They stalked like ninjas through the silent back alleys of Torpend, slinking beneath aqueducts and vaulting over walls, peering around corners and dashing between cover, their hands roving through a complicated series of hand gestures.

“Stealthy squishies,” said Rover Dog, his voice striking like a gunshot against the silence.

Saskia swatted him on the arm and made a zipping gesture across her mouth. Then she tripped over a clay pot, which clattered its way across the pavement, before teetering at the edge of a flight of stairs. There it wobbled for a moment…

And came to a rest.

“Trows,” muttered the dwarf with the triple-crossbow, scooping up the pot and depositing it safely on the side of the street.

The ninja dwarves were escorting them from the fighting pit to…well, she had no idea where they were going. The adorribles had scampered off the moment the coast was clear, and now it was just her and Rover Dog being led by Ruhildi and her friends.

This seemed like a pretty shady part of town, full of crumbling stone spires, and a stench that made her eyes water. The streets were deserted, perhaps for the same reason anyone avoided shady-looking places at night. Or maybe everyone was simply ducking for cover at the first sign of her approach.

Soon, they made their way to a large, dilapidated stone spire near the centre of the slums.

A plump, elderly dwarven woman met them at the door and ushered them inside. Her nose wrinkled as Saskia and Rover Dog drew near. “Take them straight to the bathing chamber,” she ordered. “I’ll not have them stinking up my house.”

To her surprise, the ceiling of this dwarf home was high enough for her and Rover Dog to stand up inside, though they had to stoop to avoid hitting heads on doorways.

Saskia very nearly trod on the tiny form that darted out from a side room and latched onto her ankle.

“What the…?” she gasped. “Thorric? What are you doing here?”

The crossbow dwarf peeled the boy off Saskia’s ankle. “Now Thorric,” he scolded, “What did I say about footsie rides?”

“That they’re fun!” said Thorric.

“Och no I did not!” said the dwarf, peeling back his hood to reveal a scarred, weather-worn face with just a thin layer of stubble around his chiselled jaw.

“Och aye you did, Baldi,” said Ruhildi.

Saskia inspected the top of the dwarf’s head. Nope, definitely not bald.

After some protracted negotiations involving tasty treats, Thorric agreed to wait until after Saskia had come out of the bathing chamber before any more leg-hugging ensued. Ruhildi led them through a long corridor and into a wide chamber with water flowing gently through it, fed by a series of circular holes in the wall.

Rover Dog, already undressed for the occasion, splashed out into the water, where he lay back with a satisfied groan, gazing up expectantly at her.

“Thorric is the reason we found you, Sashki,” said Ruhildi. “I didn’t larn of your capture until this morn, when I chanced upon this wee lad in the market pleading for someone to save his ‘stone giant.’”

“Oh yeah?” said Saskia. “So that’s how he came to be here.”

“Aye. Myrna will see to it that he ends up in a good home, poor lad. Until then…try not to step on him.” Closing the door, Ruhildi gestured to the water. “In you go, Sashki. Myrna were right. You do stink.”

Saskia felt annoyance bubble up from within. “Well excuse me for not having had a chance to bathe while I was locked in a cage! I mean, I was hardly expecting a welcoming committee, but really? How is what they did to us any better than the elves and their slaves?”

Ruhildi’s expression wavered, and she looked despondently at the floor. “I…failed you, Sashki. The ’Neath…’twere supposed to be a place of refuge for you, and instead they…” She balled her fists. “’Twere misfortunate your arrival in Torpend got you a noseful of its hairy armpit. All cities have them and they all reek.”

Saskia inhaled deeply, willing herself to calmness. “So the fighting pit is some kinda illegal underground thing?”

“Aye and no. ’Tis not authorised by the Grand Chancellor, but most of the watch turn a blind eye to what goes on in there, on account of receiving a fair nice bit of coin. Every span or so, the pit gets sealed and the owners thrown in the dungeons, but someone always rises in their place. Too much silver to be made, you ken.

“But believe me when I say we’re not all like those bastards. My friends risked being caught or worse to help me rescue you.”

Saskia let out a breath. “It’s not your fault, Ruhildi. You know I’d never blame you or your friends.” She glanced back at the chamber doorway, through which she could hear a thrum of voices. She dropped her own voice to a murmur. “Whoever they are. It’s over now, and you guys came to my defence. Thank you.”

Ruhildi took hold of Saskia’s great clawed hand, tracing tiny fingers across her palm. “You’re…more than I deserve, Sashki.”

“Well there certainly is a lot of me.”

Ruhildi snorted. “And to think, we’ve only kenned one other for a couple of seasons. There’s so much I haven’t told you…”

“It’s okay. It’s not like I told you everything about my life before we met. There’s no rush.”

“I still not understand, princess,” said Rover Dog, sitting up in the water, scratching his beard. “Why squishies protect us from other squishies?”

“Speak the stone tongue in here, Rover Dog, for their sakes,” said Saskia. She turned back to Ruhildi. “But he asked a valid question. Who are these friends of yours and why would they kill other dwarves to help trolls?”

Ruhildi frowned. “’Tis a fair long story, Sashki. To be brief about it, I once led a small band of fighters deep into alvari lands, freeing slaves and causing as much mayhem as we were able along the way. ’Cept for myself—whom everyone thought dead—only one of my brave fighters lived to tell of it: Baldreg, the leader of this new band who came to your rescue.”

“The guy with the crossbow?”

“Aye,” said Ruhildi. “A wonder of dwarrow engineering, that weapon of his.”

“So who are the others? The giant and the dagger lady, and the grumpy old woman.”

“The dwarrow with a knack for knifework is Baldreg’s spanmate, Freygi. She were my friend long before my Vindical days. I had no inkling he had eyes for her.”

“Spanmate? You mean wife—uh, lifemate?”

“Aye, ’cept few among my kin would commit to a lifetime mating. As the name implies, spanmates are only bound together for a span. After the span’s up, they’re free to renew or annul the partnership without dishonour. Baldi and Frey are into their second span together, and not yet at each other’s throat. None were more surprised than me to hear of this.

“The other one who joined us today, Kveldvorgvarl, I don’t ken well. He may not look it, but he’s the youngest of them all. If Baldi trusts him, then I do too. Myrna, whom you met at the door, is the owner and caretaker of this house. ’Tis by her hospitality that we reside here.

“Back to your question as to why they’d help a trow—or two trows, as it happened—’tis simple: because I asked it of them, as did your young friend, Thorric.”

“Well I’m glad you found your friends again,” said Saskia. She turned to Rover Dog. “Does that answer your question?”

“We not stomp these squishies,” said Rover Dog, somehow managing to sound like a troll—and not in the least bit Scottish—even though he was now speaking Dwarvish. “Benign squishies.” He flashed her a sidelong grin. “This pool ideal for making babies, princess. Hard stone keep back straight.”

“Oh my dog—uh, I mean, no, Rover Dog. No babies!” Saskia sent him the fiercest glare she could muster.

“Princess change mind eventually,” said Rover Dog. “I patient.”

“Not ready to be a mam, Sashki?” said Ruhildi, smirking up at her.

“Well have you seen his…?” She coughed. “That thing has barbs on it! Barbs! Like a cat!”

“A fair powerful weapon,” said Ruhildi. “Mayhap powerful enough to get through that celadonite shell of yours.”

“I not afraid,” said Rover Dog. “I live for challenge.”

Still smirking, Ruhildi stepped out the door. “I’ll leave you with your…” She snorted. “…new friend. I’m certain you can defend yourself if the trow gets too frisky.”

“That I can,” said Saskia, flexing her claws and looking pointedly at Rover Dog.

To her relief, the troll kept his distance as she settled into the water. It was cool, but not uncomfortably so. The silence stretched, until his enormous brows furrowed, and he said, “Princess angry?”

“No I’m not angry.” Despite his unwanted advances, she didn’t feel threatened around him. It had just been talk, and something told her he’d never push further without permission. “I may not have survived in that place if it hadn’t been for you. Thank you.”

“You talk unusual, even for princess,” he said.

“I’m not a—ah forget it. So what now, Rover Dog? Now that you’re free, I mean. I take it you’ll want to leave the city…”

“I not yet explored Torpend. Only fighting pit. Very boring. Much yet to see in city.”

“Uh…Rover Dog, you realise, the city watch aren’t going to just let you go sightseeing…”

“Not alone. With princess. With benign squishies. What can squishy sentinels do?”

“Quite a lot, actually. Look, as far as I know, our options are: lay low here with the, uh, benign squishies, or get the hell out of dodge. Anything else is suicide—or captivity. I haven’t decided which option is best for me. But don’t feel you have to stay by my side and protect me or anything. You’re free to do whatever.”

“Princess too kind. Not demand service.”

“That’s because I’m not a—”

“I choose stay with princess for while. Not just for protect. For…companion.”

Saskia didn’t know what to say to that. If she understood him correctly, he was lonely. Probably hadn’t been with his own kind in a long time. If he only knew just how poorly she fit the mould of a real troll… Still, an ally was an ally. Maybe even a potential friend. She wasn’t about to turn down such a rare opportunity.

Just as long as he kept that thing away from her.

Later, the older dwarven woman—Myrna—appeared bearing a large basket, bundled high with furs and cloth. “Wear these,” she said curtly, dumping the basket on the floor at the water’s edge. Without so much as a glance at the trolls, she picked up Saskia’s wormhide leather outfit, eyeing it distastefully.

“Where are you taking that?” asked Saskia.

“To be washed,” said Myrna, rushing out the door before Saskia could protest that she’d already just washed it herself.

The clothes in the basket were very basic—barely more than blankets with holes in them, but they were the right size for her and Rover Dog. Better than running around naked while she waited to get her armour back.

Stepping out the door, Saskia came face to face with Ruhildi.

“Good,” said her friend. “Let’s eat. I’m famished!”

Ruhildi led them to a smokey room where the dwarves sat on the stone floor around a firepit. It was almost like a campfire meal, except indoors. There were no massive dining tables brimming with food and wine like in many a historical or fantasy story she’d read. These dwarves talked and laughed amongst themselves, gnawing on roasted meat and root vegetables and crisp bread and slurping down cups of what she assumed to be some form of alcoholic beverage. The smell was divine. Saskia’s stomach growled loudly as she stepped through the doorway. All talking ceased, and all eyes turned to her.

“Fetch our guests a meal for ten!” shouted Baldreg.

“Better make it twenty,” said the old woman—Myrna—standing by the firepit turning what might as well have been a pig on a spit.

Saskia felt her face grow hot as plates were heaped in front of her. To be fair, she probably would eat all of that. Still, she shrank inward under the scrutiny of all those eyes.

Thorric broke the ice by running over and plonking himself down between Saskia and Rover Dog.

“Is that…is that safe?” asked the giant dwarf seated next to Rover Dog, his gaze flitting to the tiny boy sandwiched between the two trolls. This guy wasn’t anything like the badonk dwarf she’d pictured when she first saw his cloaked form. His large stature and the impressive beard dangling from his chin did little to disguise his relative youth. He looked nervous and fidgety.

“He’ll be alright, Kveldi,” said Ruhildi. “Sashki’s wouldn’t eat someone as little and stringy as Thorric. Now you, on the other hand…”

“Don’t listen to her,” said Saskia. “I don’t eat people. I’m a very nice trow. Isn’t that what you called me when we first met, Ruhildi?”

“Methinks I called you a few nastier things afore that, whilst I were in your care,” said Ruhildi. “But I came around. You are a nice trow. You only drooled over me a fistful of times.”

“You’re not helping!”

“I nice trow too,” said Rover Dog around a huge mouthful of meat. He rubbed his belly and looked at the dwarf, who shrank away from him. “I only dine on nefarious squishies.”

Saskia couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not. She really hoped he wasn’t.

“She’s a beauty, aren’t she, Ruhi?” said Freygi, her eyes shamelessly roaming across Saskia’s body. “Unlike any rock trow I’ve laid eyes on afore, and I’ve seen a few in my tunnel-wanderer days. How’d you get her skin so smooth?” She reached over and ran a finger down Saskia’s arm, making her shiver.

“Are you jealous, bonnie?” said Baldreg, earning himself a swat on the arm.

“That’s not for me to tell, Frey,” said Ruhildi. “I’ll not be sharing any of Sashki’s secrets without her permission. Best you ask her yourself.”

Freygi looked between Ruhildi and Saskia. Her eyes widened, then she burst out laughing. “You’re really fond of her, aren’t you, Ruhi! Good for you!”

Ruhildi reddened. “She’s not just my pet, if that’s your meaning. Though if the city watch should come knocking, that’s all she is, alright?” She looked around the room, earning nods of assent from each of the other dwarves. “But in truth, Sashki’s my friend—as true a friend as either of you. She saved my life more times than I can count, just as you did, Baldi.”

“Answer self-evident,” said Rover Dog. All eyes turned to him now, and there were more than a few perplexed frowns. “Princess skin smooth because she princess.”

Saskia rolled her eyes. “I’m not a princess, okay? I never was—nor will I ever be—a princess.”

“Actually, Sashki,” murmured Ruhildi into her ear. “Your pap were a king…”

Saskia’s mouth dropped open. She hurriedly bit down on chunk of bread to cover her surprise. Oh my god, she’s right! she thought. Damn you, Calburn! Why’d you have to make everything so complicated?

“King?” said Rover Dog, whose hearing was apparently just as good as Saskia’s. “Grongarg have no kings. Only queens. And princesses.”

Saskia groaned. This just kept getting better and better.

It was Baldreg who eloquently expressed what the other dwarves were no doubt thinking. “What’s he on about?”

“’Tis none of your concern, Baldi,” said Ruhildi. “All you need to ken is she’s my friend. I ask that you treat these trows as part of the crew as long as they’re here.”

“Aye, that I can do,” said Baldreg. “Och how I wish we’d had trows back in our Vindical days…”

As the evening progressed, cups emptied and lips loosened, and Saskia began to get a feel for just what it was Baldreg’s crew did for a living. They were mercenaries, smugglers and adventurers, of a sort. Not hardened criminals, by any means, but they weren’t on the best terms with the city watch. It all sounded like rather a lot of fun, actually, although Saskia couldn’t see where she and Rover Dog would fit in, because most of the jobs they did required a good deal of stealth, and there were few things that would draw more attention than a pair of trolls.

Thorric fell asleep against Saskia’s leg, whereupon Myrna carried him off to bed.

“You ken, Ruhi,” said Freygi, who had been hitting the mead especially hard, “this is the first time I saw you smile since Nadi…” Her words trailed off, and she dabbed at eyes gone suddenly moist. “Och shite, I mean…when I thought you passed into the Halls Beyond, to be true, I were happy for you. Finally at peace, together with her, after…”

“Bonnie…” said Baldreg, frowning at his wife. He looked apologetically at Ruhildi, whose smile had frozen into a horrible parody of itself.

“Lemme finish!” said Freygi. “I mean, I can’t even imagine ’twere like for you up there. All the pain. The rage. And yet here you are. To see you like this, it warms my…” She leaned her head against Baldreg’s chest, eyes fluttering.

“What she were trying to say is nothing pleases us more than to see you smile,” said Baldreg. “’Tis so good to have you back, my friend. I have to jab my eye each time I awake just to convince myself ’tisn’t a dream. Now speaking of dreams…” He smiled at Freygi’s sleepy form. “…to bed with us! You all have a good night.” Baldreg did his best to prop Freygi up against his shoulder as they staggered to their room.

Cute couple. Saskia could almost think of them as some of her old university buddies…if it weren’t for the fact that they could kill a man without breaking a sweat.

After dinner, Ruhildi took Saskia aside for a quiet word. “What do you think, Sashki?”

Saskia grinned at her. “About…?”

Ruhildi whacked her lightly on the leg. “About Baldi and the others, of course!”

“I like them. They seem…real.”

“Well they’re not figments of your imagination, if that’s what you fear.”

Saskia shivered. “Never can tell, on this world… But yeah, I could work with them, if they have any use for trolls who can’t take three steps without waking up the whole block.”

“Good,” said Ruhildi, with visible relief. Then she frowned again. “Because there’s something I haven’t told you about them…”

Saskia raised her eyebrows. “Oh? Don’t tell me! They’re actually secret government spies!”

“No. I don’t ken what you just said, but no. What I haven’t told you is they hold to a fair particular faith…”

“Faith? As in religion. Why would that be a problem?”

Her friend looked down at the floor, in obvious discomfort. “I…ah…well you see, they’re followers of your father.”

Saskia stared at her for several long seconds, before saying, simply, “Oh.”

“Aye.”

“Oh…”

“Aye.”

“Oh…kay, I’ll stop now. So these guys are, what, my father’s groupies? Fantabulous.”

“I don’t ken this word groupies, but from your tone, I can tell you don’t approve,” said Ruhildi.

“I don’t know what to think! It seems everyone on this world knows more about my father than I do. Or at least thinks they do. The fact that he has worshippers even after all this time…kinda creeps me out.”

“Worship isn’t the right word—for many of his followers, leastwise. He is, as you say, no longer with us. ’Tis more of a faith in what he represented: standing in opposition to the tyrant who now sits upon the amber throne.”

“Oh. I suppose that’s not so bad. Aside from being kinda suicidal. Wait…if you ran with this crew, are you also one of these…what do you call them?”

“Calburnists,” said Ruhildi. She hesitated for a long moment before continuing. “I…were one of them. Baldi and the others were there for me after…in a very dark time. Now, having met you, the demon king’s daughter, I just don’t ken. Methinks you’d want to stomp on me if I knelt afore you.”

“Yup,” said Saskia. “So how serious are these Calburnists? Do they just show up to Sunday meetings, or do they plot to overthrow a certain very real god in his name?”

“Depends who you ask. Amongst my kin, there are those who despise the demon king, those who pay him lip service…and some who would follow him to the ends of the arbor, were he to rise again…or his successor. My friends are, shall I say, a wee bit more serious than most.”

“Dogramit,” breathed Saskia.

“As far as they ken, you’re just a trow, Sashki. It can remain so, if you wish. Or…”

“Or I could tell them. But why would they believe me? It’s a bit of a stretch.”

“Not if I tell them everything I’ve seen,” said Ruhildi. “And you can show them your belly.”

“What? Oh, right. No bellybutton. Rover Dog got an eyeful of that and he didn’t say anything.”

“He’s a trow, Sashki.”

“What, really? And here I thought he was a giant octopus.”

Ruhildi gave her a long stare, then jabbed her in the leg again. “They’ll believe you. And when they do—when they see you as Calburn’s heir—you’ll find no-one else in the ’Neath more willing to offer their lives to protect you.”

“I don’t want anyone dying for me!” said Saskia. “I’m just…me, not some demon messiah! I haven’t done anything to earn that kind of devotion.”

But then she thought about what she was up against. An actual god, Abellion, wanted her dead. That wasn’t the kind of opposition she could hope to overcome without allies, and lots of them. She remembered the skirmish she’d had with the god when he invaded her dreams. She’d won that battle, but she had no illusions about going up against the real deal.

She sighed. “I’ll…think about it. Thank you for telling me. Now I think it’s time I got some sleep. It’s been a really weird day.”

She shared a room with Rover Dog that night; a large storage chamber filled with shelves stacked high with tools and containers of all shapes and sizes, messy workbenches, weapon racks and chests. The shelves, they pushed aside to make room for the trolls. This chamber had an even higher ceiling than the rest of the spire—high enough for her to stand up to her full height and stretch her back. Not that she had any intention of staying upright for the next eight hours.

Her bed consisted of a straw mat and some tiny blankets that barely covered her legs. Still, given where she’d been sleeping since she arrived in this world, this felt like the height of luxury.

As she slowly relaxed for what seemed like the first time in weeks, Saskia sifted through the day’s events. For a bunch of demon cultists, Ruhildi’s friends seemed like a pretty nice bunch. If only she could dispel the mental image of having them grovel before her, their new goddess, muahahaha! She imagined herself reclining on a gigantic throne of skulls, being oiled and massaged by an army of tiny men. That led to…ooohhhh…

It had been a while since she’d had one of those dreams.

The next morning, Saskia awoke to find a bundle at her feet: her wormhide armour, immaculately clean, and the stitching had been strengthened too. Ruhildi’s handiwork, or Myrna’s?

No sooner had she gotten dressed than Ruhildi entered the room with a platter of delicious-smelling bread and cups of steaming beverage.

“Oh wow!” said Saskia. “Room service! I could get used to this.”

Ruhildi looked at her blankly. “Sleep well?”

“Oh yeah,” said Saskia, flushing as she remembered her dream. “Great, actually. Sure beats sleeping on rocks or in a cage.”

She took a sip of the drink, trying not to grimace. Definitely not coffee.

“I not complain,” said Rover Dog. “Except princess honk like congested goresnout.”

Saskia glared at him until Ruhildi piped up, “Och that sounds like Sashki. Rattles louder than a loose board in a howling gale.”

“Louder than mating mamifaunt,” agreed Rover Dog.

“Loud enough to knock tiles off the wall.”

“Are you quite finished?” said Saskia. “Yeesh, if I knew it was pick-on-me day, I’d have just stayed in bed.”

Ruhildi’s expression turned serious. “When you’ve finished your meal, there’s a wee lad waiting outside who wishes to bid you a fond farewell.”

Myrna, it turned out, had already found a new family for Thorric: a childless couple looking to adopt an orphan. She was taking him to be with them today. The boy was none too pleased to be leaving.

“I want to stay!” he wailed, clutching at Saskia’s leg.

Saskia swallowed the lump in her throat. “Don’t worry, child. We’ll see each other again.” She wasn’t at all certain of that, but what could she say? “You’ll love your new family, I’m sure of it. And they’ll keep you safe.”

“I don’t want to be safe!”

“Well I want you to be safe. And you’ll never be safe around me. I’m sorry, but that’s just how it is.”

Left unsaid was that fact that though she liked what she’d seen of Ruhildi’s friends, Thorric wouldn’t be safe around them either. This was no place to raise a child.

After he left, a lethargic feeling of melancholy settled over her and stubbornly refused to bog off. This feeling may have been triggered by Thorric’s departure, but she knew it was probably more of a rebound from yesterday’s whirlwind of meetings and revelations, and the weeks of non-stop struggle and danger that had preceded it. Rest was what she needed. A few day’s rest and she’d be back to her old self.

A few days later, Saskia was bored. Ruhildi and her friends were gone most of the time, doing who-knew-what out in the city. Whatever hijinks they were getting up to out there, clearly they didn’t deem them suitable for trolls.

Here she was, stuck indoors with only Rover Dog and Myrna for company. The latter was clearly no fan of trolls, and who could blame her, really? This house was not made for such creatures. Who wouldn’t get cranky at the sight of a giant monster spread-eagled in the sun room, clad only in a contented grin? That was Rover Dog, by the way, not Saskia. She would never—well, except for that one time in her senior year at high school when she got absolutely plastered—but that was beside the point. Saskia did her best not to tread on any metaphorical toes, but her feet were really big and heavy. There were…missteps. Things tended to break around her.

Boredom and claustrophobia and a sense that she was being useless and outstaying her welcome combined to form a seething muddle of discontent in her belly. She needed to get out. She needed to do something.

So when Ruhildi came to her with an offer, Saskia could barely contain her excitement.

“We’ve a job for the whole crew—you and Rover Dog included—starting at first dark tonight, if you’re ready,” her friend told her. “A few seasons back, my friends found an entrance to an unexplored section of the ancient crypts buried beneath the city, and—”

“Oh I’m so in!” said Saskia. “Ad-ven-tur-ing…we get to go ad-ven-tur-ing!”

Ruhildi offered her a bemused smile. “Who is this standing afore me, and what have you done with my Sashki?”

They set off in the middle of first dark—otherwise known as midnight—a time when, with any luck, there wouldn’t be many people out and about who might take issue with a pair of monstrous creatues walking down the street.

“I have to ask,” said Saskia as they prepared to leave. “Why aren’t we going through the sewers? Wouldn’t that be, I dunno, stealthier?”

Reaching for her hood, Ruhildi looked up at Saskia as if she’d been dropped on her head as a baby. Which—fun fact—actually had happened to her back on Earth, according to her mum. Baby Saskia had come out of the ordeal none the worse for the wear.

“Sashki, there’s no way you trows could fit through the sewers,” said her friend. “Most of the pipes are so narrow, not even dwarrows can squeeze through them. And even if that weren’t so…what we breathed in Wilbergond were fresh mountain air in comparison. ’Tis fair deadly down there. That’s no figure of speech. We wouldn’t survive more than a bell in the sewers.”

Well that answered that. Sewers bad. And now Saskia couldn’t help but wonder if there was something especially deadly about dwarf turds, or if all sewers everywhere had the same problems.

Lacking decent cover, they had to rely on good timing, distractions and crowd control to sneak the two trolls across the city. It…mostly worked. There was that one incident with the dwarven lady who wouldn’t stop screaming until Kveld clobbered her over the back of the head. Yeah, not their finest moment.

They were an hour into their journey when Baldreg whispered for them to follow him.

“Crypts are that-a-way, lunkhead!” said Freygi, pointing to the west.

“I ken that, bonnie. But while we’re in the area, there’s something I want to show our venerated leader.”

A look of recognition crept onto Freygi face, and she scowled at her husband. “You evil, sadistic bastard.” She sighed. “But she’s going to find out sooner or later… Brace yourself, Ruhi. You’re not going to like this.”

Saskia’s pulse began to quicken as they crept toward the immense pillar of Spindle, with its thousands of windows lighting up the surrounding spires.

Tapping Ruhildi on the shoulder, Baldreg pointed at a high marble statue standing amidst a garden of artfully-arranged rocks. The statue depicted a long-haired dwarven woman in finely-detailed armour and a billowing cloak, holding aloft a wand whose tip held the unmistakeable amber glow of arlium. Her expression was fierce, uncompromising. And eerily familiar.

“Now aren’t she a pretty thing,” said Baldreg, looking at the statue with one eyebrow cocked.

Ruhildi followed his gaze—and stopped dead in her tracks. “Och no they didn’t!” Her voice was tinged with outrage.

“Ach aye they did!” Baldreg laughed. “I must say the shapers did a fine job with your likeness.”

Peering closer, Saskia could make out an inscription etched across the base of the monument:

Vindica

Shaper, daughter, mother, venger

Dauntless in the eye of danger

Forger, fighter, liberator

With vengeance, we venerate her