

### Ranger of Path:

### Book One of _Lords Under The Eye_

### By Jorden Leonard

Copyright 2018 Jorden Leonard

All Rights Reserved.

Smashwords Edition

nedroj.net

### Table of Contents

Lute's mortal hosts **, some terms, and mystic skills.**

Prologue

Chapters:

1. A Simple Mission

2. Peach Tribe

3. Not Broken

4. Hunting or Hunted

5. Judicial Sunset

6. Slaving Away

7. Hospitium

8. A Bumpkin Dinner

9. A Fool's Tools

10. Hero of Action

11. An Afternoon

12. Second Chance

13. Getting a Head

14. Little People

15. Deep Roots

16. No Bodies

17. Falling Down

18. Waygreen Village

19. Family Wish

20. Inkwell Lovesick

21. Desire

22. Unrequited

23. A Broken Wish

24. Broken Log

25. Accidental Harem

26. One Good Eye

27. Ruins

28. Reset

29. On a Path

30. Stutter On

31. Obsidian Mothers

32. Mulish

33. Handy Pass

34. Dry

35. Karma, Please Stop Pun-Ishkuring Me

36. Deal

37. Lost and Found

38. Bumpkin Princess

39. A New Mission

40. Boom Boom

41. An Honest Betrayal

42. Platoon Run

43. Waygreen Welcome

44. Juggernaut's Home

45. A New Rule

46. A Foolish Plan

47. Pit Stop

48. Brutality Wins

49. Gardener is Love, Gardener is Life

50. Ishkur Longspear's Tricky Limerick

51. A Pyrrhic Victory

52. A Finished Flight

53. Brother From Another Mother

54. Epilogue

Appendix

Ongoing Works

Connect With Me

About Jorden Leonard

### Lords Under The Eye Series

Mortal Hosts for the Founding Demigods of LUTE:

Ishkur; half-elf, scout, and **ranger** for Lord Icarus **Path** of Green.

Hildr; human, advocate, and valkyrie for Lady Darla Desire of Red.

Haden; orcelf, assassin, and champion for Lady Uostai Play of Black.

Krieg; human, general, and seeker for Lord Blitz Truth of Blue.

Goldstone; olympikin, scholar, and paladin for Lord Talom Mourning of White.

### Five Terms:

Demigod; the spirit of a worshiped word possessing at least one mortal host.

Hospitium; a commitment between a host and guest after food is accepted.

Overgod; the overlord of one of the five color-coded alignments.

Verdant; a vibrant color of green and the crusade to honor Overgod Gardener.

Yule; the measure of five thousand feet.

### Mystic Skills of Green:

Healing; to enhance regeneration. An outer skill.

Strength; to be faster, stronger, and tougher. An inner skill.

Nature; to bond with life. The prime skill.

Creation; to stimulate growth. An inner skill.

Aura; to see the hues of souls. An outer skill.

0. Prologue

A boy is caught pulling the legs off a cricket.

"Don't do that. How do you think it feels?"

The boy chews on his lip and says, "Unhoppy?"

—Ishkur Inshushinak Ishtaran

A squirrel pokes its head out of a hole in an old fir tree. On a moss covered rock below, a man little bigger than it trills and waves an acorn with a right arm that's shorter than his other by a third.

With greenish skin and limbs thin as twigs, he is a brownie, a fae friend of the forest and no danger. The squirrel scurries down and snatches the nut.

The brownie smiles and trills a bird's song as he lies on the moss.

A hint of smoke stings the squirrel's nose, and it rears up with whiskers twitching. The acorn falls, and the tiny animal bounds away, chittering a warning.

Fire.

Stunted arm pressed against his chest, the brownie cartwheels off the rock and tumbles to a cobbled stone path that leads to his tribe's habitat. Once a road, it was built by humans an age ago, but has been overgrown, hidden by nature and the efforts of his tribe.

He stumbles and rolls and runs. Everything and everyone he knows can burn. His thimble-sized heart beats fast as a hummingbird's wings and air pumps through his lungs in a constant stream. Fire is a brownie's worst enemy.

Smoke thickens ahead where his ancestors live on in the form of a grove of trees. They provide shelter for his people, and their auras have comforted his soul since birth.

He cocks his head as distant trills scream out. Fellow brownies in pain.

A figure aflame walks out of the smoke. Naked, with the hips and breasts of a human female, she glows like heated metal with hair that dances within a pillar of fire.

The brownie shivers and crawls forward. The woman roars, and a shimmering wave of red energy bursts out from her, moving fast as arrows in every direction. It hits him and flows on. He shakes and tumbles away from the elemental beauty and his smoldering home.

Distance eases the mystic fear tinting his aura, and he punches himself with his stunted arm and cries sappy tears. It was his duty to watch the old path as it connects to a human town only a few days away. His queen had even warned a danger was coming.

At an oak tree, he climbs to a tangle of grass, twigs, and leaves. Tufts of gray fur decorate an entrance to the empty squirrel's nest. He trills an apology for the invasion and wiggles inside.

Curled into a ball, the brownie tries to trill a song but can only cough and caw like a crow. He has failed his people. His stunted arm twitches, and he forms a fist.

In the language of humans, he says, "Avenge to make amends."

Whoever brought fire to his home must pay.

1. A Simple Mission

Pay in advance for this game

Bathe both before and after

Don't you dare forget my name

Or you won't survive this whore

—Hildr Vas Trumurne

All griffins shit logs. Long, thick, and adhesive. When launched mid-flight, the spears of excrement generally hold together until impact.

Ishkur, a disgraced ranger, cleans an aviary for the beasts at the top of a speckled granite tower. Built by the hands of giants, it straddles a deep crack in the land. Plowed fields cover one side of the narrow canyon, and a verdant forest covers the other. His mother was human and his father an elf, so this spot between worked and wild land suits him, even if the humble job does not.

The tall aviary serves a town that's half alive. Stretched along the farmed side is a hive of people. They fill the stone structures and wooden extensions along a well-worn dirt road that curves away from dusty bridges.

Ishkur pauses at a window overlooking the long abandoned half of town, which is being excavated for treasure and expansion. He narrows his green eyes as axes chop trees that have spent centuries stretching limbs from granite ruins. He spoils his laugh lines with a frown as orange flags are planted to mark a wide cobblestone path of a past age and turns back to his chore.

Spinning a dung rake like a polearm, he rolls the last of the arm-length droppings into a chute. _Forgive the splatter._ He tosses the rake and picks up a mop and bucket. _If I clean up the mess._

The trim half-elf whistles with pinch-nosed cheer while wiping the aviary floor, a children's song about marching ants his mother taught him to get through chores.

"Good morning!" Covered in a dark wool robe, a rosy-cheeked old man enters from a side door, shaking a paper bag. "I've got your favorite."

Ishkur empties the putrid wash bucket and wipes his hands. "You don't have to keep bringing me treats. This is my penance."

"Freshly sealed with the power of my workshop." The old man holds open the bag while Ishkur pokes around inside. "Guaranteed to stay fresh for a year."

Ishkur pulls out a palm-sized bar of something in metallic packaging. "Let me pay your costs at least."

"Don't embarrass me. The gift is given. Accept it as you would hospitium."

"Thank you, Apple."

The man's cheeks flush as bright as the fruit he's nicknamed after. "One bar a day, no more, or the sweetness will spoil your stomach."

Wind gusts in from the open roof, stirring straw.

Ishkur moves to oil a hanging saddle and bridle, custom made for a huge mount that's like the front of an eagle fused with the hind of a lion. The mystically-tamed monster is the fastest way through rough land, and Ishkur takes care of what takes care of him.

"I'll eat them after I'm allowed adventuring again. Your treats are the perfect supplement."

Apple sighs. "Last batch of the peach ones. Couldn't bear to sell them at market."

"Why?"

The old man frowns. "Only one tree grew peaches around here."

_The brownie tribe's tree._ "Don't brownie queens become fruit trees when they're done reincarnating?"

"Sure, the tree was Queen Saugrin's grandmother."

"Oh." Ishkur picks at his ear tips. "Have you heard from their tribe?"

"No." Apple snorts. "I did get pelted by their tiny sling bullets the day after your lover's lady torched their habitat, but I haven't heard a brownie's trill in weeks."

"But you warned them. How can Saugrin be mad at you?"

"I serve at the pleasure of your band." Apple bows, the wild white nest of his hair flopping. "Anything a lord or lady of Lute does shades us all."

Ishkur grabs the mop and bops the man's head with its shaft.

Batting the stick away, Apple snorts like a drowning hog. "You fae-brat."

"You old fart."

"And they smell like my pie bars." The old man tucks his hand in his armpit and flaps like a chicken until the sweat and pressure starts a squeaking.

Ishkur chuckles and rubs his nose. "So, I'm stuck here mucking about because I took all the blame for the warning you gave. Maybe I should have told my lord the truth. If you'd been kicked out of the band, at least the brownies would have taken you in." He points a finger down. "If I summon Lord Icarus, would you confess?"

Apple gulps. "It's taken me years to earn this post, my own place of power with the Lords Under The Eye's protection." He pats a stringed instrument painted on the granite wall, the symbol and acronym of their adventuring band. "What am I if your lord takes it away? Should I run down that ancient route, following the brownie tribe? If the little twig men did forgive me, they don't need a shaman with half the skill of their queen."

"I'm sure Lord Icarus won't get rid of you." Ishkur taps the painted lute with the mop's handle. "Half a brownie queen or not, you're still the best shaman Lute has."

More than a dozen silhouettes of the stringed instrument are stamped, woven, or molded around the large room. _Judging and reminding._

Ishkur says, "How could you have known Verdant druids would come to the brownies' defense?" He grips Apple's shoulder. "It's time my demigod learned I didn't completely betray his trust, but we don't have to tell anyone else, not even Hildr."

"Your woman will forgive _you_ , but I don't have your soft green eyes or fine auburn hair." The old man chuckles. "I'd give up casting, if I could claim your fae charm."

"I can readily tease sighs out of women." Ishkur pulls his hair back, uncovering ears pointed like a cat. "Until they notice these."

"Bah." Apple shrugs. "Humans can be as tribal as elves. It's tough for any stranger to get accepted, but once you're in, you're like family."

"Well, you _are_ a part of our Lute family. Hildr would forgive you for warning the brownies."

"Aye, you're right. She may forgive, but her red lady will roast me quick as she burned out that brownie tribe." Apple gets on his knees. "Regardless, I trust your _green_ lord's discretion." He clasps his hands together. "Go ahead. Call him."

Ishkur chuckles. "Such a deferential pose for the aviary master. Can I get you a bowl for alms?"

"Don't mock my reverence." He swats at Ishkur but misses. "I love you like a son, but you are a vexing holy vessel."

"I thought that was my charm."

Crossing his legs and whipping his hands about, Ishkur bows like a royal dignitary. Apple cackles and mimics the hand gestures with more flair.

Ishkur pinches his fingers together. "Lord, I request your possession."

"Wait, wait." The old man grunts, settling again with hands clasped and head bowed.

After a few toe taps, Ishkur shrugs and grabs the mop. "I guess my lord's busy—"

Everything blurs.

Ishkur smiles as his mind falls into a mental mirror that envelops him like a pool of murky water.

But it's dry.

Ishkur licks his lips as the aviary comes back into focus. "Well, that was short."

The old man stands and clears his throat. "Check your pocket. He filled a page faster than I could pee."

Ishkur pats the breast pocket of his padded linen tunic, pulling out a folded paper that wasn't there before. The silhouette of a lute fills a corner on the page, and he traces writing neater, and more precise, than his own.

I'm off probation.

He grins, summoning his demigod's attention with a ritualistic finger poke and pinch. "Thank you, Lord, for writing a proper mission of redemption. I'll stay on path and resist heroics."

"Smart to stay realistic and not swear off foolishness." Apple coughs. "Did Lord Icarus mention me?"

"Your workshop is safe. The aviary remains your responsibility."

"I hope you appreciate having the demigod you do. Imagine if you had Hildr's."

Ishkur laughs with a lilting voice that trails off-key as a breeze teases a familiar perfume out of the room's beastly odors.

A woman with waist-length orange hair enters.

"Speaking of your she-devil..." Apple bows and holds up his paper bag. "Hello, Hildr. Would you like a treat?"

She waltzes by, smacking aside the bag and snagging the mop from Ishkur. "I _am_ the treat." Formal attire of red silk and gold lace hugs a body built to heat hearts, and her rhythmic motion with the handle jiggles parts.

Apple whistles and clears his throat. "This is my cue. I've got some workshop work to do." He salutes Ishkur. "Keep your rhymes quick and your prose clean."

Ishkur salutes back. "Keep your mind slow and your fat lean."

Apple snorts and tosses his bag of packaged treats onto a pile of gear. "Remember, no more than—"

"One a day. I got it."

The old man steps out as Hildr dips the mop into a fresh bucket.

"My mama taught me to find pleasure in my work." She slaps the floor with the dripping mop head. "Are you enjoying this penance, Ishy?"

"Sure." He taps his pointed ear. "I don't mind cleaning up after fellow hybrids."

Hildr glides and strokes, presses and twists. Drudgery is transformed into a dance. From the arch of her back to the parting of her lips, she stirs the human in him like no one else can.

He gulps, blushing a harlequin shade of green. "This new direction our band's taking... I wasn't prepared for the ruthlessness."

She pouts and twists the mop until fouled water dribbles. "Lady Darla's given me a new mission."

"Oh." _Nice evasion._ "Lord Icarus just gave me a new one, too."

"Your lord is a very forgiving demigod."

"And your lady's spiteful and jealous." He spreads his arms, stepping to her.

"Aye." Amber eyes narrowing, Hildr pushes him backwards. "Vengeful, too." She reaches into her cleavage and pulls out a roll of paper. "I am to abandon you and fulfill the desires of another."

His face pales. "What... like a whore?"

"You betrayed us and almost got me killed." She taps a lute stamp on her roll. "I still don't think you're sorry."

_Maybe because I only told Apple._ "My intentions were pure and the consequences unintended." _He's the one that ran off to warn the brownies._ Ishkur forces a smile. "Back to Lady Darla's fresh assignment for you—"

"Sex." She raises an eyebrow. "I plan on enjoying it."

He bites his knuckle. "We've gallivanted like heroes. For years, protecting and avenging without you needing to resort to..."

"Making sweet love with someone because my godly ghost took over and—and wrote a name with a lot of dirty verbs all around it?"

Ishkur kicks some wet straw. "Songs are sung about the Lords Under The Eye, and these recent shifts in focus taint our burgeoning legend."

"We've never been heroes, just hosts for demigods who dabbled in heroics." She shrugs. "They've the immortal nature and mystic mastery to be the only true lords and ladies under the pantheon. You embrace their will or get discarded." She straightens and walks to the door. "My mother also trained me to be hospitable, so I expect the full century of youth and beauty while in Lady Darla Desire's service."

"With my fae-blood, it took my mother's lifetime to get me to adolescence." He coughs and says in a deeper voice, "A hundred more years of baby-face isn't what appealed to me."

"Oh right, you accepted your lord to become famous and adored." She rubs her rounded ears. "All because some village bumpkins scorned you for being a mutt."

"Maybe."

"Good luck dying a hero." She flips her hair back. "When my time's up, I'll kill myself while still perfect as a cherry blossom."

_Humor usually charms her._ "I wish you'd stick around and get plump." He clears his throat and says with the hint of a grin, "Cherries taste sweeter with a pit in the middle, rather than petals all around."

She snorts. "Ever the awkward jester. I don't have to pretend to like you anymore, but I still kind of do."

"Wait... kind of do like me or kind of pretend to?" He creases his brow. "I wasn't a mission, was I?"

"Poor disabled heart." Hildr pats his chest. "If you couldn't tell whether I really liked you, does it matter if I did?"

_Yes._ "My new mission is to survey the rest of the old trade route, all the way to the ruins of Sarvern." He crosses his arms. "A fresh chance from Lord Icarus to further Lute's interests, and I'm going to embrace it."

She mimics his crossed arms. "Really?"

"Yeah." Ishkur smiles. "I'm even picking up Haden at a hamlet two-thirds of the way."

"Lovely. Some quality time with your best friend." Hildr licks her thumbs and smooths her eyebrows. "But, Haden's going to wonder. You betrayed me, your lover. How can he trust you? How can anyone?"

He cringes. "My betrayal, it... I was drunk, and I was here with Apple." He chews his lip. _She'll forgive the old coot, but Lady Darla might kill him._ "He tried to talk me out of it." _Keeping the lie alive for you, old man._ "I'm sorry. I should have listened to him."

"I wish so." She sighs. "And Haden? Come on, Ishy. Our band brother's an orcelf assassin with an insane demigoddess feeding him notes. How easy would her words convince him that you'll sic the Verdant Crusade on him next? Like as not, Lord Icarus will have to find a new host because you _accidentally_ slip off your griffin."

"With my armor, I'd survive the fall, but I won't survive ostracized." _Forest and trees, nothing but animals speaking._ Ishkur picks at the tips of his ears. _Every chirp and growl becoming poetry as my mother's madness seeps into me._ "Please, trust that I'll never risk losing all of you again. Lute's my only fam—"

Splat.

The severed tail of a massive fish twitches next to Ishkur's foot. He hops back as a whoosh lifts his hair, heralding the arrival of a griffin with golden fur and cream-colored feathers. The wagon-sized beast slurps up the fish tail as its wide wings fold, and it curls into a straw nest with a screeching growl.

Chores, done.

2. Peach Tribe

Better to bow than be beaten down

Better to kiss a ring than be hung

But then when getting old, fat, and round

Don't envy the freedom of the young

Instead, prepare to be forgotten

With an epitaph about caution

—Seedwick "Apple" Morehunt

Ishkur sneezes and covers his face as loose feathers, fur, and hay swirl and settle across the aviary. _Adventure time._

"Peggy!" Hildr rushes with a giddy skip to the huge griffin. "Hello dear, did you catch a nice catfish?"

The beast squawks, coughing up an arm's length of fish spine. Ishkur curls his lip.

"Ah." Hildr chuckles, making her orange hair dance. "Poor Ishy will have to clean that up."

Ishkur pats the note sticking out of his breast pocket. "Peggy's arrival marks the end of such lowly duties."

He steps to a pile of gear packed into a corner. Piece by piece, he pulls out a silver suit of full plate. _My Exquisite armor._ Each piece is formed and detailed with a sculptor's love without betraying function.

As long as he keeps in shape, mystic craftsmanship allows for strapless wear. _My second skin._ Ishkur slips into the custom-fitted suit with a speed and ease impossible for mundane armor.

"Oh." Hildr pulls a piece of rancid meat out of a saddle bag, waving it in front of Peggy's beak. "Fly steady for my heroic fool."

He flexes gauntleted hands. _Lover no more, but I'm still Hildr's fool._

Off-white wings tight to body, the griffin bobs her head and snatches the treat with a snake's speed.

Hildr smiles. "Maybe you can get Peggy to shit on our loggers along the way. Might alleviate your pent up alignment impulses."

"Gardener is the overgod of tamed and untamed nature, and my lord demigod navigates the space between." Ishkur grunts, working pulleys to lift his saddle onto the griffin. "I accept development and respect men doing honest labor for us. Only the radical Verdants can't see that."

"Like your mother?"

Ishkur flinches and slips on a helmet with a green-tinted lens filling the visor. It fuses to his breastplate with a slight hiss. _Safe._

"If Lord Icarus never chose me, maybe I would be a Verdant." He straps a polearm and a backpack to the saddle and climbs onto the griffin. "But a pragmatic one."

"Ishy." She rolls her eyes. "You _would_ be the holy war's only pragmatic crusader."

"Maybe." He adjusts his seat. "Now, who did Lady Darla assign you to pleasure?"

Hildr flutters her lashes. "Well, there's this tall gentleman with golden locks that's almost as handsome as he thinks he is."

"Goldstone."

She nods, tracing a thin scar that crosses her chin.

He clenches his teeth. "Haden might kill me, but he'd never call me 'mutt.' "

"Hold a moment." Hildr narrows her eyes, stepping closer. "Take off your helmet."

"Is Goldie waiting for you outside?"

"Don't do something stupid. Think of what Apple would say."

"Goldstone compared Apple's pie bars to sweetened manure." Ishkur grins wide within his helmet. "Stay up here while I circle around. I've got a pragmatic impulse to release something pent up."

"Do you even know what pragmatic means?"

Ishkur clucks with his tongue and tugs on the reins. The giant of claws and talons chirps, carrying him across the aviary.

"It means you should tell our handsome bandmate, 'Lord Icarus possessed poor Ishy!' "

With an armored heel kick, Ishkur smacks a wall switch. There's a rumble, and the whole side of the room rattles open like a colossal maw perched over a ravine.

It's a proper precipice—a sheer drop to a river raging with winter's melt. The griffin spreads wings wide as a town's double-lane street and leaps off the edge.

Straps of leather hold Ishkur's legs tight against ribs where feathers fade into fur as they dive. His gauntlets stick to the reins with mystic enhancement while his helmet dampens the raging wind. The beast pulls up low enough to tear petals off early spring blossoms. Ishkur is pressed hard against her spine until she evens into a steady rise out of the canyon and over the split settlement.

Where are you, Goldstone?

He steers using leans and heels as much as reins until the town below spins. "You see him, Peggy? Look for white armor with gold trim." Several bridges arch over the crevasse to connect the halves of the settlement. "There he is!" He tugs her into a dive towards a pearl white figure on the largest bridge.

_You pompous paladin._ The tall man's back is as well-armored as Ishkur's, but his long blond hair blows freely in the wind. _Should have worn your helmet._

The griffin hunches and stiffens as the man turns with a greatsword in hand.

"Heads up!" Ishkur leans as a log drops.

"Ishy?" Goldstone slices it, but that doesn't stop the splatter. "You, mutt!"

Ishkur shakes his fist. "Not your woman!"

He straightens Peggy out and makes her rise to a cruising altitude. _Not mine anymore either._ Ishkur sighs. _They probably deserve each other._

Letting the reins fall, he unrolls a map backed with boards to keep it stiff. An orange dot blinks where they are, Lotus Hollow. A piece of chewed gum sticks where Haden should be, a hand span away. _Hold on a few more days, my friend, and I'll rescue you from those country bumpkins._

He steers until they've lined up with the orange flags that mark the overgrown trade route's beginning. The land is a checkerboard of mud and old growth. Lumber demand is revitalizing Lotus Hollow, and the Lute adventuring band is taking over the town's booming business.

Forgive me, Mother. If I don't embrace their ambition, I'll be abandoned.

He jabs down with an armored finger and then pinches, miming planting in the air. His mother taught him the simple gesture before he could walk, a prayer to Gardener, the overgod of Green, and also a summoning. For her it was the first step to any of her druidic castings. For Ishkur now, it requests the attention of Icarus Path, the demigod of Green that chose Ishkur as host.

"Lord Icarus, when I broke your confidence and spoke to Apple, I wasn't just blowing off steam about the new path Lute's taking. My mother's memory was strong in my thoughts, too.

"I was drunk, but I think I did expect him to warn the brownies. Of course, I didn't want Hildr hurt, but I was relieved that the Verdants found out.

"You know my mother groomed me to join their crusade, our overgod's crusade. My whole life, I had to listen to her warn that holy war was nigh."

Only to die right as the war started while still bitter at my failure to properly cast.

"I'd buried her, and the chains of obligation felt thicker. Out of guilt and blind duty, I would've enlisted in the crusade she just missed. Thank you for claiming me first, and I'm sorry I let those chains persist." He gulps. "I so regret this slip up spoils six loyal and mostly fun-filled years."

Ishkur smiles, hugging his saddle.

"As our band considered my treason, you stayed true." _Protecting me_ _like the father my father can't be._ "I owe you everything, and I'll try to get through this second-chance mission without troubling you."

Most of an hour passes, and he shifts in his seat. _My place of shame approaches._ He hums a song, one his elven father moaned through his bark-covered mouth while becoming a tree, as a patch of fire-scarred land breaks the monotonous canopy.

_How devastating was Lady Darla's reprisal?_ He narrows his eyes, tugging Peggy into a dive. _I have to know._

Massive wings stir up a cloud of ash as she lands. Ishkur hops off and crunches charcoal with his boot heels. _Scorched earth._ The griffin sneezes and snaps a thin trunk with her furry behind.

He hisses and hurries over to the charred wood. "Careful, Peggy. This was a brownie elder gone to root." _As my father did._

Hundreds of thin rings circle a lime-green core. _Centuries._

He clenches his gauntleted fist and then pokes and pinches. "Lord Icarus, did you know this tribe was rooted so deep before you missioned me to move them?"

Nothing blurs. _I'm not my mother's crusader._ He takes a deep breath. _Nor an avenging hero._

"At least this elder's descendants tumbled to safety, right? And, hopefully none lingered to witness Lady Darla's inferno."

We're just instruments being played.

Near the center of the scorched earth is a blackened fruit tree.

"Hail, totem of the Peach Tribe and Queen Saugrin's grandmother." He steps over a knee-high wall of stone blocks surrounding it and fondles one of the few spring buds struggling to open. "No matter the miracle of little hands tearing up cobblestones twice their weight, it was fruitless against a demigoddess of Red's flame."

Ishkur removes a gauntlet and presses his thumb into the rich earth that was hidden under the stones of the old trade route. _Gardener blessed._

He pulls a string of copper bells out of a pocket, and Peggy perks up as his shaking hands make them sing. "These were my mother's." Jiggling them harder, it becomes a crooning bird's song that the griffin squawks and growls along to.

Shame upon shame. Failure upon betrayal. How harsh would Mother judge my part in the ruin of this sacred place?

He runs his hand along lines of sap weeping down blistered bark. "Apple would cry too, seeing no more peaches coming out of you."

He pokes and squeezes sticky fingers together.

"Lord, you must help this one at least. This place's power will remain with Gardener if you mystic this tree healthy. Maybe those Verdant druids could set up a shrine to the side of this path." He rubs sap off in the soil. "You don't want another crusade to claim this blessed spot, do you? The Obsidians for sure; they'd love such desecration."

He gestures at the charred grove, which had once been a court of small but stately trees covered with tiny twig men. _Trilling and dancing with fae abandon._

Still no blur. "Lord Icarus, hello?"

_Silence is guilt._ He growls, stomping back to the griffin. _And this place will fade from Gardener's grace._

"I'm sorry, little cousins." Ishkur pinches his heels against Peggy's sides to lift off. "By our overgod's grace, make a tribal home far from both selfish demigods and hostile crusaders."

The beat of the griffin's wings mixes the remains of ancient brownies with the dust covering the cobblestone road.

3. Not Broken

Yips like a dog, hops like a frog

It's a gremlin. It's a gremlin

Squats on a grave and lays an egg

It's a gremlin. It's a gremlin

If your pet cries out, don't be in doubt

It's a gremlin. It's a gremlin

Wearing kitty's skin to lure you in

It's a gremlin. It's a gremlin

—Whisana Elkrun

Halfway through the second day of flight, the world blurs, just a little.

PLAYER PATH DISCONNECTED.

A beat of wings and it clears, without a reflective vision or time missing.

"What was that?" Ishkur jabs air and pinches. "Lord Icarus?"

Ishkur lands Peggy in a field and hops down, crushing flowers with purple petals. _A failed possession?_ He pulls off his gauntlets, pokes the ground and pinches above it.

"I'm summoning you, Lord Icarus." His eyes stay clear, and he frowns. "Are you... are you okay?"

A crow caws, but no mental mirror appears. _No sense delaying Haden's pick up._

"I keep troubling you, Lord, with doubts and worry." He pats his breastplate where his note is and climbs back on his griffin. "I suppose I deserve to be ignored."

He unrolls his map. The orange dot is a bit past midway between Lotus Hollow and the gum-marked spot labeled "Sarvernway."

My lord's probably just sulking in demigod land.

Well past noon the next day, Ishkur leans back in his saddle and taps the side of his sealed helmet. "Eagle," he says in Elvish, and his vision mystically sharpens through the tinted lenses.

His helmet is imbued with five charges that he can expend for five minute enhancements. It will take a few hours for a spent charge to recover.

_Farms?_ "We're about there, Peggy. I think I see some ho—"

The griffin screeches and dives towards a herd of white-tailed deer.

_What?_ Ishkur tugs on the reins and digs his heels into her flanks, but she twists and tries to buck him.

"Calm down, Peggy!"

The griffin perks at her name, shaking her head like a drunken chicken. _Oh no._

He pokes and pinches in the air. "Lord!" Everything blurs but immediately clears again. "She's broken free!"

The deer scatter, and his rebelling mount banks around a giant cedar. Branches whack his armored chest and head. His gauntlets' enhanced grip doesn't fail, but a saddle strap flaps loose.

"Help me!"

Ishkur doesn't have a fear of heights so much as a healthy respect for a crushing altitude when traveling faster than a galloping horse. Losing control in reach of the canopy is a measure of relief as his stomach churns.

Peggy swivels her head. Ishkur leans away from her wild eyes and yawning beak.

"Watch out!"

He grabs his pack and polearm, leaping off as she flies through a pine. Sappy needles blind him, and his long weapon wedges between branches, jerking him to a halt.

Pop!

He screams as he hangs, arm out of his shoulder's socket. _Pain means I live._

Peggy squawks, flapping hard to recover from hitting the tree. Ishkur clamps his mouth shut, and his griffin flies on after the deer, talons extended.

_Dislocation should be treated quickly with the joint immobilized while the muscles relax._ His mother's medical lesson cycles through his mind while he pants like a woman in labor.

Ishkur drops his pack. It bounces between branches, and he taps his chest as it smacks into the ground.

"Heal," he says in Elvish.

His shoulder grows warm, and the ache deepens. He swings his body and moans while switching grips to his good arm.

After a few deep breaths, the joint cools, and there's a soft clunk. Slowly shrugging, there's no twinge, and he sighs without wincing.

_Four heals left._ Imbued with healing charges, his breastplate can regenerate major damage within a five-minute window, and a spent charge recovers at the typical several hour rate.

_Stupid._ The air filtering into his helmet is full of pollen and other spring promises. _Should've tapped before I jumped._

Ishkur grabs a branch, bracing his foot against the trunk. With a metallic clink he slaps free his polearm and slips it onto his back.

His gauntlet's sticky grip is a lesser mystic effect, but it's constant instead of expiring after a few minutes. Using them, he climbs down like a spider and backflips off to land on his feet.

Lord Icarus is quiescent, and my mount's conditioning fails? Did Apple get banished or die, enabling Peggy to rebel?

Ishkur shakes his head. Poke. Pinch.

"Whatever's going on, Lord, I won't abandon my duty. By horse, mule, or my own back, I'll get Haden to the ruins of Sarvern and survey on the way."

If only he didn't have an orc's weight on that elf frame.

"Somehow, if you can, get Peggy plus my map back to me. Hildr's not too off about Haden. I won't renew his friendship arriving late and without a griffin to transport us."

He kicks a large boulder resting next to the trunk, deposited by a glacier that melted an age before the tree sprouted.

"This could've broken my neck."

He kisses his gauntlets and bows in the general direction of a distant land, where smiths and casters forged and imbued his prized gear. _Bless you all._

Turning so his shadow stretches in front of him, Ishkur taps his helmet and says in Elvish, "Shaman." The world grays with his helmet's second enhancing option, and it blurs when he jerks his head towards a distant griffin's shriek of predatory triumph.

"Good for you, Peggy. Try not to choke on a hoof. If you find your way home, give Apple a peck for messing up your conditioning."

He slowly moves his head back and forth, stopping when there's a colorful flicker to the left. _Safespot for the night, not too far._

"Off." He taps to return to normal vision and sighs.

_At least a day late to meet Haden._ He opens his armor enough to pull out his Lord's note from his breast pocket. _And how will we get to the coast? A stagecoach won't make it through, and no way such a bumpkin place has an aviary._

"Mission failure won't be on me." With an armored finger, he flicks the lute stamp and pinches the paper before putting it away. "I will keep summoning until you answer, Lord Icarus." He slips his pack on and hikes east.

The ants go marching one by one...

The sun sets, and he taps his helmet and says in Elvish, "Owl." The final enhancement option doesn't make things brighter; instead, everything gets much clearer. Colors muted by shadows have a dozen more shades, and no mundane darkness is impenetrable.

It is nearly dusk when he reaches a rough but well-used road. The survey map, with its location blinking orange, is still holstered in the saddle that's as lost as his griffin's conditioning. He rifles through belt pouches, pulls out a pen, some ink, and paper, and then he sketches from memory.

The hamlet rendezvous is to the right, south. _It won't be for nothing, even if I can't get Haden to the coastal ruins in time._ He dots a spot and crosses over it with lines that he labels "trade route" and "rough road." He continues the trade route line to the edge and writes "300 yules to ruin." _By my own hand, this survey will be done._ He adds an "s" and then stuffs the map into a pouch.

"Shaman," he says as he taps his helmet, and a rainbow of light shines up from behind a small hill. "Off." The mystic sight switches off with another tap, and he goes around through grass that could tickle his chin.

A bare patch of muddy ground is bordered by a circle of rune-covered stones. _A safespot, for the hosts of demigods to rest and commune._ He kicks one, making his metal boot ring but failing to budge the melon-sized rock. _Referred to as a mystic miracle._ "As if that's adequate explanation."

He steps within, twisting his helmet and gauntlets off. _Would a bench be too much to ask?_ He cradles the gear and sighs. With an arch and shrug, his pack slips from his shoulders and misses his heel.

"No."

The pack disappears like a popped bubble, reappearing outside the circle with a flicker. He reaches out and retrieves it with a growl.

Making sure nothing loses contact with his body, he sits in the muck and crosses his legs. "This day's too crazy." He pulls out one of Apple's pie bars. "It's a two treat day." He takes out a second and unwraps them both.

The first is gone in three bites. The second peach and honey bread ration takes a few more.

Ishkur rubs his stomach and burps. _Full and relaxed, time to concentrate._ He slows and deepens his breathing.

_Since I've been allowed to see and come inside the sacred stones._ He forces a smile. _Lord Icarus is ignoring, not forsaking._

A scruffy dog wanders out of the tall grass, sniffing his footprints.

"Don't you piss here. I'm trying to meditate."

The dog's butt yips.

_That's an odd fart._ Ishkur frowns, and two shabby cats join the canine. _And why are you guys all getting along?_

"Get out of here!"

One of the cats hops into the grass. _That's no feline._

Ishkur puts on his helmet, taps it and says, "Owl."

His enhanced lens and the last bit of twilight aren't enough to penetrate a darkness under the creatures. _Cloaked by the Pit-cursed power of Black._ He slips on his gauntlets. _A vile alignment, if I was my mother's crusader._

The cat thing comes back out of the grass and yips.

_Gremlins, little cousins to orcs and mortal enemies of brownies._ "Are you killers of pets, maybe children too?"

Both cat things hop, and the sharp ends of two sticks poke out of dog fur that wrinkles like a worn blanket. Ishkur grins and fingers his polearm.

"I'm within stones sacred to all demigods, invisible and untouchable."

The dog thing yips at both ends, and the cat things hop closer.

_They can't help what they were born as, any more than I can._ More sticks needle out of cat fur. _Or Haden can._

"Even if you aren't agents of the Obsidian Crusade, my mother would have killed you for using cloaking mystics or simply for the black ichor flowing through your veins."

Ishkur pokes his polearm over the stones. The dog thing breaks in two, ass and head become little bulbous-headed humanoids with pot bellies and frog lips. _Darkness dispelled._

"I'm more ambivalent. My best friend is actually a half-orc assassin with a demigod of Black haunting him."

He steps over the stones, and the gremlins launch their sharp sticks. He snorts and holds his stance as the wooden points thunk and fall, dulled by his mystic metal.

"Are these toothpicks poisoned?" He picks one up, snapping it between his fingers. "You know, I should knock you frogheads about just for skinning those pets."

The gremlin that was a dog's head expands its throat and spits a gob.

_Yuck._ Ishkur blocks, and it splats against his armored forearm. _Tried to blind me._

He growls and says, "Is your chief about, casting?" The rest spit, and he blocks with both arms. "Does he speak English?" He wipes sticky gray phlegm across his breastplate. "Have him translate this..."

Ishkur charges, roaring with his polearm swinging like a scythe. The gremlins yip and scatter with dog and cat skins trailing behind.

He slices through grass like a farmer until a swath is cut to ankle height, but no ichor is spilt. "I get why brownies despise your kind!"

Discordant yips taunt at a distance.

"You're all harm and no harmony!" Grabbing his pack that got expelled again, Ishkur steps back into the safespot and sits on it.

The gremlins tease with patches of silence followed by little yips that grow more insistent.

"Okay, Lord Icarus, I'll give you a break from summoning until noon." He slams the butt of his weapon on the ground and claps his hands. "But then I'm getting naked, for a communion like my mother taught me." _And the next time I see a gremlin, I will crush its oversized head._ He twists his polearm into the dirt. _Not for my mother, or my little cousins._ "For my own satisfaction."

4. Hunting or Hunted

Between morning and noon,

When clouds and sun are confused,

Bless the earth with painted skin

And your druidic life begins.

—Lupanne Elkrun

Seventeen pieces of armor lie spread across a log at the top of the small hill overlooking the stone-ringed safespot and rocky road. The sun shines down, drying gremlin phlegm into dusty flakes that blow away in a gentle breeze.

Naked, Ishkur's skin greens as his elvish heritage soaks up the light. _Perfect spot._

He spins and breathes in the fresh air. All around, lush forest and grasslands mix into something serene, scenic, and very green. Crouching, he sticks his fingers into the ground and then paints himself with swirls and squiggles of dirt—Anointing his body as demanded by his mother's second druidic lesson, connecting with Gardener.

"I'm communing with our overgod and summoning you, Lord Icarus." He stabs down with a finger and pinches. "With grace, let us become Gardener's avatar."

Everything blurs, and he leans against a wet reflective softness. _Not quite water or air._ He gulps and coughs awake, sticking out a green-glowing tongue that fades in a blink. _Divine power?_

Ishkur checks the note in his linen tunic's pocket, skimming the unchanged mission. "Fine, but Lord, this means I'll have to ask Haden's lady to pester an explanation for your absence." He picks two more pie bars from his pack, munching as he paces. _If only she wasn't ten times worse than Lady Darla._

He sighs, starts brushing off dirt, and the hairs on his neck stand on end. _Too quiet._ Leaving the mud paint, he yanks on his undergarments.

Something big moves in the man-high grass. _Uh-oh._ He snags his padded linens, and a crossbow bolt thunks into the wood by his hand.

His polearm lies at the other end of the log with his pack, but his pouch-laden belt is in reach. _My survey._ He grabs it as burly humans with spears charge out.

"Dance for your life, druid!" says the largest of the men.

If a fool.

Spear tips force him away from the log. He shoulders his belt and wraps linens around his arm. The men smack their shafts against armored chests as they spread around him. Striking skull and crossed bones embossed on boiled-leather breastplates, they stomp to the beat and grunt like beasts.

Then armor is comedy.

"I deserve dessert." Ishkur dodges a spear thrust. "Not deserters in ragged uniforms."

A man with few teeth and a loaded crossbow kicks Ishkur's pack. "We're soldiers of the Obsidian Crusade," he says with a slight lisp and tosses Ishkur's polearm farther out of reach. "So best drop to knees and pray to our god now."

"To Merridian of Black, _your_ overlord?" Ishkur snorts. " _Mine_ rules Limbo, where souls prepare to reincarnate. Yours is the mere master of Pit, where souls are chained. So, he can kiss my green ass." He hops to avoid another strike and gets a boot in the behind. "You cowards! An unarmed jester trying to rest and commune—"

Layers of linen trailing from his arm absorb much of a gut strike, but Ishkur still folds over the butt of a spear's shaft and drops to a knee. _Too many pie bars._ He heaves and peachy puke fills his mouth. _Won't go to waste._ He swallows and gags.

"Don't pray yet, Verdant mutt!" says the biggest one, tugging at nose hairs long as eyelashes. "Get up and dance before you die!"

Noon-warmed spearheads poke Ishkur's back, and he rolls forward with a gasp. The men keep on him, taking turns with laughs and jabs. Ishkur sidesteps a playful thrust and then barely parries a serious strike with his hand, skin slapping the shaft with bruising force.

Shaking it off, he weaves around and pokes and pinches. _Come on, Lord._

The soldier with few teeth twitches. Ishkur charges out of his crossbow's line of fire and rolls along the length of a spear to spin out of their five-man ring as the shaft of another spear slaps his back.

_Oops._ Ishkur stumbles down slick grass and trips over a rock, falling within a familiar circle of stones.

"Well?" His heart slows. "Did I entertain?"

The crusaders follow and stop close enough to share their rancid breath. The soldier sporting nose hair squints and swings a spear. Ishkur flinches as it bends around the safespot, stretching like a reflection on a soap bubble.

In a pidgin that's drawn from English and Orc, the only one with gray hair says, "Careful, Ripin. Going invisible means some powerful mystics."

"Tell me more, Graytip." Ripin swings his distorting spear back and forth. "How does a druid disappear like that?"

"None of the flailing about had a casting rhythm. Major item maybe," says the older man still in pidgin. "Something from the belt he grabbed." He shrugs. "Can't be sure without aura mystics, so let's just do what we were told. Get his gear before he sneaks to it and leave him alone." He points vaguely towards Ishkur. "Can you understand me, mutt? I know how fickle cloaking mystics are if you move quickly. So stay put and save some charges. We take what you've left, and we'll leave you your life and the rest."

Ishkur puts on his linen tunic and trousers. "I apologize for calling you deserters. I was thrown by the state of your black and gray uniforms and the threads on your shoulders where insignias should be."

Several of the five soldiers chuckle, and Graytip says, "We're a ragged crew all right. Stripped of rank and decency."

"And mercy." Ripin stabs towards Ishkur.

Graytip slaps the skull on his chest. "We're all still loyal Obsidians."

"Tick-tock." Ripin sniffs. "My loyal nose can smell your fear." He licks thin lips. "So sweet—"

"How can you smell anything with that moustache growing out of your nose?" Ishkur coughs. "And that Pit-foul stench you honor your overgod with?"

All the other soldiers hoot, and Ripin drops his spear and then his pants. "May I retort?"

"No thank you."

The man's foot distorts around a stone as he shifts. "Close enough to piss on."

The spray of urine warps around Ishkur in artful symmetry. _A foul mead._ He gags, and the offending crusader cocks an ear and slips to the other side with a step.

"Did I get you?" The man wipes his hand on trousers and buttons up. "Give me this disappearing thing you got, and I'll leave you alone." He slams a fist to his chest. "On my honor as an Obsidian."

His peers snicker.

_Orc-loving filth._ Ishkur flicks his hand palm-up with fingers curled as if a tree uprooted and thrusts it over the stones. "You see this?" He yanks his hand back as Ripin lunges for it. "That's my answer." The man wrinkles his brow, and Ishkur says, "It means no in the most offensive way of my father's people."

"Stab the ground," says a man missing an ear. "Mutt's a dirt lover, probably crawling around."

Ripin picks up his spear and starts piercing turf and dirt. "Just your hand?" His weapon stretches across the protective sphere, strike after strike. "It's those linens, isn't it?" He sidesteps and keeps stabbing. "Let me try them on."

Graytip snorts. "Leave the mutt. The man was specific. We're not supposed to kill him."

"I approve," Ishkur says and frowns. _Lord Icarus wrote there might be soldiers._ "Did you come from Sarvernway?" _But not that they'd be crusaders of Black._ "Who sent you?"

"Tick-tock. Charge running low?" Ripin rubs his chest.

_Can't move the circle, but the protection never expires._ "I got time." _It's a rune stone miracle._

The big soldier chuckles. "The jollies of being unseen. Oh, the things I'd do to poor and helpless ladies is—"

"Quiet." Graytip frowns in Ishkur's general direction. "We misjudged and played around, but we still got his pack, armor, and weapon. Take what's worth taking and leave this Verdant filth for the frogheads to sniff out."

"Attack me, elf mutt!" Ripin spins his spear and presents his back. "Coward."

Graytip shakes his head, leading the other men up the hill.

_A fair fight?_ Ishkur fondles the hilt of an enhanced dagger sheathed in his belt. "Are you requesting a duel?"

Ripin's brows rise, and his eyes flicker. "Whatever," he says and hurries up after his comrades to join in dividing the loot.

_Must have spotted my griffin, but who would order mercy?_ "I was to pick up a man at a nearby hamlet!" _Say too little or say too much?_ "I won't describe him because he likes to change faces, but perhaps you know the name, Haden?"

Ripin picks Ishkur's shiny helmet off the log and pounds it onto his head with meaty fists. _Ill-fitting._ The crusader head-butts the fallen tree and then mimes a desperate scramble to the laughter of his peers.

_A disgraceful performance._ Ishkur sighs, massaging his temple. "Haden Abdi Nasar? He hosts a particularly vicious demigoddess named Uostai Play?"

At the hilltop, Ripin moves his arms like the hands of a clock. "Tick-tock, you Verdant mutt!"

"Guys! Seriously, I'm no druid or Verdant!" Ishkur snorts. "This is a misunderstanding!"

The most youthful of the five whistles like a girl has strutted by and picks up Ishkur's polearm.

_No._ His heart thuds. "Careful with that!"

Ripin takes off Ishkur's helmet and says in falsetto, " 'Careful with that!' " He shakes it like a buckler and motions for a strike.

Ishkur steps out of the circle. "No—"

The young warrior playfully swings at Ripin, scraping the stolen helmet. Ishkur cringes at the screech. The two men laugh, and their crossbowman aims at Ishkur.

He tsks, retreating back into the safespot. _Just don't say "slice" or "shatter" in Elvish._ Those words command an epic release of power from his polearm.

"I can't let you keep that weapon! Endraker is... special to me!" _It holds the soul of a monster and cost a fortune to make._

Graytip shoulders a half-dozen pieces of armor roped together. "Just following orders!" He smiles. "And I'm thinking it's a fixed spot that protects you!"

Ripin gulps down a ration from Ishkur's pack and says, "Not an item?"

"That was from Apple!"

Ripin frowns. "Tasted like peach."

"No, he's..." Ishkur rubs his temples. "You can't steal what cloaks me or piss on it!" He taps a stone's rune with his toe. _Could Lady Uostai have missioned Haden to punish me?_ "A hint, please! Who sent you?" _Is she doing like Lady Darla and turning bandmates against me?_

"Well, Mr Clever-Mutt!" Ripin slips into the shoulder straps of Ishkur's pack and struts over with a fixed smirk. "Maybe, you being naked on a hill next to shiny armor on a sunny day sent us."

"My armor and weapon will never fit or work for you," Ishkur says through his teeth. _Sort of._ "Leave them and take my pack. There's plenty of money and mystic gear inside. Take only that, and I won't pursue." He draws a circle in the dirt with his toe. "I'm not alone, and my band has become rather brutal."

Ripin snorts. "We got avatars of Black that will dominate you and your friends, and a house that's—"

"Stop giving intel!" Graytip leads the others down the hill at them. "The elf mutt is goading you."

Ripin crumples the pie bar's packaging and throws it towards Ishkur. "Enjoy eating dirt, freak."

The wrapper bounces close. Metallic lining reflects the sun and highlights honey dipped crumbs.

"I'm half an elf and so only use soil for seasoning." Ishkur jabs down and pinches as they pass by. "My spare shoes, you can at least leave those!"

Farting, Ripin rifles through the pack. "Is this what you want?" He holds up a pair of soft shoes.

Ishkur moves across the circle. "Yes, you can just... wait. No. No, that's not right."

The large crusader grunts an Orc war cry and then says, "Sorry! Just had enough for your left one." Ripin cackles, pulling up his trousers without wiping.

Ishkur grinds his teeth. "May an ogre impale you, a gremlin skin you, and an orc consume you."

He shakes his fist until the five hike out of sight, and then he unfolds his demigod's last words and rubs them against his forehead.

Poke. Pinch.

"I needed you, Lord Icarus. All your power, skill, and experience doesn't matter if you don't show up." He leaves the circle of muck and wipes his feet clean. "Years spent adventuring and playing the hero to earn Endraker and our armor, and you let it all get taken. Have you given up?"

He pockets the paper and covers his eyes.

"And my pack. There's a letter for my father; it has dangerous information, speculation and resentment about Lute. A real get for any hostile crusade or band, and the nail in my coffin." He shakes his head. "How can I ask Lady Uostai to check on you or for anything now? She'll make Haden's next mission my death, and who of your peers will interject to allow me a third chance at betrayal?"

A soft wind tickles with pollen. _Pit-curse that furry-nostrilled bumpkin._ He sneezes and frowns at his shit-filled shoe.

Pinching his nose, he taps the side of the worked leather with his toes. "Fresh." The shoe shivers, and he releases his nostrils and coughs. "Mystic item failure." _Too foul to overcome._

Turning away, he picks up the crumpled metallic ration wrapper, and his stomach rumbles. With a shake, a few honey soaked crumbs of the hardy peach dessert tumble down his throat.

My favorite.

The humans' path is brazenly straight to the road. Ishkur's eyes narrow, and he pockets the wrapper.

Poke. Pinch.

"Listen, Lord Icarus, if you can, and pass this on to Apple, 'I vow to avenge this theft.' " Ishkur growls at the shoe. " 'Repay that insult, and any griffin sabotage there may be.' "

His eyes widen. _Unless Lady Uostai somehow messed with Apple's work on Peggy._

"I'll fix this without your possession, Lord, but please intercede in demigod land when your peers sabotage me."

This disaster is not cemented.

"I'm not the druid my mother wished for or the heroic ranger anymore, but by Gardener's grace, let me show you that I can still avenge."

5. Judicial Sunset

It won't be via doves, crows, or griffins

It won't be rumor at a bar or from a minstrel's lips

When the pantheon begins a fresh game

All minds that dream will know righteous fear

And align to one color or another

Then we slaughter each other for a hundred years

—Ola Ishtaran

Staying low and near cover, Ishkur trails the gang of crusaders. The thieves march single file around a curve, carrying his gear like the divided carcass of a deer. The youngest brings up the rear. A parading scarecrow, the man rests his arms on Ishkur's polearm lying across his shoulders.

I'll have that back, boy.

The young soldier turns his head, and Ishkur drops into the flood ditch at the rough road's edge.

_No traffic._ The afternoon sun warms his face as he counts a hundred breaths. _Where's that worked land?_ He slowly rises with a drawn dagger and then runs to where the empty road bends.

"There we are." Ishkur sheaths his blade and practices a smile. "All cozy and quaint."

The hamlet's street splits at a large tavern backed by a hill. A line of small farms civilize the left side, but the right is just grass and bushes until after the road forks and then farms crowd all sides.

A dozen locals, old men and women of varying ages, face the five soldiers at a stone well in front of the tavern. Spears get leveled at the country folk, and the locals clear a path to the left.

_Where are you, Haden?_ Ishkur starts jogging as the crusaders leave the street.

At the first farm's field he runs onto the dirt and drops to his knuckles and toes. The soldiers march through plowed land three farms down. A few locals follow at a respectable distance and then stop where wild grass takes over.

_Not losing me._ Ishkur parallels into bushes, cutting to intercept the crusaders' trail where the trees take over. _You got my gear, but I'm still a rang—_

Crunch.

"Fu—" He bites his lip and hops away from a rock.

_Funny._ He rubs his big toe until the pain dulls to a throb. _Can't blame a demigod for that one._ Blood colors the nail, but the toe still bends.

The stone that tripped him is cobbled. _Hello,_ _trade route._ He worms his fingers into the soil, scraping flat stones with his nails. _No big trees in a straight line east._ He pulls out his rough map and labels the dot "Sarvernway."

_Odd, soldiers._ His finger traces the distance to the coast. _Why start such a trip so late in the day?_

Boot prints matching the Obsidians overlap each other, churning up the forest floor. _Can they really be alone, without even a pack mule?_

He barely stirs any leaves while moving in bursts of speed that stop at bushes and trees. Eyes wide and head cocked, he waits a breath and then sprints on.

Voices growl, loud and angry. _Got you._ Ishkur circles around and crawls, pushing through leafy cover until their camp is a barn-length away.

Graytip and Ripin are in each other's faces while being held back by the youngest and the one-eared thug. _No wonder they got stripped of rank._ The last crusader sets up camp with exaggerated force. _Like children, bickering and angry about chores, but_ _no one's on watch._

"Enough!" Graytip slams a lamp in the center of their clearing and says in pidgin, "We have to follow Flute Man."

Ishkur sucks in a breath. _Haden has a flute._

"Without someone to control her, distance is the safest thing."

" _Her"? Can't be Lady Uostai._ He frowns. _Only Merridian could control that demigoddess._

The older man taps the lamp and says in the language of the celestial realm, "Light."

It blazes a bright white, too blinding for more than a glance. _Wow._

"Don't leave its illumination sunset to sunrise," says Graytip. "Not for anything."

Impressive constant effect, but...

"Bah!" Ripin flicks his chin at his senior and then flops onto a bedroll and stuffs Ishkur's pack under his head. "Skittish old fool."

Ishkur smirks. " _Fool" is right without_ _night vision._ The other four sit back to back with weapons in their laps. _Still, a lot to handle with only wit and a dagger._

He crawls east through the underbrush until he's well ahead of them, working his way back to the trail.

"You out here, Mr 'Flute Man' Haden?" Ishkur zigzags in a crouch. "Help get my gear back, and I'll entertain with how I lost it!" He stops at a partial boot print with a heel distinctly different from those of the five soldiers. _Easy to miss, but you could never beat my scouting._ "It's so embarrassing; I bet a bag of pie bars that you smile."

Every dozen or so strides is a matching track. _This has to be Haden, going ahead to Sarvern._

Ishkur sits on his heels and presses his finger into the dirt. "I'm sorry." A mosquito buzzes near, and he catches it, pinching until it's a smear. "By the grace and mercy of our overgods." He draws with his fouled fingertips, a small circle in the ground with an _A_ inside. "Let Haden and his lady forgive my failure to transport."

As the sun nears the western horizon, Ishkur returns to the hamlet.

No children play or parents scold, and no dogs bark or cats prowl. Apart from a few folks hurrying to the well or leaving the tavern, the streets are empty and the doors and shutters closed.

He adjusts a strip of cloth covering the tips of his ears. _Charm time._ Stepping over a cracked and empty glass jar, he knocks on the first farmhouse door.

As it opens, Ishkur winks. "Greetings fair maiden."

A young woman with a wide nose and dull eyes stops munching on a pickle.

He smiles. "This is Sarvernway, correct?"

"Nope. Bunnifarm." She waves the dripping pickle north. "Dulhatchet is a day that way." She points it south. "Take the left fork, and Hognut is a day too, but no Sarvernway around here."

"How about ruins? Anything that was around before you folk came?"

She shrugs round shoulders, pointing at the hill. "There was a statue of Lileth up there when I was a kid, but a troll tore it down."

_Lileth, overgoddess of Blue and the titans that used to rule._ "Excuse me." He takes out his map, slashes with ink, and renames the dot "Bunnifarm."

"Who are you?"

"Oh, _pardon_." He clears his throat and bows with a flourish. "I am Ishkur Inshushinak Ishtaran. I was scouting an old trade route when I lost control of my griffin. It's embarrassing to admit, but I was distracted at the aviary and didn't fit my saddle properly." He brushes pine needles off the layered linen padding his shoulders. "I can offer grand tales of the realms for scraps from your table and maybe a little local gossip."

She raises a bushy eyebrow and holds out the remainder of her pickle. _Yummy._ As he takes it, a cane handle yanks her to the side.

"Hey?" Ishkur steps forward.

A hunched woman with loose skin and white hair replaces the maiden and snags the pickle back. With a twitchy glare, the lady uses her shoulder to close their door while he stands with an open mouth.

"But I didn't even get to surreptitiously ask about my friend." He sucks on a finger wet with vinegar, making his stomach rumble. _You hag._

He heads past reasonably tended fields to the second farm. "Hello, sir. I am Ishkur Inshush—"

The grizzled man holds a crossbow steady.

"I'll tell you a great joke, if you let me borrow that."

One grim headshake and a slight lifting of the line of fire.

_A smile would shatter this one's face._ "May Gardener bless your crops."

The next farmstead's only sign of life is an old mule in a muddy corral. Overgrown fields and a rusty plow reflect the state of the house. Broken windows are boarded up, paint is peeling, and the steps to the porch are half broken. The wood creaks despite Ishkur's light feet.

_Interesting._ The outline of a skull and crossed bones is carved into the door. _Maybe where those thugs stayed._ "Hello?" He clinks the door knocker. "Any Obsidians in here?"

A crow caws, and he moves on to the last house before the street splits into two. _This hamlet's_ drearier than a winter flower. He shakes his head at a trampled garden and turns to the well where a barefoot girl is filling a bucket.

"Hello, little one." He raises his hand and smiles. "That's a pretty dress."

"Get away from that stranger!" says a bow-legged old man from the tavern's entrance.

The girl stands, and Ishkur spreads his hands and steps back. "Sorry! I'm just thirsty."

"Are you a soldier?" She points east. "The others went that way, straight into the forest."

"All of them?"

She shakes her head, pointing at the run-down farmhouse. "The lordly one's in there with Ms Sticknot and—"

"Oi!" says the old man.

_Was that soldier mistaken?_ "Thank you." _But those footprints were about Haden's size._ "Did he have a flute?"

She tops off her bucket and waves towards the bow-legged man tugging on his long gray beard. "Ask my great-uncle."

Ishkur strides over. "Greetings, I'm looking for a flute player."

"Three States Tavern is closing." The man snorts. "And this ain't no place to start a band."

"Well, the band's already—"

A buxom woman shoves the old man from behind, shooing him out of the doorway. "Get home, Hoyne, and give me another night to heal." She coughs and covers blushing cheeks. "Oh, hello... sir. Do you need a place to stay?"

Hoyne growls, pulling on the tavern's thick door. "Maybe he does, but will you really lift the curfew after what happened to your mother?"

"Step-mother." She takes the door. "Sorry, pretty man. Run. Run, fast as you can."

"Why?"

Hoyne slaps the woman's butt, and she grunts, slipping inside as the door picks up speed and thumps closed. Another skull and crossed bones marks the outside with black paint. _Obsidian claimed._

"Tavern's built out of titan rock." The old man chuckles. "Windows high and small with glass thick as my thumb, it's our fortress and you've no way in."

Ishkur frowns. "Have I presented myself poorly..."

The old man pushes past him. "Hurry up, Whisana!" He marches to the girl at the well and flicks her ear. "Sun's about to set."

She smiles, holding her hand palm-up with fingers curled. "Yes, Uncle."

Is that a bad wave or an elven finger curse?

Ishkur walks over and dusts off his bare toes. "I'm actually hunting those soldiers."

Whisana jerks up with a slosh. "You'll kill them?"

"Get home, girl!" Hoyne smacks her back. "I don't want your mama scorching me with her devil tongue." He stomps a dusty boot next to her toes, making her flinch. "Shoeless and sour-faced. Maybe, next time your father needs eyes on you after evening bells, I'll be the one shoeless _and_ staying at the bar."

She sneers, wrinkling a tiny nose, and then waddles with her bucket down the right fork.

"And you." The elder pokes Ishkur's chest and says, "How much coin you got?"

"Well that's the thing." Ishkur smacks his lips. "I spread my gear on a log to dry out gremlin phlegm when—"

"No money, all you get is this." Hoyne points a gnarled finger back the way Ishkur came. "Free advice."

Ishkur holds a grumbling stomach. "A half-night's rest and some food. Nothing sweet, my stomach's spoiled. I can pay you back with a gold quarter... probably by dawn."

"You look like a bastard, and you sound like a thief. I wouldn't offer you my dead dog's chew toy unless you had a copper bit in hand."

"I may be a lonely banjo without strings." Ishkur wiggles his wrists. "But I'm no thief."

"You do sound like a great sacrifice." The old man chuckles, marching down the left street fork. "Good luck forming your band."

"It's not that kind of—"

"Thank you!" Hoyne walks on.

_Well, Mother, I'm understanding better how village life failed you._ Ishkur flicks a tin pail off the well's stone edge. _Failed us._ The rope it's attached to hisses as it slides in after, and he licks parched lips when it splashes.

"Hello, haunting pit of water and darkness." Ishkur moves his finger in a circle on his chest and crosses through it. "I won't be rooted by my cowardice, so let's try to get along."

A bulky, balding man approaches with a curled lip and a sharp shovel held in a white-knuckled grip. Whisana follows close with a skip in her, now shoed, step.

Ishkur hauls up the pail. "Excuse me, I'm very thirsty." He gulps some icy water and then smacks his lips. "I can sing for food."

The man glances at the setting sun. "Beware stranger or tonight you'll be food."

Ishkur caresses the hilt of the only proper weapon left to him. "Maybe we can just trade stories."

The girl raises her hand. "Uncle Hoyne said—"

"Those are some fine linens, stranger. Well fitted, with good padding. A soldier's gear."

_Okay, bumpkins._ "I am a soldier of prose and dance." _Let's check your prejudice._ Ishkur pulls off his headband while bowing and flaps his arms like a bird landing. "Willing to perform for lettuce."

The girl gasps and giggles.

Not too bad.

"Pointed ears and a leaf embroidered on your shirt." The man crosses his arms. "I suppose you aren't with those Obsidians. A Verdant scouting them, perhaps?"

_As farmers, Gardener should be their default overgod._ "I'm not Verdant, per se." He stabs his finger down and pinches. "Though I am aligned of Green." He pulls up his sleeves; some swirls and squiggles of dirt remain from his failed communion. "Crusading draws lines that don't suit me."

"Painted just like... a druid!" Whisana claps. "Papa, let the sort-of-elf stay with us." She points her finger down and pinches. "He's funny and pretty, and he can teach—"

"No." The man waves the shovel's blade at Ishkur. "I'm sorry, Little Wish. Soldier, druid, or merely an elf mutt, I won't risk us getting more caught up in holy war."

"Farmer man, don't you worry—"

"You're on your own." With a lean and a scoop, he puts his daughter under his arm.

"Papa!" The girl squirms, but her father keeps walking.

"At least, describe the lordly soldier that went in the dilapidated house." Ishkur steps after them. "Is he a hybrid, but not quite like me?" The father carries her into a house just past the tavern. "But he's got a mystic mask—"

_Oops._ The door slams shut. _Should not have mentioned Haden's mask._

Ishkur thrusts curled fingers. "Enjoy your dinner... oh, bumpkins of dumpville!"

Only a crow caws back.

6. Slaving Away

Please, do not confuse praise for pleas

and Gardener's grace for Merridian's mercy.

The overgods of Green and Black

are as different as beginnings and endings.

—Lord Icarus Path of Green

With twilight, the air cools into the memory of winter, and the clear sky is primed for stars. _Alone._ The streets are empty, but smoke billows from chimneys, and lantern light shines through shutter cracks. _Ostracized._

Ishkur rubs an ear tip and runs east into the fields. _I still have Lute._ He growls and hops over the stone that stubbed his toe. _If I find Haden and finish this survey._

He jogs along the old trade route until close to the Obsidians' camp and then slows, circling around again. The lamp makes their clearing bright as day. _Definitely a major mystic item._

"Your toe is bleeding." The woman's voice tickles his ear, but she isn't near when he spins.

What the who?

Heart pounding, he rubs his foot and says in a whisper, "I hit a rock earlier." He points at the camp. "They stole my shoes."

A pale form stirs in the dark. Naked, the woman is covered with swirling lines of paint. She smiles, and her pearl white teeth glow with starlight.

Ritual markings focus druidic casting.

"Praise the theft." She stands in the shape of a youthful beauty, but with the poise of wizened maturity. "Heels and toes can tell you so much more than a numbing boot."

Ishkur pokes the dirt and pinches above it. "My mother would say something like that. She was a druid... like you?"

She traces a swirl, ending at her nipple. "Do I look like your mother?"

"She was shorter."

"Close your eyes and think of her."

"I have to get my gear back." His eyes close. "Why am I listening to you?"

Her lips touch his neck, and he is at his mother's grave with a string of copper bells in hand.

"She wore these when she danced." Ishkur jingles the bells.

"Was she a good dancer?"

"She danced around father, and it helped him fight back into flesh." Ishkur smiles. "I was just a baby between his toe roots, and he sung for us." Drops roll from the corners of his eyes. "We were a family."

"But that ended."

"Father wasn't strong enough, and his people shunned us. I was a mistake."

"You were a mistake."

"Mama hated us when she died. Said he raped her, and blamed us both for a wasted life."

"Open your eyes." She strokes Ishkur's head, cradled in her lap. "You are mine now."

"I am yours."

"Now silence those bells and take away that celestial glare."

Ishkur starts popping out the bells' clappers. _No._ His hands shake as the copper balls fall, but he keeps going until they're all gone. _Ruined._ He pockets the neutered bells and stands. _I already had them muffled, you hypnotic shrew._

"Go, my boy. Put out that guarding light."

After a step towards the crusaders' illuminated camp, he stops. "That lamp blinds them, and the new moon was just two nights ago. I can sneak close and grab my pack. Why would I—"

"She is gone." Her fingers trace something wet across the back of his neck. "But do my bidding, and I will be here for you."

Ishkur scratches his neck and wipes stickiness off his fingers with a sleeve. "Hildr hated my ruminations." He taps his forehead with a thumb. "She demanded my attention be in the moment."

"Think about how you failed Hildr."

Ishkur shakes his head.

She says in his ear, "Your mama died wishing you were never born."

_Hildr's not my mother, but I did fail them both._ "Icarus?" He pokes and pinches. "I think I want to die."

"Pretty boy." She grabs his wrist, kissing it. "You are mine."

He blinks slower, swaying on his feet. "Okay." His breathing steadies, and he says with a child's voice, "I'm yours."

"Now, take away their light."

Ishkur starts forward again and enters the bright camp. He steps over a snoring crusader, and walks past Ripin laying on his pack. Graytip and the one-eared thug are hunched over, playing dice, while the youngest is practicing spear forms with Endraker.

"What the?" The young one points at Ishkur.

Graytip turns. " 'What the' what?"

Ishkur is only a few strides from the lamp.

"Elf!" The old soldier tosses his dice aside. "Mutt!"

The baby-faced soldier threatens with the polearm but doesn't jab. Graytip and his playing partner grab spears and kick awake their companions.

Ishkur touches the lamp and says in Celestial, "Off."

It stays on.

Graytip says, "Kill him!"

They charge, and Ishkur says in Celestial, "Dark." The light goes out, and a spear tip rips through his linens to slice across his ribs. "Hey!" His elbow whacks the lamp, and it shatters on a rock. "Not nice!"

He clamps together cloth and flesh as the soldiers spread around him, just outlines in the dimness of twilight's end. _This again, but without a safespot._ The young one winds up Endraker for a chop.

"Wait," says Graytip. "Don't kill. Without the light, we must run. Bleed him for her and leave."

"I'm already bleeding." Ishkur holds up a wet hand. "So no need."

Ripin grunts and says, "I'm carrying a lot. Cut off a foot, so he can't go faster than me."

"Obsidians, listen!" Ishkur wets his lips. "I'm a friend of the flute—"

Pale arms yank the baby-faced soldier into a deep shadow, and he screams like a choir boy set on fire.

"You took my sons!" says a guttural voice over the soldier's squealing.

Naked lady?

"It's her!" says Graytip. "Grab gear and run!"

_Oh._ The crusaders break off and scatter. _"Her" is... naked lady._

"You cursed my girls!" The woman is farther away.

"Don't leave." Ishkur wobbles and follows her voice and the young soldier's pained cries. "He's got my Endraker!"

"Your spears lifted up my husband!"

Ishkur squints at their silhouette.

"N-not me." The soldier coughs. "I-I just... just w-watched."

Ishkur snorts. _Should've lied, Obsidian._

She drags the young man like a sack of potatoes in one hand while gripping Endraker with the other.

_When did she cast for strength?_ Ishkur winces and hurries to keep up. _And why doesn't he fight?_

"What your masters made us do to my love." She jerks the soldier's arms. "We will do to you."

"No. Please. My soul at Merridian's mercy. Spare me—"

She smacks the young man's mouth, and he whimpers as she licks her knuckles.

Ishkur frowns. "Lady, may I have that polearm? It's special."

"Come along, pretty boy. You are still mine."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Ishkur scratches his wrist and neck. _The pack._ He slows but can't stop. _Oh._

"You dominate people." _The prime skill of Black._ "You've picked at any clues of my life and character to weaken my resolve and then achieved some slight influence over me."

The woman turns. "Have I?"

"Well, I want to follow you, but I also need to go after those other soldiers." He punches his legs, but they carry on. _Uh-oh._ "I learned enough from my mother to wonder, how can a druid use a skill of Black?"

"Tell me, how a tree can be your father?"

"Well... my mother, when a maiden pure, ran from a man's torture. A meadow with a small tree standing was where she spent a long time crying. My father's oaken heart was moved, but was enveloping with his aura... rude? At sunrise she was pregnant, and my father moaned 'I regret it.' "

The young crusader groans, and the woman grips his throat. "Do not ruin the moment." She smiles at Ishkur as the man spasms. "You are very sweet."

"The tears of full-blooded elves are much sappier." Ishkur rubs his eyes. _Haden._ "A girl mentioned a 'lordly' soldier still at the settlement. He could... access the domination skill too."

"He's dead," she says.

Oh no.

She drags the soldier over a log. "He suffered a delicious end."

"No." Ishkur stumbles forward. "I don't... It can't be him. I'm nothing alone." He smacks his forehead. "Can't fail." He balls his hands and grinds his teeth. "My friend's not dead without proof."

Trees pass. Grass grows. The back door of the dilapidated house is open.

Ishkur wipes his feet on a bristly mat and enters a dark, dusty hall. "Hello! Hello, naked lady?" He tightens a strip of linen wrapped around his chest. "Don't worry! I stopped the bleeding!"

Splashes of hardened wax decorate a shelf next to the door. A bit of wick sticks out, and he lights it with flint and steel from his belt pouch. Smoke teases his nose with lavender and chamomile, and the flame dies.

"I'll just make myself at home!" _It's not Haden._ With hands and feet probing, he crosses into the living room and dusts off a lamp. _He's too tough, even if Uostai abandoned him._

It flickers, burning dust, and comes to life on the second try. _Must be another host or caster of Black._ More dust stirs as he sets the light on the dining table. _But, I'll stay to make sure._

"You've really let this place go." Ishkur taps a boarded up window and snaps his fingers. "Let me earn some gossip and maybe a little dinner."

There's a broom against bricks outlining a large fireplace. The shaft rests easy in his hands. Ishkur sweeps and hums, trying to ignore his injury.

"You'll be able to eat off the floor when I'm done!"

He winces, patting his wound. _Use the outer skill of Green and White to fix a body and soul just right._

"I miss my mother's druidic healing," says Ishkur. "Oh, Lady Ms Naked! Could you cast for it when you can spare a moment?"

The wood floor creaks as he cleans and whistles a song about spoons and sugar. Months of filth is pushed towards the back door. _Blood?_ He detours around red streaks that end at the edge of a cellar hatch missing a handle.

"Are you down there?" He flips the broom and pounds with the shaft. "Can I talk to the crusader boy and to you too, Ma'am? I'm a poet, and rumors help my rhymes!" He pounds again. "Tell me about the one with the tasty end, a lordly Obsidian or a lordly flute man?" He scratches his neck. "People love my stanzas paired with a whistling pipe."

Answers are here. I simply need to woo her with care.

He smirks and goes to the table. _She really made those thugs run._ The chair wobbles, and he grimaces and holds his side. _Hope they dropped my breastplate._

"Maybe just tell me where you keep a healer's kit! Mine has some great salves, but I left it in my pack!" He draws a skull and crossbones in the dust blanketing the dining table. "Your domination is going to wear off, and I'll have to leave! I'll come back after—"

"After what?" The woman wears a dark green robe, and her face is clean of swirls and squiggles.

"I didn't hear you." He rubs his pointed ears. "That's not normal."

With a gaunt expression that counters her fit body and tight skin, she glides across the floor and says, "You are hurt and hungry."

"And thirsty."

She curls her lips into a smile. "I can sympathize." A sickly sweet odor wrinkles his nose as she leans close. "I am always thirsty."

"Do you have a duster?" He scratches his nostrils. "With ostrich feathers, preferably."

Her fingers have long hard nails that slip around his wrist and tighten until circulation slows. "Come."

Wow, still strong.

There's a bunk on either side of the door and a collection of wooden soldiers fills a shelf. "My boys' room."

_Right, she's a mother._ He swallows. _Why does that make her more attractive?_

Her nails unwrap his bandage. Blood drips. Lips parted, she softly hisses and pulls back his linen tunic.

"Superficial, but it needs to be cleaned." She pushes. "Lie down."

Ishkur picks the larger bed and obeys. "Don't you need the lamp, or light a candle?"

"Fires burn out." Her mouth hovers over his split flesh, and then she licks like a cat drinking. "And my eyes see fine."

"I didn't know druids could cast with tongues." He wiggles his fingers. "It's soothing, numbing even. Did you put a salve in your mouth?"

She moans and moves a hand up his shirt until her nails scrape a nipple.

Ishkur flinches. "I don't mean to be rude, but can you make me a salad?"

She hisses and turns away. "Did your mother take good care of you?"

"Until I had to take care of her."

Her body tenses, and then she stands and straightens the quilted cover of the empty bed. "Family is the most important thing." Her hand lingers a moment more, and then she steps out.

The wooden soldiers on the shelf are roughly crafted and could be human, elf, or something else. _Like me._

He pulls his hand back from them as she returns with a healing kit, sealed with a white cross of tape. _Celestial symbol for sterility, a proper kit._

She helps him sit up and binds his wound with a bandage roll. "Keep it clean. Do not let your blood get infected."

"Thank you." He twists and winces. "Can I have a mirror to check it?"

"I have no wish to see myself. Such vanities are buried with my husband."

"Oh. Well, I barely feel it, so I'll trust your work." He pats his stomach. "Is it too late for a meal?"

"I have never had a half-elf for dinner."

"The half means I can eat meat, but vegetables would be preferred, the leafier the better." He scratches his wrist. "Bacon being the exception. I always accept bacon."

"Meat is rare here." Her palm is cool on his arm. "Return to the dining room, and I will get something... leafy."

She drifts out the back door, again without a creak. _No wonder she can sneak up on me._

He rocks the wobbly chair at the table, pulls a patch kit out of his belt pouch and cuts some leather. As he slips the bit of tanned hide under the short leg, his sensitive ears twitch. A thin gap in the floorboards has a soft and steady rasp.

"Hello?"

A light scratching answers.

"Is that you, soldier with my polearm?"

The scratching becomes frantic until a stomp from the back door stops it.

"That was quick," says Ishkur.

The robed woman holds a kale plant, roots still gripping dirt. She stomps again and slips into the adjoining kitchen. No wall. Floor tiles and cupboards instead of floorboards and furniture. Her eyes never leave him, and he fidgets while she rips off the leaves and rinses them in a tub.

"Can I have some wine?"

She shakes and drops the leaves in a bowl. "I only have red."

"Nothing too tannic; I prefer smooth in the evening."

Glass clinks and she picks up a dark bottle. "This was my favorite." She empties it in with the kale and stirs.

"All for me?" She serves it with no spoon, and the smell of vinegar wrinkles his face. "It's turned."

"Try it."

He sips. "By Gardener's grace, this _is_ delicious, thank you. Will you at least sit with me, if you won't eat?"

She dabs some red rolling down his chin. "You are a sweet boy."

Ishkur taps an ear. "Probably a lot older than you, actually, but I'm told I don't have the wisdom to show for it." He points down and squeezes some fingers together. "Not when I'm alone."

Her half-lidded eyes don't blink until he finishes the vinegar kale soup, and then she says, "I will prepare some fresh sheets."

"That's okay. I've got some meditating to do." He rubs his face, and she frowns while taking his bowl. "Don't worry. My elf half will have me sufficiently alert for a good day's work, especially if it's sunny."

She returns from the kitchen. "What work?"

Ishkur laughs and slaps the table, stirring up dust. "Oh, you're serious." He waves towards the back door. "Aside from the mess inside, your fields haven't been touched. Is this still a farm?"

"You would till my fields?"

He lays his head on her hand. "I'll earn my keep, and you can keep dominating." _At least until I can check for Haden and snatch Endraker back._

She brushes her nose against his fine auburn hair. "You're special." She grips the back of his neck with the tips of her nails. "Aware and embracing."

"I like belonging." He smiles. "It's comforting."

She stands. "When will you rest like a human?"

"Tomorrow maybe."

"Work hard; sleep well: a farmer's motto." She goes and wets a towel. "A man's mind needs to rest to answer questions he cannot see." She drops to her knees and wipes his feet.

"Did you do this for your husband?"

Nails dig into his sole.

_Ouch._ "I'm sorry!"

"I did." She fetches stockings and a pair of boots. "You can wear his."

_Got to keep up the wooing._ Ishkur pulls on the socks and hefts the boots. "Fine leatherwork, but my dainty feet cannot fill your man's shoes."

"Of course." She trades the boots. "Try my elder son's."

"Perfect."

"Just like you." She pinches his cheek. "Work hard, and tomorrow, I will tuck you in."

"I won't work half-assed. Even though I'm half an elf, and a mule is half an ass." He taps his ear. "Only need four hours of sleep every few days, if I can have regular mental decompression... meditation."

"I see." She snaps her fingers. "Now, look into my eyes and remember how alone you are."

"Your pupils are so big that there's no room for anything else."

"You will not wander out of sight of this home."

"Why would I?" He sniffles. "You're the only one that cares about me."

"I do care, my sweet boy." She pulls his head against her breasts. "And I will not ever let go."

He pats her thigh, gulping. _Like mother reincarnated._

7. Hospitium

Altruism can exist in fiction

But beware delusion and illusion

No selfless hero exists in the real

Maybe it is the thrill or the glory

There is always something that motivates

Claim it and anyone can be controlled

—Ibbit Bunnifarm

Flowers decorate hay, piled against the corral's fence. Ishkur pets the mule's shoulder as it munches, before waving to the girl who can hand-curse like an elf. _Time to try._ She stands behind a wheelbarrow at the edge of the street and waves back.

"Thank you for the fresh straw... Wish." _Now,_ _help loosen hypnotic woman's knot around my soul._

"Whisana." She puts her hand on her hip. "You can't call me Wish until you know me better."

"Well, you can call me Ishkur, or whatever you want."

"Okay, Ishturd."

"Lovely." _She's just a girl._ "Before you go on with your chores, can we finally trade stories?"

"What?"

"I'd like to know something about what happened here. What happened to those skull and crossbone soldiers, especially the one with a flute?"

"I told you." She points at the house next to him. "One's in there, and the others left."

Ishkur nods. "All right, I'll go first." She shrugs, and he says, "After my mother passed away, I joined an adventuring band and traveled to a city for the first time." He spreads his arms. "Imagine it, a thousand times this size with so many streets and alleys that no map details them all."

Whisana crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow.

_Patience, girl._ "It was my first mission, and I was lost in both spirit and body. The crowds and chaos of the place, the sheer scale and noise of it... I didn't know who or why I was. Just a speck of nothing in a sea of flesh; I never mattered less. I curled into a ball and wished for death."

The girl shifts, relaxing her arms.

_That's right._ "One of my bandmates found me like that. Useless. I panicked about getting kicked out of the group. He calmed me with flute music, helped me think of the city like a forest and affirmed my worth."

"Flute?" Whisana frowns. "It's your _friend_ that you're hunting?"

"Maybe. Probably."

She sneers, and he holds up his hand.

_Tricky._ "He isn't an Obsidian, or at least, he wasn't before," says Ishkur. "Haden is cursed with a... malevolent spirit that can use all the mystic skills of Black. With that Pit-born influence, I do worry about what he could become."

She glances at the house. "My friend is cursed too."

_The hypnotic woman?_ "So you understand conflicting feelings."

The mule snorts, and Whisana says, "She's very different, but I still love her."

"Yeah, she reminds me of my mother."

Whisana shivers. "Not Ms Sticknot. My friend's her daughter."

_Oh. That makes more sense._ "For the mission, we tracked down a kidnapper and rescued a nobleman's daughter." He leans against the mule's side. "It was glorious. There was a banquet, and we were the guests of honor. For a day I mattered to the city and for the rest of her life, I will matter to that daughter."

"You were heroes."

Ishkur smiles and then twitches. "Were we?" He closes his eyes. "Do you understand how mystic domination works?" _Carefully._ "It's about making a connection, muddling the mind, and entangling auras. It is very invasive, and often, its targets need spiritual healing to recover." He gulps, opening his eyes. "We used my friend's dark spirit to dominate the kidnapper, in order to save the daughter. But, _were we_ heroes when this left him insane?"

"Kidnapper." She shrugs. "A bad man got what he deserved."

"The nobleman sure thought so." He lowers his head and sighs. "And so did I, until I learned the 'bad man' was trying to trade that girl for his own father whom the noble had kidnapped first. We'd even been hired with money confiscated from that father, a wealthy merchant. A shame his son couldn't resist the domination or manage to break free."

"So the _noble_ was bad first?"

"It was a trade dispute that had gotten out of hand, but let me emphasize how much I wish he could have resisted or broken free." _I'm dominated._ Sweat rolls down his chin. "But it's hard to directly break such mystic control after it takes root in the soul." A breeze stirs straw, and he shivers. _Help me._ "It's much easier to tug at the edges, especially as time and distance wear the ensorcellment down."

"I guess."

_Hopeless._ "So what happened to the hospitality of this place? Even with my smile and ear tips covered, your country folk weren't welcoming."

"Obsidians." She spits between fence posts. "Their army took the boys and men. They cooked or chased off our pets and livestock." She spins her wheelbarrow around. "They killed, or worse, those who fought back."

Was Haden here for that?

She starts walking away, and Ishkur says, "I need to know more." _Is Lute responsible?_

Whisana keeps walking, and he pounds his thighs with clenched fists.

"Please! I can't... I can't follow you!" He takes a shaky step. "Ms Sticknot, she won't let me go!"

She doesn't turn.

He leans against the mule and sobs. _I'm such a tangled mess._ The hybrid equine snorts.

Ishkur sniffles. "Shall we plow?"

The mule stomps a hoof.

He scratches at the base of its neck. "Then I'll get the harness."

Time and distance.

The first field takes half the day. An audience of locals, including the buxom tavern woman, watch from the street as Ishkur struggles to keep the lines straight and the plow upright.

The second field goes quicker, and he's almost done when Whisana returns with the bulky man, her father.

"Elf mutt!" The man holds up a pail of water. "Thirsty?"

Ishkur stops and stumbles over to them at the street's edge. "By Gardener's grace, I thank you."

He spills as much as he drinks.

"Ironic how vital water is to plants when the overgods of Blue and Green are opposing alignments." Ishkur rubs his calves. "We grow better when we can all get along."

"Sure." The bulky farmer shrugs. "Now, my daughter has been petitioning me non-stop. I've finally acquiesced to inviting you to dinner."

Ishkur claps his hands. "That's wonderful." He rubs his upper legs, smiling at the sharp-eyed girl.

Let's try this again.

"But the lady... Ms Sticknot, she won't let me go." He frowns at the sun. "Ever."

The man grabs Ishkur's wrist and tsks. "Kelsa's got her fangs into you."

Ishkur yanks but can't break the grip. "What? Who?"

Whisana presses her neck with a pair of curled fingers. "Ms Kelsa Sticknot is the vampire you're staying with, Ishtupid."

"No, she's a druid like my mother." Ishkur twists his arm free. "She's no creature of... Merridian's mercy."

He gulps and dumps the rest of the bucket over his head.

"Hey!" Whisana shakes her dress where water's splashed. "That's cold."

Shivering, Ishkur moves his hand in a circle on his chest and slashes through it. "Water clean and pure, remove all censure."

Still dancing on the edge.

"What's with the Lileth prayer?" says the man.

Ishkur growls, and his legs shake but won't stretch into the street. "Come on, I can still see the house."

This domination spell has me way too entangled.

Ishkur slaps his cheeks and tugs at his ear tips. "I admit, Ms Sticknot mastering the prime skill of Black and an inner skill of Green runs counter to aligned casting requirements, but items can—"

"Are you deaf, blind, or stupid?"

"Papa!"

"Sorry." Her father dips his head. "Mr Mutt, are you ignorant or an idiot?"

"Both sound likely." _Muddled mind._ "I thought I could sneakily retrieve my polearm and make sure my friend isn't there." _But, vampire._ "She's too dangerous, too powerful." Ishkur waves at the sun. "And I'm unusually tired." _Dominated and abandoned._

The bow-legged uncle waves from the tavern's door. "Don't save him, Jorkin!"

The crowd nearby stirs, and the old woman from the first house says, "Sacrifice the elf bastard!"

Ishkur jabs a finger at the crone. "I really wanted that pickle!" He takes a shaky step into the street, and the group of old and young pull back. "I host, err... I serve Lord Icarus Path." _Do I still?_ "No way is blocked for long." He stretches his hand towards the tavern. "I really need a bath. My smell is far too strong."

"You _are_ Ishtinky." Whisana tugs on her father's pants. "He can use our tub."

Jorkin sighs, patting his daughter on the head. "The elders' annoyance isn't going to hold a candle to your mother's." He rolls his thick neck. "I can carry you, Mr Mutt, if you wish it."

Ishkur taps his forehead with his thumb and then points down and pinches. "Worthless gods." He rubs his nose with a finger pointed up. "Theoretically, you could take someone dominated and chain them down until the mystic wears off."

"Fine." Jorkin lifts him with a grunt.

Ishkur closes his eyes. "I'm not struggling, because I know you are circling... Kelsa's house." He squirms. "Tell me I'm not disobeying, please."

The girl says, "Why don't you cast a healing to break the spell and not go crazy?"

_Because I'm not the druid you think I am._ The thud of boots on packed dirt shifts to the crackle of heels on gravel.

"You've stepped off the street. I'm imaging the peeling paint and boarded up windows, just out of reach." _But vampire woman's path is dust, not gravel._ Ishkur twists, and Jorkin's grip tightens. "I'm her sweet boy." He smacks his head against the man's bulky shoulder. "I am. I am."

"Open the door, Wish." Wood creaks, and Jorkin lays Ishkur down on a bed. "Tell your sister to bring in the spare harness, then help your mother with dinner."

Ishkur keeps his eyes squeezed shut. "This reminds me of a joke my bandmates played on me with a wearebear in heat."

Jorkin lifts Ishkur's head and puts a cup to his lips. "Some mead."

"Fair warning." He drinks, and a flute sound is followed by a musky lemon odor. "Mead makes me fart."

"Noted." A jingle and then Jorkin wraps Ishkur in chain and leather. "Tell me about this wearebear."

"Oh." Ishkur opens his eyes and jerks against the bindings. "She bound me in thicker ones than these." He wiggles tingly fingers. "Had me halfway to Circus Town when my demigod broke me free."

"Demi-what? Are you an avatar?"

_Oops._ Ishkur stretches his hand towards a window with thick shutters. "Her house is just outside, right?"

Jorkin shrinks an inch and swells two. "Answer." He loops leather around Ishkur's arm. "Me."

"Of Green." Ishkur strains against the leather. "Not of Black, but yeah, an avatar."

"And a lying Verdant agent."

"No, I'm a ranger that reports to an indie band, not a crusade." _Usually._

Jorkin puts another loop around his neck.

"But, I can't summon anymore." Ishkur twists for breath. "So, consider me a simple scout."

"Do you know the evils avatars have done to this place?"

"Ones of _Black,_ right? My overgod is yours. Gardener loves farmers, almost as much as elves." _Another path for Lute._ "We should be allies, friends." _No inferno needed._

The man locks the harness and takes Ishkur's belt. "At sunrise, I'm tossing you out."

"What about dinner?" He sniffs. "And that tub?"

"You crusaders." Jorkin pulls up a chair, resting a sickle across his lap. "Every color as selfish as the other. Does it matter, even of Green or White? Do any of you care about the folk crushed by your five-sided holy war?"

"I'm really not a crusader. People matter more to me than claiming places of power for my overgod." _Or reclaiming a trade route._

"So, you're not anything you appear to be or say you are; not a druid, an avatar, a soldier, or a spy?"

Ishkur coughs. "I never said I could cast. I just didn't deny your young daughter's presumption." He sighs. "My band's called 'Lords Under The Eye', or 'Lute.' We're independent and a mix of all alignments."

"Why are you here, agent of every crusade?"

_This guy has to be a veteran or something._ "My demigod abandoned me, and I fell off my griffin." _Built like a boar and just as relentless._ "I feel sick." Ishkur grits his teeth, and thumps his head against the bed. "Can you knock me out? Resisting Kelsa is tort—"

The farmer's calloused knuckles clip Ishkur's chin. "Did that do it, Mr Mutt?"

Ishkur spews mead-flavored vomit. "No, but my stomach feels better." He stretches his jaw and grins. "And my sanity remains as her mystics fade with the day." He strains against the harness. "So, you could loosen these."

Jorkin taps the back of the sickle's blade against his chair. "Technically, hospitium applies after you eat, not drink."

A woman's voice says from the other room, "Dinner time!"

_That's the key._ "Food please!"

The man cringes and raises his fist.

"Jorkin, what are you doing?" says a woman who barely tops the bulky farmer's elbow. "He's our guest!"

"Taimay, listen—"

"You spoil our daughters and fight with your uncle." She shakes her arm at Ishkur. "Now you're torturing this poor man... elf?" She pokes Jorkin in the ribs. "Is this family time in our home or a binge in your old barracks?"

"It's okay, Ms Mama-Bumpkin." Ishkur spits. "Your husband is saving me from a vampire."

"What?" She gets on her tiptoes and smacks the back of Jorkin's head. "And where do you think Vampiress Kelsa will bring her girls tonight?"

"Uh, well the shutters are oak and—"

She holds up her hand, and Jorkin bites his lip. "Toss the elf man out or clean him up for dinner." Her nose wrinkles. "Either way, wipe up that mess before it stains the floor."

She huffs and stomps out, and Jorkin rubs his head. "When the sun sets, the doors stay shut. I'll kill you if you break this rule under Kelsa's command or not."

"Nourish me and I'll respect hospitium. My honor will help break her hold, and I'll not break your rule... tonight."

Jorkin fingers a key as his wife says, "Dinner is getting cold! Tell me now if I'm reheating!"

He harrumphs and unlocks Ishkur. "Don't hog the butter, Mr Mutt."

8. A Bumpkin Dinner

Vampires are best formed amidst misery.

The ritual calls for murdering a love

And drinking their blood, which fuels strength and healing.

Beware the soothing voice that whispers sadness.

Spreading misery is their instinctive skill

And a weakened mind will be dominated.

So, be happy in the sun, and eat garlic.

—Lord Talom Mourning of White

Tea cups rattle on a platter held by a maiden a head taller than her mother, Taimay. Ishkur strains harness straps pinning him against his oak chair to help steady the tray with the tip of his middle finger. The young woman blushes like a girl caught with a boy in a barn.

"Don't spillll it, Pai'Jaja," Whisana says to her big sister and wiggles in her chair with pouting lips. "Just pouuur it."

The maiden jerks. A splash of tea wets shortbread on Ishkur's plate and stains the giant sleeves of his borrowed clothes. _What's she so nervous about?_

"Sorry, sorry." The young woman moves to wipe him with a fold of her dress.

"Don't you dare, Paija." Taimay narrows her eyes at her older daughter. "You have a washrag hanging out of your apron pocket."

"Tea flavored is fine." Ishkur drops the bread in his mouth and says with crumbs falling out, "Tastes like a café special."

Jorkin latches a final cottage's shutter and then sits in the only chair with cushions. "Sun just set." He puts his cup back on the tray and refills a mug with mead. "We haven't had a dinner this late since..." He sighs and drinks.

"It was last harvest festival." Whisana sips her tea. "We had roasted chicken and honeyed yams."

"And a week later the crusaders plundered." Jorkin sets his mug down. "No more chickens. No more meat. Tonight's no exception."

Ishkur bows as much as his restraints allow. "I accept your vegetarian hospitium and understand my obligations."

"Do you?" Jorkin cracks a knuckle. "No theft of property or virginity."

Paija gasps and blushes again.

Her father stabs the tabletop with a thick finger. "You will defend this home as your own."

Ishkur nods. "Fair price to fill my belly." _And untangle my soul._

Taimay motions towards a food-topped counter of speckled granite bordering the kitchen like a rampart. Her daughters fetch platters of stir-fried rice, pickled beets, and fresh bread.

"Making our guest presentable, at least in smell, is worth having to reheat dinner." The petite matron serves Ishkur a scoop of rice and a thick slice of bread that she piles beets on. "That's my hospitium."

Ishkur reaches for the butter, but Jorkin snags it and slowly covers a slice of bread. "Mine is letting you wear my silk pajamas."

"It's like the tongues of angels across my skin." Ishkur rubs his chest. "A surprising thing for a farmer to own."

Jorkin grips Ishkur's shoulder and squeezes. "Maybe I wasn't always a farmer." He lets go and cracks his knuckles, until his wife clears her throat.

As the big man loses a staring contest with the small woman, Ishkur says, "Kelsa fed me under her roof. Maybe that's why she didn't hurt me." He takes a bite of the open-faced beet sandwich. "Oh my, very delicious." He frowns. "Why am I the only one eating this?"

"A beet farmer made the mistake of arriving after sunset." Taimay forks a slice of the bulbous root and chokes it down. "We claimed my husband's weight in beets and have been eating them every night since."

"This is a prime location." Ishkur shapes his rice into a _Y_ to match the streets outside. "I can understand why the Obsidians would be interested in claiming it."

Jorkin shakes his head. "Those crusaders moved hundreds through. They conscripted, plundered, and mostly left." He flexes his hands. "Just seven stayed to hold sway over us."

"I caught sight of five thuggish ones leaving together, but what did the other two look like?"

"Flute Man's his friend, Papa." The younger daughter smirks. "He's cursed like—"

Ishkur clears his throat. "Excuse me, Whisana, but I don't know. I've only presumed it's my friend."

"Oh?" Jorkin interlaces thick fingers.

Haden, master of murder and melody.

Ishkur shrugs, shifting straps binding his shoulders. "I was supposed to pick him up here because this used to be Sarvernway, the last major stop before what was the titan's capital on the coast. We're investigating the old trade route that runs through for Lute, our band."

"Help me understand." The big farmer leans on his elbows. "Your 'band' wants this route and is working with the Obsidians to claim it?"

"If we are, it is a path I intend to correct."

"How?"

"My demigod isn't answering, but I can still fix things with my mortal hands."

"If you're really a ranger that's lost his curse, then I'm happy for you." Jorkin rubs his wife's shoulder. "May I mention what happened before, with Sassa?"

Taimay's face tightens. "Go ahead. You've already started."

"I don't have to, sweetie. I can—"

"Sassa was my sister. Six years ago, she became an avatar and killed our then druidic protector, Lupanne."

"My uncle's wife," Jorkin says. "A good woman, loved by all. Loyal to Gardener, but resisted the Verdants' call." He shakes his head. "Lupanne thought that would keep us neutral and safe, but this is a place of power. No hiding from the game of gods."

Amen.

"Sassa woke from possession, a murderess." Taimay curls fingers into a claw. "Uncle Hoyne, in a rage, killed her."

"What color was she, your sister?" Ishkur moves his thumb in a circle on the table. "What alignment?"

"Blue." Jorkin sips his mead. "She glowed titan blue for Lileth."

Ishkur slashes across the wood with a fingernail. "My other opposing color." He eats some stir-fry. "But, it's the Obsidians of Black that came in force."

Taimay pushes her plate away. "And broke us."

"Kelsa Sticknot replaced my aunt as our druidic protector," says Jorkin. "When a messenger bird came from the Verdants, Kelsa announced supporting their crusade. After all, neutrality hadn't spared Aunt Lulu." He gulps down some bread. "When the Obsidians came, Kelsa and her husband fought as parents to keep their sons." He empties out a pitcher into his mug and sniffles. "Hopeless against avatars. Their whole family were punished as crusaders... in ways that frighten me."

Jorkin covers his eyes, his breathing ragged.

_A crime to see a proud man cry._ "No need to describe the ritual, I know how vampires are made." Ishkur drops a fork and takes his time picking it up.

"Our families were close," says Taimay and holds her daughters' hands as they both bow their heads. "Paija was promised to her older boy." She pats her larger daughter's shoulder. "Wish was best friends with Mayp, Kelsa's youngest girl."

Whisana leans back, crossing her arms. "I still am."

Ishkur lifts his finger. "Vampire souls are stretched by the chains of Pit, so the friend you knew—"

Whisana pounds the table. "She's not like her mom."

"Well sure, vampires are hard to make. Ghoul probably." He rubs his neck. "Does your friend still have hair?"

"You were supposed to teach me how to save her, Ishliar." Whisana pushes away, knocking over her chair, and runs into her room.

"Paija." Taimay rights the chair. "Go."

The big sister sighs and follows.

_This place of power was brutally shifted from green to black, Gardener to Merridian, while Haden watched._ He taps the table with his finger and pinches a splinter. _Or even helped._

Ishkur says, "Terrible first and second impressions, but avatars aren't always so bad. My band, for example, has set aside the violence that defined us for the first few years. Instead, we're focusing on economic development, which may one day help, even this far out place, grow and prosper."

"Of course." Jorkin lifts his sickle that had been resting against his leg. "You're here to claim us too, for your band, if not a crusade."

"I'm a terrible representative," says Ishkur. "Do you imagine a great band of avatars would send a jester like me to claim anything?" He forces a laugh. "But I've been stranded here, so perhaps I can speak to your elders. Especially during a holy war, a relationship with my people could be very productive." _And redeeming._ "And I need to earn supplies and a horse for the hike to the coast.

Jorkin pulls a rag out of a pocket and wipes the sickle's blade. "And your avatar spirit is silent, so you can't just take what you want."

Ishkur sighs. "I had money. Plenty enough to pay, but it was all stolen. I came here on the heels of those five thugs after they stole my gear." He snorts. "Vampiress Kelsa scattered them last night. With your food and drink filling my belly, I will be after them at dawn." He smiles. "I'll get my gear back, and with it, the means to repay your hospitium... in gold."

Jorkin grunts. "The tradition requires no expectation for—"

The window nearest their dining table squeals, and Kelsa's voice says, "Come out, come out sweet boy!"

Taimay flips her chair, sprinting after her daughters. _Spry mother._ Jorkin holds his harvesting tool ready and double checks latches and locks. _Careful father._

"Should I answer?"

"No." Jorkin hurries over, resting the blade so it curves around Ishkur's throat. "Does she still control you?"

"She confuses like a sultry mother and could muse some twisted prose, but control me?" Ishkur starts to shake his head and stops. "Ouch." Blood dribbles down his neck. "Nope, she controls nothing above my loins."

The front door rattles. "Let me in! Let me in! I just want him!"

Ishkur presses back into his chair. "I won't be your Cabernet!"

Jorkin smacks Ishkur's head with his elbow. "Hush."

"Elkrun Family, guess how hungry breaking in will make me? Enough for one daughter or two?"

The father opens his mouth and Ishkur says, "Tomorrow!" He strains against the straps. "I'll return, if you leave his family alone!"

"Do not dally, my sweet!"

Taimay comes with daughters in tow, and Jorkin says, "By the fire. Get cozy."

They go with blankets over thin shoulders and sit against the brick.

"Don't make me regret this, elf man." Jorkin frees him from the chair.

Ishkur stands and rubs his legs. "Ha, see. I have full control."

The roof creaks, and dust falls from the ceiling.

"More wood!" Jorkin grabs some bellows as his wife puts a fresh log into the smoldering hearth.

Ishkur frowns. "But that chimney can't be big enough for her to fit down."

A young girl's voice says, "Wish, Wish, Wish! Can I come down and play-play?"

Whisana sniffles. "Don't, Maypie! It's too hot!"

"Later-later!" The roof creaks again and then nothing.

Ishkur slips around the kitchen counter and reaches for a metal cooking grate. Jorkin stomps up behind, slamming him against the wall.

_Strong as an orc._ "Easy," says Ishkur. "You'll rip your silk."

The man steps back and checks the lock on the kitchen door to outside. "What were you doing in here?"

Ishkur points at the grate. "I was getting that to stop Kelsa's little girl coming down the chimney."

Jorkin chuckles and rests his hands on knees. "Most of us installed thicker grates than that to keep out the gremlins. We cross our fingers it's strong enough to keep out whatever Kelsa's daughters are." He pats Ishkur on the shoulder. "Good thinking, though. Help me keep the fire going strong through the night, and we'll meet with our elders tomorrow."

"You think they'd be interested in working with my band?"

"If you convince me it's a good idea, then I might convince them."

Ishkur snatches the farmer's calloused hand, shaking it with a grin. _Alternative path revealed._ "Deal!"

9. A Fool's Tools

Every problem is a lock

And the mind is the key

If you run out of ideas

Come to the library

—Russo Minark

"Your older daughter snores like a sailor." Ishkur creaks in his chair, leaning towards the fireplace.

Jorkin snorts and stirs coals. "She won't believe any of us."

"Should I let her know?"

Paija honks and then kind of hisses. Her mother and sister snuggle on the other side of the stone hearth. Ishkur and Jorkin round out the familial curve, basking in warmth.

"She has self-esteem issues and no boys around to prove her wrong." Jorkin rolls his neck. "Be nice to her." He holds up a finger. "But not _nice_ , nice."

"She sounds like a dying goat."

"Do not tell her that."

"One that swallowed a goose with a frog between its bills."

"You could maybe say that." Jorkin shifts and stirs a steaming cauldron. "These clothes won't be dry in time."

"Minor mystic items. Pull them out."

Jorkin lifts undergarments and linens out of the laundry pot with a stick. "And?"

Ishkur taps the dripping mass, saying in Elvish, "Dry."

Steam hisses off the cloth into Jorkin's face. "Hot!" The man raises it higher, and it peters out.

"It's convenient, but you better make sure these linen clothes are off before activating that effect." Ishkur scratches his neck. "Once I got soaked while drudging through a swamp and learned the hard way." He shudders, taking the stick. "Lord Icarus had to possess me and regrow my skin."

"Avatars must carry a king's ransom in gear." Jorkin lifts the pot away from the fire with a grunt. "Got anything else mystic?"

"The dagger in my belt." Ishkur points at the wall where Jorkin hung it. "It's named Nummer and holds its edge against anything from bone to hardened steel. Oh, and my fire starter never fails." He taps his lip. "What little else is mundane. My king's ransom was taken yesterday when those crusaders caught me with my pants down." _Endraker._ "Vampiress Kelsa did claim a crucial lost item of mine last night."

"And she's strained her word this night." Jorkin gets Ishkur's belt and hands it over. "The first sunset after Obsidian Crusaders made her a monster, she came to every home. She whispered through our windows a promise: to remain our protector as long as we followed the rule."

"Rule?"

"I already told you." Jorkin points at the front door. "Sun sets, stay shut." He shakes his head. "The folk here are simple. They want things to somehow return to normalcy despite the missing brothers, sons, and fathers. A monstrous protector leashed to a tavern garrison of crusaders was easy to accept in comparison." He stirs some coals. "Loyal Verdant or cursed Obsidian, Kelsa still keeps the gremlins away."

"Her controllers, Flute Man and the other avatar, they sent their thugs to find me?"

"They saw your griffin a few days ago, yeah."

_Peggy._ "Thought so."

Jorkin rubs his bristly chin. "Some hours after they left, our tavern wench saw your friend, Flute Man, stripping the other one of armor and gear."

_By Lady Uostai's will or Haden's?_ "Was there black smoke swirling around Flute Man or maybe just a dampening of light, like he was shaded even under the sun?"

"No, Kimona would have mentioned that." Jorkin frowns. "He wasn't possessed?"

"Demigods of Black tend to make smoke and shade their hosts. Did you ever talk to them—either host?"

"Steered clear of those two and their five thugs as much as I could." The farmer's hands shake. "Taimay made me swear, so I wouldn't attack and die."

"Well, if Flute Man is Haden, he was powerfully disguised, so your description wouldn't help much." Ishkur snaps his fingers. "Did he avoid hugs?"

Jorkin's jaw drops. "I don't know, Mr Mutt. They kidnapped, killed, and cursed my people. I think _we_ avoided hugging them."

_Fair point._ "Did your wenchy witness notice if the other avatar host was alive or dead?" He chews his lip. "The one Flute Man was looting?"

"Dead now." Jorkin raises an eyebrow. "He tossed his body into Vampiress Kelsa's house and left."

Ishkur chuckles. "Sorry." He bites his lip. "Just laughing at myself because I'd been confused about which host left." He sighs. "I could be catching up to my friend now, if I'd run straight after him." _Then, together we'd be getting my gear back, instead of tangling myself up in the lives of bumpkins._

Jorkin leans close with a closed fist. "Don't even think of abandoning—"

"Of course not." Ishkur wiggles in his chair. "Now, when the crusaders came back, I saw you bumpkins pointing at the old trade route. You showed them where Flute Man had gone, but did they know what happened to the other one?"

The man shrugs.

Ishkur draws his dagger and stands, moving through some close quarter forms. "Well, with the controlling garrison gone, don't expect your vampiress to keep any promise not already imprinted on her soul."

"If up to me," says Jorkin, "I'd put Vampiress Kelsa and her girls out of their misery before the sun sets again."

_I do like this bumpkin._ "How about I take care of them and earn goodwill for my band?"

Paija honks a snore, and Taimay slips free of Whisana and sits up. With a scowl, she crawls over and flicks Paija in the ear. Her older daughter grumbles and curls towards the wall while Taimay stands and rolls a kink out of her neck.

"Away, away." She leads Ishkur and her husband into the kitchen. "After I speak about this night, we'll have the council votes to end Kelsa." Taimay shivers and rubs her arms. "But how will such an... extermination be done?"

"Spears, garlic, and fire." Ishkur bows. "Under the sun, easily done."

Jorkin snorts. "Even when her voice makes you a puppet?"

Ishkur shakes his head. "Domination is a delicate skill that you can prepare to resist both mentally and physically." He taps a pointed ear. "But I don't think she'll try hard after dawn. Vampires have to burn a lot of blood just to be awake during the day, let alone exert themselves."

The small woman takes a deep breath. "Please, do it then." She leans against her husband. "I can't imagine killing our friend no matter what she's become, and her daughters..." She wipes her eyes. "I midwifed them all."

_This isn't heroism._ "What do her daughters look like, now?" _More adventurous than dung rolling but still cleaning up after my band's ambitions._

"I haven't seen one since they were changed." Jorkin sniffs and turns away. "Kelsa doesn't let them out often, but Wish saw them through a window once and said they're bald."

"Ghouls for sure," says Ishkur. "Easier to make and harder to kill in the daytime."

The farmer sighs. "It was a few weeks after the main Obsidian press gang left. I forbade her from getting close to that cursed house, but she's stubborn, wild, and curious."

Taimay snorts. "The best of both of us."

"I caught Wish trying to climb in a window." Jorkin hugs his wife. "I smacked her. Too hard. She still begged to help her friend." He wipes his face. "I could hear Mayp, that's the youngest, calling for Wish like she did tonight. Trying to lure her in to..." He growls. "The elders were afraid to sanction anything, so I went back and boarded up every window. Your flute friend watched, and now I think maybe stopped the rest from hassling me. He saw what I was ready to do with that hammer."

"My friend tries to avoid hurting children." Ishkur flexes with clenched fists. "If his lady helped curse Kelsa's daughters, I'm sure he was disgusted with the misery caused."

Jorkin frowns. "Lady?"

"Lady Uostai Play. Demigods and hosts don't have to agree on gender any more than anything else."

"And yours has abandoned you," says Taimay.

Ishkur nods.

She shakes her head. "It seems that helping us may go against your friend and your divine band's interests. So, why help us? We're just _bumpkin_ strangers."

_Not against, exactly._ Ishkur opens and closes his mouth. _Redirecting Lute, maybe._ "Um..." _She's too thorny to accept that._ "You have a _beautiful_ bumpkin family."

Taimay's mouth thins.

"Just, let me be a hero." Ishkur claps his hands. "Make a hardy breakfast at dawn, and I'll take care of Vampiress Kelsa and her little ghouls at sunrise."

"Alone?" Jorkin yawns. "If you wait—"

"I told your vampiress I'd return if she left you alone. I won't violate my hospitium, and I can't wait for an elder council. I've still got thugs to hunt and my friend to catch." _If he stops at the coast._ "Do you have a spear?"

"We've been too beaten down to replace the proper weapons pillaged, but I've a long shovel."

"Oh. Well, if it's the one you intimidated me with, it will do. How about garlic?"

Taimay opens a shelf. "Take some scented candles and trade with Kimona at the tavern for it."

"Lovely." Ishkur pulls out his flint and steel. "And I have my fire starter."

Jorkin shakes his head. "You can't burn her house down. My uncle could accept that, but the neighbors would be out with buckets and a crossbow. They'd be brave enough under the sun to face a lone stranger, and then hold me accountable as your host. Monstrous or not, Kelsa's still seen as our hamlet's protector."

Taimay nods. "But wait, and I will sway our elders."

"If not, I'll set the fire myself," Jorkin thumps the kitchen's shutters.

Ishkur pokes and pinches. "By Gardener's grace, give me strength to break this place free of Merridian's mercy."

He frowns. Poke. Pinch. _All of me, fill with strength._

The room blurs, and Ishkur falls against a wet elastic mirror. _Let me see._ Focus returns, and the illusion dissipates.

Jorkin shakes him. "Wake up, Mr Mutt."

A pressure remains at the back of Ishkur's throat and behind his eyes. _Let me breathe._ "My—" He coughs and the pressure pops. "My overgod's power." _I felt it, directly._

"Don't you dare get possessed."

"I'm not, but Lord Icarus is nice. He'd take care of this vampire mess without sparking a fire." _Unless having a vampire nesting in this strategic spot is a key part of the Lute master plan._

"What happened just now, then? Your eyes dilated, and you mumbled something."

"Hosts are all failed casters, too impatient for rituals, but with the will to commune." Ishkur taps the pouch his lord's note is in. "One of the first things we're warned against. Never try to draw in aligned power directly from the divine. We must summon demigods to filter it, so we don't drown."

"And that's what you did?" Jorkin sets down a kitchen knife. "You're not glowing."

"No." Ishkur rubs his fingers together. "But, maybe I could." He pats the counter. "Motivated to help you fine folk, maybe I would." _And create another path to claim this place and salve Lute's ambition._

Jorkin says, "A glowing avatar, without armor, black _or_ green, is as likely to get a bolt as a shout from Kelsa's neighbor. Abinten, he promised as much when those crusaders left."

"No glow of Green, no house fire, no celestial lamp, and no spear." Ishkur grins. "My weapons will be mere garlic, a sharp shovel, and a spark of prose." He slaps the kitchen counter. "I'll get this job done while it's still in the bright of morning."

The sun is slow to rise over the canopy of the eastern forest. Jorkin yawns, letting a pacing Ishkur outside.

_About time._ Ishkur stomps down the empty street and around the hamlet's grand tavern.

The first floor is taller than the roofs of the neighboring homes. Large blocks of blue-speckled granite form the walls with small portals for windows, too high to peek through without standing on a barrel. The second story has wide windows and wooden walls, like a mansion on a stone ship.

Impressive, but where fear rules, intolerance festers.

He sticks his shovel in the dirt and starts to wrap a headband over the tips of his ears. _No. Better to know._ He stops and pounds on the tavern's front door with pointed ears exposed. _Is this a place of bumpkin bigots?_ "Bright and shiny!" _Or, is it worth saving?_ "Open up!"

"Coming, coming," says a woman's voice.

"Important business!" Ishkur traces a carved silhouette of a hunched man painted over by the Obsidian Crusade's skull and bones. "Hurry!"

An eye slit slides, and the woman says, "Wow, it's you."

_It's me, the mutt._ "Candles for Kimona." He shifts the half-dozen he's cradling.

"Wow, that's me." Latches squeak, and the buxom woman pulls the large door open. "Thank you." She takes the flower-scented wax. "You're staying with the Elkruns?"

"Just last night."

Kimona pants and leans against the wall. "We were _so_ worried about you." She arches her back and shimmies wide hips. "Now, what can I do in trade?"

"As much garlic as you can spare." She straightens, and he raises an eyebrow. "Who was worried?"

"All the girls, the maidens, the widows, and most of all... me." She touches her ear. "I was just a girl the last time a half-elf came through, and he wasn't half as handsome as you."

Ishkur grunts. _That's an odd feeling._ Eyes wide and cheeks flushed, she shudders as he steps past into the empty common room. _Bumpkin worship?_

"Was he welcomed better than I've been?"

"Well." She bows her head. "Lupanne, our druid then, she..."

"Cast him out." _As bad as my mother's village._

"He was a treasure hunter."

Treasure?

"I don't know why, but that scared her enough to make us unwelcoming." She kicks a door stopper in and sets the candles on a table, one of eight with five chairs each.

_A few dozen more with the bar stools and benches._ Ishkur rubs a polished granite wall, rising to a ceiling twice his height. _Space to spare for every bumpkin left in Bunnifarm._ "You've a massive inn. It lords over your hamlet."

"That interested the other... man, too." Kimona thumps the hardwood floor with her heel. "Three States is built on old ruins."

Ishkur pulls out his rough survey map. "A suitable name for a tavern right where three borders meet."

"Oh, but that's kingdoms." She winds her hair into a bun. "My father says the name is for the sober state of a patron coming in, getting drunk, and leaving dead drunk." She gestures towards the entrance. "And hunched over."

"Or." Ishkur rolls his eyes. "It's because when Sarvern was the titan's imperial capital a millennium ago, the three kingdoms that meet here were just states." He shrugs. "But your father's answer suits things better now for this remnant of Sarvernway."

"Oh wow, such smarts behind such a cute face." She flutters her eyelashes and then pushes through a door next to the bar. "Back in a moment, darling."

Ishkur walks to a stage in the corner where a setting sun could shine through the portals. _Spotlights._ He blows on the raised floor and dust swirls. _Hildr, belly dance for me._ He shuts his eyes and hums. _Chimes between fingers and bells chained to hips and ankles._

"I miss the music," says Kimona and swings a string of garlic when he turns. "I miss the boys with fiddles under soft chins."

Ishkur hurries over and ties the bulbs around his neck. "The crusaders didn't like music?"

"None could play, except..." She shivers. "One of their champions, he played the flute."

_Haden._ "What was he like?"

She rubs her arms. "He was the only one that didn't touch me, but when he played I cried like my soul was getting raped."

"A mystic effect to weaken your will." Ishkur scratches his neck. "Makes people easier to dominate, especially if you don't know what's happening."

_They've been abused and broken, from pickle girl to the Elkruns and now this one._ He bows. "Thank you and wish me well, fairest wench of Three States."

"Be well, gorgeous stranger."

_I'd rather just be handsome._ Ishkur pauses at the door. "One more thing."

"Yes?"

"Do you have bacon?"

"The soldiers left some, but it will cost you more than a candle."

"Fine." He crushes garlic and rubs it over his face, neck, and wrists. "I'll also want laundry done and a bath in a tub I can stretch out in."

She touches her cheeks. "Why are you putting that on?"

He picks a couple of candle bits out of a pouch. "Same reason I'm stuffing my ears with these." He rubs them between his fingers until they soften and packs the wax in. "Because I've decided." _For my band and my conscience._ "This place is worth saving." He winks. "You can thank me with a discount."

10. Hero of Action

Why did the man

Ask his ghoulish fiancée

To marinate him?

...

Because he was dead-icated.

—Ishkur Inshushinak Ishtaran

Ishkur pushes old hay and steaming manure out of the corral with his borrowed shovel. "You may be doing some odd work today," he says to the mule.

The farm animal bumps him with a graying face, and he scratches bony withers. _Should I find a younger one?_

Plop... plop, plop.

Ishkur claps. "Splendid poo, a pile to be proud of. You can still do-do what needs to be dung." Plop. "Keep lightening your load, Jorkin's girl will clean up." He chuckles. "I miss Apple. He loved a bad pun." Ishkur's eyes widen. "I never prayed his way."

He drops to his knees, pokes dirt, and pinches.

"Lord Icarus, allow this call for unfiltered power."

He clasps his hands and bows his head like the old shaman did the last time the demigod possessed Ishkur.

"By Gardener's grace give me strength in body and will to complete this... mission."

Nothing blurs, but the mule does piss.

"Trust me, Ms Mule, the power's there. I'm just missing something."

The sky is clear blue except for a lone puff of white _. A mole on a beauty's cheek or a flaw on a sapphire?_ Ishkur slips through the mule's fence. _Or the scar on Hildr's chin, when not hidden._ At the rear of Kelsa's house, he bows towards the morning sun with his thumb pressed against his forehead.

The back door is locked, so Ishkur moves to a boarded window. He sets Jorkin's shovel under a board's edge and pries. Rusted nails scream as the wood creaks and snaps.

_Fine._ He grunts and rips off the rest of the boards, uncovering strips of rose-colored paint from when the house was still cared for.

Did children laugh while pies on this window sill cooled?

Setting the shovel down, he draws Nummer and pops a couple of garlic cloves in his mouth.

Or, were sweet things just imagined while stirring cold gruel?

Face contorting, he chews until his tongue is numb and then sticks his head through the window with puffed cheeks and watery eyes.

Mother recounted such a brutal bumpkin life. Yet I yearned for a quaint home no matter some strife.

He shifts to let sunlight on his back push back the gloom. Motes of dust swirl down the hallway framed by the blood-stained hatch on the floor and bedroom doors shut tight on either side.

Sleep on like the dead, cursed bumpkins, and dream about the lovely lives I hope you led.

He squeezes his head and linen-padded shoulders through. _This is when they get me._

Sun blocked, his heart thumps. He surges inside with a forward roll that creaks the floor and ends on his feet.

_Too noisy._ He spits out chunks of garlic towards the cellar hatch and creeps to the latch locking the back door. _I'm a better scout than this._

With a lift and pull, fresh air breezes into the hall. _Be calm._ He takes a deep breath, grabs the shovel, and puts more garlic in his mouth. _Panic's a better killer than Haden._

The early morning sun splits the home, almost to the front door. Ishkur tiptoes between dark stains flowing to the hatch and the foot of the largest side door. _Got to be Kelsa's master bedroom._ His hand shakes above the knob.

_I don't_ have _to._ He steps back and kneels. _And, she needs her beauty sleep._

Still no hatch handle, but there's space enough at the edges of the cellar's entrance for a shovel's blade. He jams it in, prying until finding the correct side.

_All I really need is my polearm._ The hatch opens without a squeak, and a sickly sweet smell clogs his nostrils. _And confirmation of a host's body._

The cavernous cellar swallows the glow of morning. He lights the lamp from the first night and slips the carrying hoop around the shovel blade.

Leading with the flickering light down a sturdy ladder, he holds his breath until boots touch stone. _No mere cellar._

Dozens of shapes cling to darkness. He spins the lantern to peel shadows from skeletons held together with strings. They hang from the ceiling like puppets, while the walls are decorated with stretched skin, neatly stitched together like quilts made of ghosts.

_Obsidian claimed via ritual murder._ A chill tickles his neck. _Eyes on me._

"Forgive my trespass," he says in a whisper and moves his hand in a circle around his chest. "By Merridian's mercy, I will not dally or disrupt your shrine." He draws an _A_ on his chest and gulps.

With as much space as the house above, the basement is big enough for the arranged dead to present a macabre but festive atmosphere. _Must be a buried ruin of Sarvernway._

All the empty eye sockets gaze towards a stubborn bit of dark in the center of the room. A pole is there, connecting dirt floor to wood ceiling.

"My Endraker! What have they done to you?"

Two flayed bodies lay before the polearm; one has shreds of black and gray cloth. _Poor young fool._ He crouches next to the other and pokes a distinctly human set of teeth with his dagger. _By Gardener's grace and Merridian's mercy, you took Haden's place._ He pokes and pinches. "May your next lives be free, oh nameless brothers of bad fortune."

He drops a clove of garlic in each mouth and steps up to Endraker. His fingers hover over the metallic shaft, decorated with winding vines and ivy leaves, molded to exquisite detail.

"How soured are you by this sanctity of Black?"

The blade is stuck deep into the wood above and has an inky shimmer when the lantern is close. _Wish I could check its aura._

Poke and pinch. "Lord Icarus, a note of advice. Don't—"

A skeleton moves. Ishkur readies his dagger and swings the shovel and lantern over. The bones dance on strings being tugged towards a shadowy corner.

Don't have your next host train so much with just a polearm.

There's muted scratching. _Not good enough._ He uses his shoulders to press candle wax deeper into his ears and steps forward.

"Kelsa?" Another skeleton dances with strings pulled towards the opposite corner. "Are you her girls?"

A third set of bones jiggle, and out of three corners voices say, "You are not worthy."

"Truly, I am not."

"Trespassers are not suffered to live."

"On your mother's orders." He wets his lips. "I'm here to fetch this."

Ishkur grips his polearm's shaft and gasps. _Empty._ His fingers go numb, and he collapses.

_Monster soul gone._ The lantern has fallen on its side, and the flame struggles to flicker. _Shrine sent it to Pit, and Endraker tries to replace with mine._

It is a detachment, but not like being possessed by his demigod. Ishkur is cold but cannot shiver. Dust tickles his eyes, but he cannot blink or even cry. He is at the bottom of a pond with fingertips poking the surface, grasping air that bubbles away before reaching his lips.

Pale faces come out of the dark. Hairless, with big eyes, the girls smile and let long tongues slide out over needle teeth.

No.

Ishkur sucks in a breath and makes a rasping sound. _I live._

The smallest climbs over him, and remnants of a cotton nightgown tickle his face as she scratches at the wax packed in his ear.

No.

He can't turn his head.

No.

She traces a circle on his palm.

I'm not dead yet.

She draws an _A_ inside and then wets his finger with her tongue. _I'm not—_ There's a chomp, and he screams in his head.

His other hand is tugged.

Chomp. Chomp.

"You're too sweet-sweet." Mouth red with his blood, the little one leans into Ishkur's face and yanks off his necklace of garlic. "And stinky." She spits. "Die, soon-soon."

Ishkur blinks, clenching his teeth. _No sleep._ He starts to drift. _Sleep is the end._

A shrouded shape slides down the ladder. The ghoulish girls hiss, and the figure stomps.

"He is mine!"

As one, the three retreat and say, "Sorry, Mother."

"Finish cleaning the flesh from _those_ bones and leave _my_ boy alone!" Kelsa's eyes are black pits, and her skin is ashy. "Oh my sweet, you are late and where you should not be."

Agreed.

She carries Ishkur upstairs with strained hisses. The back door is shut, and the morning sun has retreated above the window.

"Why wake me with that reek of garlic, which so upsets my digestion? Do you know how hungry the day makes me?" She licks his ear tip and lays him on her older son's bed. "If you die here, you feed Merridian. No reincarnation."

My soul won't fuel your shrine, harpy. Not if I can breathe my overgod's power to live.

Long hair covers her face as she leans and pulls his hands into the darkness there. "Only three fingers."

_Only three left?_ Ishkur moans.

Kelsa sucks on his hands and then wraps them in gauze. "Not enough." She bites one wrist and then his other. "Still not enough." She straddles him and bends towards his neck. "But not now, not with that stink." She brushes his hair with her fingers and then rolls off the bed and scuttles underneath. "I am all you have. You are mine, and I will claim you tonight."

_I am not._ His mouth twitches. _Did the wax work, or did she not bother to dominate?_

"You remind me of who I was, a little." She scratches the bed frame. "Just an echo in the dark."

"M-mirror," Ishkur says in a hoarse whisper.

"Yes. She waits with horrified eyes. I broke every mirror to spare my echo what I have become and done."

"P-protector."

"I still protect this place. But, is it because of the worded curse upon my soul? Free of it, I may suck the life of everyone here and stack the bodies for my girls to pick clean." She chuckles. "That weapon you touched funnels souls so well it completed the shrine. A portion of my contract is now fulfilled, and when the master caster arrives, perhaps I will be freed to ravage as I please."

Boards on the windows keep most of the daylight out, but enough gets through to lime the pink of his lips. "Who?"

"Oh, my boy." She pushes up on his mattress. "So vibrant and strong. Are you mine?"

"Yes." _No._

"I must protect this place of power for the necromancer my maker will send to complete transition from Gardener to Merridian."

Thousands of mystical hotspots across every domain, but this one is special. Why? Any of these reservoirs of power can be tapped for casters and aligned towards overgods attempting dominance, but this one's on ruins and on the way to the throne of the last holy war's winner.

"Have you learned your lesson, boy? Will you stay away from the shrine?"

"Yes." _Maybe._

"Then I will sleep on it and let my hunger decide your fate when the sun sets." She thumps the bed. "Do not get up."

"Okay." He lifts his right hand to his mouth. "I am yours."

This isn't the end, if I forge my own path.

He tugs the bandage off with his teeth. _Two._ He winces, pulling the wrappings loose on his other hand. _One._ Parts of only three fingers are gone.

He sighs, flexing hands that haunt with aches where tips are missing. _Outer skills are easier to cast._

Poke. Pinch. _May healing be easier to summon._

There's blurring and a wet reflection that dissipates but leaves a pressure. _I'm not afraid to drown._ His chest spasms, but he only lets his soul breathe in.

_Hands._ His hands glow from within with a soft verdant light. _Heal._ The ends of three shortened fingers crust as he concentrates, and fresh skin grows over the stumps.

Ishkur gasps, and the glow fades. _I need more._ He pokes and pinches, but the reflection pops, and his head starts to pound. _That's it?_

"Kelsa?"

"What?"

"You're a vampire."

"I am what they, what _he_ , made me."

"Could it have been Lady—"

She hisses and presses against his mattress. "The less I sleep, the more I must feed... on you."

_Blood for words or silence for ignorance._ "The Obsidian army conscripted your boys into their crusade, and their avatars formed you, and your daughters, into undead slaves to ready this place for a necromancer."

"Yes."

"Two avatars, one skinned downstairs and one that ran off?"

"Ran? He was supposed to fly."

Could Lute's plan truly be so cruel, or is this only Lady Uostai Play having fun?

Ishkur pulls off stained wrappings and folds his mutilated hands together. "Once, I heard a host say that they aren't accountable for their demigods."

"Are your parents accountable for your... existence?"

"He's alone." Ishkur gulps. "A single tree in the middle of that small meadow. Mother's grave is close, but he can't see it with his bark in the way. Father's roots stretch towards her, to finally touch with root tips."

Ishkur pokes and pinches, but the pressure immediately pops, and his head throbs. _That can't be all._

He grits his teeth. "His roots don't embrace. They dig into her shell and feed, because he won't deny his nature, and her soul has already moved on."

"Did you bless her grave? Will she return remembering you?"

"I did, and I don't know."

Poke. Pinch. _All._

NON-PLAYER PATH INITIALIZED.

Ishkur's whole body flickers green, making a lampshade of his linens. _Strength._ Needling head pain makes him gasp, and the light fades. _Inner skills hurt more, pain breaks concentration, and breath drains the power._

"I was a poor student." He squeezes his eyes shut, and the pain dulls to a throb. _Rest sight to recover_. "I have reason to believe Gardener was listening that day, so I hope, despite my fumbled casting, he honored her with preserved memories."

"Why would you presume he would be listening to a failed druid?" She hisses. "I was a loyal Verdant with a sanctuary backing my castings, and no miracle spared me or mine from the divine joke that are avatar bulbs."

_She'll kill me if I tell her I'm one, but would she for who my friend is?_ "Has your soul moved on, Kelsa?"

"In a box, locked away and chained to Pit. A soul contract holds the only key. Obedience." She spits. "You sound... recovered. Are you still mine?"

"I am, and I wonder if you want vengeance for what has been done and taken from you?"

"I flayed the Obsidian bulb who was offered to me, and I flayed the soldier you helped me capture. I felt nothing, just dismay at the wasted blood and bits of spirit escaping this shrine's net."

_That is the kind of sad brutality Haden's Lady savors._ "And you've spared me," he says, and she purrs a hiss. "Interesting that an avatar bound you with a contract that allows flaying fellow Obsidians." _And it confirms Lute's holy war neutrality._

"Oh my sweet boy, your curiosity makes me ravenous." Her chuckle tickles his ear. "I will have to kill tonight to recover. Keep me awake longer and it will be two, you and another."

"Will you break into homes? Aren't you bound to protect this hamlet? What are the terms of your soul contract, exactly?"

Kelsa hisses. "Another question, and I will drag you under here."

"Sorry." He rolls on his side. "Sweet dreams."

"No last word either, boy!"

Harpy.

11. An Afternoon

When titans ruled the Realm of Blue

Mythica was their home domain

And Sarvern was their capital

Until a thousand years ago

When trolls uprooted their vast reign

And buried their throne of control

—Kreig Charleton

Ishkur scoots to the mattress edge. _Oh vampire under my bed._ He slides his foot down, grimacing as he stands. _Please, don't grab my ankles._

The shelf in reach has its wooden soldiers neat and orderly, all in lines, except for one fallen on its side. _Dare I, my whittled brother?_ His hand hovers near. _Strength skill gets me out, but only if I can maintain it longer than a moment._

He pulls back from the rickety shelf. _A mallet against my skull compared to the annoyance of healing but less concentration._ He takes a step like a baby becoming a toddler, wobbly and unsure. _And maybe if I close—_

His legs buckle, and his face smacks the floor. _Oops._

Stifling a groan, he crawls towards the boarded window on elbows and knees. _Don't wake up._ He grips the sill and pulls up to his feet. _Do not wake up._

"My blood curls." Kelsa gurgles something between a growl and a hiss. "Still day, and you have woken me again, my foolish boy."

Breath held, Ishkur pokes and pinches. _Arm._ His right arm glows verdantly. _Strength._ He closes his eyes, but pain still explodes under his skull. _Oh._ He blinks, punching through the boarded window with the force of a maul.

"A ranger?" The bed crashes. "You sneaky bulb."

He whimpers as he squeezes through into the afternoon shadow of the house, and his arm dims with that paltry breath. "Free."

"No!" Kelsa claims a boot as he slides out. "You are mine!"

Ishkur gasps, crawling out of the shade with a bare foot. "You are _not_ my mother!"

She hisses with a pruning face, pulling back from the opening. "At sunset..."

He closes his eyes, and his headache eases. _So blindness only helps post-summoning._ The sun flushes his skin green, and his eyes flutter open. _And suffocation pairs with concentration to make it last._

"Mutt bulb!" An older man comes out from the neighboring house with a crossbow and a maiden with dark curls. "This is for my wife!"

The young woman smacks aside the weapon. "Papa, no!" _Muscular beauty, with butterscotch skin._

"Get off me, girl!"

"Kimona said—"

"That crusader's whore? What did she say about this bulb?"

"He glowed _green_ , Papa!" _She stands like a soldier._

"They killed your mother! Took your brother and your man!"

She knocks her father back with a palm to the chest. "And you held me back and let it happen!" _Moves like a viper._

Ishkur waves his hand. "Help me to the mule, pretty one." The father and daughter carry on arguing, and Ishkur takes in a deep breath. "Help me!"

The man tries to push past her, but she catches his arm and halts him, despite their difference in size. _Maybe martially trained._ Her father stops struggling, but his red face and wild eyes promise murder.

Ishkur grunts. "Never mind."

He crawls around to the corral side of the house, where Whisana leans against the fence with a basket of flowers, and the mule noses a pile of fresh hay.

Elbows and knees.

Piss and manure blend with spring blossoms. The mule snorts, leaving her meal as he gets close.

I am of the earth.

The girl crosses her arms.

"Howdy." Ishkur uses the fence to struggle upright. "You look nice."

A rainbow of paints decorate her face in a fae version of the druidic ritual his mother taught to focus casting. _Like a bumpkin fairy._ She curls her fingers and thrusts.

"No?" He holds up the stumps of his. "But you don't know my request."

She gasps and steps close. Two joints from both middle fingers and one from the ring on the right are gone. Her caress makes the new skin tingle.

He points at the mule. "I need it harnessed."

Whisana crouches and puts flowers between the toes of his bare foot. " _Her_ name is Daisey."

"I need Daisey tied to the front door, ready to rip it open." The graying mule stomps a hoof, flexing muscles made dense by years of churning up fields a row at a time. "I trust she can."

"I heard Sallai say you glowed green." She pokes a verdant patch on his arm that's fading into a lime-tinted pink. "Were you, really?"

"Yes." He picks candle wax out of his ears. "I'm a taboo ranger."

"Can you save them? Can you save my friend?"

"Child, I—"

"I'm nearly a maiden, just small like my mother." Her colorful jaw is firm, a resemblance stronger than stature.

"Help me, and I will try."

Whisana pouts, sticks pinkie fingers in her mouth and whistles like a drill sergeant. A pack of children carrying baskets like hers cross the road. Some taller, most shorter.

She directs the older ones to harness the mule and says, "Anything else, Ishero?"

"You remind me of a gang boss from that big city I was telling you about."

"I babysit, so the widows can get their fields planted."

_Conscripted men considered dead._ Ishkur says, "That's admirable."

"My mom made me, and my father taught me." She whistles again and the children freeze. "Lift as one! Move as one! Work together or go home!"

The children shift the plow to untangle straps, and Ishkur says, "Where's your father?"

Whisana points at the tavern. "All day. Most of the old people." She moves her hands like talking heads and makes a quacking sound.

"The sun's low. Little time." He sighs. "Action now without debate, or this place meets a sorry fate. I need to scare out the cursed mother and daughters. They must believe it is the only option."

The children pull straps tight on Daisey and lead her out of the corral. The sun is at their backs as they tie ropes to the door handle.

"Won't that rip off and not open?" Ishkur frowns.

Whisana stomps over and barks some orders. Several smaller ones run off, and then return shortly with meat hooks and more rope.

As they secure a better connection to the door, Ishkur calls Whisana over and says, "You're an impressive... young lady."

"Before she was killed, my great-aunt said I'd be the next protector, then Ms Sticknot succeeded because I was too young."

"If I have to... If Ms Sticknot's killed, then you'd take over?"

Whisana pokes, pinches, and spins her hands around bits of sparkling green that flare out. "She favored her daughters to replace her. Ms Sticknot never taught me her skills." She frowns. "Maypie showed me a little, but I can't do anything with it."

My mother would have loved showing you all I failed to do.

"As you're this hamlet's next protector, let me present the quandary plainly." He points at the farmhouse. "That vampiress is ravenous and will kill more than me tonight." _And then many more if Uostai's necromancer arrives._ "Unless I stop her."

_If hired by Lute and not just Haden's Lady._ He draws a circle on his chest with an _A_ in it. _Maybe my authority would matter to that caster of Red and Black._

"I can't fight the vampiress here. If she wins, she keeps killing. If I win, her soul contract may be broken, and a beacon will pop up." He shakes his head. "And I can't stay to help with what might answer that summons." _Not if I'm to intercept the necromancer._

"Winning is killing Ms Sticknot?"

"I may have to."

She nods, but with a puzzled face.

Ishkur says, "Do you understand soul contracts and what happens when they're broken?"

Lips pursed, Whisana shakes her head.

"Orders imprinted on a person's essence is an inner skill of Black. When broken, a pillar of darkness announces the offense. It's a real slice of Pit and invites all loyal to Merridian to avenge it. That's not just official Obsidians, but anyone, or thing, that's aligned with him."

The children scurry over. A small girl points at their finished task. Daisey snorts, making the door creak with a tug.

Ishkur clears his throat. "I need a fire starter and a pile of wood ready to burn." He points at the ground next to the mule. "Not lit, just ready."

Whisana sends a few to do that and then says, "My great-uncle has explosive oils he uses to worship Phoenix."

_That red overgoddess of pain and passion._ Ishkur taps his lip and shakes his head. _Why must everything of hers be reborn from ashes?_ "Too much for this bluff, but good to know if we fail."

He scratches mottled skin around his wrists, a blotchy pale pink with a limey tint in the sun. No distinct fang marks, but there's a pair of red spots on both that itch like spider bites. _How much must I destroy to save this place and people?_

He rubs his belly. "Some drink and food, please." He points at the sun. "I can only absorb a little like a plant, and not much of what replaces blood loss."

Whisana sends a few more kids away and then gestures south towards the tavern, the hill, and the majority of the hamlet. "I could get my sis and the other maidens to come and help." She smirks. "They're all in love with ya."

Ishkur blushes a deeper green. "Get them here in the next two hands of minutes with spears—spear-like tools—and an understanding of obedience."

Whisana points north, towards the neighboring house. "Sallai's the one that will keep them in line. I'll see if she can leave her papa and help."

_The butterscotch beauty._ "Tell her to snatch his crossbow." _She'll do nicely._

Ishkur leans against the mule and consumes the muffins, beets, and mead that children bring, until Whisana returns with Sallai and a small troop of maidens carrying long gardening tools.

"Hello." Sallai squares her wide shoulders and curtsies with a blacksmith's apron, and then she swings her father's crossbow around. "I brought this, but I don't want to hurt anyone."

"Then make enough noise for a convincing mob." Ishkur points at wood being piled. "A vampire will only abandon a nest that's doomed." He growls. "We must make enough fire and fury to beat her fear of sun—"

Bells ring at doorsteps, and mothers step out and call to their children.

"Dinner, and the last hour warning." Whisana points at the sun hovering over the horizon. "We'll have to obey the rule soon."

_Out of time._ Ishkur takes flint and steel and climbs up creaky stairs. "Wake up, Kelsa! Wake up, girls!"

He slaps Daisey's hip. The mule makes the door squeal and then tears it off its hinges. Sunlight floods in, and Ishkur signals Sallai.

Maidens scream and shout, and children join with screeches and howls. _What a high-pitched chorus of madness._

Ishkur steps inside, scraping sparks. "Come up, come out, or I'll light more than candles!"

The floor by the back door erupts, propelled by a half-dozen pale arms thin as broomsticks. Three bald girls claw their way out of the basement hatch and hiss at him with rows of needle teeth.

Chiming in nonsensical Elvish, Ishkur stumbles back and almost drops the flint and steel as his elbow smashes the doorway. The largest ghoul scampers towards him with a mouth hanging open, wide as a wolf trap. He sidesteps onto the porch, and she hisses and covers her face against the sunlight.

_I'm in control._ He stuffs his fingers into his armpits and takes a couple deep breaths. _I have a plan._

"Let me introduce you to Lady Darla's version of diplomacy." Ishkur hops off the porch, and then sprays sparks into frayed rope under the pile of dry wood. "Fire is fair. It follows a predictable path." He blows on a glow. "It rises up walls and fills a confined space with thick smoke. Windows will feed a blaze, like lungs on a furnace." He waves aside fumes and blows more. "A cellar would be safe, until the roof collapses and the floor burns through, becoming a fire pit that roasts everything past crispy. Only bitter ash and brittle bone will remain." He waves his arms. "Poof, no more shrine!" _But maybe a beacon of Black sensed by that necromancer._

Sallai goads a cheer out of the maidens, most of whom are in a decent martial stance. _Someone's definitely been teaching these ladies._

The elder ghoul retreats to her sisters, and they say as one, "You whimpered to mother. Flee again pretty boy and run fast." They snap their jaws and grin. "Garlic upsets our stomach, but we can still rend your flesh for fun." Each holds up hands with middle fingers curled.

_Rage is not_ my _weapon._ He clenches his lessened fists and signals. The children toss logs, and ghouls flinch as the fire blazes up.

"Gather your mother. Wrap her up and bring her out." Ishkur points at the door still tied to the mule. "Lay her on that litter, and I'll lead you someplace safe where I'll donate blood."

They hiss, tongues out and vibrating.

He says, "My aura's still a little tangled with hers, but your former peers will spread this fire after a hundred breaths without remorse."

"Burning is bad," they say and retreat to their basement entrance. "Mother must be consulted. Do not trespass!"

"Ninety-eight breaths!" He picks up a flaming stick and hands it to Sallai. "Don't dally!"

They hiss at the master bedroom's door. It opens, and the eldest steps inside. The other two scurry around gathering blankets and rugs and then go in after.

Whisana says, "The tavern!" A crowd of older folk pile out of Three States. "Meeting's done and Sallai's dad is in front."

Did the Elkruns fail to get their elder council behind me?

"Hey, baldies! Only forty breaths left!" He picks up another flaming stick and hands it to Whisana. "The best bluffs aren't really bluffs," he says in a whisper.

The girl nods with a furrowed brow.

Don't mind me; I'm just corrupting the youth of this bumpkin patch.

"Better hurry, little ghouls! Merridian's mercy won't spare you from Phoenix's kiss!" He hands out more flaming sticks. "What's your answer? Leave with me, or we break your contract now!"

The ghouls come out of the bedroom dragging something wrapped in a dozen layers of blankets and rugs. "If we follow, what will happen to our home?" they say in unison and stop at the front entrance.

Ishkur pulls Sallai close and says in her ear, "Take your maidens, and hold off your elders."

She salutes and herds the young women. _Like a sergeant maiden._

"You see! I scatter the mob in good faith!" He draws a circle on his chest with an _A_ in the middle. "While I am aligned of Green, I'm no crusader and respect all shrines!" He gestures around. "Also, I don't want to attract the wrath of Black to here! Your folk have been through enough! This house will stand! The cellar will be sealed but unmolested!"

The eldest crouches next to the roll of rugs, and then the ghouls all say, "The shrine must be fed!"

"Where's your cemetery?"

Whisana points at the hill. "At the top."

Ishkur nods. "Isn't that close enough for the shrine to skim spirits and keep a hold on this place of power?"

The ghouls hiss. "No more druids! The next protector must be the necromancer!"

"What?" Whisana shakes her head. "Maypie—"

Ishkur raps the girl's head with his knuckle.

"As it must be to fulfill your mother's accursed contract!" He bows to the ghouls.

Whisana scoffs, rubbing her head.

Ishkur says in her ear, "Humoring works for fools and ghouls, as well as lying can for leaders and ladies."

"How's that?"

Ishkur winks at Whisana and steps onto the porch. "A hundred and more breaths gone, ghouly girls. Lay your vampiress mother on that door-sled." He points at the older crowd that Sallai is slowing. "Or, I don't know what will happen."

The ghouls block the sun with their thin arms and hiss. As one they pull their burden into the fading day.

Ishkur smiles. "Secure her well." He steps past them. "And let me retrieve my other boot."

They hiss but obey, and he hurries to the bedroom he escaped from. He finds and slips on his shoe, snags his pouch heavy belt, and pauses over the closed hatch.

I'll be back, Endraker.

He grabs Jorkin's shovel. "Will you stand in for my polearm again? I may need to bury some sorrows."

12. Second Chance

Circle and slash for blue

And try to tell the truth

Tap nose with finger up

And white will honor you

Point down and pinch for green

And promise to protect

Right thumb against forehead

And red desires you

An A in a circle

And black has your contract

—Kelsa Sticknot

_Halfway._ "Come on, Daisey."

Ishkur tugs on her harness as the ghouls crouch behind him in the mule's shadow. _Safespot's too far at this rate._ He rubs his finger nubs and grimaces.

The eldest ghoul smiles with a long tongue curling around her thin lips. _What should you have become?_ Her mouth is framed by a well-proportioned face atop an elegant neck. _More than a monster of macabre beauty._

He smiles back. "A few more yules to go." _We won't make it before dark._

Daisey jerks her head to the side to bite some tall grass. The ghouls hiss and giggle, and he grips the sharp shovel strapped to the sun side of the mule.

"Calm down girls, or I'll wake dear mother with a whack."

"She must sleep," they say as they brave rays of sun to surround the bundle lying on the door.

_I should be sure Kelsa's really in there._ He rubs an ear tip. _Aura reading, as an outer skill, could be as easy as healing was._

Ishkur pokes, pinches, and holds his breath. _Align._ His eyes glow with lime light, and his head starts to throb. _Aura._ The world grays like with his mystic helmet's similar effect, and motion blurs everything.

The three daughters radiate darkness with only tints of color buried in their core. _What skill could heal their souls?_ Mayp, the pop-eyed youngest, has a little more light than the others. _At least Whisana's friend has the best chance._ The roll of blankets and rugs is pitch black. _Ms Sticknot, hued like a true demon of Pit and beyond aid._

He shuts his eyes and gasps. _How can I make this work?_

A crow caws, and he pulls the shovel off Daisey. "Sorry ghouly girls, I need to leave your... family here."

The ghouls crowd closer to their bundled mother, blending mewling with hisses. _Cute as slithering kittens._

He curls his lip. "Give me space; enough to unharness."

Snapping their teeth, they say as one, "A trick!" The eldest scampers forward. "A trick!"

Ishkur growls, squatting into a defensive form with the shovel. "I'm taking the mule."

"Thief!" they say.

Heart pounding and finger nubs tingling, he rests the farmer's tool on his shoulder and draws his dagger. "At ease, just cutting to save time."

Ishkur stretches towards straps connecting door-litter to mule, and the eldest lunges. _Nope._ Whoosh, he swings the shovel around, smacking her aside with the flat of the blade.

"Follow our tracks at sunset. I'll feed your mother as promised."

The long-armed middle sister ducks under the mule, grabbing Ishkur's leg. He slices deep into her shoulder with his dagger and kicks her off as she sprays black ichor.

"Control your daughters." He backs away with the shovel holding the eldest at bay. "Or I'll kill them!"

The bundle shifts, and Kelsa says, "You are all alone and far from home."

"I'm not alone." _I've got Daisey._

"Oh, my traitorous boy, you are too sweet. I will have to prune you."

Ishkur spins through a martial form and the shovel slips. _Handicapped._ "Do you mean trimmed like a bush?" He recovers, resting the tool back on his shoulder. _Have to keep it seven-finger simple._ "Or a plum drained?"

"The sun's weight is beginning to lift," she says, and her daughters hiss. "Your resistance to my will can not last."

He gulps. "I don't think you've the spare blood to burn, but we don't have to fight." _Not for Lute's sake._ "I don't want to break your contract." _Not this close to Bunnifarm._

"Liar."

The ghouls hiss and say together, "Lia—lia—liar!"

"I am a ranger, but one that's a part of a five-colored band, which is a powerful mix of ambivalence and pragmatism."

"Liar."

"I am having trouble communing with my demigod, but I'm sure—"

"The weakest bulb in the world." Kelsa's bundle shifts. "Have you woken to the delusion?"

"Well, when my lord stopped answering, I started summoning power directly." He scratches his head with his dagger's hilt. "It's a lot quicker and more intuitive than casting, but there are... limitations to doing it solo." _Why delusion?_ "Don't you call me 'bulb' for my summoned glow?"

"Oh yes, lovely emerald glow when you slipped out my window." She rasps a chuckle. "Try it again when my teeth are in your neck. Desperation has a lovely flavor—"

"Is it lemony?" Ishkur rubs his ear, forcing a wide grin. "Because that would pair well with my mixed blood."

Is it time to run, fight, or folly?

Kelsa growls, and her daughters hiss and spit.

_Not a coward or a hero, so folly first, with a little reasoning._ "You don't have to kill to survive, or, I think, to fulfill your contract," he says.

Kelsa's hand pokes out of the bundle and explores the shadow of a fat cedar crossing her door-litter. "Your lords and ladies are symptoms, child. They are delusions preying on the damaged minds of bulbs." She sticks her head out. "There never was a Lord Icarus, poor boy. He is what your mind created to replace a mute father and please a haunting mother."

"W-what?" Ishkur shakes his head and pats his note-carrying pouch with his dagger hand. "How could you—"

"Have you not wondered why all of your kind are failed casters and orphans?"

_No way._ He smirks. "I resist this doubt and the domination you've readied to follow." He catches the mule's lead rope loop with the shovel and tugs. "Oh, and the avatar bulb that vampired you is probably my best friend." _Riposte._

Kelsa shrieks, wiggling back inside her roll as the litter's dragged out of the shadow. "Your... friend? Such hypocrisy for an avatar of Gardener to name my vile maker 'friend.' When the necromancer comes—"

"Won't make it, if I intercept." He nods. "Then Whisana can replace you as protector, just like your old druid wanted."

"Kill him!"

The daughters hiss and charge.

_En garde._ He starts to spin, but the shovel snags in the rope loop and slips his grip. _Oops._ The eldest entangles his legs as little Mayp hops on her shoulders and claws at his face.

Ishkur knocks the big-eyed girl on the head with his dagger's pommel. Mayp's eyes roll up, and he backhands her aside. _Just shells on two legs._ The monkey-armed daughter takes her place, shoulder still gushing.

"Enough!" He pokes and pinches. _All._ _Strength._

Full body glowing, he swats the ghoul girl out of his face and kicks her elder from his legs. _Such pain._ His knees hit the ground, and he clutches his head as the glow fades with shuddering gasps.

"Lord Icarus, must I destroy Lute's sins?" Picking the shovel up, he shuts his eyes to ease the throbbing. "Another mission that asks too much." He stands and spins the tool about with lethal speed.

"Insane." Kelsa's voice is strained. "A fluty bulb took my soul, but his mind and yours were lost years ago." She chuckles. "Sit and relax, and I will help you actualize very soon."

Ishkur blinks, slowing his spin. "I already know what I am."

The older two ghouls flank him while Mayp catches Daisey's lead rope.

"A fool." Ishkur feigns towards the long-armed one and then slams the shovel's shaft in the gut of the elegant eldest.

_Maybe a crazy fool._ He spins back, slicing the shovel's blade into the first one's knee. _But never insane._ She whimpers and collapses.

"Ghouls eat carrion." He jabs at Mayp.

She hugs Daisey's shoulder, hanging onto the straps. "Bad-bad."

"Your daughters can coexist—"

The eldest clutches her stomach, charging with mouth wide open, and Mayp catches Ishkur's shovel, stopping a defensive spin. He lets the tool go and jams his dagger down the eldest's lengthy throat. Needle teeth chomp and break on the guard, and his booted foot sweeps her legs. She slides free of the weapon and coughs liquid darkness.

Kelsa sticks her arm out towards her elegant eldest, screaming like a limb has been severed. "Boy, the voice in your head is your own!" Her voice is guttural. "Your mother never loved you! No one cares about you! You are all alone!"

Ishkur wipes his dagger before sheathing it and retrieves the shovel. "Demigods write messages."

That only their hosts can see.

He swings the tool's blade against the back of the eldest's long neck. "Mother did love me."

He hacks and jabs until the head rolls free. _Tougher than bamboo roots._

The middle daughter wheezes as he approaches with ghoul-splatter dripping.

"I have friends." Ishkur knocks her long arm aside and chops. "The Elkruns appreciate me." He works until her head rolls like her sister's. "Whisana and her whole family."

"Wish, Wish, Wish." Mayp tugs on the mule's rope. "Don't hurt Mother or me-me. We'll go away."

Ishkur bows his head. "I lack the fervor of a crusader, but I still can't trust your Pit-cursed mouth."

"Trust-trust." Mayp points ahead. "Sun sets, then we follow like-like you want."

"Now, you'll listen?" Ishkur chews his lip. "Kelsa?" He wipes the shovel off in the dirt. "Is she out of blood or something?"

Mayp hisses. "Mother is very tired. Please go, and we will-will follow after dark."

"Your mother will only take what she needs from me." Ishkur narrows his eyes. "And won't hurt anyone else?"

"Oh yes-yes. Agreed."

The dead sisters stink like rotting milk, and their skin sags like melting wax.

"Hours are like moments when the earth reclaims Pit-cursed bodies." He sighs. "The corruption skill that formed you has doomed you to this indignant fate."

Mayp paws the side of her head with a limp wrist and whines a hiss.

Like a hairless cat.

"Your flute friend made me; can he save me-me?" She ducks under Daisey's head. "Always hun-hungry. Never hap-happy."

"A demigod was controlling him when forming you." Ishkur jams the shovel into the dirt. "Her and our band's methods often turn my stomach and betray my alignment, as your current existence does." He rubs Daisey's withers. "Yet, they're my family, and your mother and you may be part of their big plan. So, for Lute's sake, I'll take this risk. I'll trust your word, little ghoul."

"Trust, trust, trust."

"Take care of Daisey." Ishkur swings the lead rope. "She's a good mule." _And should be safe._

Mayp grins and grabs the strap of leather.

Not enough equine soul in blood, or flesh, to be their meal.

He starts jogging. Light and dark. Shadows of trees stripe the road. Dark and light.

Ishkur pokes a pouch and pinches its leather. "Don't worry Lord Icarus; this note proves you're real." A crow caws, and he slows. "Just a desperate attempt by a starving vampire to dominate me, right?" He unties the pouch. "How could all hosts have the same delusion?" _A thousand messages written by my hand but with another's style._ "She's simply ignorant of possession."

_But just in case._ He sighs and pulls out the paper.

PLAYER PATH DENIED.

"What?" A wordless page falls, and Ishkur's heart drops. "Lord Icarus, where are you?"

Only the mark of Lute, stamped in the corner, answers.

13. Getting a Head

Five alignments with five skills each

Two outer, two inner, one prime

Outer skills come in two colors

Inner skills come in only one

While prime skills are doubly pure

They're never mastered by casters

—Russo Minark

Ishkur sits in the middle of the road, balancing Nummer on his palm as the sun hovers over the horizon. With a flick, the blade spins and pierces the paper he's obeyed for a half-dozen years, mission after mission.

He picks the sheet up, pokes fingers through the hole and pinches. "Hear me, Lord Icarus Path of Green. Hear my doubt and my plea." He stands, bowing his head. "Are you me? Clarify this insanity. Am I guilty of all your deeds?"

The stamped silhouette of his band's symbolic instrument has five strings. He scratches each one with his fingernail and hums.

"First, brownies were burnt out of homes." Ishkur's voice stretches into a soft melody. "Now, hamlet has a catacomb. Treasures buried, trade route ready. Bumpkin souls aren't taken gently. What value is my life alone? Crazy or not, I must atone."

_Fire and damnation via Hildr and Haden._ He puts away sheet and dagger and then starts running back. _I act on the chance we share a common delusion._

Nose pinched, Ishkur hops over the decapitated sisters. Only minutes dead, they are weeks decomposed.

He follows the mule's door-litter trail off road. _Not for a crusade, or a band, but for bumpkins and Gardener's grace, black will turn green again._

The grass ranges from his waist to above his head, and a few wide-leaved oaks and needling firs offer sparse shade. He tops a small rise and frowns at the proper forest ahead: evergreen giants towering like masts of sinking ships in a verdant sea.

What lovely cover for a vampire running out the daylight.

The mule stands unburdened, flicking her ears as she eats sprouts. _Where's your door-litter, Daisey?_ Ishkur creeps through the grass to stand next to the abandoned equine. _Can't be far._

Hissing comes from a bit of mossy hillside bordered with trees and a half-buried boulder. _Gotcha._

Ishkur drops to his belly as Mayp scampers up the large rock. She heaves Jorkin's shovel with both hands, dumping dirt on a shaded bundle of blankets and rugs.

_This isn't murder._ Ishkur pulls out Nummer, taking a deep breath to steady the shaking blade. _This is mercy._

A crow caws. He scrambles to his feet and charges to the hillside.

Mayp squawks, leaping to meet his attack with a wide swing. Ishkur leans, slipping on a patch of slick grass as the shovel swishes by.

Thin arms straining, the pop-eyed little ghoul lifts the tool.

_Nope._ Ishkur rolls to snag her ankle and yanks, pulling her down.

She snarls, catching herself like a tripped cat. He shakes her foot, and she lets the shovel go to claw at the hill's mossy turf.

"Still some color in you," he says. "This doesn't have to end the worst way."

Mayp twists, and he releases before her ankle snaps.

_Mercy._ He points his dagger away, turning on his side to boot her skinny butt. She hisses and scampers out of reach while he stands.

"Ghouls savor the already dead." Sheathing his blade, Ishkur picks up the shovel and presents it in a proper defensive form. "You're not the one I have to destroy." _Your mother is._

Mayp's mouth opens dislocatingly wide and screeches. Something behind him hisses back.

Ishkur spins around through dusty air filled with sprinkling pine needles. Kelsa stands with fangs and messy hair.

He hops forward, thrusting the shovel blade, and a bit of sun reflects off the metal into her face. _Burn._

Hands over her eyes, the vampiress squeals, leaping up the hillside.

"Pit's mercy. How's she still got blood to spare?"

Shoveling for purchase, Ishkur climbs after while Mayp hisses at his heels. _Shit logs._ As he ascends, Kelsa disappears into the deeper shadows of the forest. Growling, he swings his tool around to whack her last daughter back down the hill.

"Sorry, girly ghoul!"

Kelsa's tracks are deep and zigzag from tree to tree. The sun has started to set. He pinches his fingers. _No._ Grimacing, he sprints straight towards an evergreen giant without a glow enhancing his speed.

Observe me Lord and Overlord, but this act is mine alone.

Heart thumping, he slows and strafes around the trunk. Curled in a ball between roots, Kelsa isn't much larger than her dead eldest daughter.

Don't think.

Ishkur chops down. Metal rebounds off a bony shoulder, and the vampiress uncoils.

Only a tendril of her soul is still in there.

He sidesteps out of the tree's deep shadow. "I don't see any fire scars. This tree could use a little burn."

He rests the shovel and pulls out his fire starter. Facing him, she shimmies up the trunk like a snake.

"A soul too sweet." She climbs shoulder high. "You will feed—"

Ishkur swings, and Kelsa clamps her mouth, slipping down to dodge.

_Nope._ He jabs, shovel edge slicing her forearms. _Still not your cabernet._

Blackness sprinkles bark as she spins away. Teeth clenched and eyes hard, Ishkur advances.

"Bad-bad!" Mayp leaps onto his back and though the tiny ghoul's weight is nothing, her claws pierce and dig like a handmaiden rushing needlework.

He bellows, and her mother escapes within the colossal tree's shadow to a cluster of dense shrubs. Snarling, he falls backwards, pancaking Mayp and elbowing her pop-eyed face away from his neck.

Ishkur stands. _Redemption._ He slams the shovel's shaft in the ghoul's gut and charges after the vampiress.

Branches bend and snap. Head buried like a tick in the moss of the forest floor, Kelsa doesn't dodge his whack.

Awful redemption.

He shifts, bringing the blade down to dig into her back. Blackness spurts, and she squirms onto her palms and off the moss.

Knocking the shovel aside, Kelsa catches his foot with a viper's speed, and he leans against a shrub to let in a little light. Her face wrinkles, peels, and smokes. She lets go with a whine and scampers.

Ishkur roars and chases her out of the shrubs with jabs. "Die!"

Light from the setting sun slips under the canopy and spears her.

"Be done."

Skin sizzles, and she stumbles. "My..." Red streaks spread from her eyes, like a perverted focus for druidic casting. "Poor... family..." A puff of smoke follows each word, and then Kelsa collapses and curls up with fingers worming into the dirt.

"It's time to rest." His lips tremble, and his arms tense. "Corrupted mother."

A hiss behind, and Ishkur skips to the side. Mayp rushes by, leaping atop her mother.

"Bad-bad sun." She stretches the thin remnants of her cotton nightgown. "Protect you, Mom-Mama." Skin still sizzles, smoking even more.

"Let her go, little one." Ishkur's face is granite, with a trickle of tears.

Mayp shakes her head and scoops the forest floor onto her mother, but Kelsa thrashes like a hooked fish and knocks her daughter away.

"Momma!"

A mighty shudder rips flaking skin, and the vampiress is still. Ishkur steps closer. Mayp keeps piling dirt and needle leaves on the contorted husk.

"She's gone, Maypie."

The Pit-cursed girl straddles her mother's body and swipes at him with small claws. He swats her off with the flat of the shovel and brings the sharp end down on the remains, again and again.

Covering her ears, Mayp screams and runs.

Cheeks sticky, Ishkur says, "I'm not too sweet now." Impenetrable darkness envelopes him. _Merridian's damned mercy._

Ishkur slows his breathing, and his heart calms. _This isn't truly Pit._ His foot bumps a melon-sized something, and he shovels it away. _But that was probably a head._

He wipes away sappy tears, stepping out of soul-numbing gloom. The absence of light stretches to the sky from the decapitation of the vampire: Kelsa Sticknot. _Beacon of Black._

A small bird flies through the dark pillar, indifferent as the tree limbs bisecting the beacon.

_Invisible to animals, blinding for people not aligned with death, and inviting those that are._ He sticks his hand in and a chill travels up his spine.

"I don't know what's coming, but whatever does, I take as my responsibility."

Growling a Dwarvish curse, he turns from the murky monument and walks to Kelsa's head, resting against a rotting stump.

"Your defilement is heart-wrenching, but I cannot yet give you even this token rest." He wraps it in a blanket. "Appreciate that I violate your dignity to protect your people."

He pokes, pinches, and holds his breath. _Power._ His eyes glow, and his head throbs. _Aura._ A rainbow of light flickers. _Hello, safespot._

He gasps, shutting his dimming eyes, and then digs with his heel to draw an arrow towards where the light was. _A little more._ He shakes Kelsa's head and traces with dripping gore.

"On the bright side, Ms Sticknot, your death is going to help your hamlet get ahead."

14. Little People

Sticks for limbs and bark for skin

It's a brownie. It's a brownie

Trills like a squirrel and eats mushrooms and honey

It's a brownie. It's a brownie.

When their tribe gets old they become a grove

They are brownies. They are brownies

Their seeds spread on wind and they love ruins

They are brownies. They are brownies

—Whisana Elkrun

Ishkur sits on Kelsa's broken door and traces the trade route, from the hamlet to the coast, on his hand-drawn map _. Catch up to Haden, get my gear back, and stop a necromancer._

Daisey turns and tugs on her lead rope, threatening to scoot him off the door and out of the stone circle. "If I let you step over these rune-covered rocks, you won't be safe." The mule snorts, yanking him half into the dirt. "Fine, but don't wander." He knocks on the wood of the improvised stretcher. "Or I _will_ harness this back on."

Daisey trots out of the circle and chomps on some grass. He chuckles, and his smile dies in the face of the thin beacon of Black, still dividing sky, as twilight ends.

"I won't abandon your hamlet to whatever that pillar may summon. So, let's take this door back; even cracked, it will deter gremlins from nesting over Merridian's shrine." He sighs, flexing his hands. "Which should be carefully consecrated to get my polearm free without triggering a worse beacon. Maybe even train your girl, Whisana, to help me?"

Daisey tosses her head about and returns to grazing.

"No need to be... _mulish_." He holds his finger stumps up. "At least you still have all four hooves." The healed skin is unblemished, as if seven fingers was normal.

_Lord Icarus of delusion combined inner and outer skills to heal worse._ He draws Nummer and takes a deep breath.

"Let's test faith versus talent," Ishkur says.

_Foolish if I fail._ One finger pokes. _Deluded if I succeed._ Two pinch, and he skins a nub with a twitch.

_Finger._ Blood flows, and his shortened finger glows. _Create._ Sharp head pain overpowers as the nub spurts, and a bubble of flesh forms at the knuckle. _Heal._ He whimpers as it expands and gasps when it pops. His light green eyes close until the pain is more in his hand than head.

Strength and creation skills hurt too much to think, so what would using nature skill do to me? Can my mind survive consecrating that shrine?

"You are real, Lord Icarus, and I am foolish." Ishkur grits his teeth and slices the remnants of the failed growth off and then wraps the bleeding nub. "Confirm and fix my hands yourself; otherwise, I'll try again when I get my gauntlets and breastplate back."

A trilling sound lifts Daisey's head, and Ishkur hops to his feet. The mule stomps a hoof, and he runs out of the safespot towards her.

Another trilling and a knee high stick man cartwheels under the mule, into the grass. "Hey, little cousin!" Ishkur trills and says in Brownie, "What tribe are you with?"

"Gift from Queen of Crows." Red berries poke out and jiggle, still attached to a branch.

Ishkur frowns. "I thought brownie tribes just have plants as totems. What's with the crows?"

"Gift for killer of cursed." The brownie cartwheels out of the foliage and tosses the berries towards him. "Eat for answers."

Ishkur squishes a berry and rubs purple pulp on his forearm. "Fair warning, gremlins came sniffing a few nights ago. Yipping and covered in cat and dog skin, they had javelins ready." He points at the beacon of Black. "I expect at least a few of them coming around again as night settles."

The little man waves a black feather with a stunted right arm and says in Brownie, "I have a conditioned crow to warn me."

Ishkur taps his arm and wipes it clean. _No rash._ "Is your queen a talented shaman? Could she condition a griffin? Maybe consecrate a shrine, too?" _And spare me attempting nature skill._

The brownie pulls out a sling with his longer arm and spins it. "Eat berries for answers."

Ishkur raises his hand to his nose. "Why are you—"

The stick man lets go, and his pellet pings off a tree trunk.

That could've popped an eyeball.

The brownie slaps his arms together for a beat and trills a song about the grove of his ancestors burning.

_Wait._ "I met with a tribe recently that had a fruit tree totem." _Peach Tribe._ "Do you know them or the human shaman that traded for their fruit?"

The stick man rocks back and forth on gnarly feet. "Berries make answers come."

Ishkur squishes another red berry, holding it up to his nose with a grimace. _Potent as perfume._ He sneezes. "You'll talk, if I eat this?"

The brownie tumbles to the ball of cloth that holds Kelsa's head. "Queen of Crows can claim this place now."

_Uh-oh._ "Because casters don't share places of power." He rubs some pulp on his lips. _Bitter._ "What if there was a young druid already retaking it for her people?"

"Eat all, and answers will flow." The stick man ducks into the grass, popping his head out to trill.

_Too jumpy to wait for me to properly test edibility._ Ishkur turns the branch of red berries over in his hand. _How can I have this mystery tumble away while I wait for my lips to tingle?_

He shrugs, gulping the rest of them. _Needs honey._

"Happy? Now, talk about—" Ishkur burps and his belly gurgles. _Oops._

"Confess." The brownie hits his uneven arms together. "You're the elf-half ranger that destroyed our home."

"Queen of Crows... was Peach?"

"We are Crow Tribe, until we have a grove again."

_Shame follows and betrayal clings._ Ishkur pulls out his lord's blank paper with corner lute stamp and hole in the center. _But, how much am I to blame?_

The brownie keeps hitting his arms together, like drumsticks keeping a beat.

"Holy war means change, and ambitious parties thrive in the upheaval." Ishkur burps again. "Excuse me."

He clears his throat, pounding his chest. Sweat drips, and he licks his pale lips.

Click, click. The brownie hits arms harder. Click!

"Your Peach-Crow Tribe was blocking progress." _What are those berries?_ He wipes his brow, coughing.

Click, click!

"I was told to... convince you off the old route so re... redevelopment could... um—"

Hand over mouth, Ishkur falls to his knees and sprays purple bile through his fingers. Gasping, he arches his back and spews another stream, unimpeded.

_I regret._ A splash, and the paper isn't blank anymore. _Nothing._

Stomach empty, Ishkur dry heaves until collapsing on his side and crawls towards white stones as a haze fills him.

Yips echo. _Frogs?_

The brownie clicks his woody arms. "Hurry, confess all before..."

I already confessed to Apple, that's how he knew to warn you.

Ishkur blinks through memory. _Momma?_

He was a lonely child. His mother wrapped his ears and lied about his age, and then as she aged, lied about being his mother. _You were just protecting me._ She couldn't stop the gossip and was shunned as the witch in the woods with a fae bastard. _You weren't ashamed._

He spits purple-coated froth and moans. _You still loved me under the words and pain._

When she was old and dying, Ishkur combed the forest for medicine. Her body rejected everything. Between bloody-lipped heaves, she blamed him and his elftree father for her wretched end. _I forgive you; please forgive me._

His mother's scream deepens into a mule's. Ishkur lifts his head from the runes of a safespot rock.

Daisey?

The mule's mouth froths as she dances and kicks. A whole side of her bristles with little sticks while small shadows hop and yip.

"Daisey!"

A half-dozen pot bellied gremlins scatter as Ishkur stumbles out with his shovel swinging. A tiny javelin misses his head and another sticks into the linens of his leg. He spits and pulls it out. _No phlegm, by Gardener's grace._

The cat-sized shadows hop into the grass, while the mule whines and turns in a circle, towards her wounds. Ishkur catches her rope with the shovel and leads her back into the safety of the stones.

He groans, holding his stomach. "Their froghead chief making a claim now too?"

Daisey jerks her rope.

"It's okay girl. The gremlins can't see you anymore." He spits over the stones. "Frogheads! This place is under my protection now! Tell your chief and migrate on!" A javelin flies out of the grass, distorting around the circle, to stick in the dirt on the other side.

He growls and clenches his shovel with mutilated hands, and then a knotting cramp doubles him over. _Note to self._ He dry heaves. _Never trust a brownie convinced I tried to genocide their tribe._

The mule whines.

Icarus could heal others.

He ritually pokes and pinches. _Mule._ He yanks out a javelin and presses the wound with a glowing hand. _Heal._ Her skin mends and smooths, and then he gasps and squeezes his eyes shut.

"I hope you appreciate the hangover fixing you is giving me."

He repeats and gasps sooner. _So, it takes time for taboo power to be useable._

Ishkur pats Daisey's blood matted side. "You're breathing easier, and the froth has cleared your lips, so at least they're not poisonous." He yanks another javelin out. "But it's going to be a long night."

A pregnant crescent moon crosses the sky as Ishkur rests and repairs the whining mule.

He yawns and stretches. "Done."

Flies land on the lute at the corner of the ruined note paper and sample the puddle of sludge reflecting the sunrise. A few manage to lift off, drunkenly. Most die quick.

"Bitter Bile Berries." Ishkur rubs his eyes.

_Ritually eaten by shamans to regurgitate body and soul._ He kicks dirt over what was sloshing in his stomach and maybe his woozy mind. _Or given to fools to prime an interrogation._

"Somewhere along the reincarnation queue my mother is bowing her head in shame."

Daisey turns around, and her tail whacks his face as it swats flies.

"Hey!" He runs a hand along her completely healed side. "I would've recognized the berries in proper daylight... probably."

He snaps javelins, pulled from Daisey, under his heel and tugs on her rope. She resists, and he chimes an elvish hymn praising Gardener. Tall ears inherited from her donkey father droop, and Ishkur leads the mule away.

"Don't worry, Ms Sticknot." He waves to her rotten head. "I'll prepare your bumpkins to bop and swat frogheads and twig men alike. Then Bunnifarm can have a druidic protector again."

As long as I also stop that necromancer's claim.

After a few short yules, humming about a bunny hitting field mice, he approaches the remains of Kelsa's daughters. Crows caw, but none land near the Pit-cursed bodies.

Redemption is still the mission.

He drags the shovel over and squats down. _A season's rot in a night._ Nose twitches. _Doesn't even stink anymore._

He pokes and pinches. _Power._ His eyes glow, and his head throbs. _Aura._ The world grays except for wisps of color dancing off the remains like candle flames. _By Gardener's grace their spirits cling._

As the mule chomps grass, Ishkur digs. Blisters form on his hands, and his shoulder pops. He doesn't stop until there's a wide and deep ditch, and half the morning is gone.

He shovels the bones and blankets of skin in. "You took my fingers. So, I took your heads." He covers them up. "Which wasn't a proportional response."

He rubs his forehead and pats the dirt. _I must appeal to Gardener to free their souls from Merridian's Pit, but such a blessing requires nature and healing skills, at the same time._

"Well girls, if tapping my prime skill makes my head explode at least we'll be even."

He pokes the soil and pinches above it. _Bless._ His hand glows, and he presses it down into the grave. _Heal._ His head throbs. _Nature._ His neck spasms with pain, and he collapses.

Mouth open and eyes shut, Ishkur gags on dirt and cries until a crow caws. _You watching, you brownie bastard?_ He thrusts his upturned hand towards the sound and then curls onto his knees and dries his eyes with a sleeve.

"Success, and no demigod or delusion diluting me." He says in a hoarse whisper and coughs up some muddy bile. "But, when my bandmates catch up to my actions, I may be de-Lute-d."

He claps and wiggles his fingers downward.

"By your grace, help these poor girls find their way from the Pit to your queue. Let them enjoy the morning with fresh eyes someday." The crow caws again. "Even those of a spying bird."

Ishkur's shoulder pops as he piles rocks on their graves. "If I have to kill your little sister, I'll bring her here." He taps his dagger's hilt. "But I'll try to control her first. Without the shell of your mother paving the way into Pit, maybe she can step off that path and find a more neutral life." _And spare me from doing another blessing._

15. Deep Roots

Humans are a lost and divided people

Races of Black may be monstrous

And those of Blue may be unnatural

But at least their alignment unites them

I hate them, but they don't make me sad

Not like our people do

—Ola Ishtaran

Ishkur picks up the cracked jar in front of the northernmost farmhouse and waves it under his nose. _Do these bumpkins love vinegar more than mead?_

He knocks rhythmically on the front door, and the loose-skinned crone opens.

"Greetings matron, may I speak to the bushy-eyed maiden?" He jams his foot in before she can push it shut. "I think her name's Ella. You look kind of like her, except for the skin, hair, and curve of spine." He rubs his smooth chin. "You've got a little beard growing here too, Ms Picklethief."

She sputters, swinging her cane. "Help! The fae mutt!"

He blocks, knocking it out of hands twisted with arthritis.

"Oh gods. Help!" She stumbles back and slides down a wall. "His aura, he wants to rape me!"

"I'd rather lay with a wearebear." Ishkur taps his forehead with a thumb, backing away. "Just let her know. I'll be staying in the Sticknot house and to bring a fresh pickle."

A fit female, with dark curls stuffed in a scarf, pushes a hand plow through the neighboring field.

_Lovely Sallai, she offers more._ Ishkur leaves Daisey tied up at the first house's horse post and jogs towards the wide-shouldered woman who comfortably fills out a man's shirt and trousers.

"Hey, Sergeant Maiden!"

Sallai lets her plow fall and skips over even rows of dark earth. "You-you're alive!"

Ishkur straightens his posture. "Gather your maidens and meet me outside the Elkrun home."

The old lady next door slams her shutters.

He grimaces, clearing his throat. "I have an announcement for the good of your hamlet."

"Should I get Kimona, too?"

"The tavern wench? No. She's imbalanced." Ishkur rubs his chest, both hands circling his nipples. "I mean, they must really flop when she runs." He steps close and grips her shoulder. "But, you're like me."

Sallai's tanned cheeks flush darker.

He squeezes her biceps. "Strong like a human, but graceful like an elf. That's what I need for a village night patrol."

She raises an eyebrow. "Graceful?"

"The men left here are old, and the boys are years from usefulness. It falls on shoulders like yours and hers." Ishkur points at the center of the hamlet where the barefooted Whisana fills her bucket from the well.

"Wish?"

"Do you call her that because she's always getting water at the wishing well?"

"I don't—"

Whisana waves, and Ishkur says, "I'll update your future druidess while you gather your future squad." He starts running towards the girl. "Get to it, Sergeant!"

Female or not, it's a wonder the Obsidians didn't conscript Sallai.

"Wish, hello." Ishkur puffs up his chest. "I've a plan—"

"Daisey!" Whisana drops her bucket and cuts past him.

Am I invisible?

The mule flicks her donkey ears as he walks over. _Maybe I shouldn't mention the javelins._

The girl mutters as she rubs Daisey and says, "Blood all over, but no wounds."

Ishkur steeples his seven fingers. "Whisana, I need your help."

She frowns, backing away from him. "You smell like Bitter Bile Berries."

"I thought it might ruin cursed appetites, like garlic does."

"Did you kill my friend?"

"No. Just everyone else."

She nods and pulls a morning glory out of her massive front pocket. The center of the flower's bloom is a marvel of hues, like a person's full aura displayed. She spins the stem between her palms, and the colors blur into a soft violet.

"Bow, Ishlayer."

Ishkur bends until his forehead is even with hers, and she sticks the flower behind his ear.

"Thank you." He straightens, patting the pouch that used to hold his lord's note. "Now, I want your hamlet revived, with you as its new druid protector. Sound good?"

"I can't cast, and you can't teach me." Whisana flutters her big brown eyes. "Can you?"

"I know enough to set you on that path." _If the hamlet survives._ "Be the face of your people. Trust and support the declaration I'm going to make."

"Why do you linger? Do you fancy Sallai?"

Ishkur shakes his head, cheeks greening.

She says, "My sister then?"

"You and your people are a resource or an obstacle."

Whisana growls, tiny nostrils flaring.

He says, "I'd rather my band see value under Gardener's grace than Merridian's mercy. I'd rather this place thrive as trade comes out of the forest again."

She rolls her eyes.

"You know what Ms Sticknot was doing with her victims?"

She gulps and shrugs.

He spreads his arms with limp wrists. "Bodies skinned for wallpaper, they're hung fleshless in her basement. Their souls dragged to Pit to be chained, forever to serve Merridian and his demon horde. Help me unravel that tapestry of travesty."

Eyes wide, she nods.

I almost feel like a hero again.

They return Daisey to her corral and then join Sallai and her peers in front of Whisana's house. Children, parents, and elders trickle over as well, leaving fields and chores unfinished.

"People of Bunnifarm!" Ishkur sticks the shovel in the dirt and draws his dagger. "Observe!" With a few flicks of his wrist he sharpens the top of the shaft. "I was holding back before, and it almost doomed me and you!" He sheaths Nummer and spins the shovel through some flashy forms at seven-finger speed. "As a cofounder of the Lords Under The Eye!" He thrusts with the shovel and pinches his fingers around it. "I take this hamlet under my protection as a BOP!"

_All!_ His whole body blazes green and then fades as he gasps with eyes shut.

A little boy with mud splatter across his face says, "Bop!"

Ishkur thrusts a fist into the air. "Lute Bop!"

A stunning blonde with pigtails raises her hand. "Can you play the fiddle?"

"What?" Ishkur shakes his head. "We're not _that_ kind of band. Didn't you see me glow?"

She sways her hips. "Because, I _really_ love to dance."

Ishkur narrows his eyes. "As a frontier-style _Base_... _Of_... _Operations_ , I have limited resources and great discretion."

Jorkin joins the crowd from the hill side of the road. He shakes some hands and then crosses his thick arms.

Ishkur says, "Yesterday, I had to kill the monster your druidic protector had become! A vampiress too hungry to honor the memory of the woman she once was! A creature about to tear into your homes!" He slaps the shovel's blade. "I killed her with this and didn't even tap the blessed power of my overgod to do it."

"That's my shovel." Jorkin holds out his hand.

"Exactly!" Ishkur tosses it to the brawny farmer. "And that means, each of you can do what I did!"

An old man with a cane and a milky eye, coughs into a handkerchief. Several elders tighten around him, offering shoulders and hands for support.

The man murmurs; they back off, and he says in a gravely but steady voice, "Thank you stranger for your service! You are welcome to as many beets as you can carry." A few folks snicker.

"I _will_ serve you!" Ishkur points at Whisana. "I will train this one as my mother trained me, in the druidic art."

The sharp-eyed girl claps her hands. "I accept!"

Ishkur smiles and points at Sallai. "I _will_ train this one to lead a night watch!" The fit woman straightens and nods.

Leaning on his cane, the milky-eyed man snorts. "And so you claim this place of power for your Verdant Crusade?" Some folks grumble, and he says, "But when the Obsidians return, you'll be long gone!"

"Can't trust a wanderlusting mutt!" Hoyne rubs his bowed knees. "One foot in the ground. One foot out of town. He ain't sticking around."

More grumble, and the old man raises his cane. "I'm dying!" He coughs and wipes blood from his mouth. "I'd rather my hamlet does not die with me."

Ishkur holds up his mutilated hands. "I'm not a crusader, but I am committed to the principles of Gardener just as your druids were." He points north. "It's gone now, but there was a pillar of darkness that split the sky where I killed the vampiress, Kelsa Sticknot. It had to be done, and I won't apologize!" He crosses his arms. "I am here to take responsibility and to guide and protect you through the consequences!"

Jorkin steps forward. "What consequences?"

"Angry little people."

"Gremlins?"

"And brownies."

Jorkin frowns. "Brownies are favored people of Green and have never done us harm."

"That was before you had a shrine to Merridian." Ishkur scratches his neck and leans towards Jorkin. "And this particular tribe maybe holds me responsible for destroying their home and ancestor grove. Do you know them? They were Peach, but now go by Crows."

Jorkin grunts. "I heard the crusader thugs laughing last week about a bounty delivered by crow." A few folks bob heads and whisper as he says, "They said it came from brownies and offered their queen's weight in honey for... well, I guess _you_."

"Some bounty, with her weight no more than a crow!" _Times ten._ Ishkur chuckles. "Give me some time. I'll dissipate the vampire's cellar shrine and work things out with my tiny trilling cousins."

The milky-eyed man shakes his cane, and the murmuring of the crowd quiets. "I'm Ibbit Bunnifarm. My great-great-grandfather cleared the ruins and pushed the wild back. He was our first protector. It sounds like you want to be our last!"

"Mutts don't belong anywhere!" Hoyne points to the road. "Thanks for killing Cursed Kelsa and her girls, now wander on."

"Mr Bunnifarm, I won't let your grave overlook fresh ruins." Ishkur forces a smile. "I _am_ an elf mutt, but that only means my youthful features lie. I've been alive as long as you." _Though most of that a child._ "I will leave only after friendly spears patrol your street, and I've turned a worthy Whisana into a druid!"

Several children clap as some elders snort or shake their heads.

_Need more._ Ishkur locks eyes with Jorkin.

The man dips his head, lifting his daughter onto his shoulders. " _She_ has my support!"

Whisana hugs his neck. "Thanks Papa." She points at Ishkur. "The elf man has my support!"

The crowd stirs, and Ishkur claps his hands. "Accepted!" _Several dozen here, most of this place's bumpkins._ "Now, what are the hamlets north and south of here called?"

A young woman's voice says, "Dulhatchet and Hognut."

"And did the conscripting Obsidians pillage them too?"

Some grunts and nods.

"This spot is a prime location, as your ancestor knew!" Ishkur grins. "Let's invite your depleted neighbors to hop back here to Bunnifarm!"

Hoyne snorts. "Great, _more_ girls to take care of!"

Women scowl. Taimay smacks the man in the back of the neck, making a fist when he hisses and turns.

"Oi! Oh." Hoyne clears his throat, bowing his head like a chastised schoolboy. "Well, not _you_." He waves his hand vaguely around. "Some others..."

"It's time for healing and growth! I'll use my overgod's power for both!" Ishkur shakes his head. "But there's so few of you, and the night is still not your friend. You must gather everyone nearby and fortify."

People stir, quieting down as Ibbit lifts his cane again. "The elders will discuss your offer and suggestion."

"I'll be in my H-Q, but don't take too long. The gremlins all know there's no more monstrous competition here. They'll probably be poking around tonight, rattling shutters and testing your chimney grates." Ishkur shrugs, flicking his wrists. "That's it! Thank you for listening!"

He weaves his way through the jumble of bodies to Jorkin and says, "I've grown rather attached to that shovel. Could I..."

The man sighs and hands it over. "You ruined the shaft making it all pokey anyway."

"Great." He rubs his belly. "And I'm available for questions at dinner time. Should I come over before sunset?"

Jorkin snorts. "Several hours before. You stink worse than the first night."

Taimay yells something, almost guttural.

Is that an Orc curse?

She snags her daughters, dragging them home as they whine and bicker.

Jorkin rubs his forehead. "I'll tell my wife the good news."

The buxom Kimona steps up to Ishkur as the bulky man leaves. "You are _such_ a great speaker."

"It's an art."

"But, what's 'HQ'?"

"Uh... headquarters."

"I thought so." She giggles, rubbing his arm as they walk. "I can convince my father to let you use our tavern's suite."

"Does it have a bathtub?" He spreads his arms. "A real one?"

She tugs him towards Three States. "Oh yes."

He resists, staying on the road. "I'll stop by later."

She follows him to the Sticknot house. "That's your HQ?"

"I'm going to check on a catacomb with human sacrifices prepared for a necromancer. Did you want to come with, or can you tell Sallai and Whisana to meet me out back in an hour?"

She scurries away.

_Those breasts_ do _flop when she runs._

16. No Bodies

Verdants held claim over most of Mythica

When the holy war began anew

And their Emerald Knights

Faced four rival crusades

Eager to replace them.

Tides of Red, White, and Blue

Eroded the rule of Green

Then the Obsidians broke their back.

—Victor Heldane

The main room of Ishkur's claimed house is almost bare, chairs in the kitchen and other remnants of the Sticknot family tossed into closets and bedrooms. _I ache for your heft, my Endraker._ The dining table is last, shuddering as he drags it over the blood-stained cellar hatch in the hall. _And the whoosh before commanding steel sliced or stone shattered, but no recharge without a monster's soul._

Body loose. Stance low. Ishkur moves through advanced polearm forms as if his corrupted weapon was in hand, instead of still stuck below. _Nexus of a vile shrine with the hanging bones of dozens and the bodies of two flayed men rotting, how do I get you out and recovered?_

He coughs, spoiling his imagination as he swirls empty hands to clear dusty air. _Home sweet home._

Nose painted green, Whisana peeks through the open back window. He waves as she puts a yellow flower on the waxy sill.

"Thank you." Scooting past the table to step outside, Ishkur rolls his shoulder until it pops. "I like the color."

Groaning, he twists to crack his back. _Sweet release._ Birds sing, and a warm spring wind sends a fluffy seed by his nose.

Ishkur turns as it floats along the peeling walls of his farmhouse, slipping around a corner. "This place needs some fresh décor. More of those flowers to start."

Whisana shrugs, rubbing her verdant nose. "Good to look at and nice to smell, but daffodil roots will kill a mule."

"I think my mom taught me something like that." He pats her on the head. "She'd have liked you."

The daughter she wanted and maybe the sister I'd have wished for.

At the edge of the field Ishkur's plowed, Sallai bends into a deep stretch.

_Nice._ He claps and gives the woman a thumbs up as her nose passes her knees.

Whisana frowns. "Ishpoor, you _are_ going to be teaching _me_ now, right?"

"In a moment." He cups his hands around his mouth. "Sallai!"

The maiden adjusts a thin-strapped blouse that's paired with her working trousers and saunters over.

Like Hildr, if my ex worked an anvil instead of a mattress.

"I love your physique." Ishkur rubs his thumbs together. "Do you dance?"

Sallai shakes her head, twisting her knees like she doesn't know where to put her feet.

Whisana rolls her eyes. "Talk to Two Step if you want a toe-tapping partner. Sallai builds stuff, like her dad."

Sallai crosses her arms. "Better at making than him now, unless it's fine crafting work." She flexes her fingers. "But that's just because he wouldn't let me get an apprenticeship in Qutain."

"That's the closest proper town?" Ishkur gestures north. "A few weeks, by horse?"

Sallai nods, and Whisana says with a singsong voice, "Her daddy forced her to get with a cousin for marriage."

"Second cousin, and we'd not yet had our... special time together when _they_ came and changed everything."

Ishkur thumbs the sharpened tip of his shovel's shaft. "The crusaders of Black took him?"

Sallai's lips curl. "Dragged him off in chains as he wailed."

"I'm sorry."

"The man smelled like sour mead and wouldn't get up until breakfast tickled his nose." She shrugs. "Give me my brother back and mother alive instead."

_Lute's responsibility, but Uostai's fault?_ He rubs an empty pouch, and his face tightens. _Certainly, our mess._

"Let me take Whisana up your cemetery hill to teach her how to bless graves, which should improve their queues for reincarnation." He spins the shovel. "Meanwhile, get the maidens together and assign their first task as the... Waygreen Watch. Each one needs a staff, layers of clothes, and a helmet." He taps the shovel's point. "No spears, just practice staves that're a finger length shorter than them. Keep putting on layers until puffier than me and use a pot to protect your head, if you can't find anything better."

Sallai straightens and crisply salutes, and then she squats in front of Whisana. "Bless my mother's stone." She pokes dirt and pinches. "I miss her. Help her back into my world."

Ishkur chews his lip. When blessed, for it to affect their reincarnation, the spirits of his overgod's followers must still cling to their flesh. _What can be left after a season of Merridian's shrine siphoning souls?_

Whisana pokes and pinches in the air and then hugs Sallai. "Your mom will see you again." Her wide eyes lock with Ishkur's as she says, "By Gardener's Grace."

The hill isn't high, but the trail gets steep after cutting between some fields. The green-nosed girl bounds upwards, quick as a goat. Ishkur follows on his hands and knees until it smooths out to a smattering of oak trees.

A few hundred stones in jagged rows wind around a flat top. Centered there is a block of blue-gray marble topped with a giant pair of chiseled feet.

Ishkur picks up a flake of the worked rock. "Where's the rest?"

Whisana points down the hill. "Big lady's head is in Uncle Hoyne's pig pen. The rest, mostly, got dragged to the sanctuary."

He rubs the cool feet. "This was of Lileth. Ella, the pickle girl, mentioned something about this. Did a troll really come up here? Were you around?"

"Yeah." She goes to a grave with pink tulips blossoming around it. "It's why my great-aunt was killed."

"Lupanne Elkrun" is engraved on the stone with the date of death six years earlier. _The year I was possessed, and the holy war began anew._

"Killed by your mother's possessed sister..."

"Aunt Sassa demanded we make amends by replacing our sanctuary with a library. When Auntie Lulu tried to cast, Sassa glowed blue and hit her with magic."

"But it wasn't really Sassa, right?" _Not a delusion._ "It was a demigod possessing her?" He pats the pouch where he'd had his Lute stamped note. _That vampiress really buried doubts deep in me._

"I guess." Whisana brushes the grave's tulips. "I don't think she meant to kill my great-aunt, anyway."

"Really?"

"Yeah, the... demigod acted surprised, and her blue went away." She lowers her head. "And then Uncle Hoyne beat her to death with a fence post."

That old man's definitely got the rage of a Phoenix follower.

"Sarvernway." Ishkur points east. "On the way to the Titan's capital. This was of Blue then, and this hill was probably Lileth's shrine." _With treasures buried deep?_ He pats the giant feet. "Not an idle place to bury followers of Gardener. Where's Sallai's mom?"

Whisana goes to a grave where a rusty mallet rests against its base. "This is for her, but I don't think her body's here." She clutches her dress. "That matters for the blessing, doesn't it?"

_Unequivocally._ "Where else may her body be?"

"Those killed that day..." She gasps. "Ms Sticknot's house! Pai'Jaja said, they piled them in there!"

Ishkur chimes the elvish hymn that calmed her mule.

"What you said about bodies." Whisana picks up the mallet. "Can we do something? Is she in Pit forever?"

_Bones hanging and soul chained to a demon._ "My mother was clear that a body must be blessed to allow Gardener to help." Ishkur eases the rusted tool out of her hand and back to the grave. "Nothing can be done until I deal with Merridian's shrine under that house."

"So you won't teach me to bless?"

"Not now with only old graves filled." _Spare me some head pain._ "But you could help me consecrate—"

"Try to help Mayp."

"Your ghoul friend, right." He chews his lip. "I don't know where she is."

"I do." Whisana scratches her nose and starts running down the hill. "Follow me!"

"Wait." Ishkur chases, holding his hand out. "Wait!"

She slows, brows raised.

"Where're you going?"

"The sanctuary, Ishlowly." She grins. "Come on."

They race through the hamlet, and she ducks onto a game trail across from his new headquarters, formerly the Sticknot house.

That girl's half-rabbit.

A basket is on Ishkur's porch. His nostrils twitch, and he detours towards it. _Freshly baked something._

A note is stuck to the side. _"Sorry I got scared. Enjoy and come by for free drinks. –Kimona."_

Ishkur flicks the paper and pulls out a muffin as his stomach growls. _Berry?_ He takes a bite and moans. "Blueberries."

Now my head can explode with a smile while I play demigod with Wishana's Pit-cursed friend.

17. Falling Down

Not an owl's face carved into a tree

That is a troll standing over me

Just listen to the whispering moan

She's angry, I can tell by her tone.

—Whisana Elkrun

"Whisana!" Ishkur brushes crumbs off his chest. "Where are you, Wish!" Game trails crisscross the field, and the girl's footprints are all over them. "Ridiculous."

He backtracks and then with greater care follows her most recent trail into a dip of moist land where wide plants replace tall grass. _Years spent honing my scouting crafts; this bumpkin girl will not evade me._

Mosquitoes buzz, a crow caws, and something softly trills.

"Itty bitty bounty hunter!" Ishkur says in Brownie while moving his hands in a defensive dance around his head. "Tell Queen Saugrin, I can make amends for the orange haired woman that burned you out! So don't be slinging a bullet!"

The crow caws again, but no trill responds. _Maybe just birds?_

He steps off Whisana's path, and his foot sinks into the muck between ferns. "Little swamp wants a piece of me, too." He heaves to break the suction as mud fills his boot and curses when every step squeaks.

The girl's tracks are wide apart and deep. _Didn't even slow down._

A hum grows as the land rises into a fragrant sea of wildflowers with the buzz of a million bees. _A quilt of rainbows, yellowed by a carpet of stingers._

Whisana's path goes straight through the nectar farm to an extension of the same woods where, a few yules to the north, he killed the vampiress. Giant fir and cedar push out of the canopy, like towers of a castle, rivaling the old growth of his father's domain.

Pinching fingers together, Ishkur breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. _I trigger no stings, for my aura exudes peace._ The bees allow passage without any suicidal dives. _Carry on, drones._

Ishkur walks on through brush that replaces the flowers, stopping at a woody mass bracketed by the roots of two downed giants. The rotting trees extend hundreds of feet each way, and their trunks top his height and half again.

What force felled you two?

The behemoths live on in branches—a leafy line of sentries on the logs, becoming trees in their own right. Rocky hills pick up where the trunks taper off, completing the natural fortification.

The woody blockage plugging the way is a tangle of squat trees, bramble, and ivy. _Am I trim enough to squeeze after such a little girl?_

Ishkur crouches and moves aside the hanging foliage. _Lovely._ He brushes the skirt of mud and sticky seeds decorating his linens. _Whisana better be the one picking these out and stirring the laundry pot._

With a grunt, he lies down on his belly and crawls. There's a shift as he squeezes between two rough-barked trunks, and a weight pins him.

"Accursed Merridian," he says in a strained whisper.

A cavernous moan chills his blood, and he lashes out with his dagger. Bark, bramble, and vines are cut and scarred, but the weight stays.

Ishkur pokes and pinches. _Align._ He twists until his glowing eyes shine upward. _Aura._ The mass straddling him is a thousand shades of green. _The old druid's pet troll._

He gasps. "Is this the sanctuary? Are you its guardian?" Wiggling, he manages a few inches forward. "Let me go, troll! I'm a ranger, a fellow servant of Gardener!"

Ishkur stabs a finger into the earth, stubbing it on a stone. Pulling back with a wince, he pinches. _Bless._ He worms glowing fingers into the dirt and grits his teeth.

_Create._ Sharp pain. _Nature._ Spasm.

Eyes squeezed shut, he coughs. "Can you feel that? I just blessed this spot." He tugs on a vine and blinks. "Come on; toe around. Any seedlings dropped here will grow fast and strong."

"What are you doing?" Whisana's face peeks through upturned roots that still grip dirt and rocks bigger than her. "Stop that!"

"Careful, girl!" He whacks a woody thigh. "This is a troll!"

"Stop hurting her!" says the girl.

"Her?" He twists his head. "I can never tell." The weight increases.

_Arms. Strength._ Glowing green, he pushes up to his elbows and knees but can't slip free.

"Get!" Ishkur collapses, squeezing his eyes shut. "Off!"

"Don't squish," says Whisana.

The giant of Green lets off enough to just hold him and moans.

Ishkur gasps. "Tell your friend to stop sitting on me... please."

"Promise not to hurt Maypie, even if you can't make her good again."

"I swear by the grace of Gardener."

"Toto, let him go."

The pressure lifts, and Ishkur says, "Praise your grove, Ms Toto."

Branchy fingers grip and help him to his feet.

"Ah, thank you."

The troll doesn't let go, raising him up.

"Wait, what—"

Ishkur's thrown like a spear of griffin shit into the quilt of wildflowers. An army of buzzing workers becomes a swarm of stinging berserkers as he tumbles. His left arm snaps under his weight, and a half-dozen bees take advantage of his wide-mouthed scream.

Stingers stick in his flapping tongue as sweet tears tease the maddened horde. Ishkur spits out fuzzy bits of insects and curls like a baby.

"I think you hurt her feelings!" Whisana tosses flowers at the giant and coos like a mother.

A harsh druid you'll be.

He cradles his broken arm and says with a slur, "Pain means I live."

All about the troll's esteem, and no sympathy left for me.

He stands with a wheeze and protects his face with his good arm. "I'm sorry, troll, for whatever my offense!"

Toto growls like rocks grinding, and her woody limbs swell like a strongman flexing.

Whisana says, "You ruined the dress I made for her _and_ said she was a boy!"

Ishkur picks up Nummer with a grunt and sheathes it. "She's the most beautiful troll I've seen in Mythica."

Another moan and Whisana says, "Okay, she'll let you by."

The forest giant retreats to the side of the root-lined entrance. Her branch-like arms swing, and her two trunkish legs stride as she moves. Lengths of bramble and ivy slide off, along with some decorative twigs.

Ishkur leaves the buzzing madness and steps past bark-skinned hips that had nearly crushed him. Something like the face of a poorly carved owl looks down.

Toto's eyes are recessed shadows. Her mouth is a beak or a broken branch. It opens, and her whistling moan could be a winter's wind.

May you step upon gremlins, and your wrath meet a necromancer next.

"Maypie's at our special spot." Whisana points into the forest. "Off to the right where a creek makes a little waterfall into a pool. There are newts." She brushes off a blackened sole. "They're spawning."

Ishkur sways. "My arm is badly fractured." He holds it up, forearm bent as if from an extra joint. "It needs to be set and splint before I faint."

"What's wrong with your voice?"

"Bees kiss like an angry valkyrie." He sticks out a tongue that's extra red and swelling.

"So heal yourself."

"I've learned..." He winces, steadying his fractured arm. "Taboo power tapping costs in pain and comes in a trickle." _I've spent too much._ He forces a smile. "I can try with your ghoul friend _or_ fix myself." _Like I'm a mystic item down to the last charge._ "Until time lets me recover."

"Come on then, Ishpity." Whisana turns and walks into the shadows of tall trees. "Maypie has a present for you."

Toto moans, and Ishkur pauses at a line of cobbled stone revealed by the giant's sliding step.

I survey, and my mission survives.

"Hey, girl!" Ishkur braces his arm and hops past the troll. "Do you know this path's history?"

"Life is a circular adventure," Whisana says. "What was _is_ again. If I know now, then I know at all times."

"You're too young for philosophy."

Whisana's big eyes are unfocused and don't blink.

"Unless this is a past life thing. Did you have a blessed reincarnation?" Ishkur waves his hand in front of her green-painted nose. "Hello?"

"I'm no elf or brownie returned, but this forest is still my home." She blinks. "I was translating Toto's prose."

"Your troll moans poems." He winces, pressing on his arm's fracture.

"Yep. Auntie Lulu said you need a druid's patience to do it." Whisana flutters her lashes. "Jealous?"

"No," Ishkur says, through clenched teeth.

"My mom taught me how to splint." She gathers some sticks. "Okay?"

He nods and bites down on the bark of one as she pulls twine out of a pocket. _I am steady on my path._

The stick snaps in his mouth as he helps her straighten his arm to be braced. Spitting pulp, he whimpers as she wraps it up.

"Come on, Ishmoan." Whisana hops over a tiny stream. "I've got chores."

This pain is just penance being paid.

Ishkur adjusts his splinted arm, muddying the water with his boot as she turns at a proper creek. They follow it upstream to a place so serene it numbs his hurts.

Sanctuary.

Ropes of water empty into a pristine pool with dozens of the promised floating amphibians. The huddling little ghoul only partially spoils the spell. Arms wrapped around knobby knees, Mayp rocks and whispers.

Ishkur says, "Gardener, forgive this Pit-cursed ghoul for her trespass..." He bites his lip. _I'm no righteous Verdant._ "Never mind. Just, don't eat any more of my fingers."

The ghoul doesn't look up.

_Forgiveness is a virtue, but patience can be a sin._ "Can you—"

"Maypie!" Whisana slaps her thigh and beckons. "Heel!"

The ghoul hops up and scampers over. "Wish, Wish, Wish." She licks Whisana's palm and claws at the dirt. "Bad-bad Momma's gone. No voice in my head, but Good Momma's gone-gone too. Wish, Wish, Wish, I want to be good-good, but I'm so hun-hungry."

She hisses at Ishkur with raised claws, and Whisana smacks her head with a knuckle. "Give him your gift and apologize."

"I'm sor-sorry." Mayp pulls out a little bag tied to her with dress threads. "Here are your finger bones-bones." Her long tongue licks the air. "Po-polished."

"How thoughtful," Ishkur says as the ghoul hands it over. "Let me repay you."

Poke. Pinch. _Soul._ He grabs her arm with his glowing hand. _Aura, Heal, Create._

Pale skin blisters, and the cursed girl whimpers. Ishkur grits his teeth while his eyes blaze with lime light. Flesh smokes, and Mayp howls.

"Stop it!" Whisana smacks him.

Ishkur gasps and lets go with eyes shut. "Failure." He blinks, wiping flakes of skin off his fingers. "I summoned without knowledge, focusing my will to an impossible end." He shrugs. "Perhaps a proper druid in a powered up sanctuary could blend and apply the right skills for this task."

"Thanks for trying, Ishailure." Whisana pats a shivering ghoul. "Easy, he's done."

"Hurts." Mayp licks the seeping wound. "Hurts."

"Yeah, me too." Ishkur hugs his arm. "And it messed with my concentration."

Whisana spins her arms around. "Teach me how to heal, and I'll mend it for you."

Ishkur snorts. "Just the scratches from your friend. Mending another's bones is far too advanced to start." He pokes at the little ghoul with his boot as she huddles behind Whisana's knees. "After that, it will be a long road before you should attempt to help her." He sighs. "Bring Mayp tonight, and we can put her in the basement while I work on consecrating it."

"For how long?"

Ishkur rattles the finger bones in his bag. "Even alone and repentant, she is dangerous hungry. Do you want her to nibble on one of the children that follow you around?"

Whisana shakes her head and twists her dress.

"Of course not," he says in a soft voice. "That shrine pit of Pit is the only place to keep her from hurting others and avoid being hunted herself."

Mayp whimpers. "Sor-sorry. Don't leave me-me alone."

"Your Wish can visit if she can help consecrate."

"Tomorrow night." Whisana rubs her friend's bald head. "Let me have tonight with her."

Ishkur grunts. "Your responsibility, future protector. Just don't expect her loyalty." He tightens his splint and taps his dagger. "Mayp can't help what she is, and if you don't have her at my HQ's back door by sun down tomorrow, _do_ expect her head to join her sisters."

18. Waygreen Village

A god looks in a mirror and a dog barks back.

The god becomes a troll and the dog woofs and howls.

The god becomes a wearewolf and the dog bowwows.

The god says, "I bend to no one," and the dog disappears.

The god stands straight but then fades away.

No One is god now but the mirror stays.

—Ishkur Inshushinak Ishtaran

Four maidens stand like drunks, wavering at attention as sweat rolls from matted hair and down billowing red cheeks. Layers of clothes make them fluffy. Bulbous pots on their heads and broom handles in hand make them a parody.

Ishkur paces in front of them, adjusting his arm splint. "Old men and young boys can't serve as you are. They can't spar for hours, honing skills while dressed like fools." He wrinkles his nose. "They've not the strength or stamina, and certainly have too much pride."

The women stiffen, lifting chins. _Almost a squad._ He grins, spinning his shovel slowly through a one-handed form. _Just a little more shared suffering._

"You may look like a line of fat men with lovely legs, but underneath you are becoming lethal ladies... with lovely legs."

Several women chuckle.

"Take care of your people, and they will take care of you." _Unless they're ignorant._ "Tonight you begin a new tradition: a maiden nightwatch."

Whisana's sister, Paija, adjusts her pot and says, "All night... with you?"

"Thank your mother; Taimay did a great service in raising you all with the basics of self-defense."

She nods, squaring broad shoulders inherited from her burly father.

He says, "I've been able to build on that these past few hours, for _team_ defense."

Like amateur actors rehearsing on a muddy stage, but the show must go on.

"Within a week you'll do patrols without me and inspire others to join." Ishkur stabs his shovel into the dirt. "But tonight, each of you will take a shift with me until dawn. Sallai's first. I'll let you work out the rest of the schedule." He salutes. "Waygreen Watch, dismissed!"

Sallai comes close. "I'll make a quick dinner for my father and be over in minutes. May I bring you something?"

"No need." His stomach growls as he pats her shoulder. "Take your time, and meet me in the tavern's common room when the sun sets."

She salutes and pulls off layers while walking away. _At least I have a sergeant._ Sweaty trousers hug her shapely butt. _With assets._

The pickle girl waits on his porch with an intact broom propping her up.

"Ella." He smiles. "You look exhausted."

"Sir." She scratches a bushy eyebrow. "I cleaned and fixed up what I could."

"It'll be dark before I'm back. So, close up and remember _my_ rule." _Don't go down._

She nods. "The table stays over the hatch."

"Good, and did you find some fresh sheets?"

"The master bed is made." She yawns. "Could you spare Sallai to fix the shutters?"

_Can't have a mere maid bossing my fresh sergeant around._ "I, Ishkur Inshushinak Ishtaran, Ranger of Path, give you authority to be my house matron."

"Um... Thank you?"

"Don't doubt yourself. You deserve this promotion."

Poke. Pinch. _Connect. Aura._ His eyes shine and lines of green light stretch and link to hers.

_Tickle, tickle._ Ella blinks and rubs her face, and the lines between them fade. _Sorry girl, but you haven't the skill to see the mystic lines entangling us._

"Gardener bear witness." Ishkur's eyes dull, and close, while he takes a deep breath. "We are connected." _For a few days, anyway._ "Anyone with the skill to see, will know you speak with my authority."

"Really?" She gulps. "But, I've only done some cleaning and—"

"And you've proved capable at it. So, unless you want to march with the others..."

"No, no. I'm no fighter. I accept."

"Great. Purpose breeds the perception of function."

She wrinkles her brow.

"By the way." He licks his lips. "Does your grandmother favor my proposal to combine your hamlets into a village?"

"I don't... she can take a while to warm up to a new face." Ella shrugs her round shoulders. "Maybe buy her a drink?"

He grunts. "Nudge her along and keep doing whatever you need to make our Lute Bop HQ presentable."

"Yes, Sir." She salutes with fingers at her scalp.

He lowers her hand to her bushy brow. "And keep your fingers straight." Ella holds the pose as he sharply salutes back.

Maybe it was function that requires the perception of purpose.

Ishkur strides away, waving at passing locals with his good arm.

A spry old man overtakes him, tipping a wide straw hat.

Ishkur says, "You elders decide yet?" He points at the tavern. "Or are you still deliberating?"

The man winces. "We broke for the day. I'm just heading back in for more mead." He bows and goes on into Three States Tavern. "Hey everybody! The elf man is right behind me!"

" _Man" not "mutt", I must be winning hearts._

Kimona steps out with a washrag over her shoulder, wet enough for drops to roll down her welcoming bosom. "Hello, sir." She pulls out a large wooden cup, braced with rings of silver and sporting a handle shaped as a naked woman bending backward. "This is our house mug. It's yours for the day, and by the grace of Gardener, maybe a little into the night."

"Hello, Kimona." _Profound cleavage._ "Free drinks, right?"

"Oh yes, anything you want."

"Your most expensive wine. The whole bottle." He picks seeds off his linens. "As well as laundry and the bath I requested."

Her eyes travel from shoes to head. "Not normally comped, but it's time to kick Ms Ipigat out anyway." She snickers. "Don't want her to wrinkle up any more. She already looks like a prune."

He shifts his arm and grimaces. "I'll lie down and recover while you ready my bath. Do you have a west facing room?"

She taps her lips. "The private tub is attached to our suite which has windows along the south and west sides."

"Perfect."

The spry old man lifts a mug as they pass and says, "Hear hear, hero!"

_I got respect._ Ishkur lifts his house mug in response, and the man motions to an empty chair. _Even with my ears showing, they're supporting me._

"Later maybe." Ishkur smiles. _Got to be careful not to lose this._ "But, I do appreciate the welcome." He bends close. "And any votes for progress."

Upstairs Kimona leads him into a suite and says, "I don't see her. She could—"

"Raping mutt!" Ella's grandmother stumbles backwards out of a closet. "Keep your fae touch away from me!" She steps on her towel, making it drop and exposing the ravages of a hard life with stretched and sagging skin. "Help!"

Ishkur pushes past Kimona. "Listen, Ms Ipigotmypickle, I am not—"

The old woman trips backwards into the bathtub. Water splashes as her head bashes, and Ishkur rushes over.

He pulls her loose body out with one arm. No breath. Weak pulse.

Poke. Pinch. _Woman._ _Heal._ His hand blazes green and then fades as he gasps and blinks.

No breath. No Pulse. _Not my fault._

"Is... is she dead?"

_Not my guilt._ Ishkur picks up the silver-ringed mug. "I'm getting a drink." He winces as he adjusts his splint. "Was saving up to heal myself."

"Oh, Ms Ipigat." Kimona crouches next to the dead elder. "You poor woman. What do I do? What do I tell Ella?"

_Just don't blame me._ "I'll send up help."

A little girl with a tray of food stands in the hall. Ishkur moves to pat her head, but she shrinks back, and the food slides off, crashing to the floor.

_I can't become the monster._ He growls and goes down the stairs. _I've got to stay the hero._

A crowd of curious faces part, and a balding rotund man with a greasy apron steps up. "What happened?"

_Well, Apple claimed fortune favors the joke._ Ishkur clears his throat. "An old lady died in the bathtub! She died from a terrible fit! In order to fulfill her wishes, please vote to be a village... quick!"

The spry old man raises his hat. "She is... was the deciding vote."

Ishkur steps on a chair and then onto a table. "Tonight the maidens of Waygreen Watch will patrol and protect for the first time!" He points at the man with the apron. "Stay open!" He raises his fancy mug. "Keep pouring! Until the last is snoring!"

Whispers and grumbles spread, and no one drinks or pours. _The wrong words._ Ishkur slams his cup against his forehead. _What are the right ones?_

"Forgive my wit!" Ishkur hops down and lowers his head. "I am a twit. Tragedy brings out the jester in me." He shakes his mug. "So, let us just drink to her memory!"

Heads nod around the room, and the hefty tavern keeper starts pouring. _Should have opened with rhyming humility._

The old man comes over with his hat in hand. "Did you bless her? Darleen Ipigat was a kind woman once, before her body and circumstance made her bitter."

Ishkur sighs, scratching around his arm splint. _Protectors put others first._ "A frothy mead and a few hours to rest, and then I'll grant the old hag Gardener's grace."

19. Family Wish

Most any vegetable pickles fine for flavor

But only a few will properly crunch

Fresh and firm or the best brine fails

—Darleen Ipigat

Ms Ipigat's funeral is on the hill's flat top with the whole hamlet gathered in front of Lileth's stone feet. Ishkur stands apart as a dozen speakers droll on about a long life lived, while Whisana leads her pack of kids in a game of shadow tag.

Under the afternoon sun, the grim mood thaws. The children use the shade of gravestones as safe zones that stretch until it's too hard being _it_ , and then they switch to hide and spy.

Ishkur sneaks to Whisana huddled behind a stone. "Your friend?" He hisses and flexes shortened fingers. "Where is she?"

"Waiting until this is over." She gestures towards the forest. "I'll bring her here to eat and get calm."

Ishkur whistles, rubbing his healed forearm. "Cold but practical. I blessed Ms Ipigat's body, so I don't know how much soul flavor remains for Mayp."

She nods and sighs as kids point at them, giggling. "You're ruining our game."

He smiles, waving at the children. "At least _you_ didn't like the hag. The way your old folk are going on, it's like their favorite bumpkin died. Did I miss the funeral for Kelsa: Ms Cursed Vampire?"

"No." She pokes the grass and pinches. "Nessa said you killed Ms Ipigat, drowned her in the bath."

"Who's... oh, that's the clumsy little girl." Ishkur shakes his head. "The hag killed herself with crazy. Kimona was with me. Ask her."

"Why did you bless Ms Ipigat's body?"

"It was the right thing to do." He frowns, arching his thin eyebrows. "Wasn't it?"

"She wasn't a follower of Gardener."

"Huh, no one objected when I offered." Ishkur sucks on his bottom lip. "I guess I suffered extra hours, only for good intentions." He swings his arm. "Never had a broken bone for that long. My mother, and later my demigod, would fix me."

"Is Ms Ipigat's soul in Gardener's Limbo?"

Ishkur shrugs. "Should've cremated her. Or did she not worship Phoenix, either?"

"Lileth."

"I don't even know the burial ritual of Blue." He smirks. "Maybe toss her down the well."

Whisana's mouth thins.

"Joking. Never spoil your water." He coughs. "So, calm your ghoul-friend with some hag body nibbles and then bring her by HQ."

She nods. "No problem. Maypie's claws make her a great digger now."

_This girl must be drawing on some grit from a past life._ "Also, if you can handle the gruesome cellar, maybe you can help consecrate it for Gardener."

"How?"

"Get close as you can manage to the shrine's focus, which happens to be my cursed weapon, and any casting with the nature skill will do."

"But I can't cast—"

"As you... as _we_ figure your magic out there, Merridian's grip will loosen." _Quickly, I hope._ "Now, I'll take your sister on the first watch shift tonight, in case we see you with Mayp." He points at the forest. "Get going, your parents are coming."

Whisana cartwheels like a brownie and runs off. _If she can help me free Endraker without triggering a fresh beacon, maybe she's old enough to take over as bumpkin protector._

The ceremony ends as Jorkin approaches with his wife. She walks a half-step behind with arms folded and eyes hooded.

_This won't be fun._ "Greetings Mr and Ms Elkrun. Are you excited to be village peons instead of hamlet bumpkins?"

Jorkin raises an eyebrow, and Taimay doesn't blink.

"At least you must think Waygreen sounds better as a village name than Bunnifarm?" _Which daughter will this be about?_ "What if the vote had gone for 'Ipigaton Memorial Village?' Could you imagine using that many syllables for the rest of your lives?"

Taimay jabs her husband in the ribs.

Jorkin winces and clears his throat. "After a night breaking the rule, I came back at dawn to find my lovely little girl asleep in her bed and smelling like our dog returned from the grave. After Wish's incoherent story about wandering around with her cursed friend, I sharpened my sickle and considered the hospitium we gave you." He pats his side where the folded harvesting tool hangs.

Ishkur shrugs. "She's small but almost a maiden." He winks at Taimay. "Isn't the cusp between adult and child the best age to run wild, or are humans and dogs so different?"

Jorkin steps close and smiles, neck bulging and eyes wide. "Then my lovely wife informed of how while I was out, you came by and took my elder daughter for a few hours."

_Wow._ Ishkur gulps. _You're finally more intimidating than your wife._

"Paija's stuttering but coherent explanation, verified by Sallai, stayed my instinctive severing response." Jorkin grips Ishkur's shoulder and squeezes until it pops a little.

_I've faced devils, demons, and djinn._ Ishkur grinds his teeth, matching the man's smile. _Of course, without my lord or gear, a mad dad may be worse._

Jorkin shakes him. "Now that I've had a day and a funeral to consider and calm, I'm ready to hear how you will repay us for saving you."

Ishkur slips free with a jerk and twist that raises Taimay's brow. _That's right, I'm no novice._ He fondles his hilt and then steps back and waves at a circle of elder men. Several nod and one waves back.

"Ah, excuse me." Ishkur sidesteps Jorkin and his wife. "Protector business." _No dinner tonight._ He hurries over to the old men.

The elders quiet their conversation as Ishkur joins them.

Ibbit leans forward on his cane, milky eye blinking. "If word goes out tomorrow, we'll know within a week whether your village plan will work."

Ishkur shakes his head. "It's _our_ plan. Your neighbors will see the streets safe at night, and new homes being built. Hope and community will be a kind beacon they can't refuse."

A few nod quick. A few nod slow. _Consensus, please._ The rest grumble but none vote no. _Perfect._

He shakes hands and slaps backs. "Now, let us give Ms Ipigat some much deserved peace and quiet."

Ishkur leads them off the hill, taking a winding path that avoids having to use hands and knees. At the bottom, Jorkin catches up.

"Speak, elf man." The man's large palm hits Ishkur's back, making him stumble a step.

Ishkur turns, spreading his hands. "I may be the Interim Protector, but I'm not your daughters' keeper. If you want to control what they do, good luck. I'm going to stick with keeping everyone safe through another night."

Jorkin growls, and curious faces pause.

_Oh, so dramatic._ "You're right." Ishkur leans in. "I do owe you. So, I'll give Paija first shift and cut it short."

Crossing his thick arms, the farmer taps his foot.

Ishkur says, " _And_ , if we catch Whisana skulking around, I'll send them both home. How's that?"

Jorkin slumps a bit and sighs. "Taimay's suggested chaining them to their bed at night." He cracks a knuckle. "A short shift for Paija _every_ night, and expect me to join her watch walks."

"You'll scare your youngest off. She half-lives in the sanctuary already." Ishkur smiles. "Have the wife cook something nice and wait at your door. I'll have them both at your table before tonight's chill settles in."

Ishkur leaves the man grumbling. _Maybe training his Wish in my Pit basement isn't the best idea._

He walks flat-footed as a zombie on the street's packed dirt, jarring his ankles.

"You okay, Sir?" Ella is on the porch of his claimed Sticknot house, painting a sign.

_Pickle girl, still working as our connection fades._ Ishkur shakes his legs. "Just lost in thought... about your loss and what a great house matron you are."

She lifts the wooden board up. _"Welcome to Waygreen Village."_

"Wonderful." _Two_ l _'s in village, you bushy-browed bumpkin._ He chews his lip. "You didn't have to rush to it after your grandmother's funeral."

"Yes, Sir, but I needed the distraction."

_Orphans serve best._ Ishkur nods. "Put the sign in front of your house, and you can call it a night."

"Did you want me to stay here? I could keep cleaning by candle light."

"Why would you..." He frowns. _Lonely._ "It was just you and that hag err... elder woman." He rubs an ear. "I don't know. Folk seem pretty sensitive about propriety. I certainly have no interest in your under-developed features, but since gossip already has me trying to rape your grandmother well... I'm not sure."

Ella bows her head, stepping off the porch. _Accident or not, I orphaned her._ Ishkur pinches her shoulder and wipes a tear from her cheek.

"Go on, House Matron." He pats her head. "Get your gear moved in." He wags a finger. "But remember my rule: don't you, or anyone else, go into that cellar. Even Whisana. Especially Whisana. She might think she's ready to cast a shrine conversion, but she'd likely to trigger a beacon of Black that'd be sensed farther than Vampiress Kelsa's."

"Yes, Sir." Ella salutes, hand to brow. "Thank you, Sir."

_Maybe Apple was right about humans._ He returns the salute and walks towards the Elkruns home. _It's been tough, but they may be accepting me like family._

Paija paces in the street, with her parents muttering in their doorway. She's geared for the patrol, but her broad shoulders are slumped, and her big hands are hidden in long sleeves.

_Is she self-conscious?_ "I bet with more training, you'll be the strongest in the nightwatch."

She blushes, pressing her knees together.

He grins. "Sergeant Sallai's got the muscles, but you've got your dad's bones."

Paija sighs and says under her breath, "But she'll always be prettier."

"Find your balance." Ishkur leans in, adjusting the pot on her head. "Beauty grows from confidence, which you build by earning respect." He steps back and salutes her. "Serve well tonight, then look in the mirror."

She straightens, returning the salute. "I will, Sir."

It's like I'm cofounding a new band, amateur but with potential.

He frowns and shifts her pot again. "We need to get you better gear."

Paija scratches her neck. "Sallai wants to forge some proper helmets, but her dad won't let her use his smithy."

"Then _he_ can make them or build a forge for her to use." Ishkur climbs the hill in front of them. "Come on." He points up at a couple of huddling figures. "Ready the loop on your stave."

Paija gulps, adjusting the bit of rope tied through a hole. One of the figures hops up and runs down at them. Paija gasps and thrusts her staff.

"Hey!" Whisana skids to a stop on bare feet. "Watch it, Pai'Jaja!"

"Oh my Gardener! Why ya running!" Paija kicks the turf. "It's dark you dumb—"

"There was a gremlin." Whisana gasps. "It was squatting over Ms Ipigat's grave and laid an egg before we could chase it away." She frowns at her older sister. "Um, my friend—"

"She knows it's ghoulish Mayp," Ishkur says, "and she won't tell your parents... details." He twists the shovel in his hands. "Will you?"

Paija shifts grips on her stave and slowly shakes her head.

I wish I had a sister.

Whisana sighs. "Thanks, Jaja. I promise, I'll get your diary back before Ishnosy can read it."

Maybe a brother.

"Wha-what?" Paija pants and streams her words together. "What-do-you-mean-my-diary-back? Did-you-really-go-through—"

"Play time later," says Ishkur. "Stick to the froghead report."

Whisana smirks. "Well, Maypie tried to squish the egg, but a little tadpole gremlin came out and went right into Ms Ipigat's eye."

Paija gags, growing pale.

Whisana nods. "I know, disgusting, but it _is_ an easy way in." She grins. "Didn't make it though, Maypie pulled it out by the tail and popped it like a..."

"Grape," Ishkur says.

Whisana shrugs.

"It's a sweet fruit about the size of a baby gremlin's body." He makes a small circle with his thumb and a nub of a finger.

"Makes wine, I know. Just never had one."

"How about raisins? Grapes dried in the sun? They go great with cheese and apples."

Paija points with her stave. "Excuse me, _Sir_ , but Mayp-ghoul is moving away."

Whisana waves her hand. "Come over. Come over, Maypie! It's just Ishukey and Jaja!"

The little ghoul scrambles down to them and says, "I'm good-good. Don't touch! Green glow-glow makes skin come off-off." She shakes an arm where Ishkur's hand print is a black stain on her flesh.

"Don't worry. I won't try again." Ishkur points up the hill. "See at the top, where the stone feet are?" Mayp turns, and Ishkur hits the back of her head with his shovel. "Now, Paija! Noose her!"

The maiden jerks the loop at the end of her staff around the ghoul's neck and twists. Whisana screams, and Ishkur clamps down on the future druid's mouth.

She bites his palm, and he says in her ear, "Behave or I decapitate."

Whisana shrinks a bit and swells, a miniature of her father.

Ishkur shakes his hand. "I won't have a ghoul scaring away the hamlet neighbors. We need them all to move here or no village." He gestures up the hill. "Plus, no eating the dead. She was a hag, but respectfully buried."

"You said—"

Ishkur shushes Whisana with a finger. "This isn't the time for a semantic discussion."

The girl's eyes widen and then narrow as her lips curl.

_She really is a mix of her parents._ "I'll keep your cursed friend safe from hurting others or being hunted. We will try to cure Mayp again when you've got the druidic skill and power to help."

Whisana growls, stepping towards her trapped friend. Ishkur blocks her with his shovel. She thrusts her palm up with fingers curled and spits.

"Future protector, your job tonight is getting home with your sister." He salutes. "Starting tomorrow, you are officially accountable for the village children. Keep them safe and close, especially when the sun starts to set."

Ishkur pokes and pinches. _Hand. Heal._ The bite marks smooth out with a verdant glow.

"Oh." Lips twitching, Whisana breathes deep. "That's it? What about the consecrating?"

"I can try teaching you, but I'm wary of your dad finding you down there."

"How about I just stand on the hatch?"

Ishkur nods. "That might be close enough to help."

"And you must teach me more than this."

He raises a brow.

She smiles like a butcher petting a cow. "You will teach everything."

"Oh... kay?" _Let's begin with info on little monsters._ "A gremlin brave enough to come up here has a pack nearby. You know what a whole bunch of them can do, don't you?"

Paija shifts her stave, pressing the whimpering Mayp into the dirt, and says, "They swarmed and took the chickens and pigs. Also, our cats and... dogs."

Whisana shakes her head. "Tulip got away, and she'll come back when it's safe."

"Our dog's dead. I heard Papa. He saw her crooked tail over an orc's shoulder—"

"I hate you!" Whisana starts to run.

Ishkur trips her with the shaft of his shovel. "Grow up, 'nearly-a-maiden.' You _will_ do your part." He shoulders the tool and takes the stave with ghoul attached. "Starting with going home and reassuring your parents."

Whisana hides her face as she stands. "I hate them."

"Family." His eyes close a bit, and he smiles a little. "Don't ever wish for none."

20. Inkwell Lovesick

None of the pantheon is free from sin

While Merridian has the freedom of souls chained

And Phoenix consumes the memories of souls reborn

Gardener devours the potential of souls never formed

Dear Hierophant quells free thought to feed on faith

While Lileth settles emotions to warm her icy heart

—Kreig Charleton

On a soft chair. At a small desk. With bright daylight coming from a large open window. Ishkur slants a piece of parchment as if to write uphill with his three-fingered grip.

Spring's scents and smells swirl through the bedroom that had been Vampiress Kelsa's nest. Ishkur loops neat lines of Elvish prose, until the whole page is decorated with his penmanship, and the fluff of his quill is matted down with sweat.

_Too long._ Growling, he crumples the paper into a tight ball. _Too Honest._

White knuckles ease, and the paper tumbles to join a pile on the floor. He wipes his ink-stained palm on the tabletop and lays down a fresh sheet.

" _Dear Father, I write to you as a man content._

" _Two weeks ago I was in a sorry state and was swallowed under the new moon by this Pit-cursed place. I thought a lot about mother and a little about you._

" _My struggle with ennui eased as the moon brightened, and my soul recovered. Last night they were both full, and I slept like I was between your roots._

" _The dark is patrolled by maidens I trained into a village watch. With helmets, spears, and the confidence of ignorance, they ease the night into a time of rest and reflection._

" _Below my feet, I also ease a shrine of Black into Gardener's grace with the aid of a young druid that could be the daughter Mother had wished I was._

" _This hamlet of horror becomes a place of hope, dignity, and a future."_ Ishkur corrects an incomplete flourish. _"It is a wonderful thing to be a part of, but I'm still alone. Like you, a tree apart. These are not my people. I look east towards completing my original mission and finding my friend. I must leave them soon, or..."_

His hand hovers over a dry well, and he sets the quill aside. _Or I won't want to leave at all._

"Ella." Ishkur rubs his belly. "Ella!"

Soft feet patter, and the young woman creaks open the master bedroom door. "Yes, Sir."

"Do you think lunch is ready?"

"I can check." She yawns. "Kimona said it would take about this long."

"Do that, and while there." He holds up the empty inkwell. "Refill this."

She snags it, red eyes hooded.

"And this, please." He hands her the Three States' house mug.

Ella gulps. "Mr Basin complains."

"Tell that fat barkeep, he can keep the mug when I've left."

"Kimona warns that her father sours the elders against you when he serves their meeting mead. They wonder how much longer—"

"Soon," says Ishkur. "No horde has answered Kelsa's death beacon, just the gremlin pack our nightwatch is keeping at bay. I wish... Whisana was learning faster, but I'm as poor a casting teacher as I was a student." He stomps his foot. "Merridian's shrine weakens below because we starve it of souls, _and_ I bless it daily. She can't replace me. Not yet."

Ella sticks out her tongue and spits. Ishkur leans back as she makes a trilling fart noise.

"Your duties have long hours, because I don't sleep much." He curls his lip. "If you're dissatisfied, then—"

"No, no. I'm happy." She smiles, eyes still hooded. "It's something Little Wish does when she's practicing the Brownie language."

He sighs. "Took me a decade to master their trills. Whisana should be focusing on her druidic work."

Ella nods. "She is. It's the brownie queen that's helping her with speaking and casting stuff."

Eyes wide, Ishkur punches his desk. "Now, I really can't leave." He shakes his hand. "Queen Saugrin is seducing your future druid. Her Crow Tribe is ready to swoop in, soon as I'm gone."

"Oh."

"Sure, Saugrin will take over converting Overgod Merridian's shrine to Overgod Gardener, but she'll also replace your druidic sanctuary with a shamanic workshop." He snorts. "She might even attack your village proper, pecking until you move away."

"But brownies are good and cute. They like mushrooms and honey and... Why would their queen make us go?"

_Because her people were burned out of their old place, and she blames me._ "Her tribe is particularly territorial and hold long grudges."

Ella scratches her head. "Are they mad at us? What did we do?"

"Doesn't matter. There's a dangerous caster coming from the coast, a necromancer." He shivers and sits up. "It's who Vampiress Kelsa was getting this place ready for."

"Oh no."

"Oh yes." He clears his throat. "Which means I should settle things with Queen Saugrin before this caster of Black gets here." He raises an ink-stained finger. "Also, as a master shaman, Saugrin has the power and skill to find and recondition my griffin. With Peggy, I could fix everything in a few days."

"Really?" Ella sets down the empty mug and inkwell.

"It's a long path, consecrating this basement shrine and then walking to the coast and back. It'll take near a season to do it all." Ishkur raps his knuckles on his desk. "Flying, I'm quick to the coast. Can deal with any threats there and get back in a few days." He flaps his arms. "If there are no monsters or villains to answer the shrine's Pit-driven distress beacon, we skip the consecration and purify with fire. Your druidic sanctuary can then reclaim this area's mystic power."

"I'm sorry." She yawns. "It sounds hard."

"Not a simple mission, but quick and overlaps my original surveying job." Ishkur spreads his arms. "Now, how do I get a grudge-holding brownie queen to help?"

"Well." She rubs her eyes. "What's more important, getting your griffin or whatever the brownies want?"

"Cede control of your druid's place of power in exchange for Peggy back?" Ishkur chuckles. _Actually._ He frowns. "That wouldn't be the worst outcome. Let me think on this while you get me those refreshments."

Ella curtsies. "I'll be back from Three States soon, Sir." She hurries off with mug and inkwell in hand.

He salutes the door. _Capable girl._

Silk pajamas whisper as Ishkur stands and stretches. _Luxurious but not adventure practical._ He pats his linen clothes neatly folded on a feather-filled pillow and sticks his head out the large window.

Undergarments hang from a line off the house, swinging in the soft wind. _Wish they could mystically dry too._

"Sallai!" He rattles his bag of finger bones hanging from his neck. "Where are you?"

Another young woman of the nightwatch comes around from the corral side and stands at attention. _This one is interesting._ Her tall nose overshadows other features, making her face cute but shy of beautiful.

"S-sergeant Sallai is h-helping her d-dad build one of the n-new houses." She rocks on her feet and can't keep her hands still, but her gaze is steady, almost hungry. "S-sorry."

"You don't have to be nervous around me, Cevee."

She tugs at mousey ears, half hidden by raven hair. "S-sorry, Sir."

Ishkur sighs. "I know you can't help your stutter, and I wish I didn't aggravate it."

She blushes, brushing her long hair back.

He says, "I hear you spin a sling like a brownie and hunt like a cat."

"M-my dad t-taught me."

_Did the Obsidians take him?_ "I'd like to test your skills, if that's okay with him."

She fingers a strip of leather hanging from a pocket. "He's g-gone. I l-live with Grandpapa Ibbit."

"You're of his founding line."

Cevee nods, biting her lip.

Ishkur smiles. _Queen Saugrin would accept her as a princess, royal voice of the village._ "Are you close with your grandfather?"

She lowers her head. "I s-stay with him, b-because Momma's n-not well."

"If I asked you to find where the brownie tribe was hiding, do you think you could?"

"I-I don't know, S-sir."

"To save your home from an Obsidian necromancer, you'd give it a shot?"

She straightens, baring her teeth. "Yes. I c-c-can do it."

"Fetch Ibbit for me," he says, and she curtsies. "Tell him to bring his supply ledger." He wags a finger. "The one with all three hamlets, not just this one."

"Y-yes, Sir."

Ishkur waves her off, and she sprints away with light feet. _Might work as a scout._ "Ex-c-cept for the r-r-reporting."

_I'm such a mean mutt._ He smirks and sinks into the cushioned chair. Loaned, along with the pajamas, from Jorkin. But no hero's perfect.

A knock repeats a beat from the song about marching ants. _Can it be?_ Ishkur leaps up and scrambles into the living room. _Oh wait._ He scrapes some scented candle wax off a counter, rubbing it under his arms. _What else?_

The knock repeats, firm, steady, and unmistakable. _Be cool, she's just a friend now._

The woman on the porch is cloaked and hooded with thick wool, but a little orange hair peeks out, as well as bare toes covered in a gold mesh. "Hildr?" He sniffs. "No perfume?"

"Hello, Ishy." She pulls back her hood, smiling with eyes wide. "Tell me this place has a bathtub."

"By grace, kiss, or mercy, you're here... finally." He frowns and pokes his head out. "Where's your pompous paladin? If he's still sore about Peggy's shit, it was kind of an accident."

"Funny. After our griffin flew off, Goldstone refused to continue this way because he thought you'd attack him again."

Did all our griffins lose their conditioning?

"Is that Apple's robe?"

"Don't worry," says Hildr. "He gave it after asking me to find you. Its minor mystics still work, so the old horndog's workshop must still be anchored to the aviary." She slips by Ishkur. "Now, where's Haden?"

"I think he saw Peggy flying wild and walked east on the overgrown route; I've assumed to keep his mission intact." _Which I've maybe made moot here by disrupting Lute's mysterious undead shrine plans._ "Haden's probably most of the way to Sarvern's ruins by now."

She grabs him under his arms, squeezing until his spine crackles. He hugs her back and rests his chin on her head. _So warm._

"Thanks for not following our assassin. I'm past done with hiking cross-country." Hildr lets go and wanders. "Your hideout has a feminine touch." She raises an eyebrow.

Ishkur clears his throat. "Just a simple village girl that finds joy in housework."

"How nice for you." She pats the dining table in the hallway. "Odd place for this."

"I don't want a girl... uh, a different girl. I can't let her get out." He points at the hatch under a table leg. "Or anyone get in."

Hildr gasps and grabs his hand. "Your fingers..."

"Eaten by ghouls." He stomps his foot. "Last one's the girl down there. She's chained to my Endraker." He sighs. "Which I'm working to free from being the focus of a Merridian shrine made by her mother—who was probably made a vampire by Haden's Lady Uostai."

"Oh my." Hildr rubs his fingers stubs against soft red lips. "Traumatic and dramatic."

"Yeah." _Why is she breathing heavy?_ "The little ghoul stopped scratching last week, which was important because it almost drove Ella away. That's my house matron."

Hildr turns away. "Poor girl."

He rubs his ear and steps into the kitchen. _Hospitium could be a path to more than friends._ "Can I fix you a snack? I've got pickled beets, fresh bread, and some spoiled wine."

Hildr unhooks her cloak and throws it with some clipped-on bags over a chair. Only crisscrossing gold wire and long hair remain to imperfectly cover her perfect body.

By Phoenix's passion, my lust reborn.

"Help me get presentable." She taps the back of her neck. "Off." The gold wire is mystically sucked into a beetle-shaped hair clip. "Wash my hair, and tell me why Lord Icarus hasn't healed your fingers."

Her bare feet make the floor creak, and the jiggle of her bottom tilts his head as she bops into the rooms.

"Just a wash bin." He gulps. "I use the tub at the tavern. It's nicer than you'd think for such a remote place." _Just nice won't woo her._ He holds out some scented soap and a towel. "Their wench is a whore, so you two should get along."

Hildr guffaws and bows like gentleman, but with nipples swinging instead of a hand flourish. "Still sore about my change of mission?"

_Yes._ "No."

She crosses arms under her breasts, perking them up. "Don't hold me accountable for Lady Darla's orders. A host obeys their demigod. If we had a choice, then their sins would be ours." She points down. "Look at your best friend. Is Haden accountable for Merridian's shrine below, or is it Lady Uostai Play and her glutinous overgod?"

"That's not fair. He's got the worst demigod." _And what about Lute's responsibility?_

"Correct."

"Fine. I apologize." He tosses the soap and towel on the table. "Do what you can to remove your... stink, and I'll take you over. The tavern's suite should be empty, and I'm sure you can afford it."

"Aww, can't _you_ wash my hair, or has losing a few fingers crippled you?" Hildr squishes his growling lips with a thumb. "Don't be mad, Ishy. Not when I've braved sixteen days of wild lands to be here with you."

A bag hanging from her cloak wiggles against the chair it covers.

"You got a squirrel in there?" Ishkur says, and she shrugs. "You can let it go. I've plenty of moral food."

Hildr chuckles and goes to the wash bin. "Maybe it's a little pig. Would you really turn down _immoral_ bacon, Mr Sometimes-Vegetarian?"

_How can I judge with Mayp beneath me?_ He rubs his forehead. "You're right. I'm a hypocrite. Weak and foolish."

She dips her hair in, teasing the water. The strands spread like a fleet of hungry fisherman in a very small pond.

"Normally your self-deprecation is a bucket of water on my libido." She smirks. "But after Goldstone's icy ego, your whining is heating me up."

_I don't have to play this game with her._ "If depression is turning you on, look for a bow-legged man at the bar." _She's too beautiful for it to be fair._

"Ha." She holds the soap under her nose. "Where'd you get this? It smells like virgins."

"It's made with spring flowers."

"So I said." She suds her hands and runs fingers through waist-length hair that clings to firm curves. "Help me, please." Her eyelashes flutter.

_All stretched out._ He comes over and wrings orange locks.

Despite his claim, Hildr's smell is an aroma, not a stink. Exotic and spicy, she uniquely intoxicates.

"You don't need a red glow to manipulate me."

"We all have our missions, Ishy." She dunks her face in, wiggling her bare butt.

Ishkur raises his palm and whiffs a swing, stirring her peach fuzz. _No._

Hildr pulls out and frowns while drying.

Red cheeks stinging, she'd smile as each spank bound me tighter to her.

"I care about you." Hildr rubs his hand.

He pulls away.

"A lot." She wiggles her right thumb. "It was terrible to hurt you, but my lady's note was clear." She presses her forehead with the thumb's tip. "Lady Darla isn't as open to negotiation as Lord Icarus. I follow her orders, and she refrains when she claims me."

"Refrains?"

Hildr lowers her thumb. "She'll play, tease, flirt, and maybe feel a little, but never... she never made love while possessing my body." She stands, holding the sides of his head. "It was always me." Leaning forward until their foreheads meet, she rubs his ear tips. "It was only me."

_Is her demigod missing too?_ He sighs and hugs her. "Icarus hasn't written since a day after I left Lotus Hollow."

She snorts, tracing the scar on her chin. "I figured since the same happened to us."

"What?"

"Why do you think I was close enough that it only took sixteen days? We left as soon as our demigods went silent." She kisses his cheek. "Then, a day later, Apple's griffin conditioning failed. Coincidence?"

_I'm not alone._ "Not just me." _I'm not crazy._ "When I fought that vampire... she had me half-convinced Lord Icarus was just some fractured part of my mind."

Hildr nods, eyes hooded and forehead wrinkled. "I used to think Lady Darla was my mother reborn."

"Do we get matched up with lords and ladies having personalities like one of our parents?"

Her amber eyes widen and skin smooths. "My real mom wouldn't shy from reliving her youth through me." Breath quickening, Hildr tugs him into the master bedroom. "She'd have sampled every man she could. No, not a delusion or a ghost. Whatever demigods really are, they are independent and ambitious."

"Yeah, and careless about who's in their way."

She slips her heel behind his, tripping him onto the bed. "Sorry. What were you saying?"

21. Desire

Inside my feelings are pure and clear

But then when my heart reaches my mouth

It c-comes o-out l-like t-this

—Cevee Bunnifarm

Ishkur pulls Hildr down beside him, pinning her arms as he rolls on top. "I hate the demigods for what they've caused. They should be punished."

"Punish me, Ishy." She arches a little, voice getting husky. "Dump this hate into me."

"What about your Goldstone mission?"

"Until Lady Darla answers a summons, I'm doing what I want." She pouts. "And right now, you're exactly what I need."

_There's a voice somewhere in my head._ He kisses the scar on her chin, and she shivers. _Telling me this is a bad idea._ He slips out of his silk. _But this will be a sweet regret._

They dance with each other, naked and parallel. Sheets soak up fragrant sweat, and thick walls dampen notes of passion.

_My woman?_ Ishkur shudders in time with her. _Finally, love me?_ He hunches forward and squeezes her wrists, and her pant becomes a moan. _Does she?_

The hardwood frame endures their athletic routine with barely a creak, and the mattress survives their curled toes and fingernails without a rip. _Fine craftsmanship._

Hearts slow, and they peel apart.

Hildr's pale arm stretches to tap the back of her neck. "Armor." Gold wire spreads from there, all across her body.

Ishkur reaches with a wistful smile, but she pulls back so he only brushes the mesh encompassing her. _Pretty bird back in her gilded cage._

"Why always get up, so soon after?" he says.

Hildr shrugs and picks up a crumpled piece of parchment from the pile next to his chair. "More prose for your father?" She drops it, leaning over the draft on his desktop. "Pretty script, but don't you dare translate."

Ishkur frowns. "It's not prose. It's just an accounting for him." Several times a year, he arranges, through Lute, for letters to be taken and read to his father. "Plain language, so it's easier to understand."

"Through all that bark?"

"Yeah." It's the only persistent favor he's asked of his band. "He has no grove of elder elf trees to keep him company, and I don't want him to forget all he was." Ishkur's voice catches. "I don't want him to forget me."

"No therapy." Hildr bites her thumb. "Feed me."

Ishkur puts on his pajamas and steps into the hall. "Ella should've been back with lunch and Cevee with that ledger. Where are those girls?"

"Do you have all the virgins of this place serving you?"

He blushes a yellowish green. "We can walk over and get food in the tavern's common room." He pats an empty pocket. "Have you any copper bits?"

"A little silver to contrast my gold, but no copper pieces. Certainly not a mere bit." She sneers. "Nothing that cheap is worth buying."

_Ten bits to a copper, ten coppers to a silver, and ten silvers to a full gold piece._ He taps a finger and hums. _A bit buys berries, while a copper gets pastries, and a silver pays for a whore._ Hildr puts on her cloak, covering the gold wire highlighting her curves. _But she's already a full figured piece._

Ishkur points at her bag. "No squirm. That squirrel's probably dead of fright."

"No." Hildr shakes it and something wiggles inside. "Now Ishy, don't get too mad and turn me in to the Verdants."

"You know, that wasn't—"

On the dining table, she dumps out a tiny tied-up stick man with a stunted arm.

Ishkur's mouth firms. _I know you, little one._

"This brownie tried to slip bile berries into my food, yesterday." She shrugs. "Maybe, somehow, he's heard about what my lady did. I think he's learned his lesson, if you want to free him."

The tiny man weakly trills and says in his fae language, "Make amends for the flaming haired woman that scorched us."

Hildr pulls her hood up. "What he'd say?"

"He used my words against me... about you." Ishkur sighs. "This little one is from the habitat we... Lute destroyed. He tried to get me with those berries too, and I maybe mentioned an orange haired beauty being responsible."

"What?" She shakes her head. "Why would you betray me, _again_?"

He gulps. "When Lady Darla possessed you, she _did_ make sure with fire that there was nothing for them to come back to."

"I don't like a lot of what Lute's done." Hildr growls, smacking the table. "But these little cousins of yours aren't blameless. They provoked by building on the ancient cobblestones."

"How could they know—"

"Because every thousand years, like clockwork, it's a century-long holy war." She spreads her hands, face contorting like an overworked schoolteacher. " _Surprise._ And straight down the road they blocked is the ruins of the old imperial capital and all the power, figurative and real, that comes with it."

"We could have just—"

"What do you think Obsidians would do to a tribe of brownies in their way?"

"Kill them all."

"Yeah, and we let you try to relocate them."

Ishkur pulls his dagger. "All right itty-bitty bounty hunter." He cuts binding twine and says in Brownie, "I'll get you some honey, and you're free to go, okay?" The stickman shakes his body and stands. "I just ask that you relay to Queen—"

Ella bursts in the front door so hard it slams the wall. The tiny man cartwheels off the table, and the maiden screeches, hopping to the side as the brownie tumbles by, escaping outside.

Ishkur says in Elvish, "Stone-footed, hairy-browed bumpkin girl!"

"That was a brownie," says Ella. "A brownie! Why was there a brownie..."

He rolls his neck and says in English, "And you don't have lunch, mead, or fresh ink. What's going on, Ella? Where's my mug, and why are you panting like a canine?"

The maiden catches her breath and holds up a tiny scroll. "Little Nessa's missing, and this was thrown at Kimona when she looked for her. It's writing like yours isn't it, Sir?"

Ishkur takes it. "Yeah, Elvish script. 'Release Meepsin, or your human child will be left next to the gremlins' lair.' " He shakes Hildr's bag, and a tiny crow feather falls out. "Well, hopefully that was Meeps, and he makes it back."

"Brownies kidnapping?" says Hildr. "Must be a very young girl for tiny twig men to manage that."

The curious are easily lured.

Ella straightens her rounded shoulders and bows towards the covered woman. "Ma'am, are you of Lute too?"

"Maybe I am. So if you call me 'ma'am' again, I'll smite you."

"Sorry... Miss?"

"Miss, Don't Assume."

"Ms Dontasume." Ella gestures towards Ishkur as he stifles a cough. "Will you help the Protector find Nessa?"

Hildr crosses her arms, arching an eyebrow at Ishkur. "Well _Protector_ , will I?"

He sighs. "Where's Whisana? She's supposed to be keeping track of the children."

"Already out searching, Sir. Everyone is; even those from Dulhatchet and Hognut."

He massages his temples. "And scaring them away. Whisana's enough. Call everyone else back."

"I don't know if they'll listen, Sir." She shakes her head.

_Leadership is so overrated._ "Fine. Tell Kimona to gather up as many mushrooms and as much honey as she can. If she resists, explain it's to save her sister. Then tell Sallai to ready her maidens for an armed escort." _When can I be the fool again?_

Ella nods, pulling out some folded papers. "Cevee was in a rush to help search, so she passed me a ledger you wanted. She said her grandfather told her that there's not half enough money for your village plans."

Ishkur smiles at Hildr, teeth showing. "I need your gold."

Her amber eyes narrow. "What happened to yours?"

"Got stolen."

"How much?"

"All of it."

Hildr laughs. "I'll lend you ten marks." She counts out four stacks of gold quarters from a cloak pouch. "Enough?"

He pushes them into the bag that held the brownie and gives it to a wide-eyed Ella. "It is enough, isn't it?"

The young woman nods.

"Then take it to Elder Ibbit. Tell him to get his people busy working on the new houses." He cracks a knuckle. "While they toil, I'll save Nessa."

"Yes, Sir." She salutes and rushes away with the money.

Hildr picks up the little crow feather, rolling it between her fingers. "I was so happy when they said an 'elf man' was still here. I was worried I'd be chasing you around all season. Now, I'm worried you've grown roots. What are your intentions, _Protector_?"

When it's time for me to root, I'll still be human enough to rot.

"Lute is responsible for much suffering here." Ishkur stomps his foot on the hardwood floor. "As dozens of skeletons below will attest." He rubs his ear. "I'm healing the villagers and establishing rapport, the kind that could allow a healthy growth of our band. I also haven't forgotten my lord's mission. I do still intend to finish surveying the trade route and meet Haden at the coast."

"Mission?" She shakes her head. "Our demigods aren't answering. Imagine if it's everyone. What do you think's happening at city portals?"

Around cities are large safespots with mystic archways that allow instant transportation for possessed hosts. _Without their demigods, they'd be marooned, unless breaking taboo to use power gives us access._

"More than the five crusades crumble." Ishkur pinches his thumb. "Lute and any avatar heavy band stretched across the land, may be shattered."

"Yeah or worse." She shivers. "Imagine the Skull Crusher's camp at the ruins of Sarvern, and all those they've dominated breaking free. How can you want to go there?"

"Skull Crusher?"

"The Obsidian friendly band you were supposed to take Haden to." Hildr raises an eyebrow. "You didn't know." She snorts. "I guess your Lord Icarus didn't trust you as much as you thought."

_That necromancer must be with these Skull Crushers._ "I guess not." Ishkur smiles. "I could use your brand of diplomacy. Come with me to the coast. Maybe we save Haden. Imagine how much he'll suffer, knowing he owes us both his life."

"Ishy." She pulls tight her cloak. "Of us all, Haden will survive best, alone. Drop this pretense, and _you_ come with me. Let's go to a place without copper bit lunches. There's a decent sized town, the same distance as the coast, but north and on a tended road with farmers' wagons instead of brownies who kidnap."

"And just wait for our demigods to wake up in Qutain?"

Hildr nods. "This is a blessed vacation. It may be the only one, until our century of host service is over." She leans against his chest. "Stop playing hero to these peons, and be my lover somewhere lavish."

Intoxicating lie; I'd buy it, if she could stay in bed instead of retreating from every postcoital touch.

"Go on to the tavern alone." He leads her onto the porch. "I've lost my appetite."

Hildr's eyes go wide, jaw dropping as he shuts her out. She roars through the door, a lioness more than a banshee, and he steps back. _Nothing like indignation to light a valkyrie's fire._

Stomp. Stomp. Snap.

She curses all five overgods, and he opens the door a sliver.

Ooh, my poor porch.

Hildr roars again, stepping over the hole she made in the wood and snaps off some railing with a front kick.

_I don't miss those tantrums._ He returns to the letter for his father. _Maybe I do miss the anger._

His wry smile sours. _By the Pit._ "Still no ink."

22. Unrequited

Berserkers are formed from betrayal and rage reborn without revenge

Mad enough for murder and make a ferox tough and strong

Mad enough for slaughter and make a harvester all aflame

Mad enough for genocide and make a dread walker to fear

—Hildr Vas Trumurne

Ishkur circles the raccoon-like print with his finger as a cloud passes in front of the early afternoon sun. "Gremlin track. Made today." He motions Cevee over. "Do you know how I know?"

"N-no."

"Hard to spot but very simple." He taps the heel of the print. "A squished caterpillar that will never fly, but has with its wet juices, ascended in post-mortem value."

She brushes aside her hair and rubs burning red ears. "Y-you're s-so smart, Sir."

"Comparatively, I suppose. Get yourself somewhere civilized, and you'll see I'm rather middling."

Bickering starts up behind them, rising in pitch as they turn.

"Liar!" Kimona slaps Two Step, the pigtailed blonde, and says, "She _is_ my sister!"

A bullish Sallai forces the two apart, snarling whispers until they both lower their heads.

Ishkur says in Cevee's ear, "What's this about?"

"T-two Step's dad is m-maybe Little Nessa's d-dad. So Kimona's m-maybe not really N-Nessa's sister."

Ishkur sighs and clears his throat. "Sergeant Maiden, is there a problem?"

"No, Sir!" says Sallai.

"Gremlins are braving the sunlight! Stay alert!" He waves Kimona over. "You're along to carry a ransom of mushrooms and honey, not to harass my watch maidens." A crow caws, and he slaps the sack the tavern wench has slung over her shoulder. "Brownies are watching, deciding whether to make their presence known." He brushes his lips against her ear. "They are of Green, like me, and I know them. Be pleasant, or they won't come out; Little Nessa will be lost."

"Sorry, Mr Ishtaran." Kimona grips his arm. "Please, save her."

"Lay out your offering."

She sets down a dozen rolls of leaves, each packed with a fist of honey-sweetened mushrooms.

_Delicious._ Ishkur motions everyone back and trills. A crow answers, and he squats and trills louder.

The crow lands among the treasure and pecks at a leaf, sticky with honey.

"Go on," he says, "no bile berries in there."

A brownie, with mismatching arms, tumbles out of a bush and says with trills, "The Queen accepts my release and your offering." He motions with his stunted right arm. "Follow."

"So you _are_ Meepsin." Ishkur raises his palm, going on without his escort of ladies. "May I call you Meeps?"

The knee high man grips a necklace of hanging feathers. "My queen titles you, Hipster Apostate. She wants words with your holy half, then a favor from your elf half."

_Hipster?_ "By Gardener's grace, all of me is at her disposal."

Rows of crows cover branches, crying over each other until it's a constant caw. Ishkur passes hundreds of the feathered scavengers before Meepsin prostrates himself in front of a flowering fruit tree.

The birds quiet as pink petals fall. _Cherry?_ Ishkur catches one, crushing it under his nose. _Dark and sweet. Perfect for a pie bar._

Dozens of brownies step from behind the fruit tree. Their doll-like heads bob as they rush, forming two bracketing lines. The tallest barely tops his shins.

Ishkur hides a grin with his linen sleeve. "Oh royal brownie, where are you?"

A squeaky voice says in English, "Acknowledge me as Queen Saugrin." The little men drop to their knees as a more human-looking female, a head taller than them, steps out. "I mean you, Hipster Apostate." She fingers a tight bramble of leafy hair with tips that point up like a crown. "Bow."

_That again, am I so cosmopolitan?_ "Your English, Queen Saugrin, is flawless." Ishkur drops to the ground, pressing his forehead into the dirt. "If you wore a flowered dress, I could mistake you for a schoolgirl."

"Unlike your Brownie, half-and-half, alas. I'm told your trills don't impress and could be mistaken for a dying squirrel."

Ishkur slaps his thigh and chortles. "So quick. I've missed such wit. Living with these country bumpkins has reduced my muse to comedic croutons."

"Better paltry puns than poultry huns."

_I don't get it._ Ishkur roars a laugh and wipes away sticky tears. "Such a pleasure." _What's clever and on topic?_ "Now please, the human child... present her and enjoy the presents of mushrooms and honey... presently." _Damn my thick tongue._

"Is that your human half of wit, or a fart bubbling through your lips?" She trills, and her retinue joins in bursts. "Rude and plain has a place, so I'll reciprocate." She trills again, and a miniature of her steps out of a shrub. "My daughter, who was my grandmother, is ready to lead you to your young one. In exchange, we need the painted one to bring her guardian."

_Painted?_ "Do you mean Whisana, the would-be druid and her pet troll?"

Saugrin dips her head and picks at fingernails that end in thorny tips.

He says, "She's out searching for Nessa, the little girl you have. Why do you want them in exchange? I heard you're already subverting Whisana with lessons."

She stiffens. "Not your concern, Hipster Apostate."

"Whisana's your competition for this mystic place."

"Is she?" Saugrin trills a chuckle and wiggles her fingers until her eyes glow yellow. "Do you care about Nessa or Whisana?"

Ishkur shrugs. "Both."

"Your aura vibrates when I say 'Whisana.' " The brownie drops her hands, eyes fading. "To become a druid, does she need me or you more?"

"Let me see Nessa." He sighs. "My aura may not hum, but I do need to confirm the young girl is okay."

The queen trills, and her daughter cartwheels around the flowering tree.

"Will you become Cherry Tribe?" Ishkur holds up a finger. " _If_ you settle here."

"We are Crow until an elder grove roots us, and I meld with that tree."

"As long as you don't block the trade route this time."

Saugrin hunches her back and trills with guttural intensity.

_What would Apple say?_ "I offer my help for cherries." He points at the tree. "When they ripen." _Except, I should be long gone._

The queen straightens, and her daughter returns. The miniature princess leads a brownie troop herding Nessa.

The small human girl towers at nearly twice their height. Weaved leaves crown her head, and vines hang as tangled extensions.

A smile on Nessa's lips fades as she comes near Ishkur. "Bad man." She points at him. "He hurt Ms Ipigat."

"Now, now, child." Ishkur grimaces. "This isn't the time." He grins with tight lips. "Talk to your sister, since you're confused. Kimona knows the truth."

Saugrin steps between them, her head almost reaching the girl's chin. "More crimes? Is your path on to Merridian's mercy?"

Ishkur pokes and pinches. _Mouth._ Lime light leaks through his lips. _Nature._ A spasm of pain makes him hunch over and shudder _. Crows._ He caws, and the crows flap wings. _Leave._ He caws again as the glow fades, and the murder of birds fly away.

"Queen of your tribe." Ishkur presses his forehead into the dirt with eyes closed. "I failed you before when Lord Icarus ruled my body, and my band's ambitions destroyed your home. I tried to be loyal to them and our god. In the end, I betrayed both." He sits up, showing the stubs of his fingers. "Now my path is clearer."

"Your life is simplified with the loss of fingers?" The queen spins a ball of chartreuse light out of the air and then tosses it into her mouth and trills. "You apologized when I first met you." The crows return to their branches, and she drops her hands. "Does this one preface another disaster for my tribe?"

Ishkur rubs the tip of his ear. "Don't you see that it's still me? I tapped the power of Green without being possessed, which breaks a sacred rule of being avatars. Are you appalled or impressed?"

"Curious... a little." The queen steps close. "What about the woman of orange hair? The one who burned our ancestors and tortured Meepsin? That valkyrie's done more harm in two meetings than the worst season of gremlin attacks."

His right thumb twitches, and a harlequin green creeps up his neck. "Her demigod was in control, but she's like me now." _Tranquility is the heart of reason._ His blush fades. "We're free. Maybe all of us all throughout the realms are free, and the holy war is over."

"Wars don't end when their spark fades." Saugrin spins her hands, and her eyes glow yellow. "They end when their fuel is gone." She clucks. "Your aura is very lush. Oh yes, filled with Gardener's love."

"See."

She forms another ball of chartreuse between her hands. "Bend down and open your mouth."

"Why?"

"It's the favor that will absolve you in my eyes for your unwilling part in my habitat's demise."

_Apple would trust her._ Ishkur swallows the ball.

She says, "Now stay close and relax."

He sits. "Are we having fae sex?"

"Our auras _are_ linking." She trills and sighs. "Such a long queue of my people to reincarnate, and your power hue is drenched in fuel. I'll siphon enough for ten seedlings or so. Nothing Gardener won't replenish with rest."

"Seedlings? Babies?" Ishkur shakes his head, rocking back on his butt. "I'm a hybrid and a host." His cheeks flush bright green. "I am sterile."

"Maybe your human half." The brownie queen trills softly and moans. "But your elf half is responding with skin almost glowing." Her hands dance around his chest and shoulders. "Apostate or not, by Gardener's grace your aura's strength is returning our ancestors."

_Blood, soul, and now my power drained._ "My pleasure." His head wobbles. "So... the troll." He shakes himself and braces his hand against the ground. "What are your plans with Whisana's pet giant?"

Saugrin rubs her belly. "Whether from gremlin raids or valkyrie vagabonds, we must protect our new home."

"And that's here, for sure?"

She smiles, jabbing a finger into the dirt. "It is very fertile soil."

_Cevee's of the founding family, close enough to royalty._ "I can negotiate with the village... royals about replacing their sanctuary with your workshop."

"Thank you for the favor, Hipster."

Ishkur clenches a fist. "You've been working with Whisana so she'll support your claim, but her folk will be unswayed and a major pain. It's not a small task, so may I have a small ask?"

"Speak on, bright one."

_Trade route survey and Haden._ "My griffin's gone rogue. If you see her, recondition her, so I can be about my business and leave you to yours."

"That's more than cherries." Saugrin picks at her lip with a finger thorn. "You must also ensure Whisana cooperates with the troll and surrenders her druidic claim."

"No problem. Her parents love me."

Saugrin bobs her head. "If I see your griffin, I will call her down, but do not betray again, Hipster. Your next bounty won't be for capture."

At least she's dropped the 'Apostate.'

23. A Broken Wish

A mother may pray for a daughter

When she has only sons

But if she's a headstrong woman

Then beware the girl to come

—Lupanne Elkrun

Steaming vegetables cool next to a full inkwell and an empty house mug. Ishkur paces behind his soft chair, the letter to his elftree father still sitting half-finished.

He flicks the quill off the table and says under his breath, "If all the demigods are gone, we aren't worth fearing. Who would humor me paying to deliver and read this to a tree, without knowing Lord Icarus looks after my interests?"

People yell outside. He frowns at the wall in their direction. _What?_

The shouting simmers down. He shrugs, picking up the quill. _Maybe a waste of time, but I've got to finish something._

"Sir!" Ella stumbles through the bedroom door as the noise outside picks up again. "There's an emergency!"

Ishkur growls, dropping the ink-wetted feather. "What?"

"A walking tree monster thing! It's got Wish!"

"It's her troll."

"Elder Hoyne wants to torch the... troll, but Jorkin threatened to kill him, and Sallai—"

" _Sergeant_ Sallai."

"Um, Sergeant Sallai has it surrounded with the practice squad, but they're afraid to get close, especially the new recruits."

Ishkur smirks. "I thought she might try something like this."

"She's waiting for your orders, Sir."

"Not the sergeant, the girl. Whisana Elkrun, Little Miss Wish, probably having a tantrum because I told her family she'd be safer if the brownie queen took her place." He redips his feather. "Don't reward her bullying with the confrontation she wants or get between her dad and Uncle Hoyne's macho match. Tell Sergeant Sallai to ignore and avoid." He flattens a curl of parchment with a fist and scratches a bit of swirling script. "Keep an eye on the family drama, and tell me if they get destructive."

"Sir. Little Wish, she wasn't moving. I think... she might be dead."

"Oh." Ishkur hops up, slipping out of his robe. "Lay out my linens."

"Yes, Sir."

Missing digits hamper his rush, and the young woman helps him layer up.

"Thank you, Ella." He clips on his belt and checks his dagger. "You know your grandmother tripped and died quick, right? I didn't go near her."

"Yes, Sir."

Ishkur nods and gestures. "Get me that hatchet by the fireplace."

She rushes, grabbing it for him. He spins the tool through a simple axe form and steps out onto the porch.

Hand up to block the afternoon sun, Ishkur smiles at a tiny brown bird nesting on the edge of his roof's overhang. He chimes and whistles, but the bird is still and quiet. _Petrified of me._

"Ms Elkrun is being fetched." Ella points across the street at the crowd around the moaning giant. "What do we do?"

"Poor thing can't lay an egg with all this excitement."

"Sir?"

What good is safety, if we live afraid?

"We've got to calm things down to get that owl-face to drop our girl." Ishkur adjusts his collar. "If I'm killed, let Uncle Hoyne burn this house." He taps her nose. "And never open the cellar hatch."

Ella nods, gulping.

Ishkur jogs to the wide circle made around the roof-high troll by Sallai, Paija, and the rest of their squad.

The giant's carrot-like toes wiggle and drill into the hard-packed dirt of the street as bark-like skin shifts. _Tough as a knight's splint mail._

Ishkur salutes his shapely sergeant and turns to a tugging match between Jorkin and Hoyne over an unlit torch.

"Hey, trolls are sensitive!" He breathes deep. "Let's all take a breath, so I can help."

They struggle on with grunts and insults. Ishkur waves at Sallai's father, Abinten.

The grizzled man stomps over. "Stop, you fools!"

The two men ease up but keep grips and free hands as fists.

"Thank you, sirs." Ishkur gestures towards the woody giant cradling a naked Whisana. "This is Toto—"

"That bramble monster got my Lulu killed and now Wish." Hoyne yanks with arms corded like twisted anchor chains, rusting but still made of iron. "Should've burned it then!" He roars but can't break his bulkier nephew's hold.

_Druid Lupanne?_ "Lulu, your wife?"

"That troll knocked Lileth's statue right off our hill, rolling her head down to smash my pig pen, on purpose." Hoyne lets the torch go and crosses his veiny arms. "When that bitch bulb of Blue came for the vandal, some snitch pointed." He glares up at the owl-faced giant, pressing a thumb against his forehead. "You just watched Lulu get killed, didn't you? And now you carry her dead protégée like a rag doll!"

Toto moans, stomping her root-toed foot.

_Don't squash him._ Ishkur steps between the bow-legged elder and the troll. _Or toss me, again._

"Whisana's still breathing!" Ishkur coughs, keeping his distance. _Maybe._

"Wish!" Jorkin drops the torch, pushing past a maiden's spear. "Honey, wake up!"

Ishkur drops his hatchet and hops to the man's side. "Be calm, and go."

Ivy swings from massive arms as the giant shifts and creaks. Jorkin snarls up at it.

"Easy," says Ishkur. "This troll is your daughter's friend, a guardian of the forest. Toto brought her here for my healing power." _I hope._

"Sorry." Jorkin bows, muscles rippling. "Please, help my girl."

"Of course." Ishkur spreads his arms, stepping within the sweeping reach of flexing trunks. "Be calm, Toto."

Whisana's head lolls, and blood drips.

A red-eyed Paija gasps, dropping her spear. "Her back!" she says as Sallai blocks her. "Oh no, my sister."

_Gremlin's javelin, stuck under shoulder blade._ "I'll heal with mystic skill." _Open stomach wound, more concerning._ "Return to your duty, watch maiden, and I'll do mine."

Broad shoulders shaking, Paija sucks in a breath and nods. Sallai picks up the young woman's spear and leads her back into position.

Ishkur clears his throat. "Toto please, set Whisana down, slow and gentle."

The woody owl-face hovers over the wounded girl.

Hoyne says, "Use your bulby powers and grab her!"

_Idiot._ "Jorkin, get your uncle gone, or I'll have the Waygreen Watch do it."

Hoyne scoffs. "Your harem can't remove me! No _girl_ can move me!"

Jorkin grabs him from behind. Pinning his arms, he lifts his uncle off the ground with a grunt.

"Oi, my brother's greatest failure... you." Hoyne twists about like a hooked trout, too stubborn to admit it can't swim without water. "You're bowing to an elf bastard!"

Ishkur shakes his head, stepping closer to the woody giant. "Ignore these foolish bumpkins, Toto."

She shuffles her massive feet, ripping up the street and tilling it with her rooting toes.

"I need to help Whisana, now, or your little friend joins the reincarnation queue."

Toto lays the limp girl down and rattles Ishkur's teeth with a moan. _Finally._

He crouches beside Whisana, brushing his cheek across her pale lips. _By the grace of Gardener, a whisper of life._

"Worshiping a troll and laying with Paija!" says Hoyne.

Jorkin smacks his uncle in the jaw.

Ishkur frowns towards the wrestling relatives. "Sergeant."

"Sir?"

"Split them up—"

"My baby!" Taimay charges past the struggling men. "What's happened?"

"I'm happy you're here, Ms Elkrun." Ishkur pokes dirt with a finger. "Even when possessed by my lord, I... we weren't the best healers of others." He pinches and rests his hand on Whisana's seeping stomach wound.

_Skin. Heal._ His palm glows a verdant green, and the crowd murmurs.

Taimay squats and checks the stick in her daughter's back. "She's been shot."

Ishkur gasps. "Twice. Gremlin short spears or javelins." He blinks away mystic-induced pain, moving his dulling hand from a belly now unblemished. "There's still damage under her skin, but it's flushed clean, and I think will hold." He grips the shaft sticking out of the girl's back. "Ready?"

Taimay nods, holding her daughter steady. Ishkur yanks the weapon out with a spurt of blood.

Poke. Pinch. _Skin. Heal._ He gasps, blinking as he pulls his hand away. "How's that?"

Taimay presses fingers against her daughter's neck. "Her pulse and lips... is she dying?"

The girl my mother would have wanted. The sister I never had.

"By Gardener's grace, we're too far from the swamps for poison." Ishkur waves the bloody end of the stick under his nose. "Clean hit." He taps the girl's clammy wrist and sighs. _Very weak._ "But, I think... too much blood lost."

Will it be better for Whisana's people under Queen Saugrin's protection, unchallenged?

Taimay curls around her naked daughter, smearing blood streaked swirls of earthy paint. "What were you doing, my Wish?" She sobs. "You're my baby. You can't leave me."

Ishkur rubs the side of his head. _Mother held me like this._ The rock was a casual toss by an occasional bully, but it had still cracked his skull. _She loved me like this._ His mother fixed him with tears and casting, and then they moved deeper into the forest. _But this mother has only tears._

"What Whisana needs is dangerous." _I could say, I don't have enough power._

"Make her better, Protector."

_But that's a coward's path._ "Replacing a patient's blood is a moderate application for casting healers, but it's much harder for a ranger to master." _For a little longer, I'm still their hero._ "So, I'm going to improvise a little and try something no caster can."

Taimay wipes her petite nose and grunts.

"I'll take that as informed consent," Ishkur says. "Now, hold her tight and whisper sweet things."

The small woman cradles her smaller daughter and softly sings about fairies. _That's a nice voice._

Ishkur pokes and pinches. _Stomach,_ _Heal. Blood, Create._ He grimaces as sharp pain throbs in his head, and he rubs Whisana's chest with green light. _Almost._ The girl's stomach rumbles, and he sucks in a breath and squeezes his eyes shut.

Taimay says, "Her cheeks are warmer, getting some color."

"That's all the mystic I got for a few hours." He blinks. "Hopefully that speeds up her blood production enough to—"

A spurt of diarrhea decorates Taimay's knees. _Oops._ The mother shifts in time to avoid the pee that follows.

"Eww!" Two Step uses her spear as a crutch while she gags, perky breasts heaving.

_By Merridian's cesspit._ "She needs water, now!" He hops over and tugs one of the retching blonde's pigtails. "Grab a pail of fresh water. Run!"

"What?" Taimay coughs, shaking her head. "What did you do?"

"We have to wake her up." He crouches down and another brown spurt splashes his shoes. "A dunk in the trough should do it."

Taimay clings, going as pale as her daughter.

Ishkur growls, pulling Whisana into his arms. "Keep singing. I like the fae tales of Limbo."

Taimay stumbles ahead while mumbling a melody. She opens the corral's gate, and Ishkur hurries her daughter to the trough. Cradling her head, he drops the rest of her in. Bubbles come up, and the water browns.

Daisey snorts, trotting around the fouled trough.

"Sorry," says Ishkur. "Ella can refill this for you later."

The old mule snorts again and licks Whisana's face.

The naked girl whimpers. "Daisey?"

Taimay chokes an end to her song and squeezes Whisana's hand. "Baby, just stay awake."

A panting Two Step returns, carrying a full bucket to Ishkur.

He waves the maiden away and tilts the pail. "Drink, girl! Drink until you're bloated, then keep going."

"So cold." Whisana shakes her head.

"Drink or die." Ishkur pulls open her closing eyes, and the shivering girl starts to gulp. "Stay awake a little longer." He hands her the bucket and lifts her out of the cess-trough. "Keep drinking to live."

She gulps and coughs and then gulps and drops the half-filled bucket. "Thirsty, but too tired and feel... I feel my insides going outside."

Did I mess up?

Taimay kisses her little girl's forehead. "What can I do, now?"

"Get her clean and comfortable, latch your shutters, and be ready for sneaking gremlins." Ishkur shifts her weight and checks her pulse. "Better, but the blood loss still worries. Whenever she's awake, make her drink and eat. Her body should stay accelerated for a while, so I guess be ready for a constant... mess."

The girl snores and wetly farts into his hand.

He cringes. "I leave you to it; your mundane skills will serve her best, now."

Taimay frowns towards the melee of aged men that surround her husband and uncle. "Can you carry my baby home?"

"Burn the troll!" Hoyne's scream echoes, and half the men cheer.

Ishkur shifts Whisana's bottom clear of his fingers and carries her out of the corral. Taimay follows, bowing to the troll with pinched fingers and whispered thanks. The owl-faced head whistles and tilts down, and then massive arms cross.

"Come with us, Toto!" Ishkur says. "Root at Whisana's doorstep!"

A tall old man stumbles out of the melee and into their way.

_Ah, the elder that raised a toast for me._ "Excuse me, sir."

"Suck manure, mutt," says the spry elder.

Taimay grips his bony wrist, twists and tugs. Sweeping behind, she trips the man into the ground, sending his straw hat flying. He starts to curse her, and she pinches his lips together with fingernails.

Mothers, the alpha and omega of protectors.

The man bows his head, and she lets him go. Ishkur shifts his bare-assed burden and flicks a wet finger at the man as they pass. _Bless this shit, I just speckled you with._

The giant stomps after them while the crowd trails behind. Sallai organizes spear-armed maidens forward and back. _A festive parade, a somber procession, or a revolving brawl?_ Whisana moans, and her stomach gurgles. _I am the Lord of Path, and my life is not a joke._

Jorkin bullies his way to Ishkur's side, holding out his arms. "Is she... I can carry—"

"But then, you won't have both hands for fighting," Taimay says with crossed arms.

"Uh." The father wipes a bleeding lip. "So, was it really frogheads attacking? In the day?"

"Yes," Ishkur says, "and you'll be killing them for this audacity before the sun sets."

24. Broken Log

Casters require an external focus

So blending powers won't tear auras apart

Druids paint their bodies, while wizards clutch wands

Shamans have charms

But is it the bag of bones or the necklace of feathers

Choose wrong and we'll still cast

Like a summons for crows to murder

—Queen Saugrin

The tavern suite's door is locked, and Ishkur pounds it with white knuckles. "Hildr!"

"Why should I get up," a sultry voice says and water splashes, "just to let you in?"

"I'm leading a fight against a gremlin nest in a few minutes." Ishkur adjusts his pants. "And... well, do you find your room lavish enough?"

Hildr cracks open the door, and beads of water trace the naked edge of her figure. "No, but maybe I'm just lonely. Why don't you tell that barn whore to keep me company?"

"Kimona's preoccupied with getting her sister back."

"Not long until sunset. Do you think the brownies will make good on their threat?"

"They won't hurt the kid, but I do hope they'll help wipe out the nest and make this place their new habitat."

"Then you haven't come to ask me along." She sniffs and snorts in disgust. "You smell like shit."

"A quick bath would be nice."

Hildr raises an eyebrow and lets him in. "You're pretty excited."

He goes into the bathroom, stripping off his linens. "Redemption rewards my soul."

The tub is filled and steaming. Ishkur dips his toe in and sighs.

"And leadership gives you a boner." She slaps his butt.

He blushes bright green, covering up. "I just wanted to say sorry and clean up. I didn't come for... that." He eases into the bath.

"Twice in a day would be a first for you." Buckets of water spill over the sides as she joins him. "Now, show me how great a leader you can be."

_Do I want this?_ She eases against him. _Or, am I still in the grip of that brownie's casting?_

"Okay, but they do expect me back in a few minutes."

"Of course, Ishy." Hildr moans and says in a whisper, "Quickies _are_ best..." She presses her belly against his penis, guiding his hands to squeeze her nipples. "Between friends." She leans backwards, pulling his face underwater to the warmth between her thighs.

My aching groin.

His crotch starts glowing.

Oops.

Emerald balls float before a verdant shaft.

_Guess a penis poke and nipple pinch counts as a summoning._ He sits up out of the water, but keeps holding his breath.

"Oh, you naughty boy, tapping your Overlord Gardener direct." Hildr giggles, rubbing her thumb against her forehead. "Teach me how to taboo too." She spreads her legs, sloshing more water out of the tub. "Help me burn with Phoenix's passion."

Biting his lips as a taboo-driven headache pounds, Ishkur presses into her. _The ants go marching two by two._

"You're getting..." Hildr pants as she wraps her legs around his waist and grows warm enough to make more steam. "Bigger."

Hurrah, hurrah...

NON-PLAYER PATH JOINED.

Crows caw and shift between branches. Enough have come to fill the forest's canopy, mimicking an early evening's darkness.

Linens on, Ishkur scratches his crotch. He frowns at Whisana's troll straddling a large log. _Does a whole nest of gremlins really fit under there?_

The maiden militia spread from Ishkur like fluffy wings with spears. A half-dozen older men stand to the side holding sharp tools and a crossbow. Kimona paces behind them, padded with layers of aprons and a rolling pin in each hand.

Hoyne waddles up, carrying a noxious pail of lamp oil that swings between his legs. His fierce grin is complemented with black eyes and a swollen nose from his nephew's elbow. Ishkur had offered flame for peace between them, and the bow-legged elder forgave family and stranger for the chance to praise his overgoddess with righteous extermination.

Ishkur taps his forehead with a thumb. _Sorry you'll miss the show, Hildr._

The brownie queen and her miniature daughter sit at Ishkur's feet. Their tribesmen have disappeared, but Saugrin has assured that they are within trilling distance.

"I hope your hostage, Nessa, isn't dangerously close."

Queen Saugrin shrugs and pats her belly. "Survival is life's greatest blessing."

Am I the Lord of Path's holy vessel or an elf mutt lost in the dark?

Ishkur chews his lip and raises his fist. "Mere minutes before we are betrayed by evening's shadows." _Time to call or fold._ "Stand ready, Waygreen Watch!"

The maidens smack shafts against iron helms and grunt in unison.

"Jorkin, the spark?" says Ishkur.

Growling, the bulky farmer holds up a large flint and steel. Ishkur gives him a thumbs up, and the man squats next to a pile of tinder topped with frayed rope.

"Old man?" Ishkur rubs his forehead. "You ready with your righteous spit?"

Hoyne sloshes his bucket. "Better be frogheads under there."

_By Merridian's mercy, I hope his gray beard gets covered in gremlin phlegm._ "Now, Toto! Lift!"

Wood groans, and the troll moans.

Ishkur grins. "You're doing it, you owl-faced beauty! Keep lifting!"

A small, oddly moving dog stumbles out of a hollow part of the log. _Gremlin._

"Sergeant Sallai! Skewer that puppy!"

Sallai hesitates, but Cevee whacks. Her spear bounces off a back of shifting fur. The sergeant follows with a second hard blow, which cracks against its skull. Stolen dog skin slips off, and a dazed gremlin meets a pickaxe.

The elder gripping the tool shakes off splattered remains. "For my chickens!"

"Girls!" Ishkur thrusts with a finger. "Not staves anymore, so use the pointy end, yeah?"

They blush and nod, aiming their spears at the log.

Abinten cranks his crossbow. "More than pigs, pets, and chickens. They were the eyes and ears of the skull and bones crusaders. For my wife and son!" Sallai's father points his bolt at the log's hole. "Every froghead dies today!"

_That's it, bumpkins._ Ishkur gives Abinten a thumbs up. _Therapeutic slaughter._

The rotting trunk has risen a finger's width while the straddling giant has sunk into the ground a finger's length.

"Eyes sharp and distrustful!" Ishkur snaps his fingers. "This gremlin chief may be a tower caster! Kill any animal, even if you think it's a lost pet!" He bends and says in Brownie, "The chief's not a psion is he?"

Queen Saugrin spins her hands around a chartreuse-colored spark. "Truly? Are the blessed of gods so ignorant of those that must work for their craft?"

He shrugs, shifting his pants.

She lets the bit of summoned light fade. "If the chief's making animal skin seem true, then it's too strong a skill of Blue." She pulls a tiny bag covered by a folded crow feather out of her dress. "He has a wand, and his old master could make soul contracts."

"A gremlin wizard hiding under a log." Ishkur scribes on air like it's parchment. "There's a good joke here that's waiting for my mind to punch line."

"He is fresh to the craft and without his teacher, but don't underestimate ambition." Saugrin puts away her bag. "If he makes this place of power his, then you'll be part of the punch line."

Ishkur grimaces and rubs between his legs. "Should I have brought more—"

The log splinters. A third of it surges up with a triumphant troll moan, and dozens of javelins spit out from underneath.

Hoyne roars and runs forward. His bowed legs make an awkward gait that works to dodge several missiles and globs of spit. He dumps his bucket in the trench of shadows and stays for his nephew's burning branch toss. A whoosh and a symphony of high pitched screaming begins.

There once was a wizard...

Bulbous heads pop out and get poked with spears or smacked with shovels.

"Keep at them!" Ishkur says.

Jorkin pins a gremlin with a smoking branch and severs its head with his sickle.

"That's it." Ishkur shakes his fist. "Harvest every froghead!"

His tower was a log...

The elder with the first kill cracks another bulbous skull with a wild swing.

"More control!" says Ishkur.

The man spins around with his pickaxe, missing gremlins and sinking its metal deep into their log's rotten wood.

Ishkur hisses. "Pull back, fool."

Gremlins spit on the man's face as he wiggles to free his tool. A javelin sticks in the elder's neck, and Ishkur takes a step.

"Wait." Saugrin tugs his trousers.

"I have to—"

"Not yet, half-and-half." She lets go and spins her hands around a growing orb. "Share your aura a moment longer, for your babies."

"There's a man dying."

She swallows the orb and rubs her belly. "Done."

Ishkur hurries, passing maidens pulling javelins out of layers of cloth puffing them up. Abinten is shielding the downed elder with his back and gripping the bloody stick, a half-dozen dead gremlins scattered around them.

"Hold!" Ishkur pushes him aside. "Wait for my hand to glow."

He stabs a finger down and pinches. _Neck. Heal._

Abinten yanks the tiny spear out, and Ishkur clamps a green-glowing hand on the wound.

"Not working." Ishkur blinks.

"The bushes!" Sallai waves her arms. "More of them!"

Ishkur pulls his hand from the leaking neck and dodges a javelin. "The gremlins have reinforcements. We have to go."

"Heal him!" Abinten shoots his crossbow and cranks the string. "He's a good friend."

Ishkur stands. "His body's not responding. I can't—"

Sallai cries out in pain.

"Your daughter, look!" says Ishkur.

The largest of the gremlins is pinning Sallai with a short spear. Ishkur slips Nummer from its sheath and lifts the dagger over his head. A twang behind, and a blur goes through the gremlin's smoking furs and thunks into the log beyond.

As her father curses and recranks his crossbow, Sallai grabs the shaft of the spear and jerks it from the distracted froghead. Ishkur stalls his throw and switches to a stabbing grip.

The gremlin pulls out a forked twig and spins hands around.

_A wand?_ Ishkur's eyes widen. "The chief, he's casting!" He points. "Disrupt him!"

The bulbous-headed wizard barks, and a dozen fresh gremlins yip and charge out from under the length of their log.

_The sun's setting._ Javelins fly, and Ishkur dances through them to hunker over his injured sergeant as one pierces his cloth and sinks into the meat of his thigh.

"Help us!" he says.

Toto drops her piece of log and swings her trunk-like arms, but the agile frogheads dodge.

Ishkur snarls, blocking blinding spit with his arm. "Queen, please!"

Saugrin trills and pebbles whistle down from branches to smack the gremlins' oversized heads. She trills again, and a murder of crows swoop and flap in yipping faces.

A gremlin hops close and skewers a bird.

"Die." Ishkur slices the crow killer open. "Yuck." He shakes ichor off his blade.

Kimona runs by, singing and bopping bulbous heads with rolling pins.

"Where'd he go?" Ishkur points his dagger at a ring of five gremlins. "Wizardly chief was just there, in the middle of them!"

Saugrin spins her hands, and chartreuse light glows in front of her eyes. She points and trills to her brownies. More pebbles whistle, a few thunk, and the gremlin leader stumbles out of thin air.

Toto starts rolling her log, scattering a few frogheads that were rushing to their chief. Ishkur sprints past them and the troll's log. The wizardly chief spins his hands again.

Ishkur leaps with Nummer leading and stabs. "This! Ends! Here!" He leaves his dagger pinning the largest gremlin in the dirt and stands with fist raised. "Victory!"

A tiny gremlin with a high-pitched yip hops out from under a shrub.

_Just like rotten fruit._ Ishkur stomps the young one under a heel. _Splat._

The gremlin leader lifts a hand, and oily ichor spills out of his mouth.

"Guess what rhymes with log?" Ishkur twists his blade. "Dead frog."

The wizardly chief settles, and a chorus of yipping heralds an enveloping beacon of Black. _An Obsidian agent?_

Ishkur steps out of the faux-Pit into a panicked mix of cries and cheering. _What monsters will come next?_ Gremlin survivors hop away from stunned villagers.

"Get after them! They can all lay eggs!" He wipes his blade.

Queen Saugrin steps in front of him. "Your debt is paid, Lord of Path. Let my men hunt the remaining enemy."

"You sure?" _She used my demigod's title._

"See to your people and yourself."

He cups his hands. "Everyone, hold up! Your new fae friends are taking over the hunt, all through the night!"

"With troll cooperating and druid girl not contesting, we officially claim this place." Saugrin pokes the ground with her thorny fingertip and pinches. "By Gardener's grace."

For better or worse.

Ishkur bandages his leg. "Must be more than a dozen frogheads left."

"More, many more including the young, but they are without a chief." The brownie queen curls her fingers as if a tree uprooted and thrusts. "They'll wilt."

The maidens and men spread the word and stop their chase, but Kimona keeps on as the waning moon rises.

At least it's mostly full.

Saugrin trills, and Meepsin tumbles to them, a stolen javelin in the hand of his stunted arm.

"My man will fetch the child you call Nessa," says the queen.

"Great. Let me get her... sister." Ishkur waves the pigtailed maiden over. "Two Step, catch up with Kimona and steer her back so you can take your little sister home. The rest of us are taking the wounded and... the dead man straight back."

"Yes, Sir." She bonks her helmet with spear tip and charges off.

Ishkur tightens his bandage. _I feel too drained for a proper healing._ He pokes but doesn't pinch and waves to Cevee.

The maiden brings over a pile of animal skins. "W-what about t-the pets? S-should we b-bring their... skin t-too?"

"Why?"

"If we f-found my k-kitty's, I have a g-grave on t-the hill for him." She bows her head. "I t-think he's c-cold."

_G-got to use the t-tools at hand._ "You're promoted. Get the wounded to the tavern and the dead elder to my back door." He tugs at his pants and pats her shoulder. "Tomorrow, come back for the skins under a bright sun. Just don't alone."

Cevee steps closer. "Also S-sir, there seems t-to be a stick in y-your pants."

Ishkur brushes his thigh. "I got poked, but it fell out."

She points at his groin. "No S-sir, I t-think it's g-growing up."

_And why my pants are so tight._ "It's weird." He wipes sweat from his forehead. _Saugrin's casting isn't wearing off._ "Maybe I'm sick."

Cevee chews her lip and lifts a shoulder to her mousey ear. _A bashful darling with a sweet smile._ He shivers. _Hildr, I need you._

"Protector!" says Abinten. "Come heal my daughter!"

Ishkur stumbles over to the man kneeling next to a sprawled Sallai. Abinten lifts layers of her clothes with one hand and presses a red soaked rag against her chest with the other.

Sallai hisses and rubs gremlin spit sticking to her cheek.

Ishkur grabs her wrist. "Keep that phlegm from your eyes." _Breasts the color of butterscotch._ "And let me see your cut." _But what flavor are her dark nipples?_

Abinten moves the rag to expose a long wound crossing under his daughter's bosom.

Ishkur nods. _Coffee, probably._ "You okay, Sergeant?"

"Do you see this blood? _Of course_ she's not okay!"

"Dad." She touches her father's arm. "Scraped across ribs. Looks worse than is."

"I only got a drop left." Ishkur pokes and pinches.

_Chest._ _Heal._ His hand flares green over her torn flesh, but fades before the skin closes.

"Wrap this up with something clean, and I'll try again in a few hours." Ishkur leans in with a soft smile that shifts into something feral, with wide eyes and lips pulled back from his teeth.

Sallai sucks in a breath. "Sir?"

_What's this wolf of desire waking in me, shaking off my sheep skin?_ "You'll rest... at my house."

Abinten pushes Ishkur aside. "I can't even see a difference."

"He helped, Papa." She presses around her wound and hisses.

"I'll have the whole squad over for the night." Ishkur stands, but doesn't straighten. "I need to... debrief all of you."

_My bath with Hildr._ He snarls and twists away. _Did our taboo power meld with Saugrin's spell to curse me with a human's lust?_

25. Accidental Harem

I'm a farmer's maid, skin like milk and sweet as hon-eey

To save my family from debt and earn some mon-eey

I danced for coppers and wine, then drank the night aa-way

I woke up with a goat husband and a hooved baa-bay

So even for a good reason don't behave baad-lay

—Kimona Basin

The parade of village folk part and flow around a cloaked figure in the road. Cevee and Paija level spears and flank.

"Peace!" Ishkur waves his hands, limping forward. "That's my friend."

Hildr crosses her arms, leaving her hood up. The two maidens bang helms and continue on with the rest.

"Was it the chief?" says Hildr.

_Her voice._ "What?" _A curry flavored tongue._

She drops her hood and points behind him. "The beacon dividing the night sky with a deeper darkness."

"Yeah."

"Will you come with me?"

Ishkur covers his crotch and gestures east. "My armor and Haden and—"

"Don't you dare say 'my mission' too." Hildr pokes and pinches with a limp wristed flourish. "I've heard about you from the mothers left behind. Especially from that petite martial artist, she had some _illuminating_ things to say."

_Of course._ He sighs. _My taboo use, as told by Taimay._

"You've done more than make your groin glow without Icarus." She points at his leg. "Yet, you haven't healed that wound."

"It's just a trickle of power. Nothing like what Lord Icarus tapped, and I'm still learning to use it well." He rubs his ear. "I was hoping you'd tried too, but was afraid to bring it up—"

"I have tried and failed, alone." She snorts. "I've only broken through during bathtub sex with you. Yeah, I'm a jealous hypocrite. Now, come with and show me again how to be taboo."

Ishkur shivers. _Bane of sense and beacon of desire, oh how I want you, woman._

A crow caws, and he says, "I'm also a hypocrite, because I still want to finish the ancient path's survey, all the way to Sarvern's ruins." He tugs at his pants. "Right after I finish securing this village." _And deal with this brownie curse._

"I won't wait here with that beacon of Black calling for an Obsidian inquisition. This place you're trying to save will be your grave." She sighs and caresses her hood. "But if it isn't, and you make it to the coast, look for a man named Jax the Axe. Tell him you know where to find me, and he'll help you."

"I'll look for Haden. He's my friend."

Hildr shakes her head. "He's an orcelf assassin, now free of oversight. What if he reverts to the nature of his kind _or_ profession? You can't trust him."

_Says the woman raised in a brothel and possessed by the most manipulative demigod in Lute._ "But I can trust this Jax? Who is he?"

"You can trust his obsession with me, and that he may be the only man there more dangerous than Haden."

"What is he?"

"Something that anger makes tough and strong."

"A ferox berserker?" He smirks. "They're dangerous, sure, but they sleep like babies. Haden could—"

"And projects fire."

"A harvester? Really?" He shrugs. "I guess in a fair fight, but—"

"And projects fear."

Ishkur stumbles back. "A dread walker."

_Suddenly, my pants aren't so tight._ The most powerful of berserkers, they can rout a hundred when rage takes them.

He clears his throat. "You helped form this killer?"

She bows her head. "I got him to love me, and then Darla destroyed everything else he loved while wearing my face. Like all berserkers, he was reborn with his anger but without the details for why. For Jax, his rage was greater than my lady expected because his love for me stayed too. He is the most powerful she's ever made but can't use him directly because he's triggered by my presence." She points east. "So, he was sent to infiltrate the Skull Crushers ahead of Haden. Last I heard, he leads a berserker platoon they have stationed in the ruins."

"Does Haden know?"

"Lady Uostai did." She pats a cloak pouch. "No idea what that demi-bitch shared in notes."

"I imagine Lady Darla and Uostai together like a devil dancing with a demon."

Hildr chuckles, and they both say, "Who would lead?"

How does our rainbow of demigods get along?

Kimona and Two Step pass by with Nessa sandwiched between them. The women wave, and the girl cries. Kimona wraps Nessa into her ample bosom while Two Step tickles the girl's cheeks with her pigtail.

Because they're a family.

Ishkur winces and crosses his legs. _Graceless brownie curse._ "So, what's Lute's big plan with that pirate band, the Skull Crushers?"

"Haden and Jax." Hildr pulls her hood up. "Two of our most lethal. What do you think?"

"Fight them."

"Kill them."

_The necromancer too?_ He shakes his head. "But, there's also the shrine prep—"

She slips close and wraps him in a hug.

My imagination, or can I really feel her nipples through all the layers between us?

She rolls her lips across his chin. "Maybe Haden's done murdering, and you'll walk into a friendly Lute Bop already digging deep for Titan treasure."

_Sure, a quaint Lords Under The Eye base of operations excavating Sarvern like the dead half of Lotus Hollow._ He returns her squeeze. _Well, there are ruins here too._ _Under bumpkin homes and in my ribbed chest._

"I'll poke and pinch when I think of you." Hildr rubs his groin. "Amazing as a third time would be, I'm leaving you now, stiff and lonely." She pushes away.

Ishkur reaches. "Just for tonight—"

"Enjoy that barn whore." She bats his hands aside. "Or break in some maidens."

_Valkyrie of rejection._ "Where are you going?"

"North to Qutain, and then..." She shrugs. "I'll send a letter to Lotus Hollow from wherever I settle. Check in with Apple at the aviary, if you want to stalk me down."

Ishkur pulls out a string of silenced copper bells and hands it to her. "For good luck."

Hildr shakes them. "Thanks, I'll keep them in a pocket next to my heart."

Such a tease.

She walks away, and a tiny shadow tumbles after her.

Good luck on that bounty, Meeps.

The farmhouse headquarters is well lit. Lamps and candles are scented enough to cover a squad's sweat but not the bile soaking through a dead man's trousers.

"If anyone asks, just say he won't be feeding gremlin tadpoles." Ishkur rolls the deceased elder into the cellar.

_Supper time, Mayp._ It lands like a sack of potatoes and metal scrapes on stone.

"What happens below stays below." He covers his groin and kicks the hatch closed.

Paija wipes blood from her manly hands. "Are your pants going to... rip?"

Ishkur frowns. "They may before the grip of Queen Saugrin's curse reaches a climax."

A room full of young women giggle, sigh, and groan.

"Paija and Cevee, move your Sergeant into the master bedroom." He points at a new recruit, a mother and widow barely older than the maidens. "What's your name again, sweet bumpkin?"

"Tekka Pennance, Sir." She curtsies.

"Okay, Tekka." He smiles. "You've got a lazy eye but a doll's face."

She blinks, left eye drifting.

"Ignore my comment." Ishkur shakes himself. "Take a wash bin and help them strip and clean Sallai's wound. And get a candle to dry the gremlin phlegm on her cheek. Don't get it wet, and it should flake off."

The three women nod. Paija and Cevee half carry Sallai away with the young mother following.

_Ripe peaches._ Grunting, he draws Nummer and slices his trousers enough for his underwear to stretch out. _I've a summer sausage._

The ladies who are left gasp, and his young house matron says, "Sir, is that... normal?"

Ishkur blushes green and turns to face the wall. "Sorry, Ella." _Lust is of Red._ Sweat rolls down his forehead. _This beastly desire has been cast into me._ "Give me a moment to master my humanity."

A painful pressure builds in his groin, like a full bladder but with electric twinges that spiral throughout his body. _If I'd gone with Hildr, I could have rut this out with her._

He grinds his knuckles into the wall's hard wood. "I trusted a brownie queen, which should be most abnormal."

The females whisper, giggle and murmur more. Ishkur closes his eyes, but the pain doesn't ease. Instead, their voices mix into a groan of yearning that's almost symphonic. Drool gathers at the corner of his mouth, and the whispers promise a willing curiosity.

I can't trust myself.

He wipes his mouth. "You all did well today. I wanted to chat properly, but I've been made most improper. So, debrief will have to wait." He adjusts his underwear. _Barn whore._ "Two Step, go get Kimona and say that I need her for the evening. The rest of you are dismissed. Take tonight off and get some rest. We'll start patrols again after practice tomorrow."

They file out the front door, whispering with wide eyes and red cheeks.

Ishkur wags his finger. "What's the first rule of Waygreen Watch?"

Except for Ella, they say, "No gossip."

"Very good. Ella, show Kimona to my room when she gets here."

"Sir." She points at the table just to the side of the hatch. "Little Nessa's had a hard day. Doesn't she need her big sister too?"

He growls and slides two of the table legs over the cellar's entrance. _What if I matched Endraker's soul-sucking curse against Queen Saugrin's crotch curse?_

"Sir?"

_No._ "Two Step's her real sister, right?" _They'd probably meld into something worse, if anything._

"That's the gossip."

"Great." Ishkur grimaces and pulls at his undergarments. "How can your men handle such awkwardness? It's like I've got a third arm reaching up between my legs."

Ella gulps. "I've never seen anything like... _that_ , Sir."

"Will this make me the butt of jokes?"

"Not mine, Sir." Her bushy eyebrows rise, but the corners of her mouth stay straight.

"You know, I've liked you ever since you gave me a pickle."

Ella steps back, palms raised.

Ishkur says, "As just a _servant_. I mean, my house matron. You're great at it. Just that. I'm not interested in..." He sighs and returns to face the wall. "Kimona better know how to handle this."

"I've heard she handles such things very well, Sir."

"My Lute friend would've helped, but she got scared away by the beacon."

"It is intimidating, but Ms Basin's a professional. She kept those five soldiers satisfied through the winter. I'm sure she can help you."

Ishkur chuckles and winces as the shaking sends shockwaves of pain from his groin.

Ella tsks and says with a sharpened tone, "I owe Kimona my maidenhood; all the girls do. Do not mock her for doing what she had to to protect us."

_Oh Hildr, if only you were here to hear how heroic a whore can be._ "The beacon my friend fled splits the sky, not my pants." He holds up his arm. "Right where I broke another soul contract by killing that gremlin chief."

"Sorry Sir, I—"

Someone pounds on the front door. Ella bows and moves to answer.

"Where's my daughter?" Abinten pushes past the young woman. "Where?"

Ishkur waves and doesn't turn from the wall. "She's being cleaned by some of the other maidens. Once I've rested a bit with Kimona, I'll—"

"Kimona?" Abinten punches the doorframe. "No time for whoring! Do your Gardener glow, and heal my Sallai!"

The young mother, Tekka, comes out of the master bedroom. "She's resting, you ogre! Come back in the morning!"

"Did she just call me an ogre?" He stomps inside. "Did this turnip wench just call _me_ an ogre?"

Nummer's blade thunks between the father's feet, and Ishkur says, "The next one splits the shaft between your balls." He spins and squats behind a chair. "I will pour all my energy into repairing your daughter's wound, but you must leave." He loosens his pants and blinks away tears. "Now!"

The old man takes in a shuddering breath. "She's all I have left."

Ishkur points, and Abinten grunts and goes. Ella latches the door after him, and Ishkur's trousers fall down as he stands.

Tekka giggles and then gasps when he turns towards her. "Whoa, bigger. Can I call _you_ ogre?"

Ishkur tries to cover himself with seven fingers, but he's three short. "You wouldn't smile, if you'd seen what a real ogre does with their impaler."

He whistles out of tune and shuffles into the former boys' bedroom. New shutters are latched, and a candle is lit, but he still checks under both beds before lying down.

_What's happened with your sons, Ms Sticknot?_ He pulls off his underwear. _If we've all lost our demigods, the crusades could fall apart._ He stretches and grabs a wooden soldier off a shelf. _They could've escaped in the chaos and be well on their way home by now._ He marches the soldier up to his navel and says in falsetto, "Oh look at that pillar splitting the sky, right through my bedroom's ceiling."

There's another knock at the front door. Wrapping a blanket around his waist, Ishkur stands and peaks out. Kimona is at the entrance with Two Step behind.

He motions them over and Ella says, "May I call it a night then, Sir?"

"Sure, sure."

She goes to her room as the two ladies come in. _Voluptuous and experienced versus perky with pigtails, who would Apple pick?_

Ishkur says, "How's Little Nessa?"

Kimona smiles. "She's well, staying with Taimay and keeping Wish company."

"Oh, good." _Cleavage like the curve between casks of ale._ He forces his eyes from Kimona's chest. "Two Step, latch that door and then go join the others in the big bedroom. I'll be in to help Sergeant Sallai as soon as Kimona gets this brownie curse out of my system."

The pigtailed blonde gives him a double thumbs up and a wide smile. _Like a Circus Town courtesan._ He returns the thumbs up, and she giggles. _Just needs the clown makeup and a jester's hat._

With wide eyes and flared nostrils Kimona pushes him into the room.

"What—"

Kimona squishes his mouth with calloused fingers and shakes her head at the beds. "Not enough canvas." She yanks blankets onto the floor, knocking a toy soldier off a shelf. "Lie down and relax. Let's see if my artistry can get your post to a more manageable size."

Ishkur sprawls. "Will it... keep growing?"

"Oh wow." She opens a jar and rubs something on that makes her hands glisten. "Maybe it will pop."

" 'Pop?' " Ishkur gulps and pales. "That's not natural. Wh-why?"

"Darling, you're the mystic bulb; don't you know?"

"My demigod was the—"

She grips, jerking up and down.

"Gah, gah, careful! It's pain... oh." Ishkur moans. "Oh, that's good." He sighs. "Amazing that hands can simulate sex."

She slows and stops. "You did this too, right?"

"Me?" He moves her arm up and down. "Keep going, please."

"Do half-elves masturbate?"

"Pff, disgusting. My elven heritage has spared me—"

Kimona's laugh jiggles her breasts, and she kisses his sweating forehead. "Such a precious fool you are."

_Am I?_ Her tug takes over, and he releases a devil of desire.

"Yes." She wipes him clean. "A little better, as I was hoping." She stretches her wrists. "A lot of stories come through a tavern, and this sort of curse has come up a few times."

"With anyone like me, a half-elf ranger?"

"Ah sweetie, you're special." She grips. "Unique." She pumps, almost as fast as before. "Now, focus... on nothing."

"I'm trying, but I... keep thinking about—"

"Stop. Just picture those pretty ladies a few feet away. So eager to see you." Kimona coos. "Good, good. Almost... almost there. All of them calling you 'Sir.' "

He shudders and gasps.

She claps. "Oh wow, that's a lot."

"I feel like a cow."

Kimona cackles and sweat rolls down her brow. "There's a great joke."

"Please don't." Ishkur picks up the toy soldier she knocked off and puts it back on the shelf. "Leave me some dignity."

She cackles again, wrestling him back to the floor. Smiling wide, she squeezes and pumps.

He bites his lip, shuddering again. _I am a fool, but without humor._

Kimona hums as she cleans with a bundle of sheets. "Finally down to a manageable size." She straddles him. "Ready for your bill?"

_I'm naked without comedy._ "Can't pay with crops?"

"Sweetie." She pulls off her blouse and plops her chest on his. "I'm harvesting _you_."

"Oh." He shifts to breath easier. "I'm sterile."

Kimona's eyes widen. "Of course, cause you're a hybrid." She eases him in. "I'm just sterile because my father made it so." She starts slow and then speeds up enough for her breasts to slap his chin. "Daddy couldn't have his only whore pregnant."

Ishkur presses a thumb against his forehead. "In honor of... Lady of Desire's holy vessel." _Hildr._

"Yes, honor me little _big_ man!" She grinds him into the floor. "Yes! Oh, yes!"

Sweat like stale mead and breath like a mule, I should've picked perky pigtails.

He makes light moaning sounds and blocks her swinging sacks with a forearm. _Am I making love or getting plowed?_

Gasping, Kimona rolls off him. "You're getting bigger again." She stands and pulls her dress on. "I need help, or it might actually pop."

"Wait. I can't tell if you're joking." He dabs sweat from his brow with her discarded underwear. "Could that really happen?"

"Let's play it safe." She opens the door and smiles. "And you've got some curious maidens out here that want to volunteer."

"Can I see it?" Two Step leans in. "Gah, haha! Tek was not jesting." She grips a pigtail and snorts. "I've gotta tell Sallai."

"Please," Ishkur says as she hurries off. "Don't."

Some whispers in the hall, and then Paija steps in. "I'm... I want to help. You saved my sister." She twists together long fingers. "And this is like an injury, right? So I can be like a nurse?"

"Yes; just like that, dearie." Kimona claps. "Except, all he needs is to get rightly fu—"

"So!" Ishkur sits up. "How's Sallai doing?"

Paija blushes. "Wanting to check on you too, Sir."

He grimaces at the maiden's last word.

She glances out the door. "Two Step described... it, and we were worried Kimi was hurting you."

"No, Kimona's helped a lot." Ishkur stands and wraps up. "Enough that I can expend some healing for our caring sergeant."

He limps into the hall. _Whoa._

A naked Cevee leans against the back door, long hair shading pale skin and hands shaking. "S-sir. I-I'm ready t-too, Sir."

Ishkur gulps and hunches over. _Did you have to repeat, 'Sir'?_

26. One Good Eye

Intentions matter only so long as they are known

But results do not care if they are understood

By pen, mouth, or sword stroke, actions echo forever

—Goldstone Tenthorduke

Morning dew wets Ishkur's shoes as he cuts across fields to Elder Ibbit's estate. He clears his throat, approaching a bustle outside the large home.

Young women are hitching a train of empty wagons under Ibbit's and Hoyne's supervision. _Must be every horse this place has._

Ishkur nods to the raven-haired Cevee. She fumbles with a strap, and her peers giggle. Most were at his house last night, but of them, only she stayed until dawn.

"Greetings, gentlemen." Ishkur stands before the old men and salutes.

Ibbit leans on his cane to allow a deep bow. Hoyne grunts acknowledgment and moves to berate loitering young ladies talking behind their hands.

Better cash in this goodwill while it's fresh.

"Going to pack up more from Hognut Hamlet?" Ishkur motions down the road. "Any more families?"

"All that's left." Ibbit rubs his milky eye. "And all from Dulhatchet next." He coughs and grins. "A village at last. I can die content."

"No hard feelings about renaming Bunnifarm to Waygreen?" Ishkur calms a restless horse with a scratch under its chin.

The elder wipes his mouth with a pink handkerchief and nods. "Of course, it was always pretentious for my hamlet to be my family's name. So, thank you, Mr Ishtaran. You've saved us from monsters and... attrition."

"I've drawn up plans for a watch tower and palisade." Ishkur hands him paper.

Ibbit holds it up to his good eye, nodding as he turns the parchment around.

Ishkur says, "We should make sure everyone knows where to run, when overwhelming danger comes."

"Hill or tavern?" Ibbit pockets the plans.

"No. You don't want to be trapped." He points northwest. "Retreat on the old path to the druid's sanctuary." _Former sanctuary._ "If needed, that path was a trade route. Follow it straight to a town called Lotus Hollow, and ask for Apple Morehunt at the aviary. Tell him, I sanctioned settling your people there."

Ibbit dips his head. "Thank you." He shakes the paper. "What about something signed and sealed as proof of your word?"

"This is only if you must run, but there's a letter to my father I can include... once I finish it." Ishkur pats the shorter man's shoulder. "Don't worry. They'll be happy to have folk who are used to building on the ruins of titans." He pokes and pinches with a flourish. "Have Whisana show you the way, and trust the brownie tribe to dissuade pursuit."

"As you say, Protector."

Ishkur steps closer. "Also, I need advice about something. May we whisper in a quiet place?"

Ibbit waves to Hoyne and then leads to a backyard where a table and chairs are sprinkled with white fruit tree petals. "What troubles you?"

Ishkur rubs his ear. _Context._ "The brownie queen cast to make me fertile for her." _Not my fault._ "Enhanced my elven half so our auras could mingle and have saplings as vessels to relieve the reincarnation que of her tribe." _Best intentions._

Ibbit sits and leans his cane against the table. "The fae life is mystery to me, but I sympathize with being used by a woman."

Ishkur paces. "What I didn't fully... grasp, was how it affected my human half." _Especially after a valkyrie bath._ He motions around his groin. "I'm not used to much activity down here. Not, as I understand, by the standards of full human men."

The elder chuckles. "In that I also sympathize and have for a few decades now."

"Good." Ishkur tentatively smiles. "So you can appreciate that I wasn't thinking straight when I made a few maidens into women last night."

Ibbit's eyes widen, and he hacks into his sleeve. Blood stains the cloth as he shakily pulls out his handkerchief.

Ishkur pats his back.

The elder swats his hand. "What?"

"I was physically intimate with a few maidens... including your granddaughter. Who incidentally doesn't stutter during the act." He taps his lip. "A therapeutic opportunity she could pursue."

Ibbit presses his face into his liver-spotted hands, resting there long enough for pristine petals to crown him and trail down his neck and back. "Who else?" the old man says in a ragged voice.

"Kimona started things off, but my brownie curse was such that she needed to enlist others."

"Who?"

"Paija, who took to it quite well and didn't have annoying sacks smacking my face." He rubs his chin. "Two Step; I'm sorry, I don't know her real name. She was very bouncy, and her pigtails were distracting. I kept wanting to yank them, if you can imagine."

"Is that all?"

"Oh. Well, Sallai, after I healed her. She took to it with the commitment of a craftsman's apprentice." He twists his legs. "I did get tired of her questions. The act is rather basic. How many variations are there to hammering a nail?"

"Four." Ibbit lifts his head.

"She did a fair bit more than—"

"Four maidens and a whore."

"Well." Ishkur shrugs. "Maidens no more, and by her callouses, Kimona is as much a wench as a whore. Have you thanked her by the way, for keeping those crusaders content? Maybe give her a placard or something. I think she'd like the recognition."

"You are mad, and now we're stuck with you, _Protector_."

"Mad? Embarrassed, sure a bit, but I'm not upset."

Ibbit snorts, bad eye twitching.

Ishkur points east. "And I'll be leaving. So, you bumpkins can go back to the mediocre life." He shrugs. "I'm sure I'll miss this place once I'm far away, but now I'm feeling claustrophobic and ready for the trail."

"No, you insane rake. Planting your seed in our daughters and threatening to dash off makes you the very archetype of a father's nightmare."

"Oh, no." Ishkur shakes his head. "Don't worry. There's no chance of pregnancy. I'm a sterile half-elf, and it's not like it was my fault, really. That brownie queen is to blame. Plus the ladies were all quite eager, especially your super clingy Cevee. You need to let her go hunting more often. Maybe killing a few rabbits will get that primal out of her system." _And fix her speech._ "I finally had to pry her off and kick her out, or I think she'd still be cuddling."

The eldest elder cradles his cane, and then he twists the top. "Come closer." There is a hiss as he separates it into a sword and hilt. "So, I can thank you."

Ishkur hops back. "Whoa. Are _you_ mad?"

"Go, elf man. If I'm angered enough to draw on you, what do you think Jorkin and Abinten will do, as fathers?"

"Then don't tell them."

Ibbit barks a laugh. "And they won't find out from the women?"

Ishkur nods. "First rule of Waygreen Watch. No gossip."

"Your lack of understanding weakens my knees." He sheaths and sits. "My eyes are failing yet—"

"About that." Ishkur hops close. "Let me try clearing that eye a bit."

Ibbit coughs and wipes speckles of blood from his sleeve. "Druid Kelsa refused, like Lupanne before her. They said it would be an abuse of their gift to challenge nature's plan for me."

"Bumpkin thinking. Go to any proper city, and sanctuary casters heal any woe for coin or trade."

"And you want what? More maidens in exchange?"

Ishkur blushes harlequin green. "Just understanding that last night was out of character." He grips the elder's cheek. "Now your cough is part of something deep and hard to tweak, but this eye should be straightforward enough."

Poke. Pinch. _Eye. Heal._ Ishkur grimaces as his head pain flares with the mystic use. _Worth it to woo him._

The old man grabs Ishkur's glowing hand, closing his good eye. "Ah, it's working. I can see the tree."

_Hold still, gramp._ Ishkur gasps. "Don't—"

Ibbit coughs, and his eye pops like a soap bubble. "Ahh!"

"Oops." Ishkur blinks, easing the writhing man onto the grass. "Be calm."

"Get away from me!"

"No, you see... err I mean, when you coughed—"

"Monster!" Ibbit clutches his heart and wheezes.

Hoyne comes in a wobbling run. The young women he was taskmastering follow with skirts lifted.

_Shit logs._ Ishkur takes a big step away from the elder on the ground. "Your man's having a fit!"

Hoyne kneels by his peer, gnarled hands cradling.

"A mystery ails him." _Yeah, past time I hit the trail._

Elder Ibbit grips Hoyne's collar, pulling him close for a blood-speckled whisper. The young women huddle together, and Ishkur smiles at them.

"I-is he o-okay?" Cevee says.

Ishkur shrugs. "I'm a ranger, not a druid, and even they couldn't help him." He grips her shoulder. "I'm sorry, but you should prepare for the worst."

A metallic hiss, and Hoyne holds Ibbit's cane sword unsheathed. "I knew you had it in for Paija, but you went for the whole lot last night." He waddles forward with his bow legs approximating a swordsman's stance. "Get away from him girls, or he'll ensorcell you _all_ into sluts!"

Cevee moves in front of Ishkur. "I-it wasn't l-like that. He was c-cursed—"

"You're granddad lies dying, and you waste air defending this _ass_ bastard." Hoyne swishes the sword. "Run girls, and spread the word. Mr Elf Mutt has killed our eldest and raped your peers. Run!"

All but Cevee gasp and obey

Ishkur says, "Let me gather some gear, and I'll peacefully leave."

"You best start hiking now, before my nephew hears." The old man chuckles, slow and measured as a hangman tying a noose. "Bulb or not, you're a six-fingered fool, if you wait for his sickle."

"Seven."

Cevee tugs on his linens and says in a whisper, "K-Kimona will h-help you p-pack food."

His lips brush across her ear. "Then let's haste to Three States."

27. Ruins

A loving man once wished to witness

The miracle of his child's birth

But such moments are just for mothers

And the midwife kept mocking his worth

So he became an Ogre's lover

And finally got to see a birth

—Ishkur Inshushinak Ishtaran

Ishkur slaps his palms along the rows of mostly bare shelves that divide the tavern's basement. _Well-plundered by the Obsidians._ No skeletons hang from the ceiling, and no skin covers the walls, but it has the same dimensions as what's under the farmhouse he claimed from the vampiress.

"I'd have liked to see this place before your ancestors came." Ishkur taps the stone floor with his boot. "This was supposed to be an important town towards the end of the titans' reign, but these few overlarge cellars are the only evidence."

Kimona sets down her lamp and tugs at the wood panels of a wall. With a creak and scrape, a section pulls away. She shines her light into a nook topped by the curve of a slanted granite pillar.

What cathedral of mystery did this once hold up?

He leans in and traces part of a rectangular outline not blocked by the pillar. "Is this a door?"

Kimona hugs him from behind, slipping a calloused hand into his pants. "Oh wow, did you heal it a little crooked?"

Ishkur twists and backs out of her embrace. "I only relieved raw skin." Heart thumping, he ducks into the nook. "There's always been an angle."

"Odd that I didn't notice before, but I think it's cute." She bends and lingers, providing an ample view of her cleavage. "You sure you don't want the lamp?"

"Just come get me at sunset."

"Kimona!" says a man's voice above, where the ceiling creaks.

She smirks. "Whatever would Daddy do without me?"

"Thank you for this hideout and the food you'll pack." Ishkur bites his lip, patting her hand. "I hope you won't get in trouble."

"My father owes me more than he could ever repay."

"He does seem to misuse you."

She lowers her head. "Glad you see that."

Her father calls out again, louder, followed by a number of other stomping feet. _Can't fight from a box._ Ishkur tenses, but Kimona taps a finger to her lips and shuts him in.

"I'm in the cellar!" Her voice grows shaky and distant as she goes upstairs. "What do you want, Dad?"

Steady, woman.

"Are you hiding him down there?" says the man, snarling.

"Who? I'm prepping for lunch—"

A slap. "If he's found here, I'll sell your ass for beets, all week!"

Ishkur narrows his eyes, grinding his teeth. _That fat man's earned Merridian's mercy._

Softer voices growl at each other. _More fathers?_

"Surrender, fae mutt, and we'll just kick you out!" says Elder Hoyne with the bark of a sea captain. "Fight, and you die!"

Or a great-uncle.

Jorkin's deep voice says, "My daughters, you saved one while seducing the other! Don't tempt my wrath further, and I will allow your peaceful leaving!"

_What about Paija's improved self-esteem?_ Shoes scuff and shelves groan, and the glow of lamp light slips through the cracks of wood panels. _Isn't that worth something?_ Ishkur hunkers down, pressing against the smooth stone of his nook.

"Maybe she's telling the truth," Jorkin says.

"She's hid him somewhere." Hoyne whacks the wall with something that rings. "We check every room and every cupboard."

"And if we find nothing?"

"We check every house," says Hoyne. "I'll even drop a stone down the well to be sure."

_Ouch._ Ishkur rubs the top of his head. _I did almost hide there._

Jorkin sighs. "What about the Sticknot house?"

"Burn it."

_Phoenix's kiss._ Ishkur grips his bag of finger bones. _Better than Merridian's mercy._

"Ella lives there now," Jorkin says.

"It's still mine." Hoyne growls. "Should've burned Kelsa and her monsters out as soon as those soldiers left, then we wouldn't have been tricked by that false hero."

"I'm angry, Uncle, but I haven't forgotten _all_ the mutt's done. Are you sure it wasn't an accident? Elder Ibbit was favorable towards Ishkur."

"And it cost him an eye and half his body paralyzed." A thump, like a fist hitting wood. "Dreamy-eyed fool."

_A stroke?_ Ishkur shakes his head. _That damn cough._

Jorkin says, "His granddaughter's defending him—"

"Of course that s-skinny s-s-psycho would spew such n-nonsense over Ibbit's death bed," says Hoyne. "I bet Paija would too, over yours. All of them are under that elf bastard's spell." His voice fades as stairs groan. "What else does a bulb do but..."

Ishkur pulls out his fire starter, scraping it. _I'm not of Red, old man._ "I've no skill or item to woo women. Blame my practiced prose and innate charm."

He makes sparks, enough to light up the small space. _What's this?_ He frowns, fingering a palm-shaped indentation within the rectangle under the pillar. _A warning, an invitation, or just a print for posterity?_ He pokes and pinches. _Hand._ He presses his glowing palm against it.

Nothing clicks, and the stone doesn't budge. _Yeah._ He gasps and blinks. _That would have been crazy if—_

The whole nook shakes, and there's a grinding followed by the wall under the pillar pulling away from him. "Oh."

Voices call out from above, and Hoyne says, "It's him! Let's burn him out!"

Glow gone, Ishkur clambers into darkness. _Deep as a beacon of Black._

Slime coats the widening tunnel, and his fingernails tear as it abruptly angles down. "Wh—"

Ishkur slides far and fast enough to lift his hair. Sudden free fall.

He opens his mouth to scream, and his feet punch into water with a great splash. Bone chilling.

Ishkur comes up gasping and spitting. _No floor._

Poke. Pinch. _Hand._

His fist lights up like a thinly hooded lantern. _No ceiling._

The wall is almost vertical and slicker than ice. _No way back._

His teeth chatter, and his glow fades as he coughs and blinks. _Water, clean as a spring._ He claps his mouth shut and swims around a cavernous space.

At the far side his toes find some solid ground, and he stands with just his head above water. _If I drink this all, will I become a demigod?_

His fingers reach a narrow ledge, lacking slime, and he climbs out of the pool. Water drips as he shivers, leaning against the wall to stretch out some cramps. _So cold._

Ishkur strips off linens and wobbles. "Dry," he says in Elvish, and the clothes sizzle. _Hot, hot._ He juggles them until they cool and pulls the linens back on over still wet undergarments. _I gotta buy a matching pair of magic underwear._

The wall's stonework is fitted well enough that even his fingernails can't find purchase. "Dry and tighter than Goldstone's asshole." He snorts and draws his dagger with a steady hand, working its tip into a line between blocks. "Sorry for this indignity, Nummer." He carves out a thin handhold as if it was wood instead of stone, and then does another higher. "At least this side's not slick."

Stone chips rain as he climbs, slit by slit. He leaves his shoes on the thin ledge so his toes can grip, and his seven fingers struggle not to slip.

Dozens of cuts in granite mark minutes becoming hours and cramps becoming knots of finger numbing strain. Shaking too much to slice straight, he pushes off.

The flat of his back smacks the pool with an echoing crack. He gulps air and water, sputtering and coughing. _Nummer._ His hands are empty; his dagger lost in the shock of impact.

Poke. Pinch. _Hand._

Ishkur dives with a glowing fist, moving along the floor with open eyes. A world of fluid, clear and tinted green. _Like a pool of power._ Nothing but him swimming. Nothing but the throbbing growing in his head. _Has karma brought me here?_

The dagger rests at the edge of an oversized step down. _Praise Gardener's grace._ He sheaths it and lets the glow fade.

Wasting power and pain, just for light.

He comes up for breath, blinking away his mystic headache. Water swirls around his paddling while his head bobs.

A break, and a prayer.

"No fuzz of light, or creak of crickets. Not Pit's madness, or Hell's torture." Ishkur draws a circle underwater and slashes through it. "Under the bottom of a well. I am adrift in Nirvana." He gulps and spits. "With Lileth's tranquility, may this adventure be my reset."

NON-PLAYER PATH UPDATED.

He dives and follows the steps down with fingertips, heading through a doorway into a room that's mostly submerged. _Yuck._ He spits out stagnant water, fouled by something he can't name, and finds a broken granite pillar to climb.

Truly, the ruins of titans.

After stripping and commanding his linens to dry again, he scrapes his fire starter. The flicker of sparks suggest a massive chamber. _But reasonable, when scaled for people twice the height of men._

Shapes fill the room. The sparks only hint with shadows and impressions, and a surrounding pressure makes his ears crackle.

Still naked, he leaves everything but his fire starter on the pillar and drops back into the water. _No thieving crusaders down here._ He swims along the edges of the room, stopping when his toes can brush the floor.

The sparks of the enhanced flint and steel illuminate, like distant lightning. _Wow._ Flickering into view before, and above him, is a throne of frozen majesty. An emaciated giant with scaly skin wears a crown that catches the flashes of light like a ring of diamonds.

"Where am I?" Ishkur's voice echoes. _What is this place?_

Shivering, he climbs up the side of the massive chair and rips off some ancient cloth that he twists and lights on fire. _Titans... and trolls._

They hang from the wall in a dozen pairs. Petrified trolls, pinned by massive tridents, and under each is a desiccated titan in the vice of their root-like legs.

Mutually assured destruction is a foolish game.

"Lileth answering my prayer with the resting place of the final titan emperor. The last throne of Mythica entombed under a nest of bumpkins. I declare epic comedy, this game you overgods play."

Ishkur takes his linens and gear, diving back through the doorway into the cavernous space. _All kinds will come, not just the curious, the greedy, or power-hungry._ With a steady hand, he climbs the far side again and adds a dozen more handholds. _That diamond crown will draw in the most fanatic, unless I can keep it secret._

The sound of trickling water steers him a bit to the side, until the wall is wet. He chips and climbs towards the source, a circular hole in the wall that's just big enough for him to climb in. _A tube._ His fingers probe for a drop off as he crawls forward on wet knees. _A drain._

A brick wall stops him; a barbaric contrast to the titans' singular stone craft. It bulges towards him and leaks a steady stream.

"Oh, this _is_ the well." He scrapes away some mortar with his dagger's tip. "And I'm the boy that fell."

Decades ago, his mother haunted him with a story of a boy that ran away and tumbled down a well. His body rotted and poisoned the water, and so, after dying alone, he killed anyone thirsty.

_If I break in, I drain their drinking water._ "You bumpkins better appreciate this."

He climbs down and swims back to the wall he first slid down. The blocks are the same under the slime, and he stabs Nummer deep into the lines between them to start a couple of footholds.

"Mother, I'm escaping _this_ fable."

28. Reset

Beware the greatest treasure never found

An epic item that suffers neglect

Will be cursed with soul consuming hunger

An end faster than a broken contract

For anyone attempting to claim it

Unless attunement is carefully done

Better to leave alone that diamond crown

—Russo Minark

Ishkur falls into numbing water. _Rangers survive._ Shivering, he climbs back up, chisels more, and falls again. _By making our own way._

It is slower than the other wall, even though it has a bit of a slope; the slime forces him to cut every hold deeper.

After hours carving dozens of handholds, he reaches the top, shaking more from the strain than the cold.

Ishkur pokes and pinches the basement's lip with bleeding fingertips missing nails. _Strength. Arms._

Emerald with power, he clambers into the nook. The wood panels, separating titan ruins from tavern, are still missing.

_Lantern light?_ A man curses while a woman whimpers, and broom bristles smash into Ishkur's face.

Still glowing, he yanks the broom out of the tavernkeep's hands, and Mr Basin stumbles against him.

"Get off!" Ishkur shoulders past the portly man as his power fades.

Mr Basin backs into the cramped space. "Away, elf mutt!"

Ishkur rubs his eyes, taking a step towards him. "Hey, be careful—"

The man smacks his shiny head on the slanted pillar and slips backwards, screaming as he slides down.

"Merridian's mercy," Ishkur says, before a distant splash. _Do I have to save that fat bumpkin?_ He wiggles his bare toes. _I did leave my boots._

"Ish-Ishkur?" Kimona is on the floor by the lamp. "I'm sorry."

"Your father fell down the hole." He explores her bruised and bloody face. "Did _he_ do this to you?"

"Is Daddy okay?"

Ishkur tilts his head. "I think I can hear him calling out. Can he swim?"

She winces. "I don't know. Will you help him?"

Ishkur pokes stone where his blood drips and presses raw fingers together. _Face._ He places his palm on her discolored cheeks and eyes. _Heal._ Wisps of green repair her marred beauty.

"Sorry." He shuts his eyes, until his head pain eases. "I've nothing to fix your dignity but advice."

"Thank you, Lord."

_I'm no demigod._ Ishkur clenches his fist. "I won't help your father. I'm feeling rather... empty." He shrugs. "You shouldn't either."

She coughs, hugging her chest. "Hurts to breathe."

Ishkur opens her blouse, and she flinches as he presses her ribs. "Did he hit you here?"

"Kicked me." Kimona points to the stairs up. "Hoyne's at the bar, and Jorkin just left. My father wanted to impress them." She sniffles. "He kept kicking until they stopped him, and then he spit on me."

"I am so sorry." _Could she escape with me?_ "This shouldn't have happened."

"No." She grabs his arm. "I betrayed you. I told Daddy about this hidden space. I... I was angry that you didn't save me. I thought you cowered while he hurt me, but you were too far down that hole, right? You couldn't hear me calling?"

Ishkur growls. "I would have come out." He punches the slanted pillar. "Let this pit prepare Mr Basin for _the_ Pit. Merridian's shrine is close enough to ensure a quick delivery of his soul."

"He is still my father." She wipes her round eyes. "I don't want him dead."

Ishkur sighs. "Or his soul enslaved?"

"Pit-slaved can be the cost of a bad life lived, but I... I don't want to be judged for his death." She sits up, groaning. "And what do we tell folk? Another elder accident?" She mixes a whimper with a chuckle. "They'll question if Ms Ipigat really slipped. They'll think we killed them both."

"And you've got fair reasons." He closes her blouse. "To push that abusive man down a hole."

Kimona bows her head.

_Guilt is a bane of secrets._ He rubs his thumbs together. _And got to keep that titan treasure buried._

"Can you ride muleback?" Ishkur helps her up.

She leans against the wall. "You... you'd let me come with you?"

"I owe you, and I like you." _Enough to let your pimping father rot while I make sure you won't talk._

"I can pack more, but my father..." Her voice drops to a whisper. "And there's Elder Hoyne upstairs."

Ishkur goes to the hole at the back of the nook. "Your father's shouting and probably climbing up the handholds I made." _Except, it's too slick, and he's a pumpkin bumpkin._

He backs out, refitting the wood panels over the space.

"I surveyed something down there that could draw catastrophic attention." Ishkur taps his lips. "This is barely a village. Your folk wouldn't survive." _Nor would a merely strategic Lute Bop._

"What do we do?" she says.

Make way for this place becoming a hub, contested by every crusade and band interested in dominion, or let your father die.

"I wish we had help." He strips and commands his mystic linens dry. "Can I still count on the Waygreen Watch?"

"Cevee and maybe Sallai. Two Step's watching Little Nessa, and Paija's been locked up by her parents." She takes a tentative step. "I wouldn't trust any of the new girls."

He dresses. "And I have Ella, ever loyal."

"Old Abinten's at your house with her." She smirks. "Sallai kicked him out after they fought, so he went to your place and bullied his way in."

Ishkur draws his dagger. "Wait here."

"Alone?" Kimona points at the wall where the nook's hidden. "But my father's coming."

_I doubt it._ "I'll be right back."

Upstairs, low burning candles flicker among empty plates and mugs on a few tables.

Elder Hoyne snores alone. Cheek on the bar, his veiny arms cuddle a jug, like an orphaned child protecting his only toy, while his long gray beard soaks up spilled mead.

_Jorkin probably saw the hole, too._ Ishkur spins Nummer between his hands and sheaths it as he creeps through the common room. _If I trust darkness to hide truth, I don't have to kill any more elders._

He lifts his foot next to the old man's boot and grins. _Don't wake; I'm just going to borrow them. Forever._

Kimona whimpers as he waves her up the stairs, and the barefooted man at the bar snorts and grumbles.

She pulls Ishkur's ear close. "Careful, Hoyne's a poor sleeper."

He clicks stolen heels together. _Not that poor._

They make it into the kitchen, and she says, "Do you still want more help?"

"Sure, but I don't want my ladies in _more_ trouble."

"Let them come with. I don't mind sharing you." She smiles with puffy eyes and opens cupboards. "Or the chores."

"It could be a dangerous journey and certainly will be perilous at the coast. I'd make you camp well away from there, and you'd have to be ready to hike back without me." _Can I convince you to not gossip about your father's slip?_

"The coast? You mean to go on the old trail. Can't we just steal a wagon to Qutain?" Her eyes widen. "Wait." She stuffs some herbs into a pouch, shaking her head. "The wagons all got taken to Hognut."

"If you're with me, we go the way of broken cobblestones." _Just in case I have to snuff you out._

Ishkur opens the back door to the stables. _Murdering you._ She brushes her breasts against him as she steps through. _To spare your people, your little sister, the stampede to the mystery under our feet._

He says, "After my... mission is done, we can come back and see if this village is ready to forgive. If not, I'll take you, and anyone else willing, on to Qutain." _A better path._

Ishkur growls, and she rubs around his injured fingertips. _I'll figure out the better way._

"I want to be done with this guilt." He pulls away. "By Gardener's grace, I want to be free."

She clutches her side. "Don't be guilty for me."

_Say that when you discover I'm taking you along so your father isn't rescued._ "I won't."

Outside, the waning moon has risen. A patchwork of clouds fill the rest of the sky.

Ishkur leaves the tavern's stables and sneaks around through planted fields to the small corral with a familiar old mule.

"Daisey," he says in a whisper and rubs under her ear. "Are you willing to carry a wincing wench, just for a night?"

The mule snorts, eyes hooded.

"Great, but if things go bad, I may claim it's your fault."

All the windows of his headquarters are shuttered. He taps lightly on the one for Ella's room.

It creaks open, and the bushy-eyed maiden presses her finger to lips. "You need to go. Sallai's father's got his crossbow ready in the hall."

Ishkur leans close. "I'm going for quite a while, but I'll be back." _For my shrine-stuck Endraker, if nothing else._ "Don't let anyone below, for their sake."

Ella jerks as a man's voice calls, and she waves Ishkur away. _Good luck, House Matron._

He runs on to the next house and knocks on the back door.

Sallai sputters with stained cloth up her nose and two black eyes. "Sir!" She hugs, pulling him inside like a cougar with a cub. "We've got to get you out of here. My father and the others, they're talking about killing you." Her breasts are slight padding on her otherwise rock-hard chest. "I thought you already gone. You should be. Why are you here?" She tugs the blood-stained cloth out and wiggles her nose. "Have you come to take me away with you? I'll serve well. Please, take me!"

"Yes, yes." He twists to loosen her vice-like grip. "We need your help."

"We?"

"Kimona's hurt." He pats her ribs, and she quivers. _The curse purged from me, lingers on in their memory._ "Go in through the stables, and help her in the kitchen."

He steps to the doorway and she says, "Where are you going?"

"To see if Cevee wants to come. She has potential as a scout, and you may need her to lead you back."

"Without you?"

Ishkur grins. "If things were certain, then it wouldn't be an adventure."

29. On a Path

There's a ship that's a beauty

Riding low in the waves

With her cargo full of gold

And hardly wind for days

She's a virgin of the sea

So go plunder away

If you feel guilty, pirates

Leave a gold coin to pay

—Haden Abdi Nasar

Hooves clunk on cobbled stone. A centaur-like outline whimpers in moonlight filtered through a thick canopy. Two former maidens flank the wounded woman riding muleback, whispering comfort to her as Ishkur leads them all away from the only home they've ever known.

"Have you... the power... to heal ribs?" Kimona says through clenched teeth.

"Bruised, maybe separated, but not broken." Ishkur stops and helps her down. "I can at least ease the pain and start a mend."

"Should I set up camp?" Sallai slips a bulky backpack off her wide shoulders. "We aren't hiking the whole night are we?"

"Go ahead, Sergeant, we need the rest." Ishkur straddles Kimona's hips. "Now you, hold your breath and be as stoic as me."

Poke. Pinch. _Ribs._ He elbows the woman's substantial breasts clear and presses on her diaphragm with glowing hands. _Heal._

Kimona's face contorts, and he locks eyes as she starts to cry. _Hold on._ Mystic power depletes, and his held breath strains along with head pain.

Ishkur sputters, and she cries out as he lifts dimming hands away. "Good enough," he says with a thin voice.

Kimona takes in a deep breath and nods. "Just sore. Not so painful. Thank you, so much."

"Repay with good and loyal service."

"I do serve you, Lord."

He hides his frown with a chin scratch and eases her up. _She worships me while I contemplate killing her._ He kisses her neck and says in her ear, "No gossip." _The test continues._

Cevee drops her pack and twists to stretch her spine with the flexibility of a contortionist. "S-should I g-gather wood, Sir?"

Ishkur shakes his head. "Let's keep it dark. I'll stay on watch."

"B-but Sir, you n-need to r-rest too."

Ishkur snatches a spinning maple seed out of the air and breaks it in half. "You are a kind young woman, and a promising scout, but don't mother me." He splits the sticky end of a half over the tip of his nose, extending it like a fae beak.

"S-sorry."

"No." Ishkur sighs. "It's not you. The gravity of everything—it's weighing my mood down." He sticks the other half of the seed on her nose."

"Oh." She crosses her eyes, laughing. "Grandpapa did this to me when I was little."

Ishkur winces and licks his lips. "Let me apologize for your grandfather. I know his death must be devastating, but you must understand, his health was very poor. The... mishap, I'm sure, only slightly hastened the inevitable."

"S-sir? He's not d-dead."

"Oh." _One less elder to accept blame for._ He pulls her aside. "Carry on."

"L-last I saw h-him, he w-was s-saying it wasn't y-your fault."

"Really." _I guess he sees past the petty._

"Y-yeah, his eye w-wasn't working anyway, and h-he's happy y-you helped his c-cough."

_Did I?_ "Well, good." Ishkur nods. "Then I'm forgiven."

"Grandpapa is s-slurring a lot though and c-can't move his right arm."

_Oops._ Ishkur claps, and the seed on his nose falls off. "All right, ladies. Here it is. In the morning, I keep on with Daisey. I'd love your company, but I don't need it. This will be a long trip and a dangerous one. If you keep on with me, you must for your own reasons."

Kimona grunts. "My father's dead, isn't he?"

_Probably._ Sallai opens her mouth, but Ishkur stops her with a raised hand and pulls Kimona off the trail.

The tavern wench lowers her head and sniffles.

_Do I have the grit to silence her as Haden would?_ "Was I unclear about gossip?" he says in Kimona's ear. _Even to save her village, could I be as cold as an orcelf?_

"I didn't say what happened." She tilts her head up, eyes round as a puppy's. "But, I keep thinking about Daddy being stuck down there."

_I can't trust her silence, but can she trust my lie?_ "It's not an easy climb out of that... pit, but I did it with seven fingers." Ishkur grips his little bag of bones. "I hope your father makes it out. I've enough bodies piled around my name."

Find the titan's tomb and doom follows soon.

"In case he doesn't." Ishkur pats her cheek. "Let's never mention that he fell and avoid talking about the hole all together. Jorkin and Hoyne may know about the pit I unsealed, but they won't investigate deeply." He shrugs. "No body. Gossip could have your father running away as easily as being another death tied to my name. Make sense?"

Kimona sucks in a breath and nods.

_Final question._ "So, are you still with me?"

"I am with you, Lord."

_By Gardener's grace._ He leads her back to the others.

"No more comforting old men." Kimona lies down on a bedroll Sallai prepared. "I want to see the sea."

Ishkur bows his head. "I'll welcome your cooking, but you may get no closer than salt in the air. The coast will be a hostile end. I'm tracking Obsidian soldiers there to avenge theft and find a friend." _Who happened to rape your soul with a magic flute._ "Anyone with me then, will be a burden."

"I'll cook for you, and a taste of salt is all I need."

"And you two?" says Ishkur to Sallai and Cevee standing together with arms entwined. "Will you be our escort?"

Sallai salutes. "Yes, Sir. All the way and any way you want." She prances closer. " _Any way_ you want, Sir. We are with you."

"All right, Sergeant of the Waygreen Watch. Helm on, and spear ready. We'll go straight on down this broken path until the ocean tickles our nostrils."

The ants go marching three by three, hurrah, hurrah...

The cobbled stones whole or broken, day after day passes. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

Sallai waits on the balls of her feet with spear drawn back. Sweat drips from her chin under the warmest afternoon sun so far this season.

Her body is lean and corded with muscle after weeks of travel and training have stripped any remnants of baby fat. Padded layers of cloth armor remain packed away, and her helm rests next to a circle of white stones she cannot see.

How ready are you really, Sergeant?

Ishkur spins his weaponized shovel within the cloak of the safespot, and Sallai's face turns towards the whistle in the air. He takes a step, and she shifts the tip of her spear towards the compressed grass.

"Good, but you're too eager. Stay loose, and breathe."

She slumps a little.

He says, "I'm invisible and invincible until I attack, which means what?"

"I can only react."

He swings wide over the rune-covered rocks. She blocks with the shaft and stabs where his body should be. The spear stretches across the bubble of protection as he pulls his arm back, and she growls.

"Come out, Sir. Let's have a fair match."

He snorts. "You've a great mind for copying basic forms, but you don't improvise well."

He leaps out of the safespot, swinging under her guard to smack her meaty hip with the flat of his shovel. She traps it with an arm as he smirks, bouncing the shaft of her spear off his temple.

"Ouch." He shakes his head. _Getting quicker._ "Spiteful."

"Sorry, Sir. Just trying to improvise."

He grins, dropping the shovel to hook behind her knees. "Good." He shoulders her to the ground. _But not smarter._ "Maintain your stance, or—"

Cevee runs into the clearing with speckled eggs spilling out of her hands. "S-sir! I f-found tracks. B-big ones."

"Are those robin eggs?" Ishkur helps Sallai up. "Stop dropping and get them to Kimona."

"S-sorry."

"Wait, Cevee." He snags Sallai's spear. "Let your sergeant take them, then show me these tracks."

Nearly a dozen roll out of the young woman's long-fingered hands, and Sallai says, "Wow, girl, how many nests did you rob?"

"Sir, the t-tracks are like a d-duck's but g-giant."

Sallai frowns, leaving with the eggs. Ishkur motions, and Cevee leads him between some shrubs.

"Sounds like a swamp giant's prints. Hopefully old ones and from a rogue."

"O-o-ogre?"

"Sure." He steps over a muddy puddle. "Ogres range far to feed their needs."

"O-over here, Sir." They enter another clearing. "T-there's a trail on t-the other side that c-connects back to your c-cobble path."

Ishkur circles around and softly whistles. "An ogre gang; a full pod of five. They fought booted men." He chuckles. "Same alignment didn't spare these crusaders from ogre love. Two hundred yule's from Vampiress Kelsa's basement, and those thieving thugs managed to find a worse fate."

"H-have they b-been made into..." She gags. "S-sacks?"

"External wombs, and I presume so. It _is_ mid-spring and that's how those monsters procreate." He twirls his shovel. "Go eat. Don't wander, and don't prepare a night fire." He squints at the clear sky. "I'm going to scout around while it's still light."

"C-can't I h-help?"

"Ogres sleep in the day, but their womb-slaves will be on watch." He motions her close. "They'll be in the shade, clustered together. Spiral out from camp. Take it slow and low like I've taught you."

"Yes, Sir."

Ishkur returns her salute as she leaves and then follows the cluster of massive webbed prints.

Impaled by swamp giants, yet, none dropped my gear?

He picks up an Obsidian's broken spear, severing the tip with Nummer and pockets it. _Not nearly enough._

The trail of crushed brush and broken branches curves across the cobbled path. Ishkur stops and traces webbed imprints at the edges. _Two ogres crossed._ He gestures east, towards the coast. _Three others went on._ He follows the two.

Next to a creek, the trail circles a tall oak with shredded bark. Something metallic reflects up high. _Hello._

Ishkur climbs. _Finally._ A silver gauntlet is wedged between branches, engraved with the silhouette of a lute. _A piece recovered._

NON-PLAYER PATH VALIDATED.

He slips it onto his right hand, and the metal tips stick to the tree's bark like a cat's claws. _Lovely, and will you insulate enough to recover Endraker without losing my soul?_

He goes higher, grinning like a boy on his birthday. Near the top, bits of rope hang with edges cleanly cut. _Idiots._ He chimes a command, but the silk thread doesn't respond. _Ruined._ He descends with a deep frown and a churning stomach. _Lord Icarus's favorite item._

Scattered under leaves are more remains of the rope. _Could tie itself and hold the weight of a horse._ He sighs, tossing the pieces of the destroyed mystic item into the creek.

_Not enough._ Clenching his armored hand, he growls at the two fingers that don't close. _I should try again._ As he opens his bag of finger bones, a woman screams.

Cevee?

It came from upstream. He sprints.

Something man-sized is jumping at Cevee as she curls her legs out of reach. The young cedar bends, barely holding her weight. _Ugly._ The creature wobbles the trunk, and she screeches.

_Bug-face, duck feet, and crab hands._ He shoulders his shovel, drawing Nummer with his gauntleted hand. "That's a baby ogre!"

"S-sir! Save m-me!" Her spear is stuck in the ground, but she's spinning a sling even as her tree is shaken again.

"Hit its head."

Little antennae twitch as the young giant turns and snaps mandibles at him. Her tree steadies, and she shoots a pebble that ricochets off its skull.

_Ace slinger._ "Keep at it."

He brings the edge of the shovel blade down and thrusts to open a long gash across the ogre's stomach. Guts bulging out, it clicks its pincer jaws and dives into the creek.

Cevee howls, cracking it once more as it swims away.

Ishkur claps. "Great shooting." He stands under her tree with open arms, and she falls into his embrace. "We better go, before that little giant gossips to big ones."

She clutches him with wide eyes. "I t-thought I w-would be brave." The little ogre splashes through a pool and into some rapids. "I n-need another _chance_." She growls.

An ogre jaws' sharp click echoes across the water. _Not against a mature one._

Ishkur pulls her into a run. A distant click answers. They run faster. _Especially not a gang of them._

Kimona has their dinner ready, and Sallai is geared up with spear, helm, and padding. Ishkur shakes his head, catching his breath.

"No way." He motions towards their packs. "Take only enough to survive, what you can still run with."

"Sir?" Sallai rests her fists on toned hips.

"Sergeant, you're a natural fighter, but there are ogres coming."

Kimona gasps and starts shoving gear away. Ishkur steadies her and helps her pack.

"I'm taking Daisey to the stone circle. I'll distract from there." He fills the mule's bags. "You three head straight back. Warn your folk that ogres may come—will come, this season or the next."

"But, Sir." Sallai takes off her padding. "You can't fight alone."

"They're persistent nighttime hunters that can match a galloping horse but don't have great endurance. You may out-pace them, if you go back faster than you came." He tightens straps and gulps down some fried robin eggs. "They have amazing hearing and sense of smell, but not the best vision. If one catches you on the road, break their line of sight, but don't hide. Just keep moving away." Clicks echo from the north and east. "Go. That's an order."

Sallai salutes, but Cevee shakes her head, raven hair dancing. The sergeant smacks her shoulder and helps finish her pack.

Ishkur turns his back, tugging Daisey's lead rope. _One good thing._

Cevee's stutters a mutter as he coaxes the mule into a trot, leaving them. _A distraction away from the titan's tomb._

Another click echoes. _Hero time._

"I'm singing in the sunlight," he says with a lilt. "It's such a glorious day. What will you do about it? Can your antennae hear me? Or maybe they can smell me?"

The mandible clicking intensifies. _Here I am._ He enters the safespot's clearing. _For now._

"I said, it's a beautiful day! Oh ogres, come out to play-yay!" There's a snap behind him, and the mule bolts. "Daisey!"

He pokes and pinches. _Legs._ _Strength._ He catches and corrals her into the ring of stones just ahead of an ogre nearly twice his height. _Sorry, no mule sack for you._ The giant stomps around, tearing up turf as Ishkur lets his glowing legs fade and calms Daisey with a hum.

The giant has traits like the young one he fought, but its skin has hardened, and there's an impaler between its legs that could spit a hog. Shaped like a reversed scorpion's tail, it's ready to penetrate and implant an egg that will slowly consume its host.

Keeping a tight grip on Daisey's rope, he swings his shovel over the stones and slams the ground. "Hey bug-face! Sorry about splitting open your baby's belly!"

The giant rips a small tree out of the ground, easy as a farmer pulling up a radish.

Ishkur says, "It was an accident!" Branches blur around the safespot. "I was aiming for its head!"

A second ogre comes into the clearing. They snap at each other and race off west.

_No._ "Wait!" He lets go of Daisey, and she's instantly outside the circle. "Have some equine!"

They spin around and charge back. Ishkur grabs her rope, and the mule dances backwards into the circle of protection.

"Calm, girl." Eyes bulging, Daisey yanks him off his feet, dragging him out the other side. _Fine._

He lets go, rolling with a poke and a pinch. _All._ _Strength._

Ishkur's full body glows, enhancing just as the tree-wielding giant swats him aside. His cheeks puff, but he holds onto his breath and power.

The other ogre chases the mule, antennae curled forward.

Ishkur spits out pine needles, and the tree-club whistles in the first giant's hands. He braces with mystic gauntlet raised like a light house. The trunk breaks across the metal like a wave upon stone.

He stumbles from the impact but doesn't fall. The giant clicks its jaws, shaking the limp pine.

_This pain._ Ishkur blinks, lifting his shovel and dagger. _My brain burning up._

The ogre turns and reaches for a bigger tree. Ishkur sprints, skidding between its knees. He thrust as he passes, and the shovel digs into the monster's impaler and snaps.

It hops back with ant-like jaws wide. _My path is pain._

Still glowing, Ishkur switches Nummer to his left hand, dodging a web-footed kick. A spray of ichor from its groin wound splashes his face, and the black ogre blood blurs his vision.

_Fight on._ He stabs his dagger into a massive thigh and uses his gauntlet's grip to clamber up. _Not done._ Tears clear some ichor as he stabs its waist and swats its belly.

Gauntlet's palm mystically sticking to the ogre's abdomen, Ishkur deflects its hand with his glowing leg and stretches with his short blade to nick its throat. _Almost._ Shelled fingers like massive crab legs wrap around his torso. _No._ Mandibles snap just over his head, and the giant pulls him off with a rip, the gauntlet's magic keeping a patch of the ogre's hide.

_Bloody eyes._ Ishkur stabs, sawing through knuckles as the grip crushes. _No time._ The ogre lifts him towards its grinding mouth, and he flips his dagger into a faceted eye.

The giant stumbles back and stops a fall with its hand. Glowing arms flickering, Ishkur pries off shelled fingers and twists free of the ogre's remaining hand.

He sucks in a desperate breath, tumbling to the ground with his eyes sealed. Enhancements gone and head pain dominating, he scrambles away from the ogre's rapid clicking with one eye open.

Switching eyes with a wince, Ishkur spins and jogs backwards into the safespot as the ogre tries to pinch the tiny hilt sticking out of its burst eye socket. _Thank you, Nummer._

A mule starts screaming, and the ogre turns that way.

_Not by Merridian's mercy._ Poke. Pinch. _Head._ _Heal._

No glow or ease of pain, Ishkur collapses, face meeting a blanket of pine needles and clover.

_Daisey._ The mule screams on. _Going to go hoarse with all that suffering._

He stands up with shaky legs, stepping out of the safespot with a spear tip in his left hand and his gauntlet on the right. "Come at me, bugface!"

Ichor streams from the dagger still stuck in the giant's socket and a half-dozen other wounds. Antennae twitch and mandibles mash as it hunches down like a bull. _I'm ready._ With a harsh click it charges.

Ishkur hops back into the circle and follows as the ogre passes through the protective bubble. He stabs out, and the steel tip scratches a calf. _I miss you already, my dagger._

The ogre doesn't slow, heading towards the setting sun. The mule whines the other way. _Sorry, Daisey._ Ishkur blinks, jogging after the wounded giant. _Bumpkins or not, they're still people._ His head pain eases. _I can save them._

Daisey's cry fades as tears finish clearing ichor from Ishkur's vision. _Then, I can avenge you._

30. Stutter On

They c-called me Crow

Because I killed two

W-with one s-stone

I h-hate c-crows

—Cevee Bunnifarm

The cedar's branches are thick. They twist out from its trunk, more like an oak than a pine. Ishkur dangles his legs on either side of a high branch and arches to stretch away a bad night's rest and a long morning's wait.

Sallai passes below him, going from limb to limb without shaking leaves or dropping her spear. Topless, she wears only a wrap of cloth around her waist, and her back ripples like a prowling cougar's.

Hard travel can really chisel the female form into an exotic beauty.

"Sir, what are we waiting for?" Sallai shifts her spear.

Will she ever be this attractive again?

Crunch. The tree they're sitting in shakes.

"Sir?"

"Waiting for the sun this high and my power recharged," says Ishkur. "Killing a giant is no small thing." He chuckles while the ogre slams into their trunk again.

Black blood muddies the ground between the giant's webbed feet as its mandibles spastically snap. _Should've cut you a few more times._ It slams again, and the tree shakes less.

"Weaker, finally." Ishkur breathes deep. _Pain is life._ "Look up, bugface!"

The ogre stops and wobbles. Ishkur pokes, pinches, and lets go. _All._ _Strength._

Glowing, he springs off a lower branch to land on the giant's shoulder with a slap of his sticky gauntlet. The ogre shrugs, trying to swat him.

_Embrace._ Ishkur dives forward, twisting to hook his armored hand in its weeping socket. _Your darkness._ He swings, jamming his severed spear tip into the remaining ant-like eye. _Forever._

Mandibles close as he curls away, blocking a massive crab hand with his feet. _Come on, Sergeant._

Legs around a branch, Sallai swings down and swipes the ogre's antennae with her spear. _Perfect._ Ishkur drops and rolls away from disoriented stomps.

He gasps, blinking while his glow and pain fade. "Shoot!"

A sling bullet splats into the ogre's eye hole. It covers with an arm, turning.

Ishkur sprints to a large fir where Cevee balances, doing the splits between a couple of low branches. She reloads, spins, and fires again.

Kimona climbs above her, hugging the trunk.

"I couldn't get my dagger, but that bugface is slow, blind, and weakening." Ishkur frowns at Kimona. "Stop sliding your nipples across bark and sling too."

"But." She clings tighter. "I might hit Sallai."

"It's o-okay." Cevee slings and pings the ogre's mandible. "I g-got it."

Hanging upside-down from her branch, Sallai whacks the distracted ogre's antenna.

_Two out of three useful ladies._ The giant stumbles away from the muscular woman's spear. _Acceptable._

"S-sergeant Sallai is a-awesome." Cevee shoots and pulls another stone from her pocket.

Ishkur smiles. "So's your shooting."

The young woman grins and spins her sling faster with a snarl.

Kimona sits high up the tree trunk, well out of any ogre's reach. "You're a bullseye prodigy."

_Ogre-eye._ "Do you know any blind jokes?" says Ishkur.

Cevee launches a bullet and grins. "G-got base of antenna w-with that one."

"Nice." _What could she do with a crossbow?_ "Seriously, anything with a pun?"

Kimona says, "I've one about a deaf-mute barber."

"Never mind, I'll improvise." He cracks his neck and rolls his shoulder until it pops. "Keep slinging, Cevee. I've only a whisper of power left, so I'll need the distractions."

"Y-yes, Sir."

Kimona blows him a kiss. "Be careful, Lord."

_Wish I had Haden's will-sucking flute._ "Creatures of Black are prone to suicide. Let's see if I can give our blind friend a nudge."

He runs, circling around the giant. _Wish I had Endraker._ "Time to accept Merridian's mercy, bugface!" _I'd refill it with this poor soul, and rename it Endogre._

The ogre hunches. Ishkur sidesteps around the large cedar he spent the night in. He whistles, and the blind giant stumbles into a headfirst charge, bashing into bark. One mandible hangs down, dislocated by the impact. A bullet pings off its head.

"Wow, bugface. Were you grown in a cow?" Ishkur chimes Elvish sounds and chuckles as the ogre turns towards him. "Because, that attack was bullshit."

He motions to Sallai above, and her spear drops into his gauntlet's grip. _Dare I feel sorry for it?_

"Have some dignity, ugly." Ishkur braces the weapon with his heel, angling it like a rose thorn. "Lie down, and I'll usher your soul quick to the Pit."

The ogre spreads wide gray-black shoulders and holds up a crab-like finger, leaking ichor at a knuckle. _Is that an insult?_ Slowly, it grips and twists off the shelled tip. _What?_ It draws a circle with its spurting finger pen across its chest.

"I could have lent you my feather."

Its mandibles twitch, but aren't aligned enough to click. It draws an _A_ inside the circle to complete what is Merridian's holy symbol.

_Giving up?_ A bullet bounces off its shoulder, and it shifts. _Not yet._

Staying a step from the tree's trunk, Ishkur levels his spear and jabs the ogre's limp and leaking impaler. It shudders but doesn't block as he twists the tip.

"On your knees, slave of Merridian!"

The swamp giant clenches pumpkin-sized fists. Ishkur hops back.

"Your overgod's chains await! Embrace his mercy!"

It drops to a knee, bowing its head.

_Suicide._ "You know, I'm no Verdant. I got possessed by a pragmatic demigod and skipped the crusader's path." He shrugs. "If your kind didn't hunt people, we could have come to other terms."

It lifts its broken face.

_No reincarnation queue for you._ Ishkur growls and hops forward, thrusting his spear into an eye socket. The tip clinks on something. _Nummer?_ He grunts, inching the spear deeper.

The ogre shudders, and its left arm falls limp. Ishkur wiggles the shaft. Its other arm swipes, knocking the spear from his grasp but failing to dislodge the tip.

Fine. Die slow.

He jogs to Sallai's branch. "Where'd you shed your gear?"

She motions east. "Half-a-yule."

"Go get it."

She drops to the ground. "Sir, why did it let you do that? It didn't even try to stop the spear."

Ishkur draws a circle in the dirt with a boot. "I told you, they're fatalistic. It knew death was coming and embraced it."

She cracks her neck. "Stupid monster. Should've impaled itself last night and saved me from sleeping like a monkey."

"They aren't dumb beasts. If it saw any way to do us harm, it wouldn't have given up. What would have happened if I hadn't caught up?" He points west. "Ogres are relentless hunters. It would have followed you to Waygreen. Nothing but the tavern is sturdy enough to hold for a while. Your people would run, and with its impaler injured, it wouldn't stop, or be slowed by a mounted sack. It would harvest from the rear. Killing and consuming the slowest. Their meat would heal it. Their deaths would please its overgod and soothe its pride."

She bows her head, brushing dark curls away from almond eyes. "Yes, Sir."

"But that's not the worst." He taps his nose. "Like ants, they leave a trail of scent to follow."

"Can you break it?"

Ishkur starts to shake his head, but stops. "My mother used cinnamon to dissuade ants. It'd take too much to properly try that with ogres, but any distraction could matter." He points east. "Did you see where Kimona dropped her pack?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Bring hers back too."

Sallai sighs, shoulders slumping.

He says, "Just the spices, if it's too heavy."

"It's no problem, Sir." She straightens and lopes away with a gazelle's grace.

_Hildr was never so agreeable without a smirk or at least a wisp of sarcasm._ He frowns. _Annoying, yet Sallai's obedience bores me._

Thud.

The ogre is on its side. Ishkur sprints and kicks the butt end of the spear, driving the point into the back of the giant's skull. It spasms, snapping the weapon as it rolls onto its belly.

"No." He kicks its shoulder. "Roll back over." Crab fingers twitch and go still. "Cevee!"

The apprenticing scout skids in front of him with a bullet sitting in her sling. "Y-yes, Sir?"

"Retrieve your spear for the killing blow."

She grins and sprints after Sallai. _Good girl._

He steps around a pool of black ichor and kicks the ogre's head. "It's going to be easier breaking through your skull than rolling you back over, isn't it?"

Kimona comes closer, and Ishkur holds up his hand.

She freezes with her foot in the air, and he jumps on an antenna. The ogre jerks its head up, and Ishkur stumbles back behind the cedar tree as the giant swipes. _Too slow._

Kimona falls to her butt, scrambling over roots to Ishkur. "I thought... it was dead."

"Best to sever the upper spine." Ishkur grunts, picking up a head-sized rock covered in moss. "Imagine fighting a gang of them." He heaves and bounces the green-topped stone off the ogre's cheek to roll over its other antenna. "I've seen five tear through a shield wall formed by hundreds."

The ogre twitches its cheek, leaving the stone pinning its sensor.

"But they're terrible soldiers, and only charged cohesively then because of a... champion's domination skill." _Haden's Lady._ "In that, champions can put a vampire to shame."

"Oh... but so few beat an army?"

"No." He clenches his gauntlet. "The ogres got swarmed, dying with a hundred pikes like pins in sewing cushions." He shakes his head. "My friend's demigoddess tends to suicide those she dominates." _Haden's burden._

Ishkur dips his finger in ichor and draws Merridian's symbol on the back of the giant's head. _Just in case your god doesn't notice the one on your chest._

"I'm so tired." Kimona squats onto a root and wiggles her butt. "Just a little rest."

A beetle with shiny green and purple wings lands on Kimona's knee. Her eyes jerk open, and she crushes it with frenzied slaps. Shuddering, she cries small tears and brushes the gooey bits off.

_This tavern wench does not belong out here._ Ishkur sits next to her, drying her cheeks with a sleeve. "What spices do you have? Any cinnamon?"

"A little, in my pack." She sniffles, pointing where Sallai and Cevee disappeared into the forest.

"I'll keep it. Stay quiet about your dad slipping, and my watch ladies will escort you home."

"I don't want... can't we go on to Qutain?" She presses her soft breasts against his side. "Can't you come with us?"

"Haden, my friend and mission, is close." Ishkur holds up his gauntlet. "And so's the rest of my gear."

She pouts and strokes his neck.

"Your folk are farmers, and mostly faithful to my overgod," says Ishkur. "You all named me Protector, and this is also how I must protect them." _With a superior dagger, a sticky metal-covered hand, and seven whole fingers._ "I'll see what monsters come along the broken cobblestones."

Kimona sags, her watermelon breasts deflated from lean travel. _I'll miss those pillows._

"You suck all my folk's bad in and feel guilty for their sins." She hugs his side. "My father didn't make me a whore. I volunteered, and I felt redeemed every time a soldier took me instead of raping a girl." She pulls his head down, kissing his chin. "We didn't name you our 'Protector.' Don't you remember? You chose yourself, just like me."

He smirks. "Maybe, I did."

"And now they hate you. They call you horrible names. You disgust them." She shakes his shoulder. "They're safe enough now. You don't owe them anything. If I can abandon _my_ home, why can't you?"

_Because, I'm a fool on a path._ He kicks dirt towards the ogre. "This one's gang may have been dominated by those Skull Crushers and broken free when the demigods abandoned their hosts. If it's a powerful band, there could be dozens or more ogres let loose, and I don't know what else... wandering closer every day to the nearest settlement, yours."

"So we warn them," she says. "Then it's more reason to go away, far away."

Peach Tribe, all over again.

"I did suggest an evacuation route, if your people get overwhelmed, but that's different. I won't call for a preemptive move until I know the scale of the threat. It could be these ogres are all there is, and the Skull Crushers have their monsters in check."

"So you'll just... scout?"

"Surveying this old trade route and noting any obstacles is still half my mission." He pats his chest. "There's also Daisey, so at least a little rescue and vengeance before the main reconnaissance."

"The mule?" Kimona frowns. "She's dead or... worse. Why fight another of these monsters for an animal?"

"I owe her." Ishkur flexes his mutilated hands. "She took good care of me."

Cevee comes running with spear pointed and eyes wide. "Is it d-dead, yet? Can I f-finish it?"

_By Gardener's grace, no beacon of Black._ "Let this monster of swamp and mire find a measure of peace in Merridian's Pit." He nods. "Go ahead, Apprentice."

The lithe young woman howls and jumps on the giant's back.

Ishkur points. "At the neck, just below the symbol."

Cevee snarls and stabs. Ichor spurts, and she twists the spear. The giant shudders, but she spreads her legs and stays on. Digging into the top of the spine, she growls and jabs, faster and faster. Metal echoes on the bone like a garden shovel hitting a root.

Ishkur clears his throat. "You can probably stop."

"I h-haven't broken through yet." Cevee grunts, prying the spear back and forth. "Almost."

So now death along with sex helps her speech impediment.

Ishkur says in Kimona's ear, "Could you get back with Sallai, alone?"

31. Obsidian Mothers

Always take care of what takes care of you

And life will be blessed with Gardener's Grace

Oil your metal and feed all your pets

Keep your promises and respect your friends

Guilt rots the roots of immortality

So seek redemption before freedom ends

—Inshushin Yandornak Ishtaran

A mule has a lot of blood. The trail is stained with it for yules, stretching from the white stones of the safespot to a wide ring of colossal fir trees.

Ishkur signals with a clenched fist to stop his apprentice. _Sad bliss._ He crouches and points. _Serene horror._ An ogre leans against one of the trunks, cradling Daisey. Her donkey ears twitch and horse tongue lolls.

Three other pincer-jawed giants form a half-circle around the far side of the shaded clearing, each with their own prisoner. The swollen likenesses of men, instead of a mule, rest in their laps like children for a demonic story time.

Cevee sets her helm on a root and smears it with moist earth. "I d-don't want them to s-see."

Ishkur taps his lips and says in a whisper, "Remember, ogre eyes are bad, but their hearing is exceptional." He grins. "Dulling the gleam _is_ a good habit for a scout: one I should've maintained."

She gestures, her wrist limp. "T-those... s-sacks on ogre l-laps are still p-people right?"

"I hope three of the soldiers we've been tracking, with my gear they took, nearby."

"You s-said, ogres make t-their prey into w-wombs _and_ w-watchdogs."

"Gestation sacks with eyes, growing their bugfaced babies." Ishkur pats Cevee's stomach. "Imagine a little man's head here, keeping watch while you slept. Your baby in the man's swollen belly, nursing on his liquefied organs."

She sticks her tongue out and shudders.

"Macabre, but practical." He takes off his gauntlet. "No more shine. Now, give me your spear and ready your sling somewhere safe."

"I'll c-climb for a good s-shot." She pats the ancient fir hiding them. "But w-what if they w-work together, or s-start chopping w-with something?"

"If they come for you, climb higher and hold on." Palms cupping her butt cheeks and heels, he boosts her to the lowest branch. "You'll be fine. Pregnant ogres should be easy to distract and draw away."

"Y-yes, Sir."

Spear in hand, and his recovered dagger sheathed, Ishkur crawls on forearms and knees. Bulging tree roots and scattered bushes aid his stealthy approach.

Ignore me, donkey ears.

A thin branch, bent by his spear's shaft, whips to slap his thigh. Daisey snorts and shudders. _Uh-oh._

Across from the mule and her ogre, a bloated human says in a mix of English and Orc, "Just relax, you dumb animal."

The gruff voice is familiar. _That old soldier?_ Sausage-like appendages and no neck. _Graytip?_

"Embrace the gift of life growing in you, Mule."

_That_ is _him._ Ishkur twists the spear in his grip. _Now, where's Ripin, that shitty nose hair Obsidian?_

"Is it a female?" Another familiar voice from the lap of another ogre.

Not Ripin.

"It is now!" says the last of the man-sacks. "I wonder what's in those packs."

None of them are that nose hair thug.

"Does it matter?" Graytip says in pidgin. "We've been blessed with perfect purpose. Our babies will tear out Verdant and usher in Obsidian. We can want nothing else."

The other two grunt and raise puffy fists.

_That wasn't sarcasm._ Ishkur shakes his head. _Minds dulled and eyes black, they're just puppet sacks._ He clenches his bare right hand. _Maybe more of my pieces, wherever you put our saddle packs._

As slow and careful as he came, he returns to Cevee's tree. Finger to lips, he hands up her spear and motions for her to stay. She hugs the weapon, frowning.

Sorry, my eager apprentice, but you don't have enough to offer, yet.

Treetops block the sun as he scouts and finds gear scattered beside a massive fallen fir. _Nothing._ He kicks a broken leather breastplate, torn in half, right through the skull and bones symbol. _N_ _one of_ my _armor bits._

He pokes dirt and pinches above it. _Power._ _Aura._ A rainbow of light flickers. _Safespot,_ _not far._ Deep breath and rapid blinks ease throbbing. _How can I get used to this pain?_ Glow fading, he hurries to Cevee's tree.

Pulling his gauntlet on, he climbs up to her branch. "I've a plan of attack." He points further up the ancient fir. "And, I want you higher for it."

"S-sir? The d-day's ending, and t-there are f-four of them."

Ishkur takes back her spear. "An army's shield wall wasn't the only thing my friend's possessor suicided a pod of ogres against." He spins the weapon, missing branches with a fluid form. "Lady Uostai, his cruel demigoddess, during that same battle, she sent another five against someone like me."

"A h-half-elf?"

"A ranger, but possessed and fully geared." He cracks his neck. "The ogres sheer bulk slowed the... woman down. Almost made it look like a real fight, but it was just a butchering that needed extra strokes."

"R-rangers can be w-women?"

"Sure." _You'd be great as a demigod's host._ "Alone, I can only tap power for seconds, maybe a few minutes. I can't breathe during and my head pounds like mini-dwarves are mining my skull for gold." Ishkur rubs his temples. "Demigods, through a host like me, can breathe and shout, tapping power for hours. If it hurts my head during, I don't remember when the possession is over."

"The ranger w-woman was a h-hero? She b-beat them all?"

"The whole fight, her possessed body was enhanced to match an ogre's strength and beat their speed. Plus, her weapons cut ogre hide like butter, and her armor was impervious." He chuckles. "The big bugfaces accepted futility and dropped to knees, which insults anyone aligned of Green. Always fight for life, fight to live."

"I l-like that." Cevee punches her branch. " 'F-fight for life. F-fight to live.' "

"I forget the host's name, but I think her demigoddess was Lady of Resilience." He shrugs. "Anyway, the demigoddess delivered a wagon of swamp giant heads and demanded we withdraw."

"D-did you fight h-her? Can rangers fight r-rangers?"

"Rangers of independent bands often battle. Simply because our demigods share Gardener as their overlord doesn't mean they won't rip each other's host bodies apart. Even Verdant rangers might fight to their host's death about what's best for their crusade."

"And y-your demigod k-killed—"

"My lord demigod was busy." Ishkur pats a pouch. "So, our band leader agreed to withdraw. Publicly, at least." _Shamefully._ "My friend, Haden, killed the lady's host that night." _Dishonorably._ "Far from the conventional battlefield that rangers dominate." _Farther still from heroism._

"That m-makes sense."

"Does it?" _What ruthlessness hides behind those dark brown eyes?_ Ishkur sprinkles cinnamon on his neck. "Maybe you'll like my plan." _And get along with Haden._ He tosses her a small bag with the rest of the spice. "In case things go bad, don't lead them straight home."

The ogres stir as the sun sets.

Ishkur stops his crawl while the one with Daisey stands, clutching her to its dull gray torso. The mule snorts, and he shifts towards a closer giant still at rest.

Cinnamon sweat drips down his chest, and antennae ahead twitch. _Not yet._ Ishkur worms his way under a bush that hugs the massive fir backing the ogre with a one-eared man-sack. _"Silence is the patience that makes surprise deadly."_ He draws Nummer, slow as a breath. _By Haden's words, I am blessed._

Across the clearing, Graytip coughs and says in pidgin, "Good night, loyal friends of Black."

Mandibles snap, and the three sacks say as one, "May our colony thrive in the dark, and Longspear live a thousand years."

Longspear?

Daisey snorts again.

The man-sack, a spear's length from Ishkur, says, "A mule in our pod is disgusting. What kind of baby will it have?"

Five to a pod and usually dozens of pods to a colony.

Graytip says, "Have respect for the future crusader. Free of that poser band, all our colony's children grow in Obsidian wombs."

" _Poser band" would be Haden's target, Skull Crushers._ Ishkur grits his teeth. _Please, let rampaging hundred-plus ogres not be my friend's fault._

The third man-sack, the one with few teeth, says, "Longspear would've used it for meat. The dumb beast can't speak. Barely any use on watch."

Disaster comes for bumpkin folk, if I don't play a heroic note.

Some clicking, and then Graytip says, "Listen to your ogre. We protect the pod. The mule is our brother-mother now, even if those hooves are worthless for knitting."

The man-sack nearest Ishkur grunts a chuckle, and the ogre he's attached to shifts forward to stand.

Haden guide my hand.

Poke. Pinch. _All. Strength._ Lit up like a green lantern, Ishkur scrambles between the giant's back and the tree it was sitting against. _Die._ He thrusts Nummer into the base of its keg-sized head and cartwheels away through the bush.

"Don't hurt our baby!" says the one-eared man-sack of the giant Ishkur attacked. "Help!" The man's ogre shudders, and they collapse.

_Scene done._ Ishkur gasps and blinks, and his body dims. _Exit, stage west._

Poke. Pinch. _Legs. Strength._ Relit feet stumble over a root. Heart thudding, he steadies with his spear and sprints.

Rapid clicking and a man-sack's pleading echo behind him, but there's no crashing pursuit. He breathes to release verdant power from his lower limbs, slowing to a jog. _Come on._

Shadows blend together as dusk sets in. _Surprise lost, and three sticking together._ He wipes his short blade on some moss and creeps back towards the circle of firs, spear ready. _Tough enough for half a ranger._

The ogres stand around their fallen member, crab hands slack and bald heads bowed in a simulacrum of mourning. The orphaned man-sack whimpers, still attached to his slain ogre-husband.

_Such a glum funeral, I almost feel bad._ Scattered rocks with patches of moss accentuate the grave moment. _We can be so alien to each other, but we're all still people._

So close together, the swamp giants have some difference in size and color. Daisey's ogre has broader shoulders and a lighter shade of gray skin. Graytip's is the shortest and darkest; the closest to a slimy black. The last, with the tooth-lacking man-sack, is half a head taller and more blotchy gray than clear midnight.

Does skin tone matter more to them than strength?

Ishkur waves his borrowed spear, high. _Be ready, Cevee._ Across the clearing, his apprentice pushes a branch aside and spins her sling. _Ogre-eye._

The giant with Graytip bends and pulls the crying man-sack off a slack impaler.

_Stay oblivious, bugfaces._ Ishkur jogs towards them.

Antennae twitch, and a bullet pings off the ant-like face of the blotchy tall one. Mandibles snap like a bear trap, and the ogre, with both hands free, turns towards Cevee's tree.

"Hey, sentimental swamp monsters!" Ishkur spins his spear. "Pre-sacking, these soldiers stole my gear! Point where it is, and I'll stop killing off your pod!"

More mandibles click and Graytip says, "I know you, elf mutt, and we have your scent! Echoes have reached all the colony's pods!"

"Oh?" _Plain ogres may gather for defense or migrate away, but if these are Obsidians..._ Another bullet smacks Daisey's gray giant, and Ishkur holds up his hand. "If your Longspear comes for me, I will entertain."

Cevee waves.

_Enough._ Ishkur thrusts his spear straight up.

Nodding, she climbs higher.

_S_ _tay safe, my d-darling._

The tooth-lacking sack growls and says with a slight lisp, "Why should Longspear bother with you when its impaler claims the Skull Crusher's necromancer?"

_Wow, that's some bad news/worse news._ Ishkur gulps. _Haden didn't kill the necromancer, and now that dark caster is slaved to an ogre leader._

Graytip shakes a swollen fist. "Quiet! The mutt's scouting for intel—"

"Maybe when done with those traitors of Black, Longspear will have your meat!" The tooth-lacker cackles. "After my ogre claims a limb!" His blotchy giant steps closer. "Nah, skinny as you are, gonna need _a few_ limbs!"

"Where's your fellow crusader?" Ishkur braces his spear's butt in the dirt, leaning it forward. "Not the young one. I know he's ghoul food. I mean the stinky one with the nose hair moustache?"

"Don't answer, he's—"

"Ripin's a traitor! Deserted service to follow that poser bulb, while we've stayed true Obsidians!"

_Following, Haden?_ "Does Ripin have my gear, or have you piled it somewhere?" Ishkur pokes and pinches. _Power._ His eyes glow to intimidate and fade as he says, "I downed two of your giants, like cattle. If you don't convince me to move on, I'll do the same to the rest and rip out the bugfaced fetuses clicking inside of you."

The tooth-lacker says, "Why—"

"Ripin fled with most of yours!" Graytip waves sausage arms. "But take what you will of what's left." His dark ogre sets down the one-eared man-sack and points a crab hand north. "By the creek, where a dogsnake-shaped rock sits."

Ishkur bows, chewing his lip. "Thank you, old... man." _Better than nothing, but worse than my every hope._ "My scout will stay until your truth is confirmed, and then we'll go after Ripin."

The orphaned man-sack wiggles in the dirt below Graytip and spits. "By Merridian's mercy, Longspear gets you on the way! An ogre magi sure won't go down like no co—"

Splat.

Graytip's ogre wipes its webbed foot on a bed of moss, defiling the verdant green with the former soldier's guts. Ishkur's face twists, contorting in disgust. The giant dabs its finger in the gore like a quill, drawing a circle in the dirt with an _A_ in the middle.

"Not much for loyalty..." Ishkur clears his throat. "Or, adoption."

"We don't allow stunted births," says the tooth-lacker.

_Against Gardener's grace._ Ishkur shakes his head. "Sinful and wasteful." _Let them be born before you crush them under heel._

"Mercy ain't a sin, and they'll be consumed to strengthen the rest of us."

Graytip coughs. "We're done talking. Go on or fight, elf mutt."

_How about both?_ "Enjoy your meal, soldier-sacks."

At the creek, a stone sticks out of the earth like one of the notorious gremlin mounts. _Even got a couple of points up top for wolf ears._

Piled in front of the dogsnake rock are several sets of crusader armor and their packs of gear. Ishkur steps to where the tail of granite meets a pool and splashes with his boot like a hooked trout.

_Hello, baby._ A long shadow with duck feet stirs at the bottom of the far side.

"I'm just a thirsty traveler, unaware and unarmed." He splashes again, but the young ogre stays away. "Wise choice."

Ishkur digs into the pile of packs and gasps wide eyed. At the bottom is a familiar gleam. _One more piece._

The shoulder armor is caked with mud and grime. _Just soiled by the elements._ He waves it under his nose and sloshes it in the water. _No lingering Obsidian stink._

After a shake to dry, he slips the pauldron on his left side and taps it. "Shield," he says in Elvish, and the air distorts around that half of his body. _Good._ He smiles, tapping it off. _No arrows from that side, at least._

The smaller of the hard leather breastplates is a loose fit. Ishkur slices up a blanket, filling the armor until it doesn't wiggle, and then he gets a palm full of mud and mucks the skull and bones over his chest.

Rather have a filthy shell than a filthy soul.

He picks the helm that stinks less, stuffing his hair up in it until it's snug. _Lensless is better than headless._ He rubs an eye and flinches, tearing to clear out a speck of dirt. _But where's my_ _own helmet?_

Straps tighten a steel-backed gauntlet until it doesn't slide off his left hand. _Getting there._ He smacks his armored hands together and then adds greaves and a skirt of boiled leather. _Good enough._

Their looted armor squeaks as he stretches. _How did those thugs sneak up on me?_

He paws through the rest of the gear, snagging a purse with some copper and single silver. "That's it?" He growls, pocketing it. _That greedy Pit-lover really got away with most everything._

Spear stuck to his right gauntlet and Nummer unsheathed in his left, Ishkur angles to return to the clearing near Cevee's tree.

"You still up there, Apprentice?"

"Y-yes, Sir." She pulls back a branch, and her eyes reflect a rising half moon. "You l-look t-t-terrifying."

"First half, done." He taps the mucked up skull and crossbones. "Second half, gets Daisey back."

32. Mulish

Plans can be beautiful paintings

So still and serene

Too bad they can't predict action

No more than a blink

—Zenath Kree

Branches part around the bubble of distortion coming from Ishkur's shoulder. _Miss._ The blotchy ogre swinging the tree-club stomps a webbed foot closer. _Just enough._

Legs glowing in the night, Ishkur ducks forward and dives under the tooth-lacking man-sack affixed to the giant's groin like the figurehead of a ship's prow. Face averted, he jabs up and leaves Cevee's spear puncturing the bloated human's belly.

He continues between the ogre's thighs and hops free. "Surprise!"

"Liar!" Graytip flails his sausage arms as the dark ogre he's attached to charges over.

Emerald glow fades, replaced by the dim light of a crescent moon. Ishkur blinks, retreating towards the third and final giant who stands cradling Daisey next to a colossal fir tree. It punches at him with the shelled knuckles of its free hand. Ishkur skips to the side, aiming his mystic shoulder armor to slow the strike and counters with his dagger.

Daisey's dull gray ogre shakes ichor dripping from cut knuckles.

"You're _not_ surprised?" says Ishkur.

The dark giant with Graytip stomps close, and the older man-sack says, "You came back! You lied!"

"Planned deceit." Ishkur spins around the colossal trunk. "A tactic."

Graytip's and Daisey's ogres split up, loping around each side of the wagon-wide fir.

Poke. Pinch. _Legs. Strength._ Ishkur leaps up the trunk, climbing high with his piercing dagger and mystically sticky gauntlet.

The black and gray ogres beat bark below, making the tree shudder.

_Definitely joining the circus in my next life._ Ishkur gasps and smirks. Stepping onto a branch, he bows with eyes closed as his glow fades. _Maybe an acrobat-clown hybrid, with a costume made from Jorkin's pajamas._

"Liar!"

"Calm down, Mommy Graytip, and take heart. My ruse allows me to adorn your drab colors." Ishkur pats the muddied skull and bones on his looted breastplate. "Consider it honoring your Obsidian order." He thrusts his hand palm-up, curling his fingers into the elvish insult for being uprooted.

A stone bullet pings Daisey's ogre. Holding the mule close, it turns towards Cevee's tree while Graytip's ogre retreats to its blotchy podmate with the leaking tooth-missing sack.

"Take it out! The baby! Protect the baby!" says the tooth-lacker, wiggling puffy legs as his ogre tugs at the spear.

Ishkur laughs. "Too bad you squashed your spare, huh?" He points at the gory remains of the one-eared man-sack.

"No! It's a trick!" Graytip says, and his ogre aborts charging back towards Ishkur. "He's separating us to win. Get his woman out of that tree, and we'll trap him."

_Unfortunately coherent._ "I'm a ranger." Ishkur bangs his breastplate with the pommel of his dagger. "You are only still alive because I am _not_ a Verdant, and bare your pod no _faith-driven_ ill will."

"Liar again!" Graytip slaps his chest, covered only by a strained and stained undershirt. "You want vengeance for our theft. You even said—"

"Now that you're mothers." Ishkur grins. "And I have Nosehair Ripin's trail to get the rest of my gear. My only business with you is to retrieve Daisey."

"For a flower?"

"The mule, it's her name."

Graytip froths. "Our pod gives holy and maternal purpose to what was a beast of burden." He coughs and spits a glob of phlegm a gremlin could respect. "You'd take that away?"

Ishkur's eyes narrow and mouth twitches. "I can give her back on my return trip. I won't have excess baggage to carry then." He wags his razor-sharp blade. "For the sake of your pod, decide soon."

"Still a liar. Legs broken; the mule needs much healing." Moonlight reflects off the pallid crusader's scowling face. "But, you don't glow enough to be a bulb and don't sound like a demigod." He chuckles. "You're no more a ranger than a man; a mystic mutt not half-worthy enough for the air you suck through that too-pretty fae nose."

Ishkur scratches his nose, tensing muscles as he squats. "I don't _need_ a lord demigod, not anymore." _I can be my own lord, now._

"Maybe. Our ogres' colony fought free from the Skull Crushers when the lordly demigods failed to save their hosts..."

Quick clicking between ant-faced giants.

Graytip says, "I'm told to thank you."

"You are welcome." Ishkur chews his lip. "Is it because I piqued your bugfaces' nihilistic fetish, or have I maybe opened their little drone minds to the wonders of improvised theatre?"

"Some of those abandoned hosts are a part of our pods now, growing beautiful ogre babies just like me." Graytip smiles, cheeks puffed like a cat with a bird stuffed in his mouth. "Echoes travel to them of what you're showing is possible." He bobs his fat head, giggling. "Ogres with casters are called magi. What shall we call those tapping a god's power directly?"

"My next mission."

Graytip chuckles with a drummer's rhythm that drags on too long for a sane man.

Humor is its own reward.

A loud click, and the ogres slam bark to match the beat of the manic man-sack's laugh.

Ishkur pokes and pinches. _All._ _Strength._ His whole body glows, the light steady as a candle under a glass jar.

_Seconds of pain._ He leaps to the ground and tumbles forward. _A lifetime of glory._

Ishkur's boots tear up the forest floor as he zigzags between crab-handed swipes and around duck-footed stomps.

Nummer slices. Black ichor spurts from massive thighs. He circles and gasps, blinking as his power fades. _Running low._

Ishkur shakes Nummer. "Give up Daisey, or I'll find the swamp fetus inside you with my blade."

"Bluff." Graytip kicks his chubby feet. "You're afraid of unencumbered ogres, or you'd have done it already." The three giants move together towards Cevee's tree. "Come again, brave elf man," he says as his short ogre snaps and tosses aside the spear that's been pulled out of his injured companion.

"If we are playing poker, I'm ahead a few stabs and a puncture."

Daisey's bulky giant turns to face Ishkur while the other two strip bark off Cevee's colossal fir. _What can that do?_ Ishkur flinches as a troll-like moan echoes across the clearing.

Oh.

"My ogre says, it will take some time to register, but they'll eventually understand and shake your woman loose to survive."

Ishkur turns around, lifting his eyes to the top of the ring of what were once walking giants before becoming facsimiles of firs. _This is a troll grove._ He gulps, rubbing the bark-skin of the closest. _Must have rooted a millennium ago._

Each race of Green can pause their circle of reincarnation by becoming bushes, trees, or colossuses.

He pokes and pinches. _Align._ _Aura._ Green light dances between the trunks like flames being chased by a tide of Pit-spawned darkness. _A contested place of power._ His blinking eyes fade, and he pats the trunk. _I finish them, or they'll sacrifice this grove for Merridian._

Another moan echoes.

Ishkur says with lips pressed against wood, "Forgive the wait, colossal cousins. I recover power to have a chance."

Mandibles click, bark is ripped, and moans are followed by shivering branches. Ishkur eases around the trunk for cover and squats.

The moon inches higher. _Patience: a hunter's virtue and a hero's bane._

Roots shudder under Ishkur's butt. _No more time?_

A chorus of moans rise and reverberate. _So long rooted, you fear to die?_

A deep breath, and then he taps his pauldron. "Shield."

_Fine._ Dark crusader armor blending in with the night, he creeps towards Daisey's dull ogre. _Let's hope I've recovered enough._

Cevee shouts, spinning her sling. The two ripping bark tilt heads up and guard faceted eyes while Graytip guffaws like a tavern drunk.

_Fat old soldier is grinning._ Ishkur tenses his left hand around Nummer, poking and pinching with his right. _All. Strength._

Daisey's gray giant leans further forward as Ishkur bursts with green light. _Let's test that humor._ Grinning wide, Ishkur charges and leaps onto Daisey's shoulder, slicing open her ogre's cheek as it snaps at him.

Ha ha.

He hops from the mule-sack to the giant's shoulder and over. Sliding down its broad back with a smirk, he then clambers up the slimmer back of Graytip's ogre, gauntlet sticky and Nummer stabbing.

Surprise.

Graytip howls, and Ishkur flips onto the slimy giant's front as it spins, just before it can crush him against the troll tree. Sticky gauntlet on the ogre's throat, Ishkur cuts hilt deep with his dagger across its chest.

From below, the old soldier gasps. "No—"

Ishkur stomps his boot heel on Graytip's head and turns to slow the massive hand of the man-sack's ogre with his pauldron's mystic buffer.

Uh-oh.

The dark ogre's other hand grabs Ishkur on his unprotected side. His gauntlet sticks to its slimy neck as it tears him free, ripping a palm-sized wound on its throat that sprays ichor. Stumbling, the ogre spares a hand to slow the dark blood pumping from its neck.

Ishkur's glow flickers. _Running out._ He strains against the ogre's grip, slicing between shelled finger joints. _Let me go._

The swamp giant squeezes, and Ishkur gasps as boiled leather cracks.

_I'm dead._ Glow fading, he blinks away head pain as his chest creaks with fresh agony.

"Sir!" Cevee jumps.

What?

Delicate feet bounce off slimy black shoulders, and his apprentice tumbles to the forest floor.

Two of the ogre's fingers hang useless, their knuckles severed by Nummer's enhanced steel. Ishkur's teeth clench as he pries at a third and twists for life, without enhanced strength.

Cevee whips her sling, and her bullet ricochets off a crab finger and into the ogre's torn throat. The dark giant drops Ishkur and bumps into its bigger podmates.

Ishkur hits rocky ground and hisses, stars appearing where they shouldn't. _Move body._ He grinds teeth and crawls up into a hunched jog. _Move legs._

A delicate hand grabs his, yanking him into a run. "Sir, h-hurry!"

"Break. Line. Sight," he says through his teeth.

Crashing and clicking is closer and closer. Ishkur keeps hold of Cevee's hand as they dance around trees too small to hide behind, but enough to slow the giants.

He coughs. His mouth is coated with blood, metallic and salty. _Not done yet._ He growls and pulls his apprentice along with a burst of speed. _Not nearly done._

A waist-high log alters his sprint. He pivots to run its length, ducking around the root bundle at the end.

Pulling Cevee down to hands and knees, Ishkur mouths "cinnamon."

She hands over the small bag of spice as the ogres stomp up to the log. _The ants go marching, away, away._ He dumps the powder and crawls with her along the rotting trunk.

Snapping echoes over their shoulders, but crashing doesn't follow. He stifles a cough with the back of his gauntlet, wincing, his chest a tender mess.

_A second chance to save a grove._ She slips under his arm, and he leans until she grunts. _Apple would beg me to spare the time._

Ishkur picks a tree to settle in with a panting Cevee.

After a few hours recovering power, he heals bruised ribs and strained muscles with glowing hands. After a few more hours, birds start chirping.

"The last star has faded," he says.

Cevee stretches her jaw in a cat-like yawn. "W-wasn't sleep... s-sleeping."

_Cute._ "Stay a sling distance behind and close to a tree you can climb."

Cevee grunts and flips off her branch, landing on her feet with an ease beyond even Sallai. _Thin wrists, but such a good soldier._

Crows caw as they approach the troll grove's clearing. _Has Queen Saugrin followed?_

Daisey is in pieces. Her legs torn off, and her belly cut open. Guts, still attached, spiral out from her corpse and wind around mossy rocks.

I'm so sorry, Girl.

The crows wet their beaks, playing tug-of-war with strings of gore. Snarling, he tosses stones.

_Brownies wouldn't let such ritual slaughter stand in a sacred grove._ They squawk and lose a few feathers, but fly off. _Not bonded. Just hungry birds._

The first ogre that Ishkur surprised with a severed spine lies half-cannibalized. Its womb-sack, once a one-eared soldier, is no more than a smear on the clearing's floor. "Come on out, Cevee!" He walks to a wide trail of webbed feet and spilled ichor. "They've gone."

His apprentice peeks out of a bush and then skips into the colossal ring of rooted trolls. "W-where's the o-one you c-cut?" She wiggles an ichor-stained finger across her throat.

"Like I've said, and shown, they're hard to kill." He quick draws Nummer and jabs. "Got to get ogres just right, or with meat and time they'll heal."

A crow flaps down, landing next to the mule's head. Ishkur growls and shoos it away.

Poke. Pinch. _Align._ _Aura._ The green is weaker, and the black stronger.

Ishkur gasps and motions Cevee over. "The ogres are slowed by an injured podmate and sack. If we leave now, we might catch them before they get reinforced with another pod, or even their leader, Longspear. Maybe we prevent them leading a migration to Waygreen."

She frowns but nods.

He grips her shoulder. "Or, we stay a while. I bless the loyal Daisey, so her soul remembers and returns." He points around at the colossal trees. "And I work to undo the corruption being done to this sacred grove." He shrugs. "So, should we stay or should we go?"

"S-s-stay."

"Why?"

She claps her hands together. "T-their echoes. L-longspear already knows."

_Perky and smart._ "Agreed. If we caught up, how much would it matter when their clicks have traveled so far ahead?"

She tugs at her hair and bites her lip.

He says, "Don't worry, overly. I won't take long here. Then we'll speed straight to the coast, avoiding all the trouble we can. With luck, I meet my friend there, and he helps address this bugface colony threat."

"Y-yes, Sir."

A gust whips her hair around, and he grabs a lock. "You saved me, Cevee." He cuts the bit of hair off with Nummer, throwing it into the wind. "Now, I must take care of you."

"Sir?"

"Hold still." He shaves to her scalp, and black strands mix with the needles of the forest floor.

"That's s-so short."

"It's time you look like the scout you are." _As Mother did to me, to mark my skills worthy._

"S-so, it's an h-honor?"

"Sure."

"Thank y-you."

Ishkur cuts until she has a mohawk. "Enough to feel the air stirring without blocking vision or catching in branches." He bangs his helm. "You aren't built for heavy armor, or the front line. Stick to your sling, sharp mind, and quick feet."

"Yes, Sir."

"Look at that." Ishkur smiles. "Not even a stutter."

"I-I-I—"

"Perfection takes practice." He pats her back. "Survive long enough with me, and I'll teach you poetry."

33. Handy Pass

There's an island with a

crater in the center

It is the ass of the Pit

And zombies crawl out of it

One for every soul chained

for deeds or deals done

—Kreig Charleton

A hill of blue-speckled granite blocks the cobbled path. Ishkur taps his looted helm, but his vision doesn't sharpen. _Foolish._ He snorts. _But by Gardener's grace, I'll get my true helmet back._

"S-sir, what is i-it?" Cevee scratches the fuzz at the base of her mohawk.

"Look at the big pieces. What do you see, Apprentice?"

"P-parts of a-archways and p-pillars. Some bushes. No t-trees."

"Good. So answer your own question. What is it?"

"A l-long broken o-old building."

"Very long." Ishkur gestures north and south. "Many yules, but more a structure than a building, and a sign we're on the outskirts of the former capital."

"An a-aqueduct?"

"Very good." _She's no mere bumpkin._ "A lesson from your grandfather?"

"Y-yes. Our f-family line c-connects to n-nobles that served t-titans." She points at the piled ruins. "In S-sarvern."

"I didn't know that." _My raven princess._ He rubs her scalp. "Five days is too long without cutting. Only let it grow out to mark your graduation as a proper scout."

"D-d-do I l-look nice with t-this style?" Cevee crosses her wrists as Ishkur draws Nummer, bending close to shave. "A-am I s-still pretty?" She squeezes her knees together with dark eyes wide.

Ishkur jerks, knicking her head. "Gah, stop being so..." _Sexy._ "Adorable."

Her mousey ears flush red as beets. "S-sorry, Sir."

_Sallai wasn't enough to replace Hildr, but this one may be._ "You _are_ cuter than I'd expect after such a hard trail."

She scoffs, and he wipes away blood and stubble.

"It's not deep." He presses his lips against her smooth scalp. "No need for mystic healing, if you keep it clean."

Cevee shivers under his breath. "T-there's a s-stream. I c-can wash, and t-then we c-c-can..." She gulps.

"Ah." _Just, drop the stutter and be a little mean._

The sun blazes halfway between noon and sunset. _Prime time for elf mating._

"I suppose, I'll join." His face flushes harlequin green. "Remember though, I'm only half human, and the brownie's enhancement is long gone. Expect more of a goat than a horse."

"W-what?"

"More of an elvish aura tickling. Less of a human bull tackling."

"O-okay."

Ishkur sighs, stepping past her to the small creek that crosses the cobbled path and runs parallel to the ruined aqueduct. _What a waste of an engineering marvel._ He wets his hands in a trickle coming out of the rubble. _Trolls tore you down so they could grow tall in your place, only to now have ogres snipping at their roots._

He strips and squats in a small pool. Still as a statue, his body greens in the sunlight and warmth fills his exposed pores despite the chill water.

"Splish splash, I am taking a bath." Browning the water with the grime of travel, Ishkur cleans with gravel. "Longing for the sun warming my back. Poke, pinch, and scrub with seven fingers and nubs. Imagining it is all right."

Cevee hands him a thin wool blanket. _Got to focus._ He wraps up to dry as she gets naked and wet. _No man's performance can point down._

"That hair style compliments your long neck." He gives her a stiff thumbs up.

She scoots to face him and rubs small stones across her pale skin.

Pretty. Elegant even, and a talented scout in training.

The stream's chill makes her quiver as sunlight makes beads of water glisten _. Like diamonds across her body, instead of Hildr's gold._ He unwraps the wool a little, frowning at his limp appreciation. _Wake up, it's almost show time._

Cevee steps out of the water with the grace of a lioness. "I am done."

"Well spoken." Ishkur opens up his blanket. _Can I cultivate such gorgeous confidence?_ "Show me how friction makes heat."

She slips into his wool wrap with a shiver that becomes a purr as she grinds against him.

_If only a hint of Saugrin's curse remained._ Ishkur's hand brushes the peach fuzz down Cevee's back. "Somewhere soft and bright."

She digs her fingernails into the knots of muscle bordering his shoulder blades. "Please." Her whisper tickles his ear. "I need you."

_If she can fix her glitch._ He leads her to lay on a bed of moss in direct sunlight. _I can fix mine._ He tosses aside the blanket, covering her with his green-tinted skin.

"S-sir?"

"Just—give me a minute." He taps his forehead with a thumb, gritting his teeth and flexing his groin. _Come on Hildr, lend me some desire._ "Can you insult me?"

"W-what?"

_Hildr's specialty._ "It helps get my... blood flowing."

"Y-your." She coughs. "It's s-so much smaller."

Ishkur frowns. "I told you not to expect too much. That night was exceptional because of the brownie queen." He rolls off of her. "Not me."

Cevee snuggles against his side. "S-sorry, just t-trying to get you 'g-going.' "

He picks up the blanket, draping it over her as he sits up. _Nice girl._ "Of course, so don't apologize." _Too nice._ "Let's keep things professional. Intimacy messes with our master/student bond." He stretches his mouth into a smile. "Logically, that's the priority."

Cevee's mouth quivers like a baby suckling air. "B-b-but..." She tightens the wool and lowers her head. "I'm p-p-preg—"

"Impossible." He encircles her slim waist in a loose hug. "I mean, unless you got a quickie in with a virile old man before we left?"

She squawks and spins. The blanket slides off her shaking shoulders as she slips his grasp.

"N-n-no!" Hugging herself, she runs along the creek.

What?

Their gear, the bare minimum for survival, is piled next to the pool. Ishkur leaves it all and chases after her, face and butt cheeks apple green.

"We're naked! Be sensible!"

He closes some distance, but she sprints ahead through a narrow gap in the ruins.

_No cover, stupid girl._ He squeezes between piles of cracked stone. _The forest is dangerously thinning._

Cevee screams, coming back around a double barrel-wide pillar that splits the path ahead. "D-dead." Mohawk bouncing and nipples dancing, she crashes into him. "D-d-dead m-man."

"A body?"

"W-walking."

"Oh, a zombie." Ishkur steps in front of her, nose wrinkling as the rotting figure shambles towards them. "Is that ogre magi around too?"

A second and third follow, brushing past the lone aqueduct pillar. The animated corpses wear variations of a seaman's garb, no armor or other gear that could drown a man fallen overboard, only light clothes, ragged with rot, and stained with the bile of death.

_Zombie Island imports._ He shuffles forward. _Great for labor, but don't let them idle._

Poke. Pinch. _Arms. Strength._ His arms flare verdantly. _Let's dance._

Boney arms swing like mallets. Ishkur skips to the side, looping around the ogre-high pillar as their missed strikes shudder the speckled granite. _Too slow._ He stifles a yawn with glowing knuckles.

Zombies come at him in a rush and stumble, falling into a moaning tangle of limbs. _Rage at life consumes sense._

Ishkur leaps at the closest as it struggles up. Trailing emerald light, he hammers his fist through the back of its skull, splattering a wormy mass marinating in an oily black soup.

The other two reach, but he hops back and gasps. _How present are they?_

Ishkur flutters his eyes. "Tug on that chain to your soul."

The zombies trip over each other as they stand, mouths gaping.

"Tug harder." He pokes and pinches while ducking and weaving.

_Arms. Strength._ Fist through a desiccated face. _I still can't see your soul._

He gasps again, shaking brains off his fading knuckles while the last of the undead moves to hug him. Arms high, Ishkur steps into the embrace and snaps the neck of the former seaman. The zombie stops tightening rotting arms around his bare chest and collapses.

"S-sir!"

Cevee points at a haze of shadow creeping through the forest of broken stone, turning the afternoon into an early evening. _Necrotic casting._

"Back, girl!"

A symphony of moaning echoes, growing closer.

Ishkur grabs Cevee's narrow waist. "It's a horde." He shoves her into the gap between piles of granite, back towards the collapsed aqueduct's creek. "I'll delay."

A dozen zombies, with hundreds more behind them, move their heads in tandem. They track him, shambling like puppets with missing strings. _As long as their master doesn't appear._

"S-sir!" Cevee voice is high-pitched, and zombies moan louder. "W-what are—"

"Get dressed, then dress me." He rubs oily palms together and gestures. "Go!"

The crowd of undead grows, rust-tinted shadows clinging to them like confused smoke. They form a half-circle in front of Ishkur, broken only by the pillar. None step within reach. _Thank you, granite sentry, for offering a chance through._

Clicking echoes in the distance, more than a few.

_The ogre colony._ "Hurry!"

"W-why did t-they stop?" Cevee grunts, dressing behind a stone slab next to Ishkur.

"The haze means a caster is manipulating, keeping them somewhat tame. Probably that necromancer, impaled to be the 'magi' half of that ogre magi, Longspear. Standing here and clogging this pathway, I'm an obstacle. Not so different from that trunk of granite, so long as I don't take for... granted their hatred for life."

"H-here." She hands him his looted helm. "G-go around?"

Ishkur steps into his linens with her help. "You scout to the left, around the hill." He slips into his breastplate. "Tighten this and go."

Cevee's long fingers dig in, torqueing the looted armor until he winces. _Can she_ still _be mad?_

He brushes her hands away, loosening it to fit. "Trees are smaller and sparser here. If an ogre sees you, run straight and fast."

She cradles her belly, covered now by a loose tunic. "I w-want to g-go home."

_Can't see a baby bump._ Ishkur puts his pauldron and gauntlets on, shaking his head. "Don't be a woman, be a scout."

She clenches her fists and pulls on her pants. "I'm trying... Sir"

Anger and sex, speech-glitch therapy.

The pillar dividing the zombies has been worn down by nearly a millennium in the open. Splits and cracks cover the stone sentinel's surface, many wide enough for fingers or toes to grip.

Ishkur chews his lip, kicking aside his boots and pulling off his mundane gauntlet. _Definitely could be done, alone._

A zombie, dressed in formal attire from half a dozen styles, snarls and shuffles closer. The haze curls around its neck like a beard, but the undead sailor shakes its head, drawing a rusted cutlass.

Ishkur clinks Nummer's hilt against his helm and smiles. "Come on, Captain. Keep tugging; don't let some mortal's casting hold you back."

Gray bone perpetually grins. The zombie's head is a skull wrapped in a bandage of skin. The cutlass swings.

Ishkur deflects with his dagger while stepping into the attack, wrapping up its arm in his. The decaying seaman's foul mouth bites at his hand. Ishkur scatters yellow teeth with his elbow and then shatters its wrist with Nummer's pommel. The curved sword clatters to the cobbled ground, and he crushes its owner's face with another pommel strike.

Shoving the zombie back into the horde, Ishkur picks up the cutlass. "This poor weapon is too good for you." Under a thin film of rust, sea-themed designs decorate the blade. _Decent balance._ He waves it through a simple form and stuffs it into a loop on his pouch. "Mine now."

Clicking echoes closer. The haze around the broken-faced zombie thickens. It jerks and joins the other zombies with their steady gaze, heads and movements minimal, all focused on Ishkur.

"S-sir!" Cevee gasps, bumping into him from behind. "S-so, so m-many!"

"More zombies?"

"O-ogres. D-d-dozens."

_Hero time._ He sheaths Nummer and crouches. "Climb on." Her arms wrap around his neck. "Let go and trust me." As she releases, he ducks and spins her body until her chin is situated in the small of his back, and her knees are on his shoulders. "You're my backpack."

"S-sir?"

"Squeeze your thighs, and protect your face." He steadies her upside-down legs with his sticky gauntlet. "This is going to get bumpy."

"W-wha—"

Left pauldron tap. "Shield."

As the air distorts, he pokes and pinches. _Legs. Arm. Strength._ Feet and left hand emerald, he charges the pillar.

"S-s-sir!"

Dead hands grope them, but none manage to grip before Ishkur clambers up the stone with toes and fingertips finding cracks. The horde thins on the other side, but the rusty shadows limit the distance to indiscernible shapes.

He grits his teeth and leaps.

Cevee squawks as they land on a zombie, breaking its spine. Ishkur stomps and charges on.

Gnarled fingers slide off his armor, and his linens slip out of their grip. He growls and shoulders through. Gleaming pauldron buffers as his glowing arm bashes and enhanced legs propel.

Ishkur's head throbs, but he grins. _Less pain, almost manageable._

Several giant shapes move within the haze just off the path. _Hoped you were more pillars._

A man's nasally voice, coming from the waist of a giant, says in English, "Something's happened."

Ishkur runs past.

Graytip says in pidgin, "He's come straight through." Loud clicking. "Turn the horde around!"

Old sack got a fresh ogre.

"Quiet," says the nasally voice, "and let me cast..."

_And that's the ogre magi._ "Don't pester, Longspear! I'll pop your caster-sack!" Ishkur hunkers down and blinks as his glow fades.

The giants pause, snapping rapidly.

Cevee, still upside-down like a pack on his shoulders, spreads her knees. "Should I get off?"

Ishkur presses his lips to her thigh. "Pray for Gardener's grace."

Together, they poke dust and pinch above. _Legs. Strength._

Lugging Cevee, Ishkur runs on through the pass, until they're clear of ruins, haze, and trees. The cobblestones underfoot become neater, cleaned and tended.

But, he still stumbles.

Throbbing turns into flares of agony thundering through his skull. Ishkur gasps, glowing legs flickering out as he eases Cevee down with his eyes shut.

_Gardener._ He blinks, kissing dirt. _Forgive me, for borrowing taboo strength._

Cevee groans as she stretches out some kinks.

"That's all I have," says Ishkur. "Let's hope it was enough."

Mounds rise up all over the left side, but nothing like the hills back in the smoky distance. _Nowhere to hide._

She rubs her belly. "I dropped my pack. I have nothing."

Dark giants come out of the haze with their impalers bare and erect. _Merridian's mercy._

"Doesn't matter." _They don't have performance anxiety._

The sack-less ogres skirt the tiny hills, coming faster than galloping horses.

"Just move."

34. Dry

Pain in service to a greater good

Is pleasure awaiting memory

While flesh rots, honor's chiseled in stone

—Colgrevance Score-D'Thael

A fort lies ahead, just past a crossroads. _Almost made it._

Twenty ogres with stiff impalers close in from behind.

"Keep going." Ishkur stops. "Now, Scout!"

Cevee's feet patter away, and Ishkur draws dagger and cutlass. The giants close in on him, not one passing to intercept the woman running to the fort. _Interesting._

He clinks his blades together. "Have I got your attention?"

They make a wide circle around him, just close enough for a spear throw. _If I had one._

One clicks mandibles together, a steady beat. The rest join in, matching it, and the sharp sound becomes deafening.

"This lipless serenade is terrible," he says. "Go sack something with vocal cords. Impale a bumpkin choir, and they'll even sing in tune."

Ishkur turns around, smiling at Cevee's back. _Come on, girl. Don't you dare slow down._

"Keep your ant eyes on me, bugface platoon." He taps his shoulder. "Shield."

A few ogres shift, scratching their groins.

"It's alright. There's no dishonor in fearing a legend like me."

"Truly?" says a nasally voice. "What is legendary about you?"

The swamp giants part for one pregnant with the speaking womb-sack. Black as ichor, the ogre's skin is a fair shade darker than any of the others.

Does it stain itself or naturally black?

Ribs showing, the giant slouches forward. At least a head shorter than the rest of the ogres, it has mandibles nearly twice as long.

So size may matter.

The attached womb-sack still has human proportions. Legs crossed and wrists on knees, the man rides his ogre's impaler as if on a monastery's floor.

Ishkur says, "Colony leader, Longspear, wearing a necromancer buckle, am I right?"

The pale man-sack brushes raven hair out of his face, tapping the tip of a long nose. "I am Victor Heldane, and you do have the honor of facing our leader, Longspear."

"You aren't related to the Bunnifarm family are you? You could pass for an ugly cousin."

The caster tsks, and his ogre clicks as bloated Graytip arrives on a gray-skinned giant with short mandibles. _Downgraded._

Ishkur rolls his neck. "Why so slender, Victor? Has frailty made Longspear impotent?"

Graytip wiggles his limbs. "The elf mutt is distrac—"

"And you, fallen obsidian soldier, what a handsome new bugface above your shoulder." _A smidgen of power for every moment delayed._ "Mandibles look a bit premature though. Are you sure it is of age?"

Ogres click, and Ishkur smirks. _What a grand talent, my taunting and teasing._ He clinks his blades against his helm and spins through some double weapon forms. _Intoxicating, going all in with a warrior's bluff._ He giggles, and the ogres snap their jaws faster.

Cevee is at the fort's gate. _Take her in._ A shirtless man with a massive axe stands on the wall, waving towards him.

Ishkur waves back. _Just let her in, you Skull Crusher goon._

Graytip says in pidgin, "The elf mutt's made a deal with the berserkers."

"Quiet!" says Victor.

His ogre slams its massive mandibles together, silencing the clicking of its peers. Victor spins his arms, forming a growing orb of haze.

_By Gardener's grace._ Poke. Pinch. _Legs. Strength._ Ishkur's mind falls into a murky mirror that stretches and pops, leaving his legs glowing and head pounding. _I run._

Two ogres crash together in front of him, erect impalers swaying and crab hands crossing. Ishkur slides between the legs of the right one, pauldron up, distorted air keeping its impaler at bay.

He rolls to his shining feet, sprinting on. _Please, Lord Icarus._

His power sputters, and Ishkur blinks, stumbling as the enhancement fades. "Please."

The ground shakes with the thunder of giants closing the distance, a cloud of shadow dimming their features. _No rusty tint._

Massive feet thud, and Ishkur dives right as the leading ogre overshoots and skids to a stop. Reversing the grips on both his weapons, Ishkur growls and charges it with arms like bladed wings.

The lanky lead ogre clicks, retreating as its bulkier peers skid to stops around them. Ishkur zigzags, bobbing as he gets close and slows at the edge of the giant's reach.

The wide cobbled road is level and well tended. Clear except for a layer of dust and grime from the steady coastal wind that blows dirt into the lean ogre's eyes. _Live well, Cevee._

Giants click in a circle around them both, stomping their oversized duck feet. The lanky ogre sidesteps, bushing its faceted eyes.

Guess I could kill one more.

Resisting the wind, smoky shadows envelop Ishkur. "What's this Pit-skilled spell?"

The world dims, but not enough to hide. The ogre is still clear, only a stride away, but Ishkur lowers his blades. _Hopeless._ Clicks echo, and the giant reaches for him. _Futile._

He steps back, swatting the shelled fingers stretching. "No!"

More clicking, and the giant spreads its arms wide.

_It mocks me._ "Sure, with your necromancer's haze of despair sapping my will." Ishkur shakes his blades. "Try fighting fair, without the casting..."

The shadows thicken. His weapons dip, and his blinking eyes are slow to open.

No.

Rising, an upside-down scorpion's tail about to sting, the impaler is massive and shaking with need.

"I refuse to be a good mother," says Ishkur.

Crab hands close in on both sides of him. Weak strikes with cutlass and dagger fail to stop the embrace.

"My elf half means I'm a bit dainty." He gasps. "How will that even fit?"

The tip of the impaler splits open.

"Is that thing smiling at me?"

A tentacle pushes out, spinning like a drill bit.

"Truly no mercy." His mouth twitches. "Just Merridian's mockery."

The ogre lifts Ishkur with one hand, spreading his legs with the other.

_This isn't me._ He coughs shadows, twisting his butt away. _I don't surrender._

Poke. Pinch. _Ass. Strength._ No flicker of power. _Please, no._ The pond is dry.

"Icarus!" Linens rip and something wet tickles.

Pain means I live.

Ishkur grips his clothes and says in Elvish, "Dry."

Skin sizzles, and the ogre drops him. Millennium old cobblestones smash in his nose guard.

Screaming, Ishkur pries off his helm as his body cooks.

"S-stop," he says in Elvish with a voice raw enough to resemble Orc, and the linens cool.

Undergarments over his groin and chest outline where pain is less, while his arms and legs bubble with blisters. _If a fool._ He whimpers, standing with the support of his cutlass jammed between cobblestones. _Then armor is comedy._

"S-sorry bugface, but I don't come raw."

The lean giant snatches Ishkur up, popping his blisters. He weeps as they leak, but keeps his grip on both sword and dagger.

"I'm medium rare!" Ishkur stabs the giant's fleshy wrist with his cutlass and cracks its shelled fingers with Nummer.

The ogre shakes him still, turning towards a burning man running at them from the fort.

What?

The fiery figure swings an axe too large for mortal hands.

Fear?

The ogre shudders, releasing Ishkur's legs. _I'm shaking._ He crosses his ankles and squirms, but the giant's other hand still firmly binds him. _Not impaled._ He swings his cutlass around his behind. _Confirmed._

The running man is blanketed in fire. Not the pillar of flame that a possessed Hildr can be, but somehow more frightening.

_Her dread walker, what's his name?_ Ishkur squirms. "Hildr's man, save me!" He coughs. "I'll tell you where she—"

The ogre throws him. _Déjà vu._

Impact and rolling. Breath gone and vision blurry. Giant mandibles snap, and huge duck feet stomp.

Ishkur's heart pounds with dread as a flaming hand grabs him. _Praise Phoenix's passion._ More skin sizzles while he is dragged along the cobbled path and through the fort's gate.

Irony survives.

Sparsely decorated, the keep's only furniture are broken pillars, repurposed as stools and tables. Weapons and flickering torches break the walls monotony, but the building has no cultural flair.

Rough men, mostly human, leer and grumble to each other as Cevee whimpers by Ishkur's side on the floor. Nummer's blade reflects torchlight in her shaking hand, and the clicking of a hundred ogres echoes through the building.

"Steady... before... cut."

"Yes, S-sir."

She slices his armor straps, and he winces as she pulls off the boiled leather breastplate. "Good." Ishkur sucks in a breath. "Now... the rest."

The crowd parts for a hairy-chested man wearing only trousers, fancy earrings, and an oversized battleax on a shoulder; its spike could be the end of a long spear, and the blade is sized to cleave a horse. _Hildr's dread walker, named Jax?_ The elaborate diamond earrings swing from stretched lobes. _Maybe Jax-ene._

The hairy man weaves his free hand in a series of distinct gestures.

Sign language, why?

A big balding man with yellow teeth says, "You cooked yourself good there, boy."

"I'm... older... than you allll—" Ishkur bites his lip as Cevee pulls off some skin with his pauldron. "Slow—er."

"S-s-sorry, Sir."

The big man points at the hairy axe man, who is weaving his hand about. "Okay then, _old_ boy. Let me translate for our boss: 'How do you know me, and who is the "she"?' "

Ishkur says, "You're Jax the Axe... made from scratch... by Hildr and Lady Darla." _Oh, of course._ "With tongue burned out... by your fires of rage."

Jax smiles, blackened teeth peeking through peeling lips. He signs rapidly, and the warriors disperse, except for his large translator.

"Where is she?" says the big man. "Where is Hildr now?"

"I need to heal... and speak to someone... and then I'll say."

"Who?"

"Do you know... Haden?"

Jax's eyes glow like embers, and the hairs across his body wiggle and wave.

Mystic rage about to trigger his blaze.

"Yes." The big man cracks his knuckles. "We know a Haden."

Ishkur grips Cevee's hand. "As guests... a night to heal... a day to talk with Haden... I tell you where... by next sunset." _Oh, oops._ "Sorry, Jax. I broke... your cover... for Lute."

The red glow dims, and the hairs settle. Jax nods, signing. His large translator bows.

Is that it?

The shirtless berserker shoulders his axe and leaves, exiting up stairs to the fort's roof.

"When Jax the Axe came to us, he wrote who his maker was and that your band sent him." The big man grips the edges of a thick leather vest he wears over stained linens. "Our old sergeant couldn't rage. So the fool got scared and ran into the arms of an ogre." He smirks. "Then Jax became boss."

Ishkur's eyes roll up in his head. _No._ He grits his teeth. _Can't pass out._ "Fear effect... very effective."

Cevee unwraps the last of his linens, tears pooling in her eyes. The flesh is cooked, red as a crustacean coming out of a fisherman's pot. She covers her mouth, turning away.

Must heal, before I sleep.

"Who's in charge... overall?" says Ishkur.

The man wiggles thick fingers. "Our allegiance is with Jax's rage, and when Haden took over the castle next-door, he found dread walkers can be no one's tool."

So, my friend subjugated the Skull Crushers to Lute, but faces ogres sieging and Jax rebelling.

"That sly bastard tried your line about Jax's maker for our loyalty." The big man tugs his ear lobe. "Didn't believe that bulb of Black, but Jax believes _you_ know where the bulb of bitch, Hildr, is. Well, not for me to question. Deal is, no more than one full night and day, we will protect you."

_Did Haden complete his mission?_ Ishkur nods. _Can I?_

The man clicks his teeth together. "If you don't deliver, or rather convince Jax you have, then you're an ogre's sheath, and your girl's ours." He thrusts his hips. "She'll wish we let her join you."

_The route here's been surveyed, and I'm making sure Haden arrived._ Ishkur closes his eyes. "Deal." _It must be enough._

35. Karma, Please Stop Pun-Ishkuring Me

The greatest secret of Black

Merridian doesn't exist

As more than competitors

For the mantle of survivor

Living ideology

Of a line stretching forever

—Lady Uostai Play of Black

Morning light filters through the keep's arrow slits to mix with dozens of lit torches. _Pyros._ Ishkur rubs skin that's whole but wrinkled, like he regrew it a size too big. _Scars would be prettier._

Cevee sleeps curled against his hip, snoring louder than a cute girl should.

But better than the honking of Jorkin's eldest.

Ishkur twists free of her cuddle. _How can she love such an ugly version of me?_

Jax's large translator strides over as Ishkur is getting dressed. "Never saw such a ghastly elf." The balding man smiles. "You're like a man-baby that just got birthed out the wrong hole."

Ishkur tosses aside a wad of shed skin. "Never thought teeth could get as yellow as yours. Does everything taste like piss?"

The big man's eyes widen, and then he laughs and holds out his hand. "Call me Egghead."

Ishkur takes the offered hand. "Pisstooth would be better."

Egghead snorts. "A sane man wouldn't anger a berserker, but Elfshit, you're a special kind of fool that I somehow respect and ignore at the same time." He points at the closed gateway reinforced with iron bars and braced with thick oak beams. "I was chatting with Victor through the peep hole."

"Victor Heldane?"

The man claps. "Oh, you're familiar with our womb-sacked necromancer. Good to know it's personal, but call him, or them, Victor Longspear, now."

Ogre magi.

Several men walk by with steaming bowls of stew. _Carrots?_

"Food." Ishkur clutches his belly. "Healing emptied me."

"Victor promises that old Longspear will lead the colony away if we kick you out." Egghead twirls a tuft of beard around a finger. "But, sacks will do or say anything for their ogres."

"It'll go bad for you, if I'm sacked." Ishkur pinches his fingers. "No casting needed. A ranger's enhancements, claimed by an ogre." He pokes but doesn't tap his power. "Imagine how strong such a monster would be."

"With the healing, worse than an impaled berserker. A true juggernaut." Egghead pats a bone hilt sticking out of his belt. "We'd have to slice your throat, before tossing you out." He grins. "Victor never stipulated you being alive."

_Always the letter, never the intent._ "They'd feel cheated and storm this place."

"The wall's mortar already cracks, but it will cost them. Victor's dismal castings don't worry my kind any more than Jax's projected fear." The man cracks his knuckles. "Just inspires our rage. Makes us madder."

_Which makes you stronger._ Ishkur shrugs. "But how long can you fight before mystic strength fizzles and post-rage exhaustion makes you helpless? A few minutes maybe; certainly not an hour." _Unless you took turns at the breach._ He presses a fold of skin above his right elbow that won't flatten. "Let me lead the bugfaces away, once my business is done."

Egghead licks his lips. "You'll leave your pale lady behind?" He chuckles slow and deep. "We won't mind the company, especially since the castle whores haven't been making it through the tunnel."

Ishkur grits his teeth. "I have a deal with Jax." He puts on his gauntlet and pauldron. _But, I failed to add stipulations for after._ With straps still cut, he leaves the breastplate off and spreads his legs slightly, lowering his center.

"So you do." Egghead waves, and a man with spoons for hands comes over. "And our guests don't lounge about, so get your girl awake and taking care of Spoons here."

Ishkur relaxes out of his fighting stance, pinching his nostrils. "Gag."

Spoons has a ragged black beard and an unkempt mess of hair. His teeth are even more yellow than Egghead's, almost orange at the gums.

"Cesspoons would be—"

Hairy knuckles. Crunch.

Ishkur's on the ground, blood pouring from his nose. "What the..."

Red-faced, Egghead lifts him off the stone floor by his linen collar, one-handed. "Disrespect my friend again, and I'll rage enough to rip your arms off."

Spoons scratches his crotch with an attached utensil, smiling.

_That's nice._ Ishkur wiggles his fingers. _But I still got seven more than you, Cesspoons._

Cevee gasps awake. "S-sir!" She growls and slaps Egghead's side. "L-leave him alone!"

Warriors gather with their bowls of stew and steins of brew. Jax, without his axe and a loose shirt on, steps out with two steaming bowls.

Egghead drops Ishkur and says in a grumble, "I can't let Elfshit speak to my Spoons that way."

_It_ does _have carrots._ Ishkur snorts blood out of his nose and accepts an offered bowl from the berserker boss. He scoops and slurps as Cevee lowers Nummer and claims the other dish.

When did she grab my dagger?

A tingle becomes a burn, spreading from tongue to lips and down his throat. "H-hot."

Cevee coughs and nods.

"I'm too hungry to care." Eyes watering, he licks the clay container clean and hops around. "Why make food that hurts?"

Jax grins and chops his hand at Egghead.

The big man slumps his shoulders. "But, did you hear what Elfshit called my buddy?"

Jax's eyes start glowing.

"Fine." Egghead turns towards Ishkur and says through his teeth, "I acted out of turn. You may strike me to even the score, or—"

Poke. Pinch. _Arm. Strength._ Ishkur punches with a glowing arm ending in a shiny metal fist.

Crunch.

Teeth fly, and the big man falls.

"Apology accepted."

Ishkur blinks, pulling off his gauntlet. _Nose. Heal._ He squeezes his nose straight with a verdant-glowing grip.

"When Pisstooth wakes, tell him to gather his teeth and find me." Ishkur closes his eyes until his head pain eases. "I'll try to heal them back in, if the man asks nice." He tugs at his wrinkled skin. "No promises though; it _is_ taboo work." _They must already know what I am and what I'm missing._ "Without a demigod."

The warriors lift their steins, tapping thumbs against their foreheads. Barely over a dozen, they hoot together with voice enough to match a company of soldiers.

Ishkur straightens, hooting back. The gruff men gather around Egghead, laughing like bears over a whale carcass. The big man moans, getting to his knees. They laugh harder, kicking him back down, until Spoons smacks them with his metal hands.

How much did the Skull Crusher avatars keep their berserkers in the dark?

Ishkur turns to Jax. "Your... the Skull Crusher hosts lost their demigods, right?" _This has to be true._ "That's why your ogres are stampeding about with the Zombie Island labor... right?" _And maybe how Haden found a way to take over._ "Jax?"

The dread walker signs, and a compact man wearing an apron over a vest says, "All right, tree-hugging bulb. Come on."

_A cook._ Ishkur bites his tongue.

Red hairless skin, legs short as a hog's, arms like a gorilla, and a smiley-face tattoo covering a bump in the center of his forehead.

_A stone dwarf cook._ Ishkur raises his hand. "Maybe just a quick rundown of what happened here since—"

Egghead slurs a series of curses and climbs to his feet. "My tee'h." He points at Ishkur. "You knocked out my front tee'h!"

_Made him more lispy than Graytip's tooth-lacking thug._ Ishkur shrugs. _Still better off than getting womb-sacked like they did._

The red-skinned dwarf motions with a ladle towards a stairwell down. "Take the whores' tunnel to Pentagon Castle, and ask your traitorous friend what happened here."

Cevee clings to Ishkur's arm, slipping Nummer back into his sheath.

"Thank you." Ishkur wipes blood from his face and says in Cevee's ear, "Be useful, be busy. Don't let them see you idle." He pries her off. "And find another knife."

Jax hands him a flickering torch and a violet band of silk cloth.

_Better than a dark slide into a titan's tomb._ A rat scurries up the stairs and away from the light. _Maybe._

The dwarf chases the rodent across the floor, swinging his ladle like a club. "Another for the pot!"

Ishkur's stomach rumbles. _No more stew._

At the bottom of the steps, the underground entrance is a narrow fit. _Thank you Father for my elvish figure._

Alone, Ishkur crawls in. _My ears._ He pulls the silk band over his head, covering his pointed heritage. _Disguise active._

The tunnel is rough, more like an animal's warren than a structure of men. He pats a lone oak beam. _This won't last._

Torch held forward like a spear, Ishkur keeps crawling. Drops of water from the low ceiling make the flame sizzle and wet his hair. _Be there, Haden._ The damp dirt turns sandy. _Your best friend needs you._

He pats another beam and frowns, crushing a corner into powder. _Rotten._ Ahead the tunnel narrows where a side wall's collapsed.

"I swear to my lord and every overgod, if I die here, I will haunt this whore cavern like a seaman's ghost."

He gulps and squeezes onward. Head down, his shoulder scrapes the roof and wet sand falls, dousing the torch. _Merridian's mercy._

A puddle fills the other side, and he soaks his linens getting through. _How about I don't say "dry."_ He shivers. _Until I'm better at growing skin._

His forehead smacks against boards. _A door?_ He spins around on his butt and kicks, cracking the rotten wood open. _Easy._

Ishkur frowns. "Wait—"

Squeaking fury creatures crawl over him. _Rats._ Ishkur shudders and stills, heart thudding but breath slowing. Finger thick tails tickle his cheeks as they rush past. _Fat rats._ Only one takes a moment to nibble, and he smacks it away before his ear is pierced.

"Enjoy the dwarf's pot, you little demons."

Dim light fills the space ahead, growing brighter at another cave-in. _Where's my shovel?_ The way forward is completely blocked. _I'd give up the tip of a pinky for that lovely tool, recovered._

The hole up is wide enough to stand in, but the loose soil offers no grip to climb. _Or Lord Icarus's mystic rope._ He crouches down. _What would I cut off to get that item back in one piece?_

The surface is beyond a mortal's jump. "Wasteful." Poke and pinch. _Legs._ _Strength._ He leaps.

Fingers stretched, he catches the edge and scissors his glowing legs into rocky dirt, but still starts to slip. _So wasteful._ Digging his boots in, he scrambles out, filling the hole with a mini-avalanche to escape.

Power depleted, Ishkur rolls onto solid ground. Gasping and blinking, he clutches a patch of brown grass and sits up.

Uh-oh.

He's only a third of the way from the fort to a wooden palisade guarding the approach to the high walls of Pentagon Castle. Archers poke arrows through the gaps in the standing logs, and a ballista tower launches a large missile past him and into a mass of ogres and zombies near the beserker's fort.

_No._ He runs on mortal legs towards the castle of men. _Never._ He sprints away from the monsters, spicy rat stew churning in his stomach. _Ever._

"Loose!" says a commanding voice.

Massive duck feet shake the ground, and a cloud of arrows descend.

"No!" Ishkur taps his pauldron. "Shield." Missiles slow, turning from the distorted air around his leading shoulder. "Not me!"

Clicking echoes behind him, but the stomping stops. _Almost._ An archer steps back, allowing Ishkur a path through the palisade.

Ishkur pants and turns. The few giants that chased him are decorated like orcs that rolled on porcupines.

"Loose!" A hundred bows twang, and a fresh cloud descends.

He runs into the gap. "How should I phrase this?"

The archer shoves Ishkur aside to resume his post, bowstring stretched taut.

"Loose!" The ogres show their backs but don't yet leave.

_I'm a friend of Haden's._ Ishkur brushes dust from his linens. _You know, the orcelf that came to subvert your band and maybe kill a bunch of your hosts in their sleep._

A half-formed village has been built between the spiked logs and the stones of the castle.

"Loose!" The giants run away, and a ragged cheer spreads from the archers to a reserve line, outfitted little better than the maiden watch of Waygreen.

_But all that doesn't matter, because we_ all _lost our demigods. So, let's_ all _team up against your hordes of former slaves._

With a purple plume of feathers sprouting from his helm, the officer who'd been yelling marches to Ishkur and holds out a leather wrapped palm. "Well?" the man says, voice a little hoarse.

Ishkur slaps it. "Well, done."

The man sighs. "What message do you bring, berserker?"

"Um." Ishkur adjusts his headband. "I can only speak it to your commander."

The officer's eyes narrow. "I don't recognize you... ferox?"

A familiar shine covers the head of a reed thin archer. _My helmet._

"Yeah, so?" Ishkur licks his lips.

Another familiar shine, strapped around the chest of an archer with long nose hairs. _Shitin' Ripin, all cozy in my breastplate._

"You're glancing about a bit anxious-like." The officer crosses his armored arms.

_I must act red-formed and dominate._ "Should I go back?" _Predator, not prey._ Ishkur shows his teeth. "You're boring." _Not of Green._

The officer snorts. "Then find your fun going back through that horde."

"I promised Jax."

_I'm just an obstinate ferox berserker._ Ishkur firms his jaw. _So, is your boss an orcelf named Haden?_

The man grunts, but doesn't step aside.

"I must deliver a message, direct to... Haden," says Ishkur. _Apparently, he succeeded in a coup to be your commander._ "Well?" _I'm with Lute, his true band._ "I've got rage to spare."

"Our commander is in the castle's safespot. Good luck if you're here to kill him." The man chuckles and coughs. "You'll fail, but we'll respect the effort."

Ishkur shades his eyes from the officer. Poke. Pinch. _Power._ _Aura._ A pillar of rainbow light flares from the center of the castle.

He blinks away the glow. "I know the way." _But not the path._

The man nods. "If you decide _not_ to make trouble, grab a bag of grub on your way back." He motions towards the archers retreating from the wall, leaning on their bows like crutches and rolling shoulders. "Not sure when we'll be able to allow a proper supply run to your fort."

"Any bacon?"

The man chortles. "Right, and chocolate covered strawberries too."

Well, now I really have to grab a bag.

36. Deal

Elves underground wilt, and as auras dim

There's a chance for an unnatural union.

Not every elf is loyal to the Green

Some in the desert instead favor Red

Where the dark can be a protective friend

These dusk elves enjoy long lives of sorrow

Some like my mother seek only power

Ambition in mind and an orc slave close

She made me, and I'll never forgive her

—Haden Abdi Nasar

The walls of the castle are formed with the same repurposed granite as the fort. Thick and tall, they'll keep out the horde of ogres and zombies should the palisade around the Skull Crusher camp fall.

Ishkur scratches under the silk headband hiding the tops of his pointed ears and follows a squad of soldiers to the outer gate.

A pair of guards chew on flat bread as they wave their peers through. One squints at Ishkur and whispers to his companion, who shrugs.

_What do I say?_ Ishkur clears his throat.

The squinter spits at Ishkur's feet. "Did ya used to be a fat man? That why ya got that loose skin?"

The shrugger chuckles. "Or he's an ogre's sack that got rejected. Deflated and left in the sun, until a raisin man."

"Enjoy your meal." Ishkur fingers his weapon hilts as he passes

They snort and talk on about stale bread and fishing.

_A parody of security._ Ishkur scowls, entering a trapezoidal space between the castle's outer and inner walls. _But a good killing field._

The squad passes through one of the dividing walls sectioning it off. _Defense doesn't favor straight lines._ Ishkur hurries after, into the next open-air section where the soldiers go through the inner wall.

They enter a tower to the left, topped with a ballista aimed towards the berserker's fort. _Well within reach, to protect or attack._

The crew they're relieving shuffles out, moving by Ishkur with downcast eyes and a few grumbles. _Morale seems ready to break._

He goes on, straight to the unguarded open doors of the castle's keep. _Or has someone taught them to mind their own business?_

Ishkur's boots echo as the corridor curves and branches. He circles deeper, always turning towards the center. _Too quiet._

The maze ends at a set of closed doors with a well-armored guard. Helm on, polearm resting against his shoulder, the guard stands with an alertness the others have lacked.

_I've got to seem berserker tough._ Ishkur firms his mouth and waves. The man jerks his weapon to his other side and pulls open the doors. Ishkur nods, stepping inside.

A free-standing archway centers the pentagon shaped room. _Portal._ Surrounded by a safespot's white stones. _Invisible to non-hosts._

Past the circle, at the opposite corner, a man-sized statue stands on a raised dais in fancy full plate. _The only thing the guard will see._

"Soldier." Ishkur forces a chuckle. "Maybe this torchlight is playing tricks, but is your commander made of stone?" _I'm just a cocky berserker, what would I know about safespots?_ "You deaf—"

A blow to his back staggers Ishkur. A second cracks across his blocking forearm; only the gauntlet's sticky grip keeps Nummer in hand.

The guard spins his polearm through an advanced form. _A martial master._ The weapon lacks Endraker's decorations, but its edges still force Ishkur back, despite him parrying with cutlass and dagger.

"Wait." Ishkur dodges a thrust, stumbling until his heel smacks a stone. _Fine._ He backs into the safespot's circle.

The man lowers his weapon.

Ishkur clears his throat. "Why did you attack me? I might be Haden in disguise."

The guard shakes his head.

"Well. I disappeared into this safespot, so you know I'm a host rather than a berserker."

The guard nods and passes his polearm between hands steady as a clock's pendulum.

"Want to trade weapons?" Ishkur hefts his sword and sheaths Nummer. "My long blade isn't much, but the short one is worth a minor fortune."

Head shake.

_Is he missing his tongue?_ "Can you fetch Haden? I am a friend."

The guard taps a metal-encased finger to his lips and jogs to the doorway, latching it shut to lock them in.

"What? Are you going to starve me out?" Ishkur cups a hand to his mouth. "Haden! Where are you?"

"Quiet." The man takes off his helm, locking eyes with Ishkur.

Wait.

A devilish smirk livens up the guard's plain human face.

Ishkur gulps. "You can see me." _So, Haden didn't kill off all the Skull Crusher hosts, or..._ "Why haven't you been talking?"

The man taps a dull black crown circling his temple. "Off." His face ripples, skin graying.

_Mystic mask._ Ishkur slaps his forehead. "Of course."

Nose turns up and tusks poke out, but not to an orc's piggish degree. The man's ears sharpen, but without the fuzz of an orc's wolf ears; they match an elf's.

"Because of your fine ears, Ishkur." The orcelf straightens up as if he grew inches and gained a few dozen pounds of muscle. "I thought you might recognize my voice."

"Mr 'Flute Man' Haden." _Mission over, Lord Icarus._ Ishkur pats his chest where his demigod's note paper had been kept and then rubs his back. "Why hit so hard, my friend? I lack padding."

"I win." Haden smiles with a wide mouth, cat-like eyes reflecting torch fire. "Nice try, covering ear tips with silk."

"Fine, your immensely superior mask tricked me." Ishkur takes off his headband. "But my cheap disguise worked on your men, didn't it? To them, I'm a full human." He steps out of the safespot, but stops shy of the polearm's range. "So, how'd you take over the Skull Crushers?"

"I won." Haden smiles broader, short tusks slipping off his purple lips to resemble thick fangs. "They'd already put down a caster coup and suffered through the resulting cascade of mystic item failures. Leadership was just a bunch of orphaned hosts, shaking in their fancy armor, by the time I snuck in."

_That was like me._ Ishkur narrows his eyes. _Until I lost my shiny shell and grew some courage._

"They lost, by ones, by twos." Haden chuckles. "By six, the first night after I arrived." He spins the polearm, a blur around his bulky body. "I didn't want to waste my chance to slit throats in case their demigods came back... in case _mine_ came back."

_Lady Uostai Play._ "They've abandoned us all," Ishkur says.

Haden slows his weapon's spin. "Holy war ends early, and mortal ambition is ready."

Ishkur frowns. _For Lute, or for you?_ "So, is the real guard still around to see you wearing his face?"

"No." Haden taps his crown. "Abram." His skin pinkens, body shrinks, and face ripples into that of the guard.

_Epic items are wondrous._ "You got a serpent soul powering its recharge, right?"

"You are a charming jester, Ishkur." The disguised orcelf caresses a knife's hilt. "I missed your prattle during my long walk to get here."

"Sorry, my griffin—"

Pounding at the latched door.

Haden yells, "What?"

"Another beach attack!" says the voice of the archer officer, who coughs. "Two pods and a hundred zombies!"

Haden growls, turning to Ishkur. "Back in the circle and stay." He puts on his helm and unlatches the door. "I'll return shortly."

An Orc word is grumbled. Haden's armor and gear ripples, blending together like a bedsheet draped over a barbarian. It flows over his face and hands, expanding and stretching into the shape of the full-plated statue on the dais.

"Whoa." _Never seen a thing like this._ The ripples settle down with every detail, from spikes at the wrists to horns on the full helm, matching the statue.

Eyes wide, Ishkur steps into the large safespot as the tanked Haden jogs out, slamming the doors shut. _Must be some titan loot that got reattuned._

Ishkur traces a rune carved into the archway. Made of darker stone than the circle bordering the safespot, the symbols covering it are the same alien language reordered and shaded with purple crystal. _What race made you?_

A crunch echoes from the statue in the corner. Ishkur wanders over, but it does nothing else.

Patience can solve the most annoying mysteries.

Ishkur breathes deep, moving slowly through martial forms to stretch and loosen tense muscles. He settles under the archway, legs crossed and wrists resting on his knees.

Do any titans remain that remember where their last emperor was buried? Will those blue-scaled giants ever return from the deep sea to reclaim his crown? And what if by then, that bumpkin village has grown into a proper town?

Footsteps echo. Ishkur rises into a crouch, hands on hilts.

It would be a battle for survival.

Haden bursts in, still wearing a copy of the statue's full plate. He wheezes, relatching the door and wiping black ichor off the axe blade of his polearm.

"It went well?" Ishkur hops to hang from the arch's keystone.

Haden unslings a short bow that curls forwards into a _C_. "Don't play on the portal."

"Bah, I once wasted a charge to slice, then one to shatter, but even Endraker couldn't scratch a rock or distort a rune." He drops down. "Maybe our demigods made safespots before they became super ghosts."

"Talk to a sage, if you're letting your mind wander." The orcelf shakes his polearm. "Don't break taboo around the portal. Power of any color could activate it on contact, like for our demigods."

Ishkur rubs his hands together. "You know where it opens to? Spicesun or—"

"Another place, with another me, purging competition." Haden's hands spasm, and he leans on his bow.

_If we weren't friends, would you purge me?_ "That statue made a crunching noise."

"Couldn't avoid a bugface's backhand." Haden joins Ishkur in the circle and groans as he lies down. "Most of the force transferred." He twists something on his arm, says a word in Orc, and his gear and armor ripple, shrinking back into the guard costume. "To my statue."

Ishkur's eyes widen. "That's some impressive mystics. I didn't even know caster smiths could imbue something that way."

The best mystic items of this age require a team of different caster types, always including a smithmage that's mastered the imbuing skill. _Were items rules of past ages different?_

Haden says, "The armored statue was unearthed in the ruins and revitalized, given an ogre's soul and a fresh place of power attunement. The Skull Crusher avatars were obsessed with digging, hoping to find a much greater prize." He waves towards the doorway. "Thousands of zombie laborers can attest to that."

_Like the titan emperor's tomb?_ Ishkur nods. _Try Waygreen Village._ "So... where is the caster's place that's anchoring the statue's mystics? Are people suffering there, like—"

"It's far. It's isolated, and it's not a necromancer feeding off a hamlet." Haden sighs and sits up. "The... _my_ lieutenant is asking about you. Do you actually have a message from that dread walker, Jax?"

"No, from me." Ishkur rubs his ear. "I may need help rescuing a girl, after I tell Jax where to find Hildr."

"Berserkers don't hurt their makers." Haden crosses his arms. "Why worry about Jax being an exception?"

"Not Hildr. A black-haired bumpkin girl that I had to leave with those brutes at their fort." He lowers his head, clenching a four-fingered fist. "They'll rape her at sundown, if I don't get back. 'No more than one full night and day, we will protect you.' I was... distracted. I didn't think through their wording. 'No more than' commits to no set time, and I suspect once I tell him, we will both be in... trouble."

Haden shrugs. "So leave her there."

Ishkur growls. _Evil heritage, not his fault._ "No."

"Whoring is reliable work. If she survives the night, I'll tell them she's joined the comfort squad. That will give her a measure of protection, if they still want supplies according to our truce... or help fixing that tunnel."

Haden's empathy got smothered young.

"She may be pregnant," says Ishkur, "and maybe... it may be mine."

Haden laughs, stretching his fake human mouth. "You _are_ the fool, but a masterful one."

"Yeah."

The disguised orcelf moves his hand in a circle on his chest, drawing an _A_ inside it. "If I'd known Jax would believe your face, I'd have worn it."

Ishkur raises an eyebrow. "Don't you need my blood to attune your mask?"

His friend flicks a wrist and thrusts a curved knife at Ishkur's face.

"Really?" He flinches from the blade, held steady a finger's width from his eye. "In a safespot? Are you breaking taboos now too?"

Haden frowns. "No blink and barely a jerk back. You've hardened, Ishkur." He tucks the knife back up his sleeve. "Sagging skin and missing digits aside, this purge has been good for you."

_Has it? Have I really changed?_ Ishkur grips the finger bone bag hanging from his neck. _I'm still trying to save people from messes I've created._

Haden taps his crown. "Off." His gray orcelf face returns. "Did you see Jax wearing earrings?"

"They were gorgeous." Ishkur puckers his lips, opening his arms to embrace.

Haden flinches backwards a step.

_I win._ "Even that crown's maskings can't hide your personal space issues." Ishkur grins.

Haden scowls and then chuckles. "You know me too well." Yellow eyes shine steady, irises contracting into vertical slits.

Makes me feel like a snared rabbit.

"Those earrings are a major mystic item that helps spot a lie. Jax got them off a seeker that spotted mine, just after I arrived." Haden strokes the horned belly of his bow. "Had to use Long Claw to put an arrow through her eye, which really kicked things off." He shrugs. "I didn't expect that they'd be so attached to a bulb of Blue, especially the berserkers."

_I know that bow._ "You sound regretful." _Frightfully accurate._

Haden again circles his chest, tracing another _A_ inside of it. "Upon her death I drew Merridian's symbol and felt a taboo tingle paired with a deep sadness."

"Was she pretty?"

Haden pats his smooth groin. "No half-human heritage to clue me. She certainly didn't have Hildr's curves or sway, but grace... I suppose."

His friend balances on a heel and spins into a series of martial forms, switching between polearm, knives, fists, and feet. His transitions blend to rival a professional dancer's performance.

_Beautiful and scary good._ "The battlefield is lucky my Lord of Path didn't choose you," says Ishkur. "Now, rescuing Cevee—"

"I am smooth, while my Lady Play shattered. Grace would be _my_ word, if I a lord." Haden sneers. "Our demigods, flooded with power, using our bodies like hammers. Cutting short our century of servitude to them is the overgods' repudiation."

"You think the overgod pantheon cut off our demigods?" _Orphaned again, but not abandoned._

"Who else would? What else could?" Haden turns away. "So this Cevee girl, is she at least a princess?"

"Yes." _Daughter of the founding family._ "A bumpkin princess of a promising village." _That was the hamlet you left, broken and plagued with a vampire._

Haden's yellow eyes twinkle. "If I try to get this princess, you must commit to helping me with this Obsidian-pledged ogre colony. They destroyed most of our fishing boats today and impaled a half-dozen people. I've got several hundred mouths to feed, not to mention the obstinate berserkers camped in Crossroads Keep." He shakes his head.

"Sorry, I got the bugfaces riled up." Ishkur chews a lip. "Ran into a few and had to keep coming."

"Yeah." Haden points at Ishkur. "Their ogre magi really wants you; maybe enough that you could lead them far away."

"To be someone else's problem? I've done enough of that. I'll help, but choose another path." Ishkur slams a fist into a metal palm. "Because, with or without you, I'm going to rescue Cevee before the sun sets."

"Brazingly under the sun, with your shiny glove and shoulder?" Haden smirks. "At best, you'd be a nice distraction until Victor the Sack's mystic malaise overwhelms. Then ogres would swarm to impale you."

"Lend me your invisibility blanket." Ishkur hunches down. "I'll sneak close. Then, when the charges run out, I'll sprint and be down the hole before Victor's casting is done."

"The whole way is flat packed dirt. Moving without cover will burn through the charges too quick. You wouldn't get halfway unseen." Haden curls his purple lips. "You plan on enhancing for the sprint?"

"I know your mystic wool won't mute my verdant glow, that's why I'll wait to sprint enhanced."

Haden frowns. "Can you even taboo tap enough power for that distance?"

"Of course." _Stupid question._ "I've recovered enough for almost a minute of full body buffing and maybe three for just my legs." Ishkur rubs his fingers together. "I could run there and back dozens of..." _Oh, not so stupid._ "Times." _Just told him my limits._

"So, you make it." Haden shrugs. "How can I follow into the horde that you'll have stirred up, or get her safely out without my wooly blanket?"

Ishkur lowers his head, chewing his lip.

"Subtlety, stealth, and patience allow possible success that retains the truce between Keep and Castle." Haden sighs. "Once, you had the sense of a tolerable scout. Where is it?"

_Still in me, but I'm a protector now too._ Ishkur taps his head and chest. "I saw a crusader thug and another with some of my important armor bits. Tell me you have my rerebraces tucked away somewhere too."

"Maybe one."

"Its camouflaging effect will dull my armor's shine and mute my emerald glow. Get it, my helmet, breastplate, and anything else that belongs to me."

"Nothing _I have_ belongs to you." Haden smiles. "I'll trade you a rerebrace and help your princess in exchange for committing to leading the ogre colony away." He gestures at the door. "But if you want what else has been claimed, talk to the new owners directly."

_You've hardened too, my friend._ "Which direction is the most deserted—no people—for the longest distance?"

Haden points east and smirks.

_Pit bastard._ "Aside from the ocean... and fishfolk are people too."

Haden points south. "There might be a hamlet I haven't heard about, so no promises."

"Fine." Ishkur sighs. "Get my armor piece. Then get ready for a heroic rescue."

37. Lost and Found

Gems lack context, and gold is boring

Don't woo me with jewelry

Whisper secrets instead

Knowledge that skirts the edge

I'd rather meet a friendly demon

Than marry a gorgeous prince.

—Solaris Sweetwater

Left-side pauldron and rerebrace come together, a solid silver over Ishkur's upper arm and shoulder. He flexes his right hand—covered with his matching gauntlet—and pats Nummer's hilt.

_No need to waste power._ He adjusts the velvet headband hiding his ear tips, smiling wide but with tight lips. _When I got charm._

A thin warrior wearing Ishkur's helmet sits fletching arrows in the shadow of a ballista tower. Three fellow soldiers idle around him, including a dark-skinned orc with a scar across his snout, tusks yellow as his eyes, and wolf ears twitching.

Their shade shrinks towards the outer castle wall as the sun rises. _Nemesis of my father's blood, orcs used to their females' abuse will gravitate towards any tyrannical figure to top their hierarchy._ Ishkur shudders but holds his smile, waving as he approaches. _Apparently, even an elf hybrid as leader._

"Excuse me," Ishkur says, "I require a word."

The orc grunts and says in pidgin reminiscent of Graytip, "Look at this fool, creeping up with a sly fox smile."

"Not with you, scar nose. With your skinny friend, encased in that pretty full helm."

The helmeted man stands, fingering a barbed arrow tip. "Yeah." His dampened voice drawls. "What you want?"

"I just traded bacon for this." Ishkur taps his silver arm. "With the promise that it's mystic, but without hearing the command words." He rolls his eyes. "It was a tough negotiation, so I didn't want to—"

"Stupid." The orc rises out of a squat.

_Don't play the role._ Ishkur steps up to the brutish figure, leaning in until orc tusks almost poke his nose. "Oh yes, especially when I rage." _Be the role._ He backhands the orc with bare knuckles and raises a gauntleted fist. "Hit back, _please_."

The other soldiers suck in breaths, drawing weapons as the orc rubs his pig nose and tears up.

_Respect my authority._ Ishkur snarls, and the wolf-eared warrior bows his head.

"I just want the language of your helm's mystics," Ishkur says as they glance at each other. "I'll pay."

"Elvish," says the yellow-eyed orc.

"You dogsnake shit!" The helmeted soldier throws an arrow that scratches the brute's arm. "Spoiling _my_ deal. I'll take your ration for this."

"You'll not, Mench!" The orc draws a cleaveresque axe-sword and says in pidgin, "I'll eat your liver with your balls to flavor."

"I'll still pay," Ishkur says as the human soldiers face off against the orc and commotion spreads to other groups near the wall. _No Ripin yet, thank you._ "Just let me take a closer look and make sure the headgear matches."

Mench takes off the helmet, gaunt human face matching his thin frame. "How much?"

Ishkur pats the orc's shoulder as he moves past and reaches for the crucial piece of his lost armor. "Gold, if it's a match."

Mench pulls the helmet back. "The docks are wrecked, the boats sunk, and the fishfolk impaled or scared off." He licks his lips. "How'd you get bacon?"

"Supply bag for Crossroads Keep, from your commander."

"That mutt bastard." The gaunt soldier snarls. "We're starving, and he's sitting on a pile of pork."

"Careful with your insults." Ishkur scratches under his headband. "Doesn't that mutt have some way to magic his face? I could be him for all you know."

The men grumble, drawing circles on their chests with _A_ s inside.

Ishkur chuckles. "Bacon's gone, but there's plenty else that'll fatten your cheeks. Your choice from what's left in the bag, before I take it back to my fort."

The gaunt man grins, handing over the helmet. Ishkur smiles broader and tries to slip it on. _Oops, too tight with my headband._

"Hey," says Mench. "I didn't say you could wear it."

"Don't you recognize me?" Ishkur pulls off the strip of silk.

"E-elf!" says the orc, stumbling back as the others gasp.

"Call me Commander Haden." Ishkur puts the helmet on with a sigh. "I'll consider this a gift to repay your insult."

He spins on his boot heel towards the closest section of the palisade and strides away from the soldiers' confused muttering. _Steady and confident._

"Wait!" says the orc. "You're too small!"

Don't they know? Haden's mask can disguise size.

"Yeah, Haden's mutt head was too big to fit!" says the thin man. "Thief!"

_Oops._ Ishkur taps his rerebrace and says in Elvish, "Camo." His shiny armor dulls, browning as he reaches the wooden wall.

Unfazed, the four stalk towards him, blades raised.

"What's all this?" Their purple-plumed lieutenant stomps over to them from a row of tents.

Ishkur slips between one of the regular gaps in the logs as the scar-snouted orc points his way. _Don't see me._

He jerks at a barking laugh from further along the wall.

"Peacock's chewing them out, he is." A short soldier sits up from a nearby sentry camp, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "What's the story, Mench?"

Ishkur clears his throat and says with an attempted drawl, "What you want?"

The man groans and stands, leaning out of the wall gap he occupies. "All brown and blending in, you figure out something new that helm can do?"

Ishkur grunts, stalking over, and freezes. A second sentry is lying behind the first, just inside the wall. _Thinner, but that's Ripin._ He has an arm draped over his eyes and long nose hairs that stir with fluty snores. _But where's my breastplate?_

"Mench, hello?"

Ishkur claps the man's boney shoulder and says in a whisper, "I don't want to wake Ripin."

The scrawny sentry scratches under an arm, laughing. "No worries there." He steps through and kicks Ripin's side, but that barely disrupts a snore. "See."

A large bundle is covered by a blanket between Ripin and the palisade wall. _By Gardener's grace, be what I hope._

"The lieutenant's just bullying some other slackers." Ishkur points at the bundle. "That Ripin's?"

"Yeah, why?"

"He lost a bet and hasn't paid. How much are you his friend?"

The man shrugs. "He pulls a bow string well enough, but he was an Obsidian man." His eyes narrow. "Ripin will never live that down, but at least I know what he's about." He pulls out a whistle hanging from a string on his neck. "You ain't Mench though are you? If this a prank, my lips are itchy. Better say your name, or it will be more than Peacock charging over."

_A breath to blow and all will know._ Ishkur clears his throat, and says in a low voice, "Call me... Juggernaut."

The man rests the whistle on his chin and his free hand on a dagger's hilt. "Okay, Jugs. Do I know you? Take off that helm."

_The breastplate would magnify me._ Ishkur clenches his bag of finger bones. _And its healing charges could help regenerate what I've lost._ "Never mind." _But I can't waste my glow fighting for it._ "I'll trade him later for it." He turns to go.

"That's it? Not even a bribe?" The man points at Ishkur's bone bag. "What's that around your neck? A caster's charm or what?"

"A great treasure, the loss of which would be hard to endure." Ishkur takes it off, holding it out for the soldier. "But if you're interested..."

The short man grins and reaches for the bag. Ishkur slaps the whistle out of his other hand.

"Wha—"

He head-butts, metal crunching the soldier's nose. Blood spills from nostrils, and the man's moan is cut short by Ishkur backhanding him across the jaw with his gauntlet. Knees buckle, and he eases the incoherent soldier to the ground.

"I'll take this." Ishkur drops the whistle into a belt pouch and shifts the scrawny soldier to lie parallel to Ripin. "A happy couple." He yanks the blanket off the bundle and rubs a broken skull crudely painted on his fancy breastplate. _I'll give you a good wash, later._

The curve of the palisade gives some cover, but it is a mostly open space until closer to the stone walls of the castle proper. _Speed over grace._

Fingers are pointed and heads turn, including a purple plumed one. _Mind other business, Peacock._

Flute music drifts across the yard. _Not as bad as Victor's casted shadows._ Ishkur's heart slows, and his mind numbs. _But Haden's flute still mutes my will._ The aggravated soldiers lose initiative and mill about. _Theirs too. Thank you._

Ishkur cuts away extra straps Ripin had attached to wear his custom-fitted armor. "I've grown without you." He licks his finger and rubs a blemish until it shines. "Not in girth, but in grit."

He closes it around his chest, sighing like a naked crab welcoming back its shell. The breastplate fuses with the silver arm, making his upper body, except for right arm and left forearm to hand, a tank.

The scrawny sentry groans, sitting up, and Ishkur snap-kicks his throat. _No bribe for you._ He strides away, leaving the man's choking gasp to compete with Ripin's musical snore and Haden's soul-sapping flute.

38. Bumpkin Princess

Gardener's Grace, for a nurturing heart

Merridian's Mercy, for a selfish heart

Lileth's Tranquility, for a cold heart

Phoenix's Passion, for a fickle heart

Hierophant's Faith, for a jealous heart

—Lord Icarus Path of Green

Ishkur holds open a large bag, half-filled with the dwindling food stores of the camp. Lieutenant Peacock grunts and lifts a leg-sized salmon, smoked and wrapped in cloth.

Nice, but not bacon.

Nearby soldiers unnock their bows and grumble, rubbing tummies. None are familiar. Nosehair Ripin, reed-thin Mench, the scar-snouted orc, and the others Ishkur has faced off against have been assigned elsewhere by the feather-topped lieutenant. _Under Haden's orders._

Peacock hovers over the burlap sack. "This is the last of the catch. Can we—"

"Let it go." Haden, in the guise of Abram's plain human face, shifts his polearm. "The commander was clear. The best we have left."

Ishkur clears his throat. "Keep the fish. Crossroads Keep welcomes your rats through the whore tunnel." He shrugs. "Jax the Axe prefers rodent stew."

Peacock raises an eyebrow towards Abram-Haden who nods. The officer grins, stepping away with the salmon.

Haden shifts close to Ishkur. "The sun sets soon. You ready to be bait?"

"Ranger bait for the ogres. False berserker for your troops. I'll perform well for both audiences." Ishkur shifts the bag over his shoulder, securing it there with straps to free his hands. "Just hurry to and through that tunnel."

A hundred soldiers fill the gaps and towers of the palisade with arrows nocked, except for the closest. A dozen and more turn to follow the salmon returning to the kitchen tent just outside the castle's walls.

Sometimes the small things matter.

The mystically-morphed orcelf says, "Bows back up, boys! Haden knows your faces and where you sleep!" The nearby soldiers obey, and Haden bends to Ishkur's ear. "Isn't it wonderful to need so little sleep? Plenty of time to terrorize obedience out of these pirates." He smiles with his fake-human mouth, teeth straight and lips pink. "Imagine how productive full elves would be with the motivation and drive in our hybrid hearts."

Ishkur rubs his smooth chin. "But your mother's people are dusky elves. They blush red with ambition, don't they?"

"A few, like her, posture and play at dominance over their barren land." Haden turns and spits. "But, there's no growth, because it's not true ambition. The only thing that reddens her ears is inflicting pain on those she knows. Especially family..."

Haden twists his hands around his weapon's shaft, thin lips curling off bone-white teeth.

_Not so intimidating without his tusks._ Ishkur picks up a pebble. "Lute is your family now."

Haden snorts.

Ishkur flicks the pebble, bouncing it off Haden's chin. " _I_ am your family now."

"Ishy, I will fill your fancy shoes with gravel."

"Can't." Ishkur sighs. "Ripin, that Obsidian you took in, he stole one shoe and shat in the other."

Haden's mouth twitches. "Merridian's mercy, you do manage to amuse me." The sun touches the horizon and his eyes narrow. "Game time, my brother."

"Great," says Ishkur. "Sprint to that hole while everyone's enamored with me. Sneak into the fort. If those berserkers turn on me, be ready to retreat out that way with my woman. Doable?"

Haden shrugs, pulling out a thin brown blanket, superficially like the one Ishkur left at the collapsed aqueduct.

But wool weaved too tight to see through and mystically attuned with charges to make the wearer invisible, a treasure worth a hundred times its weight in gold.

Haden settles the cloth over his broad shoulders like a cloak. "Silence is the patience that makes surprise—"

" 'Deadly.' I remember." Ishkur smirks. "Just... be quick as you can." _Motion drains invisibility effects._ "Dare to strain your blanket's mystics to the edge of visibility." He taps each of his shiny pieces of armor. "Shield. Cloak. Heal. Owl."

The air shimmers next to Ishkur's shoulder as his armor, borrowed and shiny, dulls to dirt-brown. The little aches and pains throughout his body ease while the shadows become shades of gray around him.

Poke. Pinch. _Legs._ _Strength._ Head pain flares, easing into a throb as his breastplate's magic struggles to mitigate the side effect of tapping into taboo power.

Ishkur grunts. _Good enough._ Feet a blur, he charges towards a mass of ogres in the shadow of the berserker-held fort.

Undead sailors stand together like bundled sticks along the way. Their moans rise as he rushes by, but their swipes are like oars in sand. _Slow and pointless._

He passes an ogre with an alert man-sack hanging over the hole to the whore tunnel. _Graytip?_

The bloated man shouts, and his ant-faced giant snaps its mandibles.

Ishkur stumbles over a clump of grass and taps his upper arm while recovering his footing. "Off."

His rerebrace's cloaking ceases. His enhanced legs also dim, allowing only a flicker of green light. _All eyes on me._ Without the camouflaging effect, his armor shines, reflecting the setting sun.

A thin man-sack, attached to a slouched ogre, points from the fort's far side corner.

Victor Longspear.

Poke. Pinch. _Legs. Strength._

Ishkur skirts the edge of the fort's shadow, away from the ogre magi, going around to the sunward side. _Too slow, caster._

A scrum of ogres block the front gate, impalers bare and crab hands grasping.

_Too many._ Whistle in hand, he strafes past and sprints along the keep's wall.

_Arrow slits gone?_ Twice the height of an ogre and thick enough to keep out a colony of them, the building is formidable. _Cracks._ But not forever.

Ishkur leaps.

Enhanced legs land him halfway up, where the masonry has begun breaking. His sticky gauntlet keeps him there, while his boots slide over the cracks. _Oops._

Stretched out like a man halfway crucified, Ishkur tweets his whistle. "Help!" He blinks to clear his head as his legs fade again. "Rope for food!"

The supply bag slips off his shoulder. Straps pull snug around his waist and knees, jerking his shoulder as the bulk hangs below his heels. _Pit's mercy._

Zombies swat at the canvas, tickling the soles of his feet as ogres charge over.

"Plea—"

"E'fshit!" Egghead crouches on the roof, bald head reflecting the sunset like an angel's halo as he swings the shaft of a thick pike down towards Ishkur. "Grab it."

He catches the pole, and the big berserker roars.

Uh-oh.

Egghead lifts Ishkur as an ogre slams its crab hand against the bag.

_No._ Ishkur slices straining straps with his dagger, and the ogre tosses aside the canvas sack, clicking its barbed mandibles.

"Thank you."

Face red as a tomato, Egghead sets Ishkur down beside him as the stones tremble from the troop of giants pounding below. "You sure know how to get t'em mad, E'fshit." The big man whistles a laugh through his missing row of teeth.

"Where's Cevee?"

"Having fun wi'h Spoons, oh yes."

Poke. Pinch. _Arm. Strength._

Ishkur swings a glowing fist like a viper with a steel head, but the red-faced berserker catches it. _What?_

Egghead grins, twisting until his tendons strain, despite the glowing power of Gardener and his armor's support. "Ferox rage a'ways wins."

_No._ Nummer still in his other hand, Ishkur slices with the dagger, severing an offending thumb.

Blood spurts. Egghead roars.

Ishkur slips free to meet Spoons coming up the stairs, his hands ending in hatchets.

"Oh." Ishkur holds up his dimming right arm. "So, not with Cee—"

Eyes wide with pinpoint pupils, the crippled berserker strikes. A hatchet slices into Ishkur's upper arm, cutting through linens, skin and muscle, and scraping along bone.

_Oops._ He wobbles, spraying blood as his breastplate's enchantment struggles to close the wound.

Spoons snarls with a full set of orange teeth, carving open Ishkur's thigh with his second hatchet-hand.

"Sorry, I—"

Egghead bear hugs him from behind. "Never!" The big man tucks his chin over Ishkur's shoulder. "Berserker's second ru'e: never apo'ogize for vio'ence."

Spoons clangs his hatchets together, eyes still wide and pupils almost disappearing.

Phoenix, bait my tongue with a taming pun for these wild ones.

Egghead presses his meaty lips against Ishkur's helmet. "And, quick'y hea'ing just invites more cutting." He licks the emerald-tinted lens. "Sweet and sa'ty."

"Chums!" The world blurring from blood loss, Ishkur says, "You were just teasing about Cevee. So, um, we're chums. I'll fix your thumb." _Punch line time._ "If I can't, I'll bait with it. _Chum_ the water to catch a _sturgeon_ that can sew—"

The big berserker squeezes.

_Too complicated._ "You." _Simple and direct._ "Deserved it, Pisstooth-less."

Egghead roars a laugh, releasing him. "You are funny as a fart, E'fshit."

Blood stains Ishkur's linens as the last of his breastplate's healing charge mends his arm and thigh. _Wish I_ could _catch a sturgeon or get some of that smoked salmon._

"Sun's not quite done setting." Ishkur's stomach growls, and he points over the edge. "I also had a bag of food to offer, but it didn't make it."

"Cou'd have t'rown—tossed it over wi'h your ranger streng'h, but you are too stupid." Egghead shoves him towards the stairwell down into the keep. "Your pretty princess is with Jax, safe as a sister in a room fu'l of bro'hers."

"I should... try reattaching your thumb while it's fresh."

"Why, E'fshit." Egghead picks up his dripping digit. "T'at—dat wou'd be swe'l." He pats a pouch at his waist. "Got my tee'h too, if you are fee'ing generous."

39. A New Mission

A man works hard and rests

While a woman works softly

But is never done

—Harmony Threehands

The dwarf smiles. "Your girl's been very helpful. Better than a cat at catching rats."

Cevee wears the stout cook's apron double wrapped around her waist as she weaves through the bustling common room of the keep.

Not the horrible I was expecting.

The dwarf pats a bulging vest pocket with a thick rodent's tail hanging out. "We've all taken a liking to her."

Ishkur blanches and nods, fingering his helmet clipped to his waist. "Thank you for making... good use of her, Mr Dwarf." _Dead rodent décor; better than Cevee made a whore._

"Duroken Gutpuncher, but call me Happy." The dwarf taps the smiley face tattooing his forehead bump. "And, as long as you got a path to Hildr like Jax wants, you'll be honored guests."

Cevee waves at them from across the large room and starts serving the men in the stew line. Jax is first, rocking back and forth and patting his hairy belly.

Earrings on, but no axe.

The nearby gate shakes under a sudden pounding of ogre fists, making Ishkur hop away from the wall. "Does 'honored' mean you'd get Cevee to Haden if I lead the giant bugfaces away?"

Happy crosses his over-sized arms. "You'd want the woman carrying your child to join that black heart's whore squad?" He grunts. "I thought better of you, half-elf."

Ishkur rubs crusty eyes. _I should have been better._ "I don't know that she's preg—"

"She is." The dwarf holds up calloused palms. "Whatever I was before being reborn a ferox berserker, I had something to do with midwifery."

Ishkur raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Probably animal husbandry, but my tremor sense is never wrong about an animal, or person, being with child." Happy points at Cevee. "She's early yet, but her heart is pumping in that special way."

"Well, I'm not sure it's mine."

"It is."

"Your tremor sense can't tell—"

"It is that special look in her eyes." Happy gestures toward Cevee, stuttering through a fairy tale for a half-dozen enthralled berserkers. "For you."

"I am... well, I was quite charming." _Before I got pruned._ He rubs his wrinkled arms and wiggles his seven fingers. _And pruned._

"Yeah, we got her to stutter details about your... stud night." The dwarf grins and gives a double thumbs up. "Love freely, often, and with many—a dwarven maxim."

"No, it was a one time thing."

"Shame," says Happy. "Jax heard truthfully; that one time was Cevee's first and only."

"Oh." _Queen Saugrin really got me good with that fertility curse._ "As a hybrid and host, you understand my reluctance to believe it?"

"Because you're a vagabond that doesn't want to be rooted anywhere?" Happy puffs up his cheeks and blows. "Like a seed drifting in the wind, but you never want to land."

Ishkur turns away, scratching his head. _That's not what I am, is it?_ He frowns and points at barrels with black _X_ s crisscrossing them, blocking the stairwell down to the tunnel he'd crawled in earlier.

"What's in those?" says Ishkur. "Didn't see them around this morning."

"Oh, the boom boom barrels." The dwarf rubs his hands together. "We pulled them out to make Longspear and friends feel welcome, blessed by Phoenix's embrace."

Ishkur's brows rise. _Inferno dust._ He puckers his lips, making a sound like a fart through a horn.

Happy grins to match his forehead tattoo. "Very explosive powder." He dips his hand into a vest pocket and flicks some cinnamon. "Enough to cleanse this place. Maybe collapse it, too."

Ogre clicking echoes through the keep's main door, and the men with Cevee hoot to drown it out.

Ishkur says, "Enough to blow up some ogres."

The dwarf grins, waving his hand through the flames of a torch affixed to the wall. "Pyromania is a symptom." His skin turns coppery but doesn't burn. "Not the curse."

Cursed being a berserker or a dwarf?

Ishkur grunts, pointing at a ladder leaning against the large room's outer wall. "I almost didn't make it in."

Happy chuckles. "Should've let us know you'd try scaling our stones. We'd have at least left the arrow slits clear for foot purchase. Why didn't you just come back through the tunnel?"

Ishkur frowns at two berserkers loitering near the _X_ 'd barrels and stairwell to the tunnel. "Were those men waiting to greet me?" _Is Haden in the tunnel still?_ "I'm sorry I didn't come up that way." _Or has my friend already snuck past?_ "Would've spared me Egghead's hug and Spoons' hatchets."

"Well done surviving them." The dwarf waves the guards off as he walks to them. "Get some grub, boys! I'll watch the hole."

Ishkur follows Happy. "What happens when Jax catches Hildr?" He taps a thumb against his forehead. "She's a friend and not responsible for what her demigoddess has done."

The dwarf pats a barrel. "Oh yeah, Jax _hates_ her." He growls. "But we all hate our makers, or we couldn't be made berserkers."

What sad creatures these most brutal soldiers are.

Happy traces the black _X_ marking the boom boom barrel. "But our boss went beyond hate and even passion. Jax somehow found love in that void and thus was reborn a dread walker." His gorilla arms flex, picking up the wooden container with a grunt. "The very purest love for Hildr, the host." He drops the barrel and rolls it down the stairs. "Intertwined with a most visceral hate for her demigoddess."

"What are you doing?" says Ishkur.

"Getting ready."

"For—"

"We won't be sneaking out the whore hole." Happy smiles wide, tipping another barrel over and rolling it down. "But that's what those ogres will think when they come in. And then." He claps his hands together. "Barrels, boom boom."

"What about me and Cevee?"

"There's room for both of you with us." The dwarf points at a wall. "It's hollow, a secret in the construction of this little keep. It probably won't collapse, even if the roof does." He knocks the rest of the barrels down, filling the stairwell and completely blocking the hole. "Jax wants more than just you saying where his lovely maker _was_."

_Forgive me, Hildr._ "I'm to track, to lead him to her?"

"Lead us."

Ishkur gulps. "But, the bugfaces... the ogres will follow, and I can't let them hurt—"

"They'll think we're in the tunnel." The dwarf crosses his bulging arms. "They'll go straight to your _friend's_ castle."

_Betray Haden?_ "Why would I—"

"Cevee's talked about all you've done for her people, and her words rung true to Jax's mystic earrings." Happy pulls Ishkur close and pats his chest. "Your heart is with your women: Cevee, Hildr, and the others back at that village." He shakes his hairless head. "Not with that shadowy bastard claiming the remnants of our band as his own."

Ishkur squirms free, stepping back from the dwarf. "A half-dozen years ago, five strangers were forced together by demigods to found an epic band: Lords Under The Eye. The demigods, despite each representing a different overgod, were already friends, and the strangers, as their hosts, followed suit."

"And?"

"There've been more good times than bad with Lute—"

"Your band?" Happy barks a laugh, slapping the smiley face on his forehead. "Clever acronym. Now, think of one for our platoon."

"Okay." Ishkur clears his throat. "So, my heart's either with my family of friends, or my bumpkin women." _Who probably have my children filling their wombs._ "Do I _have_ to choose?"

"Post bang, we can ditch Longspear and Haden both. That ogre magi and your fake friend will be too busy battling over the Skull Crusher band's carcass." Happy brushes the assorted pockets of his vest with his thick knuckles, dispersing a knot of spicy odors. "Now, tell us where to go after Hildr."

"I need to talk to Cevee." _Got to find another path._

The fragrant dwarf releases Ishkur. "We didn't tell your girl any plans. We figured you make the decisions for her."

Across the common room, the line for food is ending. Only the two men that were guarding the tunnel are left.

What am I, if I don't protect the woman growing my child?

Cevee scrapes the pot for the guards, but can only fill one bowl.

Happy frowns. "Should've been just enough for everyone."

Uh oh.

Cevee steps towards the last one with an empty bowl, and the man flinches back.

_Personal space issues._ "You, wait!" _Masked._ "Haden!"

Happy grabs Ishkur's arm. "What?"

Ishkur twists about but can't break the dwarf's vice-like grip. "Cancel the mission! Don't..."

The man with the empty bowl freezes, arms apart and face bewildered.

_Oops._ "Err, maybe wrong guy." Ishkur shrugs. "Never mind!"

Happy flexes ox-like back muscles, forcing him down to his eye level. "What. Are. You. Saying?"

_How do I frame this?_ Ishkur chews his lip. _I thought that guy was the disguised Haden, here to rescue Cevee from being made a whore._ "I appreciate how reasonable you berserkers are, much more than tales suggest." _Can I say anything without betraying someone?_

The dwarf's face turns a brighter red. "Understand, even without my rage, I can snap your neck before you can pinch and poke."

"Poke and pinch." Ishkur gulps. "Have to make a hole before planting the seed."

Jax comes behind Happy and tugs the dwarf around by his vest's collar. The bare-chested man opens his black-stained mouth with a hiss, flailing his hairy arms and hands in sign language.

"My boss also requests an explanation for your outburst," says Happy. "He adds that if his earrings buzz to warn of a false note, you will be tied to the boom boom barrels to get Longspear nice and close."

_Fix what I can, now._ "I last saw her, Hildr, at the village, at Waygreen." Ishkur points west. _And what I can't, later._ "Three hundred yules, straight. Just follow the cobblestones marking the old trade route. I've surveyed the whole way. Get me some paper, and I'll draw you a straight line."

"And then?"

"She said Qutain next, a town another three hundred north of there."

Jax steps close, eyes glowing red.

Ishkur raises his hand to block actual heat from the man's gaze. "She'll be long gone probably." _Ring true._ "So, we should skip the road and continue on the cobbled path to Lotus Hollow where I'll get a message from her and then—"

"I know that town. It's far and half dead."

Ishkur shrugs. "Now it's booming, and Hildr said to check in there for where she's settled."

Jax backs off, peeling lips pressed and corded arms crossed.

"Fine." Happy nods. "You have fulfilled your deal. But, thrilled as we are about that, the sun is down. Explain why you called out for Haden, or lose your protection." Grim faced, the dwarf motions over the young berserker that Ishkur yelled at. "It was almost like you thought my good friend Rosto was that bastard friend of yours?"

Humans dominate Lute, like they do Mythica and most domains. _I was the half-elf._ Haden faced down all the stares at his mixed heritage without the privilege of any human blood, and then he smiled. _He showed me how to be a person first._

The barrels are packed tight down the stairwell. _Only rats can squeeze through._

Ishkur lowers his voice. "Your man flinched, and you were short on food."

"Rosto's only afraid of one thing." Happy pulls the young warrior close. "Confess what it is, buddy."

"Girls." Rosto blushes.

"Pretty girls trip him up." The dwarf shrugs. "Not usually a problem with our locals." He chuckles.

Ishkur slaps his knee, laughing with a strained tone.

"Well," says Happy. "Explain your... confusion in detail."

Ishkur scratches his neck. _Tricky truth._ "Do you know what Haden looks like?"

"A human. They all kind of look alike." Happy pats Rosto's pink face. "But not this much." The dwarf traces a scar from the corner of the man's mouth to the tip of his chin.

_So, he doesn't know my "bastard friend" is an orcelf._ Ishkur nods. "Haden has a crown that masks his true face with those of others, and he doesn't like to be hugged."

"And you said 'mission, cancel the mission.' " Happy narrows his stone-gray eyes. "What are you two planning?"

Jax's earrings sway, and Ishkur gulps. _Wish I had my helmet on._ He pats the vital piece of armor clipped to his waist.

"A rescue." Ishkur spreads his hands. "I was worried about the wording of our deal. If you were being cruel, I asked him to help get Cevee out."

Happy gestures towards the tunnel's stairwell. "He's down there waiting?"

Ishkur nods. "Let him take her. You have proven hospitable, but I trust the castle will be safer."

Jax opens his mouth and flames lick his lips.

"No." Happy steps away from the smoldering dread walker. "We need to run. Your waiting Haden is about to taste Phoenix's banging passion."

Ishkur steps in front of Jax as fire spills from his mouth and spreads across his body. "I thought you wanted to see Hildr?" A chill travels up and down Ishkur's spine, making his teeth chatter and hands shake. _Logic-deflating fear effect._ "I was already afraid of you, but I don't have anywhere to run."

Flames quiet into hairs that glow, and black teeth shut.

"He's listening," Happy says, and Jax's eyes flare. "Be convincing."

"You've a plan to lure the ogres in and explode some while we hide and then escape together." Ishkur waves to Cevee as she helps Egghead wash dishes across the common room. "We leave the giants to fight the castle... and Haden. I scout you along the old path all the way to where Hildr left a note, a way to find her."

Eyes cool, and the glow fades from hairs and irises.

"Yes, and if I stay with you, Hildr won't run away." Ishkur forces a smile. "She'll be..."

Jax raises a bushy eyebrow, earrings still swinging from stretched lobes.

"Well, she'll be anxious, but I can make her listen. That's what you want right? To... uh, _talk_ to her?"

Jax signs, hands jerking and fingers a blur.

I've got to learn how to read that.

Happy snorts. "You've avoided—"

Cevee screams. A plain-faced soldier has a knife to her throat. _Oh no._

"Hey!" Egghead draws his bone-hilted dagger. "Who are you?"

_Haden, wearing that dull human face._ "He _was_ already here."

The soldier yanks Cevee back by the hair. She squirms, freezing when he slaps her chin with the flat of his blade and whispers in her ear.

Happy growls. Jax breathes fire.

"Wait!" Ishkur pokes and pinches. _All._ _Strength._

Blazing green, he dodges the dread walker's flaming fists and the stone dwarf's gorilla arms.

He won't hurt her. He's my friend.

" 'Leave the giants to fight the castle.' To fight me?" Haden's false face frowns. "And then hound Hildr for these obsessed curs?"

"My friend, please!" Ishkur gasps, turning with his hands raised, eyes blinking as his glow fades.

"Oh, Ishy." Haden slashes open Cevee's skirt with a second knife. "You can't help yourself, can you?" She flinches but holds her tongue as Haden's first blade presses against her chin.

Ishkur growls, stepping closer, along with fiery Jax and flexing Happy.

"Being the hero, it means so much to you." Haden probes between her legs, whispering in her ear again.

She flinches. "S-save me."

How?

"Louder, Princess Bumpkin, and say his name."

"S-save me, Ishk-kur I-inshush-hinak Isht-tar-ran!"

He's setting up a game.

"Q-quite the s-stutter." Haden shakes his disguised head. "Why would a hybrid host with a fetish for prose choose you? Why would anyone?"

"She _is_ royalty." _I have to play._ Ishkur bows and straightens. "Her family is tied to this historic place, but more importantly, I love her."

"Those earrings ringing, Jax?" Haden smirks at the dread walker. "I bet they're humming."

"I will do anything to protect Cevee and my child." Ishkur frowns. "That must be love."

Jax shakes his flaming face.

What is he denying?

"Oh my band brother, Lute's treacherous founder again and forever." Haden drags Cevee towards the tunnel. "I will be there when you sleep! My blade will kiss your throat—"

"No!" Ishkur clenches his fists. "Wait—"

Jax's flaming backhand knocks him left. Happy's stone-hard knuckles knock him right. Knees wobbling, Ishkur stumbles forward.

"Haden takes her," says the dwarf. "Maybe she's fine. Or, we kill him, and she's probably not fine. Jax says that either way, when they're gone, no more distractions from Hildr's hunt."

"Heal," Ishkur says in Elvish, tapping his breastplate.

_Pain._ His ringing head clears. _Fear._ Shaking legs steady. _Just notes I don't have to read._

"Enough!" Ishkur throws up his arms. "Everyone can get what they want most!"

Haden laughs, putting his second blade against Cevee's belly. "You don't get to win this one, _friend_! There is only my ultimatum, or I slice!"

Happy growls. "Jax believes him."

_Merridian's mercy, so do I._ He drops to his knees. "You win." _Is my friend gone, buried by my broken trust?_

Haden smiles. "And?"

Is he just a host of Lady Uostai and his mother's son?

"Haden, you are the alpha, and I am the omega." Ishkur firms his mouth. _But, surrender isn't my end._ "What's your mission... Sir?" _Not when I still have fight in my soul._

40. Boom Boom

I am simple man

I solve problems by smashing them

—Beorn Swifthammer

Egghead wiggles one thick thumb next to the other. "A bit numb, but works we'l enough." He smiles and blood dribbles from the corner of his mouth.

Cevee's eyes, those dark brown pits, wide with broken worship as she's dragged into a tunnel built for whores.

"Sor—" Ishkur winces. "Um, too bad I couldn't also fix your teeth."

What true hero allows their pregnant woman to be taken with blades at throat and belly?

"Meh." The big berserker picks up a short staff with loops of chain attached to a spiked steel ball. "It's a good reminder, and I'm happy being ab'e to use my ff'ai' again." He swings his heavy flail around. "fff'aai'h. Okay I am ss'f... I'm annoyed."

"Keep your teeth." Ishkur pats his bag of finger bones. "I'll try again, when I've refined my skill." _And shaken distracting shame._

"Are you ready to run?" Egghead says as his fellow berserkers rip away the reinforcements holding the main gate closed. "T'ink about your friend taking Cevee away. If you're angry enough, maybe Victor's castings won't cripp'e you."

_Like when I steady myself against Jax's fear effect?_ Across the common room, the dread walker pushes on a stone block, and a narrow passage opens into the wall.

"So that's where you'll be hiding," Ishkur says as Jax waves his men inside.

"Berserkers don't hide, E'fshit. We prepare in private."

One of the men points at Ishkur and passes a slip of paper to Happy, who nods. _Odd._ Another man marks a paper and does the same.

He frowns, elvish ear tips flushing green. "What's with the note collecting?"

"Bets."

"On what? Whether the roof comes down when you praise your goddess with boom boom barrels?"

Egghead smiles with more gums than teeth. "I t'ink you wi'l make it to t'e—to _da_ mounds. Victor-sack is stuck to a s'ow o'd... _sedate_ ogre. I bet you get t'at far. We'l ahead of his castings." He shrugs. "T'en— _Den_ , I bet you are impa'ed by a young giant, eager to cha'lenge for ogre co'ony contro'l wi'h your power."

"Okay." Ishkur clenches his butt cheeks. _Such a macabre bunch._ "And what do you win?"

"Points." Egghead laughs. "It is just a game. Any'hing we want, now, we are free to take. So, what could we bet for?"

_I've picked nihilistic berserkers to rampage through Waygreen Village instead of ogres._ He shrugs. "That makes a fool's kind of sense."

Happy walks over and hands Ishkur a folded letter with a familiar lute stamp decorating a corner. "Here are Haden's orders. As that bastard took your girl into the tunnel, he said to read only after you start to run. Then, catch me and my platoon on the path to that village of yours."

Ishkur fingers the paper. _A test._

The dwarf reaches into a vest pocket and pulls out a pinch of cinnamon. "Is it warded? Will Haden know if you open early?"

"I must assume so." Ishkur pockets it. "For the length of Haden's game, Cevee will be safe in his castle." _Can I be her hero again?_ "I know my... friend. Haden's got a code. As long as I abide by his rules to complete his mission, he'll play honestly. I must trust that if I win, he'll let her go free... with our baby."

The dwarf grunts. "How can he know all you abide?"

"You all are betting how far I get before failing," Ishkur says.

"Yep." Happy snorts. "No one's bet yet that you'll catch up, only how far before an ogre's impaler impregnates you."

_No faith in me, or just their typical mockery?_ "How will any of _you_ know?"

Egghead shakes his flail. "We can ask if t'eir— _deir_ horde catches up." He softens his voice and says, "Hai'l ogres. Te'l me, how far did dat e'fshit get before you pierced his pride?"

Happy sprinkles cinnamon on the top of his own bald head. "Maybe we'll even ask you, future man-elf-sack."

"Bad bets." Ishkur narrows his eyes and puts on his helmet. "There _is_ a way to win, or Haden won't smile when I lose." He grips his finger bone bag. "But, if I do fail, stop long enough in Waygreen to get the villagers running. That's assuming the bugfaces track you despite your distracting spices."

Happy nods, patting his shoulder. "Good luck, half-elf. Make it through Sarvern's mounds."

Maybe they do believe in me.

Egghead smirks. "Quick feet, E'fshit, and don't c'ench or squeeze when da impa'er dri'ls... spins. I hear it tears l'ess if you re'ax and accept it."

Ishkur sighs as the two leave him and enter the secret passage. Jax points at the arrow slits that have been unplugged and makes the sign for sunrise and then one for fire. _Memorize a few thousand more, and I can take over as interpreter._

The wall passage closes. Ishkur is alone with dozens of torches and a stairwell full of explosives.

Old friend, you better have Cevee at the hole, with ninja rope and blanket cloak.

An ogre's fist pounds, and the gate creaks against a single beam holding it shut. _Guess it will take two to power through that stick._

Ishkur sits and pats the pocket that has Haden's note instead of Lord Icarus's. _Haden must leave me a path to win, or he'd be no different than Lady Uostai... or his mother._

The pounding on the walls and gate slows and stops. Clinking fades until it is only the moaning of zombies, like a cavernous wind or a forest of trolls snoring.

Peace before a fiery dawn.

Morning light creeps into the common room through the arrow slits, dispelling shadows between flickering torches.

Ishkur stands, cracking his back and rolling his shoulder. _All will be right._ He uses the pike Egghead saved him with to leverage the latching beam off the gateway. _All right to be well._

Dropping the pike, he grabs a torch off the wall. "Come on in!"

He grips and leans back, but the thick gates don't budge or even creak. _I'm not about to waste power pulling these open._

"I am Ishkur, Ranger of Path, full of taboo power and a blushing wedding night bride! Is there any ogre that can handle my sass? Who is ready to impale my—"

"Oh, sounds wonderful!" Victor's voice is groggy. "I'll lead the charge straight into the fear and fury of Jax's fire and axe!"

Ishkur clears his throat. "Have you figured out how your sacked bulbs can tap taboo power yet?" _By Gardener's grace, they never will._ "Do you still want to know my way?"

"We're listening!"

"A deal has been made!" _Not a lie._ "I'm here, alone, to appease you, or the brave ogre that will replace you!" _Hopefully a lie._ "Come in and see, for I wish to share your bliss and certainty of purpose!" _Kind of a lie, maybe._ "No harm will come to you!" _Better be a lie._ Ishkur waves his torch, stepping over a line of powder that leads to the stairwell full of _X_ marked barrels.

Rust-tinted smoke spills in through the keep's arrow slits, and the gate's doors creak inward under the pressure of several dozen zombies. _Oh, come on._ He rests his torch an arm's reach from the powder line and jogs over. _Not one ogre?_

Whipping out cutlass and dagger, he slices at the arms of the grasping undead. "I'll not surrender to boney slaps or briny gumming! I demand a bugface's cuddling!"

The rusty smoke sticks to the zombies like bits of cotton candy or the frothy suds of a bloody bubble bath. _Such a vile application of skills._ They fill the common room. Heads stay turned towards him with what passes for their eyes following every movement he makes. _At least, it's not a malaise inducing casting._

A gray-skinned ogre with short mandibles and a bloated man-sack steps into the doorway. _Graytip._

The former soldier, worn like a codpiece, claps his puffy hands. "Longspear claims you! Come, and we will be brother-mothers."

Ishkur dances back from the stumbling zombies. _So, that decrepit ogre is discarding its necromancer because my power tempts challengers._ "Hear that Victor-sack? Your Longspear is making me its sack because of fear. But, what happens to you and your precious baby bugface after I replace you?"

The smoke cloud retracts as if the doorway inhales. The small horde of walking dead split up. _No cohesion without a casting._ Only the closest keep shambling towards Ishkur.

"I'll receive a fresh host, and still be able to birth a mighty heir!" Victor says from outside, and then an ogre's heavy clicking echoes.

_Host, really?_ "Wouldn't you womb-sacks be the hosts with your giants like demigods?" _If stealing a term, at least use it right._ "Lord Longspear of Slouching, ogre-god of bad posture!"

Graytip's ogre snaps its short mandibles together, hard and fast, lowering itself into a coiled stance.

_Finally._ Tap. "Shield." Tap. "Cloak." Tap. "Heal."

Webbed feet scraping stone, the gray giant charges forward.

Poke. Pinch. _Legs._ _Strength._ Ishkur grunts as his breastplate's effect dulls his head pain. _Bearable._

The bloated man-sack smiles wide as zombies bounce off his ogre's thighs.

In a burst of enhanced speed, Ishkur rushes to the torch flickering on the ground. _Burn._ He kicks the wood with his boot heel, and the flame spins over the line of powder. _Pop._ Sparks fly, dancing towards the barrels.

Legs a blur, he sprints by Graytip, his ogre, and Victor's undead sailors. _Bang._

Smoky shadows replace the rusty cloud at the gate. _Horde control to a soul sapper, quick and skillful._ He snakes about the room, gritting his teeth. _Like shrugging Jax's effect, I must get mad to resist Victor's talented casting._

Ishkur runs into the enveloping smoke. His sparks of anger smother on contact with its mystic power. He slows, barely dodging rotting bodies to get through the physical door as his willpower trails behind.

_Wait._ Muscles relax. Eyes lose focus. _Wait._

An ogre's crab hand swings from the side, nicking his breastplate and spinning him away.

_I can't drown in suffering._ Ishkur breathes in the enchanted smoke. _If I feel nothing._ His power fades.

Boom!

The ground shakes. Dust blasts out from the gate, knocking over the zombies crowded there like dominos.

Off to the side, Ishkur falls into a bracing crouch, coughing. "Whoa." His ears ring as darkness and malaise evaporates.

A pebble pings off his helmet. _What?_ A rock bounces by his foot. _Oh._ Ishkur flattens against the keep's outer wall as chunks of granite fall.

Like weaponized hail, the stones crush undead skulls and knock about the swamp giants' antennae.

_Victor was potent with that soul sapping._ Ishkur blinks. _Snuck up on me quick._ He pokes and pinches. _Legs. Strength._

Boom!

_Oh right._ The wall shakes, cracking. _Boom_ boom _barrels._

He sprints north as the keep collapses behind him. _Berserkers have the worst plans._

41. An Honest Betrayal

Trapped by spiked iron and chewing off its leg

The drakewolf whined and spit out its scales

"Take pity traveler, and help me," it said.

"If I do, will you promise not to eat me?"

"On my honor, I will do you no harm."

The traveler freed the beast and then was eaten.

As the man whimpered, the drakewolf said.

"My honor purrs, but my hunger growls."

—Ishkur Inshushinak Ishtaran

"Sarvern, once a city of lore and a sea of iconic blue-speckled granite." Ishkur squats on a manor-sized mound, scratching the grassy ground. "Now, a graveyard of dirt piles covered in green."

Across the crossroads, a dusty haze covers the ruined fort.

He sighs. "With one less building."

Chunks of stone decorate up to a catapult's toss from what had been the keep's common room. Hundreds of undead meander through the field of devastation while dozens of ogres dig through the rubble. Antennae twitching under the morning sun, they toss boulders like hay bales and drag out one of their fallen.

_Graytip must be a smear, if that's his ogre._ The swamp giants take turns kicking their peer, but it doesn't get up.

_An explosion that can take out ogres. How could my pregnant Cevee have escaped injury in that berserker coffin?_ Most of the walls still stand, but the collapsed roof blocks the hideaway's entrance. _I could almost thank Haden for getting her away._

Beyond the broken keep, armored specks fill the ballista towers of Pentagon Castle. _No more delays._ He pulls out and opens Haden's letter, headed at the top with the Obsidian skull and bones. No mystic power is released.

Unwarded. I really could have reviewed this inside.

A moaning zombie with glowing eyes climbs up towards him.

_Not yet._ Ishkur tumbles down the other side, away from the castle, keep, and cobbled roads.

More undead bumble around between the mounds, but no others have bright eyes. Some don't even turn when he passes by.

He smooths the letter, crumpled by his acrobatics.

" _Ishy, my friend, your mission is to get rid of both berserkers and ogres. So long as they don't return, your lovely Cevee and progeny will be safe and cared for."_

Ishkur nods. "Praise your fair play, Haden." After a stretch, he jogs at a mortal pace towards distant trees. "For this first paragraph at least." He turns until the sun is at his back and reads on.

" _I understood your betrayal of Lute as a doomed attempt to save that brownie's grove. But now, this personal betrayal is harder to comprehend. Luckily, my heritage numbs feelings. And to be fair, I betrayed you first by sending those five Obsidian soldiers. Maybe that makes us even, but to be sure, I'm telling that sacked necromancer where to catch you. He was assigned to go there before this demigod purge, anyway."_

Ishkur gulps, shaking his head.

" _Such a derelict refuge. Calling it a hamlet is too kind. That grandiose inn just emphasizes how sorry the rest of the hovels are. You failed as the brownies' hero. Now, you'll fail those pathetic humans."_

Ishkur snarls, crumpling the half-read paper and stumbles to a stop.

A sack-less, black-spotted ogre rests in the shadow of a large mound, duck feet splayed and faceted eyes bulging.

Distracted.

Its antennae twitch as Ishkur backs away, and he goes around to the other side on the toes of his boots. _Almost ran right by._ He lets out a soft sigh and jogs on.

No more ogres wait in the shadows, and the zombies thin out to nothing.

Ishkur smooths the letter. _They aren't following._ He pockets it, turning back towards the resting giant. _They all have to follow... and somehow die._

The lone ogre hasn't moved a webbed foot or a shelled hand.

"Hey, I'm the ranger!" Ishkur taps his rerebrace. "Off." The camouflaging effect drops. "Does Longspear still want me?"

Antennae shiver as its massive head turns, clicking small mandibles. _Maybe younger than Graytip's was._ Ishkur exaggerates a limp and hobbles away. _By Gardener's grace, be as dumb._ The ogre is slow getting to its feet, but snaps its mandibles louder.

"I'm so helpless and slow!" Ishkur says in falsetto.

It spreads massive arms wide and charges.

"Gah!" Ishkur clambers up the mound he's circling. _Baited._ Short grass with tough roots holds the sandy dirt in place as he scrambles, but the ogre's duck feet tears through and slips. _Hooked._

The giant's crab-like hand stretches up towards him as he reaches the top first. He swipes with the cutlass, but the blade bounces off its protective shell.

"You've got me." Ishkur drops the sword and yanks off his helmet.

The young ogre towers above him with impaler trembling.

Smirking, Ishkur holds Nummer's short blade against his own throat. "Or do you?"

Huge hands flex. Antennae curl. _Is it mature enough to understand me?_ Distant clicking echoes; it clicks back.

"If I kill myself, all you'll have is meat." _Sell it._ "I won't be Longspear's avatar-sack."

The ogre presses the black tip of its impaler against his breastplate, and Ishkur wrinkles his face at the swampy smell it projects. _Wish I could have kept my helmet on._

"Mandibles as long as your boss's means a great age. Death is coming for Longspear, probably before our little bugface could be born." Ishkur draws a bead of blood with his dagger's point. "Better to die here than be abandoned to grow a baby alone."

The giant's impaler shrinks and slides off his armor.

"But, you're young and fit." Ishkur smiles, easing Nummer from his throat. "Forget about your spotty status. Imagine the combination we'd make. Imagine leading your colony, instead of that slouching Pit-ready thing."

Clicking slow and soft, the ogre rubs a hairless head, and its implanting organ stiffens again against his breastplate. _Perfect._

"It's not even betrayal, since I'll kill myself if you don't claim me." Ishkur turns and wiggles his butt under the impaler while putting his helmet back on. "Come on. Show me what you got."

Crab hands close in, and Ishkur pokes and pinches. _All. Strength._ Full body blazing, he leaps back into the ogre, smashing his semi-armored rear against its erect organ.

Shelled hands clap together and huge slimy arms press in. Ishkur spins, slashing with Nummer and cutting deep into its bruised impaler.

Surprise.

He ducks, rolling through the giant's legs like an armadillo and tumbling to his feet quick as a brownie.

_Too much._ Gasping, he taps his breastplate. "Heal." He sighs, blinking as various pains from his head and body ease.

The mound trembles. Giant duck feet stomp just behind him.

Poke. Pinch. _Legs. Strength._ Ishkur nods, sprinting ahead towards the ruined fort as the wounded ogre clicks behind.

Dozens of the ant-faced giants still pick through debris. _Stay hidden a little longer, berserkers._ Ishkur strains his chest and lungs to blow his whistle as loud as a griffin's shriek. Legs fading, he blinks and coughs while his breastplate repairs some vocal damage.

The black-spotted ogre stomps towards him. Its short mandibles click hard and fast.

"Merridian's mercy, bugface." Ishkur clears his throat. "You're a picnicker's nightmare."

Its fellows respond, including the hunched Longspear with Victor on its waist casting smoky shadows of despair.

_Maybe, a few minutes of rationed power left._ Poke. Pinch. _Legs. Strength._

He runs, face tense and eyes wide. _I will beat this._ The necromancer's mystic malaise expands, a dark cloud speeding to meet him. _I was and will be._ He stumbles into the shadowy smoke, but keeps going at an enhanced sprint as it clings to him. _I am._

Ishkur grins. "That all you've got?" He gasps and blinks, slowing as his glow fades. _Not much left._ "I'm disappointed!"

The smoky cloud dissipates, and a different casting starts. The ogres gather, dozens strong, led by the spotted young one. _Finally._

Red-tinted smoke gathers around Longspear and spreads, sticking to the zombies. They stop moving aimlessly and turn, almost as one, towards Ishkur. _You'll follow, now._

"Be cautious, bugfaces!" Unenhanced, he runs away, and the swarm of monsters and darkness chase him. "Boom, boom! Maybe, I'm tricking you again!"

The ogres slow, maintaining a stone's throw distance from him as the zombies struggle to catch up. _That's right, big bumpkins, show your respect._

The spotted giant strains against the grip of two peers, holding it back. _Much grudge potential with that young one._ Shoulders slumping, its limp impaler still leaks ichor from Nummer's slash.

"Come on!" Ishkur jogs backwards. "Get closer, so I can finish!" He jabs at the air with his dagger, and the young ogre jerks. "Boom!" The rest flinch.

_So afraid._ Ishkur snorts. _Slaves to my bluff._

The zombie horde flows ahead of the giants, smoke-covered legs jerking forward to match his jog. _Fodder to buffer._ Ishkur slows and slices ragged rotting cloth and decomposing skin.

Seconds to the mounds, but minutes to the trees.

He hops away from the undead. Rubbing fingers together, he chews his lip.

Not enough power to super sprint all that way.

In a wave, the ogres straighten. _Oh no, don't get confident_. They snap their mandibles louder, and louder, while rattling their heads like demonic baby toys.

A sudden chill makes his hair stand on end. _Ah, the dread walker survived._ "Is that Jax's fearful rage affecting you?"

The center of the horde stalls, while the sack-less ogres at the edges keep marching with composure.

Must be the limit of Jax's range.

Ishkur turns from the mass of monsters, pulling out Haden's letter. _You better have Cevee safe, old friend._ Undead moan, and giants stomp. _Tell me something useful, please._ He sprints without enhancement, and sparing glances, he reads.

" _Will you write to your bark father about this? Spend your last gold quarter so some bumpkin, a domain away, reads your diatribe in Elvish rhyme to a plant?"_

Ishkur growls and pants. The ogres circle up, all composed, now. A dozen or so sack-less ones surge to the front of the zombies, lead by the spotted young one.

" _Well, it would be a first. None of your letters to dear father tree arrived. Our band only pretended to humor this request, but each was intercepted and read for laughs."_

Ishkur grits his teeth and almost tears up the paper. Only a few lines left to read.

" _Lord Icarus knew about the lie and made sure delivery failed, regardless of service used, or expense spent."_

He stops, the paper drops. A rush of zombies knock him down while giant duck feet circle around.

"Oh Icarus, if true, I forsake you." Ishkur pokes and pinches. "I forsake my oaths."

Everything blurs into a wet, reflective veil that surrounds him. He leans into his distorted face, mirrored on the surface of the amorphous coffin. It stretches like a blanket of gum. _I will break through._ The veil hardens, shifting into cobblestones.

Of Lute no more, and never Lord Icarus's willing host again.

Stones become bubbles, and the path splits open. _Gardener._ His face breaks through into a pond of lilies. "I serve only you, my overlord."

PLAYER PATH CREATED.

The vision pops, and power spills into him, filling an expanded reservoir. _By your grace, upgrade accepted._

Visceral reality returns with the stink of rotting seamen, and the shelled hands of the spotted ogre wrapping around his breastplate.

"I've broken the veil to claim my missing lord's mantle," says Ishkur.

The ogre clicks small mandibles as it lifts him up from the scrum of undead.

"Greet me as Avatar Ishkur Path, you tar-splattered bugface."

Poke. Pinch. _All!_ A double flow of power makes Ishkur flare verdant. _Strength!_ Body tingling with applied mystics, he leverages and cracks the wrist-thick fingers binding him in a burst of violence. _Strong as a berserker, now._

He falls, and the spotted ogre kicks. _Nope._ Ishkur catches the webbed toes with Nummer's point and runs the blade across the giant's sole. _I'm done playing._ With the ease of a cleaver through a melon, he slices the huge heel's tendon.

Full body blazing and armored head down, he charges through the zombies like a bull through brush, breaking brittle bones against his helmet and fist while Nummer slices along the thigh of a fresh ogre in his way. Crab hands snap at air as he gets clear with verdant-powered legs a blur.

Half-again faster than before, he breaks line of sight among the grassy mounds and gasps. Power fades, and he blinks to ease the dull headache his breastplate's healing effect still can't erase.

_Okay, what's changed?_ He taps his rerebrace. "Cloak."

His armor greens to match the ground as he climbs a mound, slow and low, like a lizard.

_Breathing still disrupts my power and using it still strains my brain, but now I've got more to draw on and can drink deeper._ He rubs his fingers together _. Forsaking Lord Icarus weakened the veil between Gardener and my soul, but I'm no demigod._

"Thank you, Haden." Ishkur sneers. "I may never have had this breakthrough without your vindictive note pricking my oaths."

Scattered ogres mix among the wandering zombies, moving toward the first trees of the forest, while most of the horde creeps west along the cobbled path.

Straight to my Waygreen Village of bumpkins.

Ishkur salutes a distant Victor Longspear, palm-up and fingers curled. The slouching ogre magi moves along the road just behind several pods of sack-less guards.

He sighs, dropping his hand. "Well done playing us all, my treacherous friend."

_Too easy, and I'm Longspear's new womb-sack. Too hard, and the horde ignores me to keep after fort and castle._ Ishkur frowns. _Just right, and they're off to Waygreen, like Haden maybe told them to._

"But, I still got to buy time for the berserkers to get in front."

He rips some grass up by the roots and pitches the clump over the side, hitting a zombie's shoulder. The undead man pauses and moans.

"What are you, a philosophy cow, puzzling meaning out of hay? It's just grass, you barnacle-loving castaway!"

Zombie eyes glimmer. _Wakey-wakey._ It points up at him, snarling what could be words if it had a working tongue.

Ishkur sits up and picks at a bit of blue-gray stone sticking out of the dirt. He blows, and it sparkles. _Worked granite._

Closing his eyes, the mounds become buildings. The space between them becomes streets, bordered by exotic vendors and packed with people. _Sarvern, how great were you?_ The ground trembles. _Before your fall?_

On all sides, giants climb. Ogres, not the titans of Sarvern's past, and they come with one snarling zombie. _Follow, follow me again._

Poke. Pinch. _Legs! Strength!_

Ishkur sprints down and through the encircling force, dodging a bone thin arm and several trunk-sized ones.

Victor says, "We made a deal for you!"

_Oh Haden, you bastard brother._ Ishkur slows.

"And for your friends of raging Red!" says the pale caster-sack, cradled to the groin of his aged ogre as it charges around the mound. "Purchased, all!"

Keeping the berserkers is within this game, too? You've earned your lady's mantle, Haden Play.

"Two fists of ogre pods chase those berserkers now, straight to that helpless hamlet that orcelf says you care so much for!"

_That many._ Ishkur gasps, blinking. "Good to know my friends of Red escaped your siege!"

Dozens of giants crowd towards him.

"I'll meet you there!" _All together, that's over a hundred bugfaces._ "Don't forget your zombie horde!"

Poke. Pinch. _Legs! Strength!_ Ishkur dances away from arms the size of logs and runs towards a cloud of dust. _Those farmers better have at least a watch tower up._

Ishkur catches the mob of ogres chasing the berserkers on the cobblestone path.

Sweat leaks from the bottom of his breastplate and his legs blaze verdant. He skirts around them like a tiny race horse passing a stampede of giant draft horses. _Almost empty._ The trees are too sparse to shade him, and gleaming armor almost outshines his legs.

The giants' webbed toes kick up stones that have survived nine hundred years of neglect. Along the path's side, everything from grass to trunks, thick and thin, is smashed or splintered. A swath of destruction follows Ishkur, wide as a farmer's field, and with only one end.

He taps his armored arm. "Cloak." As the camouflage takes hold, he swerves off the cobbled path, gasping and blinking.

Poke. Pinch. _Legs! Strength!_

Dirt spits out from under his enhanced feet as he sprints. The scattered trees become denser, forming into a forest, and branches crack against his helmet.

_Gone._ The dulled glow fades, and his legs slow. _What they won't expect._ Blinking, he ducks low and turns southeast, towards the sea.

Scout skills, on.

Ishkur burns through camouflaging charges to sneak back out of the trees to sandy ground. He climbs a grass-topped mound overlooking the thoroughfare of splinters and mud that had barely been a trail at dawn. _Trade route, reopened._

Wind coming off the ocean stirs the grass and shifts a matching mystic pattern covering Ishkur's armor and linens. _About done._ The last cloaking charge ends, and his dulled metal brightens under the sun. _Good enough, now recharge._ He pats his rerebrace and jogs down to the shambling line of undead that are en route.

No necromantic shadows darken the day or brighten their rotting minds. The shells of men follow the shells in front of them with tenuous instinct.

The line stretches thinner. More and more of the undead wander off, many missing limbs.

Ishkur passes the crawlers. Most don't bother to moan. None have the energy to swipe at him.

He jogs and passes clumps of them, still stumbling along with two feet. One with a wide brimmed hat lifts a skeletal arm.

"And who were you?" he says.

It tilts a face missing a jaw and hisses.

"Hopefully, not a singer."

No giants. _Even with womb-sacks, they're too fast when I don't enhance._

A yawn stretches Ishkur's face, eyelids nearly closing. _No rest. Only way I can beat them._

He pulls off his helmet and rolls up a linen sleeve. His skin greens in the sunlight, absorbing some energy, but his stomach still grumbles.

The crowd of undead thickens ahead, while a cloud of darkness hovers above them. _Bugfaces stopped already? I suppose daylight's too tough on them._

Ishkur goes off-road until beyond the destructive swath and strips his recharging armor off. "Sorry, but I don't have a blanket." He buries the pieces under leaves and branches and then scouts the sprawling ogre colony.

Giants with wide-eyed man-sacks on their groins circle the camp. _Sentries._ Ishkur eases away from one leaning against a half-broken fir tree. _Longspear's a proper commander._

The ogre sentry snags up a zombie wandering by with its massive shelled hand. It twists an arm off like the wing of a roasted chicken, and mandibles strip flesh from bone.

Keeping the bugfaces well fed.

Slow as a lazy snake, Ishkur circles all the way around. Just over a hundred fully mature ogres are camped, with dozens of man-sized babies wandering about. A third of the adults have womb-sacks. Of them, Victor and some scaly fishfolk are the only ones not bloated.

Won't be Waygreen anymore. The shrine of Black will feast on the offerings of Longspear's colony, and my efforts will be worse than undone.

A fly buzzes around his cheek as he fills a water skin at a trickling brook. He swats and misses, but it does fly off.

_But, maybe._ Ishkur nods, making a three-fingered fist. _All we have, just may be..._

He finds and puts his armor on. _Lead them onward, Jax; run through the day._ He gulps half his water skin and stretches a cramped calf. _I'll catch up._

42. Platoon Run

Adventuring bands must learn crowd control

Or hording foes will wipe them out

As sure as the coming tide flattens sand

—Kreig Charleton

Ishkur pulls off his boot and sticks his finger through a hole in its heel, ruined by a week and a half of numbingly fast travel. He packs in some oak leaves and slips it back on.

A shrinking half-moon dominates the night sky, but a monstrous campfire rules under the canopy. Several trees worth of wood burn fierce enough in the clearing to warm Ishkur hiding in the brush.

The platoon of berserkers are drunk on something that's making them dance around the fire while mocking a lone ogre scout circling their camp. _Not the soldiers I want._ Ribs are more defined than abs on all those with shirts off, including Jax. _But the soldiers I have._

The ant-faced giant snaps mandibles and tosses a boulder. Jax flames on, and with fire pouring out of his mouth, he catches it.

What?

The rock is half the hairy man's size, but he doesn't miss a step and heaves it back, hard enough to bounce it off the ogre's chest when it fails to catch.

Ishkur shakes his armored head. _How are these fools of rage not more exhausted?_

The ogre clicks and runs away as the berserkers howl and mock.

Taking off his helmet, Ishkur stands and taps his camouflaging rerebrace. "Off."

The fire starts to reflect off his shiny armor, and the travel worn berserkers stop dancing.

"Ho, E'fshit made it." Egghead hugs Spoons. "You won, buddy!"

A kind of choking cough comes out of Spoons' mouth, and he shakes leaves and twigs out of his wild mass of hair.

Pain?

The man claps together the hatchet blades sticking out of his wrist stumps, pinging them with frantic abandon and coughing louder.

Or joy?

Egghead jogs to Ishkur with a toothless grin and gestures towards his crippled companion. "After we went in da wa'l safe, Spoons bet you'd make it. On'y one dat did."

_Didn't think that wild man cared much about me._ Ishkur gulps, patting his breastplate. "Any food to spare?" _Guess I've earned respect._ "I have never been so hungry."

Egghead motions to Happy, standing next to the furnace of a campfire. "E'fshit says he's hungry!"

Coppery skin glistening, the dwarf cook chortles. "We're already chewing our shoes, half-elf!" He slaps the empty pockets of his vest, loosely covering his flat belly. "Your hamlet better be stocked, or my boys will pick the fattest local for the spit!"

The other berserkers nod and grumble. Jax slaps the side of his axe blade and gives a thumbs up with a black-toothed smile.

"I've already killed the fattest!" Ishkur shrugs. "The next plumpest is his daughter, but you will not harm her!" _Especially, if I also made Kimona pregnant._

Happy strides over, rubbing the smiley-faced bump on his forehead. "Careful with your dictation. We are at our limit. Rage has never come easier, but our bodies are strained. Make us lose our temper, and the rage might kill us before the ogres catch up."

Egghead sticks a strip of leather between his gums. "We are near, yeah? I have been counting da yu'es."

_Yous?_ Ishkur massages his temples. "Do you mean yules?"

"Yeah, yuu'ees." The big berserker spits out the leather. "Day after next and vi'lage hospita'ity, right?"

Ishkur pulls off his boots and the oak leaves fall out. "Sure."

The dwarf picks up the worn through shoe. "Egghead, take this and patch it with some of that really chewy leather."

The big berserker grumbles, but he takes the boot over to a stack of small packs.

Happy says, "With my stubby legs, I catch up to my rage-brothers after sunset." He cracks his over-sized knuckles and smiles. "But I've more endurance than them, mostly full-blooded humans. A gift of my race, I've denser reserves to burn."

"Good for you," says Ishkur.

Happy snorts. "And for you. I may be the only sane one of this bunch when we arrive."

The young berserker, Rosto, holds a torch up to his long facial scar and takes a swig from a flask. He swishes a moment and spits into the flame, flaring it into a blaze. Cheers explode and taper off to boos as the fire shrinks. With a roar, he bottoms up the flask and spills it.

Careful.

Rosto coughs and flames leap to his shirt.

Stupid.

The burning young man laughs, rolling to put out his fire.

"Wow." Ishkur chuckles. "Is his nickname Roasted Rosto?"

Happy frowns. "This is my fair warning about the state of my fellows and how much worse they may get."

Ishkur thumbs his ear tips. "Okay." _At least that old pyro, Hoyne, should like these raging fools._

"Tell your farmers to be mindful and kind. Hurt feelings, perceived slights, the tap of a hat at the wrong moment will mean spilt blood."

_Tricky._ "Okay."

The dwarf leans close and says in a whisper, "What _is_ the welcome we should expect?"

Ishkur forces a smile, patting the helmet clipped to his side. "I get you covered under hospitium, and it'll be fine." _Sell it._ "In exchange, they'll want us to stay and fight with them." He gulps. "To hold out against Longspear, and then we can carry on after Hildr as I promised."

"Oh?"

"If you're brave enough," says Ishkur.

A log splits, center burned through, and an end rolls out of the fire. Berserkers cheer, and Happy charges over and punts it back into the hellish flames.

Another cheer and then a man stumbles into another and collapses like a marionette with strings cut. _Fainted?_ Ishkur hurries over as Jax drags the man to several others already laid out and snoring.

Ishkur flexes his seven fingers, approximating the sign to offer help. _Cursed handicap._ The dread walker yawns and lies down. _Was that a yes?_

As if that was a signal, roughhousing stops, and yawns spread. Egghead leads Spoons over, and they collapse at Ishkur's feet.

"You okay?" Ishkur shifts his foot from under the wild man's hip, and Spoons rolls back on it. "Hello?" Egghead starts to snore like a bear, and more bodies pile around Ishkur. "Are you all a litter of puppies?"

Someone barks, and scattered snickers become snores. _Apple would call this tribal acceptance._ Ishkur twists out of weak ankle grips and hops free. _Will it hold when they start dying?_

Happy squats nearby with a pickaxe over his shoulder. The dwarf keeps his rear to the fire, and his eyes on the shadows.

"An ogre scout returned once on the fifth night." Happy flexes his oversized arms. "Maybe an hour before dawn." He stands with a grunt. "There were seventeen of us that left the keep's walls." The dwarf rubs the point of his pick, shoulders slumping.

_Now sixteen._ Ishkur says, "Did it get away with—"

"We caught up to that daring giant and ripped it apart like dogs on a pregnant cow."

Ishkur wipes his brow. _No ogre ferox then._ "And your man?"

"Already hanging from its crotch, slowing the swamp beast for us to catch up." Happy presses his thumb against forehead. "If our man wasn't too tired for a rage, then things would've ended much different." He claps his hands. "Anyway, Longspear's replacements have been more cautious and haven't come back later, but it's nice to have your sharp eyes on watch, just in case another ambitious ogre does."

Ishkur stifles a yawn with an armored knuckle. _Days overdue for some human-style sleep._ "Thank you for the trust." _Dangerous when waking dreams become delusions._ "Will you stay up with me? Help keep my eyes open?"

Happy chuckles. "I'll listen as long as you keep saying interesting things." He tosses a log into the campfire and lies down with the others. "Go on, half-elf, or I join the snoring chorus."

"What I said before, in exchange for hospitium—"

"We'll protect any house that feeds us." The dwarf taps his forehead. "Your fluty false friend should've remembered that before cutting our rations from his castle."

_Oh._ "Sorry."

"No sorries!" Egghead raises a hand out of the mass of hairy men. "Speak about da young vi'lage women!"

Grunts of approval spread between the berserkers. _Were their snores just to annoy me?_ One farts. Some snicker, and a few others fart louder. Ishkur sighs as they bicker about the quality of the flatulences.

_Just need a story to compete with their stink._ "I've prepared their maidens, a few I may have gotten pregnant, but the rest should be good to hold a spear steady."

Some laugh, a few even clap.

"How many are sti'l maidens den?" says Egghead. "Some of us have had not'ing but whores. A virgin f'ower wou'd be such a specia'l t'ing."

Happy punches the big man. "You've got Spoons to keep you warm at night. What you need some poor girl for?"

Egghead chortles and wrestles into a cuddle with his handless friend. "Aye, dis da tru'h."

_Truth?_ Ishkur blushes green. "I mean, I literally trained a squad of young women into a sort of watch. We had a problem with gremlins and most of the men got conscripted—"

"So, you stepped up as the hamlet's stud." Happy yawns. "Nice to see humans embracing free love, and nice of you to offer us your harem."

More grunts of approval and hooting.

Ishkur says, "Hospitium doesn't mean... we need to be diplomatic. I sort of killed a few of the older bumpkins. It was good for the village, but they're raw about it."

"What a warlord." Happy claps. "You chased off the Obsidians, claimed the village, and killed anyone in your way. Why was it you left? I forget?"

Ishkur clears his throat. "A number of dumb reasons, and now I return with starving berserkers, just ahead of horny ogres."

"We're horny too." Egghead chuckles. "Now, speak on about your women. Are dey a'l l'ike Cevee?"

_Not Hildr._ "There's Kimona, the plump daughter of the fat man I killed. She kept the crusaders content and away from the maidens."

"But not from you," Happy says.

"Right, well actually, she sort of recruited the girls to help me that night with... my problem." Ishkur pulls off his gauntlet and rubs his hands together. "One with pigtails that dances like a naughty angel. One with the arms of a blacksmith and hips like an anvil. One that's shy. No stutter, but fierce parents and a druidic little sister. That's all those I can remember from that night, but there were a lot of bodies coming in, so I might've missed one."

"You are da greatest hero of dis era." Egghead claps. "I wi'l never mock your ha'f-manhood again."

Ishkur stiffly nods and walks from the mound of men. _Too crude to be my tribe, but I can pretend for the sake of my bumpkins._

He circles the clearing as the campfire's shadows liken the forest to a hellish battlefield. _Delusion or premonition?_

The fire's heat stays like a furnace, but its light drops below blazing. _Red versus black to protect green._

Ishkur unties his bag of finger bones and picks out the ones from his right hand. _I need a sign, Gardener._ He drops the bones into his gauntlet. _Can we make a stand together?_ He taps his breastplate and says in Elvish, "Heal." _Or is it crazy to try?_

He slices with Nummer and then pokes and pinches with a bleeding hand. _Fingers._ Shortened fingers glow. _Create!_ Gritting his teeth as the nubs spurt, he slides the form-fitted gauntlet on. _Hand. Heal!_

Teeth pin lips closed. _Mold my flesh._ Eyes squeeze shut. _Grow back._ Head thrashing. _Pain and wetness._

Blood leaks out, and Ishkur lowers his gauntlet, gasping. "Success?" Red fills to the brim and dribbles over the side.

He collapses to a knee, and Happy calls out something, but his ears aren't working right. _Fuzzy. Hurts._

Power depletes, and the breastplate's mystic charge runs out. "Did—did it work?"

Dwarven arms are holding him up. "Did what work?" says Happy. "Sleeping while on watch?"

Ishkur flexes his gauntlet, and all five finger joints move. "I did it." His hand throbs, and more blood leaks out. "I'll be able to grip Endraker, properly."

Happy frowns.

"And properly hand sign to Jax."

"Impressive, but you're bleeding too much," says the dwarf. "Take that off, and let me bandage it."

Ishkur tugs and winces. "It's stuck."

"I'll help." Happy grabs.

Ishkur screams, ending the dwarf's yank. _What prayer's answer is this, my overgod?_ He makes a fist and whimpers. _Worse than wrinkled skin._

He taps his breastplate. "Heal." His armored hand bleeds a bit as he unclenches and then it stops. "A good try. I thought my armor's help would be sufficient, but my flesh has regrown wrong and fused to my gauntlet."

Frowning, Ishkur bows his head and chuckles. "A clown's failure. Perhaps a sign of what's to come." _We are too weak._ "We'll warn the village and keep on going. I expect Victor Longspear will catch a few stubborn bumpkins and probably settle there."

Happy snorts and raises an eyebrow. "Your hand works, right?"

"It's a great location with some swampy forest around. I'm sure those bugfaces will get steady traffic to fill their impaling quota and raise up a splinter colony in no time."

The dwarf slaps Ishkur's gauntlet. "If you can make a fist with it, what more does it need to do?"

"Waygreen Village... could've become Waygreen City one day." Ishkur shakes his head. "Now it'll be Ogreway Cemetery. The end of every—"

Happy backhands Ishkur's face, knocking him on his butt. "Wake up, half-elf."

The dwarf punches, and Ishkur catches the large fist with his armored hand. Blood leaks out. Five fingers grip.

"I guess it does work." _And can be Gardener's answer._ Ishkur spits red. "I will make it work." _But, blood will flow._ "If you have all the meat you can cook, how fast can your men recover?"

"Phoenix's rage aids digestion." Happy shrugs. "But, still a few days. If your country bumpkins care for us, we'll be ready in time for Longspear's main force. You better have something special planned."

"Pickled beets on toast, equine steak, and a side of kale with vinigar."

The dwarf taps his forehead's smiling tattoo, while he frowns. "Grow up. We can't be who we were. I'm not a midwife, and you aren't a jester." He crosses his arms. "Swamp giants, backed by a necromantic ogremagi and zombie fodder. What's the plan?"

"Jax—"

"Don't rely on our dread walker. His rage is the mightiest, but won't last long enough, and Jax is no tactician. The rest of us... even one on one, a ferox stands poor odds against a grown ogre. How will you stop a hundred?"

Ishkur smiles with bloody teeth. "Carefully."

43. Waygreen Welcome

The realms are mutable

The color of the sky

To the shape of the land

It can change, Scar to Sea

Mythica to Cloden

Don't trust towers to stand

When a new age begins

Everything is like sand

—Lord Blitz Truth of Blue

A tripod of logs stand in the middle of a field of budding crops, backing familiar farmhouses with chimney smoke puffing. Under the logs' apex, a bucket-sized bell swings in the breeze with a thin ringing rope hanging down to the dirt.

Ishkur rubs bleary eyes and turns from the late afternoon sun. _Just that lonely thing._ He stomps his foot on an uncovered cobblestone, marking where the ancient trade route bridges forest and field. _Not a tower or even a single palisade pole._

Jax pants a few strides back, adjusting the massive greataxe strapped across his hairy shoulders. The berserker leader jerks his hands at the double line of brutish men, leaning against each other just behind him. They show teeth and nod.

_Hurry, Happy. Move those hog legs._ Ishkur firms his mouth and slips on his helmet. _I need your brothers tame and on task._

"We've made it to Waygreen Village in good time." Ishkur salutes them, silver gauntlet streaked with the rusty brown of his dried blood. "Well done, sons of Phoenix's passion." _That could work._ "Now, disarm for hospitium." _S O P P, Sopp's Platoon._

Jax slips off his axe, black smile wide and hands signing to the side.

Egghead stumbles forward. "Too weak. Need meat." The big berserker slips off his heavy flail and other gear. "Now."

The rest grumble and drop helms, weapons, and anything else they've hung onto for the trip.

Ishkur gulps, stepping back from the growling men. "Wait here in the shadows while I get things ready."

He jogs to the tripod and ducks under it. _At least those bumpkins did something._

The berserkers emerge from the woods. Ishkur waves them off. They slow but come on, standing straight and scratching ribs.

_Shit logs._ "Guys, you've got to listen!"

Children squeal and scatter out of neighboring fields, running like mice from hounds.

"See? Not the right first impression."

Jax nods, and the other men bow their heads. Ishkur sighs. Grabbing the ringing rope, he yanks.

Snap.

The broken length of twine drapes over his shoulder. _Really, another silent bell._ Ishkur growls, tossing the frayed rope aside. "If you must follow, then you must obey."

Jax signs and Egghead says, "We wi'l eat soon, even if we must eat you." The big berserker chuckles. "Do you taste sweet?"

"There's a vampiress you could ask, except I cut her head off with a shovel."

In the field across the village's street, an old man stumbles away from two mules harnessed to a plow. Jax points at the equines, and his body hair starts to flicker.

"No." Ishkur waves towards a grand building where the street forks. _In Daisey's honor._ "Three States Tavern should have tender horse in their stables." _I spare you mules._ "But, please stay here. I can—"

Black teeth open. Fire spills out. The berserkers hoot and howl. A flaming Jax leads them charging towards the back of the large tavern.

Ishkur chases after, stomping out smoldering crops. "Merridian's mercy!" A wave of fear shakes him. "Jax, no!"

Wailing villagers run from the tavern and homes in an animal panic. _Grant me a balance of rage and patience._ A horse's cries drown out children's screams. _By Gardener's grace._ A burning mare breaks through the stable door with a fire-spitting Jax and a hatchet-handed Spoons just behind.

Ishkur grits his teeth, steadying his knees against the mystic fear effect. "This is _not_ proper hospitium!"

Spoons leaps and slices the horse's flank. She slows to kick, and Jax bathes the equine in fire spewing from his mouth.

_That sound._ The mare leaps and twists as the flames sizzle through her hide. _Like a baby crying into a broken horn._ She lands on her side, and Spoons chops downwards in a blur of steaming blood.

"She's still alive!" Poke. "Stop!" Pinch. _All! Strength!_

Whole body blazing verdant, Ishkur knocks salivating berserkers aside to reach the horse's head. _By Gardener's grace, return somewhere peaceful and green._

Crack.

Ishkur releases the head, now loose on a broken neck. He gasps, and his glow fades.

The burly men push past him, tearing into the smoking meat and laughing as the sizzling grease burns them. _Truly of Red._

The fear is gone, and Jax's fire has returned to black teeth and chest hair. _Only a horse. I can fix this._

"Don't kill anything or anyone else." Ishkur slaps Egghead's shoulder. "You hear me?"

The bald berserker sucks on a slab of thigh. "Cou'd you chew dis for me?"

_Have I adopted a pack of baby devils?_ "Have your mate chop it into little bits." He points at Spoons who is cracking open the horse's ribcage with his bladed hands. "I'll be back."

The street is empty, but some locals poke out of distant windows and tall grass. Ishkur waves at them and then stops at the well and pulls up a full bucket.

"Okay, bumpkins!" He takes off his helmet and drinks deeply. _Taste's like the chill of a titan's tomb._ "Listen up!" He points. "Keep clear of those men until the dwarf arrives, or they may eat you too!"

Some hands wave, and a frizzy haired woman steps out. _Sallai?_

Ishkur hurries to the house neighboring hers that had been his headquarters. _Not now._ She walks towards him with an arm covering her belly, almond eyes wide and butterscotch skin shining. _Not yet._

He leaps onto the porch and pounds on the latched door. "Ella, open up. It's Ishkur!"

"Sir?" Moving shades, the bushy-browed young woman sticks her head out a window. "You look... older."

Ishkur pokes and pauses. "Yes. Now, please, I need to get something."

Ella unlatches, and he bursts in. Everything has been rearranged except for the table. Decorated with spring flowers and woven cloth, it is still atop the trapdoor.

"Have you or anyone been down there?" He points at the basement's entrance.

Ella shakes her head and scratches her brow. "A lot's happened, Sir, but I didn't let anyone open it."

"Good girl." Ishkur moves to pat her shoulder, and she shrinks back. _Fear or filthy gauntlet?_ "Is the watch still together?"

She tilts and dips her head. _Is that a nod?_

He narrows his eyes. "Gather them, and keep calm even if..."

"If what, Sir?"

"I'm going to commit this place to a path of action." Ishkur slides the table towards the back door. "Got a shovel?"

Ella gulps. "Miss Wish did come in for a while. She'd go under the table and talk, but Little Mayp never answered." She picks up a fire poker and shakily hands it to him. "We figured the girl dried up. That happens when ghouls starve, right? They turn to dust?"

Ishkur jams the poker into the crack at the edge of the trapdoor. "Tell me about Sallai, and did Kimona make it back?"

"Yeah. They had such a crazy story about giant bug men. Distracted Wish from the basement, and she ran off to live with the brownies."

Ishkur pries open the door with poker and dagger. "Go, and keep your distance from those wild men out there. They're as likely to eat you as rape you."

Ella gasps, stumbling outside with hands holding up the edges of her dress. _Stay safe, pickle girl._ He puts on his helmet. _And don't spread my berserker exaggerations too much._

Tapping the emerald-tinted lens, he says in Elvish, "Owl." The sunlight bouncing into the basement's hole brightens, and the darkness becomes shades of gray.

Bones are scattered on the floor, mixing with the remains of tattered clothes. _That old man from the gremlin fight, all ate up._

"Mayp?" Ishkur climbs down the ladder with Nummer poised to stab. "You still chained up?"

A dog-sized shape draped in shreds of cloth is curled around a shadowed pole. _Endraker._ The weapon claims the basement's center, and his helmet-enhanced sight can't pierce the smoky darkness covering its length. _Still active with that Pit-cursed soul battery conversion._

Dodging a hanging skeleton, he steps close and tugs on a length of chain connecting the scrawny body to his stuck polearm. "Mayp, you still... alive?"

A foot tap rolls the little ghoul's head. Her tongue flops out like a dead eel, and her half-open eyes have a comatose glaze.

A trick?

He drags her until the chain is taut and brushes her sallow cheek with the flat of his dagger's blade. She doesn't flinch, blink, or breathe.

"Just in case." He leverages Nummer to unpin the links he'd hammered to lock her in place and unwraps the chain. "Let's move you over here." A few loops around the ladder and there's not enough length to reach back to the pole. "Perfect."

A draft blows down from the trapdoor, and decorative skeletons sway. _Dancing._

Ishkur clenches his fist and blood leaks down his wrist. "Okay Mayp and boney friends, bare witness to foolishness or greatness." He pauses a finger's width from his cursed polearm. _Oh caster smiths, don't let this gauntlet fail me now._

He grips and doesn't faint. He yanks but the pole is stuck fast. He pokes and pinches. _Arm!_ _Strength!_

The shadows expand out towards him. He grimaces and tears his weapon free.

"Endraker!"

Mayp joins his shout with a spastic scream, and the darkness of the Pit envelops them. No fading glow from his verdant power or any shades of gray, just an absence that mixes blindness with depression.

"Sorry, Merridian, but your beacon won't make this Way- _black_ Village."

He kicks past Mayp and follows her chain to the ladder, breaking it free again. _Little ghoul's lucky I need Miss Wish's support._ Grunting, he drags her hissing and thrashing up after him.

"Calm down, girl. At least your Pit-cursed eyes can see."

Mayp claws at his legs, nails breaking skin through his linens.

He twists Endraker away from her. "Careful or what's left of your soul will be consumed." _Even if hers wasn't half-stretched to Pit, it's not potent enough to replace what this shrine stole._ "Careful, or I'll lock you down there again!" _Without a soul to replenish its epic charges, Endraker is more ravenous than a starved ghoul._

She hisses and settles.

Ishkur kicks the trapdoor shut, and with polearm tapping about, he exits out the back door. _I was right about disrupting this death shrine._ He leaves the pillar of darkness triggered by retrieving his weapon. _A mighty beacon, wearing my house like a shoe and calling all loyal to Merridian to defend this claimed place of power._

The pillar casts no shadow, but the house still does. Endraker smoking in one hand and a rabid little ghoul in the other, he steps out of the shade and basks in the setting sun.

Mayp claws at the chain around her neck. "Bad-bad man. Left me so-so long."

"Look, I've regrown a few of my fingers, but fused them to my gauntlet. It constantly bleeds and fever grips me if I don't mystically heal at least once a day." He makes a fist, shaking until it drips. "When I close my eyes, I can still hear the crunch when you and your sisters bit them off. So, forgive my rude behavior."

Mayp reaches for his polearm. "Put back."

He steps up to the fence of Daisey's corral. Brown water fills the trough, and the hay is old and muddy. _You were a good mule._

Ishkur ties Mayp's chain to a post and pats the ghoul's head. "Stay."

She licks the blood at the edge of his gauntlet and spits. "Too fresh. Die more."

"How do you feel about zombies?" He smiles. "Their souls are already Merridian's, but their flesh is ripe and rotten."

Mayp's long tongue winds through pointed teeth with a soft hiss. "I am hun-hungry."

Ishkur walks around to the street side. A few dozen villagers stand about the well in front of the tavern. They're evenly split between facing the berserkers eating horse outside the stables and Ishkur, armed and armored with the pillar of darkness dividing the sky behind him.

"People of Waygreen!" He takes off his helmet and several gasp. "Your Protector returns!"

44. Juggernaut's Home

Heroes don't need a wage

They just need belief.

I accept their faith

As a merchant

Their prayers to play

As my payment

I accept their worship

As my duty.

—Everglenn Summerset

The day's warmth lingers into evening, but Ishkur shivers. _Got to keep it simple._ A crisp wind blows, and a torch staked in the ground near his feet flickers. _No time for drama._

He clears his throat and smiles with thin lips at a mismatched couple. In the dim light, they could be ruthless bandits as much as concerned parents.

Taimay adjusts the handle of a large cleaver sticking out of her apron pocket. Next to her, Jorkin sharpens a sickle with a leather strap. A head and shoulders taller and twice her weight, he isn't the one that chills his spine.

Ishkur breaks his weak grin to lick his lips. "As a hybrid and a demigod's host, it is understandable that I thought myself sterile, even with Queen Saugrin's fertility casting."

Taimay snorts, granite face cracking into a scowl and icy eyes narrowing.

Have I lost my charm?

Jorkin very slowly sets aside the leather strap. "What is your intent now?"

Ishkur twirls Endraker, blurring the polearm's ivy molding winding down its long shaft and trailing wisps of soul smoke. "Violence." His gauntlet drips blood, and he smashes the ground with the weapon's weighted butt.

Jorkin pulls his wife behind him. Flexing his broad chest, he holds his sickle steady in a reverse grip and his free hand forward.

"For your sake." Ishkur jams Endraker's sharp tip into the dirt and spreads his arms.

The bulky man grunts, and his stance thaws. Ishkur nods with a firm jerk and motions with his open hand. Conflict twists Jorkin's face as he sets his sickle down and bows.

Taimay sidesteps, shaking her head. "Oh yes, because fighting solves everything." She scoffs. "Such a typical male view."

"Is it?" says Ishkur. "Aren't you the one that taught the maidens martial arts?"

Jorkin coughs and winces when she jabs him with a thumb.

"For self-defense." She scowls at her husband. "Now our daughter is with child and being a 'hero' doesn't absolve your parental respons—"

"Excuse me, but there's a dwarf berserker catching up any minute." Ishkur motions to a mound of round bellied men along the tavern's west wall. "Once he has care of his especially violent fellows, I must hunt an ogre scout... for _your_ defense."

Jorkin bends to murmur something in his wife's ear as other village folks move tentatively closer, coming in behind the couple. One is a voluptuous woman with a flat stomach and a lowered head.

Kimona.

Ishkur steps to the woman, left hand reaching. "I'm very pleased Sallai and you returned safely."

Kimona straightens away from his bare hand. Even in the poor light, her eyes are puffy and red.

Am I so ugly now that I make lovers weep?

She sniffles. "I... I did a horrible thing."

Taimay turns to Kimona and hugs her. "You made a hard choice." The small woman again narrows her eyes at Ishkur. "A brave choice."

Jorkin cracks his neck. "One we may still have our daughter—"

"No!" Taimay wags a finger at her husband. "You will respect Paija's choice or sleep out here." She wrinkles her nose at Ishkur. "With these other beastly men."

_Wait, why glare at me, Ms Misandry?_ Ishkur rubs his ear tips. "I'm no beast."

She opens her mouth.

"Let's shelve whatever bumpkin nonsense this is." Ishkur waves his hand. "We must talk about village defenses, a tower and some spikes, if not a proper palisade. So, if you can gather the elders for me that would be swell." He frowns. "How many decrepits do you have left, anyway?"

Taimay gasps, and her husband's eyebrows rise.

By Phoenix, these humans are too sensitive.

Next to the couple, Kimona slowly shakes her head. "Aren't you mad that I killed our baby?"

Ishkur stumbles back, last words from his mother summoned, cursing his birth as she lay dying. "Ah, I didn't... so you... hmm." _A lifetime burden, I finally caused Mother to surrender to regret._ "I took a long time growing up. In the end, my mother wished..." _I'd never been born._ He shakes his head, fist pressing against his chin.

PLAYER PATH ERROR.

Taimay rubs the larger woman's back. "Well, any emotions, elf man?"

_Abortion is sin for Gardener, for all the gods save Lileth and Merridian._ "I guess, I am..." He narrows his eyes. "Sad."

Kimona chokes on tears.

Karma will keep her from reincarnating.

A shout from the field to the east, and the alarm bell rings.

_That's fixed, at least._ Ishkur cups his hands, facing the noise. "Tall or short!"

A young woman wearing a violet helm comes around the corner and says between breaths, "Long arms... one man."

Ishkur forces a smile. "Excuse me." _My boy or girl with no name._ He blinks rapidly and puts on his helmet. _I'm sorry you will never be._ "Another duty calls."

He jogs away from Kimona's whimpers and a chorus of whispers. _Like an anchor cut free, should I feel guilty or relieved?_

Happy's stubby legs plow through rows of crops.

_About time._ "Hey! Naming you asked for. 'Sopp's Platoon. Sons Of—' "

The dwarf bangs his pickaxe against his steel helm. "Ogres coming!"

Ishkur frowns and jogs to meet him with polearm in hand. "I've already explained to the bumpkins—"

"A pod of scouts." Trees shake and crack. "Are here."

"Oh." Ishkur taps his helmet and says in Elvish, "Owl." His lenses enhance the dim light from a quarter moon and stars, turning darkness into gray. "Four... no, five shapes." He holds Endraker's long blade close. "If you've still got charges, we'll put on a show, and I'll feed you a monstrous soul."

Two come out with trees as clubs. The other three cradle a jumble of zombie seamen.

Interesting.

"Just one good swing." Happy kisses the pick end of his axe. "Right through a faceted eye and into their passionless brain."

The zombies are dumped, a full dozen with boils like barnacles. The three ant-faced giants that brought them stand together so the undead can't retreat while the two with trees corral them forward.

_How cautious._ "Happy, rouse up what rage-fellows you can, but stay back."

The dwarf's war growl alters to a questioning tone.

Ishkur says, "I don't want to spook the ogres."

" 'Spook them'? None have womb-sacks. They're here to impale and then report back."

"Protect the villagers. After I kill the first swamp giant, the rest might scatter."

Happy scoffs, balancing the butt of his pickaxe on his palm.

Ishkur says in Elvish, "Shield. Heal. Cloak."

Holding Endraker out to his side, Ishkur jogs towards the zombies and the half circle of ogres beyond them. _Let's start mild._ He pokes and pinches. _Arm. Strength._ Right arm enhances while the rerebrace's effect mutes its glow. _Sparing use, and there's enough to get through this._

Happy says in Dwarvish, "Sometimes stubborn stupidity succeeds!"

_Dwarves have the oddest battle cries._ Ishkur dodges around meandering undead. _Sometimes dangerous half-elves—_

The tallest ogre heaves its tree like a spear. Ishkur spins Endraker around so the butt of the shaft takes the hit. "Shatter," he says in Elvish and the tree splinters, pelting him with pulp.

He gasps and growls as power fades from his arm. _No more than four charges left._ Several of the middle ogres step back. _They're ready to run._

Poke. Pinch. _Legs. Strength._ Alone, he sprints at them.

The bulkiest ogre swings its tree like the broom of a crazed maid. Ishkur turns to catch the strike with his pauldron's mystic shield. Branches push through the enchanted air, cracking against his shoulder armor, and the following trunk knocks him off his feet.

He rolls with the blow, grimacing as his breastplate's effect heals strained muscles. _Keep coming._

The big-boned ogre steps back, pointing its tree-club to space itself out of Ishkur's polearm range. The other giants spread out, also keeping their distance, while the zombies continue to scatter.

_Fine._ Ishkur spins Endraker around and thrusts the butt into the broom top of the tree-club. "Shatter." Half of it explodes, and he rushes forward with weapon spinning as his leg enhancement fades. "Slice." The axe blade shimmers, cutting into the ogre's forearm and keeps going, barely slowing through bone and nearly severing the limb.

The rotund giant drops the remains of its tree-club and falls to a knee as black ichor sprays. A smoky wisp flows from the ogre into the polearm like it's a tobacco pipe. Mature mandibles shudder, shelled fingers twitch, and its trunk-thick legs buckle.

Pit-cursed weapons sure have a nasty kiss.

Ishkur hops backward, blinking away a headache. "You see, I'm blessed by your overgod." He shakes Endraker at them, and the four ease back. "Surrender to Pit's oblivion. Let Merridian's instrument inhale you." _And power epic recharges._

They click to each other. The fallen ogre shudders.

Ishkur nods, jabbing Endraker between its ribs and holds. "Stay down and die."

Its chest stills and faceted eyes lose their luster. Smoky darkness envelops Ishkur's arm and weapon. The other ogres click jaws, and the shortest of them turns to run away.

Poke. Pinch. _All! Strength!_ He rips Endraker out, cracking a giant rib along the way, and charges.

A double pair of crab hands come at him with the hands of the tallest ogre posed behind. He dodges towards his pauldron-shielded side and cuts at a massive arm slowed by the mystic air effect.

"Slice." He severs the crab hand at the wrist, thick as a man's neck. _Maybe, one charge left._

The two whole ogres pause but don't retreat, while the injured one clamps its stump and doesn't collapse. _What's this?_

Ishkur hops back, shaking his smoky polearm. _I guess one monster was enough soul food._

He blocks the tall one's swipe with the shaft's butt. "Shatter." The huge arm flays, and the spray of ichor blinds him as ogre bones crack. _Oops._

He stumbles into a boney man-sized body that hugs him. A rotting breath from the bottom of the sea moans into his ear.

Poke. Pinch. _All! Strength!_

Ishkur elbows through the undead sailor's ribcage and twists clear. _Running low. Time to go_.

A shadow of movement through his fouled helmet lens. He gets an arm up.

Snap.

The last ogre's backhand sends him flying. _Ouch._ Enhanced or not, his weight hasn't changed.

He tumbles to his feet with Endraker still in his gauntlet's sticky grip. His other arm hangs slack, pain lancing as the breastplate knits its cracked bones.

The giant shadow stomps at him, and he backpedals while shaking his head to clear some ichor from his vision. _No._ His strength fades, power depleted.

"Slice!" he says in Elvish, blinking.

The ogre stops short, flinching.

"Shatter!" He spins Endraker around and jabs with the butt, and the giant retreats out of reach.

Smiling, Ishkur raises his healed arm, wiping the lens with a sleeve. _Too cautious, bugface._ He steps forward and growls. _You can't tell I bluff with no charges or power left._ The ogre clicks and withdraws. _That's right, tell Longspear all about the new me._

The healthy ogre joins its injured fellows, and together they carry the body of their fourth back into the woods, where the smallest of them had run.

"See you soon!" Ishkur takes off his helmet, smirking. _Mockery is such an underrated part of being a hero._

A shadow flies in front of the quarter moon. _Griffin?_

Ishkur slips his helmet back on, and the winged shape arches a feline spine. "Peggy!"

Poke. Pinch. _Mouth!_ He slurps a drop of power from his taboo reservoir before his strained mind pops the reflective vision. _Nature!_ He shudders, crippling pain eased by his breastplate's healing. _Griffin!_ Ishkur screeches like an eagle. _Come back!_

The griffin banks and screeches, echoing.

The shrine's pillar of Pit frightens.

Peggy flies on, fading into the night.

"I'm sorry, Overlord Gardener." Ishkur spins Endraker. "But I need my mount recovered."

Happy stands with several berserkers, weapons out and horse meat in their mouths. They raise their fists in salute as he passes. Ishkur nods and walks on to the rear door of his farmhouse headquarters, still with the colossal leg of darkness connecting the roof to the sky.

"What are you?" Sallai's father leans out of his neighboring home's window. "What kind of monster?" He points his crossbow at Ishkur with a shaky aim.

"Ah." Ishkur removes his helmet and spits on its ichor-stained lens. "I will speak with your daughter soon, Elder Abinten! There's just—"

"Sallai deserves more than a vile mutt!"

"Yes, I _am_ vile necessity made flesh!" Ishkur scrubs the lens clean and puts his helmet on. "It is a struggle being the bastard child of life and death!" He holds up his empty hand. "I protect!" He holds up Endraker. "And destroy; my path is set!"

The crossbow lowers. "You're more Pit-cursed than Kelsa was!"

Ishkur chuckles and goes into the darkness of his headquarters with fingers spread. _May my children not follow._

The trapdoor is still closed. He growls and finds the fire poker to open it and descends.

_Human skin makes poor leather._ He pulls his hand away from the basement wall and bumps into a hanging skeleton. _Where?_ He stretches up as he steps and finds a slice in the ceiling.

"All right, Merridian. Enjoy some bugfaced soul." He jams his cursed polearm back into place, and the darkness turns off.

Safe to come back, Peggy.

Air pressure increases, popping Ishkur's ears. A rotten stench fills the room, and the walls sweat with condensation.

_The shrine feasts._ He pats Endraker with his gauntleted hand as the smoke of the ogre's soul dissipates. "Ready for another? How about we drain an ogre magi next."

45. A New Rule

Don't bury, meat is meat

With enough seasoning

Anyone can taste good

—Duroken "Happy" Gutpuncher

Birds chirp as a hint of dawn pierces the thick canopy. Ishkur waits on his knees, helmet clipped to his side and gauntleted hand twitching for his cursed polearm still back at the village.

Thuds shake the ground, and he stands.

The forest parts for a woody giant with a rider. On the troll's shoulders stands a naked girl painted with summer flowers, yarrow, marigolds, and daisies.

Their young druidess.

She trills and dozens of knee high brownies tumble out from behind the giant, decorated with crow feathers that blur into an illusion of wings.

"Hello, Whisana." Ishkur bows deeply, flourishing his hands to add some flair. "Congratulations on the advancement of your casting. Your father mentioned you can heal and influence animals. I'm sure you will master _strength_ soon and take your great-aunt's sanctuary as your place of power."

"Ishliar, Queen Saugrin works to claim this area."

"She does, but her tribe is still Crow nomadic. Until they become Cherry rooted, Saugrin could migrate on a whim." He raises his hands. "You're young and things change. Keep such possibilities in mind, that's all."

Whisana crosses her arms, leaning against her troll's head. "The shrine of Merridian is stronger than ever. Queen Saugrin thinks this is your fault."

Ishkur rubs his chin. "Is this why she didn't come with you?" He gestures at the brownies. "Perhaps some of her twig men can go inspect where I drove off _five_ ogres last night, by myself." He smiles thinly. "I spilled so much _vile_ blood that the crops all around have died."

Whisana narrows her eyes. "Yes. Well done."

"It was." _As biting as her mother._ "The ogre horde will strike in a few nights when the moon is gone from sight. Will Saugrin join us and fight to defend her tribe's new home?"

She shrugs.

"You see," says Ishkur. "It's hard for her to commit to this place when her tribe's not yet planted." He tilts his head. "Will you and... Toto help?"

She bends and whispers into tree fungus that passes for the troll's ear. The owl face moans deeper than any zombie.

Whisana nods. "We will protect the forest way to the sanctuary. My parent's people will be welcomed by Queen Saugrin, but you and your fire men must go another way."

_I can make that work._ "Makes sense. Only got one troll, so best Toto stays at her post between the colossal logs. As a natural defense, it's on par with a proper fort." Ishkur smiles. "It will force a fairer fight with the ogres funneled towards her. Those bugfaces are bullies. They'll be reluctant to tangle with someone their own size."

"Ogres destroyed the grove Toto comes from."

The troll raises her log arms. A whistling escapes from her broken-branch maw, and the brownies shake their crow feathers at her massive feet.

"Yes." Whisana winds a vine around the troll's head like a crown. "She's eager to kill some."

"Fantastic."

"I've also been wooing a griffin." Whisana spins her hands. "Maybe the one you fell off of."

Ishkur's ears twitch. "Could be my Peggy, and that's an impressive use of the nature skill." _Especially without a druidic mentor._ "Saugrin has been helping you, I hope. It was part of our deal."

"Yes, but now we can't get the griffin to answer." She frowns. "Not since you returned and made another beacon of Black."

_Oops._ "Keep trying. A well timed log of shit can make all the difference, especially in battle." Ishkur chuckles, but her frown deepens. _Is mocking my name all that amuses her?_ "Well, daylight's burning. I better check in with the berserk... err, the 'fire men.' They are the crux of any survival plan and—"

"Ishbabble, how's Maypie?" says Whisana.

"Uh, still a ghoul." He snorts. "She's stripped three zombies down to bones already and complained the whole time about a lack of flavor. The berserkers have sort of adopted her as a mascot. I think they're impressed she can eat several times her weight with barely a stretched belly. Her digestion is a mystic marvel; her stomach must be a portal to Pit." He flexes a hand. "It's not like she shits much more than finger bones."

"I'm glad." Whisana hugs her troll's head and sighs. "Queen Saugrin doesn't want me around a cursed soul, so thank you... Ishkur, for being Maypie's friend."

_Not a friend._ "Happy to help." Blood drips from his gauntlet. "I live to serve."

She waves and whispers in Toto's fungal ear.

The troll turns to go, and the brownies tumble and trill.

Ishkur chews his lip. "Wish, are you lonely out here without any other humans?"

Whisana swings around Toto's shoulder to face him. "Auntie Lulu told me that people crowd out the sun, so being alone helps a druid grow." She shrugs. "Probably like a spiritual connection thing."

Ishkur nods and salutes as they leave.

_Auntie Lulu and my mother, two peas in a pond._ He hurries out of the west side forest. _But now, I need a crowd more than spiritual growth._

Ishkur gathers up a labor force at the village of anyone with the will and muscle to swing a wood axe.

PLAYER PATH NETWORKED.

A long day's labor passes with berserker volunteers, old men of the village, and a few fit young women, including Sallai.

_Only been six weeks since that night._ Ishkur keeps his distance from the curly haired beauty and avoids gawking at her still flat belly. _When would a baby bump show?_ Other than some frowns and glares, Sallai doesn't test his desire for space.

_Cancers of obligation growing._ He pulls a pickaxe out of the ground and slams it back down, widening a hole. _Fattening beauties into sour fruit._ He digs deeper. _I would be a terrible father to anyone, let alone divided between them._

He sticks a man-length stake into the hole, angled towards the woods, and packs dirt in to steady it. _I'll never suggest Kimona's sinful path, but how can I allow fatherless children?_

The line of stakes all face the eastside forest in the field behind Ishkur's reclaimed farmhouse. _Not exactly a palisade, but at least everyone's bonding._

Ishkur waves over the young berserker with a scarred chin. "You're Roasted Roster?"

"Rosto, Sir."

"Right." Ishkur chews his lip. "You see that butterscotch beauty with dark curls and a blacksmith's physique?"

The man wipes sweat from his brow and nods.

"She's sergeant of the maiden watch." Ishkur grips the man's solid shoulder. "Introduce yourself and then take a break with her. See if you can coordinate her maidens to support your men for the fight."

Rosto blushes. "Wouldn't Happy or—"

"Face your fears. Do your duty."

The berserker shuffles over to Sallai like a young man asking a girl to dance for the first time. Sallai slams a pickaxe into the ground and leaves it, frowning at Rosto as he clears his throat.

_They could make a good couple._ Ishkur turns away. _Even if she's carrying my baby._

After a few more sunny spring days of chopping and digging, the stakes stretch the entire eastern length of the village. Ishkur walks the southern curve of the line, crossing the road and climbing the hill that splits the settlement into a _Y_.

Under Jorkin's direction, a small watchtower has been built at the top, replacing the overgoddess of Blue's statue. Ishkur steps on the cracked remains of Lileth's stone feet to climb a fixed ladder into the wooden tower. Freshly sawed pine pricks his bare hand with splinters as he squeezes into the crow's nest, and his nose is filled with a forest's vitality cut short.

_I betray to save._ Dozens of new stumps ring the village. _Forgive me, Gardener, by your grace._ As the afternoon slips towards evening, the locals work on with the berserkers and plant the final sharpened poles to ring the eastern third of their village. _I am their Protector._

His young, bushy-eyed house matron approaches, rubbing her arms as if the ending day's warmth fails her. A little ghoul follows dragging a wagon's length of chain.

"Come up, Ella," says Ishkur. "Leave Mayp."

"Sir." The maiden climbs to stand next to him and grips a thick rope attached to the bucket-sized bell Ishkur had taken from the failed tripod alarm.

"Darkness favors their antennae." He grinds his fist into a rail. "Ready or not, it's a new moon, and they'll be coming tonight."

With the stubbornness of old mules and the grimness of middle-aged prostitutes, the villagers drudge on. Nobody—child, woman, or elder—shirks their final chores.

"Interesting how external threats can bring out a human tribal instinct to rival elves." _Apple wouldn't be surprised._ Ishkur covers his ears. "You ready?"

"Sure." Ella tugs slightly, and the bell dings, a hollow sound too soft to echo.

"Again. For real. We need to summon everyone for a last briefing anyway."

She yanks, and the bell tolls a painful ring that eases into a soothing vibration.

Ishkur rubs his ears. "Don't rely on a lit fire to warn you. Look to the fields and other open spaces for shadows under starlight." _Do I expect too much?_ He shifts to hug her, and Ella turns away. "I'm not... I'm just... Haven't I been clear that you're like a little sister?"

"Sorry, Sir. There's still a lot of bad talk about _that_ night." She wraps the rope around her arms. "And when I pick my woman-maker, it will be someone that _only_ wants me."

Ishkur clears his throat and rubs his neck. "If from the east, jerk, pause, then repeat. Two quick jerks if from the north. Three south, and four west."

She nods, repeating under her breath.

He says, "If the bugfaces get to the hill, you run before they reach the graves. Break their line of sight and escape."

"I will, Sir."

"You better, I don't want to lose my favorite pickle girl."

She frowns, thin lips contorting.

Ishkur says, "That still only means you're the sister I never had." _Along with Whisana._

Ella leans against him, and her arm inches around his armored waist. "You smell like Nanna."

_That hag?_ "Before or after she..." _Drowned in the bathtub?_ "Put on perfume."

Ella sniffs. "Earthier than her, but you have that same elder funk."

He scoffs.

She pokes his arm. "Maybe it's the wrinkly skin. You should really scrub those new crevices."

_I smell like an old lady._ "Thanks for the tip."

_Maybe I can get a berserker to be your woman-maker._ The tower creaks, and he snickers. _But not Egghead or Spoons._ She grunts, and he pats her on the back and slips out of the partial hug. _I'm not that cruel._

He points past the tavern at their Pit-cursed farmhouse. "Once the pillar goes back up, it'll spur the ogres to attack and probably head straight to the source." He clenches his gauntlet and winces. "After that, if the pillar goes down again, and you're still here, ring ten times as hard and fast as you can. Then run."

"Okay, Sir."

"The ten count will be the call that Waygreen's lost. We'll presume Victor, that necromantic sack, has claimed the shrine and restored it to fuel stronger castings that'll last hours instead of minutes."

Mayp's chain rattles below, followed by her hiss.

Ishkur crouches down. "Yes, Maypie?"

The little ghoul says, "People coming-coming."

Taimay and Jorkin arrive first. Followed by Sallai and Tekka, the young mother of the Waygreen Watch, and then Jax the dread walker with Happy his dwarven cook. Ishkur climbs down to join them in the shadow of the tower while Mayp curls up and hides her face.

"Don't look at me-me." Mayp hisses.

Taimay frowns at the ghoul, hands clenching.

Ishkur slaps Mayp upside the head. "Behave, and I'll let Happy take you to play with his brothers tonight."

The dwarf waves at Mayp. "Yeah, we'd love to have yah at the front line." Jax hand signs, and Happy nods. "They'll be plenty of broken zombie bits you can slurp up." Both berserkers smile and pat their stomachs.

Tekka coughs and adjusts her baby blue helm. "So vile."

"I'm sorry you can't go with your children, Tekka." Ishkur gestures northwest, towards the thickest forest and the serene sanctuary of Green. "But you can understand my concern with Sergeant Sallai being—"

"Sir." Sallai puts on an orange helm and pats her belly. "She knows her duty, and I'm thankful you respect my continued service while also... caring."

"No worries." Tekka taps her spear against her blue helm. "I'll protect my sergeant's ass while she keeps the maidens on task."

Ishkur raises an eyebrow.

She clears her throat. "Sir."

"Good." _Funny woman, maybe she can help mother my elfkin offspring._ Ishkur flicks his helmet hanging from his waist. "Taimay, are the last of your people... our people, ready to move?"

The petite woman glances up at her hulking husband. Jorkin grunts, and she nods.

Ishkur says, "If the bugfaces reach your daughter's troll at the log wall, abandon the sanctuary, dump cinnamon across your trail, and keep on down the old cobbled path, all the way to Lotus Hollow." _How few will survive such a trip?_ "And take care of my... children." _Maybe more mothers make marriage merrier._

Taimay shifts into a martial stance with feet spread, chin up, and hands raised. "Going to have to keep the _mothers_ healthy a few more seasons first, which is going to be tricky while starving hundreds of yules from anything or fighting swamp giants with a stick."

Jorkin touches her shoulder and whispers something that softens her face.

She lowers her hands. "Don't lose, and we won't have to march pregnant women until they miscarry."

_No pressure._ "Jorkin, do you have your uncle and the rest of the old men in hand?"

He snorts. "Abinten's ready with his crossbow, and my uncle's eagerly hefting his last jug of lamp oil. The rest keep glancing west and wishing they had breasts enough to excuse them from sacrifice."

"Remember." Ishkur walks to Sallai and Tekka and grips their shoulders. "Without our female volunteers, we've no chance to survive the night."

Happy grins. "A number of my human brothers are quite impressed with the quality of spirit you ladies of the watch possess." He rubs his smooth head, winking at Tekka. "And we're all looking forward to your promised nurturing after we chop down them ogres."

The young mother blushes.

Ishkur says, "Hospitium has been established. Protect the village, and the village will care for you." He points at Jorkin. "Cycle the exhausted berserkers out, fast. We keep them out of ogre hands at all costs." He points at Sallai. "Protect and nurture them out of exhaustion. Get them up to fight again." He points at Jax. "Save your fear effect to counter Victor's depression cloud, and unless the ogres rush, only one of your men needs to rage at a time."

The dread walker signs and Happy says, "If we have a chance to kill Victor, we will take it. All of us."

"No." Ishkur takes a deep breath. "Please stick to the plan. We wear them down slowly. Pick off a bugface at a time and bash about their zombie fodder. We make it through the night, and then we hunt Victor during the day when ogres are sluggish." He claps his hands. "Go. Take Mayp and go. Sun's starting to set."

They leave the hill, taking the winding path down with its safe footing.

Success or disaster, no middle path.

46. A Foolish Plan

Taboo breakthroughs triggered

According to alignment

Surviving is Green

Having sex is Red

Murdering is Black

Making music is Blue

And being worshiped is White

—Ormus Flautin

Piles of hay line the street from the grandiose tavern to Ishkur's farmhouse, where the corral is packed with every horse and mule. Muzzles press against posts; the wood strains but holds as hooves churn the bare dirt. Not a single stalk of hay remains within the fence, and the trough is an empty box.

Ishkur turns away from their snorts as he walks past with Jorkin. _Poor ogre bait, I should bless you all._ He sniffs and wipes his nose. _But I can't spare the time._

Hoyne stands at the home's back entrance, hay up to his bowed knees and trailing inside.

_Now, graybeard, I'm a banjo_ with _a few strings._ Ishkur smiles. "Thank you."

"Oi, my boorish nephew and Protector Mutt." The bearded elder uncorks his jug. "What a pair of shits you are." He flicks the cork at them. "Don't thank me, or I'll kick things off early out of spite."

Jorkin sighs. "Uncle—"

"Don't you remember when you thanked me for being a great sacrifice?" Ishkur curls his fingers.

Hoyne hiccups and frowns. "Did I?"

_How drunk is he?_ "We only light the fires, _if_ the bugfaces break past our dread walker and his berserkers. We need to brighten a moonless night; otherwise, I wouldn't risk a gust spreading flames to homes we wish to keep."

Jax and Happy cross Ishkur's field, shaking their weapons and hooting. Ishkur waves as the dread walker and dwarven cook join their fellow berserkers at the line of wood spikes bordering the eastern edge of his cultivated land.

Hoyne tugs at his beard and taps his forehead with his thumb. "Those praised of Phoenix will not falter in their rage until death, but die they will. So I'll be ready here, with my match." He pulls out a small stick with something red stuck to an end. "Oi, Lulu. My dear, I'm coming tonight."

_Dead wife is of Green._ "Right." _Queued for reincarnation and far from your spirit of Red's reach._ "I'm not sure you can—"

"Listen, Uncle! Just wait for the Protector's order before you light anything." Jorkin bends to Ishkur's ear. "He is set on this. We must leave him be, or he'll burn early."

"Fine." Ishkur clears his throat. "At my or your nephew's call, let loose the horses, then light the fire!" He raises his gauntlet. "No matter fear or despair, do not do it without the call unless a bugface is in your face."

"Yeah, yeah." Hoyne hiccups and sets his jug on the back doorstep. "Think I have time for a last drink at the bar?"

"Better to stay—"

"I love you!" Paija steps out of a line of villagers crossing in front of Ishkur's house and blows him a kiss. "I want you!"

Awkward.

Scowling over her shoulder at her husband and Ishkur, Taimay hurries down the street to her daughter and ushers Paija back in with the others. Hands on hips, the small woman herds them all northwest, across fresh fields and following the cobbled path Ishkur had uncovered.

"You still haven't explained your plans with my Paija or the others you've..." Jorkin sighs. "How will you choose?"

Can I just be the hero? Kill some monsters and fly off into the sunset?

Two Step hops out of the group Taimay's leading and waves, pigtails spinning as she jiggles around. Ishkur holds up a hand, blushing green.

"Gonna look just like you!" The blonde lifts her shirt, leaning back to swell her bare belly. "Baby Ish'Cutie!" She waves again and skips after the others.

By Gardener's grace, could I survive half a century with that bouncing fae-soul?

Ishkur salutes the retreating folk and says under his breath, "More refugees because of me."

"What's that?" Jorkin tilts his balding head. "Are you picking her?"

"Do you really want me as a son-in-law?" Ishkur turns towards the spike fence. "I'd guess your wife doesn't."

The bulky farmer puts on a coal black helm. "I've already lost most of my hair raising two girls. Now one's riding naked on a walking tree, and the other's been knocked up by... you." He snorts. "What I want is relative to changing circumstances. If we're all around at the end of this ogre invasion, then yes, I would rather you pick Paija to settle with instead of her being a lone mother in a brutal world buckling from holy war."

_Cevee._ "When it's over. When all my... when all the women I was with that night are safe, then I can decide."

_By Gardener's Grace, Cevee rests safely, and Haden's blades rust to dust before piercing her flesh._ Ishkur bends and pokes the ground with his finger. _Let her womb be healthy and our baby scream at birth._ He pinches above the little hole.

Jorkin shakes his shoulder. "You, okay?"

"I am fine." Ishkur straightens and tugs Jorkin along the village street. "Let's show we're more than fine, to shore up morale."

They stroll along the street, backs straight and arms swinging. Waves, chuckles, and simple words ease the worries of the remaining village folk until the sky darkens into dusk.

"Everyone must be outside tonight." Ishkur squares his shoulders. "Time to light the stake line torches."

"Outside at dark, my one rule flipped." Jorkin clears his throat and turns to Ishkur with hammer and sickle in hand. "I'll get Elder Abinten and light the torches. We'll meet you with our men at the stakes, behind your horse-eating brutes."

Ishkur points at the berserkers lined up just past the defensive fence with helms on and heavy weapons drawn. "Keep those horse-eaters fighting through the night, and we'll win the day." He rubs his throat. "But if one gets caught—"

"Kill him before an ogre steals his rage." Jorkin spins his sickle about with a street performer's skill.

"But don't mercy anyone else that gets womb-sacked. Pregnant ogres are slower and less aggressive. Without a boss pressing them to fight, they'd probably retreat and hunt safer meat."

Jorkin looks down.

Ishkur puts on his helmet. "You know it's how this kind of fight has to be." He leaves the big farmer and strides on to the man's uncle still waiting at the back door of Ishkur's farmhouse headquarters.

Hoyne crosses his arms but steps aside with a hiccupping grunt.

Ishkur kicks straw and enters his house. _Will you burn tonight?_ He descends into the basement's death shrine. _Will it matter?_

Blood dripping from his gauntlet, he yanks his cursed polearm from its central position, and the pillar of Black refills the building. _Time to feed, my Endraker._

Sallai is gathering up the women of the Waygreen Watch as he exits, several with torches already lit. _Good girl._ They form up in the middle of his field and salute, almost in harmony.

He marches to them and returns their respectful gesture. "Get exhausted berserkers safely within the tavern's granite walls. That's your primary duty. Fight only zombies if you have to, and don't take their shambling for granted." _Joke déjà vu?_ "Um, some may have more of their soul than others and will give you a real challenge."

He swings the butt end of his polearm around in a one-armed staff form. Keeping the cursed weapon away from skin or cloth to preserve his soul, he bounces it off his shoulder armor and breastplate to reverse strikes.

"Trip them and support each other. Don't get entangled or backed into a corner."

A young woman with a pink-colored helm says, "What if an ogre comes for us?"

"You run." He taps Nummer's hilt with his left hand. "Don't leave a berserker to be taken."

The woman gulps. "You really want us to... kill them?"

"They'd rather die than be implanted."

She rubs her butt. "Me too."

"No." Ishkur shakes his head. "Any of you get caught, and it's an ogre occupied with a womb-sack. One less we have to worry about... for a while. That is the hard truth."

The women shift about.

He points at the neighboring farmhouse in line with the tavern and next to the cobbled path running through from the east. "Go in back and out the front. Break their line of sight and keep going to the sanctuary. Set fire to hay piles as you run. If you're cut off before the troll's logs, double back and hook up with Kimona in her tavern's basement. Final option is your cemetery hilltop. If you go there, be ready for a last stand at the watchtower. Don't expect saving."

A single ring comes from the hill's tower. _Good timing, Ella._

Ishkur says, "East?" After a pause, a second ring. "From the east!" He points his polearm towards the men forming at the torchlit stake line and the woods beyond.

Sallai adjusts her orange helm. "This is it, ladies! Keep together like the Protector's trained, and we'll make it through this night."

_Wish I could hug her._ "Very good, Sergeant." _But then I'd have to hug them all._ "Make me proud."

A growing patch of forest fades into darkness deeper than the night. _Victor's casting._

"Remember," says Ishkur. "Don't trust your feelings."

Berserkers roar, and Jax's skin fires up.

"Your fear is only from our dread walker!" Ishkur points at Jax. "Take heart and see his rage burn for us!"

Spears shake, and several women edge out of formation. _Jax's effect isn't even active yet._ A chill travels up Ishkur's spine, and his hands tremble. _Ah, there's the mystic terror._

The dread walker burns bright as a bonfire, leading his platoon from the spikes and into the mystic darkness.

Zero tactics.

Ishkur growls. Leaving the women, he runs to Jorkin and the other old men hesitantly trailing the berserkers. _No wonder Lute sent Jax to the Skull Crushers._

"Owl," he says in Elvish, and the darkness becomes gray and full of shapes, giant and man-sized at the forest's edge. "Shield. Cloak. Heal."

Ishkur flexes his fingers, stopping just past the spikes. _By Gardener's grace._ "Hold!"

The old men obey, and a few drift back inside the sparse protection of sharped wood.

_Color blind._ Ishkur lifts his helmet to see that the rolling shadows have a rusty tint.

_Victor is horde casting first._ He pulls his helmet back on. "Jax, stop your fear!"

Dozens of armless zombies charge ahead of a row of ogres holding tree-clubs. The undead swarm towards blazing Jax and his men with the focus of a kicked hornet's nest, their mouths snapping like the mandibles of the giants behind them.

The berserkers cut down the dozens, moving forward like farmers harvesting wheat. _Well, now Victor'll switch._ The darkness fades and so does the chill along his spine. _Shit logs, Jax. It's the opposite._

Something bald and child-sized scrambles out of a small bush in the field.

"Mayp?"

The little ghoul hisses and jumps on a twitching zombie.

At least you got your role right.

Sallai's father rolls his shoulder and aims his crossbow at the line of giants, hands steady. "Boss Mutt?"

_Yeah._ "Save it, Abinten." _Rather Jorkin be my father-in-law._

The ogres swing their trees. Twenty in a line, all sweeping the ground in unison. _Wow._

The berserkers slow except for their center man, their flaming leader. Jax sprays fire from his mouth, lighting the massive clubs on fire like a dragon out of myth as he runs along the line until all are burning.

_Blinding them._ Ishkur jogs forward, hopping over broken undead. _Well done._

Fresh darkness rises and dives on Ishkur as he reaches the ferox berserkers. _Hopeless._ "Jax, fear!" _I don't care._ "Make me feel something!"

Ishkur's heart skips, and the chill returns. _Terror and misery._ He stumbles and blinks. _Like beets and vinegar._

He waves at the old men back at the spikes. Most stumble away from the depressive darkness and primal fear as the competing effects roll over them. Only Jorkin and Abinten remain. Each leans against a sharpened pole and gasps in the light of a flickering torch, stuck in the ground near their feet.

"Potential father-in-laws, wake up!" Ishkur points at the berserkers cheering on their flaming leader. "Remember your duty!"

Jax charges into the ogre line and blazes brighter. The blinded giants buckle, most dropping their burning tree-clubs and retreating. A few at the ends hold, swinging wildly and keeping the berserkers from flanking.

Clicking mandibles echo, and the darkness subsides. _There._ Between a large cedar and a young fir stands a decrepit ogre with a pale man-sack. _Victor Longspear, ogre magi._

Retreating ogres form a new line to either side of their womb-sacked leader, and Jax charges them.

"Wait!" Ishkur says.

Happy halts a pickaxe swing and turns towards him.

"It's a—"

"Ki'l dem!" Egghead runs after Jax

All except the dwarf follow the big bald man and their fiery leader, slipping between a half-dozen ogres that haven't fallen back.

Trap.

As Jax attacks, dozens more ogres step out of the woods around Longspear, and those to either side of Happy close in like mandibles pinching.

Mayp hisses, scrambling back into her bush.

_Smart girl_.

"Dwarf!" Ishkur points at the three ogres flanking from the right, dragging their tree clubs to snuff out flames. "Hold them!" Happy nods and roars.

Teeth chattering, Jorkin says, "W-what?" He lets go of his stake to ready his sickle and hammer again. "What do we d-do?"

"Pray." Ishkur pokes and pinches. _All! Strength!_

Full body blazing verdant with enhancement, Ishkur sprints at the other three giants flanking to the left. He leaps and swings Endraker. The tallest ogre blocks with its smoldering trunk, and another smacks its massive club into his side.

Breastplate ringing, Ishkur tumbles to his feet in time for the third to swing a tree down. He turns enough for his pauldron's mystic shield to slow the strike, slipping under it to roll clear.

His armor's magic eases pain where the trunk smacked, and he dodges a web-footed stomp.

_Nope._ Grunting, Ishkur spins Endraker around and cuts into the stomping ogre's ankle.

"Help! The dwarf!" says Jorkin.

Ishkur hops back, turning from the stumbling ogre.

Jorkin points past Abinten recranking his crossbow. One of the right side ogres is down, twitching with Happy's pick in its eye and a crossbow bolt in its thigh. The remaining two giants stretch the howling dwarf like a couple of bears playing tug-a-war with a badger.

_No._ Impalers erect, the ogres snap mandibles in each other's faces. _Fighting over dwarf sacking rights._

Ishkur sprints, feet a blur. "Slice." He slides, cutting through a knee each with Endraker's power as his own enhancement fades.

Ichor sprays from the ogres like tapped kegs of an oily stout. One with lighter skin hunches to grip its half-severed leg. Ishkur smashes his polearm's butt into the ant-like face, biting back the explosive command word.

Four charges left.

"Rahhh!" Happy rips free of the distracted giants and digs gorilla fingers into the darker ogre's crippled knee. "Rip, rip!"

"Rage on." Ishkur salutes and turns back towards the others.

Abinten has given up cranking and holds the crossbow like a club while Jorkin hunches with the sickle behind his back and his hammer leading. Three ogres surround them.

What?

Tree clubs at their webbed feet, they clap their crab-like hands. Two bring flat palms together and hold, and one slams a fist into palm. The fisting one clicks, stepping back while the other two thrust their impalers.

_Paper beats rock._ "Hey wait! I got scissors!"

Poke. Pinch. _All! Strength!_

Ishkur charges and leaps. "Slice." An ogre's blocking forearm is severed, and then he spins and jabs a second ogre in the gut. "Shatter." The giant's stomach explodes, splattering half-digested zombie soup all over him.

Enhancement gone with his breath, Ishkur hops back and blinks away head pain. _Yuck._ He pulls a wet towel from a pouch and cleans the gore from his lens. _Learned that lesson._

Jorkin and Abinten escape through the planted spikes as the last ogre claims a second scorched tree, and crosses the trunks.

_More like a superstitious ward than a proper dual weapon stance._ Ishkur spins Endraker through a whistling polearm form. "You don't really want to fight me."

The ogre tosses the makeshift clubs and flees.

"Thought so."

The old men cheer, voices rasping but with spirit. _No more fear or casted shadows._ The berserker line pulls back, and the ogres don't advance.

Egghead howls, a hairy body in his arms.

Jax.

The big man sprints over. "Hea'l him!"

"Help, Happy!" Ishkur points at the dwarf battling on alone and takes the limp dread walker as the bald berserker obeys with a roar.

_What a foolish plan, relying on berserker discipline._ Ishkur sighs and brushes a strip of scalp off Jax's bloody forehead. _Cracked your thick skull._

Snapping mandibles and screams of men blend into a chorus of distraction. Ishkur growls and retreats, dragging the dread walker by his armpits.

47. Pit Stop

Dying slowly is like trying to sleep when I'm not tired

Life at my age is insomnia and yawns are contagious

—Ibbit Bunnifarm

Under the darkness of the new moon, Ishkur stops in the middle of his budding field of crops and sets down the limp berserker leader. Helmet off, he counts Jax's remaining men as they pass through the torchlit spike fence. _Two missing._

Only a dozen fall back with Happy. Panting like a pack of wolves and drenched in the ichor of ogres, they re-form well in front of Ishkur and Jax.

Poke. Pinch. _Head. Heal._

The dwarf centers the shortened line as the shadows of ant-faced giants mass at the forest's edge, more than half a field away.

Ishkur sucks in a breath, pulling his fading hand from Jax's head. _Still unconscious._ He blinks away a residual ache and checks the berserker boss's pulse. Steady, but slow.

"Where's your axe, Jax?" Ishkur rubs a soft spot just to the side of the man's temple. "You better have killed Victor with that foolish charge. Chopping down a dozen bugfaces isn't worth losing you, let alone a couple of your men."

Poke. Pinch. _Head! Heal!_ Left hand flaring verdant, Ishkur clamps onto Jax's forehead. Eyes closed, he sends tendrils of power under the man's skin. _My fingers thin and multiplied, I am a squid surgeon._ With mystic force, he tugs cracked bone together and pushes hemorrhaging blood away.

_Got it._ He sighs and taps the hardening spot with a fading verdant thumb.

"For Hildr's sake, I considered letting your brains leak out." Ishkur pats the butt of his cursed polearm with his gauntlet. "How about some lies so those mystic earrings buzz you awake."

He leans close. Flakes of dried ogre ichor fly from the man's neck, stirred by Ishkur's breath.

"If you are done defending this village, I am _not_ crushing your skull, nor settling Endraker's curse with your soul." Ishkur sits up. "Nothing?" He takes the man's diamond earrings and clips them on. "Fabulous."

"Hail, Protector!" Jorkin waves, bringing over six old men he's rallied.

_Pride._ "Hail, you honorable bumpkins! Come and stand with these rage-blessed strangers defending hospitium. Labor on to delay this monstrous horde and dawn will come."

Ancient spines straighten, and sagging chins lift. Jorkin adjusts his black helm and salutes as he passes by. Each of the others in single file copy him, hands thumping against foreheads as they move like younger men.

_Willpower and respect._ Ishkur slips his helmet on. _Their community deserves to survive._ He salutes, gauntlet against brow. "Keep walking tall!"

The old men shake an assortment of sharp farming tools and fill in the berserker line, Jorkin slipping between Happy and Egghead. _Bald brothers in arms._

Ishkur turns and blows his whistle.

A porcupine-like formation of maidens exits the village's large tavern with Sallai and Tekka at their head. _There's my girls._ Each one is topped like their leaders, with a brightly colored helm and spears steady. _A bouquet, blooming with thorns._ They jog across the street and cut through his field without losing cohesion.

"Circle around!" says their probably pregnant sergeant.

The women bang helms, re-forming around Ishkur with weapons pointed outward and stances wide. _Lovely._

Sallai salutes. "What can we do, Sir?"

"The dread walker's stabilized, but I can't get him to wake up yet." Ishkur grunts, lifting the hairy leader over his shoulder. "Move with me to safer ground."

"Yes, Sir." She bangs her helm with her spearhead. "Let's go, ladies! Keep together!"

Ishkur lifts an eyebrow as the young women obey with crisp precision. _Impressive._

Halfway to the tavern Jax shudders and jerks about like a fish on land.

_Uh-oh._ Ishkur slips him off, easing him down as his contortions strengthen.

"Here will have to do." Ishkur puts a knee on the man's belly. "Keep distractions away. I'm trying something tricky."

"We'll protect you, Sir."

_Ironic._ "Very good, Sergeant Sallai."

Poke. Pinch. _Head! Heal!_

Tekka sucks in a breath as verdant tendrils of light flow from Ishkur's bare hand into the dread walker's head. Ishkur blinks, frowning at the young mother as she squats and helps hold Jax still.

"Oh by Gardener's grace, he doesn't look good." Tekka gulps, one eye drifting. "Why's it not working?"

Ishkur squeezes his eyes shut. _Maybe because a nosy lady is distracting me from relieving the continued pressure of his internal bleeding._

She shifts to sit on Jax's knees. "Will he be all right?"

Ishkur grimaces and cups where the man's head was hit, worming his healing power deeper. _Faster._ He quickens Jax's normal body response while forcing away pressure until the bleeding lessens.

Ishkur coughs. "Yes! A wet dirty puzzle put together, wrapped and sealed. Jax is resting, healed." He pinches fingers that no longer glow. "But, I've barely a flicker of power left, so pray to your overgod he can wake in time to matter."

The dread walker farts, wetly. _Not again._

"Tekka, you've changed plenty of fouled baby—"

A ring. The bell on the hill echoes.

_Coming from where, Ella?_ Another two rings, and Ishkur stands, spinning around. _West?_ It keeps ringing, fast as twine can be tugged. _Ten times._

"The hill!" _Run, pickle girl._ He taps his helmet. "Owl."

Past the defending line of men, ant-faced giants leave the forest. They stride out in a semblance of a formation and spread along the stake fence, stomping out the torches with their massive webbed feet.

They've still got leadership.

Some of the old men turn towards the hill, but none take a step while the berserkers stand firm, backs to the ringing.

_Just me to save Ella then._ "Ladies, get Jax to the tavern, and hold the door!"

A few of the young women drop spears and the pretense of soldiering, but the majority hold on to dignity and duty. Ishkur grabs Tekka's blue helm and pulls her ear close as Sallai rounds up the deserters.

"Retreat to the basement if you have to. Make sure Sallai goes."

"I will... Sir."

Ishkur grunts and bursts out of the women's protective ring as they regroup and tend to the recovering dread walker. _Juggle too much, and I drop lives._ He crosses field and street to reach the foot of the village's hill.

Gray-skinned bodies climb in front of him. The largest is a head taller than any human, while the shortest matches Happy's chin bumping height. _Young ogres, sneaky._

Ishkur levels his polearm. "Hello!" Immature mandibles click as they scramble away from his swings. "Yeah, you better run!"

Near the hilltop, a larger one steps from behind an oak tree and throws a gravestone like a dinner plate. Ishkur ducks under the spinning stone, lunging to spear Endraker into the ogre's belly. Mandibles shudder, and its arms go slack.

He catches his breath and yanks it out. "What now?"

The young giant collapses while the rest keep scattering.

_Oops._ Darkness flows from the body into the weapon. _No, no._ He hops back but the smoky darkness stays, shading the shaft and blade. _I left you in too long._

A girl screams, and the pine tower crashes. The young ogres that tipped it over hold a limp Ella between them. Both are a head taller than Ishkur. Each grips a thin wrist and clicks rapidly.

Ishkur spreads his arms. "Hey! Leave my house matron, and I won't follow!" He points his shadowy polearm towards the packed corral. "Grab an equine and go colonize a swamp."

One yanks.

Pop.

Ishkur flinches, and the other ogre yanks back.

Pop.

_Double dislocation._ Still attached, they're twisted in bad ways as the baby giants struggle to claim their unconscious prize.

Gasping for breath, Ishkur charges blade first. One that's a forehead shorter runs off, and the winner swipes at Ishkur with a head-sized crab hand.

Roaring, he takes the hit on his pauldron and drives Endraker into its sternum. _Not worth a slice._ The young ogre lets Ella go and coughs a stream of ichor.

Clicking echoes fill the night as Ishkur kicks the spasming youth off his weapon. "Uh-oh." Full-grown ogres stomp around the base of the hill. "We better go."

He picks the young woman up, and her arms flop unnaturally lower. _Merridian's mercy, her arms._

Ella gasps, eyes rolling up into her head.

"Pain means you live."

Ishkur hurries to the steeper west side of the hill and drops to his armored back. Wrapping an arm around Ella, he slides down with her riding on his stomach.

The grass and packed gravel provide a smooth trip into a vegetable garden. _This was Cevee's backyard._ He snatches a stock of ripe beans torn up by their arrival and leans on Endraker to stand. _Break line of sight._ He pockets the beans, throws Ella over his shoulder, and stumbles in through the back door of the farmhouse.

"Hello?"

Ogres' clicking answers outside. _No time._

The house is solid, with thick beams and hardwood floors, and it's in better repair than the Sticknot house. _But._ He lifts up the trapdoor and sighs at a root cellar barely deep enough to crouch in. _No massive basement._

Young ogres dance outside the windows. Antennae curl with smooth web-footed moves as clicking mandibles keep the beat. _I could like them, if they didn't kill people to procreate._

Ishkur kicks open the front door. "Back off!" The bugfaced youths stay well out of jabbing range, but no more go away. "Fine."

_Only a bit._ Poke. Pinch. _Legs. Strength._ He runs with Ella still over his shoulder. _Empty._ The brief glow fades, and he trips into the dirt while crossing the street.

His shoulder armor absorbs the fall, and he rolls to protect the crippled maiden, but she still screams out. "Sorry, Ella."

She whimpers and kicks weakly.

"Think of a past life." Ishkur grunts under her weight and walks across plowed fields.

The young ogres keep up with him, circling at a safe distance.

_See my effort, Gardener._ Ishkur's feet sink in mud, and his legs wobble. _Bless my reincarnation, by your grace._

48. Brutality Wins

Walk like a lady

Hands at my sides

Believe my smile

It does not lie

Are my teeth too sharp

Hunger refined

Beautiful maiden

For the right price

—Gurgala Manyways

No bees buzz. The blossoms of the wildflower field are closed for the night. Instead, cawing echoes from behind the two downed, colossal trees at the forest's edge. _Brownie tribe crows._

Gritting his teeth, Ishkur drops to a knee. He shifts his young house matron's limp weight over his shoulder and taps his helmet.

"Owl," he says in Elvish, and the shadows between the house-high logs resolve into a bark-skinned giant covered in ivy. _And there is Whisana's troll._

"Help us!" says Ishkur.

The caws continue, but no brownies tumble out, and the camouflaged troll doesn't budge.

"Come on—"

The gang of immature ogres that overwhelmed Ella's tower swarms onto the field. Mandibles a blur, snapping at a feverish pitch, they crush flowers with web-footed abandon and thrust their impalers.

"Hey, confused woodpeckers!" Ishkur shakes his smoky polearm at them. "Got your buddy's soul in here! Who wants to join?"

They click a final time and part, allowing a mature ogre, nearly twice their height, to sprint through. Lean and fast, it circles to stand a step out of Ishkur's range.

"You're familiar," he says.

Antennae curling, the swamp giant flexes a hand. Pieces of its protective shell are missing from its fingers.

"You tossed me at the crossroads." Ishkur turns towards the troll between the logs. "Hey, Toto! This ogre threw me like a rag doll, just like you did! Isn't that funny?"

Several other full-grown ogres push through a semi-circle of their young ones, but keep back when the lean ogre snaps its mandibles at them.

"Why not some rock, paper, scissors to decide who claims us?"

Alone, the lanky ogre steps closer. Ishkur swipes with smoky Endraker, and the giant hops back from the dark blade.

"I'm not blistered and raw this time, bugface." But Ella is slowing me.

The ogre jams mutilated crab hands into the dirt, scooping up a mound of flowers and throwing it at him. Ishkur drops his young house matron and swings his polearm through the cloud of dust.

"Die!"

The air clears, and the lean ogre still stands out of reach.

"Crafty, bugface," says Ishkur, "but I won't waste a mystic charge on a dusty bluff."

Its peers snap mandibles and stomp webbed feet, but keep their distance.

_They're appreciating our contest._ Ishkur steps to straddle Ella's body. "By the way, you were all tricked into tracking me and the berserkers." He waves a hand east. "Haden, the new Skull Crusher commander, wanted you gone so he doesn't have to worry about Obsidian interests." He shakes his smoky weapon. "I serve your Merridian better than he does."

The crows stop cawing.

_Too close to the truth._ "But, I'm still loyal to Gardener!"

Impaler erect, the ogre hunches its back and scoops up more dirt.

Ishkur grunts, pulling Ella up over his shoulder. _Monster's not going to feint this time._ He retreats between the trunks, where the tangle of troll blocks the path.

"Wake up, you bark beauty!"

A murder of crows swarms over the massive logs, descending over Ishkur in a flapping wave to engulf the crouching ogre.

"Ishgawker!"

Whisana?

The ivy-covered troll moves aside, clearing a path between the upended roots of the downed trees. Painted arms waving him through, the young druidess stands beyond, naked as a fairy.

"Come on, Ishlow!" says Whisana.

He bobs his head towards trunk-limbed Toto and stumbles past. The troll moans, creaking back into her sentry position.

Sanctuary or workshop?

Caws fill the night, and crows settle among the branch-trees growing out of the logs. Feathers mix with the leaves, spiraling down together.

Ishkur sets Ella on a patch of blue-speckled cobblestones. "If I pop her arms back in their sockets, can you heal her?"

"Brownies are warning about more ogres." Whisana turns towards some trilling deeper in the forest. "Shouldn't I save my power? Where's my father? Where are Uncle Hoyne and the others?"

"I'll help Toto." He pushes on Ella's arm, and she groans. "While you take Ella to your mom. I'm not sure where—"

A splintering crash. The troll moans a muffled roar. Ishkur spins his polearm and rushes to the roots caging Toto as she holds off an onslaught of ogres.

_Fight's on._ Wood creaks as Toto is pushed back, bending and splintering the long dead roots.

Ishkur thrusts between the troll's legs to pierce a webbed foot. "Plant yourself, Toto!"

Digging her feet into the dirt, the troll churns through the cobblestones below and wrestles with a pair of ogres squeezing into the gap between logs.

Whisana joins him, hands spinning around sparkles of light.

"No." Ishkur shoves her, pointing towards his injured house matron. "Get Ella up and go. I've got this."

Helmet-enhanced eyes narrowed, he spins Endraker and slices through a young tree. _Sharp as Nummer and a hundred times more deadly._ He kicks the thin trunk, tipping it against one of the colossal logs, and hops on. The freshly cut tree bends under his feet, but holds as he clambers up.

The top is fuzzy with moss between the branches of all sizes growing as trees. Beetles and other bugs scurry into hiding as he crouches and taps his armor.

"Shield. Cloak. Heal."

The lean ogre presses against its two peers tangling with the rooting troll. The young ones hang back with a pair of adults that have man-sacks covering their groins.

Pregnant ogres on the frontline? Their colony is stretched thin.

He grins, sliding down the mossy log to land with Endraker leveled at the sacked ones. Rapid clicking, and the others try to break free of Toto.

"Hold them, Toto!"

The troll snakes her arms, stretching past the pair to wrap up the lean ogre with them.

Oh no, Abinten.

Sallai's father hangs from a blotchy ogre's waist, a crossbow bolt through his hand and a wide smile on his face.

Abinten twitches. "Go. We let you. Join my daughter, and raise my grandchild."

Interesting.

The other sack, a blue-scaled fishfolk hanging from a bulky ogre, says, "Yess, we don't tell Long-sspear."

"Your leader's still alive?" They nod, and Ishkur unclamps his helmet to tug on an earring. "With Victor healthy?"

They nod again. _No lying buzz. Jax's charge did fail._

He gestures south. "So many of your colony wounded or dead. Take your fresh sacks, and I'll let _you_ go. Safe passage to somewhere our wrath won't follow, and your colony can recover."

The ogres wrestling with Toto click loud, but can't break her grip. The young ones start their own snapping fervor, but the two pregnant ones keep their mandibles slack and hands at their sides.

Ishkur's mouth twitches. _Disunity breeds advantage._

"We all are of Long-sspear," says the fishfolk sack. "The greatess-t implanter."

"You think you're free from the Skull Crushers?"

Ishkur chuckles and puts his helmet on. Lens effect is still active, turning darkness into shades of gray.

"You're still doing their bidding, Haden's bidding," says Ishkur. "Now through his agent, _Victor_ Longspear." His earrings buzz. _These things warn about lies a little too well._

The pair of ogres click, and then the three held by Toto and the young ones hanging around join in.

By Merridian's mercy, build up some internal strife.

The lean ogre snaps its mandibles, and the rest taper off, antennae drooping.

"You must take Sallai." Abinten twists the bolt in his palm, and his smile falters. "Take her far away." His ogre clicks, and he whimpers.

Ishkur nods and rushes the mess of giants between the colossal logs. He cuts the calf of the lanky bugface and spins his polearm to crack its shelled knuckles prying free of Toto.

Stomping comes close behind Ishkur, and he turns with Endraker raised. "Stop!"

The two ogres with womb-sacks freeze, just out of reach.

Ishkur weaves his smoky polearm about like a massive paint brush. "Abinten, I briefed you on what this weapon can do, right?"

"Cut and blast like a reckless goddess." Blood drips from the crossbow bolt, but the new man-sack's smile is back. "Unless you're out of mystic charges."

_What didn't I tell you?_ Ishkur snorts. "Don't you see this smoke?" He waves his bare hand through the shadows clinging to his blade. _Got to bluff._ "Epic items feed off souls like these to recharge." _But it takes hours._ With the butt of his weapon, he draws a circle in the dirt, deep enough to scratch buried cobblestones of the old trade route. "And when Endraker is done eating, there's nothing left for your _new_ overgod to enslave." _Annoying earrings, buzzing with my intent to mislead, despite literal truth._ He wipes clean the circle with a heel and laughs again, drawing the sound out until it's a cackle.

Crack. Toto whistles a moan.

No.

An ogre twists the troll's branching arm until it snaps, creating space to push free.

"Slice," Ishkur says in Elvish, cutting through the escaping ogre's stomach, and it stumbles to the ground with a stream of guts spilling through its shelled hands. _One charge left._

Glowing blood seeps from the troll's arm socket, and her second arm is ripped off by the lean ogre while its shorter peer grapples her torso.

"Toto!"

With a melodic moan, the troll's owl face turns up to the night sky and whistles a haunting refrain.

Beautiful.

The downed ogre tangles its guts around Toto legs while the two ogres still standing twist her head.

"No!" says Ishkur.

Splinters fly and luminescent blood-sap streams down the troll's torso. She stiffens, standing crooked as a cliff top tree.

Ishkur jabs into the shorter ogre's thigh. It swipes at him and misses. He turns his blade with a growl, severing the swamp giant's tendons in a spray of ichor and dropping it to a knee.

The lean ogre continues to twist Toto's head, all the way around, again and again. Ichor leaking from its calf and other wounds, the ogre's still agile enough to keep the bulk of its fallen, fellow giants in Ishkur's way.

_Gotta save Endraker's last charge._ "Coward!"

The lanky ogre's mandibles snap around the strained troll's neck, popping her head off like the loosened cork of a shook up bottle. Toto's blood fountains. Bright at first spurt, it fades to dim with the second and to a dull nothing by the third.

_Sorry, Toto._ _By Gardener's grace, find peace in your next life._

Swinging the polearm around, Ishkur charges the spectating, pregnant ogres. They hop apart, and he runs between them, tearing through the patchwork of mud and flowers, remnants of the once beautiful field.

Clicking and stomping follows, but not too close. Ishkur swings Endraker over his shoulder and doesn't slow. _They're cautious._

Shades of gray turn dark between blinks. _Five minutes already?_ He taps his headgear. "Owl." Enhanced night vision returns. _When nothing's left, do I bluff this night away?_

He stumbles onto worked land, neat crop lines of dark and gray all the way to the village's street.

Young ogres skirt the edge of his vision. Antennae erect, they snap mandibles in rapid conversation.

"Did you swamp shits think you were herding me?" Ishkur points at the pillar of darkness filling his farmhouse. "You think I didn't plan that?"

He jogs to the street and kicks a pile of oil-doused hay. _Why isn't this lit?_ A few others smolder, but none blaze. _What happened, Hoyne?_

Loitering around his porch, ogres hug horses and mules to their chests. _Had to be done._ Ishkur growls. _People before animals, no matter the bond._

No line of berserkers hold at the stakes to the east. _Is that it?_ Down the street a dozen or more ogres surround the tavern with bare impalers. "Am I... it?"

The area's clicking grows louder, and Victor Longspear comes around the far side of his farmhouse headquarters. One of the ogre's mandibles is shorter than it was, but there's no other evidence of the fight with the dread walker and his berserkers.

Ogre magi, in the open.

The pale necromancer shifts on the aged ogre's groin and spins his hands around a pearl of despair dark as the beacon of Black.

"Never!" Ishkur pokes and pinches. _Legs. Strength._

He grits his teeth and sprints toward the ogre magi with legs a blur, weaving through ogres coming from the tavern and his house's corral.

"Shatter."

A reaching crab hand explodes, and Ishkur's forearm keeps the spray of gore from his lens as his leg power fades. _Was all out anyway._

The injured ogre drops the horse-sack it was hugging with its other hand and stumbles in the way of its equine raping fellows.

"Ha!" Ishkur trips over his mortal feet, catching himself at the stones around the village well, midpoint between his house and tavern. "It's not over, bugfaces!"

"The age of Green _is_ over for Mythica." Victor casts depressive darkness outwards. "There's no future _here_ for Verdant agents!"

"Good thing I'm just a ranger." Ishkur taps his breastplate and says in Elvish, "Heal."

"Surrender, mutt!" says Victor.

Ishkur rolls over the stones, falling into the well's shaft.

Splash. Thunk.

_Pain._ The brick bottom knocks the air out of his lungs and cracks ribs that his breastplate heals as he gasps. _I live._

Each breath comes easier inside his sealed helmet. _Vile ichor all over me._ He dives and hammers the butt of his polearm against a southern point of the wall. _Well water_ _poisoned while washing me clean._

The air thins, and the bricks crack. He slams Endraker through, and the well empties into pitch darkness.

_Sorry, Waygreen survivors._ Ishkur kicks and pries open a hole big enough to crawl through. _Just rain water for a while._

The tunnel angles enough to slide. He lies down and with the help of a layer of slime, uses his polearm to get some speed. The drain shoots him into another freefall and splash.

His gauntlet sticks to Endraker while his chest and helmet protect his breath. _Better this time._

Ishkur sidestrokes through the water and bumps into a fat floating corpse. _Aborted grandfather._ He pushes past it and reaches a familiar wall.

"Oh, titan emperor, keep resting on your lonely throne." Ishkur finds the first mark he cut into the stone with Nummer weeks ago. "I'm merely passing through, again."

He wraps Endraker to the back of his breastplate and climbs. With the sticky gauntlet and premade holes, he doesn't fall back.

Voices at the top slow him.

"Does anyone else want a drink?" says a haggard woman's voice.

"How about strong mead and den your soft ass in my l'ap."

Kimona and Egghead?

Ishkur kicks open the basement wall. Dim lanterns fill the large room with soft light. _Survivors._ Seven snoring berserkers are huddled together in a corner while Egghead snatches up his heavy flail and shakes it at Ishkur.

"E'fshit?

Kimona steps out of an aisle of shelves. "You're alive!" She steps close, hovering her palm near his lens. "How did you... from where?"

"When you fix the well's wall, don't go exploring." He takes off his helmet. "It's haunted down there." His earrings buzz, and he growls and pockets them. _That was kind of true._ "Sallai?"

Kimona gulps and moves the split wood of the wall to cover the hole. "She and the rest of the girls are upstairs." She strains her mouth into a smile. "They'll also be really happy to see you."

He nods. "Are more berserkers with them?"

"Ha'f gone, and it isn't midnig't."

Ishkur backhands the heavy flail to the side and frees Endraker from his back. "Dead?" He grips the berserker's tunic. "Or taken?"

The larger man breaks Ishkur's four-fingered grip with a hand chop. "You want me to waste rage on you?"

Ishkur sighs and steps back.

Egghead says, "Everyone dead. Your aged men squad actua'ly he'ped quite a bit. Wish we cou'd honor dem wi'h good dea'hs too."

_No._ "All got taken to be man-sacks?" _Jorkin._

Egghead points at the snoring dwarf. "I was passed out, but dat is what Happy said."

Ishkur brushes his polearm's shadowed shaft with a bare hand. An icy tingle travels up his arm, but he doesn't collapse.

"Wake up anyone with an ounce of will left, and join me upstairs." _A foolish act on a worthy path._ Ishkur munches on some green beans from his pocket. "I'm going to end this holy farce."

49. Gardener is Love, Gardener is Life

Trees will forget blood soaked leaves

But remember the scars of fire

Kill if you must, but no sparks

I will burn alive before

Abandoning home again

—Queen Saugrin

Taimay's candles flicker around the tavern's common room, filling the space with light and the aroma of spring flowers. Empty mugs line the top of the bar and mix in a sweet scent of stale mead.

A pair of maidens stand at the front door, spears pointed as if an ogre's about to break through. The rest huddle around Ishkur and coo.

Woe to my enemies with my army so frighteningly cute.

Ishkur parries groping fingers. "Sergeant Sallai, get everyone in position."

Sallai clears her throat, stepping back from the flock. "You heard him, ladies. Siege positions. Move it!"

With wide eyes and deep breaths, the young women break off in pairs, going to bigger windows, out into the stables, and upstairs. They adjust their padded armor and level spears at all entry points.

Good girls.

Kimona emerges from the basement, cheeks flushed. She pulls a washrag from her shoulder to cover exposed cleavage. Egghead hurries close behind with a toothless leer and a deep chuckle. Spoons follows, scowling at his big friend.

Love triangle?

Rosto comes up last. Sergeant Sallai waves at him. Blushing, he smiles back.

"Horny, Jealous, and Bashful, just you three?" Ishkur snarls at the men and pounds the bar. "Not even Happy?"

Egghead shrugs his wide shoulders. "Dwarves l'ast l'onger, but when deir rage runs out, den dey stay down l'onger."

"What about Jax?" says Ishkur. "I put a lot into saving your dread walker. Maybe some smelling salts?"

The big berserker pats a pouch. "How do you t'ink I got dese two up?" He slaps Spoons' back, and the cripple cuts into the bar with his hatchet-hands to keep steady. "And dey won't stay up l'ong, so better start your heroic dea'h p'an—suicide idea."

Really wish I could have fixed his teeth.

Kimona clears her throat and holds up her tavern house mug, filled with a frothy brew. "Drink this, Ishkur."

He takes it by the naked woman-shaped handle and wafts the drink under his nose. _Ginger and something spicier._ "What is this?"

"A tonic to invigorate." She pats her belly. "Drink it and for tonight, your mind will be on fire."

Ishkur sets it down. "Thank you, but no. I need my mind clear."

Egghead grabs the mug. "Al'ow me den, dearie." He sips and coughs. "Whoa."

The big man grabs Spoons and spills some into his mouth.

"L'ike Phoenix making l'ove to your brain, yeah?"

The cripple nods and gurgles, cracked lips peeled back from yellow and orange teeth.

"Me too." Rosto gulps the last of the brew and shivers. "It's working. I feel ready."

Ishkur takes the mug from the young man. "Stay with Sergeant Sallai." He pulls him aside and leans close. "Keep her safe."

"Yeah, sure." Rosto brushes the jagged white line connecting his chin to lip. "I pray with Phoenix's passion."

"You know, despite that scar, you're more handsome than me." Ishkur shakes his wrinkled arms.

"No, I saw how..." Rosto presses his thumb against his forehead. "Melting your own skin kept that ogre off, and it showed us your worth." He bows towards Ishkur. "It's rule three: never regret your scars. I honor mine as you should yours."

Ishkur snorts and waves him away. _Silly berserker rules._ He corners Kimona as she clears a table.

"Sir?"

Ishkur moves his hand over her stomach, narrowing his eyes. _You killed our baby._

Kimona bows her head. Shoulders slumped, the buxom woman sinks like a puppet with cut strings.

Ishkur returns the fancy cup and lifts her chin up. "My gambit still needs a volunteer to slip out through the stables." His face twitches, and he quells it with teeth pinching the inside of his cheek. "Someone we can spare, a runner that's no good with a spear."

Kimona shivers and straightens. "I can do that for you, Ishkur."

Can I forgive you?

He kisses her forehead. "Thank you, but do it for your folk, for pregnant Sallai and the maidens around you. You were a hero before with the Obsidians." _By being a whore._ "Time to be brave again."

At the top of the second floor stairs, Tekka bangs her blue helm against the railing. "Ogres are dumping burning hay down the well!"

"They think I'm still down there." Ishkur grips Kimona's shoulders. "You run to the Elkrun house, straight. Bait the bugfaces out of my way. I must return to that beacon of Black filling my Pit-cursed headquarters."

The round-eyed woman gulps, skin paling.

He shakes her. "Don't look back. Don't trip or slow down. You'll be fine. The Elkruns have a stout home." _Hopefully left unlocked._ "Hunker in the cellar until dawn, then make for the sanctuary. Follow the cobbled path, and you'll catch up to your bumpkin exodus."

"What if... what if an ogre gets me?"

He dabs a tear under her eye. "It's supposed to only hurt a moment, then it's a blissful thing. Not a cruel end. At least, not by the standards of Merridian's monsters."

She fills her house mug with more brew and sips it. "Should I bring my rolling pins?"

Ishkur raises an eyebrow. "Will they make you run faster?"

She shakes her head, setting down the mug. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck." He claps. "Hail Kimona! She'll run for us!"

Sallai salutes, and her maidens follow suit.

Ishkur raises his hand but hovers, shy of a proper salute. "Go, now."

Kimona wrings her empty hands, takes in a shuddering breath, and exits into the stables.

"A fine l'ady dat one." Egghead finishes the mug she left, fingering the breasts on the handle. "If an ogre doesn't snatch her up, maybe I wi'l."

_What do I save that isn't worse in the end?_ "Window sentries! Front door ready! Call it!"

Women climb onto tables at the tavern's portholes, and Sallai says, "At the street, ogres chasing! Kimona's almost—oh no!" She turns away. "Taken."

Ishkur winces, slipping on his helmet. "Egghead, follow after the beacon of Black drops. Watch for it!"

The big berserker grunts, shaking his heavy flail as maidens pull open the thick front door.

Ishkur taps his armor and says in Elvish, "Shield. Cloak. Heal. Owl."

Everything I have, I give to protect.

Two pregnant ogres stir at the well in the middle of the street, smoking hay scattered around them. Ishkur levels his polearm and sprints at the pair.

They snap mandibles as their antennae shiver, skipping back on webbed feet. He hops onto the well's stone bordered lip and leaps over the hole to pass between the ant-faced giants wearing wrinkled man-sacks on their waists. _Old village men, but_ _not Jorkin or Hoyne._

Young ogres and other mature ones with womb-sacks both bloated and fresh hold their distance as Ishkur jogs along the street, waving his polearm about.

Where's your leader?

Ishkur skirts around an empty corral to the rear of his farmhouse and freezes.

Oh.

In the field there, the ogre magi sits within a circle of a dozen mutilated ogre bodies. Antennae drooping, Longspear draws Merridian's symbol in the dirt, circle after circle. Attached to the decrepit giant's waist, Victor twists his hands, casting dark magic.

Ishkur eases to the muddy ground, blending in with the help of his armor's camouflaging effect as a gang of young ogres run by. _What's this boss ogre playing at?_ The half-dozen immature giants spread out across his field, and he crawls forward. _Its necromantic magi must be casting a ritual with those corpses._

A bit of flame waves from the edge of the beacon of Black that fills Ishkur's farmhouse. _Hoyne._ The elder human hunkers in the back doorway, naked and shivering with his torch held high and a cane swinging low. _Crazier than ever._

Ishkur stands, raising a finger to where his helmet covers his lips.

"Elf mutt!" Hoyne shakes his torch at the ogre magi.

Ishkur winces as Longspear's antennae straighten, and Victor lifts his head.

"Kill that long-nosed ogre lover!" says Hoyne. "His caster tricks are trying to make me feel guilty about Lulu's death."

Deep darkness seeps out of the necromancer's spinning hands, spreading into the giant carcasses around him. Ishkur jogs closer. With a snap of Longspear's mighty mandibles several young ogres rush to get between him and their leader.

"Don't mind me." Polearm raised, Ishkur skirts the giant youths and continues to the naked elder guarding his back door.

Hoyne raises the cane and drops it. "Are all the girls safe?"

_That's Ibbit's sword cane._ "Maidens hold the inn. Kimona's probably becoming..." _An ogre's womb-sack._ "Well, I'm not certain about her, but Taimay and her daughters are yules away. They're safe, at least." He points at the ogre magi. "Let's keep bugface interest _here_ where we can break them."

"Good." The old man blinks, and his legs wobble. "Lulu would want me to make sure the girls are safe before I..."

"Are you wet?" Ishkur sniffs and coughs. "You're doused in lamp oil."

Hoyne giggles. "Cologne, for my overgoddess."

Ishkur squeezes past him. "Wait one minute, and your fire will matter a lot more."

Eyes closed, he enters the Pit's darkness. Navigating with four fingers and Endraker's shaft, he finds the open hatch and descends into the basement.

Bumping hanging skeletons aside, he finds the small hole in the center and slips his polearm back in its accursed place.

"Another ogre soul for you, Merridian."

The pitch black of the beacon dissipates along with the smoke that clung to his weapon, but the chill of the darkest domain grows stronger. _Your cue, Egghead. Be watching._

"But, you better savor it, oh Mighty Overgod of Swamps and Slime. This shrine is about to be cleansed in Phoenix's name." He pats the human skin papering the basement's wall. "May her blessing burn through the memories that chain these others, these bumpkin souls, to your service."

He swats a dangling skeleton and retrieves Endraker with his gauntlet. The Pit's pillar returns as pitch black as before.

Ishkur climbs back into the house, proper. _Too depressing._ Brushing aside straw, he taps his foot to a beat. "What covers the furniture and floor, ruining the quaint but charming décor?" He stretches his arm out of the darkness to poke Hoyne's ass cheek. "Hay."

The naked elder jerks, almost dropping his torch and cane. "Mutt, you made my heart backflip." Shivering, he rests on his cane and rotates his flickering torch. "I'd like to immolate now. Let Phoenix's passion cleanse me."

"Just a moment more, graybeard." Ishkur leans out of the doorway and turns towards the tavern. _Any time, Egghead._

Gray guts hang. Yellow bones poke. Black ichor drips. No berserker war cries, and the ring of ogre bodies in front of Ishkur and Hoyne stir.

"Shit logs," says Ishkur through his teeth.

At their center, Victor wiggles on Longspear's lap with his arms crossed. _How taxing is the undead ritual?_ The womb-sack magi spins his hands and fresh rust-tinted darkness spews from his palms into the giant corpses. _Not taxing enough._

Ishkur growls as the mandibles of the dead giants twitch, while antennae still hang limp. "Can't wait. Be ready old man." He slips past Hoyne. "I want to make a deal!"

The ogre corpses jerk and climb to their feet as Victor raises his arms. "Speak quickly, dull ranger!" The necromantic magi twists his long fingers. "I'm about to have some fun!"

Berserkers missed their mark, but the show must go on.

Ishkur steps closer. At Longspear's mandible snap, a pair of young ogres flank him.

"Set aside Victor, and upgrade to Ishkur Longspear!" Ishkur bows. "I surrender; just let those in the tavern escape."

Victor growls, and the darkness connecting him to the giant zombies shudders. "No upgrade—"

Longspear clicks its mandibles hard and fast.

Its pale womb-sack clears his throat. "When your sanctuary is churned into mud, this shrine will become a catacomb for me to channel power that'll rival a true avatar bulb." Victor snorts. "The dim thing you are fails to qualify as a ranger, and you're certainly no upgrade for my Longspear."

"What shrine?" Ishkur says and gestures to Elder Hoyne. "Show your passion, man of Red!"

A whoosh of flame, and Hoyne's long beard blazes. He screams a kind of cackling that becomes a moan as the fire spreads. Skin sloughs off his face and bowed legs wobble but hold.

Ishkur flinches from Hoyne's boney grin, and then the burning elder stumbles inside, disappearing into the beacon of Black. _Let your spirit shed light upon this shrine to Pit._

"Gah!" Victor waves his hands, controlling a shadowy cloud that ushers the dozen undead ogres towards Ishkur. "Die!"

_I do foolish things._ Ishkur drops to his knees.

The giant zombies bump into each other. The magi thickens the clouds clinging to them, and they move as one at Ishkur.

A growing heat presses against Ishkur's back, but no flicker of firelight escapes his Pit-possessed house. _I try to help._ He bows his head, holding Endraker level in front of him, balanced in the palm of his gauntlet. _But after the ash settles, is it better or worse?_

Longspear clicks loud, and the flanking young ogres get in the way of their undead elders.

Jagged bone, like a spear tip, sticks from the flayed end of the closest zombie's arm.

"Here is the epic weapon that blew this one's arm off." Ishkur lifts his polearm higher.

Victor's cloud of darkness pulls back from the handicapped zombie as the undead giant struggles against the pair of half-sized ogres.

"Longspear, you will claim its power when you claim me." Ishkur scoots back from the grappling monsters. "Perhaps this undead slave of your womb-sack has enough soul to remember my polearm crippling it?"

Eyes flashing red, the giant zombie jams its sharp stump into the neck of one young ogre and crushes the head of the other with a backhand.

My taunt woke its soul, by Gardener's grace.

Ishkur pokes but holds as Longspear comes from behind, snapping the rebelling zombie's head back. Massive mandibles close on the strained neck and sever. The body drops with minimal ichor pumping out.

Longspear's impaler curves up, magi-free and lengthy.

Ishkur clenches his butt. _If only I faced Shortspear._

Victor curls on the ground behind the boss ogre, abandoned and whimpering. The remaining zombies he raised wander away with young ogres harassing.

_Burn; please burn out that pillar of Pit._ Heat increases from Ishkur's house, but the light doesn't. _Burn through my floor and purge that shrine._

The pair of ogres Ishkur faced at the wildflower field rush to Longspear's side, Sallai's father and the blue-scaled fishfolk still attached to their waists as womb-sacks. The crossbow bolt is gone from Abinten's hand, and his smile is wide.

Ishkur narrows his helmet-enhanced eyes. "Your daughter isn't safe yet."

The man-sack's smile doesn't waver. Longspear clicks, and Abinten's bulky ogre stomps close enough to reach for Endraker.

"Hold!" Ishkur pulls his polearm back. "You know my weapon feeds on souls. Until it stabilizes, I need to be impaled by the ogre handling it." _I can almost feel Jax's earrings buzzing in my pocket._

"A trick?" says womb-sacked Abinten.

"Only trying to be helpful."

Longspear clicks, and the elder man-sack says, "Turn around."

_Drop pillar drop._ Ishkur turns and pokes but pauses. _I've not recovered much power._

"Set your weapon down, then take off your pants."

Egghead, now would be a great time to charge in recklessly.

Flames lick the doorway and smoke billows out, but Pit's darkness still fills his farmhouse.

Ishkur sets Endraker down and unties his linens. _If I shout, it warns Longspear away._ Hands shaking, he pulls his trousers down and off. _Maybe then I survive, but this village place is lost._

Crab hands close on each side of him, holding his arms in and head down.

_A hero's sacrifice, my finale gambit._ He smirks. "Don't bet on black."

Poke. Pinch. _All!_ _Strength!_ The fishfolk's ogre joins its podmate, keeping Ishkur down despite his flaring enhancement. _Come on, where's your boss?_

Longspear presses in from behind, impaler twisting into a hole Ishkur can't quite squeeze shut. _By Gardener's grace._ Skin tears and rear muscles rip, coming apart faster than his breastplate can heal.

Ishkur gasps and taps his linens. "Drr-dr—"

The boss ogre smacks his helmet, making him bite his tongue. _Pain means... pain._

Thrust. Deep enough to tickle intestines. Ishkur screams.

PLAYER PATH CORRUPTED.

Why am I screaming?

Drifting, floating.

I'm not alone.

Hard but gentle hands cradle Ishkur against a wet but warm black belly. His heartbeat slows and matches another stronger beat.

Ishkur smiles, wider than he ever has. "I am yours."

Longspear clicks, and words form in Ishkur's mind. "You are my day-eyes, womb for our child, and bridge to your overgod's power."

"I am eyes, bridge, and womb." Ishkur rubs his breastplate. "Welcome little bugface. I'm your daddy-mommy, but you can call me Ishy. It's so wonderful to have family—"

"Be silent," says Longspear with a sharp click. "Unless, you've something useful to say."

Oh, poor grumpy ogre. Perhaps, if I convert my plot to trick into a limerick, my Longspear will cheer up.

Ishkur wiggles on the giant's impaler.

I just have to make it really funny.

50. Ishkur Longspear's Tricky Limerick

A hero was foolish at Waygreen

Inviting an ogre to raping

Impaler went soul deep

That the fool could not sleep

Until shit found its way back to Green

—Ishkur Inshushinak Ishtaran

Ishkur's helmet-enhanced sight fades. _Will my ogre be mad if I speak?_ He taps his armor and bites his lip. _An Elvish word would aggravate._

With Ishkur attached as an external womb to its waist, Longspear turns towards a lone ogre zombie with a chain hanging from its gut. The undead giant shambles on shattered knees towards the burning farmhouse where the beacon of Black still rises, a pillar so dark it splits the night sky.

Is that Mayp's chain?

Longspear clicks, but no young ogres are near. Those left, along with Abinten's and the fishfolk's ogres, are corralling their zombie peers into the forest. The old ogre stomps its webbed foot next to Victor, still whimpering in the dirt and refusing to cast his zombie controlling cloud.

The straying ogre zombie smashes a shelled hand against the house's wall. The whole smoky structure shudders and shifts. The beacon flickers, blinding with a lighting-like flash of the hidden inferno.

_Oh, the signal._ "Dear Longspear," says Ishkur. "Before you made happy me, I set up a nasty scheme. I have been making words rhyme, but there's not been enough time. It starts with pillar dropping and ends with your soul feeding." He hangs his head. "Sorry, it's not yet funny."

A roar echoes. _The berserkers._ Pregnant ogres lounging near the tavern click, filling his mind with their panic. _Oh no._

"Run away!" Ishkur kicks his legs and crosses arms over his stomach. "Keep our baby safe!"

With sharp mandible snaps that vibrate meaning through its impaler into Ishkur, Longspear says, "Stay silent and be still." The old ogre catches Ishkur's feet and bends to pick up his polearm.

But, Endraker is what your soul will feed.

Crab-leggy fingers pinch the weapon's shaft and lift.

Can sad irony still be funny?

More a hand axe in the giant's grip than a polearm, Longspear shakes the weapon and says with clicks, "Okay. Now, make this work. Make me strong."

Ishkur pokes and pinches. _Ogre!_ Verdant glow targeted, it spreads from him to the giant's groin and across its body.

Pain throbs in Ishkur's head, straining his breastplate's healing. _Like the bolt through Abinten's hand, pain grants charm resistance._

Smoky darkness seeps from Endraker's shaft to curl around the ogre's glowing wrist.

My gifted power wakes Endraker's hunger to your shell-covered touch.

"What's happening?" Longspear wobbles. "I don't feel stronger."

You'll get no strength from me.

Longspear collapses to a knee, polearm still gripped as the smoke around it thickens.

I wanted this, my desperate gambit.

The old ogre falls to its side.

Ishkur twists to kick the ground and gasps, holding his eyes open as the verdant glow fades from them both. "I planned for this." Head throbbing, he cackles. "I've beaten you, bugface, and I'm beating Haden's game!"

The giant zombie with the chain stumbles over.

Uh oh.

Longspear shudders. Its mandibles close, but without strength enough to click.

Ishkur blinks, easing the head pain from summoning power and losing the charm resistance the aching granted. He pats the armor protecting his stomach. _Our baby._

Soul-sucking smoke spreads from his polearm, flowing from the ogre to Ishkur's waist. He squirms, but can't slide off of Longspear's impaler.

"Help us!" Ishkur tries to kick, but his legs only twitch. "My cursed polearm is eating our souls!"

Mayp pokes her bald head out of the giant zombie's stomach, spilling a bucket's worth of sloppy gore. "My-my ogre house, not yours." The little ghoul hisses and slurps down some rubbery guts. "Go away-way."

_Have to protect our baby._ Ishkur draws his dagger with a shaking hand. "Okay." He reaches behind and saws through the fleshy connection.

Ichor sprays, and he falls, smacking dirt. The soul-sucking smoke dissipates from him and condenses around Longspear.

"I'm so sorry, or maybe not." Ishkur shakes his head, the ogre's womb-charm dulling. "I feel as emotionally confused as a human maiden."

The giant zombie moans, reaching with hands dripping ichor.

"Stay away!" Ishkur jabs with Nummer's short blade.

Mayp leans out of the ogre zombie's belly, tugging her chain like a sailor keeping a boat steady in a storm. "Bye-bye." Metal grinds on the giant's spinal bone, and the massive monster turns.

_Gross irony._ He smirks. _Can be funny._

Longspear's antennae twitch once and are still. The dark haze retreats to Ishkur's polearm.

_A life is in me. I'm not alone._ He stretches his legs, wincing. _But the life that kills me will have no one._

Ishkur slaps his breastplate. "Heal."

As his armor's renewed enchantment repairs his expanded insides, Ishkur rolls to his knees and grunts. _Indeed, gross irony._ A length of impaler slides out of him. _Big as a griffin's shit log._

Bile clogs his throat, and he spews his last meal.

_No more pickled beets._ He spits and wipes his mouth. "Where's my pants?" He frowns at a sticky wetness covering his legs. "Maybe a bath first."

Mayp steers her stumbling zombie into a neighboring field.

"Hey, Victor." Ishkur crawls to the caster. "I haven't forgotten that you're a necromancer."

The pale man shivers, clutching his stomach. "My baby."

"One, growing inside each of us." Ishkur waves his dagger near the base of the man's neck. "I think I'm dulled to this horror by some residual womb-charm juices." He points at Longspear's severed impaler. "How do you feel about an ogre baby eating its way through you?"

Timber snaps, crashing, and a furnace roars. The beacon of Black flickers and goes out, revealing Ishkur's farmhouse headquarters to be a blazing bonfire that lights up the village like an early dawn.

I suppose Hell's an improvement over Pit.

Giant shadows wander between houses. Ogre clicking echoes, but Ishkur can't understand it without an impaler pumping him with an ogre's interpretive will.

"We'll chat later." Ishkur rolls away from Victor and crawls to Longspear's body.

Gauntlet sticking and dagger slicing, he frees Endraker from the old ogre's death grip.

"Don't worry." Ishkur pats the polearm's smoky blade. "I'm letting you keep _this_ soul."

Ishkur lies down and breathes deep. The fire's smoke blankets the sky and sparks dance across it like fireflies chasing shooting stars.

No more ogre shadows or nearby clicks.

When his healing charge runs out, he taps again. "Heal."

Be around, Peggy. No beacon or shrine to bother you.

Poke. Pinch. _Mouth!_ _Nature!_ His breastplate's healing eases his pounding head.

_Griffin!_ Ishkur screeches a roar, loud as a true hybrid of eagle and lion. _Come!_

He gasps, blinking as his power fades from his mouth. "Come on girl, I took good care of you."

Footsteps and heavy breathing.

"Hey, E'fshit." Egghead jogs to stand over Ishkur and shakes gore off his heavy flail. "Why are you squawking l'ike a chicken with a bare ass?"

"Like... an eagle." Ishkur releases his polearm and stretches the skirt of his linen tunic down as he sits up. "Why didn't you—"

"Kimona's tonic made it torture to wait. We burst out as soon as dat dark beacon stuttered." He grins at the farmhouse inferno. "And now, sure as a crone's sagging tit, it's gone."

A shift in wind pulls back the smoke, opening a window into the glittering infinity of a moonless night.

Ishkur says, "Earlier, I returned my polearm to drop the pillar of Pit. I waited for you to see before recovering it from the shrine."

"So, you turned da beacon back on, and we never noticed."

"Why not?"

"Maybe dey were mourning Kimona." Egghead walks around and kicks Longspear's mismatched mandibles. "Maybe I was mourning my bro'hers." He roars, swinging his flail down and cracking open the giant's head.

Ishkur scoots away from the splatter. "Just to be sure?"

The berserker wobbles. "Yeah, and I'm not dropping yet. I've a question before da tonic wears off."

A flying shadow blocks some stars. _Peggy._

Ishkur smiles. "What?"

Egghead hops over and knocks Endraker out of reach with his heel.

"Hey—"

The big man smacks Ishkur with his flail, making his helmet ring. "Spoons got caught, cheeks spread and impa'ed. So, I crushed his sku'l just l'ike I did to dis ogre."

Ishkur shakes the hit off and holds up his hands. "Sorry for your loss."

"Second ru'e." Egghead swings and flail chains wrap around the armor on Ishkur's blocking arm, banging his helmet harder than before. "Not sorry for smashing your head in."

Wincing, Ishkur rolls to the side and taps his pauldron. "Shield."

The big man roars. Face distorted by strained muscles, he swings with berserker force. Ishkur turns his shoulder to block. Its enchantment slows the attack some, but the chains still whip around to bash into his breastplate with spiked weights. He grunts, bones breaking despite his armor resisting damage.

"Hold!" Ishkur groans as his breastplate's effect repairs his bones. "W-what's your question?"

Egghead frowns, shouldering his flail. "Have you been raped by an ogre?"

"No."

The big berserker snorts and holds out his hand. "I know you have Jax's tru'h earrings. L'et me hear you when wearing dem."

A griffin dives towards them.

"It was consensual," says Ishkur.

As Egghead's eyes widen and his arm lifts for a vicious strike, an arm length of sticky shit smacks the berserker's head while the mystic effect of Ishkur's pauldron deflects most of the splatter.

"Fou'—"

Ishkur surges up, cutting the man short with Nummer's blade across his throat. Blood spilling out like a waterfall, Egghead swings, cracking Ishkur's ribs.

The big man falls, and Ishkur staggers as his bones knit.

"You..." He grits his teeth and stands over the gurgling berserker. "You stink like an aviary."

Peggy dives again, lower, with talons extended.

"Just land!"

The griffin snatches Ishkur up and flaps hard to gain altitude.

"Wait!"

Ishkur pokes and pinches, but no power's left to force understanding.

"Endraker!" He stretches a four fingered hand and a gauntlet holding Nummer. "And my pants!"

51. A Pyrrhic Victory

I do not like being sad

So I try to be happy

But settle for pretending

If I smile long enough

Does it matter what I felt

—Apriea "Two Step" Hershed

Brown feathers and golden tufts of fur decorate thorny bushes around Ishkur. Mid-morning sunlight greens his body, naked except for the gauntlet encasing his right hand.

He tugs at the flabs of skin on his arms and legs, remnants of his unskilled skin replacement. _It could tighten up if I fast._ He rubs his backside. _But do I have a baby bugface to feed?_

A screech and a whoosh of wings.

Ishkur covers his head as Peggy swoops down with a deer in her talons. The griffin drops the animal at his feet, blood still pumping out and doey eyes clear.

"Thank you, Peggy. I favor leaves, roots, and berries because of my half-elf stomach." He bows and slices meat off a leg. "But, I'm going to smile and pretend to be our old friend, Apple. He would savor this carnivorous offering for nest hospitium and eat a peach pie bar as a chaser."

Ishkur bites the fur-backed flesh, and the griffin bobs her head. His flat teeth chew, squeezing blood out but failing to tear through. Peggy chirps, and Ishkur smiles with wet red lips and a gurgling throat.

Wishing for my pie bar.

He lowers the meat and burps. "Let's test our new bond."

The griffin snatches the deer flesh off his palms with the precision of a pickpocket and gulps it down.

Poke. Pinch. _Mouth. Nature. Griffin._ He screeches a rolling growl. _Bury deer, and fly me to village._ His head pain spasms, and he hunches over, blinking as his mouth glow fades.

"Excuse—"

He heaves a red stream of spit and turns from the hybrid beast as she rips into the ground.

Worse than dwarven wine.

Ishkur shudders and turns back as Peggy rolls the deer into a shallow grave, per the habit of her kind. "Let me help." He kicks some dirt, and they bury the carcass using talons and boots.

The griffin stomps the spot with her furry hind legs and lowers for a mounting. _My path, a Full circle._ Ishkur hops onto her bare back and leans forward into the feathers of her shoulders while squeezing his thighs.

He pats her neck. "Saddle lost with my mystic survey map. I wouldn't mind so much, except I lost my pants. Nice and slow, my butt's a bit tender also."

The takeoff scoots him down her spine. He clings to fur as they rise above the treetops, above even the colossal ones scattered about. _All those old trolls gone to root._

Smoke rises from the ruins of his farmhouse headquarters, a poor imitation of the Pit-dark pillar that had filled it. _What a mess._

He recovers a proper seat as Peggy circles over the village. Almost a third of the homes have been ripped open like holiday gift boxes, wood beams and roof tiles scattered across crop fields and the forked street.

Ogres.

A few zombies wander about, both human sized and giant. Nothing living moves, not a horse or ogre, a man or a mule. _Did we win or lose?_

The granite walls of Three States Tavern stand strong, and its thick door is shut. Except for some damage to a stable's entrance, the central building is unscathed.

Why hide inside when the sun is so bright?

He heels Peggy's ribs, and she banks around the large tavern to land on the side of the village's hill. "Thank you, girl."

Poke. Pinch. _Mouth. Nature. Griffin._ He screeches. _Don't go far. I'll call you soon._

The beast squawks and launches into the air with the grace of a flying cat.

Ishkur blinks and jogs, ducking around farmhouses to avoid zombies until he finds his polearm, lying where Egghead had kicked it. He turns full circle, frowning.

Bodies claimed by retreating ogres?

The big berserker, the boss ogre, and the necromancer are gone, along with all but a few scattered zombie parts _._

Or is Mayp's stomach truly epic?

Ishkur squats over his polearm, bare hand hovering close. The fine weapon is covered in dark mud, a fraught mixture of ogre blood and fertile soil. No shadows cling to its length, and despite the filth, its blade is clear under the sun.

"Shrine gone and a night with Longspear's soul in you, is it enough to break that vampiress's curse?"

He gulps and closes the four fingers of his left hand around Endraker's cool metal shaft. Not a tingle. Grinning, he twirls the polearm between both hands.

Now to rid myself of the curse of responsibility.

Ishkur jogs around the village, weaving about to collect the interest of any decaying undead. They follow, always turning towards him as he draws them out and maneuvers them into a single file line.

Next to the Waygreen Village sign, Ishkur spreads his feet and plants the butt of Endraker. The undead shamble forward one at a time. With butcher cuts he destroys the human zombies. With logger chops he ends a single undead ogre.

A pile of gore blocks the road, and streams of Pit-cursed blood drain into the ditches on both sides. Panting, Ishkur squishes through.

At the front of the village's tavern, he pounds the hunched man carved into the door with his gauntlet. "Wake up, survivors!" Flecks of his blood blend in with the remnants of black paint. "Dawn is well past, and the day requires much killing! Their leader dead, the ogres have scattered to rest but only until dusk!"

Women whisper. Furniture scrapes.

"Sir?" says Tekka through the door.

"It is I, your Protector."

"You're not an ogre's womb-sack are you?"

Ishkur scratches his butt. "Shall I walk under a window so you can check?"

"No, no." The door swings in. "We trust you, Sir."

Bumpkin logic.

Ishkur pulls off his helmet as bleary-eyed maidens swarm him with hugs and murmuring.

Tekka stands back, adjusting the straps of her blue helm. "Is it safe to go outside?"

With a butterfly stroke, Ishkur parts the crowd of young women. "No, and it won't get better unless you _do_ go out." He frowns as the maidens disperse. "Where's Sallai?"

Tekka blushes. "She's up in the suite with... um, the only man that came back."

"Excuse me?"

"Uh, Rosto." She gulps, lazy eye drifting. "He thought you got taken, like Kimona was."

_Yes and no._ Ishkur pats his armored belly. "So, Sergeant Sallai has picked him as her mate?"

Tekka clears her throat, shooing nearby women until they grumble and move across the common room. "Sallai said she liked making Rosto nervous." Tekka shrugs and pats his shoulder. "Stress bonds people."

"I suppose it may." _One baby momma down._ Ishkur chews his lip. "Are the berserkers that stayed sleeping below still, or are they _bonding_ too?"

"Just men, in a smelly pile, snoring." Tekka rubs her cheek. "I tried to get some up at dawn, but got slapped."

His eyes narrow. "Which one hit you?"

Tekka lowers her pretty head. "I'm not sure; not the dwarf."

_Maybe someone she likes._ He sighs and nods. "Fine. Raid the tavern's stores and get the girls preparing a hardy brunch up here."

"Should I get Sallai to help?"

"Let the love birds cement their bond. Rosto will be a fine addition to your village." Ishkur smirks, rubbing a bare knee. "Grab his pants for me, and you can be Acting Sergeant."

"Oh." She curtsies and then salutes. "Yes, Protector Sir."

As Tekka hurries upstairs, Ishkur thumps the floor with his polearm. "At noon, I'm leading what berserkers remain to clear this whole area of zombies and living ogres. By sunset, you'll have your home..."

Women gasp, and a bulky man fills the doorway. _Jorkin._

"You're alive!" Ishkur rushes over. "And not a bugface's buckle."

The older man leans against the doorframe. "I heard your griffin and dared to climb out of the root cellar I was hiding in." He nods to the grinning gaggle of maidens. "Anyone else hiding out here?"

"A few upstairs and berserkers in the basement." Ishkur grips the man's shoulder. "Join us for a meal, and then we'll finish this fight under the sun's eye."

Jorkin chuckles. "Sure, elf man, I'll accept your hospitium."

Women bustle, and the burly men below wake to dishes clinking and food cooking. The dwarf is the last to rise, despite being the berserker platoon's cook.

Happy stumbles to the table claimed by three of his surviving fellows, the only ones besides Rosto and Jax. _Do they blame me for their dead?_ Their tongueless leader is laid out beside their table, drooling into a half-empty bowl of broth. _Or for their damaged?_

Ishkur adjusts borrowed pants and takes a tray of food to them. "Eat up."

Happy stretches his short leg towards the last empty chair. "Join us, Juggernaut?"

Ishkur frowns, passing out dishes. "How do you know I called myself that?"

The dwarf flexes his gorilla arms. "It's what we call all rangers." He pounds the table. "The loss of your demigod didn't stop you."

The other berserkers whisper, "Juggernaut."

Happy pounds the table. "Your band's betrayal didn't stop you."

The berserkers say, "Jug-ger-naut."

"A hundred ogres couldn't stop you!"

"Jug-ger-naut!"

Happy silences the others with a raised hand that he turns into a thumbs up. "Respect, Ishkur Path."

Ishkur chews his lip, leaves the food tray, and crosses the room to Jorkin. The bulky man has claimed a corner table and rests his legs on two empty chairs.

"Congratulations, Jugger-mutt." Jorkin pounds his table. "But where's my food?"

Ishkur rubs his eyes. "I have this feeling. It's happiness I think, or maybe relief, but I can't accept either yet. I'm not done."

The big farmer nods. "Well, apparently you aren't supposed to stop any more than seasons are." He smiles at Ishkur's raised brows. "You're a force of nature. If you don't find trouble, trouble finds you."

Ishkur lifts a cup. "Here's to being a force of good nature." He grins and clinks Jorkin's mug.

They chuckle and drink. _I'm going to miss this guy the most._

Maidens scurry about, feeding men and filling mugs.

Ishkur grabs Tekka's arm as she tops off his cup. "You've fought as warriors. Take a break from wenching, and I'll make the men take a turn serving."

She kisses his cheek and gathers the women to sit.

Ishkur takes a bag of harvested produce to the berserkers' table. "Fix some food for the ladies." He fondles his dagger's hilt. "While they eat, we'll sweep the area of lingering monsters."

Happy wipes bacon grease from his chin. "No, we're done. We fought and died." He flicks Jax's ear, and the mute man moans like a troll. "Or worse."

"But." He shakes his head. "You called me 'Juggernaut.' "

"You are unstoppable, but we are mere ferox berserkers. We need rest and relaxation."

"I see." Ishkur bows with a palm up flourish, fingers curled in the elvish insult. "I'll let everyone know to plan accordingly."

With Jorkin's aid in the kitchen, Ishkur serves the women food and drinks, while the berserkers lounge. _Not going to let their stubbornness stop me either._

Endraker leans against a wall with its blade pressing against a thick oak beam.

Ishkur picks up the polearm. "Never have I held a finer weapon." He spins it around, slamming the club end into the thick wood.

Tables shake and splinters fly.

"Nice hit." Happy chuckles. "Of course, I could do that with a bare hand while tranquil as a whore at dawn."

Ishkur thumbs a sliver of the beam half-broken off. "This tavern's a fortress because of such reinforcements."

The dwarf gulps down a mug and tosses it to a passing maiden. "One good thing for both of us." He leans over and smacks the side of Jax's head. "Our boss man is not aware enough to care about Hildr. We are _all_ free of his obsession. So, we rest and relax."

"And if Jax wakes—"

"Back to our dread walker's lead." Happy sighs. "We will head out towards the town of Qutain, dawn tomorrow. They should have a proper healer there, someone to help his body and soul. No offense to your field medicine."

"Okay." Ishkur puts on his helmet and slams the beam again with Endraker. "But you will help me secure the village first, and then I'm flying to Haden."

Slam!

"I will shatter my friend's body and sever his head."

Slam!

"Like this."

Ishkur slams and says in an Elvish whisper, "Shatter."

Hardwood as thick as an ogre's leg explodes into pulp. Splinters ricochet off his armor and spray the wall. Women gasp, and the berserkers clap.

"Fun, but wasteful." Happy picks up his pickaxe.

"Isn't your second rule, 'never apologize for violence?' " Ishkur whistles.

Jorkin bursts out of the kitchen with Abinten's crossbow cocked and aimed at the dwarf. "You'd leave now and doom us to become ogre wombs?" Jorkin spits on the ground. "As a kid I thought berserkers had no fear." He snorts. "But that's a scam. You're only brave when angry, and that doesn't last nearly long enough."

Tekka and a couple of the maidens set dishes aside for spears to back up the big farmer.

Ishkur holds up his hand as the remaining three berserkers join Happy in a battle stance. "Shall we start the cleansing in this room, or can we all agree to maintain hospitium and finish what we started last night?"

"You plotted this charade in the kitchen." The dwarf lifts his chin towards Jorkin. "Better hit me dead on, I've a tough hide and a bear's viciousness.

Ishkur press his thumb against forehead. "By Phoenix's passion, don't tempt grieving folk. Help us."

"For a price." Happy flicks an empty mug with his thumb. "Give us this tavern."

"What?" Ishkur lowers his polearm.

"And smile." The dwarf stretches his mouth into a wide grin and slaps his forehead tattoo. "Even half an elf should be chipper during a sunny day." He sets down his weapon and picks up a splinter as his fellows relax their breathing and stance.

"Inside my helmet, I am smiling." _Not._ "You really want to claim this inn?"

"Well." The dwarf rubs his large hands together. "You already took care of the tavernkeep and his daughter."

Jorkin lowers his crossbow. "What this about the Basins?"

"Ms Kimona Basin distracted ogres so I could take out their leader." Ishkur chews his lip. "She got taken."

Happy shrugs. "Unless you want a baby bugface inheriting this place, give it to us. Like you said, it is a fortress with mead and replaces the one we blew up. Presuming we can't find a healer that can bring old Jax back, then we'll make a home here."

Tekka puts aside her spear. "I can help run it."

"So can we." Sallai descends the stairs with a blushing man wrapped in a sheet.

Enjoy those butterscotch nipples, Rosto.

"Fine." Ishkur strides to the door and says through clenched teeth, "The happy couple can start now and hold this mead fort. The rest of you, follow."

A quick tour around their village yields nothing. Ishkur splits everyone up and searches farmhouses with Jorkin.

Click.

Jorkin points at the hatch for Sallai's root cellar. Ishkur takes a step over.

Bursting out of the hole, a young ogre flails a zombie leg held at the ankle. Jorkin shoots the youth with a bolt, and Ishkur caves its ant-face in with a meaty swing before its rotten club can connect.

"When you catch up to my wife, don't tell her about the mess." Jorkin wipes oily splatter from his tunic as a black puddle spreads from the twitching body and seeps between the floorboards. "I'm not sure she'd lead our folk back to it." He spits and rubs the stain the ichor's left on his clothes. "Not when we can't clean properly."

"Won't she be thankful that you're alive, and your house still stands?"

Jorkin chuckles and leads Ishkur outside. "She'll have the weight of all this." He points the crossbow around at the broken houses and smears of gore crisscrossing the street. "Plus what? You said something about the well being drained and the pool below poisoned?"

"By Mr Basin's corpse, yes." Ishkur waves to Tekka, and a berserker coming out of a house across the street. "But I'll make sure Happy fixes the well before he goes to Qutain. Dwarves love stonecraft, so I expect he won't mind making it better than before."

Tekka moves on to the last house with her partner.

Ishkur points at a patch of clouds. "And, rain will do wonders about the stench."

Happy and a couple of maidens cheer at the other end of the street where an undead ogre crawls along with one arm and nothing but a trail of guts below its waist. _What has been won when monsters we have become._

"I failed you." Ishkur bows his head. "Whatever my intentions, your folk faced more holy war carnage."

Jorkin thrusts an open hand. "Lift your head, and don't leave me hanging."

Ishkur grips the man's fingers, calloused from hard hours at plowing, digging, and chopping. _Honest work._ The bulk of his gauntlet barely outsizes Jorkin's fist, and the farmer's strength presses metal to crack skin around poorly regrown fingers. _This man's more holy in simple service to farm and family than I've ever been to Gardener._

Blood leaks out of his armored glove. _I've been as misguided as a crusader in my selfish righteousness._ Ishkur tries to let go, but Jorkin tugs and shakes it.

"Since the Obsidians plundered us, life has been a continuous spiral around despair. You've failed maybe more than you've succeeded, but I'm still thanking you."

Ishkur gulps. "Why?"

"Because you try, Jugger-mutt. With everything you have, with everything you are, you've committed yourself to our survival." Jorkin shrugs. "I don't understand your rationalization for why, no matter you going on about Gardener and the crusades and your demigod, your friend at the coast." He shakes his head. "All of that is noise." He pounds his heart. "You _care_. I feel it, and I'm thankful."

A kind of heat rises and makes Ishkur's tongue thick and his ears tingle. _When has anyone ever said such a thing to me?_ "You're welcome, Mr Elkrun."

Jorkin laughs and claps him on the back. "I'm not your father-in-law yet, Mr Ishtaran."

_I do want you to be._ The afternoon sun is warm with summer's promise as Ishkur returns with the old farmer to the Three States Tavern. _But how can I further subject such a beautiful family to the curse of my... caring?_

52. A Finished Flight

When a soldier comes home

He wants a firm bed and a soft pillow

When a woman comes home

She wants a hard man with a gentle heart

~

Softly the soldier weeps

Her lap was the key that gentled his heart

—Taimay Elkrun

Water runs down Peggy's beak and drips on mossy ground. A soft gray fills the sky, muting the sunrise.

Ishkur slides off the griffin's back and tightens his pants. The drizzle dampens, but he holds a smile.

"Great news, folks!"

Taimay steps into the small forest clearing where Peggy landed. "Oh?" She crosses her arms as several other mothers join her.

Tough crowd.

He nods. "Your village friend and protector, Happy the Dwarf, is repairing your well." Water rolls down his nose, beading up at his nostril. "This rain is perfect timing."

Taimay raises an eyebrow. "What happened to the well?"

"A desperate fight was won." Ishkur sniffs and wipes his nose. "Waygreen Village is safe because of me, our berserker friends, and the fine folk you left behind." He dips his head towards her. "Especially your husband."

"Do you imagine I'm grateful? This is _your_ mess."

Ishkur spreads his hands. "There's a lot to rebuild, many to mourn, but more to be thankful for."

The women whisper to each other with sour faces.

_Not even a handshake?_ He clenches his gauntleted fist, and fingers fused to the metal rip. _You were wrong, Apple._ Blood fills and spills out, red stream dripping. _Bumpkin humans won't ever accept me into their tribe._

He taps his breastplate and says in Elvish, "Heal." The tangled flesh in his gauntlet stops bleeding.

Human or otherwise, maybe a tribe is no better for an elf mutt than my lousy band.

Taimay shushes her peers and says, "Then once we bury Ibbit, we'll start hiking back."

Ishkur winces. "What... happened?"

" 'Happened?' He was a sick old man hurried through the wilderness instead of tended in a warm bed."

"Should I bless him?"

"The brownie queen already did."

"Ah." Ishkur scratches his neck. "How about Ella? Did you help Whisana fix her arms? Do you need me—"

"They're fine and out with brownies collecting berries."

"Hopefully not the bile kind." He gags and chuckles.

Her left eyebrow rises again, and he clears his throat.

"Anything else I can do?" he says.

Taimay gestures towards Peggy. "Try walking with us home."

"It'll only take a few minutes by Griffin."

Taimay's lips thin until her teeth shine and dulled human canines poke out.

_Does she want to bite me?_ "But then again," says Ishkur, "I could spend half the day reassuring you all about what will become clear when you arrive." _A month of dawn to dusk chores and maybe some hairy bartenders._

Taimay points at her older daughter, Paija, with her friend, Two Step, leaning against each other with slumped shoulders and red eyes. "Start with reassuring them."

"Or." Ishkur clears his throat. "While you bury your eldest elder, I could do a wider circle on Peggy, just to be sure the surviving ogres have scattered out of roaming range of the village."

Stepping close, she swats the helmet clipped to his waist. "I see you drifting away." She stands on her tiptoes and flicks his ear. "How can you commit to a family, if you can't survive a conversation?"

He rubs his ear. "Actually, I've been looking forward to..." _Running._ "Talking." He pats the pouch containing his mystic earrings. "I simply didn't want to intrude."

The two expectant mothers shiver under the needles of a cedar as the drizzle dissipates. A little sun breaks through the cloud cover. _Please don't cry._

He approaches. The young women suck in breaths and stumble into him with whimpers and squeezes. _Suffocating emotions._

Peggy squawks as a brownie cartwheels near her.

"Take it easy, girl," Ishkur says, and the women embracing him shudder. "Just talking to my griffin." _Grip me with talons and carry me clear before I drown in feelings._ "You girls can let it all out."

Paija sobs for a few breaths and lifts her head. "Is it really over?"

"Please say so, Sir." Two Step huffs and tugs at a twig tangled in her pigtail. "Forest life is so miserable that I miss stirring laundry pots."

"For you two, it's done." He pats their shoulders. "But I've still some vicious chores left."

A few twig men cartwheel over, and the tallest says in Brownie, "Queen Saugrin wants you, come."

"I'm summoned; excuse me, ladies." The young women frown, but curtsy as Ishkur goes.

Some crows caw, and he follows the tiny men across spongy ground to a stump where the doll-like shaman sits. _Think clever thoughts._ Her miniature daughter perches on some shelf fungus fanning out from the decaying wood and matches her mother's forbearing expression.

"Greetings Queen and Princess," he says in Brownie and bows with a flourish. "Words cannot express how grateful I am for your aid with these folk's survival."

Saugrin rubs a round belly and says in English, "They are fruit trees with low branches, while our berries ripen in their shade."

"Excuse me?"

"Why would wolves care about squirrels on branches if there are cows with bells inside fences?"

_A human buffer._ "Does Taimay know the purpose of her people is to... protect yours?"

Saugrin nods. "To continue receiving our favors, their queen agreed."

_An added reason for the chilly reception from "Queen" Taimay._ "Must have been an interesting conversation." _And a battle of wills._

"Her younger daughter handled it in her service as liaison." She pats her belly. "As you will handle fatherhood in your service as my Hipster Consort."

" 'Hipster' what?"

"I've also petitioned on your behalf and finally received a reply." She taps a ring on the stump and pinches her fingers. "With my sponsorship, you may be a probationary agent of Verdant."

Ishkur coughs. "Wow, that's quite a thing... but I'm an impure hybrid." _And I'd rather have Mayp bite another finger off._ "How can the crusade of Green accept me?"

"With your ranger's aura, you were elf enough to breed with me."

"Yeah, and human enough that your fertility spell gave me a... hard night." _Wait._ "If you can sponsor, then you're already a Verdant."

She pats her daughter's crown of pointed hair. "Queens of our tribe have always been agents of the Gardener's Crusade." A crow caws. "We survive because of our spying eyes."

"Okay, but back by Lotus Hollow, did you act on Apple's warning, or did you already have the Verdant druids ready to attack Hildr?"

"Apple?" She trills and say, "He's your band's pet shaman?"

Ishkur grunts and nods.

"That fat old human valued fruit more than loyalty to you." Saugrin tugs at a piece of moss above her ear. "Shared everything he could to make pie bars with my peaches."

Ishkur massages his temple. "I told him secrets, so I was your tool too."

"Yes, but we didn't need either of you to warn us your fiery woman was coming." She points down. "You big folk always come the same way. If only the demigod purge had happened sooner, my druid friends would have ripped her apart."

Blood drips from his gauntlet. "I ostracized myself for nothing, protecting an old disloyal fool."

Saugrin trills, and her daughter tumbles backwards.

Does the desire to rip you apart show in my aura?

The little queen says in English, "You regret that man's pitiful effort to help my tribe." She moves her hands, spinning around a chartreuse ball of light. "Apostate, still."

Ishkur pokes and pinches. _Arms. Strength._ She spins faster, but he slaps her light away with a verdant glowing palm.

"You dare—"

"Your tribe!" Glow fading, Ishkur shoves her to the ground and clamps his helmet on as sling bullets ping against his armor. "Building on the old trade route—was that a Verdant directive?"

Crows caw and more brownies pelt Ishkur with bullets. He grunts as one cracks against his knee.

"Enough!" He spins Endraker, slamming the blade down between the queen and her approaching daughter.

Saugrin holds a hand up and trills. The crows flap away, the bullets stop, and the princess lowers tiny hands holding thorn daggers.

"You set up your own people, your own ancestor grove, as bait."

The brownie queen spits. "We do our part, like your dear farmers will."

Ishkur smiles and kisses an ivy leaf molded into Endraker's shaft. "This beautiful tool will harvest you and all your tribe too, if you abuse my _dear_ farmer folk."

"By Gardener's grace, nature is loving but not kind," says Saugrin.

He scoffs. " 'Loving?' Like when you cursed my aura to breed with you?" He blushes green. "That night, I had to keep having physical sex so I didn't... explode." _Wait._ "That was planned too, wasn't it? You wanted me to impregnate all those girls. Chains to keep me here and a bell around my neck." He growls and bends close as she stands. "But no fence will hold me, and what good is a bell if I rip out the clapper?"

Saugrin crosses her arms and raises a mossy brow. "Why do you care what happens to others, when you so much want to be alone?"

_Poised like Taimay._ "You women really know how to make a hero feel welcome."

The princess trills and says in Brownie, "Do you want to upset her into labor? Why don't you go already?"

Ishkur clamps his teeth together and straightens. "Good idea. I've got work to do." He stomps across the spongy ground towards his griffin and says under his breath, "Pain means I live... with women."

They fly, pine needles blurring by. Ishkur presses a heel into Peggy's side, and the griffin tilts and banks. He squeezes her with his thighs and sticks his gauntlet to her shoulder.

"Peggy, am I a good person?"

The griffin screams and dives towards a clearing where a womb-sacked ogre is scrambling to its feet.

Poke. Pinch. _Legs! Strength!_

Ishkur leaps, landing in a tumble that ends on glowing legs and sprints with polearm in hand.

The ant-faced ogre turns towards him, and its womb-sack raises puffy arms and says, "Wait, Ishkur!"

He strafes by, shifting his grip so Endraker's blade just misses. _Kimona._ The giant she's impaled on clicks mandibles but doesn't charge or run.

Ishkur gasps and blinks as his legs fade. "I was hoping you were out of range."

"Let us go." She rubs a rounding belly. "Please."

"Thank you, Kimona. You distracted the ogres long enough that I could make it to the shrine. I killed the ogre magi because of your help."

Her ogre's antennae twitch. _That's it?_ He pats a tree with low branches and a tall crown. _Guess the monster's at peace with its boss's death._

"If only you made it to the Elkrun's cellar." He fingers the flat of his blade and sighs. "A job to do..."

She gulps. "We'll stay far from the village." Mandibles snap. "Far from any people."

Ishkur scratches his chin. "I don't believe you, but I don't think I care enough to stop you." He rubs the armor over his stomach. "Are you happy, Kimona? Does this ogre's baby make you happier than when you murdered ours?"

Tears stream down her face. _Not again._ A few drops roll down her cleavage. _Swelling bigger than ever._

"You described your mama's life." She sniffles. "I refused to become her. I couldn't be alone, raising a fae-child until I die."

"And now you've got a partner who won't leave you until you die." He sighs. "Until you die because its baby eats you from the inside."

Kimona smiles, wiggling on the giant's waist. "It's better than sex. Better than anything. Let us go, please. Let me have this time."

He nods, moving backwards. "Go on then, I'm done with my hunt."

The ogre clicks and spins away.

"Enjoy the few seasons before the hormonal perversion growing within you slurps up the last of your insides."

"Thank you, Ishkur!"

"Sure," he says under his breath, "your deflated skin will drape your gremlin-sized ogre baby as it hunts and grows into a fresh threat for your bumpkin folk."

Its colony broken and pod-less, the ogre runs, taking only its womb-sacked wench for company.

_Oops._ "Forgot to mention! Kimona, your tavern got claimed..."

Her swamp giant leaps a log and ducks around an incline to break line of sight.

_Never mind._ He pats his belly. "If you're in me, baby ogre, fair warning. Your charm's fading. Start growing, and I will cut you out."

Poke. Pinch. _Mouth! Nature! Griffin!_ Ishkur screeches. _Land!_ He blinks as his mouth's glow fades, and Peggy squawks before she lands next to him.

He mounts. "Straight on east, please."

Peggy stirs up a dust storm, clearing the ground with a great swish.

I'm not a bad person. It's a bad world.

Days spent by foot pass in hours on griffin-back, and Ishkur camps for the night more than halfway back to the coast. Animals yowl in the dark, loud and free, confirming no swamp giants are hunting with their twitching antennae.

Ishkur sleeps like a human until dawn. Peggy wakes him with her beak in his face and a shallow squawk.

He feeds and grooms her, and then they fly. By noon the horizon is sea blue.

_Oh Haden._ He steers a little south towards dots on the distant beach. _Your epic mask won't hide your frown._

Crossroads Keep, shattered by berserker boom boom barrels, is being salvaged by lines of tiny figures. The ring of rubble around what was the fort is reduced, and Pentagon Castle's palisade has been reinforced with its granite.

No giants in sight and berserkers long gone.

"I've beat your game, Haden!" Ishkur waves as they zoom closer, and the figures grow to gain the features of Skull Crusher soldiers. "Will you hide while I claim Cevee or come out to play again?"

Peggy screeches, and the men drop their loads and scatter.

"Easy, girl. We're not attacking." He squeezes his ankles against her sides. "But if your eagle eyes spy a man with long nose hairs, do clench and release something long and sticky."

Arrows by the dozens fall short as they cruise by the castle. Winches are spun and ballistae aimed.

Never a hero's welcome.

"Up!" Ishkur tugs on neck feathers, but the griffin twists down. "What?"

He pokes and pinches as Peggy dives and clenches. _Mouth!_ _Nature!_ His mouth glows, and his head pain builds.

A slack-jawed soldier stands alone on a battlement.

Ripin?

The griffin shudders as she passes over the rampart, and Ishkur turns and leans. The long nose-haired man ducks behind stone, but the log of excrement still splatters his spot.

Ishkur laughs, releasing the power making his mouth glow. "That's for my shoe!"

Twang!

"Turn!"

Peggy tilts, and a ballista spear clips her wing.

Poke. Pinch.

She spins.

All! Strength!

Body glowing, he tears off feathers with a sticky palm and pulls out fur with kicking heels to stay on. She bleeds, and another spear whooshes by.

Steady, Peggy.

The griffin screams a growl and rolls upside-down.

Too close.

The kitchen tent billows in the ocean breeze below, and a troop of archers aim bows.

I know that purple plume.

"Loose!" says the feather-topped officer.

Hanging on with gauntlet and thighs, Ishkur taps his pauldron and shifts his shoulder. "Shield."

Enhanced strength fades with the word. He blinks away head pain as an arrow rises towards him and is pushed back by his pauldron's mystic charge. Two others skirt the edge of protection, and Peggy whimpers.

Take care of what takes care of me.

"Loose!"

He swings up and wraps an arm around Peggy's neck. "Down." He pulls her into a dive as arrows ping off his armor and sink into the griffin.

She screeches, a painful pleating sound.

He grits his teeth and taps his chest. "Heal." His breastplate readies to repair him as his griffin shudders.

Poke. Pinch.

Ishkur lets go over the kitchen tent.

All! Strength!

53. Brother From Another Mother

If the way to a man's heart is through his stomach

Then the way to a woman's is through her ears

Speak sweetly with a sarcastic smile

Tickle her pride with false compliments

Woo with words while looking away

Women don't trust honesty

Let lies worm through the truth

Master illusion

With a child's face

Eat her food

True love

Found

—Haden Abdi Nasar

Ishkur's enhanced body smacks into coarse canvas, and his leg snaps against something metallic. Moaning, he blinks as his verdant glow fades.

Stinks like fried fish.

An arrow thunks near his hip, and he flinches with a grimace as his breastplate knits cracked bone.

"Hold your shots," says the purple-plumed lieutenant.

Is Peacock giving me a chance to surrender?

Horses neigh and men grunt.

"Drag the tent clear, then feather the fool with arrows!" says the officer.

"Hey, Peacock, have you ever faced a juggernaut?" Ishkur howls like a wolf and stretches his recovering leg. "I cut through ogres, easy as a lumberjack through pine trees! I'll harvest you wheat stalks like a farmer with an epic sickle!"

"Just like the commander said, a big talker!" says Peacock, and his men jeer. "He can tap a little fae power though, so pelt him good! Man with the most hits gets my ale ration and first crack at that new whore!"

"Is she pregnant?" _Cevee?_

Laughter and more jeers. _So be it._

"Cloak." _All!_ _Strength!_ Glow muted by the effect of his rerebrace, Ishkur surges out of the tangled remains of the kitchen tent that broke his fall.

A few arrows fly as he sprints, closing the distance. One manages to strike where his helmet meets breastplate, but fails to break through the seam.

Peacock tries to dodge. "Loo—"

Ishkur's blade is a blur with the strength of a berserker behind it—no charge effect needed.

Not personal.

Peacock's head rolls off, and a fountain of red replaces purple feathers.

I kind of liked you.

Ishkur turns and his pauldron's mystics slow a half-dozen missiles to clatter at his feet. "Come out, Haden!" He blinks as his power fades and an arrow scratches the back of his knee.

Poke! Pinch! _All! Strength!_

Breath held and polearm spinning, he rushes the troops shooting at him.

Armor parts, bows crack, and bones snap. _Merridian's mercy._ More blood sprays and more heads roll.

With a ranger's power, I really am a juggernaut.

Soldiers turn in ones and then twos, and then all those still standing scatter to leave only a few whimpering wounded. Ishkur gasps, power fading, and wipes his blade clean on a moaning soldier's uniform.

"How many do I have to kill before you come out, coward?" _No hiding in the dark with me, Haden._ "I challenge you, commander of this broken band! Face me now without a mask, or I will crush every skull until I find yours!"

Sharp and sad, flute music shoots across the field, notes dancing like a child with needles in their toes. Ishkur tenses and covers his ears. It loops, repeating slower and slower, and his heartbeat slows too.

Ishkur pounds his chest. "Come out, Haden! Your musical trinket won't break my reforged will!"

A dull-eyed soldier stands up from cover and approaches, a polearm over one shoulder and a slung short bow over the other.

Ishkur squints and smiles. "Abram, right?"

"You know who I am," says Haden from behind the plain human's face.

Ishkur shrugs. "Do I?"

The man growls and taps a black crown. "Off." His face ripples into a mix of orc and elf. "My friend, you haven't failed to impress."

"Give me Cevee, and help me recover Peggy."

"Or?" Haden smiles, pressing short tusks against purple lips.

"Or, I will end our _friendship_." Ishkur spins Endraker through a complicated form with both hands and nine fingers. "Violently."

Haden reaches behind his broad back. "Thank you, by the way, for completing that very difficult mission." He chuckles. "I would've been willing to call it even, but then you went and killed my men and publically challenged me."

"I'm not the same." Ishkur walks forward. "The last of my gullibility has been burned out."

Haden snorts. "Challenge accepted." He pulls a blanket over himself, disappearing while grumbling something in Orc.

"I want to blame you for all the death and pain." Ishkur taps his helmet and says in Elvish, "Shaman."

The world grays and a hunched figure radiating darkness appears. _Can't hide, Haden._ Though shaded by a great power of Black, the orcelf's aura has a strong mix of the other four alignments.

"But every torn limb or severed head has me involved." Ishkur rolls his shoulders. "I don't need to battle you. I'm here for Cevee, not vengeance."

Haden creeps sideways.

_Going slow, so not to strain his cloaking effect._ Ishkur steps towards Haden, and the world blurs. _But I can only see him when I don't move._

Ishkur chuckles. _An impasse._ "Are we even fighting?" He hops closer, almost enough to reach with his polearm. "Not an entertaining start."

The cloaked orcelf backs away.

Ishkur waves towards a growing crowd of soldiers and support folk gathering around them at a bow's target range. "And not very inspiring to huddle around invisible until the blanket's effect expires."

_Where are you hiding her?_ The castle's gate is in easy sprinting distance. _Secure, like in the safespot portal room, or maybe obvious, like in a whore tent?_ The canvas and wood structures around the castle have increased in size and number in the days he's been away.

"I like that you're building something here. Making a community gives you stakes that you want to defend." Ishkur pounds his chest. "I understand and respect this, but I won't stop until Cevee's safe."

The griffin screams a ways away, but no shape moves across the blue sky. _And I need Peggy to fly her home._

"I've given you a fair chance, ex-band brother, but I have to tend to my mount." Ishkur spins his ivy decorated polearm. "So I won't apologize for this."

He taps to return normal vision and charges, swishing Endraker through empty air. _Has to be._ He swings again, cutting through some cloth. _Here._

The spear point of a plain polearm appears, parrying Ishkur's fancy one, and then the blade pierces his borrowed pants. Ishkur cries out and stumbles. His calf skewered and leveraged.

Nice riposte.

Ishkur hisses as his breastplate struggles to heal the muscle around the wiggling blade. He pokes and pinches as Haden fully appears. Helmet on and an assortment of weapons and gear, the orcelf wears the mystic full plate connected to the statue in the castle's portal room.

_All!_ _Strength!_

Haden is already yanking his polearm back as Ishkur grabs the shaft with enhanced speed.

_Mistake._ Faced puffed to contain the power infusing his body, Ishkur rips the long weapon out of Haden's hand. _Big mistake._

Hopping on one leg, he uses the extra polearm like a crutch and jabs with Endraker. Too fast for blocking gauntlets, the lightning strike knocks Haden backwards even though it fails to split his chest armor.

"Surrender!" The glow of Ishkur's enhancement fades with the word. "Summoning your titan-blessed plate armor is a neat trick, but you can't beat my power." Ishkur blinks and shifts to stand on both legs, swinging up the crutch to pair with Endraker.

Haden draws a longsword from his side and pulls a shield off his back. "Maybe I can, if you have to hold your breath while trying to fight with a polearm in _each_ hand."

Poke. Pinch. _Arms! Strength!_

Arms glowing, Ishkur tosses the plain polearm like a javelin. Haden is no quicker with shield than gauntlets. The weapon strikes center chest, rocking him on his heels but bouncing away without piercing.

Endraker in both hands, Ishkur follows up with a chop down.

Haden lifts his sword.

"Slice," Ishkur says in Elvish, sundering through Haden's blade with a boom and fizzle.

The orcelf grunts and stumbles back with his shield up.

"Your fault." Ishkur blinks and spreads his arms, glow fading. "Another mystic item lost."

"I just have to wait."

_For my power to run out._ "You're forcing this." Ishkur spins Endraker around and slams the butt against shield. "Shatter."

Boom and fizzle. The impact knocks Haden into a roll as bits of his shield clatter around him.

"You've forced me, too." Haden draws a circle on his chest and then an _A_ inside.

_Oh no._ Pitch black envelops everything with the chill of the Pit. _A summoned pillar of darkness, and he's aligned with death._ Ishkur tumbles like a brownie until he's out and under the sun.

"Have you embraced her, Haden?" Ishkur squints through his helmet's lens. "Am I fighting Lady Uostai now?"

A twang and an arrow sinks into his knee. _Long Claw._

Ishkur cries out, catching himself with his decorated polearm as his leg buckles. "I hate that bow!"

The pillar drops, and the orcelf stands with his plain polearm resting on his shoulders again. "And I hate that you've made me risk summoning my lady."

Ishkur snaps the feathered fletching off and taps the barbed tip that's poking out the side of his knee. "Must you have her power to defeat me?" He affixes his gauntlet to the tip and clenches his teeth.

"Triggering my pride." Haden smirks. "Have you become a little sly, Ishy?"

Poke. Pinch. _Arm. Strength._ Ishkur yanks, grinding wood against bone and torn cartilage as the arrow shaft comes out. _Such pain is my life._

"Shield." His glow fades as he speaks and taps to activate his armor's magic. "Heal. Cloak."

Haden saunters closer. "Camouflaging power, another clever tactic. Perhaps my game has awakened some wisdom in you."

Poke. Pinch. _Knee! Heal!_ Ishkur rubs his joint with his empowered hand, hurrying along the mystic mending from his breastplate.

"Ouch," says Haden. "Too bad you took my arrow to the knee, especially since I hid your greaves."

Ishkur coughs a chuckle, making his concealed power fade. "You've more of _my_ armor?"

"Never said I didn't." The orcelf spins forward with polearm leading.

At mortal speed, Ishkur fails to parry as he pokes and pinches. His pauldron is hit hard, and he stumbles backwards on a stiffening leg. _Arm!_ _Strength!_

Enhanced, he blocks a strike with the back of his hand and slams the butt of his weapon into Haden's gut. "Shatter."

The orcelf is thrown off his feet, but no metallic bits fly off and no fizzle.

Ishkur gasps and blinks. "That's impressive armor."

Haden raises an arm and uncurls two fingers. "Running out of tricks, Ishkur." The orcelf sits up with bow drawn. "Heal some more."

Twang.

Ishkur shifts his shoulder. The missile slows against the mystic air coming off his pauldron and skims across linens.

_Will my_ slice _fail too, damage transferred to that plate armor matching statue?_

Pain gone from his knee, he turns towards the castle's gate. _A gambit before my power runs out._

Poke. Pinch. _Legs. Strength._

Ishkur sprints with zigs and zags, and Haden's arrows miss by feet and inches.

Against the tall gate, he slams Endraker. "Shatter." It explodes open, and he dives inside, leg enhancement fading.

Stinking like an aviary, a familiar soldier rushes from the side. "Elf mutt!" Ripin levels his spear. "Die!"

_Idiot._ Ishkur dodges, smashing the man's face with his gauntlet. "Kill you later."

The big man drops as Ishkur runs on through the killing field with pauldron raised towards the nearest tower. No arrows fly nor even a shadow filling a window.

No guards?

The inner gate opens as he reaches it, and a woman coming through hops out of his way. He gags as he passes, enveloped in a cloud of her fruity perfume.

"Whore?" he says.

"Go Pit yourself." She adjusts a blouse containing breasts that could match Kimona's. "I'm off duty."

"No, I'm looking for a stutter—"

An arrow pings off his pauldron, and the woman screams. Ishkur hunches as she bolts back inside.

"Not your princess, Ishy!" From across the field, Haden waves with his bow. "How many more shots before your deflecting armor fails?"

"How many more lies before your honor fails?" Ishkur shakes Endraker. "I've beaten your game! Where's Cevee?"

"Okay, hero!" Haden holds up a handful of arrows in his drawing hand and walks closer. "Let's see who can hunt and claim her first."

How could I have thought this man a friend? It's like words from Lord Icarus were written on my mind—false memories about how I should be and feel. Is this orcelf even real?

PLAYER PATH CONVERTED.

An arrow sinks into the ground a finger width from Ishkur's boot. A second and third land inches away before he can suck in a breath.

_Real enough._ Ishkur backs through the inner wall's gate and shuts it. "Whore lady, where'd you go? Direct me to a stutterer!"

Across the courtyard, the door into the castle's keep swings wide open, showing the hall beyond is empty.

Too easy.

A squad of soldiers spill out of the base of the nearby wall tower.

Is it?

He sprints into the inviting fortress and weaves through to the center where the portal room doors are closed. A pair of soldiers brace with shields and shortspears, guarding the entrance.

_One charge left._ Ishkur growls. _Got to save it._ He settles into a battle stance. "Let me inside, and I'll let you escape."

One of them shakes his head.

_Example time._ Ishkur spins through a form, getting past the man's guard to slice through mundane armor and half his neck. "How about now?"

The second man gulps and pushes open the doors. "N-not latched."

"Ah." Ishkur salutes. "Thanks anyway." He shoulders past and kicks the doors closed with his heel.

The room is empty except for a heavily damaged statue, safespot stones, and the free standing archway that's a mystic portal. _Sorry, Cevee._ He jogs to the sculpted figure, mangled by his attacks mystically transferred from Haden's armor. _But don't give up._ He brings Endraker's blade down on the statue's head. "Slice." With a boom, it splits like a log under an axe and fizzles.

His armor broken, I'm winning.

Ishkur steps into the circle of rune stones and sits next to the archway. "Time's now on my side."

The doors creak open, and the guard he spared steps inside with shield and spear ready. _Can't see me in a safespot._ The man straightens up and lowers his weapon, which knocks the end of a short bow that appears and disappears.

_Cloaking blanket over his gear._ Ishkur narrows his light green eyes.

Poke. Pinch. _Align!_ _Aura!_

A familiar aura of black power with a smattering of the other colors mixed in.

Haden worked quick to take that man's gear and face, and he pretends not to see me.

Ishkur breathes and blinks to return to normal vision. _All! Strength!_ Cloaking effect from his armor expired, his whole body blazes a bright green as he leaps out of the circle.

The masked Haden turns, getting his shield in front of Endraker's clubbing end. Wood splinters, and the orcelf's arm is crushed.

_No._ Ishkur pulls back, gasping and blinking. "Surrender, by Gardener's grace." _I didn't mean to hit that hard._

Haden drops his spear and hugs the pulverized remains of his left arm. "Oh, sweet surrender, says the tool of the Verdant Crusade." He hisses and pulls out a towel.

"I'm no more a Verdant tool then you should be an Obsidian fool."

Haden rubs the towel on his arm and says in Elvish, "Heal."

Ishkur frowns. "Stop that, or I'll smash your other arm."

The man keeps rubbing, and his arm improves from pulverized to pulp. "Go ahead." Haden stops and taps his crown to return his orcelf features. "Just stare into my true eyes when you crush my skull."

_He's not my friend anymore._ Endraker shaking in his hand, Ishkur roars and raises it up.

"W-wait!" Cevee enters wearing a cotton gown with a belly bulge and still sporting a mohawk. "S-sir, what d-did you do?"

Ishkur lowers his polearm. "Are you okay?"

"She's not." Haden growls. "Now speak clearly."

"I..." Cevee takes a breath and licks her lips. "I love Haden, Lord of Play."

"What?"

Dark blood pooling under his arm, Haden smiles wide. "Surprise, Ishy. I win."

Ishkur shakes his head. "You used domination on her."

"Check her aura."

Ishkur taps his helmet. "Shaman." No foreign power of Black is entangled in her hues, and her belly is a knot of Green. "Then, why?"

She comes and kneels next to the orcelf. "Are you okay, Lord?"

"I will be once my friend helps me heal." Haden sets the towel down and winks. "This mystic trinket can't handle such vicious injuries."

_Friend?_ Ishkur scoffs. "Why would I?"

"You don't want a cripple to raise your child, do you?" The orcelf rests his head in Cevee's lap. "I want to be the father to it that your daddy tree never could be."

_All a game; everything a game._ Ishkur retreats inside the safespot. _A game for Lord Icarus, for Hildr and Queen Saugrin, and completely for Haden._ He pulls off his helmet and clips on some fabulous earrings. _Am I a foolish piece stuck to the board, or can I step off?_

PLAYER PATH UNLOCKED.

"Haden, now Lord of Play, will you faithfully care for Cevee and my child that grows within her?" Ishkur rubs the armor over his belly. "On your honor?"

The orcelf grins and nods. "I will accept all the love and delight that you could have claimed, _Ishkur_. I'll be a better parent than you or my mother could be." He hisses as Cevee fusses with a bandage. "I'll show you how a family should function, and by Merridian's mercy, Lady Uostai will be in demigod land chewing her fingers off at the sight of my familial bliss."

No buzz. _He means it._

Cevee strokes Haden's ears. "Ishkur, this man has been very kind. Once in the tunnel and out of your sight, he became what I had wished you to be."

No buzz. "You believe that." Leaving his helmet off, Ishkur comes out of the safespot. "He actually makes you happy?"

She nods and kisses Haden's gray forehead that wrinkles as the orcelf winces.

From his arm or the unfamiliar affection?

Ishkur bows. "Thank you... my friend." Still no buzz. _I mean that too._

Haden grunts, smile faltering as he gestures with his good arm towards his mangled one.

"I'll heal you." Ishkur points at the safespot's mystic archway. "And then I'm stepping off your board—off Lute's board too. I'm transporting myself out of this game—out of every game. I'm not a _piece_ anymore."

No buzz.

Ishkur slumps, muscles unknotting like the tension eased out of a bow. "I am _whole_ and free to survey my own foolish path."

Soft buzz. He grabs his earrings and pauses mid-yank.

_No. "_ I'm also done lying to myself." He lets go. "I have a lot of growing up to do."

Ishkur's earrings sparkle in the torchlight and don't buzz.

54. Epilogue

Rebirth happens with every dawn

Dreams forgotten but feelings stay

Enjoy

—Hildr Vas Trumurne

A salty fresh dawn warms the air as Ishkur tucks a letter into a pouch tied to Peggy.

Poke. Pinch. _Mouth!_ _Nature!_ _Griffin!_ He screeches with glowing lips.

The griffin lowers her head.

Gasping and blinking, he says, "When you've fully recovered, please return to your nest in Lotus Hollow. If you see Hildr, let her get that pouch."

The griffin squawks and tries to stand but collapses back to its bandaged side. Ishkur tsks and then coos, and Haden comes outside wearing his true orcelf face.

"Oh." Ishkur taps his lip. "Do you have a pretty seashell?"

Haden crosses healed arms. "Why?"

"Souvenir for Hildr."

"Not on hand, but I'm sure you can find one where you're going."

Ishkur nods and fondles his lie-detecting earrings. "I can't think of anything else."

Haden leads him into the portal room of his castle and motions towards a couple of leather bags with a silhouette of a lute embroidered along the top. "Gold, enough to weigh you down or start your own game."

_Wow._ "This is... very generous."

"A small portion of the Skull Crusher's treasury." Haden grins. "I've more gold than I know what to do with. I'd trade a pound for a package of those dessert rations you like, and I hate honey."

Some buzzing from the earrings. _Does he not have that much, or does he know exactly what to do with it all? Maybe he really likes honey?_

Ishkur shakes his head. _Doesn't matter to me anymore._ "It's odd to think of all these children, my children... they won't know me."

"Cevee's child will know your face."

No buzz. "Your morphing mask?"

Haden shrugs, tapping a tusk. "You _are_ prettier than me."

Ishkur snorts and checks his armor pieces, including a pair of greaves that Haden handed over after making sure from a broken-faced Ripin that there was no more stashed. _I'll come back one day for the rest of my set._ He adjusts Endraker tied to his back and picks up the gold with a grunt. _And maybe pretend to be a long lost uncle to my child, my children, even the brownie ones._ He pats his belly. _Then there's the maybe baby inside me._

"Hey." Ishkur chews his lip. "I happened to survey the titan emperor's tomb and saw his crown of diamonds."

Haden's brows rise. "Truly?"

"It's a secret that's going to get out anyway. I might as well give you the heads up." He snorts. "Right under the ruins of Waygreen Village, which once was called Sarvernway."

The orcelf lowers his head, pointed ears twitching.

Some heavy implications for your local games of power.

Ishkur steps to the portal. "Good luck, my friend."

"Put on your helmet, just in case."

_In case of what?_ Ishkur puts it on. "I'm going to have such an epic shopping spree in Spicesun."

"It is a great city," says Haden.

Ishkur taps his breastplate. "Heal."

Poke. Pinch. _All! Healing! Strength! Nature!_ Despite his armor's mystic aid, he clenches his teeth against the strain as his body glows with power. _Halfway._ Hunching, he pokes and pinches again. _Nature! Creation! Aura!_

Body blazing green, Ishkur reaches for a purple-shaded rune on the archway and waves a trembling hand.

Haden shakes his head with a mouth that wobbles between a frown and grin.

Odd.

The stone is room temperature. _Take me._

PLAYER PATH ACCEPTED.

The archway sucks him into a void decorated with sparkling stars. _No pain in this immortal space._ The sun is bright, but much smaller than it should be. _My body is a vessel, drifting like a coffin in a sea of nothing._

A second archway forms around him and mortal sensations return, along with the verdant light of summoned power. A tingle in fingers and toes, and then a spike of agony blossoms in his head as the portal spits him into starless darkness.

Gasping inside his helmet, Ishkur's glow fades. He blinks away the pain from using all his mystic skills at once to activate the portal. The dark closes in, smothering.

Is this even Spicesun? I survived the passage of gods to arrive where?

On sandy ground, Ishkur sets down Haden's gift of gold against his legs, making sure to not lose contact. He pulls out his flint and steel, but scratches make no sparks. _Did this item's mystics fail?_ He tries again and still nothing. _Why now?_

Poke. Pinch. _Hand._

His fist glows like a dim green lantern, and a fish swims and bends around the safespot like a reflection on a soap bubble.

Ishkur gasps and blinks as darkness returns. "Haden!"

He kicks away the bags of gold coins with his armored shin, making them vanish as they lose contact with his body.

"This is the abandoned fishfolk capital, isn't it?" Ishkur scrapes his fire starter. "And dry as it is, there's nothing breathable in this little safespot bubble, is there?"

_I want to laugh, but I don't think there's enough air in my helmet to waste._ Ishkur takes off his boots and greaves, and then slips off his pauldron and rerebrace. _And not enough power left to open the portal back._ He curls his fingers with palm up towards where the shadow of an archway was. _Smile well my friend, but I still win._

Ishkur lets go of Endraker and steps into the sea. Buoyed by air trapped in his breastplate, he drifts up as the air thins, and he starts to black out as the water brightens.

Fools can always win.

A scaled blue face, large and feminine, closes in...
Appendix

### The Pantheon's Realms & Domains

Blue, pure – **Lileth** – _Nirvana,_ **Sea, Mythica** , _Circus Town_ , Junkyard

White, celestial – **Hierophant** – _Heaven,_ **Ahja, Camelot** , _Academy_ , Spacebowl

Green, fae – **Gardener** – _Limbo,_ **Faest, Cloden** , _Sotoil_ , Western Town

Red, infernal – **Phoenix** – _Hell,_ **Valhalla, Scar** , _Cradle and Forge_ , New Ortome

Black, cursed – **Merridian** – _Pit,_ **Transylvania, Pirate Bay** , _Zombie Island_ , Front

### The Holy War

Make circle and slash it – **Ultramarine Crusade** – _Kyanos Knights (_ _Seekers_ _)_

Tap nose with finder pointed up – **Pale Crusade** – _Diamond Knights (_ _Paladins_ _)_

Point down and pinch – **Verdant Crusade** – _Emerald Knights (_ _Rangers_ _)_

Right thumb against forehead – **Scarlet Crusade** – _Ruby Knights (_ _Vikings/Valkyries_ _)_

Circle on chest and then an _A_ inside – **Obsidian Crusade** – _Onyx Knights (_ _Champions_ _)_

### The Returned, Aligned, and Formed

Reset Shells – **Djinns/Archdjinns,** _Beebos/Fishfolks/Titans_ **, Serpents** – Ghosts (Phantoms/Wraiths/Wendigos), Familiars

Resurrected Saints – **Angels/Archangels,** _Hobgoblins/Olympians/Centaurs_ **, Griffins** – Faithful (Missionaries/Preachers/Prophets), Mounts

Blessed Reincarnated – **Fairies/Royal Fairies** , _Brownies/Elves/Trolls_ , **Bunniboars** – Weares (Wearerats/Wearewolves/Wearebears), Guides

Reborn Amnesians – **Devils/Archdevils** , _Gnomes/Dwarves/Cyclopses_ , **Salamanders** – Berserkers (Feroxes/Harvesters/Dread Walkers), Hunters

Reanimated Golems – **Demons/Greater Demons** , _Gremlins/Orcs/Ogres_ , **Drakewolves** – Undead (Zombies/Ghouls/Vampires), Guards

### Skills and Casters and Skills

Manifestation, Library, Connectivity – ( **Library** ): Bard (Instrument), Sage (Scroll), Monk (Rock) – Connectivity, Judge, Unity – Unity, Light, Healing – ( **Sanctuary** ): Priest (Holy Symbol), Cleric (Shield), Druid (Body Paint) – Healing, Strength, Nature – Nature, Creation, Aura – ( **Workshop** ): Shaman (Charm), Smithmage (Hammer), Fury (Torch) – Aura, Imbue, Fire – Fire, Rebirth, Desire – ( **Catacomb** ): Warlock (Blood), Necromancer (Skull), Lich (Phylactery) – Desire, Corruption, Domination – Domination, Contracts, Cloak – ( **Tower** ): Psion (Crystal), Wizard (Wand), Magician (Potion) – Cloak, Enchantment, Manifestation

Ongoing Works

Look for _Valkyrie of Desire_ , the next portion of the _Lords Under The Eye Series_ , coming out December of 2019.

Go to nedroj.net for flash fiction, articles, and videos.

Go to donorbox.org/my-second-universe, patreon.com/nedroj, or subscribestar.com/my-second-universe to support my writing _Ranger of Path_ and other work. I also offer a critiquing service, mentoring, English lessons, and access to my setting for collaborative work.

Twice a month I host a long running game on Roll20 that takes place in the setting of my stories.

Connect With Me

Influence my writing with a comment on Youtube or Facebook

Follow me on Twitter and Minds.

Chat with me on discord: My user name is Isben#1185

Or just send me an email: nedroj@gmail.com

About Jorden Leonard

I write. I play. I love.

I was a kid in Fern Forest, Hawaii. Now I reside with my wife and son in Portland, Oregon.

On the volcanic island, I lived in a redwood house and played on a beach of my birth stone.

One day, I drowned in the Hilo Bay after being repeatedly thrown in by drunken relatives. I still remember the moment when I gave up and breathed in the tea colored water—hence this book's cover. My lungs surrendered, but my heart never stopped. I forgave the foolish swimming lesson the moment a fear-sobered relative resuscitated me.

I never played D&D until college, and now I host a Roll20 game within this novel's setting.

I played Eve Online, exclusively PVP, for close to a decade.

I've bought many transformer toys, pretending it's only because I love my son. He's moved on to nerf guns, but I keep the old toys in case he changes his mind.

I turned forty and started Jiu Jitsu along with my son, but I got my cauliflower ear from wrestling in high-school. I think I broke my hand in a white belt tournament, and I don't want my wife to find out.

I once burned my face while fire dancing. I am a fire dragon).
