Apart from a family of Diggers on the opposite platform, Kate waited alone for the afternoon train to Faria Junction. She sat patiently, resting her shoulders on the cedar shake of the station wall. A canvas rucksack filled with just two changes of outfit hung lazily from one shoulder.

Periodically she’d look down to make sure that no wily faerie had run off with the all-important chest of plans and pistols. Then, of course, she would remind herself that faeries weren’t real and that she had little reason to feel so uneasy.

She took a hard look at the gun holstered to her belt and a feeling of dread came over her once again. What was Cassius thinking? Did he really believe that Kate would be capable of negotiating with the top-brass at the Sanctum? And then to arrange her way into a supply of the alchemical elixir? By all means, Cassius was an accomplished huckster, who very well may have been able to navigate the intricacies of Consortium politics, “but will they take me seriously?” thought Kate.

In her left hand she clutched a ten-cent copy of Ilsa, Unflappable Sailor Girl Vol. 3. She thought about her favorite pulp hero: six-thousand leagues from shore, combating loathsome brigands amid the massive sea-creatures of distant tropics. Verily, they were a fanciful collection of tales.

She wasn’t relaxed enough to find her place and start reading, but she did try distracting herself by indulging in the advertisements at the back of the volume, noting that the author, Jim Galloway, lived in Old Marianna. Perhaps in her new life as the family gun runner she would have an opportunity to meet this fellow and ask about his inspiration for such a plucky young woman.

“Oh. Hello there,” came a startling greeting from Kate’s periphery.

Kate turned her head to see the face of an aging Frognari, trying his best to exhibit a friendly smile. He wore a neat pair of overalls and a broad-brimmed woolen hat, featuring two, rather beautiful and lengthy, giant swamp fly wings. At his side hung a well-worn carpenter’s ax.

“Ummm… nice hat?” Kate was unsure of this fellow.

“Ah! I’m glad you like it. First to bag one during last year’s hunt,” he said pointing to the pair of feathers.

“A grand tradition, I’m sure…”

“It is indeed a popular pastime in the swamps of Uz. And may I have the pleasure of knowing whom I speak to?”

“Kate Redrock. Pleased to make your acquaintance. And you are?”

“Arbuk Miz, at your service, but friends call me Arb” said the Frognari.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Arbuck Miz.”

“Please, just Arb.”

“Nice to meet you, Arb.”

“You know, Miss Redrock, I’ve worked as a woodcutter in every village from here to Uz,” said the Frognari indicating to his hatchet, “and, as such, I happen to be quite knowledgeable of different timbers, and coming out of the station just now my eyes were immediately drawn to your fine, wooden chest.

“Now, I couldn’t for the life of me recognize these dense, mottled grain patterns,” he said, gesturing towards the top and sides of the ornate chest. “So, would I be correct in assuming that your chest is made from hardwoods of the Crafter homeland?”

“It is a very old chest, I suppose it’s possible, yes.”

“Incredible! Such a fine, ruddy color. It’s really a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. Your family must truly cherish it.”

Rather abruptly Arb’s demeanor changed from giddy to solemn. “A grave shame. The destructive power of nature holds no prejudice. I’m deeply sorry for the plight of your people, may the Akadeans forever have a home here in Valenaria.”

Kate was taken aback. She was impressed that this strange Frognari knew so much about the history of the Crafters. Some of her generation had already forgotten the old names of things: Akadea—their homeland, Valsuh—the sound the wind makes against the dancing leaves of the trees in Autumn, Shik—the sacred name of the lyre.

“You seem to know an awful lot about the Crafters. Could you be some Frognari spy come to steal our secrets?” Kate jested.

“Ha! If I was, little luck I’d have getting information from the source,” said Arb. “Oh, not that Crafters are not welcoming—the furthermost thing from the truth. ‘A Crafter will talk your ear off about everything under the sun, except the way through their entry portal.’ Had a Digger tell me that one a while back.”

Just then The Cross-Plains Express came into station.

“Looks like our ride is here.” Arb offered to carry the chest for Kate, but she refused, tucking her book into a dress pocket and lifting it herself.

A gruff, stout Digger—archetype of a true Rattlerman conductor—punched their tickets and led them in to a coach car, pointing Arb to an open seat, before escorting Kate to her sleeper cabin towards the back of the train.

Kate looked one final time at the peculiar Frognari, smiling deep into his eyes.

“We’re not so insular as you think, Mr. Arb. Perhaps our paths will cross again someday, until then I wish you all the best.”

“Enjoy your book, Miss Redrock.”

Next, the conductor and Kate walked through the dining car. A lithe-looking Elf with delicate, pleasant features gave Kate a wink from behind the counter. His colleague, a buxom-figured blonde, sashayed between the tables, arms covered in trays of coffee, custard pie, fried egg, and bacon. She too gave Kate a wink as she slid past on her route to the counter.

“Best service in Valenaria,” mumbled the conductor.

Before exiting the cafe car, he paused and turned to Kate. “There’s a goblin feller in the next car—a prisoner—I’m sorry to have to subject a lady such as yourself to such an evil presence. He’s wanted for killing a Consortium clerk in cold blood, part of a pretty bad group that’s trying to stir things up.”

“Oh my! Is he going to be on the train the whole way to the Sanctum?”

“No, he’s bound for Old Marianna. He’ll only be on the train ’till the Junction, just thought I should warn you before we head through. And, miss, don’t look ‘em in the eyes. He got an evil stare that’ll make your skin crawl.”

Kate gave a nod of understanding, and the conductor opened the door to the next car. A dozen well-armed Ilfindis soldiers hovered around the twisted, green shape of Luca Xeshi. Enormous cast-iron chains secured the goblin to a chair in the center of the car, prohibiting even the slightest of movements. Fresh, ragged wounds covered his bare back and Kate could see the recently formed stain of blood on the floor.

A mummer of chattering voices came from the Elven guards. “What have we got here?” “Look! The Crafter girl’s packing. See that pistol?” “I wonder what she’s got in the chest.”

“Gentlemen,” said the Rattlerman, in a tone meant to remind them of their place as mere passengers. Not one of them dared lose their train privileges and be forced to trek the treacherous roads from here to Old Marianna on foot—the danger to their small party would be incalculable.

The soldiers quieted up and formed in lines to the sides of the train-car, so that Kate and the conductor could pass without any further harassment.

“Gentlemen,” echoed Kate in dignified manner.

The pair proceeded to the rear of the car and made their leave, but not before Kate turned her gaze to the grimacing visage of the goblin wretch. He looked into Kate’s eyes with a burning hate, then he turned his attention to the chest in her arms. His frown quickly turned to a crooked, manic smile. The sight of his cold, empty eyes made every hair on her body stand on end. Her heart stopped and her skin began to crawl. The elven guards intervened and moved to obscure her view of the prisoner.

“Please,” said one of the guards, “move along now.”

The conductor swung open the door between cars, and with a guiding motion, he led Kate on to the first-class cars.

Finest drapery hung over the windows, rich with embroideries of silver and gold. Kate’s eyes were drawn to the gilded fixtures and ornate lamps that intermixed with the walnut trim. Along one side were plump cushioned sofas, stained-glass lamps, and round-topped tea tables. A group of Digger gentleman sat in a row, pulling thick plumes of tangled smoke from the ends of their twice-rolled cigars.

“You’ll want to take your meals here in the lounge car. See that bell over there? That’s going to be your cue to the elves down in the cafe that you need service. Just give the line a tug. Two rings and one of ‘em will be over with a menu to see that you’re taken care of.”

“Thank you, that’d be wonderful. I truly appreciate it.”

“Best service in Valenaria,” mumbled the conductor.

The next car was partitioned into sleeping cabins. Handing Kate a brass key, the conductor offered the first cabin to young Crafter. She unlocked the door to reveal a gorgeous room on par with the splendor of the lounge car.

“Well, if there’s nothing else I can do for you, I’ll return to my duties. Please let me know if you have any questions.”

“Just one, sir. You said that the prisoner was wanted for the murder of a Consortium clerk. Why, then, is he being guarded by Ilfindis Imperials? I would think that it’d be the Sanctum Guard that’d be transporting him.”

“Apparently the clerk was one of the Emperor’s nephews. The goblin is being extradited to Ilfindium where he’ll stand in front of the Emperor himself.”

“The Elven capital?”

“That’s right, and if I had to bet, he’ll be made an example of, so that no goblin ever makes the mistake of Luca Xeshi. The elves are a proud people and they’d go to any length to protect their own, never forget that.”

“Noted. Thank you, kindly for all your help.”

“Best service in Valenaria,” mumbled the conductor. “We’ll make for Faria Junction in the morning and if you need anything I’ll probably be mulling about the cars somewhere, otherwise there’s one of those little bells hanging above the nightstand in your cabin. One ring for general inquiries and two rings for cafe service.”

The conductor made a half-hearted salute and went about his business.

Kate entered the cabin, closing and locking the door behind her. She gingerly rested the chest on the ground before setting the rucksack against the wardrobe. She sat on the bed and slowly gazed around the lush cabin to better take in the total opulence of the place. Crafter homes were the epitome of comfort, even a certain cozy elegance, but this train was altogether another level of luxury.

Kate then began to recognize the fixtures on the wardrobe as being part of last year’s order for the Rattlers. Cassius had worked day and night to make sure that every piece was cast exactly per the guild’s specifications.

“Wow, Dad” she thought, “Nice work. Very nice.”

She then pulled off her leather boots and began to make herself comfortable, sinking into the soft bedding of the bunk. From her dress pocket she retrieved her copy of Ilsa, Unflappable Sailor Girl Vol. 3 and began to read from her place in the text.

The train had already gotten up to speed. Soon the great forests of the Ashvale gave way to the greater landscape of the plains. Rolling hills of yellowy grain came up to meet the clacking locomotive as it carved a path through the idyllic majesty of the countryside.

A grumble from Kate’s stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast time, and instead of venturing to the society of the lounge car, she decided to give her personal service bell a ring and see if the service truly was the best in Valenaria.

Ring, Ring.

In less than a minute came the knock of the buxom elf girl from earlier, in her hands a tall stack of leather-bound menus.

“Hello, my name is Hela, and I’ll be your server for the duration of our overland-voyage. Here’s a menu for you, miss,” she said handing over one of the menus. “Take your time in deciding, when you’re ready just ring again, and I’ll be back in a flash.” She once again gave Kate the customary wink and was gone through the lounge car back on her way to the cafe car.

Many of the menu items failed to register with Kate, who until now knew little more than the repertoire of her mother’s home cooking.

The plethora of entrees overwhelmed her just a little. Pan-Seared Foie Gras? Turbot Hollandaise? Tomahawk Steak? What the hell is any of this? Kate enjoyed a good steak so she decided the tomahawk would be a safe bet.

The side dishes were less intimidating and Kate had no trouble deciding on mashed potatoes and green beans.

Ring, Ring.

In short order the elf server, Hela, was once again knocking at the cabin entryway. Kate slid open the door and was greeted with a smile.

“What will it be, Miss?”

“Yes, I’d like to try the Tommy-hawk steak.”

“Oh my, the Tomahawk’s a rather large cut, usually shared between two or three people—often portly gentleman if understand my meaning. Perhaps you’d prefer the filet of Turbot instead? It’s a fine fish.”

Kate hated sea-food with a passion. Before her grandfather had passed, she would wake up on Sunday mornings to the fetid smell of fried eels. He’d catch the contemptible slimeballs from the river and for the next three days the entire cavern would reek.

“The steak will do. You know, us Crafters are known for our voracious appetites.” This time Kate made the wink.

“How’d you like that cooked?”

“All the way, please.”

“Umm… we can do medium-rare. Medium. Well-done.”

“Better get it well-done.”

“Right and what can I get you for sides?”

“I’ll have the mashed potatoes and green beans. And you know what let me try some of that holidays sauce on the side.”

“Right, mashed potatoes, green beans, and the hollandaise sauce. Anything to drink, Miss?”

“Water will be fine.”

“Alright. I’ll bring over a pitcher of ice water while the steak is cooking.”

“Your water… it’s frozen?”

The elf couldn’t help but roll her eyes, how did this provincial Crafter girl get a ticket in first-class?

“We put ice in the water. You’ll see, Miss. Unless of course you don’t want any ice.”

“No, truly I’m curious to see this ice water.”

“Well then, I’ll be back momentarily.”

Hela returned promptly with a tall glass and the pitcher of ice water. Kate felt like an idiot for not understanding what she had meant by ice water. There was an ice house in Ashvale, but generally it was used to keep the meats and other perishables, and now she wondered why no one had ever chipped off any of it to keep a drink cool. She’d have to introduce the practice when she got back.

The cool sensation of the water felt nice as it swished around her mouth.

In little under an hour the waitress returned with the rest of Kate’s meal. Steam rose off the plate and Kate’s eyes lit up at the sight of the massive steak. It was as the waitress described it: a meal for three maybe four people, but then again Kate wasn’t lying about Crafter appetites apart from the Trolls no other race in Valenaria was known to eat in such generous quantities.

Kate poured the hollandaise over everything and made short work of the ribeye. She continued on to the potatoes and greens, and when all was said and done, she had to unbuckle her belt to give the food ample room to digest. She supposed that the waitress would be in charge of cleaning up and rang once again for the elf.

Ring, Ring.

Then came the knock of the elf at the door again, and as Kate slid open the door a look of surprise came over the face of the waitress.

“You weren’t kidding about your appetite!” She gathered up the tray and flatware, “Would you like any dessert? We also have several aperitifs, tea, coffee.”

Kate was feeling full, but adventurous after the meal, so she decided to take the elf up on the offer. “Could I take a look at the menu?”

“Sure.”

Kate recognized coffee as the mud water generally enjoyed by Cassius, but was puzzled by the variety of options. Espresso, Latte, Cappuccino, Valenario. Now what were all these? Coffee was simply some ground up brown bean that Cassius would load into the top of a tin percolator. Water and beans went in and brown juice came out. Sometimes he might add a little cream to temper the flavor. Kate was baffled to discover it came in all these varieties.

“What, exactly, is a Valenario?”

“That’s going to be an espresso with boiling water added to make it the consistency of…”

“Oh how interesting, well Father says that nothing’s worse than watered down coffee, so I guess I’ll go with a Cappuccino instead. By the way, how do you guys make your cappuccinos, I just want to make sure that they’re like the ones I get back home.”

“It’s steamed milk, mostly foam and a one-ounce shot of espresso.”

“Ah.. perfect. Yes, a Cappuccino, please. Thank you, Hela.”

“You’re most welcome, miss.”

Hela returned with the cappuccino and instructed Kate to leave the cup outside her car when she was done, that one of the porters would retrieve it without her having to ring for the cafe car.

Kate took a seat and sipped on the peculiar concoction while perusing the pages of her book. For the first time since leaving the Ashvale, she felt truly relaxed. She was less-than-a-day from home and already she had seen so much of the world, met strange people. There was Arb the Frognari, Hela the Elf, and the prisoner… Luca Xeshi. Thoughts of all the different facets of her adventure filled her head as she made for the bunk and under the covers, sliding into an easy sleep.

KABOOOOM!

Sometime in the wee hours of the morning a resounding blast knocked Kate from her bunk and sent her into the opposite wall of the compartment. The awful din of metal against raw earth could be heard from the front of the train. She stood up and looked out the smashed glass window to a sight so horrific, she nearly fainted.

Less than fifty yards out, a wave of torchlight and yelping crested the top of a moonlit hillside. As the maelstrom descended, Kate recognized the shapes of no less than a hundred Centaur warriors. More astonishingly, they were each saddled with Goblins on their backs: at least three to a Centaur. The raiders were armed to the teeth with muskets, pistols, fish nets, meat cleavers, and crude spears.

It was in close proximity that a Goblin grenadier produced a smoking ball of iron and hurled the ordinance directly under the adjacent car. Another cacophony of boom set her ears ringing.

Kate thought quickly about what to do next. She could hide, but there was no way of knowing what these brutes would explode next. She looked at the pistol and thought about blasting her way out this, but quickly realized that drawing attention to herself would be a one-way ticket to the great beyond. She threw on her boots, strapped her belt, and grabbed the chest, deciding to make a quiet run for it.

Elven and Digger affluentials cowered in the hallways, screaming for some aid from the Rattlers, from anyone. Kate moved quickly through them to back entrance of the car.

The clang of the door at her rear caused her to turn, just for a second, to witness a scene of utter carnage. The dead bodies of the Ilfindis soldiers from earlier fell into the first-class car—cut to shreds, guts falling from abdomens.

“Bloody hell, they’re after the prisoner.”

In the background were some two-dozen Goblins, bow-saws in hand, working the chains that held Xeshi to the train-car. Then, in a flash he was extracted,chair and all, onto the back of the biggest Centaur Kate had ever seen. Recapturing their kinsmen didn’t stop the assault however, as the raiders began to trample through the lounge car and towards the first-class cabins.

A shot passed by Kate and landed an elf square in the forehead. Instantly, she charged through the back door and jumped off the train, away from the violent clamor. Then a familiar voice came from up above.

“Miss Redrock,” shouted Arbuck Miz from the top of the train, jumping down to a spot next to her on the ground. “We must make haste if we’re ever going to survive this skirmish. The Goblins won’t stop until every Gnome and Elf on that train is dead.”

Just then, in the distance Kate saw a throng of goblins encircling the server girl, Hela. Instinctively she dropped the chest and pulled the revolver from her hip. She took one breath to steady her hand and then unloaded on the green bastards. The first shot missed, and they turned for Kate. The attackers lunged for her with daggers and picks ready to strike. The next seven shots made their targets and then some, going through one goblin only to pass through another.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

Eight shots. Eight dead gobbos. Hela sprinted a limp in the direction of her savior and was awed to see Kate at the other end of the smoking pistol.

“Not bad, kid,” said Arb, “But unless you’ve got another one of those locked and loaded, we better get the heck outta’ here.”

“What about her? Looks like she’s got a broken ankle.”

“Alright. Elf girl get on my back. Gnome girl hand me your chest and get ready to run. We’re making a sprint for the far side of that ridge over there,” said Arb pointing to a line of trees in the distance.

Hela wrapped her hands around the broad shoulders of the Frognari, lifting her bad leg from the ground. Kate hesitated in trusting Arb with the chest, but relented knowing that her options were more than limited at the given moment. Then the three of them were moving towards the treeline, Kate running faster than a jackrabbit on Sunday.

The three of them desperately tried to escape the wide open floor of the valley, but soon they were bore down on by a squad of goblin spearmen on centaurs.

Arb dropped the chest, pulled the ax from his side and with Hela still on his back, jumped into the air in a high arc that ended on the back of one of the Centaurs.

He caught the goblins by surprise. Arb sent three powerful ax strokes of clean through each of their necks. Before any of them had time to react, they were notinhg more than a tumbling mess of decapitated green and red in the moonlight. Another lightning-fast leap and he was repeating this routine on the back of the other Centaur.

Then, into the ear of that second centaur, Arb whispered, “He’s not the one, friend. Tell your people they’ve made a mistake. Xeshi is a devil, not a savior.”

The mighty Centaur bucked, knocking Arb and Hela from his back. The elf girl fell to the ground with a thud. The massive man-horse then turned to face Arb.

“How could you know what is best for the Centaur people, Frognari, who hides deep in the swamps of Uz, whose land has not been defiled by the foreign beasts. The Centaur will pledge themselves to whatever faction gives them strength against the outlanders.”

The pair of centaurs galloped to meet each other, gathered up the spears of the fallen Goblins, and departed to reconvene with the main force of their attack.

“I don’t think they’ll be looking for us, but we shouldn’t be too sure. Let’s get moving again, we shouldn’t stop until we’re deep into the cover of yonder hills. I know a spot we can reach by mid-morning where we should be safe.”

Arb checked to make sure Hela was OK and helped her once again onto his back. He picked up the chest, and the three of them started their trot for the ridge.

They barely stopped for hours. All the while Arb sung a low, solemn dirge with the full weight of Hela on his back and the chest clasped firmly in his arms:

An elf-man’s come to the land of Uz,

After thirty-six days on a push-pole cruise.

Through spiked swamps and spiders to see,

Our great spires and how to live free.

A woodcutter’s come to the waters of Uz.

Kate could feel blisters forming on the bottoms of her feet, but she kept pushing long after the adrenaline had run its course and she was left with an empty feeling somewhere inside.

Had she really shot and killed those goblins? It was a hard truth that was still mingled with shock. The hills rose up rather fast and for a while they followed a ridge above a rocky river before cresting and heading deeper into a chain of forested peaks.

It was already mid-day when they stopped at the secluded meadow, a rough patch of tall grass tucked-away between the pines of some windy valley. Protected on three sides by the high walls, a small creek trickled along the meadow’s edge. On the far bank stood a small hovel of rough-hewn logs. Kate instinctively knew that they had reached their destination.

The idyllic scene was a stark contrast to the trio’s distraught and anxious mood.

Arb set Hela and the chest down on a bench before working open the door to the rustic structure.

“Are you alright, Hela?” asked Kate.

“Happy to be alive thanks to the two of you. Oh! But for this throbbing pain in my ankle, I think I’ll be OK. I didn’t catch either of your names.”

“Kate Redrock. Pleased to meet you once again, were it under happier circumstances.”

“And you, kind Frognari?” said Hela, to Arb, now inside the cabin, clearing out cobwebs from the pallet beds and cast-iron stove.

“Arbuck Miz, at your service, my Elf friend. That should do it. Well, it’s no luxury suite, but it should keep us safe for the next few days, before it’s time for us to make our way to the Junction.”

Arb brought Hela in and rested her down on one of the beds. Kate stood at the threshold between the darkened room and the noon sun.

“Arb,” she said. “Back when the Centaurs attacked us, I saw you… whisper something to one of them. Can I ask what you said to him?”

Arb paused not knowing how to approach a subject so interwoven into the history of a land that the gnome woman could know so little of in facts or meanings.

“The Centaurs believe in a sort of reincarnate leader.

“He or she comes every hundred years to lead them forward, into the dawn of a new age. They are said to be the person that turns the down-trodden faces of Centaur upwards, towards the six-limbed god, Ur Hor. Usually it’s at a time when there’s a great obstacle they need to overcome—a famine, a plague, some war. They aren’t always Centaurs, either. Many times they are, but in centuries past, there have also been Frognari, Troll shamans, once even a Human. And so, the time has come for them to once again choose their pah-chamf.”

“So, who do they believe it to be?”

“The goblin outlaw, Luca Xeshi. They believe, in this century, he will be their messiah.”