Fluid - 17

Catching hints of Petrus’ song with frightened chords hurriedly approaching prompts me into motion. “Sorry to interrupt Myrto’s tale, Zosime. You should know I told Petrus off for damaging your business. He promised to apologise before dinner, and I believe he’s heading this way.”

“I’ve got a mind to give him an earful,” huffs Zosime.

“That would be your choice and understandable,” I offer and step forward to give her a reassuring hug. “I’ll go fix some things for dinner.”

“You seem to enjoy cooking,” says Zosime. “You’re nothing like what I expected from an Elf, let alone a fancy lady, Gail.”

“I’m not fancy—more of a pampered brat if you ask Pitnari.”

“Would he put it that way?”

“I’ve lived far more of a sheltered life than I had understood before arriving here, so likely he should.”

I don’t stop my giggle from slipping free when Zosime’s lips twitch into a smile, I head inside, wondering if Petrus will apologise or if he’s in the area for a different reason.

After considering tonight’s options from what supplies Zosime has, I’m in the middle of cheating when I hear Petrus' greeting and apology.

“I don’t think that’s going to help him,” whispers Nikias, his eyes on the plates of food forming amidst a glow. “This is what Pitnari expected earlier?”

Nodding happily, I keep singing and catch Petrus’s worry, the emotion holding his tongue when Zosime’s rebuke starts.

Her flow of words gathers pace in a quickening tempo that lends it a life of its own. Chewing him up for family possessions she’s had to sell to keep a roof over her head, she runs over his excuses with verbal strikes swifter than a viper’s bite. So glad I’ve stayed on her good side.

By the time he finally gets to slink away, I’ve finished the third set of meals—I’ve already suspended the rest within Inventory’s stasis. The latest plates of food fill the air with the scent of spices and has my stomach gurgling in anticipation. Storing those as well, I sit back to start another, only for my audience to increase when Zosime and Myrto come inside.

“How many are you intending to feed?” Zosime asks, her eyes wide at the dozen food-heaped plates forming.

With a wink, I keep the original songs going and stretch my ability to split my voice. All around the courtyard, servings by the score start to form. Initially blobs of golden light, soon they show outlines before continuing to solidify as details rapidly fill out. I add a barrel of milled wheat, another of tubers, and a keg of mead to the mix against the wall.

Waving to the variety of food sitting on plates and platters across the floor, I motion them to take their pick. “I can store them for however long I need them, and singing lots of different songs at once is good practice.”

“Is there anything you can’t do with your singing?” asks Zosime.

“Lots of things, and there are some things I’ll never be able to do,” I say and begin to collect the plates. When Nikias hands those close to him over, the others pitch in, and I wave them to sit down. It only takes a touch to store them away, but the scents linger tantalisingly in the air. “You don’t have to pass them all over—eat whatever takes your fancy.”

Myrto selects something first, and Zosime follows her example, but Nikias persists in gathering dishes and passing them over. “Do you do anything in half measure, Gail?”

“I think I get extreme focus from both my parents. They’re fully into every moment of whatever they’re doing,” I admit with a laugh that gets a wary look from Nikias.

Shaking his head, he gathers up more plates. “The way you laughed, I’m not sure I want to know what you mean.”

“Likely for the best.”

The sound of the front door opening interrupts Zosime's dinner, and she looks uncertainly across the still-cluttered courtyard. The melodies from the front aren’t from a customer’s arrival, though.

“It’s Phile and friends,” I manage just before Phile appears in the corridor, and I’m glad my tone remained polite.

Her gaze widens, taking in the scores of plates laden with food.

“What’s all this?” Phile asks curiously.

“I might have gone overboard,” I admit before releasing a quick Spell to lift them into the air. The gravitational effect swirls them toward me, floating into stacks within arm’s reach.

Androkles, unsurprisingly, is with her, as are Aggie and Pitnari, but Nanoĸ’s presence surprises me and nearly sets an unfortunate edge in my tone.

“See, this is what I was expecting at lunchtime,” teases Pitnari as he and the others file into the courtyard.

“I don’t like you, but I’d like to join your team,” states Nanoĸ.

Pitnari sputters at that, and Aggie sighs in frustration. Androkles is a bit more direct in smacking Nanoĸ on the back of the head before he crosses the courtyard to sit near me.

I mentally count to 100 and then head towards 300, but I still want to send him for a swim. Pitnari's whiskers start to droop from whatever he reads into my expression.

“Interesting approach to cooking,” comments Androkles, distracting me from Nanoĸ. “We heard the music when we entered the lane. I’ve heard about bards singing for their supper but never seen it done so literally.”

“I find creation relaxing, and after dealing with Imhotep snarling at me,” I say, and after waving my hand at the waiting plates, I resume storing them away.

“You needed to do something easy?” asks Pitnari.

Ignoring Nanoĸ’s presence, I nod. “Yep. These I’ll keep stored for when I don’t have time to cook or energy to spare.”

Brushing the stacks, I quickly store more of the plates.

“Your message said you’d quit the guild but we had other business there, so didn’t come back immediately. Nanoĸ asked to come with us to speak to you,” explains Phile as she sits opposite me across the firepit. Pitnari motions Aggie to take the last seat around the courtyard’s cooking area before sitting on the step at its edge.

“If I’d known he was going to be so rude, I wouldn’t have agreed,” Aggie adds. “What happened at the meeting?”

“Imhotep was angry and presumptuous, so it seems a theme. I didn’t feel like taking a knee, and that’s all I have to say. I’m going to buy some land, construct a new building, and move the extra-planar additions. Esdras said to drop by after dinner or in the morning, but I’ll get it done tonight,”

“Who insisted you move them?” asks Nanoĸ. “We just finished a hunt that should be extremely profitable.”

“I’m told the changes are disturbing and not to be trusted. Why would I impose on the guild by leaving the effects in place?” I ask before deciding to dig. “Anyway, Nanoĸ, I thought you’d be ecstatic since I’ve left the guild. Isn’t that what you wanted last night? Or is Tove right, and your preference was more for violence?”

My words make Nanoĸ the centre of attention.

“That isn’t-”

“That is what your tone implied to Tove, and celestials are telepathic. When people are emotional, they project surface thoughts that are easily heard. Are you going to deny your thoughts were of violence towards me?”

“Just because I had those thoughts doesn’t mean I’d have acted on them unless you attacked. The first thing any sensible person in a fight does is figure out how to end the opposition’s spellcasters. My brain was buzzing with situational plans,” sighs Nanoĸ. “Outside the door, things sounded very different to what Phile described to me today.”

“Imhotep didn’t bother sharing any of that, and Tove likely overlooked it since she knew what was happening. Given you brought it up, would you care to share your perspective?” I ask,

“Outside the door we could hear multiple people screaming. I found out from Phile today it was you screaming, and singing somehow, ‌but it didn’t sound like your voice last night.”

“My vocal range is quite extensive and my Multi-voice Power added to the confusion, I’m sure,” I allow. “That said, you were pretty hostile when you entered the room. Imhotep, of all people, was the one that had to tell you to cool off. Considering his anger at the meeting today, that’s saying something.”

“I was worried about Nikias, and I got angry,” huffs Nanoĸ, and he scrubs hard at his scar-riddled beard. “It's hard to let the anger go when it's making my heart pound in my ears.”

That comment has me considering his music. “You’re not a Berserker, that I can tell.”

“I don’t have the Class, but it's issue enough that it was the first Class ever offered in my visions,” admits Nanoĸ, distaste curdling his voice.

“Me doing something you consider strange will probably be an everyday event. If you’re going to get angry at my strangeness, why would I risk having you near me?” I ask and release Resonance, focused on him.

“I want to come along to help keep my students safe,” Nanoĸ says, and he nods towards Nikias and Myrto, who have been watching him. “Phile hasn’t been in the swamp here in years and Ipy has only entered it from further north. You considered it rude, but I was being honest. I don’t like you, but I don’t want two youngsters with great potential dying before their time. If coming along with you gives them a better chance of survival, I’ll happily work with you.”

His answer rings true but also highlights the meaning of his last statement.

“Work with me isn’t following my directions, is it?” I ask.

“For overall strategy and goals, perhaps. But in fights, if I see a better choice to keep them alive, I’ll take it,” declares Nanoĸ.

“No,” I reply, and when Nanoĸ goes to argue, I get in first. “A team member that won’t work as part of the team is not only useless, they’re a danger. If I say left and you go right, you’ll obstruct someone else’s efforts.”

“You’ve got two inexperienced team members,” argues Nanoĸ.

“We’ll train our teamwork, and I’m open to anyone letting me know what they feel works and what doesn’t. But only after a fight, no going your way in the middle. You can work with me or walk away, but you don’t get open permission to second guess in combat.”

“Why should you be giving the orders-”

“Did you miss the part where I didn’t invite you to join my team?” I ask, trying to put an inflection of steel in my tone, and something about it stops him cold. “If I need to explain that two people can’t run a team without confusion, you’re the wrong person to make any call.”

“She’s not a pampered child who only just finished an apprenticeship. I know she’s taken part in battles with things you don’t want to meet,” offers Pitnari, and he shoots Aggie a questioning look.

“Such as?” asks Nanoĸ. “I know nothing about you or her.”

“Yet you want to give me orders without seeking to establish my experience first? I’ve fought mostly against a variety of undead—including ones strong enough to be intelligent—abominations, but also some demons. Is that enough?”

Nanoĸ has the grace to blanch, and Zosime murmurs prayers to Hestia.

“I don’t know your local swamps, but I know how to stay alive in nasty places and against worse foes.”

With a shamed-faced Nanoĸ bows his head in apology. “Okay, I’ll put my concerns aside. Though I’d like a say about how deep into the swamps we go and which routes we use.”

“That’s acceptable. I won’t tell you the best path since I don’t know the terrain or where things linger. Team goals and combat coordination are mine to define; routes and equipment I’ll leave to rangers and scouts to determine. If we know what’s ahead, people can contribute to planning, but not orders in battle. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” confirms Nanoĸ, and he nods twice before settling like I’ve given him food for thought.

“Alright, let me be clear,” I state and pause dramatically, drawing out the moment. “I don’t accept any oaths concerning this arrangement.”

My statement sets Nikias and Aggie laughing but draws a mix of reactions from the rest of the group.

“But?” promotes Nanoĸ at last.

“Welcome to the team, Nanoĸ. You get to be my trainer.”

Nanoĸ's confused frown crinkles the scars across his face. “In what?”

“Working with people that dislike me,” I reply and get a snort of surprise from Nanoĸ, but satisfaction pulses through Aggie’s theme. Relaxing my control on Resonance further, I let it unfurl until the Power brushes against the Guildhall’s wards to the south.

“I’d like to come along as well,” says Androkles, and Phile splutters at his pronouncement. “Seven makes a good party size, even if I’m rusty. While Nikias and Myrto find their feet on the edges, I’ll knock myself back into shape.”

“Propappoús!” protests Phile.

“I’ve been waiting to die for a half-century at least, and now I’m young again. Aren’t I allowed to come along and do something interesting? A quest to release those imprisoned by a curse sounds like a good way to use my fresh energy.”

His words turn my attention to Phile, and I force my voice to stay calm. “What exactly did you share?”

Phile doesn't meet my gaze but glances away, her skin darkening as she does. “Only that the purpose of the key you’re after is to free prisoners of a curse.”

“I’d accused you of just being another treasure hunter, likely to get others killed,” added Nanoĸ.

“I vouched for the prisoners’ nature,” adds Pitnari.

Tapping my wrist to the beat of my pulse, I breathe slowly to ease its tempo before I address Androkles instead. “Alright, that's fine. But sorry, Androkles, no one is dying if I can help it.”

“Going into deep swamp areas, you need to be prepared for it,” cautions Androkles. “There are old sightings of black dragons, and the bigger ones can hoist whales from the ocean. I don’t know why they never come near the village. Even when it was the Argonauts instead of the Adventurers’ Guild, we’d lose full groups occasionally.”

“In my day-” grumbles Nanoĸ

Androkles chuckles at his mocking protest. “Yeah, fine, you’ve faced nasty stuff as well. If I die, make sure the bards get my name right.”

Phile isn’t the only one protesting that statement, and he motions Zosime to relax.

“You’ve both an odd way to get Gail to let you on her team,” states Aggie while I’m still considering what to reveal. “One with a rude pitch and one with a death wish.”

“I’m not looking to die. It's more I’ve had a full life, and I’m happy to live it up instead of waiting for the end,” counters Androkles. “Maybe I’ll get something better than a Tier 3 Prestige Class if I survive.”

Retrieving a staff-sized crystal spike that gleams in the later afternoon sunlight, I tap it against the ground. “I can tell it's not a death wish—Androkles is used to death's company. However, no one will die on our expeditions, at least not permanently—well, not if I can help it.”

“What’s that?” asks Androkles.

“True Resurrection allows anyone to be raised from the dead, even if you don’t have a body for Raise Dead or a normal Resurrection. My aunts and I created this spike; its effect will resurrect anyone linked to it if they remain dead for over an hour. My aunt Am is more than a little paranoid about my safety.”

Aggie and Pitnari already know the spells. Unlike the others, they’re not surprised by my explanation, but their eyes don’t leave the gleaming True Song Crystal until I store it.

“How is that-”

Raising a hand cuts the rush of questions off. “Don’t get too excited—it’s not a reason to be careless as the process isn’t without cost. Drifting souls brought back this way lose life energy. It drops all your classes’ energy to the start of the previous level or removes them if you’re reduced to the first level."

A hiss of indrawn breath from Nikias earns a nod from me before I continue.

"Once you’re out of Class levels, the process erodes your endurance, slowly crippling you until your organs fail while the effect is reforming you. You’ll also end up naked wherever I anchor this spike. That's without even considering the strain resurrection causes, which means you don't want it in a dangerous place.”

“Initially, I thought you were volunteering me to keep people alive. What about you?” Aggie asks. “Elves are hard to resurrect.”

“If this has to bring me back, that will put stress on it. Too often will shatter it, and all the links to it will become lost,” I admit. “Not that it makes it impossible to resurrect individuals in need, but it won’t happen automatically.”

“How bad does resurrection feel?” asks Nikias cautiously. "I mean, you hear tales of someone brought back from the dead and immediately launching into battle."

“Bards' tall tales—likely the person was just knocked out, not dead," replies Aggie, the network of her scars showing clearly across her flushed skin. "It leaves you exhausted and feeling drained. You won’t be doing much for at least a day, or even up to a week, besides talking and limping along.”

“It’s not a fun experience. Your whole body feels like it weighs too much, you suffer random pains, and can easily get sick until you’ve recovered completely,” adds Pitnari, his explanation sounding first-hand even though I know he’s never suffered it.

“How does someone link to it? Is it like attuning to a magical object?” asks Androkles.

“Only I can link people. My aunt didn’t want it useful to anyone inclined to steal or abuse it,” I explain. “Once I anchor it into the ground, it will take magical means to extract—again my aunt’s paranoia at play.”

“Did Yngvarr know about this?" asks Myrto, and she continues when I shake my head. "Priestess Irene can Raise Dead if she’s brought an intact body, but she can’t do anything like True Resurrection.”

“You said it's not impossible to resurrect them. Does that mean you can cast Resurrection?” asks Phile, and the glance she sends her mother’s way gives away she’s considering her father’s demise.

“Yes, and before you ask, it's not always a good idea to resurrect someone who has been dead a long time. I’m also not willing to raise people I don’t know without good reason,” I state.

“Even Raise Dead isn’t something casually used. We only think we know the person, and even good people can be bad in ways we don’t know about, with things hidden behind closed doors,” Myrto chimes in, and her voice quietens at Phile's sudden glare. "Priestess Irene was clear on that point."

“I’ve only heard of Irene raising someone once,” agrees Zosime, and she gives Phile a head shake that dims her hope. “Your father’s been at peace for a decade and a half, so let him rest.”

“Priestess Irene says she’d never use it for someone outside the faith. She's used it here once, and once before returning to the village. But both those times were only after praying to Lady Hestia and receiving a sign of her agreement,” explains Myrto, and she catches Nikias' curious glance. “It came up during a discussion about me going adventuring.”

“I didn’t ask,” protests Nikias.

“You didn’t have to say a thing,” scoffs Myrto. “Your face is an open book, Nikias.”

“Some gods don’t like you recalling petitioners from their Domain. It takes a few days before souls start to look for passage across the planes, and depending on their death, the trip can be winding. But anything after a few weeks, the best-case scenario is they’re off sitting in Judgement waiting for celestials to collect them,” I explain, ignoring the mix of expressions.

“And worst case,” prompts Pitnari, though he certainly knows the answer.

“Worst case, you’re trying to resurrect someone that’s received a Celestial promotion or has already reincarnated,” I reply. “The longer they’ve been dead, the more likely that is. Stripping someone of their reward for their life’s service would be awful. The thought of killing someone unknown when you yank their reincarnated soul into their old form is horrendous. Souls normally won’t resurrect if you intend them ill, but the situation can get confusing if you believe you’re helping them.”

Aggie gives a cautious nod. “A long time dead and you’re risking divine wrath as well in messing with their Soul.”

“Don’t the dead stay with the gods?” asks Myrto.

“It depends on the deity and the individual. Some remain in their patron’s Domain, and others return to life’s wheel after they’ve had time to rest and reflect on its lessons,” explains Aggie.

“Let’s change the topic, shall we,” suggests Pitnari. “But this is what I mean about your casual magic use blowing minds, Gail. What does your aunt call that staff?”

“It's a spike, not a staff, and I wouldn’t use her suggested name,” I reply and catch some curious looks. “My aunt’s sense of humour can be a little strange. I consider it a life beacon.”

Respawn point indeed.

“You’re not going to tell me what Am called it?” teases Pitnari,

“No, I’m not. Now, if everyone is available tomorrow, I’d like to do some training together and sort out team tactics,” I say, looking around for objections. “I want to get our coordination to an acceptable level before going near the swamp. Is there anywhere you’d suggest for that training, Nanoĸ?”

“The beach runs to the west and east, there are giant crabs and other things to fight,” Nanoĸ replies. “Clear them out and more will come out of the ocean. The waves also bring in useful materials along with seaweed.”

“Unless Imhotep bans you, Myrto and Nikias can still take jobs and complete them to work on their guild rank,” Phile offers.

Myrto folds her arms. “We’re not planning to join.”

“We don’t need jobs from the board here. I’ll find out what materials are profitable in the dwarven cities to the far north. Once we gather them up, I can Teleport to their auction houses or sell them directly to some alchemists I know.”

“I’m not comfortable cutting the guild out completely,” says Nanoĸ.

“Then don’t come; I don’t need the guild to play middleman. What do they do with the profit they make from material sales?” I ask, and Nanoĸ gives me a confused look. “Explain it to me, and if I see a benefit to the village, I’ll let them profit.”

“The coin they make off the goods’ trade helps pay for the army, along with equipment and instructors for the village militia and kids looking for options outside of crafting,” explains Androkles before Nanoĸ has a chance. “The number of weakened places after the Gods’ War means the kingdoms have a long road to recovery.”

“The guild isn’t perfect and, between the two former kingdoms, there are a lot of messes to clean up. If you consider that the guild operates in most of the other kingdoms as well, it's surprising it hasn’t come apart,” comments Aggie.

“Has Phile mentioned the team’s terms?”

“Even split, but team goals are yours to determine, that’s fine,” Nanoĸ acknowledges.

“Glad that’s settled, on top of the shares, I’ll provide Phile, Nanoĸ, and Androkles equipment upgrades tomorrow. As Myrto and Nikias increase in level, I’ll do the same, but I’m not willing to make them targets,” I say, mentally reviewing the gear aunt Am supplied. I catch Nanoĸ’s assessing look before he gives me a nod. “Do you prefer particular blades, Androkles?”

“A Gladius or Kopis, plus throwing knives if you have them,” he replies.

“Oh, I can certainly manage Kopis for you,” I say, before returning my attention to Nanoĸ. “Would you prefer upgrades to the axes you normally carry, Nanoĸ, or do you use a sword when adventuring?”

“Axes and daggers are what I’ve used,” confirms Nanoĸ, tapping the hand axe hanging at his side. “You’re going from being a team member to a team patron plus a member? Most patrons don’t go out with the team.”

“Are you sure it's not a custom among us haughty elves,” I ask, ensuring my inflections carried a mocking arrogance. “My team must have the best equipment, don’t you know.”

My tone didn’t get him to rise to the bait other than fixing me with a sceptical look.

“Haughty elves don’t bleed for village boys. Our differences aside, I can see that,” Nanoĸ replies. “Why are you coming with us and not just getting your friends to retrieve what you’re searching for?”

“No one else can find the key but me, and I need to get strong enough to use it,” I explain, unbothered by the question others have asked.

A new melody projecting strength brushes against Resonance’s edge from the direction of the Guildhall.

“Problem?” asks Aggie, having caught my reaction.

“Someone with three Tier 5 Prestige classes just arrived at the Guildhall,” I reply.

At Aggie’s understanding nod, Nanoĸ shoots us both an assessing look. “Did you leave something monitoring the Guildhall?”

“No need. I can sense things, even out of sight. It’s an element of my singing to make changes and create. Normally the details are minimal, but their arrival was a flare,”

“I would like to know more about what you can do so we’re not surprised,” stated Nanoĸ

“Any Wizard magic you’ve seen I can do with a song, as well as other effects,” I say, not sure I want to go into details.

He considers my words by gesturing towards the cove. “Your magic seems to take a while, and though it lets you create fancy structures, combat needs speed.”

“The longer the song, the less exhausting it is, but some things only require a note.”

“Such as?”

Tossing him a forearm-thick branch from the firepit’s woodpile, I motion for him to hold it out. Though he looks at me warily, Nanoĸ doesn't hesitate to extend his arm with the branch gripped tight. The first silent note cuts the branch cleanly just beside his fingers, and with the next, the falling section becomes a rain of splinters. “Not helpless, nor slow. I can break every bone in a Skeleton or strip a Bulette of its shell just as easily.”

Mentioning the burrowing giants causes Nanoĸ to nod more respectfully before he points to the fragments.

“I heard nothing when you shattered it.”

“Who says you need to hear my notes?”

"In that case, it's better for combat than I’d expected," admits Nanoĸ. “I thought you’d be drawing creatures for kilometres.”

Singing normally, I let them hear the lilting airy melody, and Nanoĸ watches the splinters spear into the side of the kindling box before he can say more.

“Wizards can gain affinities. How does someone learn this? I know a few bards that would love their songs to have such potential,” murmurs Nanoĸ, his gaze lifting from the kindling.

“It's not something that can be unlocked. You’re born with the potential, or you can never get it.”

“Elves only?” asks Nanoĸ.

“Not even all elves; two of my aunties and I have this variation, but no one else living,” I say, and Nanoĸ looks ready to argue the point. “Unfortunately, you’ll need to take it up with the Titan for not making it widespread, I had no say on the matter.”

Nanoĸ frowns but holds his tongue. I imagine him soaking in the cove's cool waters and don't send him to them.

Those meals still out have been growing cold while we talked, and my stomach gurgles in protest again. I interrupt the next question by circulating the remaining stack around them and telling them to eat up. Inhaling my own, they’re still eating when I leave them to it. Yet I’ve barely stepped through the door, and Nikias and Myrto are hurrying to catch up.

“You should have finished your meals,” I say, heading between the houses towards the Guildhall.

“Why, are you planning to let me starve?” asks Nikias mournfully, clasping his hands dramatically to his stomach.

“Nikias, don’t be rude,” chides Myrto.

“I was joking,” protests Nikias, and he slowly shakes his head with mock sadness. “You’ll never understand me.”

“I’m not letting folks starve, but you pair didn’t have to come along,” I reply, waving towards Zosime’s house. “The others all stayed.”

“Yes, but I’m your guard,” declares Nikias. “While I know you can do far more than me, it's important to develop proper habits and ingrain them. Otherwise I might develop bad habits by the time I can contribute more meaningfully.”

“Who taught you that?”

Nikias shoots me a cautious look and Myrto's right, he's an open book. “Ahh, Nanoĸ. He says good habits are important in life, and not just for maintaining weapons. Start how you intend to go on, ensure you strive for your best every time, and over time your best will improve.”

The sentiment, if not the source, I can appreciate.

“I’m sorry, Gail,” blurts Nikias.

“For what?”

His mouth twists sourly, and he motions towards the distant Guildhall. “Nanoĸ says you were screaming, and that was because of me. You said it was fine before, but I still put you through that pain.”

“Not just you. It was a lesson learnt by both of us. If you get offered anything overly strong in Class visions in the future, talk it over first,” I suggest, and he gives a jerky nod.

“I wanted to accomplish something worthwhile with my life and hurt you instead,” sighs Nikias.

Myrto reaches up and tugs his earlobe. “You’re second-guessing a decision that almost got you killed, Nikias. When someone says yes to your request, it's not the time for self-doubt.”

“We all have self-doubts or fears. Many never see others struggling with their own, or misunderstand them. Remember, Nikias: strength isn’t always what makes the difference. Many powerful people aren’t true to themselves and continually betraying your ideals sours everything.

My bent copper’s worth has Myrto giving me a curious glance. “Lady Hestia speaks favourably of you, and you have doubts?”

“I’m certainly not perfect. I know I’ve made mistakes since leaving home, and I ‌have things I’m afraid of, like anyone else. Hopefully, I will learn lessons from my mistakes so I can make amends and avoid them in the future.”

“I’ll try my best,” says Nikias, his earnest tone so very serious. “Just so you know, I don’t think Esdras will have had dinner yet; we ate a bit early.”

“My stomach was issuing messages of rebellion, that makes it late enough. Hopefully he’ll be able to see us; otherwise, we’ll figure out what to do instead.”

“We can show you the spot he was likely talking about. It's not far outside the wall,” offers Myrto.

The guard standing at the shop’s door in hardened leather armour doesn’t have Nanoĸ’s presence, but he’s still a solid man. Broad-shouldered, the top of his leather helm is just at my eye level, with a bar following his straight nose, and cheek guards framing his round face. His sturdy theme drums out a regular hard beat but speaks only of a single Fighter Class being levelled. Nodding, he waves me to go inside politely, despite the undercurrent of fatigue within him.

It's the happiness entwined within him despite the fatigue that reminds me. “Nanoĸ said he was handling the door the other day because his friend’s wife was giving birth. Was he talking about you and your wife? Is she alright?”

“Yes, Corra gave birth to a beautiful girl. It took a while, but Priestess Irene said everything was fine. Bet anything that Nanoĸ didn’t even mention my name,” laughs the guard and thumps his chest. “I’m Chares. I recognise your voice, Gailneth. Our daughter fell back asleep so fast with your singing at the cove—we’d been trying to get her settled for ages.”

His smile looks happy but tired, and I return his earlier nod. “That’s me. I’m glad to hear her delivery went well. Were you there for her birth?”

My question draws out a burst of laughter, and he shakes his head. “By Hestia no, I wouldn’t have known what to do. Priestess Irene had me fetching things for her, but I’m sure it was to keep me from getting underfoot. Myrto and Nikias, you’ll have to wait out here with me. I’m only allowed to let one person in at a time.”

“It’s fine, Nikias,” I reassure him before he can voice his protest. “I’m quite safe with Esdras, I promise.”

“You might be, but watch out your purse isn’t too much lighter—he bargains hard,” warns Myrto.

This time I clearly catch the musical transition from the village’s hum to the echoing rumble of Esdras’ dimensional den.

Esdras looks up as the door clicks shut and chuckles loudly. “Poor Imhotep, why didn’t you give him a good kick in the tail? It would have been kinder.”

Giving him a shrug, I check the door has sealed properly shut before I approach the counter. “You were there, so I’d prefer not to chew over the same ground, Esdras. Nikias indicated we ate dinner early, so my apologies if I arrived too soon. Do you have time to show me the map, or should I come back later? And what is the purchasing process?”

“We’ll move right along,” affirms Esdras, and he retrieves a steel plate the length of his arm from under the counter. “The invitation time was simply to ensure you knew you didn’t need to stop in immediately.”

A pulse of Mana licks through the doorway, and the surface of the plate shifts and changes, the Spell’s song drinking knowledge through a connection to the land. The polished steel becomes a perfectly scaled illustration of the village, and the land a dozen kilometres or more to the north and west. The details even include irrigation ditches, outhouses, and chicken coops. He taps a section of land out along the coast, maybe an arrow flight away.

“It’s well beyond the village’s wall, so you’ll need to be careful to secure it at night,” says Esdras.

“That won’t be a problem. I’ve a guardian in mind, and it might even have some permanent residents.”

“You’re going to provide beds for all the adventurers cramming into the inn, are you?”

“Not all of them. After all, with reduced guests, I’m sure some will opt to stay there to be closer to the Guildhall,” I say, taking in the land marked on the steel. “I’d seen the fields and paddocks when I went to the west gate, but I didn’t realise they stretched so far along the rise. They’re well along the coast, aren’t they?”

”The furthest farm is a half day by wagon, and most of the farmers are to the north and west,” answers Esdras, his finger tracing a section of the coast. “Along the cliff edge is all rocky land. So from just past the rise until where the cliff ends is yours for a large silver and, of course, keeping up with your tithes on any business you operate. For the first season, the council normally waives the tithe as long as you’re obviously improving the land, not that you need that long.”

“When’s the last time you’ve had to waive the first season’s tithe?”

“Do you see lots of people moving in to open new businesses?” asks Esdras, and he smiles eagerly. “The rule is there though, as the guild hasn’t changed many of the old laws.”

“You look like you’re anticipating a fight,” I note and compare the marked Guildhall to the cliff’s length. “It’s far more land than I need. It's, what, five times the length of the Guildhall?”

“Closer to six, and three times the width of its land—that’s even allowing some clearance from the edge,” says Esdras after he measures it with his thumb.

“Do I have to improve the whole area immediately if I pay for it?”

Esdras shakes his head. “A significant change is enough to show there is good intention in the purchase. I can have someone come out and put marker posts down at the agreed spots tomorrow to avoid later arguments. Though it will be pretty straightforward, they’ll just put a marker where the solid stone starts and another where it ends.”

“You’re trying to get me to use all that land, aren’t you?”

“Too far away, and you’re out of my territory,” admits Esdras.

“Very well, I supposed I can buy it,” I agree while setting down two large silvers. “For payment of land, plus the markers being set, and can you get Corra something to celebrate her baby? I don’t know her, but babies are special.”

“That I can do. A modest enough value to not overwhelm,you might just learn yet,” Esdras says, pulling out a parchment square to record the plot’s details. “I don’t suppose you’d be open to selling any True Song Crystal?”

“Not just at present, but I’ll keep you in mind when I get some more.”

A sceptical laugh from Esdras cuts off when he looks at me in shock. “There are still Lómë as well?”

“You do have old memories from your bloodline.”

“Old enough to remember that at least, and the crystal’s scent,” agrees Esdras. “Did you ask that Yngvarr fellow to let Imhotep prove his incompetence?”

“What do you mean?”

“I recognised the House crest Yngvarr wears despite the subtlety of the stitching, and a Prince would be better at diplomacy. Yet he, as a guild member, let the situation run out of control and smelt completely unperturbed or surprised. Plus, he quickly sent a memory crystal to the Grand Master as soon as you left. I thought I would have a front-row seat for a Wizard’s Challenge once he let Imhotep know what he’d done.”

“Has Imhotep been annoying you as well?” I ask. “You were far from a completely neutral mediator.”

“Day to day he’s been tolerable. As long as everything of any importance gets done his way. Twice—so far—I’ve considered whisking him off to have a snack together before I’ve gone hunting, but he’s not worth the headache.”

“I thought gold dragons were lawful.”

“I am. He’s an interloper in my territory,” grumbles Esdras. “According to our laws, if I find him annoying, I can eat him.”

“What if I annoy you?”

“I’d let you off with some suitably long songs. Speaking of songs, what about the ones you were going to sing for me?” asks Esdras, with a completely straight face.

My look of disbelief doesn’t even get a twitch out of him. “You’ve suddenly got a memory problem? That was to avoid hosting your family, but I realised hosting them in your territory was your problem, not mine.”

“Spoilsport! How about one, at least?”

Ignoring the pleading look he gives me, I show him my palm. “You already heard at least four lengthy songs today.”

“They were very brief. What about tomorrow?” ripostes Esdras and playfully clutches at my hand, pretending to plead.

Slipping my fingers free, I wave at him reprovingly. “If your sense of hearing extends to the cliff, you’ll hear at least another few today. Tomorrow might be different, but I’ll at least be doing some harp practice.”

“A crystal harp?” asks Esdras, his eyes brightening.

“No, it's an ordinary one my mother’s friends made for me to learn on,” I say and see him deflate with disappointment, so I tease with some good news. “The mithril strings do sound sweet.”

“Ordinary,” snorts Esdras, sitting upright with renewed interest.

“Ordinary for me?”

“Your scent smells so fresh,” grumbles Esdras, and his nostrils flare inquisitively. “How old are you, Anar?”

“Old enough to get into trouble. Would you ask the village council if I can set up some dwarven-style roads through the village? I might get muddy feet in winter, otherwise.”

With that, I head for the door, and a bark of laughter follows me out.