Fluid - 29

With the revelation that Sarah is a Dragon shocking the rest to various degrees, I smile at Glingaerneth. “You mentioned the King intended the Royal Guard to assist me in seeking the key. What was his—or the royal council's—expectation upon its discovery?”

Glingaerneth cleared her throat. “I don’t believe that expectation is relevant any longer, given we’re not discussing it with a Taurë maiden. However, the King would like me to offer a formal alliance with the Andúnë Court.”

Sign something which would likely bind me to all the accords they’ve signed? Pass!

The politest response I have surfaces first. “That’s an interesting idea. I would need to know more before I can, in good faith, accept.”

Litthor interjects before Glingaerneth can say more. “You should know that the houses propping him up insisted it wasn’t to be an invitation so much as a demand.”

I smacked him for his assumptions, is he lining up others for their turn?

“The purpose of a delegation is to assess a situation and move towards a mutually beneficial goal. Such guidelines are like high bids in bartering. What would you have them give me: terms they will not accept later?” counters Glingaerneth.

“Perhaps start by not making it an order from a pretend Andúnë King?” asks Litthor.

His bluntness is breathtaking, and I wonder how divided they are. “I take it the border nobles' oaths of fealty have yet to be affirmed, Litthor?”

Litthor gives a benevolent smile. “We have a charter from the founding to protect the Andúnë lands. The charter’s removal would put our complete hierarchy in question and strip every house of its rank and lands unless ratified at a conclave of the people.”

“Perhaps the realm’s lords should be determined by voting like the Norse jarls,” murmurs Ellother, and while most deliberately ignore her, Tarlanc glares her way.

I try to bite my tongue. Pouring petrol onto the argument seems like a bad idea before I know more, no matter how that suggestion tugs at my instincts.

“We’re not short-lived humans,” sneers Tarlanc at last, and Glingaerneth's nod of agreement prompts me to smack him.

“It works well for two lands that Amdirlain’s Cadre oversees, and the Lady Amdirlain speaks well of that approach. It's also followed on other worlds by elves living longer than you.”

“Amdirlain spoke of it, don’t you mean?” asks Glingaerneth.

“Speaks. When lured into a trap, she gave her Mantle to Lerina to keep it from Apollo’s grasp. He didn’t extinguish her. She endured the Titan’s trial, and I’ve heard it said she is progressing towards recovery.”

That I heard her say it directly is my business.

“Lerina’s worshippers believe such drivel,” Tarlanc replies. “I’ve heard that banded about by them since days after Amdirlain got obliterated by Apollo-”

I’m unsure what shows in my gaze, but Tarlanc swallows. “Then again, we’re not here to speak of religious matters.”

Maition tilts his head and comes to his rescue. “Limited resources within our lands add to the people’s burdens. A mountain range presses our territory against the coast at its midpoint, but the Dwarves insist on a prior claim and allow us no mineral rights. Everything used to come from lands the border lords have surrendered to the humanoids in years past.”

He doesn’t say it, but his glance at the table is meaningful, and I have to force myself not to point out the mithril wasted on their clothing.

The rest of the session’s discussion is mostly one political request after another.

Though I could see merit in some of the School of the Arcane’s requests, they seemed to want to avoid dealing with the dwarves for materials. Despite how Maition phrases it, insufficient resources to create the items needed for their people’s safety meant the dwarven prices were too high. I can think of a couple of possibilities for that; one of them is they’ve insulted the dwarves in the past. Though I could undoubtedly make mithril for thousands of weapons, I didn’t know what impact that would have on regional trade.

All of Glingaerneth’s requests were alliances in one form or another, looking to set lines of obligation from me to her King’s rule. Given the careful tiptoeing of her wording, I’d hate to hear the series of demands they likely intended to present to a Taurë. Litthor hadn’t been alone in raising objections to them, so I hadn’t even needed to appear unreasonable.

Upon my declining her fifth request, Litthor smiles. “Glingaerneth, to save time this evening. Would you care to present a different request instead of something merely worded differently?”

“They are on different matters,” refutes Glingaerneth.

“Everyone of your requests goes toward gaining Gailneth’s support for more authority than the King deserves. He wants everyone in our land to answer directly to him alone. Does he wish to reach the point where he will give the patrol and battle orders directly to the soldiers? You and the rest of the council are supporting a grasping tyrant.”

Putting aside the harsh rhetoric, I focus on the last revelation.

“I was told the council argued for a large escort for you, Glingaerneth. Was that solely because you’re a member? Does Yngvarr even know you’re a member?”

“She’s an implicit one since the Tower represents our heritage from the Anar and Lómë,” says Maition, giving his mother a sly smile. “Then again, Yngvarr is so infrequently at court that I’m sure he’s unaware of the changes. It’s not like his family would keep him informed.”

“I’m considered an honorary member,” admits Glingaerneth, her expression smoothly composed.

“An honorary member with or without a vote?”

Maition grins and gets in first. “My former mother gets to vote on all matters of tradition or the arcane.”

“Glingaerneth, I’d like a yes or no, not waffle. Does your vote count on any matters in the King’s council?”

“Yes,” Glingaerneth intones, but her expression doesn’t shift.

“Let’s move along then,” I say and motion to Tarlanc.

“The direst of issues with all the elves in these lands is how divided we are,” Tarlanc starts.

I should also tell him not to waffle, but his prattle quickly becomes revealing. His desired cultural renaissance is code for putting the Andúnë people back in charge of the Isil and Taurë.

It's so tempting to explain that his house crest shows his family were the forest palace's general servants. The ancient rights of command he talks about during his prattle would have been his family passing various instructions to the local Taurë, grove keepers, and the Isil patrol teams. Isil, now called moon elves, were once more mithril elves, because that is what the Anar used in arming the ‘mundane’ soldiers. Their troops conducted patrols beyond the borders culling violent beasts so the Taurë could work unbothered.

Given his attitude, I can see why the Taurë went far to the west and turned arid land into a forest rather than living in the eastern ones. The magic used to pull the rains over the western mountain range must take great effort to maintain. Perhaps the adversity and struggle are why they outnumber the Andúnë and Isil peoples combined.

Ellother, after her excellent start, keeps quiet most of the discussion, her posture straight, poised as if imitating a statue will help her escape notice. The few questions she murmurs shift the relevance of various requests to me. All the nobles have a similar problem; I’m not the only one that needs a better financial perspective and understanding of how changes impact crafters and merchants.

Rúcinion, keen to offer rambling counters to the others, offers not a single request of his own. His colourful plumage and chaotic speech itches against how still he kneels at the low table. Where the others shift and twitch, he rarely even brushes a hand across its surface. The patience in his song and demeanour speaks of predatory classes I’ve never previously heard, his discipline of motion adhering to my father’s standards despite the outward fluff.

By the end, ‘that’s an interesting idea’ is a phrase I’m growing tired of saying.

“A few matters before we close that might assist. Ellother, do you know if your father’s alliance conducts any trade with the dwarves at Stoneheart?”

“I don’t believe they do; the caravans just go to Hill Dwarf settlements. One of my father’s friends said there are many headaches, even in dealing with them.”

“This might upset some people then,” I say, but push the concern aside. “Maition, here is my recommendation about the dwarven mineral rights and trade: speak with Ellother’s father to see if his alliance will send a group to attend the auctions within Stoneheart in person.”

“Getting into Stoneheart requires a resident to vouch for you, and they don’t mingle with us. Even at the rare official functions, it's hard to get a Dwarf to engage in conversation off-topic,” explains Litthor.

“Grand Traveller Aggie had no issues entering Stoneheart the first time without an introduction. When was the last time Andúnë elves asked to go inside?”

“Before I was born. It’s in the records that they don’t permit entry without a resident contact,” Litthor restates.

“Ellother, if your father’s alliance needs a contact, I’ll provide one. I know the Clan Master of an auction house.”

They only need to know of one Dwarf friend I have, not the hundreds I’ve made.

“You dealt with the dwarves but not us?” Rúcinion gasps, still keeping to his flamboyant act.

“Stoneheart has planar outposts; none connect to the Andúnë lands. Given the display you’ve put on for me today, I’m glad I didn’t contact you earlier. We’ve exceeded the three hours this evening, so I’ll close this meeting.”

Flowing to my feet, I Teleport close to the banquet hall, though the spot I chose is around a bend and out of sight. Picking out the music of the carafes, I refill them with a rush of songs and slip away to my bower.

“Aggie, I’m no longer distracted, so I’ll be right to monitor the health of those still drinking.”

On the heels of that message, I send more to Yngvarr and Alfarr, repeating my message.

The message globe that pops into existence from Aggie fairly buzzes with irritation. “Thank you, Gail. We’re all retiring for the evening before the temptation to apply some Ki techniques grows too great.”

Creating some sheaves of paper, I alternate working on composition exercises by creating various potions for the team. Only once the wine dries up do I risk entering reverie.

Upon stirring, I scan the hall and find some still sitting in their places, almost sleeping instead of properly in reverie. The royal guards still present are sobered up and watching over a half score nearly slumped onto the tables. A quick check on the wards confirms it’s approaching dawn outside, prompting me to start my day. Pulling on leather pants, toughened boots, and a dark red silk shirt, I take care of certain necessary matters and ensure my Wood Elf guise is in place. With all that done, I’m ready to face the day.

Teleport puts me behind my seat at the table. Standing between my table and the rest, Royal Guard Captain Arodion is shrouded with an assortment of divination spells, nearly all of which are giving him zero results. The only exceptions I hear are the details they’re providing him about my slumbering guests.

“Good morning, Captain Arodion. Is there a problem?”

Arodion gaze lifts to the Radiant light still high overhead, and as he turns to me, a flicker of uncertainty crosses his composed expression. “Good morning, Gailneth. Perhaps you could forgo using my rank if you insist on us not using a title to address you.”

“Titles such as Lord or Lady aren’t earned, and mine is a relatively meaningless thing required by necessity. One would hope a soldier’s rank is earned and not just given out. Do you not think so, Arodion?”

“In an ideal situation that might be the case, Gailneth,” replies Arodion, his suddenly bitter tone accompanying his gaze fixed on the empty air beside me. “What military are you used to dealing with?”

“In this world, only those directed by the Mountain Dwarf High King. How new is your captaincy?” I ask, and hold back a wince when he jerks as if slapped.

He blinks and refocuses on me again. “Is it that obvious?”

“You’ve two evolved base classes, Knight and Royal Pathfinder, extending Fighter and Ranger respectively, but no Prestige Class. Your other two classes are Commander and Wizard. You’re about one hundred and ten, and all your classes are in their twenties.”

“What else can you tell?” asks Arodion, his tone curious rather than offended.

“Mostly the sum of observations rather than listening to your song. First, they believed me to be a Taurë. Second, if the rumours of a key related to True Song were true, they expected the Guard unit to be searching a swamp. Third, True Song relics are all handed to the Tower of Singers, so there was nearly no chance of prestige gain for a house. They likely believed a relic handled what I’d done here, making it two relics for the tower. All that has me asking why any established Captain would have wanted to come?” I ask.

Arodion gaze darkens despite his dry smile. “Why indeed?”

My disappointment was never with the Royal Guard, and I kept my tone gentle. “You’ve no house crest within the clothing beneath your plate armour. Despite your rank, the armour is enchanted but no better than the other guards’. Combined with your classes, it says you’re talented but lacking significant connections, yet still have enough to get excellent training. Am I mistaken?”

“My father and grandfather both served in the Royal Guard; I’ve been an aide-de-camp to the Major they both served since I took my classes. I was told of my promotion to Captain the day before the selection of this Guard unit to come here. Indeed, I’d barely found their barracks when on my heels came orders to prepare for a trip far to the south,” states Arodion. “They deserve better than to be tossed back and forth like unwanted pieces.”

“How long have you been in the Royal Guard?”

“Thirty years,” admits Arodion cautiously.

“So you signed up before the current King took the throne. Can I tempt you to resign and come work for me?”

The offer widens his gaze a fraction. “I thought you wanted us all out of here?”

Well, that wasn’t a no.

“I certainly want you to all visibly leave. The great thing about the fancy helms is that I doubt anyone would recognise you if you returned. They might suspect, but they won’t know for certain, and you wouldn’t be wearing the royal insigna,” I remind him, gesturing at the armour’s amber-gold crest. I’m not telling him it's the insignia for a house quartermaster.

“Such a discussion isn’t exactly proper, Gailneth,” chides Arodion. “I also wouldn’t simply abandon a unit; they deserve better.”

Smiling at him, I hope it softens my planned rebuttal. “Some would say the expectations with which they arrived were nothing close to proper. If someone waves capable people under my nose, I won’t let them go back into obscurity without trying something. I didn’t say the offer was for you alone—I’d hire your whole unit.”

“And what would be their purpose?” enquires Arodion. “Since you don’t need us to search a swamp.”

“Teaching people so they can protect communities, and gaining levels if they wanted to do so.”

“What is your meaningless title Gailneth?”

“Where would the fun be in telling you?” I chirp and give him my most frustrating smile. “Now, you seemed quite perturbed when I arrived in the Hall. What is the issue?”

“I’ve been trying to detect the wards since I woke,” mutters Arodion, a lick of frustration in his tone.

“They’re all sung wards, Captain. Like many can’t sense Mana, no one without the related powers can detect the songs.”

Arodion opens his mouth to protest, only to close it before he nods.

“Did aunt Sarah inform people when breakfast would be served?”

“Sarah made the announcement a while after the representative discussion started. Though my sergeant conveyed the announcement to me, she did say most were likely too drunk to comprehend it,” admits Arodion.

“Be that as it may, I’m on a schedule and I’ll need to start shortly.”

Creating a large crystal flagon with an elixir to Neutralise Poison within, I push it across the table to him. “This will neutralise any of the guard’s lingering hangovers. It's not for those who invited themselves.”

“Those priests within the unit have already taken care of it,”

Another song adjusts the flagon, so it's sealed with a sturdy clasp. “Then put it with the unit’s stores. It contains enough doses of Neutralise Poison to save many a life.”

The announcement of breakfast being served shortly buzzes through the wards. When I catch Sarah’s arrival in the entry foyer, I realise I don’t know if she’s claimed an area inside or has decided to lair in Sanctuary’s building.

Giving me a bow, Arodion claims the flagon and heads towards an exit from the Hall. All the guards, the delegation, and their representatives show up in the ten minutes left before I activate the hall’s enchantments. Of my other guests, only a few made it, and most of those were the ones previously slumbering at the tables.

Though I respond politely to the various greetings, I don’t invite anyone to sit at my table with myself and Sarah.

“Should I make all the naughty children start the day hungry?” Sarah asks, sitting beside me as I activate the enchantments. This time it's more modest plates of polished white jade and silver platers covered with an assortment of bread rolls, fruits, cold meats, and breakfast pastries.

“If you’d please store some food and provide it to whoever asks nicely.”

Sarah doesn’t move, but the platters I’d created before the empty spaces disappear from the tables. The ringing notes of Inventory echoed with their disappearance.

“How big a range do you have on it now?”

“That’s for me to know, but I still have to have a path of contact. My feet touch the floor, and the tables touch the platters, then it's just carving off what I want into Inventory,” murmurs Sarah, scooping up slices of cold roast beef and making herself some sandwiches with jam-filled pastries.

“You have weird tastes, auntie,” I murmur as she takes large bites.

Licking up the jam smeared across her fingers from tearing them open, Sarah gives me a grin. “It all ends up in the same place.”

Even as she eats, her mind touches my own. “Want the evening’s gossip and bitching?”

I linger too long, listening to her repeat the information she’d overheard the night before.

Washing down a couple of pastries with some berry juice, I give them enough warning to lift whatever they want to finish from the table before I hasten away.

Hestia’s dawn service has just finished when I appear near the Temple, but at least Myrto is still tending to her last duties.

Androkles and Nanoĸ sit crossed-legged on the ground, the latter’s axe across his knees, watching Ipy correct Nikias’s dagger form.

“How went your night?” asks Nanoĸ. “Any detonations?”

“No explosions, but I’ll sum it up in one word: drats!”

His lifted eyebrows cause his scarred flesh to compress in an ugly fashion that niggles at me though doesn’t hamper him. “My, you colour the air with foul language.”

“I know, I’m terrible.”

“How long are they planning to remain?” demands Nanoĸ. “Their presence spooked lots of villagers, and that’s what I count as terrible.”

“I had expected as much, and Alfarr confirmed the tension remained despite my reassurances. I’ve told them if they want further discussions to take place, then the Royal Guard and most of the nobles better be gone today,” I reply, and throw up my hands in disgust, having to keep myself from shifting to male. “I never wanted them here. When I replied to Yngvarr, I said I’d receive their delegate and a small entourage. He told them to send one person to talk to me. That parade was outrageous.”

“Most?” enquires Phile, wandering back towards us from the Temple’s door, accompanying some ladies.

“I let them keep some representative to discuss things they’d like help with,” I admit. “Though there were only six at the initial discussions, I hope it's less than twenty that I have to deal with going forward.”

The group of ladies leaving the Temple eye me warily, and the reversion to the prior attitude has me giving them a sad smile and an apologetic bow. “I’m sorry for the worry. I’ll have them returned home as soon as possible. For now, they’re all locked in the tower.”

An older woman greying and stooped with age, passes close by and nods her head. “It would be best for that to happen sooner rather than later, Gail; many are worried.”

“Perhaps I should make them pay restitution for the worry they caused. Should I charge them enough to pave all the village roads?”

The slight smile that shows melts just as quickly. “As long as your fee to them is a real stack of coins.”

“They want my help, and after their behaviour, it's going to be a lot more than they expect,” I reply and nod politely. “I was considering getting them to provide teachers to instruct the young in how to protect themselves.”

Her mouth hardens at the thought, but she gives a begrudging nod. “I imagine they know a bit about fighting after hundreds of years. See if you can get teachers more like yourself, not the haughty lot that arrived yesterday.”

“I’ll do my best,” I say. Bending to her height, I plant a kiss on both cheeks. “I’m so sorry that they worried people. Once things get settled, I’ll hold some fetes to apologise.”

Her old gnarled hands clasp my cheeks, her fingers moving as if reading my face, and her cloudy eyes fix on my own. “Only apologise for things that you do. You can’t always prevent others from crowding around a hearth unwelcomed. You should worry about how you’ll clean up after they’re gone.”

“Thank you for the advice.”

I get a warm, gap-toothed smile, and after patting me on the shoulder, she heads off with the other ladies.

“A nation of elves wants your help?” asks Phile when they’ve started down the road.

“My very rare ability means they don’t have a lot of choices,” I respond and wave a hand towards Hestia’s Temple.

“For not having a lot of choices, they didn’t seem like they were coming to speak peacefully,” comments Nanoĸ.

“Do you want your scars fixed?” I blurt out and wish I’d bricked up my mouth.

Nanoĸ gives a flat noted growl. “They’re healed.”

At his growl, Phile tilts her head curiously at me. “I’d wondered if you were holding a grudge.”

Wrinkling my nose at the thought, I shake my head. “Who me? No. It doesn’t impact his abilities or his song. Though it adds a burr in the tones that rise from his flesh, I hadn’t thought about them much. My father says scars add character, so he’s not ugly, just has a lot of character.”

I cut off before letting my mouth ramble defensively further.

“You got rid of my scars,” notes Phile critically.

“I was fixing your hand. I don’t enjoy leaving something half done,” I point out.

My remark gains a laugh from Androkles, and when he motions to himself, Phile rolls her eyes. “Nanoĸ, Gail’s not being critical of you or your healer. Think about if you want to keep your battle trophies or not, Gail’s clearly able to restore your flesh.”

When Nanoĸ eyes me, I just nod my agreement and get a grunt of all things.

“Pitnari came by with some maps yesterday afternoon before he went up to Sanctuary. He wasn’t sure if you wanted them mentioned around your guests,” states Phile, thankfully changing the subject.

With Myrto drawing close with her gear in place, Nikias looks my way. “More crabs?”

“If the pace keeps picking up, we might have both of you at level four within another six days, if not sooner. Would that be enough to start southwards, Nanoĸ?”

“Eight more levels would make each of them a lot more formidable. We’ll want to push their training harder in the afternoons, so their skills’ progression keeps up.”

Nikias grunts in surprise; his doubtful expression shows his thoughts on that possibility.

“The better we get, the harder we can push to get them to improve,” says Myrto, double-checking she’s secured her weapon harness properly over the chain mail. “That sounds like a fine idea to me.”

“I’d like us to travel through the areas to the north-east before we head south,” says Androkles. “Southwards, we’re going to run into hunting groups for the more prominent Lizardfolk bands—they consider adventurers delicious. Areas to the northeast get infested by weaker Goblin and Kobold bands that have been pushed out of better hunting grounds. We need practice working together against foes doing the unexpected instead of the pattern we’re getting into with the crabs.”

His suggestion earns nods from more than just me. “Good point. When did you want to do that?”

“Follow your plan and get Nikias and Myrto to level four in each of their classes first,” states Androkles.

“Anyone in need of coin? If not, I’ll take all the crabmeat to Stoneheart to sell in one hit when we’re ready to move on.”

“Gave most of mine to my family, and I still don’t know what to do with the rest,” admits Nikias.

“You should always hold some coin in reserve if you find something you want to get,” Phile notes. “Though, given the way Gail spoils us in that regard, it’s not as important.”

“Speaking of spoiling,” I laugh and pull out cloth sacks, each clicking with lead crystal vials inside. “A mixture of potions for healing wounds, poison, and diseases. The last isn’t always important, but I’ve seen some quick-acting ones. Standard glyphs for each in the wax seals with dots next to them showing the strength.”

“Put them in your storage items separately,” states Nanoĸ when Myrto makes hers disappear. “They can recall a specific type of flask, but not when they’re in the sack.”

“Yes, sorry, Zosime’s one is different. I should make better ones for each of you.”

Nanoĸ directs a disbelieving look at me and shakes his head. “I think we can manage. They need to learn tactics for utilising what they have properly, not always get something better.”

I shift the group onto the usual rock ledge once they've got everything settled. The songs I hear on our arrival aren’t the nearly deserted beach I’d expected. Once there, my detection song shows the cause—the lilting melody highlighting scores along the first kilometre of the beach. Midway along, deep in the surf, is a puddle of light six or seven times the size of anything we’ve seen.

“Life doesn’t always care about plans,” Nanoĸ laughs smugly.

“Does anyone object if I cheat?” I ask. “This isn’t all of them. There are others towards the inlet.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Everyone get ready in case of strays coming our way, but I’m going to provoke these into a Lightning Storm,” I explain, looking around the group.

“That thing is wider than a house,” breathes Nikias, and Myrto licks a dry tongue across her lips and nods.

“Which makes me wonder what pushed it out of its hunting ground.”

“How do you plan to provoke all that?”

“I’ve been listening to the song of your abilities. The only downside is I’ve not planned any change, let alone tested it, so they’re all going to charge you, Nanok,” I admit. “This is the sort of thing I had expected to withdraw from, but this mess is too close to the village. Let's clear these and then the ones towards the cove.”

Nanok nods and focuses for a moment, and I hear the messenger ring activate. “I warned the new Guild Master about this, so they know the normal beach clear could be dangerous.”

Ipy signals his falcon back to his wrist and feeds it some sliced meat from his pouch, his focus extending through their link. “It seems I won’t need him to be watching for extra trouble when we’re luring singles. I’ll get him to fly back to his perch at the Temple; the lighting will unsettle him for no reason. I’ve also got Lightning Storm, Gail.”

With that, he lifts his hand, and the hawk leaps away, flying back towards the village.

“How about you handle a Mana barrier? Something that size might have elemental powers to throw at us. There are aspects to its song I’ve not heard,” I admit.

“I’ll put one up as a priority, but if it throws nothing, I’ll be able to help fry them,” acknowledges Ipy. “If it uses any Power, I’ll set more layers in place.”

“Switch positions,” suggests Androkles. “You pair can keep hitting them, and we’ll fend off any quick arrivals.”

When they switch around, I wait until Ipy’s barrier sits ready—a transparent, shimmering wall some four metres tall running from the rock’s edge to the cliff face.

“Drop your first storm to cut off the ones closest to the rock ledge, and if you get time for a second, put it along the path that Nikias’ house-sized one should take, Ipy,” I ask.

“Why is it my house-sized one?” protests Nikias.

“You offered an assessment of it first,” teases Myrto before she begins. The flames from her Blessing wreath the weapons of Androkles, Nanok, and Nikias, but she doesn’t step forward to join them. Rather, her focus remains on the chant to strengthen their strikes.

Phile strings a recurve bow and sets the end of a quiver on the ground at her feet.

Directing the arrogant, predatory scream that is the music of Nanoĸ’s Provoke towards a cluster of crabs nine hundred metres from us has them bursting forth. Six crabs surge out of the pits in the shallow water and race towards us, their charge drawing the attention of others. Before they can start fighting among themselves, I stagger more provokes along the beach line.

The grandfather crab lifts itself out of the water and rises higher than I’d expected. Maybe thirty metres across its shell, its legs extend out further, taking up triple that at least. A ballista bolt of water spinning into existence before its maw grabs Ipy’s attention, and I hear him injecting Mana to disrupt its pattern. The Power explodes backwards into the crab as Ipy’s Gravity Mana pushes into the formation, dragging everything askew.

With the last notes fading, I shape my Lightning Storm as quickly as possible. Impacts stagger crabs and turn patches of sand around them into molten glass. The monstrous crab, recovering from Ipy’s surprise, charges towards us in leaping motions that shove or crush the smaller crabs in its path.

Phile’s first shot takes a crab directly in the eye, and her second finishes blinding it. Though not all her follow-up shots are as fortunate, some dig into the gaps the rushing crabs expose, hindering them amidst the storm’s energy torrent.

The first of the smaller crabs reach the barrier as I unleash quick severing notes sufficient to shatter all the spikes from its leading legs. Together, Nikias and Androkles deflect the legs back towards its side and get in close, driving blades into the gaps between its shell-plating. Their Blessed blades sear through the membrane and tender flesh, pushing close; they set their shoulders in and tip it backwards, stabbing upwards with their blades into its underbelly.

Nanok doesn’t give the one closest to him a chance to strike. Charging to meet it at the barrier’s edge, he jumps atop it and drives his axe down through its brain, sending a stray of flesh out its maw. Despite the momentum of its dying charge and tumble, he still keeps his perch on its back.

I switch tactics with the grandfather crab charging through the Lightning Storm that’s still smashing the beach. As it leaps forward again, stone spears the breadth of Nanok’s shoulders rise to meet the underside of the shell’s front lip. Lightning strikes that had slipped off its upper shell punch hard through its exposed underbelly even before it finished being flipped over.

It only takes a hectic minute for all the provoked crabs to die, with only three of the nearly sixty makings into melee range—the last as quickly dispatched by Nanok. While my first Lightning Storm had carved a chunk of them down, Ipy’s cut off the rest.

Gideon’s experience distribution bubbles and hisses through Nikias and Myrto’s songs.

“Power levelling is normally bad,” I comment.

“What?” huffs Myrto, clasping a hand to her chest, a blush rising in her cheeks.

“When someone more powerful does much of the killing,” explains Nanok.

“But that felt good,” murmurs Nikias.

“Doesn’t help your skills grow,” Ipy cautions. “Plus, it means we’re only growing our Wizard classes.”

Shrugging, I smile at him. “Well, all of mine.”

“Fine, I’m only levelling my Wizard class,” drawls Ipy.

“Have you heard of anything like this before?” I ask Androkles.

Androkles frowns. “We’d best hope it’s not the same cause. Shaughin armies have caused this sort of displacement approaching the coast to the west. They destroyed a small city near Nova Roma.”

“They withdrew after the group from Amdirlain’s Cadre slew their queens,” objects Nanok.

Remembering my lessons has me pulling a face. “Shaughin can breed fast; they’re egg layers. Tove won’t decline the experience, but I’d feel sorry for the Shaughin.”

“What?” blurts Nanok.

I motion to the blasted beach and the smoking corpses. “Tove can do far more damage than Ipy and I did together. I’m unsure if Sarah would get involved, but I doubt Tove would have trouble.”

“Aren’t you forgetting Aggie, Yngvarr, Alfarr, and Pitnari?” asks Ipy.

“I’m not discounting them, but I’ve never seen them fight,” I admit. “Whereas I’ve seen Tove firsthand and scried areas Sarah’s toys have annihilated.”

“Toys?” Phile asked, giving me a puzzled look.

“She’s an Artificer, among other things, and she has lots of toys.”

Androkles coughs. “Though not sure what your dwarven contacts will say about its state, why don’t you collect the meat?”

“If nothing else, they’ve got battle mounts to feed. Afterwards, we’ll head across the inlet and towards the village,” I say, and start gathering.

“If more stretches are like this one, I can already see a few solid weeks of training in the future of these two,” states Nanok, motioning to Nikias and Myrto. “Might give you time to get rid of your guests.”

“No, we’ll do this every morning regardless,” I retort, pulling the meat from the second crab. “You can train Nikias and Myrto in the afternoon and set Hagen on them in the evening.”

When the pair groan, Ipy looks at them comfortingly. “At least you’re gaining experience this way on a beach. When they were younger, my mother spent days sneaking through a gnarls’ lair with Aggie, using spells to keep them asleep while they killed them.”

Myrto shuddered. “Who would ever be mad enough to do that?”

“The Lady Amdirlain was there to guide them,” clarifies Ipy, and at Myrto’s gasp, I have to fight not to sneak a peek at her expression.

I’m glad my back is to them, but I keep my mouth shut, so no giggles escape.