Ginger stared at the rocks below. “Holy shit.”

She wasn’t the only one staring. Everybody else was looking far below, there was a gravelly beach. There were many ships washed up on this shore, but lying against this one was a large ship, a purple flag with a white hand somehow clinging to the masthead, fluttering in the breeze. Once upon the time the ship had been ornate and beautiful, with sleek lines and a stern gilded with gold filigree and carvings. Now it was but a carcass, rotted wood and planks crumpling to the ground.

As to why nobody had gone down there? Well… that was also what the trio were staring at.

It would have been better if it had been a sheer drop. If it had been, Martin and Ginger could have just rappelled down there and Renia and Olgakaren could have just glided down. However, what faced them instead was craggy jagged rocks that jutted towards the sea like they wanted to stab it.

Clambering down that, even with climbing rope, and two fit humans, would be suicide.

“Is that your ship, Renia?” Olgakaren asked.

The harpy shut her eyes and nodded sadly.

“Can you two get down there?” Martin asked.

“I can,” said Olgakaren, glancing at Renia, who nodded after a moment. “I think you ought to go too. Pity we didn’t bring the boat.”

Ginger thumbed at the waves smashing against the rocks surrounding the cove. “Nah, we’d been smashed to pieces. That’s why nobody goes here. The fish are plenty and yes you could get down there, but the danger is too great.”

Martin nodded. Add the hard trek that the four had to endure to get across the rocky, barren terrain and he could see why nobody would check this site out. Light was already falling and they hadn’t even started trying to make their way down.

“I’d say we stop here, then,” said Olgakaren. “Renia and I could carry you both down one by one but it’s far too risky to do so in the dark, with the winds as they are. Especially if we want to get back out.”

Martin put his pack down on the ground. “Good thing we packed tents then.”

---

Two tents were set up, one for Renia and Olgakaren, the other for Martin and Ginger. Sleep would not come easy, though, with the wind howling so loudly.

“Martin, can I ask a question?” Ginger said quietly.

Martin opened eyes, taking in his fiance’s face framed by her red hair, “Yeah?”

Ginger turned to Martin, her face mere inches from his. “What are we going to do after the war?”

“What do you mean?” Martin asked.

“Look, I think I am coming around to your point of view. I don’t think I want four children, like, two would be enough, and I think you’ll be happy with that. However, assuming we win the war, Martin, you’re still going to be a second son, and your fame will only last so long. What are we doing then?” Ginger asked.

Martin looked away from Ginger’s brown eyes. “What brought this on, Ginger?”

Ginger frowned. “Martin, answer my question.”

“Okay, I don’t know for sure, but if the war does end, my mothers will take care of us. I just haven’t really been thinking about it,” Martin said, reaching towards his fiance. She accepted his hand, but continued to stare at him.

“Martin, I ask you this because I want to raise our children in a home we own, in a place where they… where they can be safe and cared for,” said Ginger.

The knight nodded, but found himself frowning. There was a hesitation on Ginger’s features that he’d long learned to recognize. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“You’re not telling me everything either,” she retorted.

The two looked at each other reproachfully, unwilling to say anything or accuse the other.

“Well, I’m happy you’ve come around to my side on the matter of the children,” said Martin.

“You’re welcome,” said Ginger, smirking.

“I really don’t like that you’re hiding the topic of your family and birthplace from me, though,” said Martin in an exasperated voice.

“Who said I was doing that?” Ginger demanded with a note of accusation in her tone.

“I’m not stupid, Ginger. This is the most you’ve ever talked about your family and where you grew up.” Martin sighed. “Look, I won’t pry, but I’m not happy about it.”

Ginger grimaced and pulled her blanket tighter over herself. “Maybe someday. Just not now.”

“I know, take what time you need,” said Martin resignedly. They both leaned forward and kissed. “Goodnight now.”

“Good night,” said Ginger.

---

The next day, with the help of the harpies, the humans managed to get down to the beach.

This was done by having both harpies lift off with one of the humans and glide down. It took several attempts, but by noon time, Martin and Ginger were down on the beach.

“I need a moment. Damn you’re heavy,” gasped Olgakaren.

Renia was too exhausted to even ask for a break. She just lay sprawled out on the beach.

“We’ll take a look around then,” said Ginger. Without waiting, she strode forward toward the ship. Martin quickly followed her.

The shipwreck, being on it’s port (left) side, was a complete mess. It’d been thrown onto the beach from the storm that had smashed it onto the rocks. As Martin and Ginger picked through the ship, it became very obvious that not a lot had survived the years.

“Where are the bodies?” Martin wondered. “There was an entire crew of Alavari and not a single bone is left?”

“Sea life, crabs, birds would have taken apart most of the bodies. Then any storm that blows by after the wreck would have picked up and carried away the bones,” said Ginger gruffly. She’d seen it happen before with smaller wrecks.

The pair stepped past the now vertical-standing main deck and into the ship itself. There were some intriguing artefacts. A lot of the metal artefacts on the ship had survived relatively well. The jewels, gold coins, and the ship’s cannon were all piled up on the side, thrown by the crash.

In the dim light, Ginger stared at them wanting to pick them up, and yet, she could feel herself holding back.

“Martin… what do you think?” she whispered.

The knight closed his eyes and swallowed. “Ask Renia first.”

Ginger’s head whipped around. “Wait, really? I thought you’d say no.”

“Their owners are dead. The only person with any claim to them is the last survivor of this atrocity,” Martin sighed and scratched the back of his head. “I don’t like thinking about the future, but money would be useful.”

He was taken aback when Ginger’s eyes narrowed at him. “You don’t like thinking about the future?” she asked.

“I… I mean…” Martin spluttered.

“You know what, save it for later,” said Ginger with a huff. She breathed and turned toward the stern of the ship. “The rearmost cabins are where the most distinguished guests are, if there’s anything of value it’d be over there.”

“Wait.” Renia walked in, Olgakaren right behind her. “I’m… I’m ready now. If there is anything, Teutobal would have hid it in our cabin.” The trio followed Renia as she picked her way through the ship. Shafts of dim light struck through the broken hold like ethereal pillars driven through the salty air.

Renia stopped in front of the broken great cabin at the ship’s rear, not out of any hesitancy, but because there was no doorway, apart from one that now horizontal and several feet in the air.

“Stand back,” said Ginger. Taking out her sword, Ginger hacked at the rotting wood. A few strikes and she’d cleared an entrance that they could duck under.

Desks, chairs, furnishings and what once was a bed were thrown to what was the side of the vessel, along with broken plates, and blackened silverware. The group could also see shards of what had been mirrors on the ground. Beyond that they could see the cliffs through the ship’s stern windows.

There were bone fragments here, but they were barely visible. Mere yellowed and whitened shards or sticks. Whoever had died in this room was gone, their remains carried away by beasts.

What hadn’t left however, was a bright crystal, shining with magic, nestled in a half-rotted drawer sticking out of an upturned and half-collapsed beau.

“The heck is that?” Ginger asked.

“Looks like a recording crystal,” said Olgakaren. She ginger stepped, Martin following her, lifted the beau up so the harpy could retrieve the crystal.

“Can we learn what it contains?” Ginger asked.

“Yeah, hold on, I know a little magic,” said Olgakaren. Focusing, the harpy hummed a little ditty, her claw glowing green.

The crystal flared to life. Renia gasped as a wounded troll appeared in front of the group, seated in one of the chairs, blood soaking the bandages that bound a deep wound in his side.

“Teutobal,” Renia croaked. Martin and Ginger’s eyes widened. The troll looked very similar to Timur in that they had the same hair and eyes, but he was far more handsome. There was a gracefulness to the arch of Teutobal’s jaw and nose. It was a face capable of both being stern, and yet one also able to show kindness.

“I don’t have much time.” Teutobal winced with effort, but somehow managed to smile. “I am Prince Teutobal of Alavaria, son of King Thorgoth. The year is 402 AD. I lie wounded because my father, King Thorgoth the First, attempted to assassinate me and the rest of my crew off Keelcracker island to start a war between the Kingdom of Alavaria and the Human Kingdoms. Guards that he handpicked, ships that he chose, they all turned on us off Keelcracker Island. Let me repeat, my death is not because of some human assassination attempt, but because my father King Thorgoth has ordered me killed.”

Renia was crying now, tears streaming down her eyes, but she refused to tear her gaze from the recording. Martin and Ginger felt the blood drain from their hands as Olgakaren almost looked away.

Teutobal grunted. “As I don’t have any longer to live, I’ve ordered my last loyal servants to steer The Pride of the Greyhammer into the storm and evacuate the ship. I… I don’t know if any of them will survive. However, as the assassins are dead, I hope that the storm will make my death look like an accident. This will delay the war by a few years, but make no mistake, my father wants a Great War regardless of how many Alavari lives it will cost. If… if… whoever you are… you are reading this now, and my father still reigns, you need to show this recording to as many people as possible. As you know, recordings can’t record magical illusions so this… this should help undermine his support and maybe even stop the war.”

Teutobal’s expression softened. Or maybe he was getting tired, but he closed his eyes.

“Neria, if you are watching this. I love you. I know you won’t be able to get our daughter even if you reach the shore alive, but know that I forgive you for that. Take care of yourself. Morgan… if you ever see this, I’m sorry for not being in your life. I hope you forgive your father, and know that he was just… trying to make our world a better place.”

And like that, the recording winked out, leaving the group shrouded by the dim light in the ship. Silent but for Renia’s quiet sobs.

Olgakaren gave the crystal to Martin, who pocketed it. Ginger walked to Renia and gently put her hand on her shoulder.

“Renia, it’s alright, take as long as you need,” she whispered.

“He knew. He already knew and he… he forgave me. I… Oh Teutobal,” the harpy sobbed, burying herself into Ginger’s embrace as she mourned the troll she’d loved and lost.

---

When Renia had recovered. The harpies flew them up to the cliff where they’d left their equipment. The journey was made in silence and they readied their tents with few words.

It took them the rest of the day so they’d finished their rations and went to sleep. It wasn’t so much the biting wind that quieted them, so much as the fact that they’d watched someone’s dying words. And if that wasn’t enough…

“He was a true hero, wasn’t he?” Martin mused.

“Yeah. I… I’m sad that he’s dead. Is that odd? He’s an Alavari,” Ginger asked.

“You’d be sad if let’s say Ayax died,” Martin remarked.

“That’s different. Ayax is a friend, even if I don’t always get along with her.” No, that wasn’t entirely true. Ginger and Ayax didn’t talk much, but in Gestoch they frequently found that they would rely one each other’s skills without question. There was an unsaid trust and respect that went beyond simple comradeship. They even liked similar hobby activities like sewing and birdwatching.

Ginger pursed her lips. “Sorry, no, you’re right. I… I suppose what’s strange is that he seems such an admirable person, for someone related to Thorgoth.”

Martin closed his eyes. “Yeah. It’s… sad that such a good person died like that.” The knight grimaced. “Ginger… I’m… I am worried about something for our future. I just… I feel like I don’t want to say it.”

“You know I won’t judge you for it,” she whispered.

“That’s not it. I’m worried if I say it, it’ll happen. Not to mention… it’s not something we can do anything about,” he said. Shaking his head, he turned over. “Sorry, forget what I said.”

Sighing, Ginger wrapped her arms around her fiance’s waist and leaned against his shoulder. “Alright. Good night, Martin.”

“Night love,” he whispered back.

---

“So, what are we going to do with the crystal?” Olgakaren asked as they trekked back toward Clinkertown.

It had been an unsaid subject for most of their hike back to their port of arrival, but as they neared the ridge that would lead down to Clinkertown, they were once again reminded of the evidence that Martin carried in his pack.

“I think we need to copy it. Best place to do so would be with Edana and Frances at the peace conference at Delbarria. That way we can give a copy to Titania and Timur. How many days of flight is that?” Ginger asked.

The harpy put a feather to her chin. “Quite fast actually. I’ve used my wings a bit these last few days, but otherwise I’m quite well rested, and there’s a windstream that’ll take me there. I estimate about four or five days.”

“Alright.” Martin handed the crystal to Olgakaren. “Before you go, you’ll need to call ahead to Titania and Timur probably. We’ll call Frances.”

“Um, everybody, we might not have time for that,” Renia stammered.

They turned. Renia was standing near the ridgeline, just looking over. Ginger sprinted over and cursed.

“There’s a group of villagers coming up towards us. Olgakaren you need to leave now!”

Martin blinked. “What? Why? I thought you said they wouldn’t bother—”

“No time!” Renia squawked. She wrapped her cloak and hood around herself as Martin stowed the crystal in a pocket on Olgakaren’s belt.

“Fly around the island and stay out of sight!” Ginger hissed.

“Got it. Good fortune and fair winds to you.” The harpy took a deep breath and leapt into the air, rising fast and furiously away. Soon she was soaring towards the clouds, shrinking to become a mere speck.

“Ginger, Martin, should I go?” Renia asked, her brown eyes wide.

Martin pursed his lips. “They’d notice if we returned without our third member.”

“Yeah, just stay behind us and let us do the talking,” said Ginger. She straightened her cloak and checked her sword. Martin did the same and made sure their identification papers were on them. “It shouldn’t be anything. They might be off to scavenge bird eggs from the island nests or driftwood.”

Martin walked to the ridgeline, narrowing his eyes at the approaching group. “Why do some of them have weapons then?”

Ginger’s eyes widened as she looked again at the group. Indeed, most were unarmed, but one or two of them were toting staves and fishing spears. “Martin… you brought your fancy Conthwaite badge of office, right?”

“Yes, wearing it underneath the tunic,” said Martin. It’d been their compromise. Earlier, Ginger had realized that Martin’s clothing would draw more attention than they’d needed, but he had also realized that they probably might need something to identify themselves as noble. So he’d brought his Badge of Office, a heavy golden chain with the shield of his house on it’s end, personally given to him by his mother Esther.

“Get it out. I don’t like what’s going on. This… this is odd,” Ginger hissed.

Instead of simply waiting on the ridge, Martin, Ginger and Renia trod towards them as if nothing was the matter. There was no guarantee the party was heading for them after all.

Except it did seem the party was heading for them as the group of about twenty continued to walk towards them.

Martin glanced at his fiance, whose eyes narrowed, face showing obvious confusion.

Then, suddenly, he saw it, an expression of horror and shock rippled across her face. Ginger turned to Martin, but the group was getting too close by now for conversation. He heard a quiet “Shit!” before the band from Clinkertown stopped in front of the trio.

Hook, the harbourmaster they’d met, was leading them. His bearded and weathered face holding a stony-look.

“So, did you find what you were looking for?” he asked conversationally, crossing his arms.

“I’m afraid not. The cliff was too steep and there was no way down it,” said Martin in a congenial tone. He put his hands on his hips. “Where are you heading Master Hook?”

“We were looking for you. You see, our island rarely gets visitors from people, especially from mainland folk claiming to be on royal business. Especially when one of them is someone who is a convict guilty of murder and attempted murder.”

Martin froze, but he studiously refused to even glance at Ginger.

“It is true Ginger here is a convict, but she’s a convict-soldier, on contract with the Erisdalian Army. Thus, a soldier, like any other, serving her term through defending our proud nation,” said Martin in a calm voice.

“What? A troublemaking runaway like her?” exclaimed one of the men in the crowd.

Martin blinked and now he looked at Ginger. She was pale, her hands forming fists, her eyes wide with panic.

“Ginger, you’ve never been to Clinkertown,” Martin said slowly.

Her gaze snapped to Martin’s. “No! I haven’t!” She grimaced her eyes narrowing at two people in the crowd. Two people who Martin realized were red-haired, with the same pale skin and blue eyes as his fiance.

“Mom, dad,” Ginger hissed, “What are you doing here?”

Martin’s eyes widened and he took in his fiance’s parents. They were well-built fisher-folk. Ginger’s mother had greying red hair and was tall and thin. Her husband was built thick with a bit of a belly and plenty of muscle. They were both also very angry.

“We left Alert Island after you ran away to the army, only to be charged with attempted murder and disgraced our family! If your brothers and sisters weren’t out at sea they’d be back crying for your blood,” Ginger’s father growled.

“Murder—” Ginger let out a noise that seemed like a wail and a groan of frustration crossed together “—I tried to kill that man after he got one thousand of my soldiers killed in a futile assault and was about to kill a thousand more!”

“You lie!” Ginger’s mother hissed.

“You weren’t there! You were safe on these islands whilst I’ve been fighting this war with my friends and nearly dying almost a hundred times. You weren’t there at Erlenberg when Antigones besieged us there for months. You weren’t at the Fourth Battle of Vertingen or at Gestoch. You were safe in your pretty little home, fishing god knows what waters, whilst others died to keep you safe!” Ginger shrieked.

“Don’t take that tone with me young lady. We are fisher folk and fisher folk don’t go gallivanting off murdering people!” Ginger’s father bellowed.

“Well, I’m an adult and you are not the boss of me!” Ginger turned on her heel and tried to march around the group. That was when the villagers with spears and harpoons stepped forward and levelled them at her.

“You’re a convict, walking free somehow and you should be going back to jail,” said Hook sternly.

“Half, correct. She’s a convict a convict soldier on official business,” said Martin. He raised his badge. “I’m a knight, Sir Martin of Conthwaite. Ginger’s assisting me along with my companion Renia over there. So if you could please lower your spears, we’ll be on our way and out of your hair.”

“Martin of Conthwaite? Like the Hero of Erisdale from the songs?” stammered a villager.

“What, he’s real?” squawked another.

“Yes, I am real. I was at Kwent, Freeburg, Erlenberg, and the fourth battle of Vertingen. No, I don’t spit fireballs from my mouth. That’s something Edana Firehand does. No I don’t have a lightning sword, but my friend Frances Stormcaller does use lightning a lot,” said Martin in a friendly, congenial tone. He smiled as the villagers all nodded, wide-eyed at him and the golden chain he carried.

“Then what are you doing with a convict like Ginger?” Hook asked, looking confused. “I mean, a hero like you… why would you even associate yourself with a convict?”

Martin glanced at Ginger and raised his gloved left hand and waggled it. Ginger’s shoulder sagged and she nodded with a sigh.

“Oh, you see, Ginger’s my fiance.” Martin pulled off his glove and showed the Erisdalians his wedding ring, made traditionally of Erisdalian silver and engraved with fine detail. Ginger raised her right hand, showing that she had a gold ring with matching engraving. “So, yeah. That’s why. The songs might have mentioned that too.”

“Wait, the red-haired berserker that protects the Hero of Conthwaite is Ginger?” stammered one of the villagers.

“Red-haired berserker?” Ginger asked Martin.

“Haven’t heard of that one yet,” said Martin. He couldn’t keep the glare out of his eyes, however. That Ginger didn’t tell him anything about her family…

That hurt a lot more than he expected.

“So, can we be on our way?’ Martin asked, cheerfully.

Hook and the villagers all glanced at one another and shrugged, or lowered their arms. Without waiting for further permission, Martin, Ginger and Renia legged it as quickly as they could walk away from the group.

“Don’t you dare just leave, Ginger!” Ginger’s mother cried out.

Ginger, whirling around, shot back. “Try and stop me!” She tapped the sword at her side for good measure and followed her husband back to their boat.

---

Ginger knew what her fiance would ask once they got away from shore. She was waiting for it even as she battled with the tiller of the boat.

Yet, when Martin did finally ask, she didn’t expect him to do so with a tone torn between sadness and anger.

“When were you going to tell me about your family?” he asked, sitting in front of her, just before the boat’s mast.

“Never—” Ginger blinked. Crap, she didn’t mean to say that. “I mean, they weren’t relevant—”

“They weren’t relevant? I’m your fiance, Ginger. You know everything about my family and you weren’t ever going to tell me about yours?” Martin demanded.

Ginger growled in frustration. “They’re not exactly people I want to talk about, okay?” She narrowed her eyes. “You still haven’t told me what’s bothering you.”

“This isn’t some exchange, Ginger,” Martin replied.

“And you said you’d wait for me to tell you, but now you’re angry?” Ginger hissed.

“Yes! Because it’s like you don’t trust me!” Martin shouted.

“Both of you, calm down this instant!” Renia bellowed.

Martin and Ginger flinched as they took in the harpy, glaring at them, her wings unfolding.

“You’re both angry, and you both have secrets, that’s natural as a couple, but if you’re going to talk about it, you’re not doing this now when you’re angry. You’re doing this when you aren’t aiming to hurt one another.” The harpy narrowed her eyes. “Is that clear?”

Martin and Ginger swallowed and nodded, as Renia’s tone brooked no argument.

“We do have to call Frances too,” said Ginger, sighing. She closed her eyes. “Martin… I… for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I didn’t want this to happen.”

Martin felt most of his anger vanish with a poof. There was a degree of frustration simmering underneath, but he could see that Ginger was being sincere.

“I know, and I forgive you. Let’s talk about it tonight,” he said.

---

While the Erisdale team had gotten the energy crystal, Ayax, Elizabeth and their compatriots were in the house.

Ayax had led the group to what looked like a kitchen closet. Stepping past the mops, rags and other cleaning equipment, she raised her staff to a section of the wooden flooring. Taking a deep breath, she tapped the board and exclaimed.

“In the name of Allaniel the Valorous, open the troll’s fortune.”

The floorboards shimmered. Elizabeth jumped as Ayax was covered in a purple glow, which faded. The boards split apart, leading to a staircase.

Ayax turned to Elizabeth, Antigones and Aralik, “Come on in. It… it’s going to be a bit dusty, though.”

Antigones barked out some orders to guard the entryway and be on the lookout, before following Aralik, Ayax and Elizabeth.

“You have a secret basement?” Elizabeth grabbed Ayax’s hand “That’s so cool!”

Ayax smiled. “Dad said he had some rather dangerous materials here and didn’t want me, my mother, or anybody else getting their hands on it. He called it his troll-cave.” They came to a short landing, which had a lock. Ayax produced a key tied around her neck and unlocked the door. Taking a deep breath, she whispered a word of power and produced a light that illuminated the room.

Allaniel’s workshop was actually quite small and carved into the bedrock underneath the house. It was so small that the massive Antigones had to duck underneath the roof, lest he knock himself on the ceiling.

In this space, about the size of a small bedroom, was a desk, and shelves holding potions, and silver devices covered with cobwebs. There was even a small cauldron shoved in the corner of the room. All of which was covered in dust and cobwebs.

What caught the onlooker’s eye however was a number of papers pinned against the plastered walls of the workshop.

Aralik’s eyes frowned. “That’s unusual. Most of this is standard mage equipment, but this… this isn’t typical.”

Elizabeth stepped up to the wall, studying the papers, muttering to herself, as she and the others did the same.

“Wait, this is a note on my wife’s death,” said Antigones, eyes widening.

“Titania’s death?” Aralik asked, whirling around, a panicked tone in his voice.

“No, not your step-mother’s. Your mother, Zirabelle,” said Antigones, gently unpinning the paper and showing it to his son. “Allaniel seemed to be very suspicious as to how Ixtar managed to get ahold of a Named Wand, even one as obscure and unknown as Ivy’s Sting.”

“Wait, hold on,” Elizabeth pushed past the orcs to the other side of the wall, before snapping her fingers.

“It’s a timeline. Allaniel was creating a timeline to track events. If that’s the year 400, then the timeline begins here,” said Elizabeth, pointing at a piece of paper towards the top of the room, just out of her reach.

“Hold on,” said Ayax. She knelt down, hands forming a step.

“Thank you!” Elizabeth stepped up on the troll and reached for the paper, unsticking it and taking it down. Once back on the ground, she studied it with narrowed eyes. “This… this is dated to 380. When Teutobal was born. It notes the suspicious circumstances when a “Prince Thomas” went missing.”

“Prince Thomas was King Thorgoth’s younger brother who went missing while travelling to his home fortress,” said Antigones.

Aralik reached up and took down another paper. “This is about Princess Tsarmina’s death in 383. She… ew. Oh Galena, that’s disgusting.”

Elizabeth scooted over to the orc. “What’s disgusting—Oh God, bedroom activities? She died doing bedroom activities? And…” Elizabeth blinked. “Allaniel suspected that someone poisoned her before that, leading to a heart attack.”

“Oh, that would… oh wow, hide the death in something disgusting so that nobody would investigate. That’s ingenious,” muttered Aralik.

“So, Allaniel was investigating all these deaths from the Decades of Strife?” Antigones mused.

“Decades of Strife?” Elizabeth asked.

Antigones sighed. “The years before Thorgoth came to power were known as the Decades of Strife. Thorgoth’s mother, Queen Talya was a powerful but ruthless queen and when she died, Thorgoth’s weaker father King Tagus came to power. The families that she’d been controlling began to feud leading to a period of constant assassination and intermittent warfare between families trying to solidify their power. They weren’t rebelling against the kingdom, so it wasn’t a civil war, but instead were fighting one another and resisting the royal house through assassinations and proxy parties.” The orc general pointed at where the first paper had been. “To make matters worse, Prince Thenakles killed himself after being raped by his and Thorgoth’s aunt Princess Tellenia. Tellenia was banished for that but that caused a succession crisis. Thorgoth was next in line, his half-brothers and half-sisters, such as Thomas and Tsarmina, commanded the loyalty of different parts of Alavaria.”

Elizabeth blinked. “Wait, is it possible that Thorgoth killed his half-brothers and half-sisters?”

Antigones grimaced and his son, Aralik, who’d been continuing to read the notes, nodded. “It’s possible. From what I can tell, Allaniel here has been trying to find a pattern and clues that link the different assassinations and he notes that Thorgoth stood to gain a lot from every one of these.”

“And what did dad find?” Ayax asked.

“That Thorgoth might have had a far longer history of assassinating his rivals than we could have imagined,” said Aralik. He took another of the papers off. “From what Allaniel writes… Thorgoth could have even killed his own father.”

Antigones froze. “Allaniel thought he killed King Tagus?”

“See for yourself, father,” said Aralik, giving the paper over. “We’ve always thought Tagus was killed by the Yellowbridge troll family, but look at what Allaniel wrote. He notes that while the Yellowbridge family might have wanted to kill Tagus for trying to reign them in, Thorgoth was the one who got the casus belli to exterminate them once they found evidence that Tagus was assassinated by them. Evidence that happens to be from Thorgoth’s own testimony, backed up by guards that were sent with Tagus. Allaniel says it’s conjecture, but he thinks that the guards were bribed or picked by Thorgoth himself because their stories were too consistent. As if someone had made sure to prepare their statements beforehand.”

“Like how he picked them for Teutobal,” Elizabeth mused. She studied at Allaniel’s desk, even tracing her finger along the dusty wood. “Ayax, did your father have any secret compartments in his desk? He’s done all this investigating… it seems odd that he doesn’t have any evidence that he hid.”

“I’m not sure, Elizabeth… do you think Thorgoth assassinated my father because he knew that he suspected him?” Ayax asked, quietly.

“No. I don’t think so. If Thorgoth, as meticulous he is about assassinations, sent the team because he suspected your father was onto him, he’d have made sure to have his team search and find whatever he can. That would have been actually more important than your father’s death because without proof your father would have nothing.” Elizabeth leaned down, looking underneath the desk and coughing as dust fell on her. “As it is—blast that’s dusty—it doesn’t disprove our working theory that Thorgoth lured humans to your village to kill your father for his involvement in the mage coalition.”

“We suspected that too… though, I’m not sure how Thorgoth would have lured humans to kill Allaniel,” said Antigones, one hand stroking his beard. “It is strange that a human raiding party went to Everglenia, but I also know that humans wouldn’t willingly cooperate with Thorgoth.”

“Well, Helias took Freeburg by bribing some people, what’s to say Thorgoth couldn’t do the same?” Elizabeth asked.

Antigones snorted. “A good point, young Elizabeth.”

Aralik coughed, and used his handkerchief to bite back a sneeze. “Father, perhaps we could search the bodies of the deceased, or at least their remains for clues. Not much might have remained, but still…”

“I presume Ayax must have burned them, though,” said Antigones.

Ayax shook her head. “Oh, well, no. I buried them in a mass grave. It had rained after the fight and it was too wet to get anything to burn and I didn’t want their rotting bodies lying in my village. So I buried them. I can show you where.”

“Ah-ha!” Elizabeth pulled out her backup dagger and plunged it into the desk. Ayax blinked and lunged forward to stop her girlfriend, but the tip of the knife hit the wood, which shifted, revealing a hairline crack. It was enough for Elizabeth to get her fingernails under it, much to Ayax’s shock, and pull open the desk, to reveal a compartment.

“Evidence would have to be easily accessible in case Allaniel had to review it, but hidden. There was a notch on the otherwise immaculate desk, which suggested some kind of compartment and so I traced my fingers over the desk until I felt it.” Elizabeth beamed proudly, and Ayax, shaking her head, leaned forward and planted a kiss on her girlfriend’s cheek.

“You’re a marvel, Liz,” said Ayax.

“Thanks! Though, I’m not sure how significant these things are,” said Elizabeth, looking at the actual contents of the compartment. Ayax didn’t either, but as she glanced at Antigones and Aralik, she realized the orc father and son had frozen, their eyes wide with horror.