us a fish or two.”

Righteous handed him the harpoon, relieved to be rid of the burden. “I do not know how much farther I can go on like this.”

“You'll be all right. Don't you mind all Denise's carrying on. We ain't gonna starve to death. But you need to keep yourself hydrated. Drink the rest of this.” He passed Righteous his nearly empty waterskin.

Righteous looked more alarmed than appreciative. “Is this the last of our water?” He scanned the horizon. “We have no idea how far we are from land. We might still be out here for days.”

“You just drink up and hand me back that waterskin. The Lord's got us covered for water.” Randy had mixed feelings about referring to the giant bread monster he'd accidentally manifested in this world as “the Lord” but reasoned that, one way or another, the actual Lord was keeping him and his friends alive.

That was all the convincing Righteous needed. Probably motivated more by his terrible thirst than his faith in Randy's ability to provide for them, Righteous gulped down every last drop.

“I apologize for my gluttony,” he said, handing it back. “I am not myself, weakened by thirst and exposure.”

Randy smiled. “You ain't got to worry. I just remembered this morning I can make all the water we need.” He held his waterskin up high over both their heads. “In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, let there be water!”

The waterskin bulged to full capacity, and about a gallon of fresh water spewed out from the spout, raining down on Randy and Righteous, who joyfully caught as much as they could in their mouths.

Satisfied that Righteous seemed to be in better spirits, Randy turned his attention to the trail of vomit running off Basil's side into the water. It had attracted some nice-sized fish.

He handed his waterskin to Righteous and took aim with his harpoon. But the fish he had his eye on was skewered from the other direction.

Two silver prongs of a trident pierced upward through the fish before a blue-haired man surfaced, his bare torso fully exposed like he was standing on something.

“Greetings!” he said. “I am Arendil of the North Sea merfolk. This is my partner, Neres.”

As if waiting for his cue, another man broke the surface. This one had green hair.

“How do you do?” asked Randy. “My name's Randy, and this is Righteous. That's Fatty back there. Our friend Denise is below right now. She's –”

“We are aware of your friend,” said Neres. “We merfolk tend to keep our distance from land people, but your friend, Denise, is causing us some concern.”

“That's strange. She don't normally cause nobody concern until she opens her mouth. Did she say something to you under there?”

“No,” said Arendil. “We have not spoken to her yet. In merfolk culture, it is considered rude to address a person while they are defecating.”

“That's true of our culture as well.” Randy smiled. “I often find that if you take a step back, most cultures are more alike than they are different.”

“What is the problem, merperson?” asked Righteous curtly, like he already had enough on his plate without them adding their problems.

Arendil and Neres exchanged an uncomfortable glance before Neres spoke up. “It is the defecating.”

“I appreciate that the sea is your home, but you cannot expect us to contain our bodily wastes until we reach the shore. Do you not defecate in the sea? Are you not perpetually surrounded by fish excrement? Surely, we are not the first land-dwellers to ever evacuate our bowels into the sea.”

“Of course not,” said Arendil. “The sea is vast, and temporary unpleasantness is easily avoided while any number of plants and animals take nutrients from your waste.”

“The problem is with the dwarf specifically,” said Neres.

Randy couldn't fathom how Denise could possibly poop offensively enough to warrant this conversation. But he supposed if anyone could do it, she could.

“Is she trying to be seductive while she does it or something?”

The two mermen grimaced.

“No,” said Neres. “At least, I never got any such impression. I don't believe she saw us.”

“Then what is it?”

Arendil frowned. “She has worms.”

Righteous leaned over and threw up again.

“Nasty little critters,” added Neres. “The fish have been eating them, then getting eaten alive from the inside by their larvae a few hours later. We have done our best to quarantine and destroy the infected fish so far. But if this starts spreading, the consequences could be disastrous.”

“That is unfortunate,” said Randy. “But I –”

“Hey!” said Denise, scooting back up Basil's tail. “Who the fuck are these guys?”

Randy gestured to Arendil. “This is Arendil, and that's Neres. They're merfolk.”

“Like Areola?”

“Who?”

“That red-haired bitch from the movie. She collected forks and shit.”

“That's Ariel. You're thinking of Gargamel's cat from the Smurfs.”

“Oh, right.” Denise looked down at Arendil and Neres. “Do your women really wear clam shells on their titties?”

“Denise!” said Randy before the mermen felt compelled to answer. “Our friends here noticed something while you was pooping.”

“You boys watched me take a shit?” Denise grinned at the mermen as she traced circles around her left nipple with the tip of her finger. “Did you like what you saw? Did it make your little fish dicks hard? Do y'all even got dicks? Or do you just shit eggs and sperm at each other and hope for the best?”

“Denise!” Randy said again. “They said you got worms.”

Righteous leaned over and threw up again.

“Worms?” said Denise. “You mean, like a fuckin' dog?”

“People can get them too. My cousin Ronnie got worms real bad once when we was kids.”

“Your cousin Ronnie used to play with dog turds like they was Legos. How the fuck did I get worms?”

Randy gave Denise a stern stare. “Did you wash your hands like I told you after you was messing with that dead elf?”

Denise broke eye contact. “Of course I did.”

“Denise?”

She sighed. “I meant to! But it ain't like we was carrying a fuckin' bar of Irish Spring.”

“We can talk about your hygiene later. For now, these folks say your poop is threatening to kill all the fish.”

“So what the fuck am I supposed to do about it? Stop shitting?”

Denise actually made a good point. It wasn't like they had a roll of plastic bags.

“Was there some particular course of action you had in mind for us to take?” Randy asked the mermen.

“We would prefer that you leave the water as quickly as possible until you are all attended to by a healer.”

“Believe me, we'd love to leave the water as quickly as possible. But my basilisk here can only walk but so fast.”

“Yes, it does not appear to be a creature of the sea. Where, exactly, are you headed?”

“Ultimately, we was on our way to Hollin.”

“Hollin?” said Neres. “Have you any idea how far from here that is?”

Randy shook his head.

“It is farther than I would care to swim.”

“You know who would do it?” said Arendil. “Laiken and his brothers. It would give him an excuse to drop in on that mermaid he's always going on about.”

Neres nodded. “I believe you're right.” He looked up at Randy. “If we provided you with escorts to Hollin, would you be willing to abandon this beast?”

“Basil ain't no problem,” said Randy. “I can send him back to the Celestial Plane any time I want.”

“Hang on,” said Denise. “When you say escorts, do you mean, like, sea whores?”

Randy sighed. “Denise, please.” He turned to Righteous. “What do you think? Should we take them up on their offer?”

“For the love of the gods, yes!”

Neres disappeared under the water, then returned about half an hour later with three burly, broad-chested mermen.

“I hear you seek escorts to Hollin,” said the burliest. “My name is Laiken. My brothers and I would be happy to take you there.”

“Hot damn,” said Denise. “I want to ride that one.”

Chapter 39

The sun was high overhead when Cooper and Nabi finally retraced their steps back to the building where they'd been held captive in Shallow Grave. Between Cooper's low Intelligence score and Nabi's limited sensory perception, they'd spent the better part of the morning trying to find the place. But Cooper knew the weathered gray three-story building when he saw it. He recognized a window he'd broken on the third floor that still hadn't been repaired, and there was still a faint residual outline of his shit puddle out front.

Another pretty obvious clue was the two men standing guard outside a building that looked like it ought to be condemned. They were both human, big, and exuding a strong do-not-fuck-with-me vibe.

There was something to be said for Stacy's approach toward infiltrating the building, but Cooper lacked the skills for subterfuge and convincing Meg Ryan impersonations. Nabi might have been able to help pull something clever off, but she was seething with bloodlust.

“Turn around, orc,” said one of the men guarding the front door. “We are closed.”

Cooper continued walking toward them, his hands clearly empty. “Really? I don't see a sign.”

The other guard looked at a red sign on the door with big, bold, white letters, then back at Cooper. “It's right there on the door.”

“I can't read, motherfucker.”

The two guards drew handguns from under their green cloaks and pointed them at Cooper. Cooper stopped advancing and put his hands behind his head John McClane style.

“I told you to turn around,” said the first guard. “Are you deaf?”

Cooper shook his head. “No, I'm not deaf. I'm just really, really angry.” He felt Nabi's blades burn with fervor on his back as his vision turned pink and his muscles expanded. He could barely hear the first two gunshots or feel the one bullet that struck him in the chest as he pulled Nabi free from the strap on his back and hurled her at one of the guards. It would have been difficult to lodge a battleaxe into a human any deeper without actually cutting the person in half.

Before that guard even hit the ground, however, Cooper was on top of the other one, grabbing his arm before he could fire off another shot. A gentle twist of the arm made at least three satisfying cracks, followed by a loud scream and the clatter of a dropped gun.

Cooper held up the second guard by the throat as he yanked Nabi free of the first.

Desperate to escape Cooper's grip, the still-living guard morphed into his hybrid rat form. That didn't do him a whole lot of good with regard to escaping, but it allowed him to scratch at Cooper.

Knowing he would need to make an attack every round to maintain his Barbarian Rage, but unsure as to whether or not there would be any targets waiting for him on the other side of the door, Cooper opted to headbutt the wererat repeatedly until he found someone else to fight. The first head butt made another satisfying crunch, as did the door when Cooper drove his foot into it.

As it turned out, there was no shortage of targets to attack on the other side of the door. As soon as Cooper smashed it into splinters, someone let loose a barrage of submachine gunfire. Fortunately for Cooper, the wererat he was holding in front of him took most of the bullets. He stopped scratching as his limbs went limp, then he turned back into a human, albeit a very dead one.

Cooper identified the shooter twenty feet ahead of him and hurled Nabi at him. Wererats in hybrid form on either side of the door cocked their weapons, but Cooper beat one of them with the corpse he was holding before he could fire a shot.

The other one managed to shoot Cooper in the ass, but the pain barely registered. Cooper dropped the corpse, grabbed the shooter by the throat, and continued to whale on the other until they both turned back into dead humans.

Several more erratic shots were fired by a group of wererats shooting as they tried to flee up the stairs. Splinters of wood and fragments of mortar exploded all around Cooper. One of the two remaining downstairs took the submachine gun out of the hands of the man Nabi had taken down, and the other opted to try his luck using Nabi.

Not wanting to lose his Rage, Cooper charged at the wererat desperately pointing the gun at him while simultaneously trying to figure out how it worked.

Cooper punched him in the face while the wererat who'd grabbed Nabi chopped his comrade's leg off just above the knee.

The newly disfigured wererat let out a howl of agony, which Cooper silenced by ripping the gun out of his hands and clubbing him with it until he turned human.

The other wererat, horrified after chopping his friend's leg off, dropped Nabi, leaving himself entirely defenseless.

Cooper grabbed him by the arm, spun him over his head once, then hurled him at the group of wererats crowded cautiously at the top of the stairs. They all managed to dive out of the way, fleeing out of sight into the second-floor corridor or further up the stairs, but the one Cooper had thrown tumbled back down to the bottom of the stairs.

Cooper picked up Nabi and went to him. Fortunately, he was still alive enough for Cooper to attack, keeping his Barbarian Rage activated. He slammed the nearly-dead wererat's face against the wall as he stomped up the stairs, then lobbed him forward like a hand grenade onto the second-floor corridor.

The sudden action was enough for the already high-strung, trigger-happy wererats to open fire from either side, giving Cooper and Nabi a pretty good sense of where they all were.

Cooper ran the rest of the way up the stairs and swung to one side as soon as he cleared the corner, giving Nabi a nice chunk of wererat torso. He yanked her out and threw her into a pack of three wererats hastily trying to reload their weapons. Nabi caught one in the face. The others tried to flee in panic, but Cooper was on top of them long before they could jump through the window.

Palming both of their heads like cantaloupes, he bashed them together. The two wererats went limp but didn't turn human. He threw one of them through the window and dragged the other up the stairs, ready to repeat his previous ascending assault.

“Hold your fire!” one of the wererats above shouted. “Switch to fully automatic.”

Cooper threw the unconscious wererat up ahead of him, but it didn't provoke any gunfire this time. If he wanted to maintain his Barbarian Rage, there was no time to strategize. He charged the rest of the way up the stairs ready to hurl Nabi at the first wererat he saw.

As he got to the top of the stairs, the wererat he'd thrown up there was also getting back up.

“FIRE!” shouted one of the three wererats waiting for him at the end of the third-floor corridor.

AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT!

Cooper tried to throw Nabi, but his aim was thrown off by a bullet in the shoulder. The wererat he'd thrown up the stairs was kind enough to take most of their barrage of gunfire, but a few more bullets made their way into Cooper. He wouldn't live long enough to make it all the way down the corridor in time to kill them, unless...

Taking his bear form was less about concentrating and focusing on turning into a bear and more about simply allowing the bear inside him to manifest itself, which Cooper discovered when his Barbarian Rage, freeing him from all his inhibitions, allowed him to transform effortlessly.

He found himself suddenly filling the corridor, making him much easier to hit, but he barely felt any of the bullets.

This old building wasn't meant to hold the weight of an enraged bear, and the wooden floor cracked almost louder than the gunfire. If he fell through the floor, he'd be a sitting duck. Hoping the floor would hold at least a few seconds longer, he charged his attackers, leaping at them when he got within range. When he hit the floor again, all four of them crashed through the third, then second floors, and landed hard on the first.

None of the wererats survived. With nothing left to attack, Cooper's Barbarian Rage flowed out of his bear anus in a long, pungent fart. Turning back into a half-orc, Cooper found himself once again full of holes, bleeding, and in a massive amount of pain. He knew he was tougher than average, but he was genuinely surprised to still be alive after getting shot so many times.

After a few minutes of digging through the wreckage, Cooper found Nabi. She was covered in dust, but appeared to be in much better shape than he felt. While it certainly had its drawbacks, it seemed certain advantages came with being a solid chunk of  metal.

We did it, Cooper! Well done!

Cooper shook his head, finding even such a meager gesture painful. “It's not over yet. We didn't get the High Cleric.”

You are too wounded to go on. We can come back after you have healed.

“We were lucky they were dumb enough to bring her here in the first place. If we bail now, they'll take her somewhere else. I'm not smart enough to find her.”

We do not even know that she is here. Please, Cooper. You have lost too much blood already. One more attack from one of those weapons will kill you.

“She's here. Those guys upstairs were guarding something. That was their last line of defense. She's probably tied up alone in one of those rooms. We can't just ditch her here. She's the only one that can get you out of this fucking axe.”

So I will stay in the axe!

“Fuck that. We're too close to give up now.” Against his will, Cooper chopped Nabi so hard into a wooden column that he had a hard time dislodging her.

I forbid you to go.

Cooper sighed. “You can stay here if you want, but I'd rather go up there with more than my dick in my hand.” He loosened his grip on Nabi's shaft. “If you want to come, say so. Otherwise, I'm letting go.”

Damn you, Cooper, you pigheaded piece of shit! Fine, take me with you.

Wheezing as he laughed at Nabi's uncharacteristic swearing, he pried her out of the column. “You know, pigheaded is probably a racial slur for a half-orc.”

Shut up and keep your eyes open for wererats.

Cooper started trudging his way back up the stairs. Every step felt like either he or the stair was going to break. After what was probably only a few minutes but seemed like hours, he and Nabi finally made it back up to the third floor. The floor was almost entirely caved in on the side of the stairwell where he'd attacked the wererats, which left only four accessible doors on the other side.

“Hopefully, she's in one of these,” said Cooper.

Hopefully she and no one else.

Cooper pushed on the first door he came to. Thankfully, it was unlocked. Looking inside, he remembered this room from his last visit. It was the commode. The chamber pot had been replaced.

The second door he tried was also unlocked, but the room had nothing in it besides a small wooden table and some shelves full of old junk. There wasn't anywhere for a High Cleric to hide.

“Shit,” he said after trying the third door. This one was locked.

Please, Cooper. I am begging you to reconsider.

“Come on,” he said. “What happened to that psycho bloodlust of yours?”

I have had enough blood for today, and I am smeared with too much of yours.

“I'll give you a wash after all this is over.” Before Nabi could object any further, Cooper slammed his shoulder into the door. It didn't budge, but it did make one or two of his bullet wounds sear with pain.

“Son of a bitch, that hurt.”

Of course it hurt! You are barely clinging to life!

“I'm clinging just fine.” Cooper backed up to the other side of the corridor and hit the door again with a running start. This time, it swung wide open. Cooper lost his balance and fell to the floor.

“Stay back!” said a homely agitated woman holding a big shiny handgun against a much prettier woman's head. The prettier woman's arms were bound to her sides with ropes, her mouth was gagged, and her eyes were wide with terror.

Cooper pulled himself up using the back of a chair for support. After he got over the initial pain of standing, he recognized the homely woman.

“Stacy?”

Nabi sighed in his head. This is Dolazar. She held you and Stacy captive, then disguised herself to look like Stacy.

“Fuck, that's confusing.”

“Do you know what this is?” asked Dolazar.

“I'm assuming she's the High Cleric, but we've never met.”

Dolazar rolled her eyes and wiggled the gun. “I mean this.”

“Oh, right,” said Cooper. “Yeah, it's a gun.”

“Then you know how easily I can splatter this bitch's brains all over the wall if you do not do exactly as I say.”

Cooper gestured down at all the holes spouting blood out of his body. “Yeah. I'm familiar with how they work.”

“Good. Then put down your weapon.”

Put me down, Cooper. You can barely lift me. You won't be able to hit Dolazar without going through the High Cleric.

“No,” said Cooper.

“What?” said Dolazar.

“MMMPPPHHH?” said the High Cleric, her eyes now more angry than terrified.

Cooper! What are you doing? We cannot murder the High Cleric of the Temple of Life!

“You won't kill her,” said Cooper. “She's too valuable to you. And if I drop my axe, there's nothing to stop you from shooting me.”

Dolazar laughed. “And what makes you think there is anything stopping me from doing that anyway?” She cocked her gun and started to point it at Cooper.

As soon as it was away from the High Cleric's head, Cooper threw the chair at both of them, striking the High Cleric hard in the face. He felt bad about that, but the pain caused her to pull away from Dolazar and fall to the floor, leaving Dolazar exposed for an attack with Nabi.

A gunshot rang out like cannon fire, and Cooper was sure he'd just bitten the icy ass of death. He lay on the floor drifting out of consciousness for what seemed like an eternity until his entire body suddenly felt like it was being pressed inside a giant George Foreman grill.

Thankfully, the pain quickly subsided, giving way to equally intense pleasure that evacuated his balls and rectum simultaneously.

He opened his eyes to see the pretty woman standing over him with Nabi in her hands. After all he'd just been through, it was a little unnerving.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“I have half a mind to after that reckless stunt you just pulled, but you saved my life.”

“I hoped you'd take that into consideration.”

“Of course, you would have bled to death anyway if your friend here wasn't there for me to cut myself loose with.”

Cooper sat up. “I appreciate you healing me. Sorry for shitting myself.”

The High Cleric smiled. “Think nothing of it. We will get you cleaned up at the temple.”

Chapter 40

Chaz woke up to the sounds of crackling fire and sizzling meat. Something smelled surprisingly pleasant, and for a moment he forgot all about the trouble he and his friends were in, particularly Julian.

But it all came crashing back when he opened his eyes and was reminded where he was and why he was there. Katherine, her black local friend, the new guy, Tony the Elf, and Ravenus all stared at him as he yawned and stretched. They were all sitting around a fire holding pale pink slabs of meat on sticks over a fire. All except for Ravenus, who had been eating the raw entrails of some poor dead animal.

“How long was I out?” he asked. He didn't really give a shit but hoped that getting a conversation going would put an end to the staring.

“Too long,” said Tony the Elf. “Have some breakfast. We'll be leaving as soon as possible.”

Chaz picked up one of the rubbery pink slabs and skewered it on the end of a stick. “What is this?”

“Giant squid tentacles,” said the black elf guy, squeezing jet black liquid from a fleshy sack into a vial.

That was too much for Chaz to handle so soon after waking up. He looked away. “What the hell is that?”

“Squid ink. As soon as we're done with this Knights of Jordan shit, I'm going to dye my clothes black to enhance my rogue abilities.”

“What's with all the fucking squid shit?”

“Katherine pulled one out of the ocean before we woke up. She appears to have had quite the industrious morning.”

Katherine smiled, looking quite pleased with herself.

“Fucking hell,” said Chaz, holding his squid slab directly in the fire. He wasn't sure what the plan was, but he got the feeling everyone was in a hurry to get started. Besides, he was more concerned with getting some food in his belly than he was with what it tasted like. “You were up when I got here. Did you get any sleep at all?”

“A bit,” said Katherine. “I have been worried about poor Julian.”

Chaz deliberately avoided making eye contact with Ravenus. “Yeah. I wish I could have done more to help him.”

“Think nothing of it. We will find him. I can assure you of that.”

Being so exhausted the night before, Chaz thought his renewed attraction to Katherine might have been  solely from decreased brain function or something. But now that he was recharged and fully functional, he had to admit that her newfound self-confidence was really working for her.

“So, what's the plan?” he asked.

“Katherine's going to put us all in the Bag of Holding,” said the new guy. “And then she'll turn into a bird, absorbing us into her body.”

Chaz wasn't quite ready for that this early in the morning. “What?”

“It's a druid thing. Then she'll fly us into the city, change back into a half-elf, and pull us out of the bag. We're all going to impersonate Knights of Jordan while we look for Julian, and I guess you can just keep your head down and try to keep a low profile.”

Katherine shook her head. “That will not do.”

“What don't you like about it?” asked Tony the Elf.

“The bird thing for starters. If anyone sees us, the whole plan falls apart.”

“That was your idea,” said the new guy.

Katherine shrugged. “After getting some rest, I have reevaluated our situation.”

“But it worked perfectly in that last town we tried it in,” said Tony the Elf. “You just need to find a secluded spot.”

“That last town was much smaller and less populated than Hollin. The Knights of Jordan will be on high alert for any suspicious activity.”

“Then how are we supposed to get in there?”

“The least suspicious way possible. We will go in through the gate.”

“We talked about that. What if they ask us questions we don't know how to answer?”

Katherine laughed dismissively at him. “You worry too much. Earning people's trust is simply a matter of confidence. Let me do the talking, and the guards at the gate will question their own place in the city before they question ours.”

Chaz smiled at her. “You've really blossomed in the past couple of weeks.”

She smiled back. “Thank you, Chaz.” She turned back to the others. “And the rest of what you proposed is not really a plan at all.”

The black elf guy swallowed a bite of his squid steak. “We need to get a lay of the land before making more specific plans. We do not know what we are up against. We have discussed this at length already.”

“That was before we had Chaz.”

“Thank you!” said Chaz, then considered it further. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” said Tony the Elf. “What are you talking about? I mean, no offense to Chaz, but he's just a bard.”

Katherine scoffed. “Just a bard? Have you forgotten what this bard accomplished on the Isle of Drow?”

“Holy shit,” said the new guy. “She's right. If we get Chaz in a place where a bunch of the Knights of Jordan can hear him, he could throw the whole city into chaos.”

“Or they might lynch me,” said Chaz.

The new guy shook his head. “We'll have your back. Besides, the people who live here have a bigger vested interest in taking back their city than the Knights on Drow Island. Snap enough of them out of their trance, and the Knights won't even be able to get close to you.”

“Even better,” said the black elf guy. “With the city in chaos, we will not have to worry about how convincing our ruse is. If we are acting out of the ordinary, people will simply assume we have been affected by Chaz's song. But with all that commotion going on, no one is likely to notice anything we do. Those Knights who are yet affected will have their hands full trying to suppress the sudden tide of revolt, leaving us free to probe deeper into parts of the city that we might otherwise have had a difficult time accessing.”

Tony the Elf laughed. “I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but I actually feel good about this plan. What a difference a good night's sleep makes.”

Katherine looked up from admiring her reflection in the blade of the sword she'd taken from Captain Logan. “We are all agreed, then. We should go now. Hopefully, some of the Knights of Jordan will still be asleep. Chaz, you will have to eat your squid on the way.”

Chaz pulled his squid out of the fire, examined it, and deemed it adequately cooked. “Should we put out the fire?”

“I say we leave it going,” said the new guy. “Maybe even throw a couple fresh logs on. I don't know what's going to go down in Hollin, but I'm guessing that whatever happens, we'll want to get the hell out of Dodge while they get their shit sorted out. If we've still got some embers burning when we get back, it'll be that much easier to get a fire going again.”

That sounded irresponsible and dangerous to Chaz, but he didn't care enough to speak up against it. He would defer to Katherine, the party's druid, in matters of woodland responsibility.

“Good idea,” said Katherine. “Come now. We must hurry.”

“I shall fly ahead and look for Julian on my own,” said Ravenus.

Chaz had absolutely no objection to that. Until Julian was found alive and safe, Chaz was happy to be as far from Ravenus as possible. Then again, he'd be in equally deep shit with Julian if anything happened to Ravenus.

“Be careful,” said Chaz. “Don't talk to anyone. And if you find him, don't try to rescue him by yourself. Report back to us.”

Ravenus flew off without even acknowledging what Chaz had said.

At the brisk pace Katherine led them, their campsite was only about forty-five minutes from Hollin's southern gate. As expected, there were four guards flanking the gate, all of them dressed in the same white tunics worn by everyone Chaz was traveling with... except Chaz. This was the uniform of the Knights of Jordan, and Chaz decided he preferred not to know where Katherine and the others had acquired theirs, or what had become of their previous owners.

As they approached the gate, the Knight in charge raised his right hand, palm out toward them. “Hang tough!”

Katherine mimicked the gesture. “Hang tough.”

“Where are you coming from at so early an hour?” The head Knight sneered at Chaz. “What business has this one in Hollin? And why does it take four Knights of Jordan to escort him?”

Katherine batted her eyes and stepped just a smidge into the Knight's personal space. “This is RazzmaChaz, a bard known far and wide in the south. He has come to pay homage to Jordan Knight.”

The Knight laughed nervously, as if his steel wall of skepticism had suddenly turned into melting butter. He stepped back and waved to his fellow Knights. “Stand aside and open the gate!”

The other Kights parted to let them pass, and the Knights up in the towers turned the noisy cranks that opened the portcullis.

“Impressive,” muttered Tony the Elf as they waited for the gate to open.

Katherine smiled smugly. “Thank you.”

When it was raised high enough for them to easily duck under, Katherine led the others into the city. Every man, woman, and child in the city wore identical white tunics as they hurriedly rushed about performing various tasks. None of them seemed to be running personal errands. There was no shopping or entertaining going on. No one casually sitting outside a restaurant or tavern enjoying a nice pint to start the day. Everyone seemed to be working collectively toward several construction projects currently underway, or rushing to deliver some urgent communique. It looked more like an ant colony than a civilized society. But instead of working to protect and feed some insect queen, these people's efforts were focused on serving the greater glory of Jordan Knight.

As Chaz heard the portcullis lowering behind him, he suddenly felt a lot less confident about this plan.

He stood close to Tony the Elf. “Even if we manage to find and rescue Julian, how the hell are we supposed to get out of here?”

“Julian is our secondary objective,” said Tony the Elf. “Our primary objective is Mordred. If we can take him down, then hopefully everyone will get their shit back together. If we fail, then Julian's fate won't be any different than ours.”

“That's encouraging.”

“I think we've got a really good shot at this if we play our cards right. Just be cool and look for an easily defensible place where a high concentration of people can hear you sing.”

“There,” said Katherine's black elf friend. He pointed at a large fountain in the city center. It's base was a massive pool of water. Knights of Jordan were busily brushing carved marble swans around its perimeter with some sort of thick white goop, presumably some sort of sealant. The next tier up, about ten feet high, was an ornate bowl about twelve feet in diameter with water cascading over the rim. Another ten feet above that was another, slightly smaller bowl. In it stood a life-sized, gleaming white statue of a dandyish-looking man bending backward as he passionately strummed a lute. Water spouted out from the head of the lute and rained down into the bowl.

The new guy looked Chaz up and down. “Is that supposed to be you?”

Chaz shook his head. “It must be Jordan Knight.”

“Exactly,” said the black elf guy.

“And what do you think makes that an ideal place for me to play?”

“No one will dare risk defacing the statue with slings or arrows, and we can defend you from ground assaults from the second tier. The only tricky part will be getting up there.”

“I can turn into a mist,” said Chaz. “It won't be subtle, but it'll get me up to the statue.”

“We are about to unleash chaos on the city,” said Katherine. “Subtlety is not a concern of ours. I will boost the rest of you to the second tier.”

“What about you?” asked Tony the Elf.

Katherine smiled. “Do not worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

It was that kind of confidence that Chaz had found so attractive in her, but the way she strutted toward the fountain without even discussing what they were going to say to the artisans made him worry that she might actually be looking for a fight.

Despite their annoying cultish behavior, these were innocent people under the Mass Charm of a sadistic asshole. Chaz didn't want to shed any of their blood if he could help it. He followed Katherine and the others, trying to think of some justification for them to be climbing the fountain.

“Excuse me,” said one of the artisans when they were close enough to make it plain that they intended to walk right into the fountain. “Where do you think you are going?” He shot Chaz a scornful sneer. “Would you befoul the sacred waters of Jordan Knight with this... this... Who is this person?”

“Who am I?” asked Chaz indignantly. “I'm RazzmaChaz, curator of art to the world's finest museums! Who the fuck do you think you are?”

The man frowned. “I am Nedley, chief artisan in charge of overseeing the construction of this fountain.”

Chaz shook his head. “Artisan my ass! Look at that shit!” He gestured at the swan Nedley had been carving, which was a stunning bit of craftsmanship. Individually carved feathers gleamed in the sunlight. He could scarcely believe it wasn't real. “You call that a duck?”

“No, sir. It is supposed to be a swan.”

“It looks like a chicken covered in orc scrotums. You disgust me!” He turned to his companions, all of whom stared back in wide-eyed confusion. Except for Katherine, whose expression was more of amused appreciation if Chaz was reading it right.

“Katherine!” he said, then turned to the new guy and froze.

The new guy sighed. “Jay.”

“Yes, of course,” said Chaz nervously, trying to remember the guy's name. “Jamal.”

“My name is Jay.”

“Right.” Chaz would have time to feel stupid later. For now, he had to maintain his act. “I'd better take a closer look at that statue. Would you two mind giving me a boost?”

“Of course,” said Katherine.

Chaz was the first to stomp into the fountain, causing all the artisans to stop their work. Nobody made any move to stop him as they gawked at each other in confusion. Cultivating a mass of worker bees is great for productivity, but it inherently weeds out anyone who'd be inclined to act with initiative.

The water was cool and clear, and felt good on Chaz's travel-weary ankles and calves.

“Just a moment!” demanded Nedley when Chaz's companions followed him into the fountain. “This is most irregular. By whose authority do you criticize our hard work?”

Chaz only knew one name in Nedley's chain of command. “This order comes straight from the top. Jordan Knight sent us here personally.”

“Poppycock!” said Nedley. “Why was I not informed of this?”

Feeling perhaps a little too emboldened by the streak he was having, Chaz turned around and waded until he was right up in Nedley's face. “Let me see if I understand this correctly. Are you saying that Jordan Knight reports to you?”

Nedley's face turned red. “No, I –”

“Do you tell him what songs he can sing? What food he can eat?”

“Of course not! I didn't mean –”

“Does Jordan Knight come running to you for permission every time he needs to take a shit?”

Several of the artisans gasped, and Chaz feared he may have taken things too far.

“Do not be absurd,” said Nedley. “Everyone knows Jordan Knight does not take shits.”

Apparently, Mordred had taken a Kim Jong-Un approach to governing his disciples.

“That's right,” said Chaz. “Jordan Knight doesn't take shit from anyone, least of all pissant little nothings like you.” He poked Nedley in the chest. “And don't you forget it.”

“Yes, sir!” said Nedley. “I apologize! Please inspect the statue to your heart's content. I assure you great care was put into every minute detail.”

“We'll see about that.” Chaz turned back around, then stomped through the fountain to where his companions were waiting.

“That was some impressive fast-talking,” said Jay.

Chaz's nerve came out in a prolonged sigh. “Thanks.” He wished the water was deep enough for him to piss himself without anyone noticing but managed to hold it in. “Let's get this over with before they realize I'm full of shit.”

Katherine and Jay knelt down in the water and cupped their hands together. As soon as Chaz stepped into them, they propelled him upward. It was more forceful than he'd expected, shooting him high enough so that he was able to get his entire torso over the rim of the first bowl and barely had to climb at all.

Once he got out of the way, they launched Tony the Elf and the black elf guy up there as well. While those two boosted Chaz up to the bowl housing the statue, Katherine single-handedly sent Jay up to the first bowl.

Hollin was a sprawling city, but it didn't have many tall buildings like Cardinia had. The streets were alive with busy little worker bees as far as Chaz could see in any direction, every one of them dressed in white tunics. He took little comfort in the fact that he was probably in the safest place in the whole city, because that safety likely only meant that he'd be the last one to die.

It was showtime. Chaz opened his lute case and pulled out his special lute, given to him by the pixies of Glittersprinkles Grove. It had gotten him out of some binds before, and he hoped that, along with a song he'd written with Katherine in mind, it would get them out of this one.

“What is that?” asked one of the other artisans.

“Is that a lute?” asked another. “He is no art curator!”

Shit.

Led by a betrayed and flustered Nedley, the artisans stepped into the fountain and began to close in on Katherine.

She gave them pause when she pulled out her glowing blue sword. They were only armed with paint brushes and buckets of sealant, but they didn't back away.

Still hoping to avoid as much bloodshed as possible, Chaz cleared his throat, strummed his lute, and projected his voice as loudly as he could without compromising the quality of his singing.

Heeeeeey druid, don't be so sad.

Take a walk and don't get upsetter.

Remember you're not a monk or a bard.

You're held in regard so much much better.

Almost instantly, Nedley and the other artisans stopped advancing and dropped their brushes and buckets. White sealant quickly turned the water nearly opaque.

“Mercy of the gods,” said Nedley. “What happened? How long have I been... My crops have surely gone to ruin by now.”

Chaz wanted to feel bad for him, but he was more concerned with the attention they were getting from onlooking Knights of Jordan close enough to see that something fishy was going on, but not close enough to be influenced by his song. He sang louder.

Hey druid, don't be delayed.

Become a bird and you'll beat the weather.

One minute, you've got some hair on your skin,

But look again, and it's all feathers.

“He is the bard Captain Logan warned us about!” cried a Knight standing in front of a four-story building, easily the largest structure in the vicinity. “Look! He has cast his evil spell upon the artisans of the fountain!”

“Wrap your heads!” shouted a female Knight next to him. “Protect yourselves and slay the heretic!” She, the first Knight to speak, and several others began wrapping their heads in thick white scarves they pulled out from under their tunics.

“Captain Logan must have sold us out,” said Tony the Elf. “He must have warned them we'd be coming and instructed them on how to resist Chaz's song.”

Shit.

That certainly threw a wrench into their plan, but Chaz didn't know what to do about it but keep singing.

And when it's time to bring the pain, hey druid, you'll stain

The forest with blood of a beholder.

And do you know it's true at ninety-two

You won't look a goddamn day older?

Knights started raising their spears and charging toward the fountain as soon as their heads were sufficiently wrapped.

Katherine drew Captain Logan's sword and looked eager to take them all on by herself. Her black elf friend hopped down into the base of the fountain to assist her, pulling out a dagger and hand axe. Tony the Elf nocked an arrow and readied his bow.

“These are innocent people,” said Jay. “We can't just kill them.”

“It's not ideal,” said Tony the Elf. “But if it comes down to that or sit on our asses while they kill us, well, I know what option I'll be taking.”

“Don't shoot anyone until after I'm dead.”

“What?”

Jay didn't answer, as he'd already hopped down into the base of the fountain. But unlike Katherine or her black elf friend, he kept going, splashing through the cloudy white water to meet the advancing Knights head-on. Three of the Knights looked ready to stab him, but Jay dove at them, disappearing into a foot and a half of milky white water.

Hey druid, don't hold your breath.

Become a squid and you'll be much wetter.

Remember, you squirt black ink when you fart

But two extra hearts make everything better.

The three Knights who were attacking Jay continued thrusting their spearheads into the water where they thought he was. Fortunately, the white water didn't start sprouting spots of red or pink.

Jay surfaced behind a fourth Knight who was advancing alone, uppercutting him in the nuts so that he dropped his spear, then unwrapped the scarf from the Knight's head.

The Knight quickly began chanting, “Oh oh oh oh –” until Jay stuffed one end of his scarf into his mouth.

“Help me!” Jay shouted to the recently awakened former Knights, who were still standing around gawking as he struggled to keep the man still until Chaz's song took effect. “This is your city! These are your friends and neighbors. If you don't want to swim in their blood, you need to wake them up!”

So let one rip and have a swim, hey druid, ten limbs!

And giant eyes to see in the dark with.

And when you tire of shitting ink, hey druid, just think.

The options are there for something bolder.

“YES!” shouted Nedley as if he'd just received some divine inspiration. “We must be bolder!” He splashed through the white water and tackled one of the three Knights who were wading toward Jay.

Jay released the man he'd been restraining just as the other two Knights were about to reach him, surprising the Knights when Jay and the ex-Knight attacked them.

Inspired and rightfully pissed-off, the other former-artisans likewise stomped through the murky white water to meet some more advancing Knights, strip them of their protective headscarves, and force them to listen to Chaz's song.

Hey druid, become a dog.

Maybe a beagle or Irish setter.

Your member retracts up into your skin

But when it extends, it's

Much much redder redder redder redder redder

Unfortunately, the water in the base of the fountain was also turning redder. Not all of the awakened were as successful in tackling Knights before they were stabbed, and some of the awakened picked up the spears dropped by Knights in a more offensive approach to taking back their city.

“Keep singing!” shouted Tony the Elf as he tossed away his bow. He hopped down into the water to try and help Jay, Katherine, and her black elf friend stem the violence.

Chaz, however, had run out of lyrics to his song, so he did what he could.

Na na na nananana, nananana, hey druid...

On the Isle of Drow, the awakened Knights had been scared and confused, and most of them had freaked out and tried to flee when they came out of their trance and realized what they'd been doing for however many weeks or months.

The awakened Knights here likewise came out of their trances scared and confused at first, but almost none of them tried to flee. As soon as they came to their senses and realized what was going on, the vast majority of them pitched in to try and help their fellow townsfolk. They wrested spears away from Knights, removed their head scarves, and held them still until they were ready to do the same for others.

Perhaps most importantly, however, now that Chaz was repeating that easy-to-sing-along-with final line of his song over and over again, they sang. Louder than any headscarf could hope to block, every street in Hollin was soon bellowing his song.

Na na na nananana, nananana, hey druid...

Now that the song had taken on a life of its own, Chaz stopped singing. But as stoked as he was to have once again saved the day, he was even more stoked to see someone walking out the front door of that four-story building not dressed in a white tunic.

In his trademark sombrero and colorful serape, Julian stuck out like a sore thumb growing out of a pig's ass.

“Julian!” he cried, climbing down from the statue tier to the larger bowl, then from there to the base of the fountain.

Katherine turned sharply in his direction, then quickly waded toward him. The crowd of cheering Hollinites rushed toward Chaz, thanking him and trying to embrace him, but Katherine pushed them aside, forcing her way through the sea of people like Moses wielding the power of rudeness. Tony the Elf and the others followed in her wake.

“You saw Julian?” Katherine demanded.

Chaz grinned and nodded.

“Take me to him.”

Unable to see anything through the crowd, Chaz pointed to the top of the building Julian had come from. “He just came out of there.”

Katherine immediately started shoving her way through the crowd, who finally got the hint and gave them space to move. Most of them got the hint, anyway. Two large half-orcs stubbornly refused to get out of the way. They stood out from the rest of the crowd not only because they were two of the biggest, meanest looking half-orcs Chaz had ever laid eyes on, but also because they were the only ones besides Julian and himself in the vicinity – perhaps even in the whole city – not wearing the white tunics of the Knights of Jordan.

“Argo wants to see you,” said the one on the left.

“Argo?” said Chaz, momentarily befuddled with fear. Then he remembered. “Oh, you're from the club. We're very sorry for skipping out, but if you give us just a moment, we'll happily –”

“Now.”

“I strongly advise you to stand aside,” said Katherine. Her whole body tensed up, like she was channeling all her willpower to keep herself from attacking these huge beastly thugs.

The half-orc who hadn't yet spoken chuckled at her. “And I strongly advise you to suck my –”

Katherine grabbed him by the throat, swiftly and surprisingly calmly, dropping him to his knees while she glared at the first one. “Do not make me ask you again.”

“Y-yes ma'am,” said the first half-orc, nodding as he backed up a step into the crowd.

Katherine tossed the other one aside by his neck as if he were nothing more than the uneaten portion of a lackluster burrito.

The path between them and Julian was now clear.

Julian looked surprised and confused as they approached, like he'd just woken up from an intense dream. Chaz didn't want to think about what he'd been through in there or what he'd needed to do to escape, but he was glad to see that at least he looked physically unharmed.

“What's happening?” he said. “Why...” He seemed more concerned with the chaos in the city than he was reuniting with his friends.

“You're okay now,” said Chaz. “We saved the city. We were going to look for you next, but I guess Ravenus got to you first.” Only then did Chaz realize the folly of what he was saying. “Hey, where is Ravenus?”

Julian shrugged. “I don't know. I haven't seen – Oh, my God!”

Chaz turned around to see what Julian was staring at. A mob of Hollinites was tearing down the statue of Jordan Knight. It tipped slowly at first, then hurtled down until it smashed into rubble on the ground. The crowd around it cheered.

“Nice,” said Chaz. “I guess people don't like being mass-brainwashed with shitty music.”

“Apparently not,” said Julian. He turned to Katherine, who now had Captain Logan's sword drawn. “We need to get out of here before Mordred knows I'm gone. Do you still have the die?”

Katherine, who had been exuding more confidence than Cooper in a shitting contest, gave him a puzzled look in response. “The die?”

“I have it,” said her black elf friend. He pulled one of the d20s out from a pocket of the clothes under his tunic. “You asked me to hold it for you while you...” He cleared his throat. “Managed a certain drow problem.”

“Oh, yes. Of course. I remember now.”

“You remember?” said Julian. “Do you not realize how powerful that is? And you forgot that you handed it off to some stranger?”

“Dude,” said Chaz. “Take it easy. It's just...” Shit. Everyone was looking at him, waiting for him to finish his sentence. “I want to say... Jamal?”

“My name is Tanner,” said Tanner.

Julian put out his hand, palm up. “This is unacceptable. Hand it over right now.”

Tanner looked to Katherine, who shrugged, then handed the die over to Julian.

Julian sighed, staring closely at the die. “Finally, I've got it.”

“Not for long,” said Katherine. She swung Captain Logan's sword upward, slicing Julian's arm off at the shoulder. It fell to the ground, the hand still holding the die.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” said Chaz, backing away from her.

“Goddamn!” said Jay.

“Katherine!” cried Tony the Elf. “What are you doing?”

“Taking what I'm owed,” said Katherine. She poked an extremely surprised-looking Julian with the tip of her sword. “Be happy I chose your arm rather than your head, and think twice next time before you –”

“There they are!” shouted a familiar female voice.

Chaz turned to find a pack of drow dressed in white tunics and cloaks, led by none other than Lady Vivia.

Katherine grinned, licking her lips. “Drow.”

“Kill the half-elven girl,” demanded Lady Vivia. “Do it quickly, before she escapes again. I shall have my revenge by desecrating her corpse.”

Her fellow drow, about a dozen in all, pulled their cloaks aside and raised crossbows loaded with silver-tipped bolts dripping with some brown viscous liquid. They were taking no chances.

“NO!” cried Tanner and Tony the Elf, diving in front of Katherine as the first snaps of crossbow releases launched their payloads. A bolt struck Tanner in the chest, and Tony the Elf took one in the abdomen and another in the leg. But most of the bolts found their mark, sticking into Katherine from her neck to her upper thighs.

Unlike Tanner and Tony the Elf, who were now writhing on the ground from the poison coursing through their veins, Katherine seemed completely unfazed. She hadn't even tried to jump out of the way. Instead, she waited until they were finished, morphed into a big-ass dragon, and vomited white lightning at them.

As the remains of her minions lay scorched and smoking on the street, Lady Vivia fled the scene, shoving her way through the identically dressed gathering crowd.

“Akane?” said Chaz, gawking up at the dragon as it devoured Julian's severed arm.

Her long neck twisted like a snake as she lowered her head to address him face-to-face. “You would be wise to never cross my path again.”

Chaz wanted to ask what happened to Katherine, how long she'd been missing, and whether or not she was still alive, but he was paralyzed with fear and concentrating on not pissing himself. He barely managed a nod in response.

As Jay tore off a sleeve of his tunic to make a tourniquet for what was left of Julian's arm, Akane grabbed a couple of smoldering drow bodies for a mid-flight snack, then launched herself into the air.

“What the hell just happened?” Tony the Elf groaned after plucking a bolt from his gut. He was sweaty and shivering. “Since when can Katherine turn into a dragon?”

“That wasn't Katherine,” said Chaz. “Akane must have switched places with her at some point.”

“When?” asked Tanner. He wasn't looking too hot either, but he wasn't quite as bad off as Tony the Elf. “Where is she now?”

“I don't know,” said Jay, his hands covered in Julian's blood. “But we've got three wounded here to deal with right now. Julian's lost a shitload of blood.”

Tanner winced as he plucked the bolt from his chest. “Do not worry about me. I will be fine.” He joined Chaz and Jay over Julian, who had just slipped out of consciousness. “Support his head and take that ridiculous hat off him.”

When Jay removed Julian's sombrero, something happened that Chaz would have considered extraordinary if it hadn't happened so soon after all the other extraordinary occurrences of the past few minutes. The sombrero turned into an unassuming leather cap in Jay's hand, and Julian changed from an elf into a human. His hair turned darker, the shape of his face changed, he grew a beard, and his colorful serape turned into a white silk tunic embroidered with gold thread patterns. He greatly resembled a certain nearby statue that had just been toppled by an angry mob.

“Jordan Knight?” asked Tanner.

Chaz shook his head. “Worse. It's Mordred.”

“What's with all this Scooby-Doo bullshit?” asked Tony the Elf, more annoyed now than agonized by his poisoned wounds. “Is anyone here who they appear to be?” He grabbed Chaz's cheek and pulled on it.

“Ow!” Chaz shoved Tony the Elf away. “Knock it off!” He crowded in a little closer to block Mordred from the curious crowd. “Put that hat back on him. If this mob recognizes Jordan Knight, they'll lynch him for sure.”

“Let them have their justice,” said Tanner. “Why should we waste our efforts protecting him while Katherine and Julian remain missing?”

“We need him to get home. Believe me, Katherine and Julian would be pissed if they found out we fed him to an angry mob. Jay, put the hat back on him.”

Jay nodded and placed the hat back on Mordred's head. Nothing happened.

“Shit,” he said. “Why isn't it working?”

“It is a magic hat,” Tanner explained. “It has no effect but what the wearer intends. You will have to wake him up.”

Chaz clapped his hand over Mordred's mouth and pinched his nose.

“What are you doing?” said Jay. “He's already passed out from blood loss. Are you trying to kill him?”

“He didn't pass out from blood loss. He just fucked off into another body. This will force him to come –”

Mordred's eyes opened wide as his head jerked free of Chaz's grip. “It's a cloak, and I'm not gay!”

Chaz clapped his hand over Mordred's mouth again, this time holding it firm. “What?”

“Never mind,” said Jay. “Let's hurry this up!”

“Listen, you piece of shit,” said Chaz. “I'm going to take my hand off your mouth, and you're going to answer some questions. Got it?”

Mordred nodded.

“First, we need you to put this hat back on. If this mob sees who you really are, they'll kill you.” Chaz removed his hand.

“Let them kill me!” said Mordred. “This body is useless to me now!” He laughed, then passed out.

Chaz covered his mouth and pinched his nose again. “You son of a bitch. You're not getting away that easily.”

After a fit of resistant shuddering, Mordred relented and opened his eyes again. “– not a homo!”

Chaz looked up at the others. “Is there something suggestive about the way I'm holding his nose and mouth?” He let go of Mordred and decided to change tactics. “At least tell us where Julian is.”

Mordred laughed, then spat blood in Chaz's face. “I'm not telling you shit!”

“Oh, you'll tell me, all right. If you don't tell me where Julian is in the time it takes to get my dick hard, I'm going to pull it out and fuck your stump. And I've got news for you, buddy. That'll be the finest piece of ass I've had in a long time.”

Mordred looked satisfactorily horrified, which was the best Chaz could hope for because he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to make good on that threat.

“Whoa!” said Julian, jogging toward them with frayed lengths of rope tied to his wrists and ankles as Ravenus flew overhead. “I'm here! Keep your dicks in your pants. No need to...” He looked down at the once again unconscious body they were hiding from the crowd. “Mordred?”

Chaz sighed with relief. “Thank God you're back.”

“Ravenus found me and clawed me free. What happened to his arm?”

“Akane took it. She thought he was you, and that was her twenty percent.”

“Damn,” said Julian. “She wasn't messing around.”

“That's not the worst part. One of the dice was in the hand of the arm she ate.”

“Mordred had one of the dice?”

Chaz glanced at Tanner. “He gave it to him.”

Tanner glared back at Chaz, then turned to Julian. “I thought he was you. Besides, I think the worst part would be that Katherine is missing.”

Julian turned to Chaz. “What happened to Katherine?”

“I was leading up to that,” said Chaz in his own defense. “I was going in order of badness. Of course, Katherine missing is the worst part.”

“Chaz!” said Julian. “Where the hell is she?”

Chaz shrugged. “I don't know. Akane Scooby Doo'ed us. Apparently, dragons can take whatever human form they want. She swapped places with Katherine at some point. We're going to have to retrace her steps and see if we can find her.”

“Well, then what are we waiting for? Let's go!”

“There's still the matter of Mordred,” said Tony the Elf. “If we carry him out of here looking like this, the crowd will probably kill all of us. We tried to tell him that, but he's willing to let this body die.”

“I've got an idea,” said Jay. He pulled out the flask of squid ink he'd harvested that morning and began smearing it on Mordred's face.

Tanner sighed. “What is it with you people thinking you can pass as a –”

“Whoa!” said Chaz. “Time out. You can't say 'you people' to a –” After considering it for a second, he turned to Jay. “Wait, is it okay for their people to say 'you people' to you people? I mean, technically, they're blacker than –”

“Chaz,” said Jay. “Shut up.” He looked up at Tanner. “I'm not trying to pass him off as anything. I'm only trying to make him as unrecognizable as possible with the resources we have at hand until we can get him out of town.”

Tanner nodded. “I suppose that makes sense. He could probably do with a shave as well, then.” He pulled out a dagger and went to work cutting Mordred's hair and beard as close to the skin as he could in a hurry.

When Mordred was as black and bald as they could get him on short notice, Jay and Julian hoisted him up.

“Everybody get out of the way!” shouted Chaz. “This man has an advanced case of...” He tried to think of a communicable disease that would send the crowd running. “Gonorrhea!”

“What is gonorrhea?” asked a man in the crowd.

“It's a disease that turns your skin black and makes your dick fall off.”

That did the trick. The crowd quickly dispersed and joined the rest of the townsfolk in the destruction of everything having to do with Jordan Knight.

Chapter 41

It was evening when Dave woke up, sore and stiff from sleeping on the cave's rocky floor. Lissa was either still asleep or pretending to be. He wondered briefly if he was turning nocturnal, but quickly dismissed it. His current irregular sleep pattern was merely a factor of grabbing some sleep whenever he could. After he got Lissa safely to the nearest temple, he'd be free to get back into a normal sleeping pattern. That is, of course, if he took Lissa to the nearest temple. He still had the option to go through with the ransom demand. Or he could wait and see if she turned into a wererat. She could be his understudy. Perhaps, when she got a little older, she could even be more than...

Dave slapped himself hard in the face and stomped out of the cave.

Come on, Dave. You've made your decision, and you had good reason to. You're not that guy. Don't give in to the rat.

Before he did anything else, he needed to pray for his spells. He sat down, closed his eyes, and went into a meditative state. When he came out of it an hour later, his mind wasn't exactly clear, but he knew what he needed to do to clear it.

It was the simple trick that every teenage boy knows to do before a big date. Rub one out beforehand so that every thought isn't fueled by his raging boner. That was exactly what brought him to the state of clarity that led him to come to his decision in the first place.

He waddled far enough away from the cave so that Lissa wouldn't hear him if his breathing got a bit too heavy. His dick was soft when he pulled it out, so he started tugging on it while thinking of big meaty dwarf tits. It wasn't working. He knew that thinking about the power he currently held over Lissa's family would get him hard in no time, but he was determined to not jerk off while thinking about a little girl tied up in a cave again. Instead, he thought about Stacy again, how he'd jerked it over her while she slept. It took some effort to recreate that feeling in his mind given that he'd since learned she was awake and watching him from the other side of the room, but he closed his eyes, imagined the circumstances as he thought they were then, and eventually got himself up and running.

After a good five minutes of panting and sweating and nearly tugging himself raw, he finally shot his load. It didn't fire out like a slime cannon like the load he'd shot against the tree trunk before he went to sleep, but came out as more of a dribble down his fingers.

At any rate, it was done. His mind was clear again, and he rightfully felt like the pathetic piece of shit that he was. His redemption would have to come one small step at a time, and the first step was to get Lissa to the temple as quickly as possible. With that goal in mind, he opened his eyes. Stacy and Shorty were staring at him.

Standing there with literally his dick in his hand, he tried to mentally process exactly how fucked he was.

“Uh... uh...”

Stacy put one hand on her hip. The other hand was occupied with a mysterious sack full of something that writhed and buzzed loudly. “Hi, Dave. So nice to see you again. You'll forgive me if I don't want to shake your hand.”

His processing complete, Dave concluded that the degree to which he was fucked was “truly and utterly.”

“I need help,” he pleaded.

“You're barking up the wrong tree here, pal. Besides, from where I'm standing, you look like you're managing just fine on your own.”

Dave tucked his moist, soft dick back into his pants. “That's not what I'm talking about. I'm in over my head. I need –”

“HELLO?” shouted Lissa from the cave. “Is anyone there? Help!”

A small recalculation pushed Dave well beyond his previously estimated degree of fucked.

“Who the hell is that?” demanded Stacy. “What did you do, Dave?” She handed her buzzing sack to Shorty and stomped toward him.

“Listen! It's not what you think!”

“Oh yeah? Then, what am I going to find when I look in that cave?”

“A little girl tied up with rope.”

Stacy punched Dave in the face so hard that she had to shake the soreness out of her hand. “That's exactly what I thought.”

Dave collapsed on his knees and put his hand over his broken nose, forgetting that it was slathered in his own semen.

“If he moves, release the stirges,” said Stacy before jogging toward the cave. “Don't worry! You're safe now!”

Dave considered running just so that he could get stirged to death, but he was too much of a coward to do even that. Instead, he just sat there and sobbed. There wasn't a dry square inch on his face. It was completely covered in sweat, tears, blood, and jizz.

“My name's Stacy,” said Stacy as she emerged from the cave with Lissa. “I'm going to take you home. Down there is my friend, Shorty. And you've already met Dave.” She kicked Dave hard in the back, dropping him face down in the dirt, then tied his hands behind his back with the rope he'd used on Lissa. “What did he do to you?”

“I didn't do anything!” said Dave. “I was just holding her for –”

Stacy shoved his face hard into the dirt. “Shut up!” In a much friendlier voice, she addressed Lissa again. “Did he touch you in any places your parents hopefully have talked about with you?”

“No,” said Lissa. “Nothing like that. He was holding me for ransom.”

Trying his best to ignore the excruciating pain in his nose, Dave turned his head sideways. “You see? That's what I was trying to tell you!”

“What a guy,” said Stacy. “Here, let me polish your medal.” She spat in his face. One more fluid for the collection.

“He spat in my mouth,” said Lissa. “He said it would turn me into a wererat like him.”

“That was drool!” said Dave. “Will you please quit telling people I –”

Stacy grabbed his hair and lifted his head so she could slam it into the dirt again. “I told you to shut up.”

“Then he changed his mind,” said Lissa. “He told me he was going to take me to the temple to get cured.”

Dave sighed. “You might have led with that.”

“Where is this temple?” asked Stacy.

“It is not far from here. A few miles west. We could be there by morning.”

“I'll get you there. But I've got one loose end to tie up here first.”

Holy shit! Stacy was done fucking around, and Dave had a sudden realization of just how much he valued his own life.

“Please, Stacy!” he begged. “I don't want to die. Not like this. I want to change! I want to be cured!”

Stacy let go of his hair. “Shut the fuck up, Dave. I'm not going to kill you. Get up and keep your mouth shut.

She led them through the forest impatiently while Dave waddled as fast as his short dwarf legs would allow. In the short time since he'd last seen her, something about Stacy had changed. She had a certain feral intensity about her, like a stray dog that had been kicked one too many times.

When they reached a place that didn't seem at all noteworthy to Dave, she stopped and sniffed the air.

“They're right over there,” she whispered, pointing toward the distant sound of running water. It was dark now, and Dave couldn't see anything but trees with his Darkvision. He had no idea what Stacy thought she saw with normal human vision in the faint light of the waning moon.

Sniffing the air for his own curiosity, he smelled nothing but wood smoke and a trace of rotting garbage.

“They've made it to the campsite,” said Stacy. “But they probably haven't gone to sleep yet. Shorty, I need you to start planting stakes around the perimeter. Get as close as you can without being seen.”

Shorty nodded, then darted into the woods with his arms full of sharpened wooden stakes.

Stacy looked apologetically down at Lissa. “I hate to leave you with Dave, but this forest has an ettin problem.”

“I know,” said Lissa. “Two of them attacked our village at the same time Dave arrived.”

Stacy narrowed her eyes at Dave. “Did they?” She smiled at Lissa. “I won't be gone long. I'm going to leave you with this silver-tipped dagger. If he tries to run, or turn into a rat, or speaks, or does anything at all that makes you feel threatened, I want you to stab him as hard as you can. Okay?”

Lissa nodded and gratefully accepted the dagger.

After giving Dave a severe warning glare, Stacy took her mysterious sack of stirges and began creeping toward the ettin camp.

Chapter 42

The familiar stench of ettin worked its way deeper into Stacy's sinuses the closer she crept to their camp. She spotted the fire first. Predictably, they'd used the pit she and Shorty had set up for them. Unfortunately, Stacy had been too busy screwing around with stirges and Dave to prepare any sort of death-from-above use of the tree they were all gathered under.

Creeping just to the edge of the clearing, she saw yawning ettins getting ready to go to sleep for the night. There were four in all, but it was too dark to make out if any of them were Dogga and Bogga. The leader was easy enough to make out because of his dead head leaning to the side but, because of the distance, she couldn't tell the others apart.

Stacy would have to wait and observe. Her original plan had been to sneak up on the other side, nearer the fire, so that she could get right up next to them before killing the leader, but now she was reconsidering. She liked having some distance between them and herself, especially now that she was armed with a sackful of stirges.

There was no point in thinking too deeply about how to best employ the stirges. Once let loose, they were going to do their own thing anyway. But distance was crucial to making sure that the stirges all went for the ettins rather than her.

After a couple of minutes passed, another ettin came on the scene. It must have been taking a dump in the woods. It emerged from very near where Stacy had originally intended to approach them, so Stacy felt vindicated in her decision to stay on the far side of the clearing. She was both less likely to be discovered and less likely to step in ettin shit.

She waited and watched until Dogga and Bogga finally stepped close enough to the fire so that Stacy could recognize their faces. Having identified them, she kept her eyes fixed on them as the other ettins went about their evening business like cups in a shell game.

By the time most of the ettins started to lie down for the night, Stacy was only sixty percent sure she was still focused on the right one. She moved her odds to seventy percent when the one she was focused on was the only one left standing. If Dogga and Bogga were going through with the plan, they'd volunteer to keep watch.

The snoring began with a soft rumble but quickly grew to sound like a pen full of pigs at feeding time. In accordance with their agreed-upon plan, the remaining ettin wandered off into the woods, leaving the rest of her pack vulnerable.

Stacy considered her options. She could do what she had agreed to do, sneak into the camp, slit the old bastard's throat, and be done with it. Or she could hurl her sack of stirges into the camp and let them feast on the ettins. Maybe she'd get lucky and they'd suck every point of Constitution out of all of them, leaving them dead. But it hardly seemed responsible of her to depend on a bag of mosquito-bats to bring down a gang of two-headed giants. The best she could hope for would be to weaken them a bit and sow confusion. The downside of that was that it would likely wake them all up.

Maybe the stirges were a stupid idea and she was better off with a more straightforward approach. Dogga and Bogga had only just gone into the woods. If they actually did need to relieve themselves, Stacy might have plenty of time to dispatch all of these sleeping ettins without any stirge assistance. As long as she was quiet, she could stab them in the head one at a time without waking any of the others up. When it came down to the final showdown between her and Bogga and Dogga, she could let loose all the stirges on them while she made a run for it, then return to finish the job after they'd been sufficiently weakened.

Having determined that was her most solid plan, Stacy tiptoed into the clearing, dagger in one hand and sack in the other. Just in case anything went wrong, she still wanted to kill the leader first. That would keep her in compliance with the deal they'd made if Dogga and Bogga should return between that first killing and the next. Also, if the other ettins woke up for some reason, a dead leader might inspire some infighting to fill the power void, which might lead to them all killing each other. Stacy knew she was grasping at logical straws, but she took comfort in the rational organization of whatever endeavor she undertook.

She briefly worried that the buzzing sound coming from her stirge sack would wake the ettins. But as she got closer to the camp, the volume of their snoring grew near deafening. Creeping between two male ettins, she made her way to the leader. His dead head freaked her out at first glance, staring back at her with gaping eye sockets. After taking a deep breath to compose herself, she continued toward her target.

Suddenly, the snoring stopped.

The darkness around Stacy came alive with tiny flames that she soon recognized as reflections of the firelight in the wide-awake eyes of every ettin on the campsite. She'd been set up.

She tried to make a break for it, but Grubgar caught her by the leg and lifted her off the ground.

“I'm not the one you want,” she said, not entirely sure what she was hoping to achieve outside of buying herself a few more seconds. “Dogga and Bogga sent me to kill you. This was their idea.”

Grubgar smiled, showing off a mouthful of brown and yellow teeth in varying states of decay. “Stupid human. Dogga and Bogga no think.” With a bit of concentration, he lifted his empty hand to tap his temple. “This my plan.”

Stacy sighed. “Well played. You caught me completely by surprise.”

“You not smart as you think.”

“Perhaps not. But tell me something. Did your plan account for this?” Stacy dropped the stirge sack, and the buzzing sound quickly spread all around her. Flexing her abdominal muscles, she lifted herself up enough to stab the hand holding her leg.

“YAH!” cried Grubgar as he let go of her.

Stacy flipped over in the air to manage a safe and stylish landing. Unfortunately, the only people around to witness it were preoccupied with screaming and swatting at stirges.

Instead of cutting her losses and running, Stacy decided to take advantage of the distraction. She drove her dagger as hard as she could into the right calf of the nearest ettin. His right head howled in pain while two stirges sucked blood from his back.

After a brief roll on the ground to make sure she was stirge-free, she sought another target.

“Get them off me!” cried a female ettin, attempting in vain to swat stirges on her back. One of the males slapped her hard, squashing the stirges into paste and dropping the female to her knees.

Stacy hated to single out the only other girl in the clearing, but she needed to attack the most likely ettin she could bring down with a single stab. That slap she'd just suffered looked hard enough to cause physical damage, and Stacy hoped that the three stirges had managed to suck out a significant amount of her Constitution before they had the shit squished out of them.

She ran at the kneeling female and drove her dagger into her back. The ettin only let out a faint groan as she fell over, then lay dead on the ground.

By this time, all of the stirges had either been squashed or driven away. The three remaining ettins were in pretty bad shape, but not so much so that Stacy was confident she'd survive a three-to-one fight, especially now that the one she'd stabbed in the calf had armed itself with one of their giant clubs.

She ran for the woods, hoping to catch at least one of them with a stake as they gave chase, but she didn't get that far. The club caught her in the side, definitely breaking a couple of ribs as it sent her flying to land in a heap on the sand just short of the creek. She gasped to catch her breath as it limped toward her like a two-headed Terminator that reeked of rotting cabbage.

Knowing she wouldn't survive another blow like that, she did the only thing she could. As the ettin raised its club to deliver its killing strike, Stacy flung her dagger upward. It stuck in one of the ettin's necks, dropping it to its knees as the wounded head coughed and gurgled blood from its mouth. The other head stared furiously at Stacy until she threw a fistful of sand in its eyes. It screamed in pain, rubbing its eyes with one hand and pawing for Stacy with the other.

With all the strength she could muster, Stacy rolled out of the way of the ettin's hand, stood up, grabbed her dagger, and raked it the rest of the way across the ettin's throat. Finally dead, it fell forward on top of her.

Another ettin down, but Stacy now found herself in an unfortunately compromising position. Figuring the next ettin to come looking for her would lift his fallen comrade by the head to find her, Stacy squirmed her way through the sand up to the first head she came to and waited.

She didn't have to wait long before thundering footsteps approached. As soon as she felt the pressure from a hand on the back of the head she was under, she reached around and stabbed as hard as she could, pinning the hand to the head.

The gambit had worked, but it neither killed the ettin nor stopped him from lifting his dead friend off her. With a scream full of pain and rage, he kicked her back into the center of the clearing where Grubgar was waiting to finish her off.

Unarmed and out of breath, Stacy was unable to defend herself against being picked up again by Grubgar. There was no smug smile this time. He was pissed.

“Where are Dogga and Bogga?” asked Stacy. “It might have been your plan to set me up, but they've been sitting on the sidelines while I've been killing your tribe. It looks to me like they gave it some thought and liked the idea of taking over.”

“I deal with them after I deal with you,” said Grubgar. “You should stay away when you have chance. Now you die!” With that, he began squeezing  her. The amount of pressure he was exerting wasn't enough to crush her, but it would definitely be enough to suffocate her if he maintained it. She flexed against the pressure for as long as she could, but that didn't last long. The pressure closed in on her lungs, and she found it increasingly difficult to breathe with each labored breath.

She didn't expect Shorty to come to her rescue, but she hoped he'd at least escort Lissa to the temple to get cured. As for Dave, well... fuck Dave.

Now completely unable to breathe, Stacy wished Grubgar would just bash her against a rock or something to get this over with. Suffocating wasn't a fun way to go. But there wasn't much chance of that. Grubgar seemed to be enjoying watching her life slip away. She couldn't blame him. She'd been a huge pain in his ass, after all.

“AAUUUGGHH!” cried the other ettin, followed immediately by a loud feline growl.

Grubgar looked that way. “Huh?” His hand loosened enough for Stacy to take a deep breath.

The other ettin fell backward as he was ferociously attacked by an angry leopard. He slapped it away, sending the vicious cat flying across the clearing, but not without ribbons of flesh in its teeth and plenty of blood on its front paws.

“Lucia?” Stacy didn't want to come off as leopard-racist, but her assumption was based more on statistical probability than it was on her ability to recognize one leopard from another.

The ettin got up on unsteady legs, with several deep claw marks spilling blood and one less nipple than it had a moment ago.

As for Lucia, she seemed rather unscathed for how far she'd been thrown, assuming that the majority of blood on her was the ettins. As soon as she righted herself, she ran at the ettin again. He tried to dodge, but he was slow, injured, and as big as the side of a barn. Lucia leapt at him and raked her claws down his lower back as he tried to duck under her. It was enough to put him down. After that, it was difficult to say exactly when he died, but Lucia continued to dig into him like she was looking for the prize in a box of cereal.

Grubgar had a choice to make. He could either continue squeezing the shit out of Stacy, or he could let her go and grab a weapon with his good hand. When Lucia set her sights on him, he made the surprisingly innovative decision to do a bit of both by weaponizing Stacy.

Stacy had never accelerated so fast in her life. For a man with only one fully-functioning arm, Grubgar had a good one. He hurled Stacy at Lucia as she started to run at him. It was a direct hit. Stacy and Lucia toppled over each other until they finally came to a stop.

That was as much as Stacy could take. She threw up, then struggled back to her feet with the aid of a tree trunk. Lucia lay still at her feet. The poor girl had been through a lot recently. Who knows what she'd been doing since Alroth died?

As much as Stacy would have liked to avenge them both, her only weapon was still lodged in the hand of a dead ettin twenty feet away. She tried her best to look threatening and defiant to Grubgar as he approached with his tree-trunk club, but she knew she'd collapse as soon as she let go of the tree that was holding her up.

Grubgar raised his club to swing, but that wasn't the club that delivered the killing blow. And, fortunately for Stacy, she wasn't the target.

As the blood-stained end of the club cracked the top of Grubgar's skull, his eyes rolled back in his head. He fell over and lost control of his bowels, revealing Dogga and Bogga standing behind him.

Stacy slid down the tree to sit on the ground. “Congratulations,” she said. “You're the leader now. It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

Dogga glared at her. “You no do your part of deal.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You supposed kill Grubgar. Nobody else. You kill everyone except Grubgar!”

“That's not my fault!” said Stacy. “You set me up!” It didn't take her full Intelligence score to see how this was going to play out if she didn't do something quick. “Besides, I didn't kill everyone.” She pointed at an empty patch of sand behind Dogga and Bogga. “That guy's still alive.”

“Huh?”

As soon as their back was turned, Stacy crawled as quickly as she could toward the edge of the clearing. Dogga and Bogga were at full health and hadn't had their Constitution score compromised by stirges. A stake in the foot wasn't going to finish them off, but there was a slim chance that it might slow them down enough for Stacy to find a place to hide.

“Sneaky human!” shouted Bogga when she realized they'd been duped. “Come back here!”

Even with her high Dexterity score and all the ranks she'd put into her Hide skill, there simply wasn't anywhere Stacy could hide on the sand. She kept crawling toward the trees, not even stopping to observe the fat dire rat that ran out of the woods into the clearing.

Dogga and Bogga screamed and swatted at the rat with their club, allowing Stacy to make it to the trees.

Her entire body screaming with pain, Stacy tried her best to cover herself with leaves, hoping to stay hidden at least a couple more rounds.

The dire rat, which Stacy now assumed must be Dave, scurried away before Bogga and Dogga could get in a solid hit. Stacy didn't know what he was up to, but it couldn't have been anything good. If he'd hurt Lissa, Stacy was determined to stay alive long enough to hunt him down and kill him. But how the hell was she going to do that?

Their rat distraction gone, Dogga and Bogga resumed their pursuit of Stacy.

She lay as still as she could, but the ettin headed straight for her. It  wouldn't take them longer than a round or two to find her. Still, there was the off chance that they might step on one of the –

“I raise thee!” said Dave from somewhere in the clearing.

When Dogga and Bogga turned around to look, Stacy lifted her head to chance a peek of her own.

Grubgar was getting back up to his feet. What's more, both of his heads were upright. The deader one was just as gross and decomposed as it had been, but it was animated as if it were alive.

“Dadda?” said Bogga, reaching out for the animated monstrosity. “I miss you!”

“NO!” cried Dogga, planting the foot she controlled firmly on the ground and letting go of her club to grab the tree Stacy was hiding next to. “Is not Dadda! Is dwarf trick!”

Apparently, these girls had a better relationship with the deceased half of their father.

Bogga struggled to go to Grubgar. “Dadda! I miss your touch. Your mouth on my breast. Your fist inside me.”

That was way more than Stacy wanted to hear. She closed her eyes and counted herself grateful for already having thrown up.

“No, Bogga!” Dogga insisted. “Is no Dadda! Is –”

Bogga shut her up with a punch to the face, which also disoriented her enough to make her let go of the tree. They went straight into Grubgar's arms, which he wrapped tightly around them as he started biting into Bogga's throat.

Bogga screamed until she no longer had enough throat to continue doing so, and Dogga's screams stopped shortly after as she passed out from excessive blood loss.

Bereft of life, they slipped through Grubgar's undead arms. The massive two-headed zombie stood oblivious to the fact that it had just eaten its daughters to death, waiting for Dave's next order.

Only a few short days ago, Stacy had been in nearly this exact same situation. In her current state, she knew she couldn't take down the ettin zombie. But if she threw everything she had at Dave, she was pretty sure she could take him to Hell with her.

“Stacy?” he called out, waddling into view dressed only in a scrap of hide he must have taken off a dead ettin to cover his junk. “Where are you?”

Stacy sighed. This again? She started formulating a plan. The first thing she needed to do was make a dash for where she'd left Lissa. Once she got her silver-tipped dagger, she'd run straight at Dave and get in as many stabs as she could before the ettin zombie –

Dave snapped his fingers, and the zombie collapsed into a dead heap. He fell to his knees and started sobbing.

“Please, Stacy,” he said. “I don't want to be like this anymore. Help me.”

Stacy pulled herself up and saw that Shorty and Lissa had also come out of hiding. Lissa still had the dagger and didn't seem to be harmed or even upset. Lucia stalked slowly toward Dave from behind but stopped when Stacy waved her down.

“I'm here, Dave,” said Stacy. “I'll help you. But we've got to make one last stop first.”

Chapter 43

The High Cleric had healed Cooper up to his maximum Hit Points, but he still felt like he'd be shitting out bullets for a week.

“Can you make it okay from here?” Cooper asked the High Cleric as they stopped in front of The Best Defense. They were only a couple hundred yards away from the Temple of Life, and he was carrying enough automatic and semi-automatic weapons to overthrow a South American government. “We'll catch up with you after I drop these off.”

The High Cleric smiled at him. “I understand, and I look forward to your arrival.” She bowed to him.

Cooper was trying his best to hold in his fart in the presence of such a noble and powerful woman, but it squirted out as he returned her bow. As further evidence of her divine grace, she pretended not to notice as she left.

Do you really think these strange weapons will get us enough coin to have me returned to my body?

“I hope so,” said Cooper. “That Myrna lady seemed pretty eager to get her hands on some guns. I don't know how much resurrections typically go for, but where I come from, there's a lot more money to be made killing people than there is keeping them alive.”

Nudging the door open with his foot, Cooper went inside the weapon shop.

“Mercy of the gods!” said Myrna upon seeing him hugging his arsenal. Cooper had never seen such a tough woman gape so bewilderedly at anything. “Where did you... How did you... No, it is probably best that I not know.”

Cooper dropped the pile of guns on the floor, then started placing them piece by piece on the counter in front of her. “I grabbed as many as I could carry. How much do you think you could give me for them?”

Myrna gawked down at each piece as Cooper laid them before her. “I... I was able to gather ten thousand gold pieces.”

“I guess that will –”

Shut up!

Cooper cleared his throat. “Sorry. You were saying.”

“If you give me another day to make some trades, I am certain I could get you at least three times as much.”

Yes! But ask for the ten thousand now.

“I suppose we can live with that,” said Cooper. “Do you mind if I get that ten grand up front? We'll come back for the rest tomorrow.”

“Of course,” said Myrna. She went through the door behind the counter, then returned shortly after with a leather pouch about the size of Cooper's dice bag back home. “Ten thousand gold pieces is quite a lot to haul around. I will throw in this small Bag of Holding as a token of my goodwill.”

Cooper stared doubtfully at the bag, wondering if he'd just gotten a better deal than he'd bargained for or if this chick thought he was the dumbest piece of shit ever to walk the earth.

Myrna grinned at him. “I assure you, it is all there.” She picked up a rusty old bucket and placed it on top of the counter, then inserted two fingers into the bag as she held it over the bucket. “All the gold.”

Gold coins spilled out of the bag like Cooper had just hit three turds on the Emoji slot machine, filling the large bucket to the brim before they finally stopped. “Feel free to count it.”

“Fuck that,” said Cooper. “I don't even know if I can count that high.” He accepted the pouch and began scooping coins back into it.

“Come as early as you can tomorrow,” instructed Myrna. “I am not comfortable having so much money in the store, especially during these tumultuous times.”

After Cooper finally scooped the last coin into his new bag, he said goodbye to Myrna and headed with Nabi to the Temple of Life.

Thank you for all you have done, Cooper. But please try not to be disappointed if this does not turn out as we wish.

Because she was inside Cooper's head, he had some insight into what was going on in hers. It sounded like Nabi was bracing herself for her own disappointment.

“Don't even think about that,” he said, relieved to no longer be carrying all those guns. “I made you a promise, and one way or another I'm going to deliver on it.”

Now that he wasn't actively bleeding from several bullet holes, Cooper could appreciate the beautifully carved statues along the path to the Temple of Life, each featuring a plaque that he couldn't read. They looked fancy and expensive, like they belonged in a museum or in a restaurant that required shoes. All of this had been here the last time he'd visited, but it didn't intimidate him like it currently did. Now that he'd made the acquaintance of the High Cleric, he felt somehow unworthy as he got closer to the temple. His unease made him gassy, which only exacerbated the problem.

Calm down, Cooper. You are making me nervous.

“Sorry,” said Cooper. “The High Cleric. She's got this presence about her. I'm not used to being around people like that. I threw a chair at her fucking face, and now I'm walking into her temple all covered in rat blood and shit.”

She knows that already. More importantly, she knows why you are covered in rat blood. That was from rescuing her.

“I know, but –”

Walk through the curtain, Cooper. Whatever happens or doesn't happen on the other side, we have come too far to stop here.

As usual, Nabi was right. Cooper closed his eyes, pretended the vines were beads replacing the busted door of some trailer bathroom, and walked through.

Hollywhirl! Dimplethorn!

Cooper couldn't help but chuckle. He didn't know what just happened to Nabi, but pixie swearing was adorable. He opened his eyes to find two actual pixies flying quickly toward him.

“Shit!” he said, instinctively lifting his axe. He calmed down as soon as he realized what he was looking at, and that between the two of them they were only armed with an envelope made of woven tree bark. He lowered the axe and cleared his throat. “Ladies.”

“Thank you for the logfruit,” said the pink-haired pixie fluttering in front of Cooper with barely visible wings.

“I think you may be mistaking me for my friend, Chaz,” said Cooper.

She is referring to the crate of fruit we sent to Glittersprinkles Grove.

“Oh, right.”

“We have done as you have asked,” said the green-haired pixie with the envelope. “Here are my sister's wings.”

I did not expect you to deliver them personally.

Cooper stared awkwardly at the pixies hovering in front of him for a moment before remembering that he was the only one who could hear Nabi.

“She said she didn't expect you to deliver them personally.” He hoped they could hold off on the rest of their conversation until Nabi was able to communicate for herself.

“This was too important a mission to delegate to common swine,” said Hollywhirl. “If my sister truly is to be brought back to her true form, I would be here to witness it.”

“And so you shall,” said the High Cleric, approaching from behind them. “That is, if it be the will of the gods. Follow me, gentle sprites. We have made preparations.”

Cooper followed behind them. “Hey, about that. We haven't yet discussed a price. I've got ten thousand gold pieces. Is that going to be enough to –”

“Do not be foolish, Cooper.” The High Cleric smiled at him. Her radiance only made him more self-aware of his filth. “Your money is no good here.”

“Oh?” Since when was the temple so picky about where their money came from? His money was just as good as anyone – Oh shit... Was it possible that Cooper rescuing the High Cleric from a near-death experience had gotten her all horned up for him? Was she demanding to be paid in dick? “Listen, lady. You're hot as shit, but I already know of one disease I'm carrying. I don't think it's a good idea to –”

“You and Nabi saved my life, Cooper,” the High Cleric quickly interrupted. “Keep your money. Consider this a gift from the gods.”

“Thank you,” said Cooper, then stared up at the sky. “And, uh... you, I guess.”

The High Cleric held her hand out to Dimplethorn. “The wings.”

Dimplethorn bowed deeply as she placed the envelope containing Nabi's wings in it.

With the delicacy of a gnat surgeon, the High Cleric removed the wings from the envelope and set them gently down on a white polished stone altar. They were cracked and tarnished with dirt but still sparkled in places where the sunlight hit them just right. An array of equipment and ingredients had also been laid out on the altar, including a variety of colorful powders and liquids, at least one of which smelled like fermented cat piss.

“We have done most of the preliminary work in anticipation of your arrival,” she said as she picked up a large wooden mixing bowl and stirred a gray paste that had the consistency of runny cookie dough. “All we need now are the last two ingredients. Cooper, place Nabi on the altar.”

Cooper held his axe in front of his face. “You ready?”

I... I think so.

Nabi's voice in Cooper's head sounded scared. He supposed that made sense. Even prisoners taking their first steps of freedom after an extended period of time in the joint must feel a little apprehensive about what's ahead of them. A normal life would take a bit of getting used to, but Cooper had every confidence that Nabi was up to the task.

“Ready or not, I need you out of my fucking head. So buckle up or whatever. I'll see you on the other side.”

Though he wouldn't admit it, Cooper was also a little apprehensive about setting Nabi free. Sure, it was annoying to have her in his head while he was trying to take a shit, but as long as she was an axe, she'd never leave him. Once she turned back into a pixie, well... She'd be able to choose her own path.

He laid the axe on the altar. Then, after the briefest hesitation, let go of the grip and stepped back.

Hollywhirl held Dimplethorn's hand tightly with both of hers as they nervously hovered beside him.

The High Cleric opened the envelope and carefully slid one of Nabi's wings out. It looked like a cross between a giant insect wing and a stained glass window. Somewhat less carefully, she crushed it in her hands, allowing the powdered remains to sprinkle down into her mixing bowl.

Cooper cleared his throat. “Excuse me, but I'm not sure if you fully understand what we're trying to achieve here.”

Hollywhirl shushed him.

“The spell will set the spirit free from its binding,” the High Cleric explained as she crushed Nabi's other wing into the bowl and mixed the paste. “But without direction, it will get lost. A familiar essence will guide Nabi back and allow her consciousness to manipulate this clay into the body she knows.”

With her bare hands, she smeared the gray paste all over the axe while mumbling incantations under her breath. When she was done, one of her lesser clerics held up a bowl of clean water for her to rinse her hands in, then another offered her a towel.

“Are you finished?” asked Cooper, staring doubtfully at what appeared to be nothing more than a muck-covered axe on the altar. “Did it work?”

“I have done what I can,” said the High Cleric. “The rest is up to Nabi. She must choose to reclaim her form, just as you must choose to reclaim your former self.”

Cooper felt his heart quicken as he let out a small gasp of a fart. “You mean, you know how to turn me back into a human?”

Much like Myrna's expression when Cooper walked through the door with a bunch of guns, the High Cleric's look of puzzlement was jarringly uncharacteristic for her.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Huh?” Cooper wasn't sure what she'd been getting at, but he was pretty sure he'd been way off in his interpretation of it. “Oh, nothing. Just a little half-orc joke. Now that I think about it, it was in poor taste. What were you referring to before when you said I need to choose to reclaim my former self?”

“I sense no less than two forms of lycanthropy struggling for dominance within you. The bear is currently in control, but the rat is patient and conniving.” She picked up a wooden cup of what looked like brown glue and offered it to Cooper. “Drink this, and you can be rid of them both.”

“Fuck, yes,” said Cooper. “The only animals I want inside of me come between two buns.” After a second or two of reflection, he determined that had been poorly phrased. “Just to be clear, I was referring to eating hamburgers, not getting cornholed by a mule. You know what? Forget all of what I just said, and I'll take the drink.” He reached out to take the drink, but the High Cleric pulled it back out of his reach.

“This will not be a pleasant experience,” she warned him. “Not for you, nor for any of us who have to bear witness. Neither the bear nor the rat wants to leave you. They must be compelled to do so by making your body so toxic that they can no longer bear to inhabit it. It would be irresponsible of me not to warn you that there is no guarantee this will work, and there is a small chance that it could kill you.”

“I'm not a lot of things,” said Cooper. “But I am pretty tough.”

“That has been taken into consideration. If not for your considerable strength and fortitude, death would be almost certain.”

Cooper nodded. “If I die, I die. But I can't keep going on like this knowing I could flip out and kill innocent people. I'll roll those dice.” Before he could think himself out of it, he took the drink from the High Cleric and gulped it down.

It was bitter and gritty, not unlike a store-brand protein shake. If there were any ill effects, Cooper couldn't feel them... until he could.

“Oh shit,” he said as his stomach began to lurch and fill with gas. His muscles all spasmed at once, dropping him to the ground in a fit of seizures. Total loss of bowel control had him farting and shitting like a Diet Coke bottle with two dozen Mentos in it. But his ass wasn't the only thing he lost control of. He soon found himself unable to breathe. His heart pounded out of control. Random muscles inflated and deflated like they were going into or coming out of a Barbarian Rage. Finally, when he couldn't take anymore, he passed out.

*

When he came to again, he was weak, hungry, and felt considerably lighter. But as far as he could tell, he was still alive. He opened his eyes to find that it was now dark out and lightly raining. Hollywhirl and Dimplethorn were sitting on the ground about five yards away, a little beyond the reach of the literal shitstorm Cooper had released during his treatment. He hoped that drink did its job because he wasn't about to endure that shit again. His future potential innocent victims could kiss his ass.

With some effort, he struggled to his feet. His axe still lay on the altar. Remnants of the magic clay still clung to it, but the rain had rinsed it mostly clean.

Judging by the pained expressions on Hollywhirl's and Dimplethorn's faces, it almost wasn't worth asking. But he had to know for sure.

“Nabi?”

Hollywhirl began sobbing as Dimplethorn shook her head.

“Yes?” said Nabi, suddenly materializing on the altar. She sat on the edge of the altar with her feet dangling down. Though Cooper hadn't seen her in her true form before, he instantly recognized the tiny, pink-haired naked woman with the bug wings smiling at him in the rain.

“NABI!” cried Hollywhirl, flying at her like a bullet, scooping her up into the air in a dangerously enthusiastic embrace. They spiraled together about a hundred feet in the air before gently returning to the altar.

Cooper tore some leaves off a nearby Life Tree and held them in her general direction without looking at her. “Do you mind?”

Nabi laughed. “Of course.” She took the leaves from Cooper, who waited patiently as he stared in the opposite direction. “You can turn around now.”

Cooper did so, relieved to discover that she had correctly interpreted his intention for the leaves and made some rudimentary clothes for herself.

“How long have you been back?” asked Dimplethorn.

Nabi sighed. “For hours. But I did not wish to reveal myself until I knew that Cooper was okay.”

“I don't know about okay,” said Cooper. “I feel like a bomb went off in my ass, and I'm hungry as shit.”

“I am also hungry,” said Nabi. “Mercy of the gods, how long has it been since I've eaten food?”

“We can ask the High Cleric,” suggested Hollywhirl. “I cannot imagine she would turn us away.”

“Fuck that,” said Cooper. “We've just been through some major shit and picked up some serious coin. I say we seek out the nearest tavern and celebrate with a pile of sausages big enough to satisfy Dave's mom.”

Hollywhirl shrugged. “Or that.” She hugged Nabi. “I am just so happy to have you back, sister.”

Nabi smiled at Cooper. “This is your city, Cooper. Lead the way.”

It was weird to imagine being the most familiar with something in Caverns & Creatures among a group of NPCs. Cooper still felt like a tourist himself, but now he was guiding tours. That was something he could contemplate further after a bellyful of sausage and beer. He led the three pixies out of the Temple of Life and onto the chaotic and dirty streets of Cardinia.

“So...” said Dimplethorn as they passed through the curtain of vines. “About Chaz...”

Chapter 44

Randy didn't feel right using Basil as a pack animal, but Denise had convinced him to summon his Special Mount once they'd reached land. Her motives, as usual, were selfish, but her reasoning was sound. She'd argued that Basil liked to be near Randy when he could be, and that sending him off to the Celestial Plane when he wasn't using her was neglectful parenting. She also made the compelling argument that, despite Basil's slow movement speed, they still moved faster than they would with Denise on foot, especially when they factored in frequent stops to breastfeed Fatty.

A bonus benefit of having Basil around, however, was that most folks tended to give them a wide berth. Randy wasn't sure exactly what was going on with all these people in white tunics and spears running around all over this continent, but even they tended to steer clear of a glowing white basilisk.

“Where the fuck is this place?” asked Denise. “We been walkin' for fuckin' hours!”

“You have not walked a single step, dwarf,” said Righteous. “We will arrive when we arrive. Until then, I recommend you –”

“Hush up!” said Randy. “I think I hear something up ahead.”

Righteous drew his sword. “We have come too far to meet our end so close to our goal.”

“Put that away! Whatever's just over that hill, it don't sound like a threat. It sounds like... singing?”

Randy continued cautiously toward the top of the hill until he started to recognize the rhythm of the tune.

Na na na nananana, nananana –

“What the fuck is that?” asked Denise.

“Shhh!” said Randy. “I'm trying to listen.”

“Wait a second!” Denise stood on top of Basil's back and tried to look over the hill. “I know this song. This is... Just a second, it'll come to me.” She snapped her fingers. “It's the Beach Boys!”

Righteous sighed. “I cannot stand when bandits name their gang. They are always the most obnoxious ones.” He put his hand to his sword hilt again. “We shall put an end to their reign of coastal terror.”

– nananana, nananana, hey druid...

“They ain't no gang,” insisted Randy. “Just chill out for a second. And Denise, you sit down before you hurt yourself.” He listened closely to the repeated tune as it grew nearer and nearer until it finally clicked. “That ain't The Beach Boys.” A chill went through him as he realized what he was hearing. “It's the Monkees.”

“Hot damn,” said Denise. “I reckon you're right.”

Righteous squinted at Randy and Denise. “Have either of you ever heard a monkey before?”

“You two just stay here,” said Randy. “I'm gonna go up ahead and meet them before they get freaked out by Basil.” Without waiting for an answer, Randy ran the rest of the way up the hill as fast as he could. He got there just in time to intercept a group of about a dozen white-tunicked singers walking merrily along the road at varying degrees of inebriation. They stopped singing when they spotted Randy.

“Greetings, traveler!” said a young, muscular half-elven man. “Why the hurry? Are you being pursued?”

Randy shook his head and raised a finger while he caught his breath. That hill was a lot steeper than it had seemed. “No. I just heard your singing and had to come see what that was all about.”

“Have you not heard the news? Hollin is free! We are returning to our homes in Pargos.”

Randy was a little hazy on local politics. “That's great,” he said. “We was just on our way to Hollin ourselves.”

“We?”

“My friends are just over the other side of that hill. We was looking for some other friends of ours. Last we heard, they was headed to Hollin.”

“We wish you luck finding your friends,” said the half-elf. “But I should warn you, Hollin is in a state of great chaos right now. The citizens are tearing the city apart searching for Jordan Knight so they might bring him to justice for enslaving our minds.”

Whatever the others had been up to, it sounded like they'd succeeded. Randy only hoped they were all still okay.

“Thanks for the warning. About how far is Hollin from here?”

“Not far. At a brisk pace, you should be there by nightfall.”

“Thank you. By the way, you wouldn't happen to know exactly how you all was freed from your mental –”

“Mercy of the gods!” cried a human woman as the gaiety in her eyes turned to terror. “A basilisk!”

“Shield your eyes!” shouted a man standing next to her. “Run!”

Following his lead, the whole crowd dispersed, covering their eyes and stumbling as they tried to run blindly in every direction.

Randy turned around and shot Denise and Righteous an annoyed glare as they crested the hill with Basil.

“I told y'all to wait on the other side of the hill,” he said when they got close enough for him to talk over the fleeing people's screams.

Denise shrugged. “This is a two-ton fuckin' lizard. How was we supposed to stop him?”

Randy supposed that was a fair point.

“Hollin ain't all that far from here. They said at a brisk pace, we could get there before dark. So I reckon that would put us there by sometime tomorrow morning.”

“What else did you find out?” asked Righteous.

“I was trying to see if I could learn something about our friends, but that's when everybody ran away screaming.”

As they continued traveling north, they ran into southbound groups of travelers more frequently. As soon as they recognized Basil for what he was, they all covered their eyes and ran off screaming in random directions. After the third such encounter, Randy decided that these poor people had been through enough recently, and that it was dangerous for them to be running off blindly into the wilderness. He sent Basil back to the Celestial Plane, forcing Denise and Fatty to walk.

Naturally, Denise sulked at the decision and seemed to move even more slowly than usual. Randy didn't know if she was hoping that would make Randy reconsider or if she was just being petty. Probably a little bit of both. Whatever the reason, it tacked a few more hours onto their journey.

Night was well underway by the time they got within visual range of Hollin. And even then, the only reason they could see it was because half of it seemed to be on fire. A flickering orange glow outlined the silhouette of several half-collapsed buildings, and black smoke obstructed their view of the moonlit clouds in the sky. Freedom, it seemed, had come at a cost. No doubt certain individuals had seen the recent chaotic events as opportunities to loot or settle some scores.

“Maybe we ought to wait until morning to visit Hollin,” suggested Denise.

Righteous shook his head. “We have delayed too long already. Your friends could be in grave danger as we speak.”

“I got to agree with Righteous,” said Randy. “This ain't the time to back down.”

“Fuck that,” said Denise. “This is the perfect fuckin' time to back down. You know as good as I do that our friends is either dead, captured, or got the hell out of Dodge by now. We ain't gonna find them walkin' the streets during a goddamn riot. If you want to see them again, you got to play this smart.”

“Denise, I appreciate that you got a kid to look after, but I –”

“Wait,” said Righteous. “Let the dwarf woman speak. I am curious to hear her idea of a smart strategy.”

Denise brushed her mustache hairs back from the corners of her mouth. “Thank you.” After reveling in a moment of smugness, she continued. “I think we can all agree that our chances of finding anyone we're looking for, at night, in the middle of a riot, is damn near next to nothin', right?”

Randy shrugged.

“The chances do seem slim,” said Righteous. “But what is the alternative?”

“We do it just the way we done in Mississippi whenever there was a disturbance in one of the more underprivileged neighborhoods.”

Randy sensed an insinuation he was uncomfortable with, but he let it go. “And how's that?”

“We just let those motherfuckers duke it out for themselves.”

Righteous looked understandably unsatisfied. “So you are suggesting we do nothing.”

“Not yet, anyway. What the hell is the three of us gonna do against a city full of angry rioters besides get ourselves killed? I'm simply suggesting we wait until morning when they're all tuckered out from rioting all night.”

Righteous pursed his lips in thought. “There is practical merit in the idea, but it still reeks of cowardice.”

“That's right,” said Randy. “We can't stand here while so many folks is getting hurt in there. It don't matter whether they're our friends or not.”

Denise nodded. “I thought you might say that, and I have a compromise.”

Randy stared at her doubtfully. “I'm listenin'.”

“We wait until midnight. That can't be more than an hour or two away.”

“What difference does the hour make?” asked Righteous.

“It'll be a new day,” said Denise, still looking at Randy. “That means you can summon Basil again. Ain't nothing gonna clear the streets of rioters like a big-ass glowing basilisk.”

“It pains me to say this,” said Righteous. “But I like the dwarf's idea. We can save more people by waiting an hour or two than we would if we charge in there exhausted with no plan.”

While Randy still strongly suspected selfish motives for Denise's proposal, she and Righteous presented a case that he couldn't argue against.

“Fine,” he said. “Let's get off the road and try to get a little rest while we wait.”

They went a little ways into the woods until Righteous stopped to sniff the air.

“What is it?” asked Randy.

“I smell a campfire. Someone else may be out here.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Probably not, but it is best to make contact so that neither party surprises the other.” Righteous followed his nose a little deeper into the woods until they came to the scorched remains of a campfire. All that was left was ash and a bit of charred wood.

“That fire burnt out ages ago,” said Denise. “Ain't nobody else out here.” She sat down on a stump one of the previous campers had put near the fire. “Come on over here, Fatty. My tits are about to burst out of my –”

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Randy looked up. “What was that?”

“Fuck if I know,” said Denise. “Maybe an owl?”

Righteous shook his head. “That does not sound like any owl I have ever heard.”

“Who died and made you king of the fucking orthodontists?”

“Orthodontists?”

“It's a person who studies birds,” said Denise. “Read a fuckin' book sometime.”

“Take it easy, Denise,” said Randy. “Everybody's a little testy on account of we ain't had enough –”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

Denise frowned. “Now that I hear it again, I reckon that's probably not an owl.”

“It came from this way,” said Righteous, drawing his sword as he followed the sound. He stopped when he reached a small clearing. “Look!” He walked over to a stick poking out of the ground, pulled it out, and showed it to Randy and Denise. It was hollow like bamboo and about the same length as Righteous's sword blade.

“That's nice,” said Randy, unsure of what Righteous seemed so excited about.

“You want I should throw it for you?” asked Denise. “You can run and get it, then bring it back to me.”

Righteous wagged the stick at them. “This was placed here deliberately.” He pointed it at the ground he'd pulled it out of. “See how the soil is freshly turned? I think something is buried under there.”

Denise's eyes lit up. “You mean, like, a treasure?”

“Who knows?”

“Whatever it is, it ain't ours,” said Randy.

Denise waddled over to the fresh dirt, dropped to her knees, and started digging with her bare hands. “It will be once I dig it up.”

“We was supposed to be resting.”

“You go ahead and rest. I got this.”

“You don't know what's under there,” said Randy. “It could be a dead body for all you know.”

“The whole point of burying a body out in the woods is that you don't want it to be discovered,” said Denise. “Whoever dug this left a marker, which means they aimed to come back for it at some point in the –”

The ground swelled suddenly under Denise's feet, forming a small hill about two feet high and as wide around as the inflatable swimming pool Randy used to smoke weed in during the summer when the AC was out.

“The fuck?” said Denise. “Did I just get taller? Or did the fuckin' ground just – SHIT!”

The ground collapsed just as suddenly as it had swelled. Denise's feet plunged straight into the loosened dirt.

“Most peculiar,” observed Righteous.

“Peculiar my ass!” shouted Denise. “Something just grabbed my fuckin' leg!”

Chapter 45

“You seem like a nice person. I am sorry to have to do this to you.”

Akane's words played over and over again in Katherine's mind as she slowly came out of what seemed like a dream.

When reality hit, however, it hit pretty damn hard. Katherine woke up blind, sore all over, and completely unable to move. She started panic breathing until she discovered that she was doing so through a tube someone had placed in her mouth. It tasted woody and fibrous, like a stalk of bamboo. That bitch must have jackjawed her and buried her alive. When she got herself out of here, she had some opinions for Julian about the kind of company he kept.

As terrified and claustrophobic as she felt, she reminded herself that she needed to stay calm and think about how to best proceed. As long as she could breathe, she was in no immediate danger. All she needed to do was... No, she had a lot of panic building up inside her, and she needed to let it out.

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” she said, which was as close as she could get to “FUUUUUCK!” through the bamboo shoot stuffed in her mouth.

With that out of her system, she could think more clearly. While she couldn't move any of her limbs, she found she was able to move her fingers. Scratching at the dirt immediately surrounding them, she was soon able to carve out little pockets of air so that her hands could move freely about. Unfortunately, that didn't lead to any further ability to dig.

A perfect solution suddenly popped into her head. This wasn't a problem. She could solve this easily, the same way she nearly drowned Tanner on Nazere. A Soften Earth and Stone spell would have her out of here in no time. Sadly, she realized that she was unable to cast spells without moving her arms. That was okay. Nobody gets it right the first time. All she needed to do was think of a different plan. But first, she needed another panic release.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” She couldn't wait to be able to pronounce consonants again.

As she lay there trying to think up another way out, the bamboo shoot she'd been breathing through was suddenly yanked out of her mouth. Dirt caved in the hole it left behind, and Katherine knew she was fucked with a capital fuck.

Time was now a factor, and an urgent one. Katherine compiled a list of things she could do without being able to move. It was a short list pretty much consisting only of pissing herself and turning into an animal. The latter seemed infinitely more useful.

But what animal could she turn into? Some sort of burrowing animal would be best, but she hadn't handled any gophers.

She could turn into a wolf. Wolves could dig. In fact, if she took her wolf form, she could get Butterbean and Dave in on the action. Then again, if it didn't work, they'd all just be crammed in there together using up their limited oxygen three times as quickly.

Then she thought about things from a different angle. She could turn into a shark. A big-ass shark would really open up some space, allowing her to move her arms when she turned back into a half-elf. After that, she could cast her Soften Earth and Stone spell and swim up through the mud.

Perhaps not foolproof, but it was the best plan she was going to come up with in the short time she had to live without being able to breathe.

If she thought being buried alive as a half-elf was unpleasant, being buried alive as a shark was so much worse. She quickly took her half-elven form again and was delighted to be able to sit up. Then the dirt caved in on her again, causing her to be significantly less delighted.

Dirt wasn't the only thing that caved in on Katherine, though. Something pressed down hard on her hand. It was painful, like someone was stepping on her. Maybe someone was!

With all the strength she could muster, she forced her arm through the loosened dirt and grabbed what she hoped was an ankle.

“Peculiar my ass!” shouted a faint but familiar voice from above. “Something just grabbed my fuckin' leg!”

Katherine held on even tighter until she was finally pulled free of her shallow grave. Gulping in as much fresh air as her lungs could hold, she took stock of her accidental rescuers. The two hillbillies they'd picked up in Mississippi had apparently formed an unlikely alliance with Captain Righteous.

“Katherine?” said Captain Righteous.

“What the hell are you guys doing here?” she responded.

“We was lookin' for you,” said Randy. “And your friends. Is anybody else buried under there?”

Katherine shrugged. “Julian's girlfriend knocked me unconscious and buried me alive.”

“Stacy?”

“No, some local girl. I'm not sure what her deal is. I think she's a hooker.”

“Why did she bury you?” asked Captain Righteous. “Was she perhaps... jealous of a relationship forming between you and Julian?”

“I don't know why she would be. I haven't even seen Julian in forever. But who knows? She could have killed me, and she apologized before putting me in a chokehold, like knocking me out was just some unfortunate means to an end. Whatever she's after, I don't think it has anything to do with me.”

“Maybe she's queer like Randy,” suggested Denise. “Do you feel like you might have had a fist up your cooch while you was sleeping?”

“Denise!” said Randy.

“What? I was just trying to keep an open mind toward your people.” There was something about Denise, like unpleasantness was a competitive sport that she was constantly training for. As if her words weren't off-putting enough, she was standing next to some horrifying black insect-human hybrid creature.

“No,” said Katherine. “I don't feel like there was a fist up my cooch while I was sleeping. What's with the big cockroach?”

Denise gasped. “How dare you refer to my baby that way!”

“That's Fatty,” said Randy. “We was out in the desert, and a scorpion woman put an egg up Denise's...”

“Cooch?”

Randy nodded.

“That reminds me. I should probably set my little dependents loose.” Katherine turned into a wolf, dropped her Bag of Holding, then turned back into a half-elf. She reached into the bag. “Butterbean and Dave.”

Captain Righteous stepped back as a wolf and a sheepdog spilled out of her bag. “How did –”

Dave barked loudly, then took off running.

“Shit!” said Katherine. “Help me catch him!” She ran after Dave, barely able to see where she was going in the moonlight. The chase went on for about five minutes before Katherine lost sight of the stupid dog.

“Wait for us,” said Randy when he and Captain Righteous caught up to her. “You don't know what's in these woods. We don't want nobody to get lost again.”

“Tony the Elf is going to kill me if I lose his dog,” said Katherine. “She knelt down next to Butterbean. “Listen. I need you to find Dave. I know you don't really like him, but we need to get to him before –”

“Katherine?” shouted someone from a distance.

Katherine looked up, but there were too many trees between her and whoever had called her name.

“It came from that way,” said Righteous, pointing out into the dark wilderness. He drew his sword. “It could be a trap.”

“I don't think so,” said Katherine, recognizing Tanner's voice now that she played it back in her head.

At Captain Righteous's insistence, they moved quietly and slowly toward the voices that continued to call Katherine's name. As they crested the top of a small hill, she spotted a campfire next to a creek. Tony the Elf was crouched down next to it hugging Dave the dog. Tanner, Julian, Chaz, and Jay were standing just outside of the firelight, peering in every direction but hers.

“Hey guys!” she said. “Up here.”

“Katherine?” said Chaz as he and the others ran up to meet her. “Where the hell have you been?”

“In a goddamn hole in the ground. Julian's friend knocked me out and buried me alive.”

“We figured it must have been something like that. She disguised herself as you until we found Julian and she cut his arm off.”

Katherine looked at Julian, who appeared to have both of his arms. “Do elves grow back severed limbs?”

“She didn't cut my arm off.” Julian pointed to a tied up, one-armed, sleeping figure who appeared to have been hastily painted black. “Mordred disguised himself as me. Akane cut his arm off.”

“That's Mordred?”

Julian nodded. “One of them.”

“Why's he painted black?”

“So he wouldn't be recognized when we smuggled him out of town. It was Jay's idea.”

Katherine smiled at Jay. “Was it, now?”

“Don't look at me like that,” said Jay. “This isn't even the same thing.”

“Now that I see it from the other side, I understand why it sounded so ridiculous. That's not convincing at all.”

“Well, it worked,” said Julian. “We've got ourselves another Mordred.” He frowned down at the black painted man. “Most of one, anyway.”

“And a die?” asked Katherine.

“Akane took it,” said Chaz. “When she ate Mordred's arm.”

Katherine sighed. “I guess she took my sword, too?”

Chaz looked briefly at the ground near Katherine, as if the magic sword she'd stolen twice off Captain Logan was a pen she might have accidentally dropped. “It would appear so.”

“Nope. That shit's not going to fly.” She turned sharply to Julian. “You know where this dragon chick lives?”

“Yes,” said Julian. “But I don't recommend visiting. She's not exactly the forgiving sort.” He gestured to the one-armed man sleeping on the ground again, presumably to make sure Katherine hadn't missed him the first time.

“Neither am I,” she said. “At least, not anymore. I'm done with people stealing my shit. I'm going over there, and I'm going to get my die and my sword back.”

“Are you planning to swim?” asked Julian. “As far as I know, the only way to get there is by sea.”

“That's fine. Because before I do any of that, I'm taking back my fucking boat.”

Chapter 46

Chaz climbed to the top of the fountain before any of the Hollinite sheep even bothered to lift their mindless heads. Mordred had certainly done a number on them, but he'd spread his magic too thin. Any halfway-decent performance from a moderately competent bard would snap them out of his control. It was shocking that he'd been as successful as he had been until now.

From this far away, it was impossible to hear what Chaz was singing, but it spread through the crowd like wildfire. There must have been some easy-to-sing-along chorus involved, because Knights of Jordan were starting to lose their shit far beyond the reach of Chaz's voice alone. Good for him. None of that would matter if Mordred was successful doing his part.

And there he was, right on cue. Between his high Charisma score and the Hat of Disguise, there shouldn't be any reason for anyone to suspect he wasn't actually Julian. A quick bit of banter followed by a Suggestion spell should have that die in his hands in no time.

“If I miss my bingo, people are going to start asking questions.”

Tim lowered his binoculars, sighed, then turned around. “Believe me, Margaret. Nobody wants you to miss your bingo. But first, we need to take care of a little business.”

The pudgy old woman struggled in vain against the thick hemp rope that held her securely to her chair, then squinted at him through glasses thick enough to read the date off a nickel on the surface of Mars. “There ain't many midgets like you in Biloxi. When I get back, I'll give the police a full description. I've been complimented on my attention to detail.”

“You don't threaten your captor, Margaret.” Tim pulled back his vest to show off his most recent handgun acquisition tucked into the front of his pants. “That's not how this works.”

Margaret scoffed. “You think I'm afraid of you? Ha! Do you realize how many blacks have moved into my neighborhood over the past twenty years?”

Tim winced. “That's not really –”

“I ain't afraid of them neither. They walk by my front porch with their pants down around their knees, and I let them have it. 'Pull up your damn pants!' I say, and they do it. What does it say about you that you don't have the same respect for your elders as a bunch of negro kids?”

“Jesus Christ, Margaret!”

“Don't you take the Lord's name in vain in front of me, you little bastard. You're already in enough hot water with Him.”

“Just be quiet for a few minutes, or else I'm putting the socks back in your –”

The red-robed halfling tied to the chair next to Margaret's suddenly came awake with a gasp.

“Mordred!” said Tim. “What the hell are you doing here? You're supposed to be –”

“Your sister cut my arm off!”

“What?” Tim whirled around and raised his binoculars again. Sure enough, Katherine was standing there with a sword in front of Mordred, who was lying unconscious on the ground, still disguised as Julian except for his missing right arm. “Did she make you?”

“I don't know. I can't think of how she –”

“Shit!” said Tim as a gang of drow revealed themselves to Katherine and the others. “Some drow just showed up. Get back in there and do something.”

“What am I supposed to do? I'm a one-armed bard!”

Katherine took direct hits from at least half a dozen crossbow bolts but didn't look any more fazed than if she'd just been hit with a bunch of Nerf darts. Something was going on, and Tim didn't like the smell of it.

He pulled out his gun and pointed it at Margaret's head. “What the fuck is going on, Mordred?”

“I had nothing to do with this! I swear to God!”

Tim looked through his binoculars again, surprised to see a silvery green dragon sitting where Katherine had been last time he looked. It blasted the drow with lightning breath until they were smoldering stains on the street, then ate Mordred's arm and flew away.

“What the fuck was that?”

“There's no reason to use that kind of language,” said Margaret. “It's all that rap music. Have you heard those lyrics?”

“Mordred,” said Tim. “Can you please shut her up? I'm trying to –”

“They're all fuck this and bitch that. And then they get all bent out of shape when white people use the word nig–”

“Ma!” said Mordred. “Shut up!”

“Who do you think you're talking to, shorty?”

“It's me, Ma. It's Mikey.”

Tim looked up from his binoculars. “Your real name is Mikey?”

“My boy may be a lot of things,” said Margaret. “But he's no midget.”

Mordred turned to face Tim. “She's never going to believe me as long as I look like this.”

“Fine.” Tim picked up his other Hat of Disguise and placed it on Mordred's head. Mordred winced with pain as the rope held firm while he grew to human size. He was dressed exactly as he had been the night Tim had first met him, complete with his stupid hat and purple velvet cloak.

“You see, Ma? It's me.”

Margaret gasped. “Michael Beverly Wallace!”

Tim snorted. “Beverly?”

“I told you not to meet people on the computer,” said Margaret. “What kind of weird sex thing have you gotten us into?”

“It's not a sex thing! We're in –”

“And how did you turn into a midget? Is that a camera trick? Are we in the pictures now? Oh, God! We're in a porno, ain't we?”

“Would you shut up for a second?” cried Mordred. “We're not in a porno! This is real. We're in a magical world of my own creation.”

Margaret's face fell like this was so much more devastating than a few seconds ago when she thought he'd roped her into a mother-son porn video.

“It's the Critters and Creatures.”

“Caverns & Creatures,” Mordred corrected her.

“Didn't I tell you this would happen?” asked Margaret. “What did I say? I said, 'Stay away from the Critters and Creatures.' I saw it on Dateline. It drives kids to suicide, Satanism, turns them into queers.”

“It's done none of that!”

“Oh no? Look at you! What kind of straight boy goes around dressed like that? You look like you do magic shows on one of them gay cruises. Can I get a member of the audience to assist me? Let me wrap my purple cape around you and I'll make your pecker disappear down my throat.”

“Jesus, Ma! It–” Mordred suddenly slumped, unconscious.

Margaret frowned at her son. “What happened to him?”

“He's just taking a nap,” said Tim. “He'll wake up in a minute.” He went back over to the balcony and peered through his binoculars.

The dragon was gone, real Julian had escaped and found the others, and Mordred's bard form had been exposed. Chaz was interrogating him.

“Michael's poor father went to his grave believing Michael was a homo,” Margaret confided in Tim.

“That's not the worst thing in the world,” said Tim. “But if it was such a big concern, maybe you shouldn't have named him Beverly.”

“That was my mother's name.”

“It's lovely.” Tim didn't know what else to say. He didn't care much about Mordred's family history, but he was enjoying digging up embarrassing shit on him. “Was Michael a bed wetter?”

Margaret laughed. “Some days I thought God was testing me. I had half a mind to build an ark. But when he figured out how to diddle himself, you wouldn't believe the state of his sheets. Who knows what he was thinking about? Probably elves and midgets and –”

Mordred woke up again. “They're trying to break me. You've got to intervene!”

“No fucking way,” said Tim. “If you tell them about me, I will splatter the walls with your mom's brains.”

“Do it,” said Margaret. “What hope do I have for a grandchild when my homo son spends his whole life playing Critters and Creatures?”

Mordred scowled at her. “I am –” His head tilted over as he went unconscious again.

“I don't know a lot about parenting,” said Tim as he returned to the balcony to look through his binoculars again. “But you seem pretty shitty at it.”

“Oh, like your parents did such a great job. Look at you, a midget kidnapping an old woman to sacrifice to Satan.”

Tim considered arguing with her, but his life before this was nothing to brag about. Instead, he ignored her as he focused on what was happening outside. It was difficult to make out exactly what was going on since everyone had crowded in so close together.

Mordred came awake again with a gasp.

Tim turned around. “Did you tell them anything?”

Mordred shook his head. “Nothing. Not even under threat of having my arm stump-raped.”

“What?”

“Your bard friend has some issues.”

Tim continued watching the street as his friends painted Mordred's face black and propped him up like a drunk before escorting him toward the city gate. He'd come so close, but ultimately, his plan had been a bust.

What the hell was going on with Katherine? As far as he knew, dragons were outside the shapeshifting ability of druids. And even if she was somehow able to see through Mordred's Julian disguise, it wasn't like her to cut someone's arm off. The only possibility left was that a dragon had infiltrated the group and made off with the die. Had it sensed its magical power? Did it know how to use it? Where did it go? And where the hell was Katherine?

“It's starting to get a little chaotic out there,” said Tim as he watched gangs of rioters storming into buildings in search of Jordan Knight. “We should probably bounce. Are you guys hungry?”

Mordred shrugged. “I could eat.”

“What a surprise,” said Margaret. “You're never going to find the right man until you lose some of that weight.”

“As a heterosexual, I'm not interested in finding the right man, Ma.”

“Tacos?” said Tim, then nodded. “Yeah, tacos sound good.” He pulled out the extra-large Bag of Holding he'd had custom made for bagging people tied to chairs.

“We had tacos yesterday,” Mordred complained.

“And they were fucking delicious. If you didn't want tacos, you should have thought about that before you imprisoned me and my friends in your C&C game, Beverly.”

Tim pulled the bag down over Mordred's head before he could respond. After Margaret was bagged as well, he teleported to the house he'd rented outside of Vegas to lock them in the basement and pick up his spare pair of Boots of Teleportation. He was hungry, and he had a lot of thinking to do.

The End

Get Multiple Orc Chasms for FREE when you

subscribe to my newsletter!

CLICK HERE TO SEE THE REST OF THE C&C COLLECTION.

For updates on what I’m currently working on, reviews, or just to come by and say hello, you can find me here on Facebook, and here at

www.caverns-and-creatures.com.

Thank you, No Hyun Jun, for your fantastic cover art.

Thank you, Joan Reginaldo, for continuing to read through my dreadful first drafts.

Thank you, No Young Sook, for your love and support.

If you enjoyed this story, please leave a review. It would mean so much to me.