Leaving the gaggle of gawkers behind, I searched the ground for the Carver’s tracks and followed them out to the forest, where they promptly disappeared. I clicked my tongue in frustration.

I shouldn’t have been surprised; Carvers were tricky. And agile. I looked up at the surrounding tree trunks and, sure enough, spotted signs that they’d jumped from tree to tree. Dealing with them in trees would be a nightmare for most people. Something stuck out to me, though, some niggling detail in the back of my head. It took me a couple minutes of staring at the details until it finally clicked.

There weren’t enough tracks, not enough signs of the number of the creatures I would have expected. The nasty critters usually moved in groups of 10 to 15, and while that didn’t sound particularly impressive, a group of 10 waist high slicing and dicing nightmare mantis knockoffs was enough to terrify many hardened adventurers at first sight.

I took note of the general direction they’d headed and started back toward the camp. Along the way I kept my eyes peeled for any other signs of the little monsters lurking around. Puncture wounds and slash marks in trunks abounded, but the only place they appeared to have left the edge of the forest was at the paddock.

I found the camp easily enough. Instead of finding an out of the way spot, the Count had chosen to take control of the whole stretch of roading leading toward the blockage. Typical, nobles thought they owned everything within sight, even when they were clearly hundreds of miles from their own land. Which begged the question, why had Orleander decided to lead his own trade caravan? It stunk of politics, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.

As I approached, Kan’on and Jass lounged around a small fire, camp neatly set up, animals grazing. I searched for my pack among the pile of gear. Grabbing it, I plopped down on the ground and pretended to reach in and grab a flask.

“We’ve got a problem,” I said. I took a long pull from the flask, sighing appreciatively at whatever unknown liquor the tavern keeper had topped it up with. It burned so good on the way down.

“Are you going to tell us what the problem is or are we supposed to guess?”

“I’d put my money on Carvers,” Jass said.

I whipped my head around in surprise. I’m not sure where he’d gathered the information to come to that conclusion, but he was sharp.

“Damn, yes. How’d you figure it out?”

“There is sign of them all over the place if you walk a bit into the woods. Trees tore up nice and good from all the jumping around they do.” Jass didn’t look too concerned, like he was an old hand at dealing with Carvers. I was impressed despite myself.

“I take it you found something then,” Kan’on said. “I don’t have any experience with the creatures, but I thought they only came out of the Labyrinth. This place doesn’t seem like it has had any of the kind of trouble an entrance nearby would bring.”

“You’re right. Which means either there was an unused entrance nearby all along, which is unlikely, or a new one opened up somehow.”

“There is something weird about this situation,” Jass said. “Carvers aren’t known for being patient or restrained when it comes to food and we’re sitting here with a caravan full of horses and oxen practically staked out for their dinner. I would have expected an attack already, if they’re already out there prowling around.”

I pointed at him and grinned. “Damn, you’re stealing all my thunder. You’re right. Something is off. Either way I need to go tell the Count.”

Since Jass already had something cooking over the fire, I decided to delay my visit to the Count’s camp. I pulled out the gifts I’d bought for Jass, a new bench knife and some sharpening stones for his tools and spear, which he took appreciatively. He even smiled a rare smile.

I ate a bit of stew and some camp rations, then found a place to answer natures all. Finally running out of ways to procrastinate, I stood up and looked down at Kan’on.

“You coming? I ran into the Count earlier while I was exploring the town. He extended an invitation to ‘attend him at his pavilion’. You should come, if for no other reason that if Mr. Black gets frisky you have someone to play with.”

Kan’on perked up at the thought of a fight. The poor guy had spent years shacked up in that school of his sparring with the same people over and over, every day. He talked a big game about going back, but I suspected he was enjoying his time away. Maybe not so much chasing me around, but the prospect of new fights certainly perked him up.

“Can I give the thing another try before we go? I think I’ve had a breakthrough.” He was, of course, talking about the willpower exercise.

“A real try? You know the consequence of failure, you sure you want to ruin your date with your Mysterious Black Masked Friend?”

“Whoever he is, he’s about as threatening as the blanket Jass is sitting on,” he said, waiving it away,” and besides, the only way there is going to be trouble is if you provoke him for some reason. Come to think of it, I’m certain you can’t help yourself.”

“I would never!” I said, with a dramatic hand over my heart.

I placed my hand down on the ground between us, the invitation apparent. Kan’on drew the familiar heat rune in the air and then closed his eyes. I could feel the change in him that only a few days of intensive practice had produced. His willpower was sharper, more contained, focused.

Without so much as an ‘are you ready’, Kan’on blasted power through the rune and I had to scramble to bleed away the power and pit my willpower against his own. I could feel him, reaching out blindly, trying to grasp the unseen force preventing his magic from working. He encountered the edges of my control, still unable to force any change, but it was a huge step.

As soon as his focus shifted from finding to opposing my willpower, his concentration fell apart, and I ripped the working from his grasp completely, the rune sparkling and fading away. I looked at him seriously, gauging the man who sat beside me. His talent was monstrous. I wouldn’t insult him by trying to claim his ability was unearned, but some people just had a knack that everyone around them envied.

Kan’on grabbed a different finger on his left hand and snapped it, swift and without drama. He held in the pain this time, but I still saw it leaking from his eyes as he looked at me.

I nodded to him. Only a small acknowledgement, but an acknowledgement, nonetheless. Just to put him in his place, I drew the sloppiest, idiotic version of the bone setting rune I could muster, barely even recognizable as a rune, and slammed my powered intent and willpower into it like a sledgehammer.

Before I could find anything to throw at him, Kan’on swiped his hand through it, then suppressed a scream as the force of the rune’s effect ripped the bones back into place with such force as to almost rebreak them in the opposite direction. I cackled at the sight of his aggrieved expression.

“You’re a deeps cursed bastard, you know that. Deep ones take you!”

“Yes, yes I am. Now if you’re done whining let’s get going.”

###

I had to give Orleander credit, he and his people kept a clean and orderly camp. But the monstrosity in front of me made my heartburn flare up. When the Count had said ‘pavilion’, I thought he spoke figuratively. Standing before me was an actual pavilion tent with room for 20 to 30 people to just lounge around congratulating themselves for being born with a blessed relic in their mouth. Various other tents, with important and necessary functions I was sure, surrounded the pavilion, displaying an obscene amount of ostentatiousness.

“Is he serious? Is he expecting a multi-nation treaty signing to happen here or something?” Kan’on was a little more circumspect and reserved than I was, but even he couldn’t understand… just why.

“Let’s get this over with. I thought I might want to move up here to stay with the Count, but after seeing this I just want to get back to our cozy little camp where we don’t have pompous idiots prancing around, slapping us in the face with their wealth every time they turn around.”

I led the way into the pavilion. Pillows and blankets surrounded low tables lavished with fresh juices and other extravagancies, for a traveling caravan at least. What appeared to be the ranking guards occupied their own area, quietly enjoying drinks together. That’s where I’d like to be, knocking back a few shots with the boys, but instead I approached the table occupied by cloddish Clyde, Mr. Black, the local Baron Palambre, and Count Orleander.

Surveying the offered juice, I found a likely candidate and poured a fair amount into the glass waiting for me. Catching Clyde’s eye, I reached into a nearby bag of candied nuts into my cubby to grab a flask, then withdrew my hand with an overly surprised face, looking at Clyde as if asking, ‘what on earth was this doing in there?’

Under his outraged and incredulous gazed I topped off my glass with whatever booze I’d pulled out and gave the glass a swirl to mix it in. Kan’on elbowed me in the ribs, probably to remind me to not provoke anybody. Too late, Clyde looked ready to leap over the table. He’d somehow regained his courage between the Brute and now, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

“Ardashir, I’m glad you are able to join us. You’ve already met the Baron.” Orleander continued the introductions by listing every title Kan’on carried. I almost rolled my eyes. I felt like I was Kan’on’s date to the dance, and not the other way around.

“I see you’ve made yourself at home. Sure is a comfy setup you’ve got here.” I sip delicately from my glass, pretending it was of the highest quality. Also, glass on a caravan trip? Orleander sure knew how to make things difficult for his staff.

“I was told we were going to be here for a while. There is no reason to not enjoy our stay as much as possible.”

Of course, the implication was that carrying a ransom’s worth of lodging with him was the only way he could enjoy anything. I snorted. Such was the life of a noble trade magnate.

Conversation was strained at first, in large part because I didn’t bother hiding my derision for the excess surrounding us. A few drinks loosened me up though and soon I was buzzed enough to enjoy myself a little despite myself.

“Your name is strikingly familiar. I can’t quite place where I’ve heard it before, but I’m sure I’ve heard of you. Are you a famous swordsman?” Baron Palambre asked.

“Something like that. I get around a lot. That’s probably where you heard my name. I make friends wherever I go.”

Orleander’s eyebrow twitched, and he quickly rose to his feet and walked around the table toward me. I grinned at his approach, playing the ignorant guest.

“Ardashir, I mentioned earlier that I would like to speak with you about a matter. Would you accompany me for a walk so we can have a discussion?”

I sighed, I had enough booze in me to handle anything with a measure of patience, so why not. I’d spent more of my adult life away from court than in the business of handling noble affairs; it had poisoned me to that lifestyle.

I rose from my seat but grabbed my flask before following the count out into the evening air. The camp had settled down for the night, the smell of cookfires permeated the air along with the low murmurs of fireside conversation.

“As you are probably already aware, I’m traveling to Dormar to set up a foreign trade headquarters. The trade guilds there have a reputation for being particularly aggressive.”

When the Count said ‘aggressive’ he made it sound like they were particularly argumentative, but I knew from my own travels that what it really meant was that if you didn’t have your own standing army to protect your business interests there, then you were as good as not in business. The trade guilds of Dormar were famously cutthroat.

“I hadn’t known that, but it is not surprising. I couldn’t think of many other reasons you’d be personally accompanying a caravan.”

“Yes, exactly right. The problem is the first steps to establishing myself there, or establishing my proxy, as it were. I would like to borrow your services, to be an enforcer of sorts. With compensation, obviously.”

It wasn’t the most insulting way to try to recruit someone for their reputation of mass sacrifice to gain power, but it wasn’t the smoothest way either. As far as recruitment pitches went, it was refreshingly straightforward, and not necessarily against my own agenda at that.

“You mean you want to borrow my reputation for sacrificing everything I love for the power of the Deep Gods? My reputation that says I’m a loose cannon with the power of gods that might decide to squash a city on a whim. Compared to the stories about me, I got a bum deal on the power deal if you ask me.”

“Most of us at court know the true story, or at least a version of it. Besides, the King wouldn’t still be on good terms with you if the rumored events actually took place.”

“Part of it is true, at least. I did destroy everything and everyone I held dear, but I didn’t sacrifice them, and it wasn’t to gain power. It was a mistake that snowballed into a catastrophe, at the King’s behest no less. There is a reason I still hold my title and lands, in name if not in function. And while I did gain power, it isn’t overwhelming power, and it isn’t something I wouldn’t trade back to regain everything I lost.”

The alcohol had perhaps loosened my tongue a little too much. I clamped down on the retelling of my backstory. It wasn’t worth dredging up 20-year-old pain, even if I had come to terms with it, mostly.

I considered the Count’s offer. It was insulting, and beneath me, but might just serve my own interests more than I expected. Having a bit of clout in Dormar as a result of getting involved with guild disputes might give me an edge in my own negotiations, if such a thing came to pass. Every little edge mattered. I sucked up my pride, not that it done me much good in the last 20 years.

“I’ll accept your offer, but you should know that it might be a moot point when I get there. The curse is fickle. It might allow me to stay for only a matter of days. Not enough time to put a decent scare into anybody, at least not without lots of killing involved.” Even now, the itch that had started earlier in the day drew my attention. So far it had stayed in the back of my mind, present, but not pushing. Yet.

“So, the curse is real then. I didn’t know for sure. Regardless, I would have your assistance. If it happens that you are forced to leave, then I will make do with what I have.”

“Don’t you already have an enforcer? That guy that shadows you. I’ve named him Mr. Black, by the way, since you never introduced him.”

“Mr. Black,” Orleander said with a chuckle. “It is true that she is my bodyguard, but she is not suited to the overt intimidation and threat tactics that you represent.”

She? It appears I’d grossly misread her, in that case. Dangerous, that. My respect for her grew, if only by a fraction.

“Another stipulation. No wanton killing. I’ll crack some skulls, break some bones, and generally make a nuisance of myself, but I’m not going to get myself in trouble with their version of the law over this. I have my own reasons for going and they won’t be interfered with.”

Orleander just nodded, accepting the conditions at face value. We’d circled back around to the entrance of the pavilion, tacit agreement made. I didn’t push for specifics. Once we got back on the road, we’d have plenty of time to work out the details. Working with the man left a bad taste in my mouth, but maybe I’d misjudged him a little. It wasn’t too late to move on in my own way.

I swiped the tent flaps aside and walked into chaos. The guards that had been drinking were on their feet, clearly blackout drunk, throwing bets on the table as Mr. Black, now Ms. Black, squared off against Kan’on in the middle of a space cleared of all tables and pillows. The Baron sat with a dejected and defeated look, head propped in his hands, and Clyde looked about to pull his sword to start smashing everyone back into a semblance of order.

I thought I was supposed to be the one provoking Ms. Black. Someone had stolen my thunder, but I couldn’t say I was displeased. I reached into my robe to the cubby and took out some coins. If there was betting going on, it was time to make some easy money.