“I hate this,” Theresa muttered, angrily checking over her equipment. Her light armour suddenly felt stifling and the cloak she wore seemed to crush down on her shoulders like it was made of stone. Everything felt uncomfortable. Everything was terrible.

Even her great-grandfather’s swords…

…they were the only things that felt comforting.

From the moment her father had given her the second blade on her birthday, it felt like a key had been placed in a lock; like something had been completed. When she’d used the twin swords together, they’d felt alive in her hands, and the more she used them, the more it felt like she was on the verge of some kind of a realisation…

Right now, though, she was just glad that they were close at hand. Her hands squeezed their hilts for reassurance. She might need them. Alex had said not to interfere if things went bad.

But she wasn’t sure she could just quietly stand by and go along with that.

Just imagining him being dragged off in chains was…

She was clenching her teeth so hard, her jaw hurt.

She tightened one of the buckles on her pack and risked a quick glance toward Alex, who was talking to the Heroes. Claygon was with him, but seeing her boyfriend surrounded by three Heroes who—if they knew who he was— wouldn't hesitate to take him by force, was making her crazy. She and the rest of the team were preparing to head out on survey duty, but she kept thinking that they’d be safer than he was.

Her hand clenched on the buckle.

A hand fell on hers.

“You’ll break it,” Isolde said. “You’ve nearly bent it already.”

Theresa looked down to see that the metal buckle was starting to warp.

“Ugh, focus,” she cursed herself.

“Pardon?” Isolde asked.

“No, not you.” Theresa shook her head. “Sorry, it’s just…this is the worst thing that could have happened.”

“Actually,” Khalik cut in. “The worst thing that could have happened is-”

The prince paused as Theresa and Isolde stared daggers into him.

“Ah, not the time for humour. Of course. Well, if you will excuse me, I’ll finish getting ready somewhere out of sword-range.”

He slipped off to join Thundar and Grimloch; the sharkman was still openly staring at the Champion of Thameland.

He was licking his lips like he was enjoying something tasty while tapping his maul.

“Listen,” Isolde said, leaning toward the huntress and dropping her voice to a whisper. “Our mission is not difficult today: the area we are to survey has largely been cleared. Further-”

Boom.

The earth shook as a humongous reptilian foot took a step. Tyris Goldtooth directed Vesuvius toward the gates where the rest of her team was waiting.

Isolde inclined her head toward them. “-our team will be working with Tyris’ today. Likely, they will have more than enough hands to manage so, if you want, I will ask them if they would not mind my absence, then volunteer to join Alex on the tour to give him some support.”

At that moment, Theresa felt so relieved, and so grateful to Isolde that she wanted to hug her.

Which she did.

“Ah,” Isolde stood awkwardly for a moment, before patting Theresa on the shoulder. “There, there. It will be alright. I’ll make sure nothing goes…awry.”

“I wish I could stay,” Theresa said.

“The team will need your tracking skills and those of Brutus,” Isolde said. “Do not worry. I will take care of things.”

There was a note of nervousness in Isolde’s voice, which just made Theresa hug her even tighter.

When Isolde volunteered to join him and the Heroes, Alex could have hugged her. He almost did, but settled for sharing a meaningful look with his friend instead.

“Well, looks like you’ll be in the care of the two of us,” he said. “This is my friend, Lady Isolde von Anmut of the Rhinean Empire. Hope we’re enough.”

It certainly seemed enough for Cedric.

The Chosen’s eyes lit up like a child who’d just gotten into their parents’ honey jar. He immediately moved toward Isolde, nodded, and gave her a broad smile. “I didn’t really get a chance to meet ya earlier, I’m Cedric of Clan Duncan an’ I think the others already introduced themselves earlier. So, we’ll be in your capable hands, will we?” His smile hadn’t left his face. “An’ sorry to pull yous away from your work.”

“We could say the same to you,” Isolde said, nodding back at him. “Let us just say instead that both groups shall work together to bring about triumph, profit and discovery.”

“Profit and triumph go hand in hand,” Hart agreed.

“Hmm,” Drestra said idly; the young woman had been distracted, fascinated by everything in the encampment. If they didn’t start the tour soon, Alex could see her wandering off and exploring on her own.

‘Good. The more you pay attention to what’s going on around us, the less attention there’ll be on me.’ He thought.

“Well, let’s get started, shall we?” He said. “We’ll begin outside and work our way in: so that means we’ll start with the defences first.”

Beginning the tour with a show of the Generasian’s strength would’ve made Baelin proud. Alex and Isolde led the Heroes back to the gate, pointing up to the two towers flanking it.

“Generasi-style defence combines mundane deterrents with magical force,” Alex said. “The gates are reinforced, as are the walls: they’re made of soil, but could take siege engines about as well as a stone keep. Each tower has a ballista built-in, and we also have enchanted cauldrons that can heat twenty gallons of cold oil to boiling in about two minutes. Anyone trying to break down the gates is gonna be in for a nasty surprise. Sentries are always stationed outside the gates and walking patrols keep guard outside the wall.”

“Smart,” the Champion said. “Looking for sappers?”

“Right on the coin pouch,” Alex said, lightly kicking the wall. “They’re hardened, but you never know what hostiles might try. The sentries up in the towers watch for enemies coming in from a distance and the foot patrols watch and listen for anyone trying to dig under, sabotage or scale the walls.”

He didn’t tell the Heroes about the changes to the acidity of the soil under the wall. They didn’t need to know everything.

“If anything tries to attack us—big mistake, by the way—we’ve got battle mages, Watchers of Roal-”

“What are those?” Drestra asked excitedly.

Alex smiled. It figured that the Sage would be nerding out about anything magical. He didn’t know what the situation with the Witches of Crymlyn Swamp was, but he knew that wizards were rare in Thameland, unlike in Generasi.

No doubt most sages, even the Sage of Uldar wouldn’t see this kind of stuff everyday.

“Watchers of Roal are kind of an order of warrior-wizards. They live to train, and at times, I even think they train to live, so they end up being the meanest of fighters who can combine both sword and spell.”

“I approve,” Cedric said. “Blade and magic go together like meat and ale.”

“I prefer wine with my steaks,” Isolde said.

“...well, wine’s good too!” the Chosen quickly said.

“Well, beer or wine aside, if we’re ever attacked, the Watchers and battlemages go to the top of the wall and the patrols come back in and seal the gate. Then it’s boiling oil, arrows and spells raining down on enemies attacking from the ground, and arrows and spells for any bastards coming from the sky. If the sky gets too thick with flying attackers, then our Watchers will handle them by casting flight magic on themselves, and taking the fight to them in the air.”

He pointed back to the gate. “Anyone trying to break down the gates has to deal with the stone golems you saw out there, as well as boiling oil raining down on their heads. The golems won’t care, but anyone with skin will. And there’s more to it than that, but this is a tour not a war room meeting.”

Cedric whistled. “It’s somethin’ t’hear how wizards defend their stuff.”

“In nasty ways.” Hart grimaced, like he was recalling an unpleasant memory. He nodded toward Claygon. “You missed out a part of the defence strategy, and it looks formidable.”

Again those large eyes seemed to burn into Claygon. Measuring. Assessing.

The fire-gems that were golem’s eyes looked right back at the Champion. If Alex didn’t know better, in a way, it looked like Claygon was taking the big man’s measure himself.

“Well, Claygon is the property of Alex,” Isolde jumped in. “When Alex is present, so is he. But when Alex is back at Generasi, then Claygon will go back with him. If anyone tried to attack Alex—or any of us—they would find Claygon’s answer to be very…fatal, for lack of a better word.”

Alex could think of no better word to describe it, and he got the message that she was trying to convey: ‘try something and you'll be dead’. The Heroes probably wouldn’t have thought she meant them, but it might give them something to consider if things turned sour and they did become enemies.

“Claygon?” Drestra raised an eyebrow, looking at golem curiously. “What is a Claygon?”

A pained look crossed Isolde’s face. “…it is the golem’s name, as chosen by Alex.”

Drestra stared at Isolde for a moment and cleared her throat, muttering something about ‘foreign tastes’.

Alex chose to let that pass.

As the group climbed the wall and Alex and Isolde showed them both the camp and the view of the territory, he noticed his friends leaving the encampment with Tyris’ group. Cedric watched too.

“An’ off they go,” he said, his shirtless tattooed arm reaching for the wall. He leaned on it. “Great Uldar lookit the size o’ that bloody tortoise. Glad that ain’t a Ravener-spawn…ah, anyways, again, sorry to pull you away from your comrades, Lady von Anmut. Might feel a bit annoyin’ to be draggin’ us around while the rest of your mates head off into danger.”

“Please, call me Isolde,” the young woman’s eyes rested on the Chosen. “And there is no apology necessary. If I were needed I would have gone with them: my bodyguards protested at being separated from me, but they are not needed here. We are well-defended in the encampment.”

“Well now I feel worse: if there’s danger out there then it feels a bit scummy t’be holdin’ yous here.”

“The entirety of Greymoor is close to being completely mapped out,” she said. “There seems to be little danger presently. I can be spared, but engaging both myself and my guards for your tour would have been…a little extravagant, I think. You are also our allies. Already we are being accompanied by a war golem. Having two armed warriors following along might have sent…the wrong message.”

“Aye, well-”

“Excuse me,” Drestra’s crackling voice suddenly cut in. She pointed to another part of the camp. “What is that place?”

A larger tent rose in the direction she was pointing, with large, complex- looking magical machinery beside it.

“That,” Alex said. “Is our examination tent, that’s where we bring our samples. For…property rights reasons we can’t tour it, unfortunately, but as for the stuff beside it: those machines help shape stone and bind it together through force magic. Once we finish exploring all of Greymoor, we’re going to turn this place into a fortress. Or maybe build it in another location if a better one’s found while we’re surveying.”

“I would love to see those machines in action,” Drestra said. “How do they work? What is their magic?”

“We’ll get to that,” Alex said. “Don’t you worry.”

“Y’know,” Hart said, looking down on the camp. “This reminds me of my days in the Ash Ravens. If you told me that this was a war camp, I wouldn’t be surprised. Wizards don’t usually build places like this.”

“You have had a lot of experience with places that wizards built?” Isolde asked.

Drestra threw Hart a look, and the big man cleared his throat. “Something like that, aye.”

“Well, your impression makes sense,” Alex said. “In a way, this is a war camp. We’re researching ways to end the war after all, and we’re in the middle of a war zone.”

“Heh,” Cedric chuckled darkly. “If’n y’think this is a war zone, yous ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

Alex’s mind flashed back to the beach on Oreca’s Fall island. “I think you’d be surprised at what I’ve seen.”

As he continued leading the Heroes around camp, he began to note how each of them reacted to their surroundings. Mentally, he began building a profile of each one. Hart seemed relaxed, but the giant of a man watched his surroundings like a guard dog eyeing passersby. Cedric was talking to Isolde, and she was keeping him engaged, fully engrossed in the conversation. He focused on the Chosen’s body language, noting how he kept moving his arms in ways that showed off his chiselled muscles rippling under his woad markings.

‘Good job, Isolde,’ Alex thought. ‘Keep him distracted.’

His attention fell on Drestra.

The Sage was darting her head like a bird sitting on a branch, trying to take in the entire camp at once.

She was the one he’d start asking questions of.

“Enjoying yourself?” Alex asked, walking up beside her while Claygon thundered along behind the group.

“Oh my, yessss!” The Sage sounded like she could’ve been drooling behind her veil. “Even in the Crymlyn Swamp I have never seen so many makers of magic all at once. And your tools and equipment… so refined.”

“Yeah, our head of alchemy likes to be sure we’re well equipped.” He nodded to a pair of students checking over one of the pieces of machinery used to change the composition and hardness of stone. “Here we’re kinda roughing it. You should see Generasi. It’s like an utterly different world there. We even have flying ships.”

Drestra actually gasped and clapped both hands to her face.

“If it’s more fanciful than this place, I can’t begin to imagine it,” she said.

“Well, maybe you can start crafting this kind of stuff yourself one day,” Alex said, probing carefully, wondering at her skills. “I’ve heard the Sage’s mana expands by…what, a hundred-fold?”

“That’s an exaggeration,” she said idly, watching familiars fly overhead. A messenger construct swooped toward the command tent. “But it did grow immensely.”

“I’m jealous,” Alex said, actually meaning it. “I can only cast up to second tier spells myself, though I’m a lot better at alchemy.”

“I’m terrible at alchemy,” she said glumly. “And the power of the Sage is nothing to be jealous of. There is frim duty that comes with that power.”

Her crackling voice had caught slightly.

Alex noted it, but didn’t ask about it. Not yet.

Too invasive too early could make the Heroes turn against him. That was the last thing he wanted. They didn’t seem like nasty people—and he wanted to get along with them—but more importantly, if his secret came out…

…he figured it would be a lot tougher to try and capture someone that they liked, rather than someone they didn’t.

“Yeah, well we Thameish folk in Generasi are trying to support you the best we can,” Alex said. “You should meet my friend, Carey. She’s Thameish too, and she’s been trying to support the war effort in any way she can. Trying to make things easier on you Heroes…”

He paused slightly, then decided to go for it. “...which reminds me, Cedric said something about the ‘four’ of you. I know the Saint can’t come to Greymoor, but have there been any clues about the Fool?”

“Hm?” Drestra tore her eyes away from several wizards who were showing each other maps through illusion magic. “Oh, the Fool. The question everyone’s been asking.”

She shook her head. “Sadly, there’s no sign of the Fool for now, though the priests continue to search.”

“Not even any leads?” Alex asked.

There was a shift in her body language. “Sometimes there’s a lead-”

Alex fought to keep his expression calm.

“-but nothing has turned up yet. Nothing solid. Everyone seems to have their own pet theory. I just focus on trying to get the job finished with what we have, using any tool we have-”

Brooooaaam.

A horn blew from the centre of camp, drawing everyone’s attention.

“What was that?” Cedric asked, pulling his attention away from Isolde.

Alex’s jaw tightened. “That. Is the alarm.”

“Attention!” Professor Jules’ voice called out, its volume expanded by magic. “The chitterers’ dungeon has been located! We’ve found it!”

“Finally,” Alex snarled. “It’s been-”

“And,” Professor Jules’ magical voice boomed again. “There are two! Two dungeons have been found together!”