The irony was that there was nothing malicious in it. If anything, it was just…tiresome. A necessary task, born out of a mother’s love.

She wasn’t even good at her task. Belavierr paused as she strung the glistening red thread made of living sinew through the air. She stepped back to regard her work.

And she saw nothing. No art. No craft. Just—her attempt to capture a word.

“Evil.”

The Stitch Witch mused on it. What was evil? How could you know it when you saw it? She knew the world called her evil. But they called everything ‘evil’ in times. Half-Elves, when they ruled. Selphids by their turns. Minotaurs. Human tyrants. It mattered so little. Dragons, Witches—

Everything was evil. So, nothing was. To Belavierr, the word was abstract. She would call herself selfish. Greedy for power. She had given so much to live forever.

But for her daughter, she would learn to define evil. She had made an attempt.

“When they find this, will they call it evil? And will they know it is me? How many hunters will they send? Will they bring their grand armies? And shall I survive?”

The [Witch] wondered. Did she have the strength? She had waxed and waned, with the changing world. She had never been so exposed in thousands of years. Close to mortality.

But perhaps because she was so close, she could understand. Perhaps that was the thing that had led to her becoming a mother. Such a strange thing. Belavierr had held babies before. Too many to count. But only one moved her immortal heart.

For only one she would risk death. To make her powerful.

“Perhaps my name.”

The woman pulled at the thread hanging in the air. And it moved. Glistening red. Entrails, strung across a village. Bodies, unwound. But even this was just—artifice. A copy of a village she had seen long ago, struck by [Pillagers]. Someone had called it evil. Horrific.

“But will they hunt me for it? Cry my name loud enough for her to hear?”

“Yes.”

The voice, croaking, strained and raw, came from the side. Belavierr twisted her head and turned. The tall [Witch]’s form paused, at an angle. From beneath her wide hat, her orange, ringed eyes stared. And looked at one of the figures.

He had no legs. No midriff. Or rather—it was only connected to his torso by a single thread. His entrails were the string Belavierr was knitting with. Something had…torn away his lower half.

But he lived. Despite the pain that made his words come between silent screams. But soon—that would cease.

“You are awake. The others are gone. Why do you linger?”

Belavierr regarded the man like a curious insect. She glanced around. The rest of the village was silent. Eyes were open, the unwound bodies…alive. For a given value of it. But the minds behind the staring eyes, the open mouths, were gone. Pain had given way to a kind of terrible relief.

Oblivion.

But the man, the [Warrior], clung to life. He stared at her.

“They will send hunters. The Five Families will see you dead. Witch.”

His voice strained with the effort of shaping words. Belavierr caught the other threads, unspoken. Why? Why did you do it? What did our village do? Why are we suffering? Why was I not strong enough?

Why, why, why? And she stopped. She looked at him for a long time. Long enough that he was foaming at the mouth, biting through his lips, struggling. But Belavierr sometimes still walked to an immortal’s time.

“Good. Let them send their warriors.”

She smiled. And something like anticipation, even pleasure, entered her eyes. Because the mortal part of her remembered the thrill of battle. The challenge.

The man looked upon the smiling [Witch]. He whispered, trying to give her fear.

“They’ll send [Knights]. Champions. [Mages] too. They will find you and make you suffer.”

“Good.”

The word made him flinch. Belavierr was smiling. She laughed, then. Mocking his bravado. And she leaned down. He stared into her eyes and saw the forming rings. Many had been broken. But—the lines of her immortality were knitting slowly. He had put a sword through her chest and it had done nothing.

“I cannot be killed with magicless shears. And the great wonders are gone. The last of Giants rot and their descendants grow smaller. The Dragons have fallen from the skies. Send your [Knights]. They have come by the tens of thousands. And they were never enough. The world has forgotten how to kill me.”

She laughed in his face. The man looked up. And if willpower were enough to bridge the gap between them—if you could make a sword out of determination—

His would not be enough. Even so. His eyes grew distant. He never replied. Belavierr straightened. And she looked at him.

“Is that all? Hello?”

She prodded him with a finger. But there was nothing left. He had cut his own strings. And for a second—the Stitch Witch was disappointed. She looked around, lost.

“Even the souls wane. Where are legends now, but in memory?”

She threw open her arms and spoke to the sky, as if it could answer her.

“Send your champions. Show me a burning flame in this waning world! Please. Or else my daughter will be as small as you. And she must live. She must find her power. But you grow so small.”

She looked at the village. At the dead man’s face. And then Belavierr turned away. Another village. Another marker. And—she glanced back.

There, amid the hanging threads made of red. The strewn entrails, the slaughter, was a web crisscrossing the rooftops. And she had signed her name.

BELAVIERR.

Just in case. The Stitch Witch nodded. And she turned. A black horse waited for her at the outskirts of the village. Belavierr slowly mounted it and rode.

To destroy. To commit evil, as best she could. The lands around Invrisil were quiet, filled with terror as small places went silent. But the Stitch Witch continued. There was no one to stop her. The people of this land had grown too small. And the Spider of Terandria was unmatched.

A scuttling, wretched presence in Izril. A creeping shadow, walking in the light unopposed. Foulness, seeping from decay.

[Assassins], reclaiming their throne of fear. Plots in the darkness. But it was not unnoticed. They waned. But still—Izril’s guardians lived.

—-

The study’s doors were vast. Tall, and ashen pale—the wood was not a normal tree’s living fibers. The door looked made of stone.

But the wood had a small bit of warmth that the hall’s temperature clung to. It was not stone. Rather, ironwood. A material made from a tree that had all but passed from the earth.

Yet, this door remained. And it had been carved over nineteen thousand years ago. So long that regular wood, even magicked, would have fallen to dust.

They were slightly open now. The girl quaked as she approached. But the [Lady] who was ushering her and the small crowd of children forwards was…

Well, not that reassuring. She looked more annoyed than anything, but she was trying to hide it by a veneer of vague excitement and kindness. But the children—the perceptive ones—could see straight through it.

“This way, everyone. Remember your manners.”

The children, all dressed in their best clothing, looked up at her solemnly. As if any of them needed to be told. They were standing more or less to attention. And nervous.

They had on their best clothes. And with this group, ‘best’ meant they were attired like a group attending a noble’s ball. Fittingly, in a way, but all the expense that went into each piece of clothing—it was all wasted. The one who waited within cared very little for such things, now.

“Is that you, Desinee? Well, enough dawdling. Send them in, then.”

A crackling voice made the children start. It was familiar to them. But they cast a glance at the [Lady]. And she nodded.

“Right inside. Don’t be worried.”

She was truly bad at being reassuring. But she swung open the ancient doors. Ironwood moved silently. It was a heavy door. And contrary to its name—ironwood was far stronger than iron. It could have withstood a siege. It had in times past. The one sitting in the chair remembered one.

“Come in, children. Let’s see what the current generation is worth.”

Slowly, the children walked into the room. And they found a study. Grand, filled with books. Tomes almost as old as the door. Warmth, too. Almost unbearable.

A woman sat in the chair, by the fire. And she was old. Her hair was white, her skin papery. She sat in a wheelchair.

Not a machined, metal-and-plastic design from another world, but a more—primitive design. One made by people who had paid as much attention to the design and ornamentation of the wheels as movability.

But there was magic woven into the chair as well that kept it light and someone had installed padded cushions to cradle the owner’s back and sides. And then—she had had the chair remodeled to actually fit her comfortably.

It did not move as the children came to a nervous stop. The woman looked at each of them.

“Well? Step forwards. Sit or stand as you like. Let me look at you. My, you’ve all grown.”

The children spilled forwards again. Some hesitated as they looked at the carpet. Sit on that? Without a proper chair? It said something of their heritage that they considered whether it would wrinkle their fancy clothes, even at their young age.

“Zedalien. The door.”

The old woman looked up. The warmth from the room was spilling out.

A figure moved. A man, tall and graceful and handsome, his hair blonde and turning to white, but his features barely lined, slowly closed the heavy doors. The [Lady], Desinee, stepped to one side as he did. She was Human, a [Lady]. But the man’s ears were longer, pointed.

A half-Elf. He bowed slightly. And the old woman sighed. She leaned back, and the chair moved to accommodate the motion. She looked at the young faces staring up at her. And she spoke slowly, searching each one.

“You are all here because it is time. Twelve of you? Enough, enough bowing and curtseying. Sit or stand! But stop blocking the light!”

The children jumped. They moved out of the way of the fireplace. The light was the only illumination in the room. The old woman sighed again.

“Where was I? Ah, yes, the time. You’re all old enough to be here. And I think…this is the last time I’ll have the patience for this. So sit—and listen. You are all little brats. And I don’t have the time to deal with you normally.”

The little brats stared. They weren’t accustomed to being addressed like this either. The old [Lady] continued.

“But I do this for each generation. To ensure you know our history, not just what your parents teach you. If they even bother.”

She snorted, and Desinee stirred. But it was a muted protest; she had been here as well. And she could remember.

“You are to learn the history of the Five Families. The true history, or at least—all that matters. Go read a book if you want to know our entire history. But when you are in my presence, today, I will tell you the truth. Hm? What’s that?”

One of the children was respectfully raising her hand. The old woman looked at her.

“What is it?”

“Lady Irisa, Great-Great Grandmother. I’ve actually been schooled on the history of our family and the other four Founding Families of Izril. I can recite it if you would like me to.”

The young girl, Irisa, had a rather expectant look on her face. The old lady stared at her. Desinee winced. She saw the old woman point.

“That’s the first one. Not a record, more’s the pity. That was that little snot of a boy who wiped his nose on the door. Desinee.”

“Yes. This way, Irisa.”

The [Lady] sighed and beckoned. Irisa started.

“What? But I just—”

“Be silent.”

The [Lady] frowned and made a motion with one hand. Irisa’s lips snapped shut. She pulled at her lips, and then, white-faced, stumbled over to the side. To listen. But she’d failed. The other children stared wide-eyed at her. And then they turned to face the old woman. She snorted.

“To speak in my presence is a privilege I afford few of your parents. Now, be quiet and listen. This is a lesson. The Five Families. The founding families of Izril, who took this land from the Drakes and Gnolls thousands upon thousands of years ago.”

“My father says we didn’t take it—”

A finger pointed. The boy recoiled as if he’d been slapped. His mouth slammed shut. And the old woman tsked as the half-Elf led him to one side.

“How soon it begins. Listen to me. We claimed this land and it was the Drakes’ and Gnolls’ land. Long before ours. We won it by spell and sword and blood. As far as I’m concerned, that makes it ours. But we took it. And they want it back. Argue over whether they deserve it, but argue with the truth of what happened and I will have Zedalien tan your hides.”

All eyes looked at the half-Elf. He was white-haired, and he had a few signs of age. And in a half-Elf? He had been serving his position before they had been born. Before their parents had been born.

“We took this land. Back when Dragons still backed Drakes. Five of Terandria’s greatest noble houses sailed across the sea with the express purpose of taking this land. And we brought artifacts, armies. And it took us eons, but we fought the Drakes and Gnolls back. Mainly because they were too busy fighting each other. But we took it. That is a fact. Just like how half-Elves ruled Terandria as much as Humans in times past. Like that, Zedalien? They might as well know that too.”

She pointed at the half-Elf and laughed. The half-Elf bowed.

“Your will, Lady El.”

“Yes. Mine. So—listen. I won’t bore you with tales of our glorious victories or history. You only need to know what the Five Families are now. And do you know what that is?”

She looked around, the matriarch of the El family. And the newest descendants of the House of El, one of the Five Families, stirred. They were aware this was a test. So—two raised their hands. The old lady pointed at one.

“You, boy?”

“We’re the House of El, Great Great Grandmother?”

She stared at him. He stared back, shaking with nerves. The old [Lady] leaned back.

“…Yes. We are. Go stand over there.”

The young boy stood and walked over, flushed with shame. The old lady looked at the girl who had turned pale.

“And your answer?”

“…In decline?”

This answer made the old woman sit up. She peered at the girl.

“Who told you that was the answer I wanted?”

A pause. The girl turned white.

“No one.”

The old lady snorted. But she didn’t point to the side.

“Well then, you’re right either way. And yes. That is what we are. In decline. But I think of it differently. We—all of the Five Families—have a curse. Each of us, each different. And they have left us in this state today. Faded.”

She lifted a hand. And her thin skin shone in the firelight, exposing veins around spotted flesh. The children looked at her and she smiled.

“This is what age looks like. Afraid? You have many decades to go until this moment, you little brats. But remember it. You do not have forever. Now—listen to what I think ails the Five Families. Including our house. Where shall I start? How about…Wellfar. They’ve been in my ears. Why, Zedalien?”

“The scandal between Lady Dealia and Lord Bein, milady. As well as Lady Hetessana Wellfar’s claim.”

The half-Elf smoothly bowed. The old woman nodded.

“Ah. And the [Assassins]. Yes. Wellfar. Coastal holdings. They control trade, and they are rich. Far richer than our house.”

She chuckled with dark humor and the children shifted uncomfortably. The old lady mused.

“They led our navies to Izril in the first days. And they were always powerful at sea. They still are. But as I said—cursed. Wellfar’s navies are rich still, but their family shrinks with each passing year. Infertile, the lot of them. Also cursed by their holdings; they ruled the seas, but they never expanded far inland. Do you understand?”

She glanced at the kids again. The young nobles hesitated. One seemed to take this as a challenge. She stood up and recited in a loud voice.

“The—the Wellfar family has earned money in trade from sugar and Eir Gel this year. Their profits are 13% up from last year, and they have ordered four new galleon-ships as a result. They—”

A slashing motion from Desinee. The girl tried to keep talking for a good ten seconds after she’d been silenced. The old woman rolled her eyes.

“What idiotic attempts. Thank your parents for disgracing yourself, girl. Hm.”

Her eyes roamed the group of children. And she picked out a dozing boy. This time the matriarch’s eyes narrowed.

“Zedalien.”

The half-Elf smoothly stepped forwards. The awake children jumped as they heard a smack and a howl. The young [Lordling] shot to his feet.

“He hit me!”

“Do it again, Zedalien. Unless he shuts up. And the rest of you—this will not take long. If you can’t stay awake, Zedalien will hit you. And if that doesn’t seem to work, perhaps I should cut the funds to all your houses, hm? The House of El does not have money for idiots who cannot listen for twenty minutes.”

That silenced everyone present, even the howling boy. And he went pale with fear. The old woman looked around.

“Desinee, the fire is growing low. Put more wood on it. The scented stuff.”

The younger [Lady] silently did as the old woman bid. And she manually added a log to the fire, even as Zedalien pulled the sniveling boy to the side. And the old woman nodded. She sat back in her chair. And she couldn’t have stood to give the boy the back of her hand, even if she’d wanted to. Or else she would have done it already, rather than waiting for her servant.

She was old. Not as old as a certain Grand Strategist, but she was as old as her actual age. And her skin was frail, her body failing. But her eyes were sharp. And in them burned the same woman who had lived all this time.

Once, there had been a fire they called a [Lady]. And she had burned like the sun. Now, she sat in the carpeted room as the heat rose. In her magical wheelchair, pointing now and then as she spoke. Dozing or distracted children were made to stand. But the old woman still spoke, because it was important. Because they needed to know, and because she was running out of time.

Her name was Maviola El. And she was the leader of the House of El. When she spoke, it was with authority. And the children were afraid, because she could, at her whim, cut their families off from much of the gold that they so desperately wanted.

Gold flowed through the El family’s coffers, as much as came in these days. But the matriarch or patriarch of the family controlled the distribution of wealth with an iron fist. It was their way. So, each year, every family received a stipend on top of their own funds, and contributed money to the family’s ventures each year as well.

What was given was usually more than what was received. And those with value received the most. Hence the children on their best behavior.

“Where was I, Zedalien?”

“The House of Wellfar, Lady Maviola. You had described their affliction.”

“Ah, infertility and reclusiveness, isolation. For all they’re rich still. You could say they’ve done the best out of all of us. Except for the Terlands, maybe. Well—the Terlands.”

Maviola’s eyes glittered. Not with fond memories either. The Five Families were allies, but not friends.

“The Terlands. Plagued by idiots like their Lord Bein, but more than that? Victims of their success. They did well, settling their lands. Too well. Their descendants keep to mage-towns and spell-castles and the fruits of the past. And they look outwards little. So little. But the same could apply to us all. And they did better than Veltras and Reinhart—what’s that, young man?”

A boy had raised a hand.

“Isn’t Lord Tyrion the leader of the north, Great…Great Grandmother? I mean to say, he lead the armies against the Goblin Lord.”

Maviola’s finger twitched. The boy looked crestfallen.

“Don’t call me Grandmother. You may all call me Lady Maviola, or Lady El. And Tyrion Veltras? That boy? One might as well compare him to Magnolia Reinhart. Two identical children always butting heads. No, they have their own woes. Lord Tyrion? I wouldn’t duel him on a tourney field, but anywhere else he’s nothing much.”

The boys and girls stirred, the boys especially. Everyone knew of one of the most famed [Lords] living, Tyrion Veltras, renowned for his prowess on the battlefield. But Maviola was dismissive as she spoke.

“The Veltras Family is cursed by many things. The Veltras fury, aye, when it crops up, and their land as well. They never quite settled the untamed wildernesses. The vast Forest of Vail. But then—they preferred it back then. They were magnificent [Beastlords] and tamers of the wild. In ages past. But time changed them.”

“How, Lady Maviola?”

A hand. The old lady stared at the young girl who’d passed her question. She narrowed her eyes, but decided to reply.

“They stopped raising as many animals. Turned to war, rather than just hunting and coexisting. Radivaek raises better dogs than Veltras hounds, and it used to be that Radivaek didn’t even exist. The wilds and their holdings mean the Veltras scions learn to fight. They make excellent [Generals] and [Warmasters]—poor leaders of men.”

The children scratched their heads. They didn’t appreciate the difference. Well, most of them. Maviola’s eyes flicked from face to face, seeing which ones were thinking over what she told them, which were just vacuous.

Well, that left only one of the families left, besides their own. Everyone waited as Maviola accepted a drink. Because the last family’s name made some shudder, even in this safe place.

“Reinhart. Richest and most powerful of the families. At the moment. The Reinharts were always snakes. Masters of tricks and poisons. Magnolia Reinhart is the most honest of the lot. She pulled her own fangs. But her family?”

She looked around. The children shivered. You heard stories of Reinharts, even in the other Five Families. They had a…reputation. But what had they been cursed by? Everyone waited. And Maviola smiled bitterly.

“You might think a house like Reinhart would slit each other’s throats, but they’ve always been rather loyal to each other. They play deadly games, but they have few of the faults of other families. Their only curse was Regis Reinhart. He preserved them. But he took from each generation. They should have buried him when he died the first time.”

None of the children knew who that was. But that seemed to be all Maviola wanted to say. She sipped from her drink, paused.

“And that leaves only one family left. The House of El.”

She gestured towards the grand door, the study full of knowledge. The children looked up, awed by their past. And the old woman smiled as they stared at ancient weapons gleaming on racks, tomes of knowledge. The power of one of the Five Families.

“Don’t get sentimental. All the weapons are replicas.”

Heads snapped down. Maviola leaned back in the custom-made chair.

“We are great crafters, artisans of magic. There was a time when we raised [Magelords] and [Spellweavers] who created the artifacts adventurers fought for, armed our armies with magic and sorcery as well as steel. We were mighty. But our curse has left us low. Lower than the other Five Families. And that curse is most pressing. Most dire.”

Silence. The children’s minds raced with apprehension. What could it be? Maviola sighed.

“Our curse…is that we are completely out of money.”

Everyone stared at Maviola. She sipped from her teacup and looked around.

“What? A curse need not be intangible. The House of El is poor. Not destitute, but we have lost almost all of our great artifacts of old. All our investments. Everything. And we have been poor and growing more so over the thousands of years. Remember that, when you beg your parents for a new horse.”

No one said a word. They were all rather uncomfortable, the young scions of the El family, about what was being said. No one had ever spelled it out for them like this. Hence, Maviola. She drummed her fingers on the armrest of her chair.

“No doubt, one of you will ask me why we don’t simply make more money? Well, it has been attempted. But the truth is the Five Families are shadows of what they were. Strong shadows, but we do not have Giants employed as [Mercenaries], for instance. Or [Dragonriders] from the Veltras families, or fleets of twenty thousand of Wellfar’s ships. We had these things. And they faded. Now, the nobility of Izril is in a crisis. We lack leaders. We are fewer than any can remember. Even our best [Lords] and [Ladies] are…”

She flicked one wrist.

“Did I hear one boy who seemed to be a fan of Tyrion Veltras?”

A girl pointed.

“It was Lord Iminel, Lady Maviola.”

The old woman smiled pleasantly at the girl.

“That was a rhetorical question, girl. Stand over there.”

The girl shuffled off, feeling that she’d been tricked. Lady Maviola El sighed.

“Tyrion Veltras and Magnolia Reinhart. A deadly flower with all the thorns in the world and a Wyvern wearing a wolf’s fur. They replaced their parents. And they are fierce. I’d never deny that. Thanks to the two of them, Izril’s north survived the Antinium by aiding the Drakes and fought off the Goblin Lord. But beyond that?”

She shrugged.

“They’re two monsters who know war better than peace. Even Magnolia, for all she tries to keep her family and herself in line. When she was a girl she spilled blood to get her way like a [Hydromancer] calls water. She manages her estates well, and her allies. But she has a conscience. And that makes her weak.”

“Comparatively, Lady El?”

Zedalien bowed from the side. The old woman grinned at him.

“Comparatively, Zedalien. Thank you for reminding me. Magnolia Reinhart is the best of the Reinharts today. But listen, you little children. We have had deadlier. Magnolia Reinhart is one of the most dangerous women in the world. Better than her mother and even grandmother. But Salienn Reinhart died eight hundred years ago. And she drank the blood of her enemies and consorted with immortality for over three centuries. She was a Reinhart among Reinharts. But—”

Maviola began to cough. Zedalien hurried over and helped her. The children saw the old woman gasping, and then Maviola sat back, exhausted by the sudden fit. It was a familiar scene.

“Immortality has its price. But so does old age. Did I say Magnolia and Tyrion Veltras were flawed? They’re well enough. But we’ve lost so many of our great leaders. During the Antinium Wars.”

The Antinium Wars. They echoed still, as the children shifted. The House of El remembered those days. They had anniversaries, death dates.

The March of Flowers was remembered. Was still fresh. Maviola was nodding. Her eyes flashed bitterly as she recited names.

“Fulviolo El. Petria Terland and her sister, Ulva. My brother and the Terland twins would have been magnificent leaders. But losing Petria broke Ulva in half. So now there is me. And two children who snap at each other while the other families take sides. The family of El cannot duel the other four families like we used to. And there are too few of us left. The nobility of Izril. Too few to manage all the land.”

“Something can surely be done, Lady Maviola.”

It was Desinee who offered that. She was hardly immune to the dire talk coming from the House of El’s matriarch. The old woman glanced at the [Lady]. She snapped, irritably.

“You want to fix it, Desinee? Go to your husband, lie in bed with a fertility potion, and give birth to a child a year.”

The [Lady] recoiled. Maviola laughed.

“Don’t like that, do you? None of the new [Ladies] do. Pryde, Magnolia, even that harlot, Bethal, and all the others like Ieka don’t want to birth eight children. Which is what we used to demand! But that’s what’s needed.”

She looked pensively into the fire, which was fading again. And Maviola’s voice was cracked with loss.

“We lost too many during the Sacrifice of Roses. Too many. Not just that our families decline. The Goblin King took a terrible toll.”

This the children understood. Missing links of a family tree, that ended suddenly could be traced back to one day, or to one year. Izril’s nobility had lost too many and had yet to rebuild their numbers.

But what could be done? The new generation waited as Maviola looked about. Perhaps, perhaps, the future lay with them. They would become the hope of their House, rebuild it to glory. The children looked at each other.

And then—realized something. All of them were standing. They had been disqualified during the little history lecture. Silenced and made to wait by one side.

Only one of them was left. And she sat in front of Maviola. The old woman nodded.

“One made it? Better than last time. Have the other children go back to their families, Desinee. I’ll speak to…this one alone.”

The other children were herded out of the room. The double doors slammed shut and the girl got to her feet. She stood very properly in front of Maviola. The old woman eyed her, sardonically.

“So, just you, girl? Your parents tell me you are a prodigy. They shout it, rather. Zeci, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Lady Maviola.”

The answer came at once. The old woman studied Zeci and the girl braced herself for any question in the world. But the one that came at her still caught her unawares.

“Do you enjoy your studies, Zeci? Horseback riding, calligraphy, finances—your parents have you studying at all hours, don’t they?”

“I enjoy it, Lady Maviola.”

The girl replied after a moment’s hesitation. The old woman looked at her and rolled her eyes. It was a gesture that indicated complete disbelief.

“Really. You enjoy your studies? And all these costly [Tutors] and such?”

“…Yes, Lady Maviola. I enjoy learning.”

“Hm. Interesting. Approach me, Zeci.”

The young [Lady] did so, tentatively. She stared up at Maviola’s face, but without letting the imperious look deter her. The old woman smiled. Then she lifted a hand.

And there was fire. Brilliant, white fire. It rested in the hand of the old [Lady]. And she looked at Zeci’s wide eyes. There was no heat, but the flame was intense.

“Do you know what they called me, girl?”

Once, there had been a fire—Zeci gulped. She stared at the fire and then at the woman’s face. Only her eyes burned with the same radiance.

“Y-yes, Grandmother. I mean…”

“Fire. Look at it. Isn’t it beautiful?”

It was. But—Zeci was also afraid. The matriarch of the House of El had lived for a long time. And—she had not always lived kindly. She spoke as she leaned down in her chair.

“I have a Skill that tells apart little girls who lie to me. Even if their parents give her tricks to avoid truth spells. Put your hand in the fire, Zeci El.”

“But—”

The girl stared at the flames, terrified, and then at Maviola. The matriarch grinned.

“It will only burn you if you lie, or try to lie. If you are truthful, you will feel nothing. But lie? And you will mourn that hand for your entire life. Like so.”

She lifted her other hand. And Zeci saw an old, old scar that travelled down Maviola’s hand, all the way up to her upper arm. The girl recoiled, but the old woman pushed the flame towards her.

“Go on. Put your hand in the fire and swear that you enjoy your studies. Do it now.”

The girl flinched away. She reached for the fire with her left hand, stared at it, and then, abruptly, burst into tears.

“I lied! I don’t want to study all day! Don’t make me touch the fire, Great Grandmother!”

“Ah.”

The old woman sat back. Abruptly, the fire winked out. She looked at Zeci.

“Did your parents make you study?”

“Yes. They told me it would be good for our family. And they told me to say—”

The girl, tearful, confessed everything in a rush. Only after she had let it all out did Zeci realize it might spell trouble for her family. She choked on her tears.

“Lady Maviola—”

“Do not be worried, Zeci. I will deal with your parents. And they will not be rendered entirely poor this year. But your lessons will cease and I believe you will take only the ones you enjoy—and perhaps some that are necessary.”

“Thank you, Grandmother!”

The girl threw her arms carefully around the old woman. Maviola patted her on the head.

“There, there. And remember—do not lie to me!”

She pinched a cheek and Zeci nodded obediently. Maviola waved a hand and a shadow moved. Zedalien led the girl towards the door. Only when he had escorted her outside did he return.

And only then did he address Maviola more casually, as the two sat in silence.

“Tormenting children with illusionary fire, Lady Maviola?”

She laughed, tiredly.

“Someone must. It keeps them honest. Well, I’ve hopefully put some wisdom into their heads, which is a fine day’s work. Take me to the workshops, Zedalien. Let’s hope we have good news to go along with resolving little Zeci’s ridiculous situation.”

“Yes, Lady El.”

The wheelchair moved softly across the carpet as the half-Elf pushed Maviola’s chair. She drew the shawl around her body as they left the warm study. Maviola saw Zedalien glancing at her as they left.

“Don’t mind me, Zedalien. I don’t need to be coddled for long. I plan to announce my retirement…within the week. Sooner, if I can do it with one last triumph.”

The half-Elf’s face was eternally youthful. Beautiful, with an immortal’s features. Otherworldly as well. But he was older than Maviola. For all that—she was the more aged of the two, in body and in soul. Yet the half-Elf was the one who ducked his head.

“So soon, Maviola?”

“I can’t do this another year. Or a month. My bones hurt. I could cough and break my ribs again. I’m tired, Zedalien. It’s time.”

The woman’s voice was frank. The half-Elf looked as though he weakened with each step.

“And yet—your predecessor, before Lord Fulviolo if you will pardon my lapse, Lady El—she felt strongly enough to continue into her ninety-eighth year…”

“My body gave out before my spirit, Zedalien. That’s all there is to it.”

“My apologies, Lady El. I—forget myself.”

Zedalien shook his head. With effort, he took a firmer grip of the chair as they moved down the hallway. The old woman continued, almost cheerfully.

“Forget? You remember everything, Zedalien. And you—don’t age. Half-Elves. Half-Elves were the finest idea we had, employing your people as aides. You remember. I am counting on you to teach the next leader. Which will likely be Deilan, for all the girls think I’ll favor them. He’s pretentious. But cautious. He’ll do, until someone with the will takes over.”

The two nodded. They’d discussed this. Even so, Zedalien looked wan. He closed his eyes as they reached another set of fortified ironwood doors. The keep that had been built for the House of El had been fashioned as a grand living space, fortification, and workshop.

Master crafters and artisans that had rivaled the Dwarves. Some of that remained. But so little. The half-Elf, who had been hired in the tradition of the El family—hiring half-Elves for their personal aides and servants—looked at the third head of the House of the El he had served. And he knew it was her time.

And his.

“I believe I will tender my resignation, once Lord Deilan is comfortable in his office, Lady Maviola. It has been an honor. Until that moment…I hope to serve you as faithfully as my father.”

That was all he said. The old lady snorted as he opened the workshop doors. But fondly. Sadly. She reached out and touched his hand as he paused to bend and bow.

“Half-Elves. Hearts like glass. But loyal, so loyal. You should have never stayed to watch me grow old.”

The doors opened as the half-Elf straightened. And he silently wheeled Lady Maviola into the workshop.

It was empty for the moment. The artisans employed and [Mages] were not needed. Their work was finished. A [Lord] stood in the room. But he had on a workman’s vest. And he was holding a curious stick. A rod, rather, with a curious little button on the side. When he saw Maviola and Zedalien, he bowed.

“Lady Maviola.”

“Deilan. The products are finished. How goes the negotiations?”

The old woman sat up in her wheelchair, looking at the [Lord]. Lord Deilan was a member of the House of El, but he kept to their old ways. He was a [Lord], but an [Artisan] as well, one who worked with magic and material. It was the reason he was going to be the next leader of the House of El. He was thirty six years old.

And he was a bit pretentious. A bit…enamored with the House of El’s legacy. But he did know the work. And as he straightened, Maviola saw his expression darken. No platitudes about the craftsmanship of their goods from him now.

“…Poorly, Maviola. There is no interest.”

The old woman took the news with steady acceptance. Just a grimace.

“Wistram fell through? And the Iron Vanguard? And…?”

“It seems the [Mages] have something to occupy their interests, Lady Maviola. I was in negotiations with Archmage Nailihuaile just last week, but suddenly—she’s no longer interested. And the other buyers…the same.”

“But why? Two hundred blades we made. And no one will buy a one?”

Pained, the elderly woman gestured at the object that Deilan was holding. He handed it to her and she held it carefully. She pressed on the side.

There was a click. The blade was attached to a bit of spring-loaded metal. It shot out from the concealed hiding spot. A rod of metal, rather than a blade, even. But as it extended, there was a flash of light.

A glittering, red-green blade made of magic, transparent at the edges, appeared. Lady Maviola regarded it.

A glowing, magical edge, shaped like a sword’s blade. But light! Light enough even for her!

“Kaalblades. Artifacts, crafted artifacts from another era. We put all our resources into it. All we could spare. It’s a weapon fit for—and they said no?”

Deilan shook his head. He regarded another of the finished Kaalblades. He activated it and carefully cut the air.

“This could cut through most mundane metals, and even weaker enchantments! Not as smooth as butter, but the sharpness of the blade! If only it didn’t run out of power…”

“Ah.”

Lady Maviola looked at Deilan.

“You told me, Deilan. So the individual adventurers? [Merchants] wouldn’t buy because…”

“Adventurers don’t want to pay for mana stones, Lady Maviola. If they were cheaper on the market, perhaps—but as it stood, no [Merchant] would pay our prices. And I went as low as you would allow…”

Maviola disengaged the magical blade. She bowed her head as Zedalien gently took the weapon. Or tried to. The old lady hung on. When she raised her gaze, her eyes were shimmering.

With tears. It was so unexpected that both the half-Elf and [Lord] averted their gaze. But Maviola just brushed at the tears, as if surprised they were there.

“I’ve failed you, Deilan. I hoped I could leave you with the profits from something. But it’s just another venture…Fulviolo had a gift for knowing what would sell. I do not. I’ve made your job harder, when I should have left alone. My arrogance.”

“Lady M—Great Aunt. Nothing could be further from the truth.”

Lord Deilan sank to one knee in the workshop. The old woman smiled at him.

“You lie well, Deilan. But let’s not lie; this was an old [Lady]’s last folly. Keep them, Deilan. Hold onto them until you can find a buyer. Don’t sell them cheaply, mind. We can afford to tighten our belts another generation if need be. Or rather, you can.”

The [Lord]’s gentle grip on Maviola’s hands tightened for a moment. He blinked at her, around the grime on his face.

“You mean…?”

“It is not official. I may announce it later this week. But it is time. You will be the next patriarch of the House of El. Zedalien is my witness. Has been for months now, despite the squabbling. I am done, Deilan. It is time.”

The old woman reached out. The [Lord]’s grip was tight—before he remembered and released. Slight bruises were already appearing on Maviola’s hands, and he turned red with shame. But Zedalien was already opening a healing potion. And Maviola took no notice. She reached out.

“Do well, Deilan. Listen to Zedalien. And try to avoid Goblin Kings. You’re a bit arrogant. But that’s good. Just lead us well.”

His eyes were shining with tears.

“Great Aunt, I will. I swear it.”

A smile. And for a moment, she was young again.

“Good. Time enough for ceremony later. I don’t know how I’ll do it. Part of me wants to just—vanish. Keep the idiots guessing and let you fight to take charge. But I won’t, I think. Stop crying, young man. I’ve been planning my end for over a decade. Stubbornness kept me around.”

“And now I’m to be…”

The [Lord] stared, suddenly aware of his burdens, for all he had coveted the power. And like that, the drama involving the House of El’s succession came to a close. Maviola El smiled.

“Why do you think I’ve had you negotiating and taking my job for the last two years, Deilan? Ah, well, we will discuss the rest before I go. Not much to say, really; Zedalien knows my job. And he will be with you for a year or two.”

“Not—”

Deilan looked at Zedalien. The half-Elf bowed slightly.

“I plan to retire myself with Lady Maviola’s…retirement, Lord Deilan. I have not the heart for another generation. But I will accompany you until my replacement is ready and you are secure in your post.”

“Of course. Of course. You have my thanks. And—”

Deilan looked at the old woman. And it struck him. There went Maviola El. And Zedalien. Two of the House of El’s oldest members. And here he saw. He trembled. But his spine straightened. And Maviola saw and approved.

Not just yet would the Five Families slip away. Not yet.

“Lady El. A [Message] from Lady Magnolia Reinhart.”

Later, as Lord Deilan was sitting in the study with Maviola, asking what questions needed asking, and avoiding discussion of what came next for her…the old woman looked up. Zedalien had a [Message] spell in his hands.

“Hm? It must be urgent. She’s not normally so direct otherwise. Let me see. Ah—”

Maviola’s brow wrinkled. Deilan looked at her.

“Great Aunt? Is something…?”

A troubled look crossed the matriarch’s brow, and then vanished. In fact, Maviola’s gaze almost looked—relieved. Or happy? She nodded at Deilan.

“Nothing that need concern you, Deilan. A [Lady]’s business. Just like you [Lords] and your clubs. Magnolia has an issue. And of course, she’s decided to take the lead on…”

She paused, drumming her fingers on the armrest.

“Reinhart. And what did the other [Ladies] say? No—Ulva Terland wouldn’t accede no matter what. Veltras’ get are terrified of Tyrion, although some might…Wellfar?”

She looked at Zedalien. The half-Elf bowed.

“Refusals, Lady El. At least to move in concert. So Lady Magnolia has come to you.”

“Does she think I won’t survive the trip? Well—I might not. But for this? Yes. Ulva is a proud idiot.”

Maviola winced at the brutal acknowledgement. Briskly, she shook her head. Then she paused again.

“It should be done. I can send…no. It’s very fitting. Tell Magnolia I will accede. But not without something in return.”

She looked directly at Zedalien. The half-Elf paused.

“What should I relay to Lady Magnolia?”

The old woman felt at her side. For…three objects. She clutched them urgently, as she sometimes did. Only, now?

Now. She felt a specter at her back. Not yet. Not yet. The fire was dim. And Lord Deilan, heir to the House of El, looked at the old woman as she bared her teeth. She stared at Zedalien.

“Tell her…tell her I have a price. As the El family has always done, we serve our clients and our interests. Let her give it to me. And Deilan?”

“Yes, Great Aunt?”

The old woman smiled at him.

“Let’s make the most of today. Because when you become our House’s leader, I will not be there.”

And he saw her breathing shallowly. The effort of even telling a story had taken a toll on her. And the [Lord] bowed his head and spent his last hours with Maviola El well.

—-

Some people said that all roads led to Invrisil. And those people were idiots because that was just geographically untrue. But it was true that Invrisil occupied a bit of prime real estate when it came to trade routes. So the City of Adventurers was a meeting point for people on the road, adventurers going on an…adventure, and so on.

All sorts went to Invrisil. Literally everyone, from peasants to [Lords]. Although only people in some kingdoms in Terandria got the [Peasant] class. But so many people were heading that way, or arriving, leaving.

A Runner jogged north on the road to Invrisil. They moved quickly, faster on average than the wagons or other modes of transport. They were slower than a horse, but they could go off-road and with potions, even a relatively fit Human could hope to outdistance a horse over time.

As they ran, they passed by a number of sights. Overturned wagons with people shouting about a sudden [Bandit] attack. An entire family moving north after their home had been burned due to a freak accident.

Some [Wagon Driver] in a wagon, grumbling about an obnoxious group he’d hauled down south to Invrisil as a favor. A group of adventurers, arguing.

“Don’t eat half-cooked eggs!”

Two of them were lying on the ground. One of them, an Antinium, was perfectly healthy thanks to his anti-food poisoning amulet. The other two had been throwing up all day. An exasperated woman with silver arms was berating them. The Antinium was debating taking off the amulet so he could get food poisoning in solidarity. But they still had a ways to go.

And the Runner was faster than all the rest. People stared as he flashed past them. Some waved or called out. After all, it wasn’t often you saw someone like him.

A Courier. But also—a Beastkin. A Rabbit Beastkin. He had rabbit ears. A furry body. Muscles. He was in fact—

Hawk. He paused to stare at the Horns of Hammerad, but he was on the job and he couldn’t take time to socialize. Further north he ran, stopping only occasionally, with the attacked wagons, and then only promising to relay word to the nearest patrol or settlement. Which he did.

But he ran. And he was quick. The average Runner could hope to outdistance a horse with some cheap stamina potions over a day. Hawk could outrun most horses on the gallop without trying. And he was a Courier. One of the best.

“Courier on delivery!”

The familiar bellow came from the Rabbitman’s mouth as he neared the gates of Invrisil. The [Guards] at the gate had an option as they saw Hawk approaching. They could stop him. Or—wave him through. Hawk had all the identification he needed in case they made a random stop. But that seldom happened.

No one stopped him in this case. Hawk raced past the [Guards], shouting.

“Wagon back sixteen miles south! [Bandit] attack!”

“Thanks! Noted!”

The [Sergeant] on duty bellowed back. She scrambled for a quill as she remarked to her companion.

“Sixteen miles? He says it like it’s easy.”

“Couriers. You ever get a delivery from one of them?”

“Yup. Placed an order and it appeared like that. All the way from First Landing! Costs more’n I’d care to ever spend, though.”

The [Sergeant] looked at her comrade.

“So why’d you buy anything?”

He waggled a finger.

“Wedding ring. Custom-made. Courier service.”

“Ah. For Miski.”

“Yup.”

“I’d have been happy with a silver band.”

“[Sergeant], we’re on duty—”

Drama. Hawk picked up the last of that conversation and really wished he’d stuck around to hear the rest. Not that you had to guess. But it would have been great gossip material for Selys when he got back to Liscor.

The Rabbit [Courier] was humming to himself. And that was his class. Delivery was his specialty. He was conscious of the looks he got even as he entered Invrisil, but he weaved through the crowd with practiced grace. If he’d been in a real hurry, he might have shouted; Couriers could actually demand people get out of the way sometimes.

But he wasn’t in a rush, rush. He’d only run, oh, the last two hundred miles at a decent pace. Even so, he’d beaten almost any conceivable mode of transport to get here.

“Courier delivery! I have a bag of holding and items from Pallass!”

The Rabbit Beastkin announced as he entered Invrisil’s Runner’s Guild. It was one of the largest in the nation and they had a separate section for Couriers. A [Receptionist] raced over.

“Hawk of Liscor?”

“That’s me. I have some Courier-letters, two priority sendings—one bound for the Players of Celum from…er, the Players of Celum in Liscor. Paper, fragile. This container here. I have eight other items…”

Each one properly accounted for in his bag of holding. Each one Hawk signed for and got a receipt for; Courier-class deliveries were not lost in the system. The [Receptionist] was good at his job. Although he did pause.

“A delivery to the Players of Celum? You mean, the Players?”

“The [Actors]? Yeah.”

Hawk gave the Human man a blank look. He’d been to Invrisil and obviously knew the buzz about them, but he’d seen enough plays back in Liscor. But the man’s reaction made Hawk do a double-take.

“It’s marked as urgent, but they’re not paying for in-person delivery. Just bulk transit. Is a regular runner okay?”

The [Receptionist] hesitated and chewed it over. Hawk glanced around and noticed the other Runners in the guild were staring at him.

Well, he was a Courier, but it wasn’t a rare sight to see a Courier in the Runner’s Guild in Invrisil. Another city, yes. But they were staring at the bundles of paper. Hawk hesitated.

“The—a City Runner or Street Runner would have to go with an escort to get it to the Players of Celum, I think, Courier Hawk. Are those…new plays?”

“Maybe. I didn’t ask.”

Hawk saw the [Receptionist]’s face light up.

“Really? They’re all the rage. I can call for an escort! And go myself! I’m a huge fan of—did you say there’s another group of the Players of Celum? Why in Liscor?”

The man reached for the papers, but Hawk grabbed them.

“…I may deliver this one in person rather than entrust it to a Street Runner, then. I’ll take directions to the Players of Celum if you know where they are?”

The disappointed man gave them to Hawk. He tried to ask about the Players of Celum in Liscor, and why were plays coming here? And wouldn’t Hawk consider an escort of his own? But Hawk ignored the questions as he backed up, stowing the papers and plotting a route towards the inn.

He didn’t gossip on the job. That was unprofessional. As he trotted towards the door with long strides, someone came over.

“Hawk the Courier? I could take the papers for—”

“Nope.”

The City Runner hesitated. He ran after Hawk.

“I’m a huge fan of Miss Jasi. If we could say we went together, I could pay—”

“Sorry.”

How popular were these [Actors]? Hawk accelerated, but the City Runner kept pace with him. He had a running Skill too. In fact—more Runners were following his lead.

“Mister Hawk! I’m Divee! We met once—”

“Hello? Hawk? Hello. I know you. We’re from the same city. Sort of. I’m from Celum. The name is Pers—”

“Got to go! Get lost, City Runners!”

Hawk accelerated. The Runners were left almost literally in a cloud of dust. They couldn’t keep up with the Beastkin’s agility. And Hawk was double-timing it now.

“Courier on delivery! Watch out!”

He warned people as he ran and literally leapt over a group of people. All of Hawk’s instincts had been triggered by that scene in the guild. He just bet someone would have intercepted him to take this apparently ultra-precious cargo if he’d dallied.

Fortunately, the inn wasn’t that far away. Hawk made it there in a flash. The [Bouncer] at the door stared at the Rabbit Beastkin, but he blocked the door when Hawk pounded on it. There was actually a crowd outside the inn!

“No one’s allowed inside but—”

“Courier on delivery! For the Players of Celum! It says—Wesle, Jasi, or Emme.”

Hawk bellowed it in his ears and for the benefit of anyone inside. The [Bouncer] backed up. Someone exclaimed from inside and Hawk found a somewhat familiar half-Dwarf woman staring at him.

“Hawk? A Courier delivery? Oh—dead gods, it’s Miss Erin’s notes and that new play she remembered! Or is it the adaptation of…? Come in! Let him in, Redit!”

The [Bouncer] was hurried out of the way. Hawk found Emme gesturing to him to put the papers on the table. Hawk did so.

“Emme, right? I can use that in my receipt to the Runner’s Guild. Does everything check out to you? Everything you expected is in order?”

“Oh, yes, absolutely. Temile’s, hah, even included his new roster! Levels and names and all! Even species! He’s got a Garuda? We have to get that door active! Did you have a hard time getting here, Hawk? How’s Erin? How’s Liscor?”

“Fine. But I didn’t know everyone and their dog would want to see the papers. You need to request in-person delivery, Emme.”

The [Producer] blinked.

“We do? I mean, it was cheaper this way—”

She saw an annoyed furry face and furry finger pointing at her.

“I could have left it at the Runner’s Guild and my job would have been done. Then you’d have had to gamble on someone else taking it here. City or Street Runners and I guarantee you that it would have been intercepted.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—I had no idea! We’ve never done anything like Courier delivery before—can I get you a drink? Something to eat?”

“Well, it’s fine. Consider it a one-time service, but you got lucky.”

Mollified, Hawk accepted a drink. He was thirsty. Emme fussed around.

“We’re really very grateful. Can I offer you some of these? As thanks? We have a whole set.”

She produced a set of signed pieces of colorful cardboard. Some were white, with gilding around the edges, others were more stylized. Black, with a white signature. Or gold. Hawk blinked at them.

“What are these?”

“Signatures of the Players of Celum. Go on, take them. They’re worth a bit, actually. They’re performing right now, but Wesle and the others would love to see you. They’d clear their schedules for it, absolutely!”

Hawk…hadn’t really ever talked to the Players of Celum. He had only visited The Wandering Inn a few times. And it was somewhat odd—Emme was inviting him as if it were her doing a Courier a favor.

“I’ll uh, think about it. I’m heading back south Liscor’s way anyways. This is just a short trip.”

So I can see Selys again. The Rabbitman was happy just thinking about it. Back together with Selys! She was always nice. And now she was a [Heiress], they were really connecting. They could go out to some places in Pallass, and Erin had that amazing carrot-stuff…life was good. Hawk wasn’t poor by any means, and he’d rather just do easy deliveries and get back to Selys—it was too soon to think about rings, by far, but he liked Selys—

“Really? Well—did you see the Horns of Hammerad on the road? Because they have the magical door to Invrisil.”

“What?”

Hawk choked on his drink, breaking out of his thoughts. He listened as Emme explained.

“I saw them on the road thirty miles back. Throwing up. They’re close—although the two [Mages] looked pretty dead. Stuff might have been coming out both ends, if you know what I mean.”

“Ew. What from?”

“Bad eggs. I think. If they’re bringing the door here…damn, that might cut into my route and take.”

Hawk was frowning. This might actually be a problem. More so than Pallass to Liscor. Because Hawk was fine with losing money to avoid the Bloodfields. He’d have to have a word with Erin about it…Emme was trying to explain.

“No, it’s fine, Hawk. The door won’t be able to take more than one or two people, like Pallass.”

“Yes it will. Erin’s added a Sage’s Grass field and the door can ferry as many as twenty people pretty quickly. It recharges fast.”

“What?”

The Rabbit Beastkin explained as much as he could. He grimaced.

“I…could get the Horns. Or pick up the door, I guess. But…maybe not. I’m going to have to talk to Erin. This could hurt Runners across Izril.”

The half-Dwarf woman sighed.

“That’s fair. But the Horns are close by the sounds of it. Meanwhile, we could pay you for an uh, direct-delivery to The Players of Celum in Liscor. We have a few of Andel’s new plays and the Mage’s Guild charges far too much to copy them properly.”

Hawk paused.

“Direct delivery?”

“Sure. How much is it?”

Hawk hesitated.

“…There’s a difference between delivery on-the-way and a custom order. I could give you on-the-way fares since I’m headed back to Liscor, but it would be at least six gold and eight silver? More if it’s a lot or cumbersome.”

The price was well outside the range of most people’s budgets, but Emme didn’t blink twice.

“We can do that. When are you headed back?”

Hawk perked up. This sounded good! Regular clients, or ones you had a personal relationship with were the bread and butter of every Courier’s income. Then again—the door. Damn. He’d just have to ask Erin…well, maybe this was a matter for the Runner’s Guild.

The Rabbit Beastkin was of two opinions about the magical door. But he accepted the signatures. And the free drink. And he was looking forwards to a paid return trip—even if it was only one delivery—as he jogged back to the Runner’s Guild.

“Players of Celum are delivered to.”

The [Receptionist] gave Hawk a betrayed look. But he glumly signed Hawk off and gave the Rabbit Beastkin the money.

“So…you delivered to the Players? Did they give you any signatures? Do you have one of Jasi? Because I’ll pay for them.”

Hawk wondered just how much the pieces of cardboard were worth. But his senses were tingling that he had something valuable, so he just feigned ignorance.

“I dropped off the delivery. That’s my job.”

“Oh, well then. Here’s your money.”

The Rabbitman was just stowing the money when he saw a few Runners gathered about. They usually wanted to talk. Hawk gave them a wave.

“Sorry about losing you. But you know how it is. Runner’s Code.”

They nodded, although in Hawk’s experience, the Runner’s code of conduct was a malleable thing. Still, each person had their standards.

“Excuse me. You’re Hawk, right? I’m a huge fan. Persua. I think we’ve met?”

Hawk blinked at a young woman with a rather large smile which he was going to categorize as slightly insincere staring up at him. But she looked friendly and he nodded.

“Persua? I think I’ve heard of you.”

He couldn’t remember from where, though. The young woman smiled wider.

“Actually, I’m from the south too. Celum. I’m a City Runner of course, but I’m in-training to become a Courier.”

That made Hawk give her a second look. Any City Runner could become a Courier, but some were earmarked for the position because of the Skills they had, or natural talent, etc. She didn’t look particularly athletic, so he guessed she had a Skill.

“Well, I hope you make it. It’s a bit dicey around here.”

“Absolutely. Did you hear about Lacel the Leaper? He was intercepted while running a delivery to Lady Dealia! In the Player of Celum’s inn!”

Hawk’s fur stood up, although Persua didn’t actually seem that bothered.

“I heard. Legs broken, right? I should pay a visit to him.”

“Oh, he left the city. Wouldn’t stay. But the package for Lady Dealia is still here.”

“Really? The Assassin’s Guild didn’t get it?”

No, it was to send a message. Hawk remembered that a beat before Persua informed him of that fact. The word was all over Izril, especially the Runner’s circles. The Guild of Assassins was back. Well, they’d never left, but now they were accepting contracts on Runners. And they’d done it in Magnolia Reinhart’s own city. To a Courier.

I’d better not sleep before I deliver the damn plays or whatever they are. Hawk resolved to himself as Persua cozied up to him. He reflexively stepped back.

“Too bad about Lacel. But he’s only good when he’s on the move. I’d love to chat, Miss Persua—”

“Can’t you stay? I’d love to get a drink, together. Ask about the Courier’s lifestyle?”

Hawk hesitated. He eyed Persua, searching for the most amenable way out of the conversation. Did Persua know Ryoka? Or…Valceif? Hawk’s stomach twisted. Poor fellow. He was about to ask when someone spoke up.

“Hawk? Good timing! The lady said you’d be here! I need a word!”

A loud voice. Hawk turned and saw another Courier striding his way. A Balerosian, at least in skin-tone, although Hawk happened to know this fellow was all-Izrilian to the core. The new speaker spread his arms wide.

“Hawk! Don’t hide! I’d recognize those ears anywhere!”

“And the fur? Good to see you Trit.”

Hawk greeted Trit, or Tritel, was a stocky fellow. Short, rather good-natured, and surprisingly aggressive for his height. He was a small fellow compared to Hawk, but he stomped on up and punched Hawk in the side.

“You giant inconsiderate rabbit! I haven’t seen you in ages! Where’ve you been? Around Liscor still?”

“That’s where I live.”

Hawk wasn’t one of the more dramatic of personalities that made up a Courier. But Tritel…was. He had a very flatfooted walk, surprising among a runner, and he wasn’t dressed in the loose clothing they liked. He had on boots, heavier clothing, and even wore a hat. He was also very short for a Runner, but it fit the way he travelled.

He was also a Courier. And he grabbed hold of Hawk’s arm with surprising strength.

“You’re coming with me. I need a word.”

“Trit—”

“No buts! I’ll buy you a drink! Actually, I was just going to meet Salamani too. You heard about Lacel, right?”

“Yeah. Salamani’s here?”

Hawk was distracted. It was rare to find multiple Couriers, even in the city like Invrisil. They were always on the move. Tritel nodded.

“He’s here. On the same business as me. Come on, we’re at this bar I like. So’s Ci.”

“Ci? They let her in there?”

“It’s my favorite bar. Come on.”

“Excuse me. I was talking with Hawk. Who are you?”

Persua blocked Tritel as he steered Hawk towards the door. The shorter man stared at Persua.

“Sorry, Miss. Who’re you? City Runner? Must be if I don’t know your name. This is Courier’s business. One side.”

With that, he put a hand on her midriff since her shoulder was too high and shoved her out of the way. The outraged squawk didn’t even make Tritel break stride as they left the Guild.

“Was that someone you were interested in, Hawk? You could do better either way.”

“No. Not my type. Also, I have someone I’m seeing. I want to get her a gift, Trit. If this is going to take long…”

“Relax, relax. I forgot. Nothing without scales for my fur-friend. I know Invrisil. I’ll help you get her the best gift before we go. There’s these new song-crystals that are all the rage. From Terandria.”

“Before we go?”

Hawk didn’t miss that. He narrowed his eyes, but Tritel had a grip on him.

“Come on, it won’t take long to explain.”

He led the Rabbitman down the street. Hawk sighed, but he followed Tritel—you had to trust fellow Couriers. Well, some of them. And Tritel was good, if pushy. As the two walked on, they heard a group arguing. Young men and women.

“What do you mean, we’re out of money?”

Rose was shouting at Joseph. He flung up his hands.

“I don’t know! She said it would last until Liscor! It’s not my fault you all kept buying snacks! And tipping!”

“You have to tip people! What do we do? Send her a [Message]?”

“Kids these days.”

Tritel shook his head as he led Hawk past. The Rabbitman felt a bit sympathetic; it was a common scene, kids coming to Invrisil and losing all their money. He wasn’t about to give them any, anyways. But even so…

—-

The bar that Tritel liked so much wasn’t…the best. It wasn’t bad, but it had that ‘live and let live’ attitude towards its clientele. Drinks were cheap, and the owner accommodating.

Very accommodating. Hawk spotted Ci and Salamani by the bar. He would have recognized them at once.

Salamani because the Human was a fellow Courier. Only—his clothing was silk, and had the embellishments most [Mages] loved to put on everything. As he turned to greet the other two Couriers, part of his heritage became obvious.

Salamani was descended from a Lizardman and a Human woman. Fertility spells made the cross-species birth work, but as often happened, there was a bit of mixing of genetics. In this case—Salamani’s only nod to his other half was his eyes.

They were vertical slits, like a lizard’s. But the man was normal in every respect.

“Hawk! Tritel said you’d be coming.”

“Coming? For what?”

“I didn’t say. Hi, Salamani. Thanks for keeping my place, Ci.”

Tritel greeted the fourth person at the bar. He got a snort in reply. Hawk glanced over at Ci, whom he was also familiar with. And…part of the ‘live and let live’ atmosphere of the bar was added to by Ci’s presence.

She was a horse. A white mare, some exquisite Terandrian breed. Hawk didn’t know horses well, but even he could tell Ci was a horse among horses. She was also standing at the bar and drinking out of a bowl.

“…Is that alcohol?”

“Of course. You think Ci’s drinking water?”

Tritel gave Hawk an odd look. The Rabbit Beastkin was doing the same, but that was Tritel. The short man was one of the mounted Couriers. And he and Ci were a pair.

“What’s this about, you two?”

“Sit down. Have a drink. But nothing stiff.”

Hawk didn’t like the friendly way the other two Couriers were glancing at him. Tritel had a stiffer drink than the other two, but then—he didn’t run. And Salamani was drinking milk. Hawk’s senses began to tingle.

“So—Lacel the Leaper got his legs broken. That fat idiot probably thought no one would stop him at night in a fancy inn. Thing is, the Assassin’s Guild is off Reinhart’s leash. And Lacel didn’t even get the damn amulet that may or may not be Lord Bein’s stolen.”

Tritel spoke cheerfully, not bothering to lower his voice. The two Couriers listened. Hawk ordered some juice. Ci gave him a sideways look with one of her eyes. He waved at her. Tritel got mad if you didn’t.

“It was a message. The Assassin’s Guild is back. We’ve all got to start sleeping with one eye open again.”

Salamani grumbled. Hawk nodded. It wasn’t good, but prices would go up with the danger. It was life. Tritel was nodding.

“Yeah, but the thing is—the delivery could still be done. In fact, some people reckon it ought to be done. Because the Assassin’s Guild might be back—but that was a Courier’s job. And we don’t fail. Not even if all the Demons in hell were chasing us.”

He gave the other two a sideways look. Hawk instantly stood up.

“That sounds great. But you know what? I uh, have the important delivery I have to do. For the Players of Celum.”

“The Players of Celum? You wouldn’t happen to know them, would you? I’d pay for a signature!”

Salamani perked up. Hawk reached for one of the monogrammed autographs.

“Take it, Salamani. I’m going to—”

“Not so fast, Hawk.”

The Rabbitman stared at the hoof in front of his chest. He stared at Ci. To his relief, he realized it was Tritel who’d spoken. The [Rider] was motioning him to sit back down.

“This is a matter of pride. The Assassin’s Guild made its mark. We make ours. Runners will deliver that package to Lady Dealia, even if Lord Bein puts a hundred thousand gold piece bounty on our heads.”

“Not if Lady Hetessana doesn’t pay us. And that’s a personal choice. Excuse me, Ci—”

The mare snorted and gave Hawk a look. He hesitated. Tritel had a [Beast Tamer] class, or something close. And Ci was as intelligent as animals got. He slowly backed away to his seat.

“I know, it’s about money. But this is different, Hawk. Hetessana’s raised the price of delivery.”

“Even so—”

“Three of us are going to deliver the package. And if the fee’s not enough for you, it’s being doubled. To send a message. And you know who’s doubling it?”

Hawk hesitated. He had a bad feeling. He glanced over the bar. He could jump over it, burst out the back door, and be gone even if Ci and Salamani tried to stop him. Hawk was a cautious Courier, as they went. He did not risk his life. Not with the Goblin Lord’s army, not with anything else. He tensed.

“I’m sorry, Tritel. But even for twice that, or four times—”

“Guildmistress Godfrey wants it done, Hawk.”

Salamani spoke up for the first time. He was lovingly staring at the autograph that had some of Jasi’s lipstick and signature on it. Hawk paused.

“She…does?”

“That’s right. Mihaela herself. And she knew you were coming north, Hawk. You’re in on the delivery. All three of us going together. It’ll be safer. Not even hard with three of us. But you’re in it. Or you get to explain yourself to First Landing’s Guildmistress. And you know her.”

Hawk did. He hesitated. If it had been Tritel or Salamani asking him, he’d already be running for the gates. But…

Mihaela Godfrey. One of the most famous Couriers to ever run across Izril. Guildmistress and rarely active Courier of First Landing’s Runner’s Guild.

Mother of Valceif Godfrey. Tritel raised his glass.

“She’s not in a good mood, Hawk. You know how she’s normally? Double that, and then double that. You can run off and we’ll do it alone. But she’ll pull off your ears and tail if you get within a hundred miles of First Landing.”

The Rabbit Beastkin hesitated. He had a healthy self-respect for his life. He wasn’t an adventurer. Being a Courier was dangerous, but he didn’t take suicide missions. He weighed the dangers of going against the Assassin’s Guild to deliver the amulet with Tritel and Salamani versus Mihaela Godfrey’s wrath.

“I hate you both.”

He sat back down. Tritel grinned and raised his cup before draining it.

“Do you think she gave us a choice?”

“Soonest done, soonest ended. The Assassin’s Guild has rules. We get the amulet to Lady Dealia, they lay off.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then all bets are off and it’s war. And I bet even the [Assassins] will think twice before going up against all the Couriers in Izril. Or Mihaela. She’s squashed a hundred times more Ants than I have [Bandits].”

Salamani drained his cup. Tritel nodded. He slapped Ci on the side.

“Drink up, girl. We’re about to do some work.”

The mare snorted alcoholic fumes all over Tritel. He laughed. Hawk pushed back his drink. He shouldn’t have come to Invrisil. Damn, damn—

—-

The amulet of Lord Bein’s sat in the Runner’s Guild. Lord Bein was on the way himself to pick it up. Not that it was actually his amulet! More like a clever fake!

Lady Hetessana’s claim of her relationship with Lord Bein was in jeopardy. Lady Dealia had sworn vengeance if it turned out Lord Bein had been unfaithful.

And the concrete ‘proof’ of all this lay in Invrisil’s Runner’s Guild. Hawk grumbled as the three Couriers walked through the doors.

“Can’t they make Lord Bein swear on a truth spell?”

“Ah, but that would be dishonorable and crap. Or he might refuse. This is how the nobles play, Hawk.”

Tritel laughed. Ci trotted through the doors after him, ignoring the looks she got. Tritel strode up towards the counter where the [Receptionist] was giving him a very long look.

“Hey. We’re here for the amulet of Lord Bein. Or Lady Hetessana’s delivery. Whatever. You know what it is.”

The words provoked a silence around the guild. Everyone turned to look. Hawk wondered if there were any [Assassins] here. There had to be. Informants at least. He looked around nervously. But he was committed.

“The—the amulet? You three are…?”

The [Receptionist]’s eyes went round. Someone immediately ran out the side doors. Hawk turned.

“Easy.”

Salamani looked relaxed as he limbered up. The [Mage], who was also a [Runner], nodded. As Tritel leaned over the counter.

“You got word from First Landing. The amulet. Give it.”

“But—”

“You’re a [Receptionist]. We’re the Couriers. Hand it over. Or—Ci?”

Tritel was too short to reach over the counter. So Ci, the horse, leaned over and clicked her teeth in front of the [Receptionist]’s face. The man backed up.

“I’ll—I’ll get it.”

“Good. Did someone spread the word, Hawk?”

“There’s a crowd gathering. Tritel…”

“Don’t worry. Salamani’s going to cast on us before we leave the doors. I doubt they’ll get us before we leave the city. If they do—improvise. I’ll take it. Unless one of you want it?”

“No.”

“Nope.”

Tritel nodded. He patted Ci’s flank as the mare snorted. She could sense the mood in the room.

“Anyways, Mihaela wants a crowd. There’s the amulet. Let’s roll.”

The [Receptionist] had it in a box. He unlocked it with a secret passphrase and key as the Couriers waited. Hawk was dancing from foot to foot.

“Are we doing this now?”

“You want to take a nap like Lacel? Yep, here it is. Nice looking, right?”

Tritel dangled the locket at the other two. Salamani leaned in.

“…Looks genuine. There’ll be hell to pay once we deliver it.”

“If. You mean, if.”

“Hawk, you’re the most terrified giant rabbit I’ve ever met. Relax. You’re a Courier. Let’s do this.”

Three Couriers walked out of Invrisil’s Runner’s Guild into a crowd. Everyone in earshot had rushed to see them when they’d heard. Tritel waved as he mounted onto Ci’s saddle. Salamani produced a wand and bowed with a flourish. He’d already cast some spells on Hawk and Ci, to Hawk’s relief.

“Hey everyone! We’re delivering Lord Bein’s damn amulet! Or Lady Hetessana’s gift! Fuck, it might be fake! But we’re doing it and no [Assassins] are going to stop us! Because we’re Couriers!”

Tritel bellowed. The crowd cheered. The Guild of Assassins produced worried looks and stares, but most just cheered. And even Hawk stopped his nervous pacing to wave.

Because it was true. He’d realized the same thing the other Couriers had. The Assassins’ Guild had a choice. If they went after Couriers on the run, it was one thing. But if they made it personal, it was war. Hawk, Salamani, and Tritel just had to believe that they were out of the crosshairs once they delivered the amulet.

So it was a contest. One with the Courier’s lives on the line and the finish line was Lady Dealia. Until then? All bets were off.

But that was how they lived.

Three—no, four of Izril’s fastest Runners walked towards the gates. And—if the Players of Celum were famous, their fame was newly-won. A fad that might become permanent. But here were Couriers. And even the Players were in the crowd that followed them out of the city.

Invrisil’s people followed the four. And they began to shout. Because the first, the original celebrities of Izril weren’t just adventurers. In fact—you saw these ones more often.

Hawk. The Rabbit Beastkin was trembling with nerves. But the people were shouting his name.

“Hawk! Hawk the Hare! The Hare of Liscor!”

“I hate that name!”

Hawk shouted back. Salamani laughed. He raised a wand, flicking it out of a wrist-holster. And the [Mage Runner] got his own cheer.

“Salamani the Haste Mage!”

Last was Ci. Also, Tritel was riding her. He adjusted the strings holding his hat to his head. And the short man flicked out a crossbow. A newfangled weapon, not as good as bows. Or as honorable. And Ci reared and he laughed.

Tritel the Moonlight Rider, and Ci, the Silver Mare of Izril.

“Ready?”

Tritel grinned, with that wild adrenaline coursing through his veins. Hawk nodded tightly. Salamani whispered.

“[Haste]. Let’s do this.”

“Alright. One, two, three, go!”

The Couriers exploded out of the gates to wild cheers from the crowd behind them. They ran. Hawk’s arms and legs were pumping and Salamani was right next to him. The [Mage] was whispering spells as he ran. One of Wistram’s graduates had taken to running. And Tritel and Ci?

They stormed ahead. Ci’s silver mane and tail flashed in the sun as she accelerated. Tritel was laughing and riding low along her back. Hawk saw them gaining away and increased his pace.

“Move it, you slow rats!”

The four shot down the road like an arrow, and they weren’t even at full speed yet. Heads turned on the road as they shot north and east. People began to move out of the way, but the Couriers surged right, off the road.

“We’re not stopping until we get to Lady Dealia! She’s north and east of here! We’ll go by Reizmelt’s way!”

Tritel was the only one with breath to bellow. The wind snatched away his voice as he pointed. Hawk just ran. Faster and faster, gulping oxygen, feeling his muscles explode with energy. And he saw Salamani grinning as the [Mage] ran. Hawk couldn’t resist a smile. After all, they were Runners. And Hawk liked his job.

—-

Three Couriers were taking on the contract. Word spread from Invrisil like wildfire. But it was barely faster than they were, even with [Message] spell and the speed of drama. In fact—Lord Bein and his escort were riding towards Invrisil when they got the news.

From the north, heading south. After trying to reassure Lady Dealia that this was all a complete misunderstanding, the young [Lord] had been making haste to recover the item in question. But he was too slow.

“Three Couriers?”

The young man gave one of his family’s retainers an incredulous look. He was riding with a large escort, as befitted a member of the Terland family. The [Captain of Horse] winced as the young Lord Bein raised his voice.

“Yes, Lord Terland. Three of them have taken the contract. They’re headed north. Hawk of Liscor, Salamani the Mage, and Tritel the Moonlight Rider.”

On the very same trade route as Lord Bein. The young [Lord]’s mouth opened and closed.

“But there’s a bounty on their heads. The Assassin’s Guild got Lacel the Leaper! Didn’t they receive the—the message?”

“Yes, Lord Bein. But—they’re Couriers. I believe the Runner’s Guild is sending a message.”

“They can’t do that!”

The [Captain] bit his tongue on the fact that they could and were. And at that moment—one of his [Riders] pelted down the road.

“Lord Bein! The Couriers are headed this way!”

“What? No—that’s excellent! [Captain], marshal your men! We’ll force them to stop. With me!”

Lord Bein reached for a sword and the [Captain] panicked. Because he knew Couriers.

“Lord Bein, I would not advise that!”

But the [Lordling] was already shouting at the escort. They were sizable in number; to fight off attacks and possible kidnapping attempts, nearly a hundred of Terland’s private guards were accompanying Lord Bein. They were also of a decent level and armed with good steel. They looked up as Lord Bein shouted.

“Spread out! Block the road! No one goes around!”

The escort spread out slowly. The other travellers on the road, already forced wide of the Terland group, were forced to stop as the [Soldiers] deployed with efficiency. Travellers backed up. But the [Captain] was arguing with Lord Bein, urgently.

“Lord Bein. My job is to keep you safe and to obey your orders!”

“So?”

“I cannot keep you safe if we attempt to stop the Couriers! Not three of them!”

“Keep me safe?”

The young man looked astonished. Then he saw the [Captain] nervously glancing down the road. And there they were.

The first thing Lord Bein saw was a distant cloud. No—a dust cloud, chained to the earth. It was rippling their way, against the wind. And then he realized. It was following the Couriers.

They were just specks in the distance. Lord Bein stared. So did the people on the road. Some began to cheer. Because three Couriers running at max speed was a sight you only got to see once in a year.

“Captain! Stop them! You, Couriers! Halt!”

Lord Bein grasped at a voice-amplifying stone. His voice cracked across the open trade road. Loud; the [Soldiers] around him were deafened and clasped their hands to their helmets, swearing. But the distant figures didn’t even stop.

“I am Lord Bein Terland! By the House of Terland, I order you to halt and turn over my—turn over your illegal cargo! If you resist, my men will use force!”

The [Lord] howled. And he saw one of the distant Runners raise something.

Salamani the [Mage]. Lord Bein saw a flash of light. And then a spear of light shot at him. It blasted about ten feet over his head. The [Lord] ducked as his horse reared. The [Soldiers] stared as Lord Bein galloped behind their lines.

“Captain!”

“Brace! Apprehend the Runners!”

The [Horse Captain] was swearing and sweating. Lord Bein stared at him.

“They’re not stopping!”

“They’re Couriers, Lord Bein! They answer to no one on a delivery! Not even the Assassin’s Guild!”

The [Captain] snapped, not in the mood to argue. Lord Bein turned pale.

“What? But they promised me—stop them!”

Lord Bein shouted desperately. His escort braced. They had [Riders]. [Pikemen], who were laying down their long spears, ready to impale the Runners. But—the Couriers were just running at them, followed by that giant cloud of dust generated by the speed of their passage.

“Halt in the name of Lord Bein Terland!”

One of the [Soldiers] shouted desperately. The Couriers might have heard him, but they didn’t stop. Instead, they sped up.

“Here we go! Let’s not kill any of the escort!”

Tritel laughed as the three Couriers ran at the blockade. All three Runners saw the [Riders] racing around the lines of spears and infantry, moving to intercept. No [Archers] though, or [Mages] aiming at them; the [Captain of the Horse] was making a half-hearted effort.

So the Couriers replied in kind. The [Mage] raised his wand.

“[Invisibility]. [Flash Step]!”

Salamani vanished. Hawk saw a small explosion of dust as the [Mage] kicked off. The [Soldiers] lost him in an instant, unable to stop the invisible, hasted Runner. They looked around, shouting. And then saw Tritel and Ci riding at them.

He was just one rider, on a horse. And they were behind a line of pikes. But Tritel never slowed. Ci raced along the ground, running silver, like her name. The Moonlight Rider had one hand on his hat and he was aiming straight at Lord Bein.

“Brace! [Pikewall Formation]!”

The [Captain] was covering Lord Bein as he saw the [Rider] shooting towards the line of pikes. And still—Tritel didn’t adjust his course. He was going to ride into the pikes with Ci! The [Soldiers] stared.

And then, just before he reached the wall of pikes, the [Rider] pointed up.

“Ci! [Gazelle’s Leap]!”

Tritel roared. Ci leapt as the first ranks of spears approached. The [Soldiers] stared as the horse flew up, up overhead. Tritel waved his hat in one hand, laughing. The horse cleared the escort, Lord Bein, and then Ci was landing, running, scattering clods of dirt. One hit Lord Bein in the head, just missing the young man’s open mouth.

The second Courier cleared the blockade. Tritel was laughing as Ci landed and shot forwards again. Salamani reappeared with a flourish, leaping over a stationary wagon. He front-flipped through the air, winking at the travellers stopped on the road. They went wild, cheering as the two Couriers flashed past the stunned Lord Bein.

Showoffs. But that was a Courier. And as for Hawk?

He just ran around the [Soldiers] blocking the road. A dozen [Riders] tried to catch him, but he ran past them and the slower horses couldn’t even turn fast enough to catch him. It was a blockade of a hundred soldiers. Just run left for a few seconds and you were clear.

But it was a show. The Couriers rejoined their formation as they ran down the road. People were shouting, waving. And the Couriers kept going.

“Did you see his face? Hah!”

“That was just the easy bit! Don’t get a stuffed head!”

Hawk shouted back at Tritel. The [Rider] laughed and nodded. The hard part was to come. Because word was spreading. The Couriers were on the run.

—-

Two hours later, the real action began. Two hours was enough for the news to spread. From Invrisil, from the tweaking of Lord Bein’s nose—the three Courier’s delivery was making headlines. Or rather—it was appearing in scrying orbs.

“They’re headed this way!”

Every Runner in Reizmelt had heard about the run. They were clustered around the Mage’s Guild’s scrying orb, staring at the projection. It was an aerial view of the three Runners.

“It appears that three Couriers are attempting to complete the request. From Invrisil to—this is a Human drama, so we’re not too up to date on the facts, folks. Lord Bein Terland? Who’s that?”

Noass was trying to cover the story, but the Drake was woefully out of touch. But everyone in the north knew the score. And one of them stared at the Rabbitman who was racing alongside a…[Mage] and a man on horseback.

“Dead gods. Is that—Hawk?”

Ryoka Griffin stared into the scrying orb at the three Runners. Well—for a moment. Even the spell was having trouble keeping up with their speed.

“Hawk the Hare! There’s three Couriers taking the delivery? Is it that dangerous?”

Melodie was excitedly pointing into the scrying orb with all the City Runners. They were clustered around the orb, but a crowd was gathered, demanding to see. This was the kind of drama that occupied Izril’s consciousness.

“Who’re the other two?”

The other City Runners stared at Ryoka. Todel blinked.

“Ryoka, you don’t know them? That’s Salamani, the [Haste] Mage! And Tritel and Ci! The Moonlight Duo! The Moonlight Rider?”

Ryoka gave him a blank look.

“Sorry, I know Hawk, but the others don’t come near Celum.”

“Not often, but they’re Couriers!”

“And they’re passing by Reizmelt! They have to be if they’re heading north—this is the most direct route! Look! They’re nearly here! We might be able to see them! Let’s go and see!”

Caawl shouted excitedly. The other City Runners ran for the doors. So did Ryoka. She had to see this herself. And she saw the dust cloud headed towards Reizmelt. Ryoka stopped and stared. Even the wind was taking notice. She saw the City Runners milling about the southern gates and then heading towards the eastern ones. There was a blockade around the south gates. And—Ryoka ran out of the city. She saw the Couriers.

“Holy cow. They’re moving!”

She had seen Charlay running. And other City Runners. But this? Ryoka ran, the wind at her back. She never caught up.

—-

The Couriers saw Reizmelt in the distance. They were tiring. Two hours of running at full speed was taking some of the wind out of their sails. But—they had stamina potions and mana potions in Salamani’s case. Hawk pointed.

“Reizmelt! A break?”

“You tired, Hawk?”

Tritel laughed. Which was sort of unfair since Ci was doing all the hard work. The mare was running without looking fatigued at all. Hawk gave Tritel a hand-gesture and the man laughed.

“Straight through Reizmelt?”

The Couriers agreed. This was a show, after all. But as they approached the south gates—Salamani wavered. People were streaming out of the city from all the gates, waving. Other City Runners, shouting, trying to keep up. Most couldn’t even catch the Couriers, let alone keep pace. Hawk saw a young woman with black hair he thought he recognized. But then—

“[Dangersense]! Go around!”

Salamani bellowed as he reappeared. Instantly, the three Couriers changed course, avoiding Reizmelt’s gates. Hawk thought he saw a figure in black standing at the south gates. They were invitingly open. But the instant the [Mage] shouted, the Couriers made tracks.

“What is it?”

“Assassins! They’re on to us! Get ready!”

Salamani was pointing. Hawk saw the motionless figure for a moment as the Couriers ran right, going wide of the city. They shot towards the road heading northeast out of Reizmelt. And Hawk felt it too.

Danger. But the Couriers had avoided whoever that was. They kept running. And in Reizmelt, Ryoka slowed, panting. She wondered why the Couriers had suddenly changed course. She looked over her shoulder and saw—

The southern gates had been blocked and the City Runners hadn’t been able to leave through them. And someone was standing there. Ryoka felt goose bumps erupting on her skin as she saw someone shrouded from head to toe in black. He was staring after the Couriers.

—-

“Damn. They noticed. One of them must have perception Skills or spells. Perhaps Salamani. Tell the Guildmaster I’m done.”

The [Assassin] sighed. He pulled at one of the thin, invisible strands of steel he’d webbed the southern gates with. Sharp and thin enough to decapitate anyone moving at speed through the gates. If the Couriers had come through…

But they hadn’t. And the [Assassin], the master of wires and traps, wasn’t really in this assignment. It was all show. He spoke to one of the disguised [Guards] who’d maintained the blockade to prevent anyone from killing themselves going through the gates.

“Pack it up. I’m done.”

“You won’t follow them?”

The fake [Guard], one of the junior members of the Guild, looked startled, but knew better than to question a master. The [Trapmaster] yawned.

“How?”

Even he couldn’t catch up with Couriers that fast. The [Assassin] lazily wound up the steel wires. He’d rather fight Magnolia Reinhart’s servants than try to catch a Courier. They were the worst kind of prey.

[Dangersense] and the speed and reflexes to instantly run away from trouble. How did you catch that? Well—he’d made some effort. The [Assassin] spoke curtly.

“I’m done. Fighting three Couriers is too much for anyone but a master. So. Send in the fodder. Maybe they’ll get lucky.”

He walked off, taking off his signature clothing. Silly politics. He’d enjoy taking down one of the Couriers if someone posted a personal bounty. Later. You didn’t rush a proper assassination. He saw the junior [Assassins] scrambling. As numerous as flies. The [Trapmaster Assassin] shook his head.

Well, that was the purpose of rookies. At least it would be interesting to watch. He wondered if he could find a scrying orb. He liked the Wistram broadcasts.

—-

The Couriers had only a few minutes of relief after avoiding Reizmelt. They were headed north, halfway towards their destination when the real ambush began. It started with an unsettling empty patch of road. On a trade route, no less.

The Couriers looked at each other. That almost never happened except when something was up. They glanced ahead as Salamani’s magically enhanced vision spotted something.

“Carriages incoming! From ahead!”

“Here they come. Damn, damn, damn—”

Hawk saw nearly a dozen dark coaches speeding down the road. Tritel gritted his teeth.

“Salamani, escape or go through?”

“My [Dangersense] isn’t tingling hard. Looks like lower-level enemies. Split up. We’ll make it out the other side.”

The Couriers nodded at each other. They split, Hawk going right, Salamani left. Tritel continued down the road. And here came the first wave of [Assassins].

In carriages. Not the legendary pink coach of Magnolia Reinhart, but clearly enchanted. Panting horses were flinging them across the ground, towards the Couriers. Some were approaching from the rear as well!

One pulled up from behind as the Couriers began to split up. Hawk saw Tritel pull out a crossbow.

“Courier on delivery! Back off!”

He had to shout that. But the painted coach just gained in speed. Definitely enchanted.

The carriage doors opened, revealing dark-clothed figures all holding glittering metal. Crossbows. Also, throwing weapons. They fired and threw their poisoned darts.

It was a good ambush. More [Riders] on horseback with movement Skills were circling, trying to cut at the Couriers. And the coaches were coming from both directions. The [Assassins] had wands, and were firing lightning bolts, homing arrows—

It was a good ambush. The kind that would get a City Runner, even the best of them. But a seasoned Courier? The [Assassins] were aiming at Ci, thinking to take the rider off his mount. But Tritel was a high-level Rider. And he had a Skill.

[Mount and Rider: Shared Skills]. The short man’s teeth flashed as he howled.

“[Flicker Dodge]! [Blinding Flash]!”

The horse flickered. She reappeared to the left, neatly dodging all the projectiles. And then—Hawk was far enough to see only a flash. But it was bright enough to make him shade his eyes.

Ci’s horseshoes and the metal on his clothing lit up. The [Assassins] went blind, and cursed as even the horse and drivers lost their vision for a few crucial seconds. By the time they recovered, the Moonlight Mare and her rider were gone.

The other [Assassins] chasing Salamani saw the [Mage Runner] had unsheathed his wand. He was using a [Haste] spell, and he’d turned [Invisible]. But some of them could see the invisibility, or track him through the grass and they surged towards his location. But the [Mage] wasn’t just trying to hide.

“Arrows of Light, come to me in gathering storm!”

The Courier shouted as he raised his wand. He reappeared and lights flashed into existence around him.

Magical [Light Arrows], a Tier 1 spell began appearing around Salamani. But dozens with each second. They flew after the [Mage], like a vast cloud of light, spinning, weaving together. One hundred, two hundred, three…

The [Assassins] wavered. And they understood too late why a master-assassin hadn’t tried to stop all three Couriers. Beyond their speed, and disinterest in the contract—

It was really hard. Salamani charged with hundreds of magical arrows following in his wake. He ran towards a carriage and pointed. The [Light Arrow] storm engulfed the coach. Black shapes, horses, wood, all were struck hundreds of times by the spell. The coach exploded and the other [Assassins] peeled back, avoiding the deadly hail of magic.

Salamani vanished again as the spell conjured more of the arrows. He was loosing more in every direction, exchanging fire with the [Assassins]. And a magical barrier was deflecting every crossbow bolt and poisoned dart that reached him.

“Hurry up, Ci! They’re on us!”

Tritel was being pursued by more [Assassins] on horseback. He’d dodged most of the coaches, but a few of the [Assassins] were able to catch up for a few seconds. One had a sabre and was riding hard at him. The [Rider] saw Ci accelerate and reached for his side. His turn.

“[Rope Trick]!”

The man flicked a long, enchanted rope out of his saddlebags. The [Assassin] wasn’t prepared for that. They slashed wildly, but the rope twisted through the air.

Tritel snagged one of the riding [Assassins] by the leg. He yanked them off their horse as Ci outdistanced the others. The [Assassin] hit the ground and was dragged behind Ci at insane speeds. He—no—she thrashed wildly for the first hundred feet, trying to cut the enchanted rope. After that, nothing.

After three hundred feet, Tritel undid the knot. There wasn’t much left of the [Assassin] as the corpse rolled to a stop.

There was one last group of [Assassins] riding at him. Tritel ducked as a crossbow bolt flew past him. He swore as another hit him in the shoulder. But it didn’t penetrate his enchanted clothing.

“Bastards! You alright, Ci?”

The mare snorted. Her sides had deflected a few projectiles. Worried, Tritel checked her. She had an [Enhanced Hide] Skill, but she was bleeding. The [Rider] shouted in fury as he looked ahead at the [Riders] shooting at them.

He pulled out a crossbow and fired once. The enchanted bolt detonated and blew a group of riders to bits.

“That was a hundred gold bolt you bastards!”

He shouted as he and Ci raced past. And they were clear. So was Salamani, whose magical arrow cloud had fought off his pursuers. And again—that only left—

Hawk.

He was still just running along. He hadn’t slowed to fight and instead had just sped up. The other [Assassins] on wagon or horseback were having trouble even catching him. The Courier leapt over rocks and other obstacles, like, well, a rabbit. He was maneuvering, keeping them from drawing close.

But you could only run so long. The [Assassins] chasing him suddenly stopped. A pair of carriages moved forwards, blocking his route. [Riders] from the left, closing in—and the carriages were opening, disgorging black-clad figures ahead. They were clambering on top of the roof, aiming weapons at him.

“Oh shit!”

Hawk tried to swerve, but he was being boxed in. He saw [Riders] to the left, a group aiming wands with [Lightning Bolt] to the right—and the [Assassins] in the wagons ahead of him.

“Gaaaaaaaah!”

He screamed as the bolts flew and the [Assassins] rode through their own fire to strike at him. Left—right—ahead—the Rabbit [Courier] shouted as he ran at the wagons.

“[Physical Overdrive]!”

The [Assassins] saw him blur. The ones braced blinked. He was coming even faster. Twice as fast—

Hawk leapt into the first coach, a blur. [Assassins] drew their weapons. The others raced around, to trap—

The Courier exploded out of the other side in less than a second. The destroyed coach and [Assassins] with broken bones crashed to the ground around him. He hit the ground. And ran around a horse, an extended blade—

The world was in slow motion compared to the Beastkin Runner. He hit the ground and sprinted past the carriage. For a second, five, ten, he was racing faster than anything around him. He caught up to Ci and Tritel as Salamani used [Flash Step] to close the gap.

“Bleeding hells, Hawk! You don’t mess around! Did you get tagged? Ci’s hurt!”

“One of them scorched my ass! I’m going to kill you, Tritel!”

Hawk shouted at Tritel. Salamani was swearing.

“I think I’m poisoned! Hand me an antidote!”

“Slap some potion on Ci!”

The three Couriers tossed potions and vials at each other on the run. They were nearly clear.

The [Assassins] made one last attempt. The fastest coach rocketed forwards. It was on a collision course! The Couriers stared at the wagon. Hawk raised a fist. Salamani pointed his wand and Tritel turned Ci after Hawk.

“[Steelbreaker Punch]!”

“[Lightning Bolt]!”

“[Bull’s Charge]!”

The wagon exploded. The three Couriers raced forwards as debris landed around them. Tritel was shouting at the others as he took lead again.

“[Wild Gallop]! We’re nearly in the clear! Let’s go!”

They left the [Assassins] behind. Salamani panted.

“They didn’t send a master? We got lucky! We must have avoided the one I saw at Reizmelt.”

“Let’s go off-road! We can’t run another encounter! I’m already a hundred gold down plus the potions!”

Tritel pointed. They were headed towards the hills. That way led to monsters, rougher terrain. The Couriers didn’t even think.

“Off-road! Salamani, lose whatever scrying spells are on us.”

“I’m trying! I think it’s Wistram! Let me send a [Message] spell. Hey, cut it out! You’re giving away our positions you—”

—-

“—inbred, half–baked [Seers] with all the sense of a slug! I’m a [Mage] of Wistram and your hedge-mage brains are getting me and my fellow Couriers ambushed! If you don’t cancel that spell now, I’ll run back to the Academy, find the idiot who thought it was a good idea to put a damned scrying spell on us when we have [Assassins] up our asses and rip their lungs out! Cancel that spell now you worthless, worm-addled—”

The stream of invectives didn’t slow for a good minute. The [Seer] receiving the spell kept wincing and looked at the [Diviner] in charge of the broadcast.

“Should we…?”

“Um—cancel the scrying spell. And cut off Mage Salamani. He’s made his point.”

The man in charge coughed a few times. Salamani’s oaths cut off. So was the image of the three Couriers, much to the disappointment of the viewers who instantly began sending Noass angry [Message] spells.

But the point had been made. The Couriers had broken through one ambush. The Assassins’ Guild had made a good attempt, but—not their best. Better to make the effort than do their best and still fail. The delivery was going to succeed. Unless…one of the master-assassins was willing to intercept?

…No. They had a problem with being on the scrying orb. Besides, some of them got deliveries from Couriers. You didn’t kill your favorite Runner.

—-

Three Couriers. They kept running, and without any eyes on them, they could slow down. It was still a long way north. But they only took one break, once they’d reached the hills. They drank more stamina potions, bandaged wounds, excreted—and they were on the run.

It wasn’t pretty. In fact, apart from the adrenaline-inducing fights, their run was still long. Exhausting, hard—with moments of extreme danger.

But they ran. And finally, they reached the city of Weisel. By that point, the scrying spell had been reinstated, due to popular demand. Salamani was swearing a blue streak, but they were in range of the city.

“Couriers on delivery! Where’s Lady Dealia?”

Tritel raced forwards on Ci, shouting at the [Guards]. They stared wide-eyed at the panting Couriers. One pointed.

“She’s in the city, that way—are you the Moonlight Rider?”

“You see anyone else with a better horse? We’re nearly there, lads! And Ci! Let’s go!”

The three Couriers raced