The office of Councilwoman Milthorne… Wasn’t, anymore. Sam stood outside what had been the town hall only a couple days before and stared at the pile of rubble it had become. Gods, he’d forgotten. It had happened two days ago and he’d completely forgotten about the battle between Ma—Dianna and the Lich King.

The hall had been the largest building in town, once. He and his mobs had spent days removing all the scars left in the wake of the revenant using it as a headquarters, and it had actually gotten back into pretty decent shape. And now it was a mound of debris, walls caved in, ceilings dropped, the four soaring pillars out front split in twain and collapsed in on themselves under their own weight.

Turning, he could see the damage from the fight elsewhere as well. Whole buildings had had their fronts smashed in from some impact or another. The cobbled square was torn up in huge divots and dents. The huge ornate fountain that had been the beautiful centerpiece of the little park had been shattered into a million pieces. Even the tavern across the street was smashed almost beyond recognition. Sam had done some of his best drinking there in the weeks he’d lived in Melloram. Before all this craziness had happened.

It was a rather stark reminder for him how his actions no longer affected only himself, or even those in his immediate circle. Everything he did had ripples that spread out before him far past his ability to control.

Right. So what am I supposed to do, just sit on my hands and do nothing?

He stopped for a moment as the idea circled around in his head. Technically, the more he considered it, it actually was an option. He could stop attempting to solve everything around him and just concentrate on getting the crew back. He’d been working on that already over the past few days of course—he’d actually been able to bring back five or six of the lower-rankers. Nooker the goblin and Boggins the gnome and a few others—but he could put more effort into that. Maybe put together teams to go out and start harvesting essence from random mobs generated in the wild. Surely there were some spawn points around Melloram—

He sighed and shook his head. No. No, giving up just wasn’t an option. It would mean trusting Apollyon to keep the Five off of his back. It would mean trusting Mar—Dianna to remain sane and not attempt to stab them in the back at some point. It would mean rolling over and running when Araxesendenak came calling again, and abandoning Melloram to its fate, and constantly being on the run from bounty hunters and lord knew what else the lich king was sending after him and his family.

“Hey, Sam!”

Sam jumped nearly three feet in the air as a hand landed on his shoulder. He spun around, Thumb Bane appearing in one hand by instinct, cocked and ready to swing—Until he saw it was just Nat, standing there wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

“Wow,” the elf said, staring at the hammer. “Jumpy?”

Sam sighed and tucked the war hammer back into its belt loop. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when half the country wants you dead or in chains,” he said with a rueful smirk. “What’s up?”

“You tell me,” Nat said, raising his slender eyebrows. “You’ve been standing here for ten minutes staring at wreckage. You alright man?”

Sam gave his friend a Look.

“You know what I mean,” Nat shot back, smirking. “You look like you’ve been run over by an oxcart. Have you slept at all?”

“Sleep is for the dead,” Sam grunted, ignoring the sparks that were suddenly back in his mind. “I’ve got too much—“

“—Stuff to do,” Nat finished with him, then rolled his eyes. “Sam, you said the same thing last summer, remember? When you tried to soup up all the gnome’s steam-hammers all in the same night? Remember how that turned out?”

“They eventually got Storgin’s knees back on the right way,” Sam said defensively.

“Yeah, after they got that specialist healer in from Almecca.” The elf paused for a second, then sighed. “But you’re not gonna listen to me, so I’m not gonna waste my breath. What brings you around here? Looking for something?”

“Milthorne. I’m supposed to meet her… Somewhere.”

“Oh, she’s set up shop in the old haberdashery on Lin row.”

“Old man Winnow’s place?” Sam frowned. “I’m surprised he let her in. He’s more crotchety than my gran on a two-week bender.”

“He’s dead,” Nat said bluntly.

Sam blinked hard. “When?”

“First days of the revenant. I think he got made into one of those zombie things.”

And I probably blew him apart during one of the invasions. Sam winced internally. He’d only learned after the fact that those undead he’d plowed through had once been townsfolk. Not that it would have changed his actions in anyway, just that the knowledge now gave him more than a twinge of guilt when he lingered on the thought for too long.

“I guess there’s a lot of empty real estate around now, huh?” Sam asked quietly.

“Yeah.” Nat’s voice was equally subdued. “Twenty or thirty houses at least. He took a lot of the old folks. I guess he was saving the rest of us for his ghost army or whatever.”

Sam reached out and patted his friend on the shoulder. “Hey, at least we got you out.”

“And the kids.” Nat nodded. “Thanks again for that.”

“Anytime.” Sam smirked. “Just, y’know, try not to make it any time, okay?”

“Better believe it.” Nat blew out a breath. “How do you do it Sam? I’ve seen you stand toe-to-toe with stuff that would have me soiling my drawers for a month. I mean, even when that Lich showed up… You took the hit for me. You didn’t freeze, you didn’t even look like you thought about it. How do you do that?”

Sam shrugged, uncomfortable at this line of questioning. “You just do the job that’s in front of you, y’know? It’s not like running away from stuff makes it disappear. Sometimes all you can do is stand up and take the punch, then throw it right back at them.”

“Even when they’re bigger than you?”

“Even then.” Sam smirked and reached over to chuck his friend on the shoulder. “But hey, you did pretty good yourself, y’know? Ma told me how you dropped Araxesendenak down that hole. That was a pretty gutsy move.”

“Yeah well,” Nat rolled his shoulders, “I guess I didn’t have a choice. He was gonna kill your parents, and I just—“

“Took the shot.”

“Yeah. Plus, y’know, I had a dragon behind me.” The young elf smiled a little sheepishly. “I guess that may have stiffened my spine a little bit.”

“He did seem to take a liking to you,” Sam said with a chuckle as they rounded a corner onto a side-street. It was interesting, he noted in passing, just how few people were out and about this morning. In the old days—all of two weeks ago—the streets would have been bustling. Now he and Nat were the only living souls he’d seen, except for Sereshak trailing behind them.

Part of it was the decreased population of course, fewer people in town meant fewer people to crowd the streets. But that couldn’t account for all of it…

He glanced up when he saw a curtain twitch on a second-story window. A child’s face peeked out at him, and its owner offered Sam a tentative wave when they saw him looking at them. Sam started to wave back, but a larger hand tugged the curtain closed before he could even get his fingers up.

They’re afraid, he realized. Of me?

Well, and why wouldn’t they be? Every time he came to town, he was dragging some evil thing along behind him. First the revenant, then the perceived wrath of Araxesenednak. And then the very real wrath of Araxesendenak.

And yet they had still asked him to lead them in rebellion.

Sam frowned. Something wasn’t right, in all that. Maybe that was the reason Milthorne wanted to meet with him. Assuming it wasn’t ti just attempt to assassinate him out of hand.

Although, no, it probably wouldn’t be that. She would have learned by now of his immortality, almost for certain. Too many people would have seen him killed by the lich king and then returned to life not long after.

“He left one of his scales behind, y’know.” Nat’s voice jerked him out of his thoughts and back to the present. He turned to see the elf reach into his vest pocket and pull out something long and red and shimmering, almost like a gemstone but flattened.

“That came from Quentin?”

“Yeah,” Nat said reverently, running a thumb over the scale’s surface.

“He asked to come back and see you, you know,” Sam said with a little grin. “I told him that’d be fine.”

“Really?” Nat’s eyes went wide. “Wait, a dragon wants to visit me? Why in the hell would he want to do that?”

“Beats me. Maybe you’re his type.”

“Don’t even joke about that, man.”

Sam chuckled as they walked out of the side street and turned left. The old haberdashery was just another dozen paces down, on the left. It looked worse for wear, with scoring on the bricks and cracks in the display windows, and the door didn’t sit straight in the frame anymore. But it still closed and locked, because when Sam tried the knob it wouldn’t open.

“Try knocking?” Nat said helpfully.

“That was going to be my next tactic,” Sam agreed. He rapped sharply three times on the wood with his knuckles, and after a moment there came the ‘snick’ of a deadbolt being thrown back, and the door opened a crack.

“Yeah?” Said decidedly not Councilwoman Milthorne. The man on the other side of the door was tall and wide and had a single eyebrow over both eyes.

Probably the live-in maid, Sam thought.

“I’m here to see the councilwoman,” he said, meeting the single eye peering out at him. “Sam Tolliver. She’s expecting me.”

“Yeah.” The door shut again, and more metallic sounds happened. Bolts being thrown, chains sliding off, and a very odd click-click-clack that Sam couldn’t identify. Finally the door opened again, all the way, to reveal the same man pointing a heavy crossbow right at Sam’s nose.

“Oh, you know what?” Nat said, starting to turn around, “I think this is the wrong address. We were looking for the hostelry. Main street, right?”

Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed Nat by the collar. “Simmer down, son. This guy isn’t gonna shoot you.”

“Might,” said the goon. “Milly said one person. Who’s the shank?”

Sam let go of Nat’s collar and narrowed his eyes at the slur. It was in reference to elven pointed ears, of course, because a good slur obviously had to target a physical difference. Nat whirled around and turned a wide-eyed glare on the man.

“My friend,” Sam enunciated that clearly, “is Nathaniel Sand-in-his-shoes. And if you use those words in my presence again we’ll be finding out how well you talk with no teeth.”

The goon snorted and hefted his crossbow. “You got the whole town scared. Don’t scare me though. Just a punk with a hammer. So maybe you and your pet shank don’t get to see the councilwoman today. Beat it.”

Oh-kay.

It would have been so easy to crush this man. He didn’t even need to use Identify on him to know that he was so far out of Sam’s league that it was almost laughable. He could have snatched the crossbow out of his hands with telekinesis. He could have flung Thumb Bane right into the man’s face. Hell, he could have just taken the hit, pulled the bolt out, and stabbed the man to death with it. If he wanted to, he could have made this man’s life a living hell for the rest of his days.

It would be so easy.

An image came back to his mind, then. Araxesendenak, standing tall and laughing among a sea of cowering kobolds, Rakun dangling in his grip. All because Rakun had offered insult to someone far more powerful than he.

And that had been easy for the lich. No doubt about it.

Sam slowly clasped his hands behind his back and stood with his feet apart, in what his pop would have called ‘parade rest’ and what his ma would have called ‘please kick me in the nuts’

“Councilwoman Milthorne specifically requested this meeting,” he said, staring right into the goon’s eyes. “I’ll leave once we’ve spoken. Not before.”

The goon’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll leave now, or I’ll—“

“You’ll do nothing,” Sam interrupted easily. “Except go tell Milthorne that Samuel Tolliver is here to see her. If you try to shoot me or my friend, I will kill you. But only if you try to shoot us. Now. Do you want to tell her we’re here? Or shall I message her directly and explain the difficulties we’re having at the moment?”

The goon blinked rapidly, clearly this was off-script from what he had imagined. He glanced at Nat, back to Sam, then down to the warhammer on Sam’s belt. He swallowed noticeably, and the crossbow lowered.

“I’ll… Uh… Tell her you’re here.”

“Do that,” Sam said icily, and watched as the goon tromped across the empty room and up the stairs at the far end.

“My hero,” Nat murmured, clasping his hands and fluttering his eyelashes at Sam.

“Oh shut up,” Sam muttered back, giving his friend a shove. “What the hell was I supposed to do, let him shoot you?”

The two waited in silence for a long minute, then the goon came back down, looking sour, without his crossbow.

“Councilwoman will see you now,” he said sullenly. “Go on up.”

“Thank you, my good man,” Sam said with all the false cordiality he could summon. “Pleasure doing business with you. C’mon Nat.”

Nat stuck his tongue out at the goon as they marched past and up the stairs.