You’ve heard the expression ‘experience is the best teacher’, yes? True enough for most people, in most situations. But the thing about general statements is that they are general, and often do not apply in specific situations, which can lead to unfortunate misunderstandings, unsatisfactory outcomes, and/or death.

Can I learn to become an archer by someone just explaining it to me? No, of course not. I need to hold the bow, pull the string, and let loose over and over again. There’s no substitute.

Do I need to stick my face in a fire to know it will fuck me up (well, not me, but you get my meaning.)?

No. No, I do not.

But even I will concede that some people do indeed need to shove a body part into a roaring blaze before they understand the consequences of their actions. I call these people ‘idiots’ and submit to you, dear reader, that they get what they deserve. If you don’t want to hurt feelings, you can call such folk ‘object lessons’. It’s still insulting, but they won’t be smart enough to understand that.

But even idiots have their uses, because while experience arguably may be the best teacher, it certainly isn’t the only one. Learning by example can also be quite effective, and it’s far safer for the pupil – because, and here is the pearl of wisdom that I set before you so bloody well jot it down - mistakes are most valuable lessons.

Note carefully that I did not say they had to be your mistakes.

~ ~ ~

I’d learned a lot about killing during my time in the wilds, and the lessons were still fresh. One of the most important was to not draw attention to yourself before you were ready to start in on the chopping and the burning and the berserk screaming.

What I’m saying is, I did not run into a camp full of armed militiamen, holding my ax aloft and shouting for blood, seeking their leader’s death. Instead I strolled in, whistling, like I had every right and good reason to be there.

I didn’t know for sure that it was Catapult who had ordered, or at least advocated the attempt on my life. Could have been any of the councilors, really. But really, it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together and get a number bigger than three and smaller than, say, five. And it didn’t really matter, because she and I had a prior engagement, months-delayed and all the more urgent because of it. Anything else was what you might call secondary motivation.

I hadn’t been to the burned-out section of town surrounding the fortress yet, because honestly why would I do that to myself? I’d already seen enough fiery destruction to last me a lifetime, and I very much doubted a tour of another charred location was going to impart any additional wisdom.

When I got there, nothing I saw changed my mind. I saw row after row of gutted houses, blackened beams, and a little blowing ash and the almost overpowering smell of smoke even after weeks. Picturesque it was not.

The area around the militia camp had been well-cleared, however, and a few rows of tents had been neatly set up, though they were all different shades of streaky gray from the ash in the air, whatever their original color had been. I could also see a makeshift barricade surrounding the fortress, composed of any old thing – scraps of charred wood and random stones, overturned wagons, barrels, doors and bedframes, and at least one very large potted plant, improbably still alive and flowering. Militiamen patrolled it in pairs. There were no actual guards that I could see on the city side of the encampment, because why would there be, and that suited me just fine.

I found an old coot in mismatched scraps of armor sitting in front of a tent, attempting to darn socks that were clearly rotting, and asked where the camp commander could be found.

“You signing up?” he asked, taking in the ax at my belt with a quick, disinterested glance.

“Nah. Come to deliver a message.”

“She’ll be over by the front gate, most like.” He gestured with his stubbled chin the proper direction.

“Thanks.” I turned and walked in the direction indicated, really taking in the fortress Catapult was investing for the first time. It was, without a doubt, of solid kingdom design, and newish. Probably not more than fifty years old or so. It was more of a small keep with an inner bailey than it was a full-on fortress, but whoever had built it had not skimped on the construction. It was the best put-together structure in Mudhelm, that was for sure. I’d like to say I was curious about who had built it and how and why and such, but I wasn’t. I didn’t give a runny shit about the fortress or anyone in it. All I cared about was saying a special, crimson-colored hello to Catapult, and then getting away from her half-assed army with my life. Even the second part was more of an afterthought than any conscious consideration.

There was no deep planning on my part, is what I’m saying. I certainly wasn’t taking any deliberate steps towards Evil Overlord-hood. I was just acting on a grudge that had spiraled down into obsession over months of privation and suffering.

And hey, obsession is actually a very useful emotion, don’t get me wrong! If you want to ascend from the shit-pit of daily existence to a state where you can metaphorically wear white whenever the fuck you want, it’s damned well vital, in fact. But what is vital is not by itself sufficient. You also need to be coldly calculating. You need to be able to see the bigger picture, and act accordingly.

I was… not able to do anything resembling that. My obsession was riding me, rather than the other way round. And that never really works out.

As I approached the cluster of tents directly opposite the fortress’s gates, a group of five or six militiamen came out of what had to be, judging by its size and location, the command tent. A single glance told me none of them were Catapult, so I kept walking towards them, and kept my ax in my belt. Then after a second I realized I knew one of them. The red-headed one.

Nuk the dumbfuck. The Ginger Dickhead. And as quickly as I recognized him, he recognized me. His eyes got big. Mine probably got squinty, I don’t remember.

He opened his mouth to give the hue and cry, so I did the only thing I could. I raised my hand and summoned the flame.

It didn’t come. The hue was hued, and the cry was cried, and all five of the militiamen pulled out their various bits of metal with a surprising level of haste.

I tried to summon the flame again, but wherever it had fucked off to, it wasn’t receiving any messages. So I pulled out my ax. The camp was coming alive around me. Nuk and the others fanned out, and before I could beat a retreat I was surrounded, with more militiamen showing up by the second.

“Hey there, Nuk,” I said. “Long time no see. Hope you’ve been keeping your smallclothes cleaner than the last time we met.”

“Grim said you’d show up,” he said, face reddening.

“Yeah, Catapult is an asshole, but she’s not stupid. Where is she, anyway?”

“I’m here, fire boy.” came a voice from the command tent. “Been waiting for you.”

“Well I would have got here a lot sooner, but some absolute fuckstick left me for dead in the wilds.”

“Bring him in, boys. Don’t break him, but no need to be affectionate.”

They dogpiled me. I didn’t even get to swing my ax. They were not affectionate. Two minutes, one black eye and three loose teeth later, they dragged me into Catapult’s tent and dumped me into a chair facing her, with a camp table between us. Two very large men stood to either side of me, making sure I stayed where I was put. She was out of lunging distance anyway.

She looked the same. A little cleaner, maybe. Hair longer, and cut by somebody who knew what they were doing. Better clothes. The scars on her face were unchanged, and her eyes were the same shade of fuck you.

One of her men dropped my ax on the camp table.

“Came in handy, did it?” she asked, picking it up and examining the edge. “Well, not today obviously. But out in the wilds. Earned yourself a name with it, eh, Goblin Killer?”

I leaned forward and hawked out a mouthful of bloody spit onto the ground. Then I looked back up at her.

“You ever eat goblin meat?” I asked.

“Fuck no. That’s disgusting.”

“You’re absolutely right. And that’s just one of the many reasons I’m gonna bury that ax in your skull.”

“Wouldn’t you rather burn me down to ash and bone?”

I glared at her, but said nothing.

“Honestly, for someone who survived the wilds alone and naked, you’re remarkably stupid. You just walked in here, expecting to use your magic on anything and anyone who got in your way, didn’t you?” She put the ax back down on the table.

“If you’d bothered to ask just about anybody in town, they could have told you the fortress was built on top of a null space. Magic doesn’t work this close to the fortress walls, moron.”

“Then why did that old bearded fuck at the brewery try to talk me into assaulting the bastion?”

“Probably the same reason he paid Terces to try and kill you in your sleep, if I had to guess – Dillit told him to. Or did you actually think a goblin councilor was just going to let somebody called the goblin killer run around his town, fancy-free?” She shook her head in disapproval.

When she put it like that.…

“I knew I should have killed that little shit when I first saw him,” I muttered.

“Well it’s too late now. You’ve got more immediate concerns, fire boy. Namely whether I’m going to kill you or not.”

I opened my mouth to say she’d better, or I’d damned well kill her. Then at the last instant I realized just how stunningly idiotic that would be. I closed my stupid mouth again.

“You can learn,” she said with a small smile. “I was wondering.”

“So what is it?” I asked, heart sinking.

“What is what?”

“The offer you’ve got for me that I can’t refuse.”

“You are a weird mixture of clever and stupid, you know that? I can’t figure you out.”

“I’ve been here before,” I replied, thinking of Chortle. “Just tell me.”

“Alright, I do have a use for you. I want you to join the defenders in the bastion. And then, once you’re in, I want you to kill Titus.”

I stared at her. She looked back at me, eyes like cold marble.

“Yeah, go fuck yourself,” I finally said.

“Fair enough,” she replied and looked at the men guarding me. “Boys, one of you go and see if the gibbet is finished.” She looked back at me. “They love a good hanging. Sieges are tedious things.”

“Fuck. Fucking fuck,” I said, my mind racing. I didn't really doubt she'd do it. “I hate you more than I have ever hated anything, ever. And I’m gonna need my fucking book, you fucking book thief. Tell me you still have it.”