Chapter 13 - Wolfgunblood

Above, the sky - Grey, cloudless. The sails snapped with the wind, seabirds wheeling and squawking in the salt air above.

Re-Estize was a vast, cream-colored crescent, stretching around a grey-green bay. Even from here, I could see the stately towers of Ro Lente castle, the sheer white walls towering above the carpet of buildings outside, bright sunlight glinting on the shining domes within. It rose high above all the others, seeming to support the very sky - It looked like it would stand forever.

The deck creaked and shifted beneath our feet, as the Dawnbreaker slipped into the bay.

Even as I looked on, I could make out the people on the sprawling docks - swarming among the ships and white-walled buildings like ants, the faint din of voices and rattling carts reaching us even from this distance. And the ships; so many of them, of all designs, an entire forest of masts and sails, tethered to the countless wharves along the shore.

A strange sense of deja vu coursed through me, as I took in the view. I worked - lived - in a metropolis much like this one. Far larger, far more congested, a thing of vast, intricate scope and scale. But here, no smog hung above the city like a funeral pall; there great half-sphere of the Arcology Wall was nowhere to be seen, or the hab-fields that kept the dust-storms at bay.

No skin-burning acid rain, drenching the upper levels. No atmosphere-alarms, warning us when a scouring tide was about to sweep through the battered streets.

This was the world as it had been - Seen dimly, in cracked, fading photos - centuries ago. No, before that; Before guns and planes and factories and bombs. It was as if I'd traveled back in time, as well as to a different world-

...And maybe I had.

It'd taken us a week to reach Re-Estize. It would have been longer, if not for the angels guiding the ship. Their radiant forms cast a constant, fluctuating light on the waves below, a palpable aura of peace and serenity radiating across the Dawnbreaker - If any would-be pirate saw them flying above, they knew enough to steer well away.

Kelart and the other priests - the two that could be spared - had remained sequestered for most of the voyage. My guess is, they took turns casting auguries and making preparations for their arrival; whatever abstruse arcane rituals they'd prepared, I couldn't even begin to guess. Only that I had the run of the ship, as long as I didn't get in the crew's way.

It was a good thing I didn't get seasick. Given that I'd only been on a boat a few times - And never a voyage as prolonged at this - I'd been half-expecting to. Or to go stir-crazy, maybe, from the tedium.

As it turned out, it wasn't quite like that. I hadn't realized how oppressive the atmosphere of death-choked Loyts had been, until we departed; Compared to that battle-scarred city, with the twin threats of winter and the beastmen closing in, the sense of relief was a palpable one. The open water was positively invigorating, bringing with it a sense of freedom, of possibility, I simply couldn't have imagined before.

I needed the time to rest. To contemplate all that came before, and all that lay ahead.

You have to understand - In the span of less than a week, I'd seen bloodshed beyond my most horrific imaginings. Sometimes, I woke with the ring of steel and the shouts of the beastmen in my ears: the last, desperate moments of the siege were never far from my mind. Always, I couldn't help but wonder...Was I the same person I'd been before? In my old life, I could never - ever - have imagined being here, now. Doing the things I had done.

And always, close at hand, was the question - Could Samuel have done better?

It would have been a grand adventure for him, I was sure. The grandest. The answer to a deeply-cherished, long-held dream. Sometimes, it seemed like a cruel joke that I was here in his place. If he'd waited for the game to end - If he'd lingered for a mere hour more…

Thoughts like that kept me awake at night, but there was nothing to be done.

I was growing used to the name, now. But - now and again, like a distant reflex - when they called for 'Sir Samuel', I found myself looking over my shoulder, for my brother.

Forgetting...the very idea of it...felt like a betrayal, somehow. Like the only way to ground myself in the here and now was to remember where I'd come from. Who I had been, though - in truth - there wasn't much that was heroic or even notable.

My old life had been long shifts of thankless, backbreaking toil, staring into the dull glow of a flickering screen; Of filling in form after form until the numbers and letters blurred before my eyes. Pondering the dark irony that there was some machine, some algorithm somewhere that noticed each mistake and docked my pay accordingly, but there was no way to auto-fill the forms.

No, I didn't miss it. Not in the slightest.

And yet…

I did all I could to put those strange, disquieting thoughts out of my mind. There was, I knew, nothing to be done; If I had been offered a way home, I knew I wouldn't have taken it. Earth, our Earth, was a dying planet - Home was an empty hab with no power and no food and an echoing absence where someone should have been. It was a place, quite simply, with no future.

This new world had everything yet to come. It was strange, alien...But young. Somehow vital.

I wouldn't go home, not now.

Not even if I could.

Kashan, of all people, had chosen to accompany us. He was lucky: He hadn't been part of the desperate last stand at the gatehouse. He wasn't a fighter, not really - He'd never have survived, and I bore him no ill will for his absence. All the same, I thought he would have taken this chance to vanish, to bribe his way onto one of the other outgoing boats; I couldn't imagine that he wanted anything to do with the Liberation Army or the Paladin Order, ever again.

"You'll need a guide in Re-Estize," he'd said, and I'd taken his word for it. Not because I trusted him, but because I suspected that I might need a...different perspective on things. The rest of the Holy Kingdom's delegation was necessarily dour and pious - I had the sense that they might be out of their depth when it came to somewhere like this.

Over the course of the past week, he'd been a font of information about Re-Estize. He was, I think, enjoying the chance to share his knowledge; I got the feeling he was the kind of man who liked to be heard. It might have been a pathological need for attention, one that years of smuggling had been unable to fulfill. After all, as Pavel had said, confession is good for the soul.

That, or perhaps Kashan's fortunes were at a low ebb. Everything that hadn't been looted by the beastmen had been seized - or requisitioned, rather - for the war effort. All he had left were the clothes on his back, and whatever coin he'd managed to squirrel away. The chests of Dust had been put to the torch, with typical Paladin Order precision; Zaur would have liked that, I think. Any chance of making good came from the distant hope that one of us would pay his way.

Or maybe Kashan simply felt guilty. Maybe he'd grown a conscience, from his close brush with death.

And maybe pigs would fly.

As it turned out, without the threat of imminent death hanging overhead, the stout smuggler was a genial sort. The gold coins I slipped him - He hadn't asked for payment, but I'd insisted - had improved his mood substantially; I remember him turning one of them over and over again in his big, hairy-knuckled hands, peering at the golden disc through a jeweler's loupe.

"Quite the thing," he'd remarked, frowning thoughtfully. "No maker's mark, no engravings...They're almost like trade tokens. But by weight alone, they're worth twice - no, three times! - one of ours is."

Kashan had looked up, one eye distorted behind the loupe. "...How did you come by these, Sir Samuel?" he'd asked, too casually.

"Found them," I said, curtly, and that had been the end of the discussion. The scarred smuggler didn't press the issue - the provenance of the coins didn't matter, compared to what they were worth.

I'm not sure what I would have done if he'd insisted: I'd told Heiter who I was, where I was really from, but I'd fully expected both of us to die there. I knew, instinctively, that the truth of my origins was something I had to keep to myself.

Not that anyone would have believed it, at any rate.

Over cups of grog, Kashan was more than happy to relate the political situation. A lot of it flew over my head, but - As far as I could understand - the kingdom of Re-Estize was not in a good place.

"It's the Empire's fault, see?" he said, taking a slug from his tin cup. "The Emperor's decided to bleed Re-Estize dry, and he's doing a damn good job of it. Every year, both sides line up for war...And every year, Re-Estize comes off worse."

"They...fight a war every year?" I asked, wondering if I'd misheard. "That's insane. How is anyone still alive?"

Kashan squinted at me, tugging his collar open - His scar pale against his flushed skin. "No, no. Not a War, a war. The Katze Plains, see? They skirmish, they clash, but they never come to grips, not really. Then everyone goes home."

I thought this over, as the light overhead swayed. The entire ship was outfitted with magical lighting; too much of a fire risk, otherwise. Beneath my feet, I could feel the timbers tremble, hear the crew shouting as they hauled on the ropes.

"You make it sound like...a game, I suppose. Like they're playing at war."

He shrugged. "Better than the alternative, isn't it? If both forces really went at it, it's anyone's guess how things would go. The Kingdom's got more men, but the Empire's got the quality...They'd maul each other pretty badly. No-one wants that."

"So...It's just business as usual, then," I said, slowly. Like the endless shadow wars between the zaibatsus and the megacorporations. A constant, low-level haze of violence, expressed in the occasional car-bombing, mass execution, or drone strike. You forgot it was there at all, until it got up close and personal.

"Neither side has an advantage, so they'll just keep doing this forever…"

"Not forever, Sir Samuel," Kashan said. He downed the rest of his grog, wiped his mouth. "The thing is, this new Emperor of theirs...He always attacks during the harvest season. The Empire's full of career soldiers, who live for this. More, the Emperor purged everyone who could possibly stand against him, so it's all up to him. The Kingdom, though…"

His voice trailed off. "-By the time the Kingdom's ready to meet them, they've wasted months. All those crops, rotting in the field…" Kashan shook his head.

"A terrible waste, it is. The nobles never learn. All they care about is glory; The court's a nest of vipers, too. The Royalty faction - that's the loyalists - and the Nobility faction...They're at each other's throats all the time, now. And then there's that two-faced viper, Marquis Raeven, stirring the pot...He even looks like a snake, damn it! He'd sell his own wife for a shot at the throne, no doubt."

"Jesus," I muttered, and I saw the incomprehension on his face. To cover my lapse, I pushed my - mostly untouched - mug over to him.

"That's kind of you, Sir Samuel. If you're sure…"

"It's an acquired taste," I said, as diplomatically as possible. I handed over my grog ration whenever possible; For one, I could no longer get drunk. More, it tasted awful. "-Don't hold back on my behalf."

Kashan drank, smacking his lips. "Just watered rum with hyueri juice, but it warms, eh? Now, where was I…?"

"Marquis Raeven," I prompted. "'Sell his own wife', you said. Nest of vipers."

He sighed. "Aye, that. The thing is, it's only to be expected. It's not secret: King Ramposa's - third of His name - is getting on in years. Already, the vultures are circling...Sometimes, I think he's hanging on because he knows it all goes to pieces the moment he dies."

"...That bad?" I had to admit, this was hardly raising my spirits.

"Oh, it's worse than you think. Crown Prince Barbro...He's a straight edge, but he's a brute. 'The Golden Ogre', they call him; He's brave enough, but he has no idea what's going on around him. Marquis Boullope has his ear, and there's no pity in the man - Boullope's the leader of the Nobility faction, Four have mercy upon us. Jackals, all of them."

"Fantastic," I said. There was a pitcher of water, and I reached for that instead, pouring myself a cup. The Dawnbreaker carried an artifact - an enchanted gem - that, once a day, could purify water. It meant that we didn't have to stop to take on fresh water, but I'd been informed that it wasn't something that could be relied on. A priest was needed to renew the magic, and with the priests praying for good fortune and the aid of the angels, sometimes you had to put your trust in something more substantial.

The water was cold but clean, and tasted of nothing in particular. I sipped, warming the cup in my hands, as I gestured for Kashan to go on. "...He's not the only choice, is he?"

"That's the problem, my Lord. His half-brother, Prince Zanac...He's even worse. The man's a bloated toad. Worse, he's an incompetent one - He's a jealous sort, he is. Constantly scheming to steal the First Prince's birthright, and plant his substantial behind on the throne. Probably because he wants to get one over Prince Barbro, just this one time…"

He saw that I was frowning, and clarified. "Barbro's more of a man in every way. Handsome, strong, upright...The choice is an obvious one, to the common man." A snort - "Not that the common man ever has a say in things like this, but it's something to think about, wouldn't you say?"

"From bad to worse, then," I said. "Lady Kelart...She's going to make a deal with them? The ogre and the toad - Neither sounds particularly appealing."

Kashan smiled, a crooked grin spreading across his face. "That's because I've saved the best for last. Third Princess Renner…'The Golden Princess', the commonfolk call her. She's just a concubine's daughter, but she has the kindness of a saint; As beautiful as one too, so the story says. The problem is, she's not a player in the game...She's a bargaining chip."

"If she's got no chance at the throne-"

"Of course she doesn't. But the King dotes on her - Of the three, she's probably his favorite child. A slip of a girl, without a single thought in her head...But, Four bless her, she tries her very best."

I mulled over this. It all seemed hopelessly tangled to me, to be honest.

"All right," I said, cautiously. "So how does that help us?"

"You know what the priests say - The Gods protect the pure of heart. She has close ties with Lady Lakyus Alvein Dale Aindra, the leader of Blue Roses...And Lady Lakyus, in turn, is the niece of Sire Azuth, from Red Drop. Those are adamantite-ranked teams. Worth an army, in their own right."

The one with the Sword of Darkness, I thought. A blade as powerful as the Interfector - That might just be enough. I hoped.

"Princess Renner's soft-hearted. She can't bear the thought of people suffering...She runs an orphanage, you know? For foundlings and waifs. Out of her own purse, too. Oh, she might not have an army of her own, but if Lady Lakyus gets involved - the beastmen won't even know what hit them."

He guzzled his grog, and burped with a distinct air of satisfaction.

"My guess is, that's what Lady Kelart is hoping for. And who knows? It might be the Holy Kingdom's best hope." A pause. "I'd say only hope, but I wouldn't want to jinx it-"

That sounded like long odds, to stake a kingdom's fate on.

"...Is there any rum left?" I asked. "-I think I might need that drink, after all."

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Gustav's voice was low, thoughtful, as he joined me at the railing; "Never fails to impress. Hoburns is grander, but when it comes to sheer spectacle..."

He gestured, taking in the vista.

"-There's nothing like the Royal Capital."

I half-turned, glancing in his direction. Quite why he'd come along, I wasn't sure; I knew Kelart made him uneasy, possibly more than Remedios ever did, but I suppose we weren't spoilt for choice. Father Ciriaco was too fragile to survive the voyage - Personally, I'd have preferred Isandro, but Remedios needed a level-headed second-in-command.

I suppose, at a time like this, we had to make do. And Gustav, stolidly competent and workmanlike, was all that could be spared.

I had no illusions why I was here. I was an outsider; I didn't know how to lead men in battle, how to sway the hearts of others. No, my sole purpose came with the blade that rode on my hip.

My role in this began and ended with the Interfector.

"You've been here before?" I asked, shaking off the thought. Gustav didn't seem like much of a traveler.

"Once," he said. "About four years ago - Escorting Count Cohen to the Council State. We stopped over for resupply and repairs...I'd just been raised to full knighthood, then. I met a - Well, let's just say it was a memorable visit."

For a moment, Gustav looked momentarily embarrassed, as if remembering some youthful indiscretion.

"I recall it being...more orderly, in the past. Then again, that's nostalgia for you; Could be that I'm remembering it differently."

He sounded almost wistful, his chest heaving in a slow sigh - A sigh that became a cough, as he made a face. "Smells the same as before, though."

"-I've smelled worse," I said, and meant it. "What's the plan?"

Other than Kashan's speculation, I'd been kept in the dark, waiting and wondering the entire time. The silence from Kelart and the priests had been more than a little ominous, too - the last angel had vanished (like a flame being blown out) a few hours ago, and I'd heard nothing since.

Gustav grimaced. "They're exhausted from the voyage," he said. "There's an inn, Heroes' Hearth - Always room for visiting dignitaries there, especially if they pay up front. They'll seek an audience with the King at first opportunity; While they're doing that, Lady Kelart has a task for us."

"...A task?"

"We're bound for the Adventurer's Guild. Kashan knows the way, as he should; Once we're there, we'll see if the Holy King's authority means anything." He patted the ivory scroll case at his side, the royal seal unbroken. "Assuming the National Mobilization Order works, we might be able to avoid all the unpleasantness…"

I knew this. Remedios, I think, had mentioned it before. "Wait," I said. "You mean...That's the same one the Holy Queen used. The Commander said the Guild was furious - Do you really think they'll just let us...march in and conscript them?"

If anything, Gustav's expression grew even more pained. "Honestly? No," he said, bluntly. "This isn't E-Rantel, but the Guild's basically a law unto itself, at this point. It's an institution that's been around for centuries...Things were different in the Holy Kingdom, but we're far from home. Even then, with the damn subhumans at the door, the Guild fought us tooth and nail."

"Then why-"

"Orders are orders," he said. He saw my dubious expression, then sighed and went on. "Truth is, it's the fastest way to get the word out. News travels swiftly; the sooner Re-Estize hears that the Holy Kingdom is under siege by beastmen, the sooner we can start applying pressure. Better to ask now and bring it up to the King later, rather than have him stonewall us. Every day counts, Sir Samuel."

Gustav rubbed at his goatee, looking like his stomach was hurting again. "If we're really lucky," he mused, "Some adventurers might decide to help us, anyway. It's a long shot, but...Who knows? Some are Holy Kingdom expats - Others might be from the Theocracy. We'll welcome anyone who wants to take a swing at the demihumans...We need all the help we can get, anyway."

I noticed that he didn't mention paying them. That, I supposed, was a problem for later.

"That seems...It seems like poor odds," I said, not entirely comfortable with this. "It sounds like it'd do more harm than good, honestly. If we're looking to the Guild for help...The last thing we should do is annoy them further."

There was a long silence, as Gustav considered my words. I had the feeling that he'd been asking himself the same questions over the long voyage, and he hadn't come up with an answer, either.

"Well," he said, at last. "What's the worst that can happen?"

I knew enough not to answer that.

The ship slid in closer to the harbor, the crew hurrying to handle all the essential last-minute arcane tasks that came with guiding a vessel this size to safety. We were the first ones off the ship, the gangplank creaking underfoot as it scraped to dry land - After a week, the feel of solid ground was almost dizzying.

So was the smell.

Salt, rotting fruit, reeking fish, sweating animals and people - the stench was as palpable as a fist in the face, somehow worse that the constant reek of ash and cinders in Loyts. So many people, out in the open without masks or protective gear, noisy, bustling…

It was a world away from the dust-scoured, dying arcology I'd known. The streets and people I'd grown up with were cleaner, more orderly, but darker and drained of any spark of life. Re-Estize stank, was noisy and crowded, but at least it had some sense of life and colour. That, to my mind, was infinitely preferable to the soulless, grimly routine, depressing quiet of the Bishop Park habitat.

There were people milling past, an endless stream of them. The whole world seemed to be disembarking from the ships, and everyone seemed to have a different idea of where they were going.

"-This way!"

Gustav seemed slightly wrong-footed by the barely-controlled chaos of the city all around. Kashan, however, strode; He knew this place like the back of his hand, I could tell, and without the threat of death looming overhead, he was positively cheerful.

Away from the docks, the air was cleaner, the noise fading as the crowds thinned out. I couldn't help but notice that, unlike Loyts, most of the roads weren't paved - They were narrower than I'd expected, making for a faintly claustrophobic experience in the shadow of the towering buildings. Even those were older than I'd expected, rough-hewn and teetering; there was something faintly quaint about them, like relics of a bygone age.

In a lot of places, the way was just rutted dirt and ashes and rubbish flung out from the houses, laundry flapping overhead in the chilling breeze. There were, fortunately, drains - but there was still that stench in the air, one that seemed omnipresent.

Carriages and wagons rattled and rumbled past, as we made our way along. It didn't help with the constriction - We were walking directly towards people coming the other way, bunched up on the side of the lanes, which meant that one party had to weave aside at the last moment. Fortunately, most saw our swords and armor and gave us a wide berth. I was grateful for that, given how overwhelmed I was.

"...How many people live here?" I mused aloud, resisting the urge to rubberneck or gawk like a tourist.

"Almost half a million, at last count," Kashan said, deftly threading the needle. Given the cold weather, the ground had hardened, where it wasn't churned to a slurry - It clung to our boots, as we forged our way on. "Even Arwintar can't match that! Isn't that something?"

"It looks like the place has seen better days," Gustav muttered, keeping one hand on his belt. "Were things this bad before…?"

I had to admit, Gustav had a point. There was a sense of squalor, of decline; As I looked on, a small mob of urchin children scampered down an alley, clothed in rags. I saw a man slumped on the ground besides a wall, half-curled into himself - He revived enough to take a swig from a dirty waterskin, and coughed hard enough to send black water trickling down his chin and over his pigeon chest.

"Dust addict," the paladin said, with a shake of his head. "We had those in the Holy Kingdom, too. There's more than I thought there would be, though..."

Even as he spoke, a scabby-looking whore beckoned from a grimy doorway, skulking back into the shadows when we walked past. On all sides, the people chattered and surged and trudged onwards, each one lost - I assume - in the routine of their own lives.

Now Kashan just looked uncomfortable. "The…" he lowered his voice, as if afraid someone would overhear. "-Nine Fingers have this place all sewn up. That's one of the reasons for the annual wars, the Empire doesn't want Dust anywhere near his lands. Word is, it's cheaper to grow Laira than grain, so…"

"I see the problem," I said, looking away. "...It looks like something they're going to be dealing with, for a long time. When people get desperate - they look for any escape they can find."

Gustav gave me a look, an eyebrow raised. "That's...surprisingly understanding of you, Sir Samuel."

"Oh, I understand it, all right," I said, lengthening my stride. "-It doesn't mean I like it."

Fortunately, it didn't take us long to reach the Adventurer's Guild. Kashan led us through a maze of narrow alleys, where rickety wood-and-plaster buildings teetered out above us, seemingly ready to topple at the first shove; he paid no attention to the occasional rattling cry or half-hearted moan coming from some of the darker corners.

Once we reached the wide, paved road of the main boulevard, progress became substantially easier. Lined with white buildings, there was at last something like affluence; the people were better-dressed, moving briskly, their clothes brighter and more gaudy. There was a sense of purpose to this place, owed in no little part to the splendid government buildings and the looming form of Ro Lente castle in the distance.

"There it is," Kashan said, with a flourish. "The Adventurer's Guild."

Even from here, I could see it was a tall, high-beamed structure, undeniably impressive. Built to last, solid enough to be a fortress, it was twice the size of the buildings around it, in an already-busy square. There was a constant flow of people - Variously hard-bitten, armed, armored and otherwise out-of-place in this affluent district - in and out of the great double-doors, with a certain desperate air I instinctively associated with career killers and gambling addicts.

"It's bigger, now," Gustav said. "I didn't think it'd grown this much…"

We drew closer, the Guild's green flags - bearing a simple crossed-swords emblem - fluttering proudly overhead. Once we'd sidestepped a weathered-looking foursome (all male, all carrying distinctive black shortswords, even the staff-wielding adept that lagged in their wake) and rubbed shoulders with a pair of twins (Elves, lithe and long-tressed, one with a metal breastplate and the other with leather armor), we pushed through the doors at last and into the well-lit space beyond.

The hall was a wide-open, high-vaulted space. Like a lounge, all linoleum-green seating and marble flooring. Polished wooden counters stood at the far end of the chamber, the kind you'd find in an upscale hotel or a bank, each one manned by a determinedly-smiling girl in the distinctive red uniform and white wimple of the Guild.

Long flights of steps lead up to the upper floors, from which we could hear muted conversation and the clink of glasses - Private booths, I assumed. Where money changed hands, where deals were made.

But it was the boards that drew my eye, first. Double-sided, plastered with sheets of parchment and vellum, they drew the motley crew of adventurers like flies to honey; I caught snatches of chatter, as we passed.

"...King of the Forest? Heard Wolfgunblood dealt with that-"

"-thought it was a basilisk-"

"...all the way from E-Rantel? Not like things are better here-"

"...only goblins, all the time. Goblins, goblins, that's all he talks ab-"

"...from Dragon Hunt? They're Workers, but Parpatra is a straight edge. Never done anyone wrong…"

"-crater where the village was. Yes, that right - It doesn't exist any more…"

All of it was achingly familiar. It had been almost a decade since I'd played a DMMO-RPG, and yet - Some things, you never quite forget. I didn't have that many good memories from that time, but I could almost remember...

"Sir Samuel?" Gustav had slid the scroll case from his belt, holding it in a careful grip. He looked like he was working himself up to it, like a man bracing himself for the inevitable.

"-It's nothing," I said. "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

As it turned out, we had to wait, too.

Gustav had done his best. He'd approached the nearest counter directly, and - endowed with all the authority the royal seal could invest him with - had presented his case. But that had faltered, as the girl at the counter had nodded in agreement, favored us with a plastic smile, then withdrawn through an employees'-only door to speak with her manager.

When she'd emerged, bowing and scraping, she'd been apologetic: the importance of our visit was acknowledged, but this did not fall under the Guild's area of influence. The directive had been handed down, from above - Yes, she understood, and she apologized for the inconvenience.

Would we like to wait for our turn? Tea and refreshments could be brought to us, while we-

"Anything but tea," Gustav said. "-Please."

He gave me a look, and I could tell what he was thinking - The Guildmaster, clearly, remembered the National Mobilization Order, too.

Something told me the Guild still bore a grudge.

It was all so very civilized. We retired to our own table, watching the rest of the world go by. Watched the queue shuffle on. It seemed like the population of adventurers could've made for a disparate nation of its own, one armed to the teeth or carrying artifacts of dubious provenance.

I didn't have any skill at magic. It didn't stop my skin from crawling and itching all at once, when a gorgeous brunette with a skull-headed staff sauntered past. Things got demonstrably worse a heartbeat later, when a warrior in a horned helmet made his way across the hall, the flails strapped to his back clinking at the end of their chains. I actually felt a stab of nausea in my guts, at the palpable aura that radiated from the weapons he carried.

"...How long has it been?" Gustav was asking, sipping at a glass of fruit juice. "It can't have been less than an hour-"

"Sometimes, the queues go on until the Guild closes for the night," Kashan said, with an apologetic shrug. He picked at the sugared biscuits on the platter before us, his mind elsewhere. "I...don't know what to tell you, Sir Gustav. We could be here for some time...What's the matter, Sir Samuel?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting down the sickly sensation. "The woman from before, and that warrior...Their weapons - There's something wrong about them. What, I don't know-"

Kashan and Gustav exchanged glances. One concerned, the other merely confused. But then Kashan snapped his thick fingers, comprehension dawning at last.

"The working counterfeits, you mean? You've got a keen eye, Lord - Might be a talent."

I wiped at my mouth. The sensation was receding, now that they'd pulled away, but the unclean sensation lingered.

"Working counterfeits…?"

"Hush - Not so loud," he said, looking around nervously. "The Nine Fingers...They've been branching out, see? It takes months to years to properly enchant a weapon. Even then, you never know if the magic takes hold - That's why each one is special. Rumor has it that they've been making their own; Quick, dirty work, but far cheaper than the originals."

He spread his hands. "The problem is, while they're more powerful, the magic never lasts long. And when it unravels...Well, you'll be lucky if it just stops working. Magic's got a will of its own. Like a woman, it likes to be kept sweet. Otherwise…"

Kashan mimed an explosion.

"-To what end?" Gustav asked, with a grimace. He sounded uneasy, now, looking in the direction of the woman I'd indicated. "False weapons that cannot be trusted…" His hand settled on the hilt of his sword, reassuringly solid. "What good can come of that?"

"Profit, of course," the stout smuggler said. "They make them cheap, and they're good as - better than - the real thing, while they last. It's said that some nobles have been stockpiling them, in preparation for the next Annual War...After all, they postponed this year's conflict. The next one can't be far away."

It was a sobering thought. We'd left one war behind - at least for now - to run headlong into another.

In an effort to distract myself, I focused on the counters. It was always the same, after a while; Alone or in small groups, adventurers would approach the waiting clerks, producing their documents for inspection. The papers would crackle as the clerk leafed through them, pausing to confer with the supplicant.

Then, there would be the ritual scratching of the clerk's name at the bottom of each document. Slim fingers would take hold of a stamp, rocking it carefully in its tray of red ink, and thump it down against the paper, before handing it back with a polite but brittle smile. Only then would money change hands, sometimes as cheques but more often in carefully-weighted bags of coinage, each one embossed with the Guild's seal.

After a while, the entire process was almost soothing. I wondered, vaguely, how much longer we would have to wait. Strange, how haste had been everything in getting here, and now…

There was an oath. A crash, as a fist slammed down on the counter - Pens and inks all in disarray, neat piles of paper scattering to the carpeted floor.

"Shit on this!" With a wooden crutch tucked into his armpit, the luckless adventurer looked hollowed-out, older than dirt. Grey-haired, dirty bandages wrapped around half his head and one eye, he looked like he'd been mangled - One sleeve flapped empty, all the way to the elbow, and he listed to one side as he dragged his bad leg behind him.

How he'd made it all the way to the counter, I didn't know. Only that he was glaring, his one good eye bloodshot, his fist clenched so hard the knuckles showed white against the scarred skin. "You sent us to our deaths, you whore!" He shook a half-crumpled slip of parchment in the clerk's face, as if it held all the answers.

"Twenty gold? Twenty gold? I shit on you! I'm the only one left!"

The girl on the receiving end of the tirade shrank back in her seat, her green eyes wide. "Mister Bebei, if you would just calm down-"

I could see the fury that contorted his worn features, the grief that bowed his shoulders. "Look at me," he hissed, as he thrust the stump of his arm into her face. "You see this? What do I do with twenty gold? Drink myself to death? Find a good spot to beg?"

The other adventurers had backed away. Just a little. Just enough to get a good view of the drama playing itself out. Their expressions were - like the vast majority of people I knew - incurious, faintly interested.

Kashan's chair scraped back. "Trouble," he muttered, one eye on the door, like the old smuggler he was. Gustav was on his feet, reaching for his sword.

"I should-" he began, and I shook my head. "I'll do it," I said, and rose.

One the guards was already approaching, his crossbow cradled in his arms. "Miss Ishpen," he began. "Should I-"

The receptionist shook her head, vigorously. "There's no problem," she said, her voice a little squeaky now. "Just...Ser Autumn, there are no provisions in the contract for death and wounding. I-if you have a problem with the clauses, you should take it up with the individual who posted the request-"

Steel flashed. All of a sudden, the mangled adventurer had a long dagger - almost a bayonet - in his good hand. It didn't matter how battered he was, his draw was as fast as ever. I didn't even see him move; One moment, he'd been pounding the desk. The next, the blade was at the receptionist's throat.

"I should take it out of your hide, you whore-"

An atmosphere of breathless fascination seemed to have gripped the whole hall, as things teetered on the brink of bloodshed. No-one noticed me, as I pushed my way through the small crowd, making right for the tableau.

And I remembered-

"...That's it? That's all he gets?"

Acid, churning in my gut - A bitter taste in my mouth.

"As you know, the medical coverage only extends to *immediate* injury. There is no allowance for long-term care, and certainly not for 'nerve damage'. Our assessors have confirmed that your brother will receive the monthly payment he qualifies for."

The Kuroka Corp. rep didn't even have the grace to meet my eyes, as he reeled off the terms with casual ease.

"In our evaluation, the sum provided under the terms of the Medical Relief Fund is already exceedingly generous. Some allowance has been given, in light of the circumstances of your brother's injury-"

"*Some* allowance?" I could feel the rage choking off my words, and - somehow, somehow - forced it down. "He inhaled nerve gas. From *your* munitions...He's been working for you for almost a decade-"

"I'd advise you to watch your tone. As you know, nerve gas is illegal under the Eastern Bloc Charter of 2127. Any such claim - Which, need I remind, is entirely spurious - is grounds for a defamation action, in corporate court."

A hiss of paper, as the file was placed on the table before me.

"I understand that you are your brother's sole remaining family? I advise you, as his legal guardian, to think carefully before you make your decision. The responsibility for his welfare, and his quality of life, falls entirely upon you."

"That's-"

"If you have any objections, take them up with my supervisor." A smile, somehow weary. "In my experience, nothing good ever comes of that."

I signed.

What else could I have done?

The receptionist's gaze darted to me - Panicked, then grateful - as I came up behind them.

The adventurer whirled. One-armed and half-crippled he might have been, but there was nothing wrong with his sixth sense.

The tip of his blade made a tiny ching as it grazed against the chest plate of my armor, right over my heart. His remaining eye widened, and he made to pull it back-

"That's enough," I said, as my hand closed on his wrist. He strained, but he couldn't free himself; I had the strength and I had the leverage. It took all of a moment for the realization of his own helplessness to dawn in his gaze, as his shoulders seemed to slump, his lips peeling back from his teeth in a bitter snarl.

That was when I reached for the core of strength within myself, and sent it surging into him.

My hand glowed. Threads of power jagged down my arm, leaping - in patient tics of lightning - across his skin. The ghostly echo of limbs flickered beneath his dirt and gore-spattered gear, monochrome flashes of white bone showing through translucent flesh; I heard people yelp and cry out, flinching back from the momentary road-flare brilliance.

Before, I would probably have knocked myself unconscious, trying something like this. But the time I'd spent in Loyts had taught me how to control it, at least to some degree. When the glow faded, I let go - The adventurer staggered back, grabbing at his crutch as it slipped from his armpit…

-He caught it, with a hand that hadn't been there a moment ago. Surprise, then disbelief, then wonder, chased each other across his worn features in rapid succession, as he settled his weight on his newly-remade leg.

"I," he said, before words failed him. "I-"

"I'm sorry about your friends," I said. Quietly, trying to let him know that I meant it. "I don't have any answers for you, and I'm sorry for that."

From the corner of my eye, I could see that two of the guards - crossbows drawn and leveled - had lowered them at last, the lethal tips pointed at the ground. Relief, instant and palpable, wound through my form.

The adventurer nodded, his mouth working. His eyes had gone shiny, more than a little wet. For a moment, I thought he was going to say something, or weep. Instead, he merely slipped that dagger back into the sheath, and - quietly, without a fuss - limped for the double-doors leading out.

No-one stopped him. But all watched him go.

Around us, sighs and coos came from the audience. They didn't know what had just happened, but most of them could tell that it'd been something.

The receptionist was still staring, one hand pressed to her throat where the blade had nicked her. "Thank you," she said. "He was going to-"

I didn't do it for you, I wanted to say, but forced the words down. Instead, I drew a slow breath, my heart still racing. All I could see, for a moment, was the crossbows that had been pointed at us.

"It's fine," I said, and looked back at Gustav and Kashan. "I hate to impose, but if we could-"

"Oh," she said, going pink. Then, "Y, yes - Of course." She fumbled for the scattered papers and pens, looking forlornly at the spreading stain left by the shattered inkpot. As I knelt, gathering what I could up - the leaves arrayed in no particular order, some of them ink-spattered and illegible - the queue continued to shuffle onwards, on either side.

As if nothing at all had happened.

Gustav did the talking, as he'd been no doubt instructed to. This was his forte, after all; Even as he broke the seal on the scroll-case, it was clear he knew exactly what could reasonably be achieved. There was something reassuringly competent about him once he set to the task, which came as a relief. I'm not sure we could've managed, otherwise.

Unfortunately, the receptionist was only listening with half a ear. She kept glancing over - subtly at first, her gaze flitting between the document and me - even as she made notes in a brisk, tidy shorthand. It didn't seem to impair her note-taking in any way, but I was growing increasingly self-conscious: I tried not to let my eyes wander, tried not to encourage her, keeping my expression carefully impassive, but that just made me feel even more conspicuous, as I fought the urge to hunch down in the less-than-comfortable wooden chair.

I'll admit - She was nice to look at. Pale blonde hair with straight bangs, soft green eyes that were just this side of sea-green. There was something arresting in the way she twirled her pen in her fingers, the way she tapped it against her lips as she was thinking-

"You are relieved, Miss Ronble."

I blinked. So did she, glancing to the side. Another clerk - Slightly older, her expression a trifle more severe but not unkind - had her hand on Ishpen's shoulder, patting lightly. Isphen almost pouted; "Wina, there's no need-"

"Now, now. You've suffered quite the shock - Take an hour off, and then come back. I'll assist them, in your place."

There was no arguing against that. Isphen eased herself to her feet, her fingers brushing lightly against her neck; She caught my eye, and mouthed - inexplicably - "Ninety points," before she withdrew, giving me one last look before she vanished through the staff door.

Gustav cleared his throat. "If we may continue…"

Wina nodded, all exacting politeness. "A moment, Sir Gustav," she said, crisply. "I have a message for your companion."

A message?

She cleared her throat. "Wolfgunblood, of Endless Crimson Rain, appreciates your swift resolution of that...unpleasantness. He requests that you join him in his private room, Sir-"

"Samuel," I said, automatically. Without thinking. "Samuel, of Yggdrasil."

And just like that, I heard the murmurs go round again. Awed, this time.

Wolfgunblood…

-has to be a hoax-

...really him...

Gustav's eyes widened. He sat up a little straighter, the writ momentarily forgotten.

"Wolfgunblood?" he said. Carefully, as if he didn't quite believe it, himself. "The Wolfgunblood? Him?"

The receptionist gave him a look of polite patience, one that was somehow long-suffering. "Yes. He cordially extends an invitation to...Sir Samuel. And," she went on, anticipating the next question, "-only Sir Samuel. I could, of course, make inquiries-"

The paladin met my gaze, and I nodded.

"That won't be necessary," I said. "I'll meet him right away."

It may have been my imagination, but Wina seemed to relax, ever-so-slightly. I was already turning to leave, when she called me back. "Sir Samuel?" she said, some of the formality easing from her voice at last.

"-Thank you for saving my friend."

The fourth floor of the Adventurer's Guild was notably more opulent than the ones below. This was, in a certain sense of the word, a holy place - One reserved only for the luminaries of Blue Roses, Red Drop…

And now, Endless Crimson Rain.

Or rather, Wolfgunblood, the team's sole member.

On the way over, Kashan had told me all he knew about him...Or rather, all that he'd heard, because some of the stories were so outlandish they couldn't possibly have been true. Wolfgunblood had slain an Elder Basilisk, a truly primordial terror. He'd defeated an army of ogres, in a battle that had lasted hours. He'd put a necromantic cult to flight, saving the city of E-Rantel from an eternity of living death.

All that, and he'd done it alone. So the rumors went, anyway; Some whispered that no-one else could survive the perils he flung himself headfirst into, and all who tried had perished. Others said he labored under a curse, the burden of some lonely, haunted destiny that would someday claim him.

That he was the prince of some fallen kingdom, left to wander the world in romantic sorrow.

"I'd like to meet him," I had said, and Gustav had chuckled. "You're not the only one," he'd said, and poured himself a measure of grog. "If he was willing to aid us...Well, it would save a lot of lives. For a start."

As I reached suite number thirteen, a superstitious pang of dread coursed through me. I paused, at the black-lacquered door. Raised my hand to knock-

"Enter," came a voice from within. Low, with a remarkable timbre. "Freely, and of your own will."

And - despite my misgivings - I did.

The room beyond was like the inside of a very expensive chocolate box, red and black with plenty of golden ornamentation. There was a mural of angels descending from the heavens, their wings on fire as they plunged towards a rugged figure awaiting them with swords in hand - A work of art so astonishingly apropos, so stunningly on-the-nose, that I actually missed the room's sole occupant.

Only for a moment, mind you.

The first thing I saw of Wolfgunblood was his boots. They were low-heeled, the black leather polished to a mirror sheen, silver rowel-spurs glinting in the light. He had his feet up on the table, his face half-hidden in shadow - A single crimson gleam within the darkness, a red vessel of fire defying death's gloom.

A hand emerged from the shadows. Tiny studs glinted on the knuckles of fingerless gloves, but it was what it held that sent a little shock through me.

My mind fixed on the details, first:

A long barrel, the muzzle as large as the circle thumb and forefinger makes. Impossibly complicated circuitry latticed the frame, black and coppery against a silver so hallowed that it was almost blue. Gems winked in the ivory grip, platinum wings framing the rear sight - But all the ostentatious, priceless ornamentation didn't change what it was.

Not for a moment.

It was a gun, and Wolfgunblood twirled it like a gunfighter's revolver as he rose. The shadows unfurled majestically from him, his floor-length black coat seemingly held in place by criss-crossing bandoliers and belts as - at long last - I saw him in full.

His skin was pearl-white, and his mouth curved in his signature expression - the weary, sophisticated sneer of a man who had forgotten how many souls he'd taken, who pitied the world that had to contain him. Effortlessly graceful, he was toned and beautiful and tragic, the way everyone imagines themselves to be, in their deepest, most private fantasies.

Wolfgunblood's eyes, as they fixed on me, were amber and soulful. Or rather, one was; the other had a pupil of the purest crimson, a burning ember that threatened to spark an inferno.

I noticed, as my gaze roved over him, that there was a single streak of red in his vividly white hair. The color of fresh blood, maybe - Or the color of stars seen through the smoke of burning cities.

I stared.

You would have, too.

Is this a joke? I thought. Then - No, it can't be...

There was a long silence, the silver wolf-head emblems on his coat glinting as they caught the light. Chains clinked, as Wolfgunblood closed the distance in a slow, measured stride. Waiting, as slow comprehension dawned in my eyes.

And I said, at last-

"...You're a player, aren't you?"

Wolfgunblood smiled, a smile that became a grin.

"Thought you were the only one, didn't you?" he said. His gun described a complex figure-eight as he holstered it, a smoothly fluid motion too fast for the eye to follow. With exacting grace, he bowed, his coat fluttering in his wake like black wings.

"Welcome, Knight of the World Tree, to my humble dwelling."

"I am Wolfgunblood, but others call me-"

Next: Endless Crimson Rain