Lord Grim peered curiously at Caliban. “What, pray tell, is the real reason we share whispered council out here, free of all eyes and ears?”

The elf peered intently at a now flushing Eric. “Are you sure you wish to continue? Your accomplishments permit me to offer you penalty free egress from the board.”

Eric swallowed. It would be so easy to play dumb… to pretend he didn’t know what was being offered. But he wouldn’t insult his friend’s intelligence.

“That would mean my… forfeiture, right?” He licked his lips. “I could never return. All the power locked within this wonderful world fruit about to ripen… my birthworld… would be torn from me forever.”

“Of course. And your incredible fortune in gold, compared to which the billion credits worth scooted before the feet of panicked goblins seems like a drop in the bucket, would be secure.”

Caliban locked gazes with an intensity that left Eric breathless, the answer he wanted rendered exquisitely clear with his every word and gesture. “So, Eric Silver, formerly of Clan Silver, who now strides upon Dominion’s Map as a Free Agent. Shall we retire from the board and off to a glorious thousand year sunset, savoring the fruits of triumph and endless opportunities arising from a fortune few will ever match?”

“Not a chance in hell.”

He was surprised by how fiercely he said it, how intensely he meant it, reveling in recollection of the sheer exhilaration he had felt with his first territory claimed. The wonder and glory that had been Gilton’s consumption… and redemption. And he was eager to feel that rush of power again.

To shape the fate of an entire territory like a god. Before sipping deep from the flask of power that was Earth’s own precious potency. Shivering through his core with sweetest rapture before finally becoming his own.

Eric flashed a hungry smile. “The fun, dear Caliban, has only just begun,” he said, sliding a surprised Caliban several actual sheets of vellum upon which he had hastily scribed his intentions as a Contender, in terms of property development, exploiting natural resources, even the dungeons that might form.

Caliban’s eyes widened, giving a slow bemused whistle, looking both surprised… and impressed, when he nodded thoughtfully. “To think you could forge a mostly valid contractual agreement so quickly… when did you manage this?”

Eric grinned. “When my girl was holding her daughter tight after I tucked them both in, restless thoughts and an absurdly high Vitality kept me up later than expected.”

He he furrowed his brow, reflecting upon a past that had been bittersweet at best. “And as much as I couldn’t stand being put on the spot at the time… if nothing else, mother dearest had me look over a fuckload of real estate contracts when not screaming at me to memorize my lines. Said it was part of my ‘education’. I’m actually surprised by how right she was.”

Caliban nodded, carefully perusing the documents he had scanned moments before. “Generally acceptable. You Retain right of Choice regarding location for any venture you yourself are willing to fund… and would like a 60% share of profits.”

Eric nodded. “20% for Blue Faction, but that includes administrative duties, if any are needed, and 20% reserved for whoever will rule. The final 60% is mine, free and clear.” Best get that cleared right now, he thought, lest Blue Corp administrators think themselves entitled to 20% of the profits and an additional 20% administrative fee off his 60%.

Caliban gave him a hard look for several seconds that slowly softened into a smile. “I think we can accept that, all things considered.”

“And that includes having a chance to put investment capital into funding any mines, setting up any real estate, restaurants, or services for an area, without being deliberately crowded out by my supposed allies.”

Caliban gave him a strangely disappointed look. “Eric, that goes without saying. Blue Faction has, and always will, act in good faith.”

Eric gave a hard nod. “Then we don’t have a problem.”

The elf cleared his throat. “It’s the dungeon tithe and the specific territorial strictures we should go over before signing.”

Eric felt an icy chill strike his heart, greater even then the fierce surge of joy he felt for the potential his soon to be active savings and loan bank would allow him and his allies both.

“Alright, but we’re running out of time. I’m seeing the dungeons as no different than any other resource. Miners would work for me for a set wage, I would enjoy the profits of their digging. But instead of paying these ‘miners’ a set wage, in acknowledgment of their efforts, I am asking for only a profit share. And if you’re own practices are anything to go by, I am following galactic norms for an ‘ideal’ contract. 20% Cut for me, 80% for them. I’ll even let Blue Corp figure out how best to determine share without being a nuisance, and without getting robbed, though I'm thinking... Blue Corp representative splits it into five pools, when possible, and lets them choose the 4 parts in five they're interested in. For big ticket finds, they can pay a 20% share of whatever the local galactic market is offering, or we can buy it off them for 80% of whatever is a fair market price, or hell, if it's really choice, we have an auction, and they have the benefits of an auction house which would probably take a hefty cut anyway so it's win/win for them, any way they look at it."

Eric then pointed to the final section. “And I know damn well from the orcs and goblins that any faction can limit who may, or may not, enter. The goblins are hostile predatory fuckwads, and the orcs, they don’t even hide the fact they’re all for enslavement and slaughter. Any territory I surrender to Blue Corp, it's with the understanding that I sure as hell don’t want them having free entry.”

His gaze hardened. “This isn’t a case of hating others for the purple and green color of their skin. This is a case of hating hostile assholes that have invaded my world with every intention of either eating us, or enslaving us, so to hell with both of those asshole factions!"

Caliban frowned thoughtfully. “Blue Faction prides itself on its neutrality and openness to commerce from all races… but it would be fair to declare that any territory you claim and later surrender to us a ‘safe haven’ for you and your clan. This means that various races or tribes would only be restricted from lawful trade or passage if they were actively at war with your own faction.”

Caliban flashed an almost apologetic smile. “And since you have declared yourself a ‘free agent’ direct hostilities with the Sylvan Faction and its many Houses do not necessarily include yourself.”

Eric’s jaw clenched, but before he could respond, Caliban spoke on. “However, if members of any faction from this point forward initiate hostilities, then we can restrict them from accessing territories where you will have, let us say, VIP access. And your lawfare sanctuary clause is acceptable.”

Eric blinked. It had been a wild shot in the dark. “Seriously?”

“Of course,” Caliban said reassuringly. “Anyone who enters what will be safe haven Blue territory will be permitted entry only with the surrender of any legal claims against you. Any attempts to serve summons, tort, or press charges will be retroactively nullified, should they attempt to press suits against you while you’re enjoying sanctuary.” He flashed a cold smile. “The singular exception would be acts of theft and assault you might commit upon their persons while you are both in said ‘safe haven’ territory. Of course, acts of self-defense, or fulfilling a System acknowledged vendetta, are permitted under the Galactic Codiciles, though any party you are at war with shouldn’t be permitted within those Safe Havens in the first place.”

Eric blinked, his ears ringing in sheer disbelief to hear words of such good fortune. “But wait, I thought legal snakes always won in these situations. I mean, with magical compulsions that seem to be tied to at least some contracts, contracts that you didn’t even know were signed on your behalf...”

Caliban nodded. “Now you understand. Understand why our organization is often underestimated but never undervalued. We pride ourselves on integrity above all else, and magically enhanced Lawfare is recognized by most power brokers to simply be another form of attack, even if technically legal. Thus, steps may be taken and codicils may still be made to parry those arrows like any other.”

He flashed Eric a reassuring smile. “And your additional stipulations for anyone that would accept the profit-share plan you would offer with any dungeon or portal you manage to claim… or otherwise accept employment under your auspices under any pretext… is also more than acceptable.”

“So what you’re saying is, my enemies can enter territories I might claim and surrender to Blue Faction, but they can’t enter my dungeons or work for any of my businesses without first swearing a certain oath.”

Caliban nodded. “As the oath you would compel is of a strictly defensive nature, and would otherwise have absolutely no adverse effect on prospective Delvers or other employees, yes, it is entirely permissible and is, in fact, standard practice on many worlds, as it assures that entrepreneurs, managers, and overseers never need fear an irate employee, or former employee, with a grudge.”

Eric swallowed the lump in his throat, terror and relief an odd combination as he sensed his chilly doom rapidly approaching. Still, he took the long second needed to skim the contract once more, What the Other Party Wands and Master Negotiator boons making it clear that, despite the crude nature of his vellum scribbles, it was valid, the minor edits and changes made free of malice, and was probably the best deal he could possibly hope to get from anyone, anywhere.

“Alright, done and done,” he said, signing the document, as did Caliban, before the pair shook wrists.

Only then did Eric allow the growing tide of terror, long held back for the desperate need of a clear mind, wash over him once more.

He quickly turned to the necromancer patiently witnessing their discourse. “I get the feeling that I shouldn’t be here. That I really, really shouldn’t be anywhere near Freetown right now.”

“Then you’d best leave, lad. And by leave, I mean flee like the wind,” said a chuckling Lord Grim, eyes party to the endless depths of eternity locking with Eric’s own. “For the Winter Queen comes. She comes to claim all the treasures and trinkets that she can, including her wayward spring blossom that she would freeze to her side, and the mountain of gold she would forge into a collar no mortal could hope to bend or break.”

Eric blanched, instinctively recognizing the taste of prophesy now resonating through the crimson magics hanging thick as mist in Lord Grim’s Sanctum Sanctorum.

Struck by a name reminiscent of dark fairy tales and even darker legends.

A fey queen skilled at enticing, seducing, and destroying any mortal that caught her fancy, or got in her way. An unparalleled battlefield tactician who brought devastation to all her foes.

“Free Agent status or no, few bonds are harder to break than those of mother and child,” Caliban said solemnly.

Eric stared at the unflinching Caliban in disbelief, a dozen disparate facts clicking in the blink of an eye. “Wait! Wait wait wait wait! Caliban… no. Are you actually saying…” He trembled with horrified disbelief. “That she’s not just an agent or a sympathizer for the Sylvan faction, but she’s actually… fuck, are you saying that my mom is the head honcho? That she’s the bloody Winter Queen?!?”

Caliban flashed a ghastly smile. “My dear young friend and business partner, I would never dare say such a thing aloud.”

His words died off as the skies crashed with thunder, a howling tempest roaring in a voice that cut through his very soul.

“Where is my poppet?

“Where is my beloved little hound that strays so far from his queen?

“Come back, my wayward little pup!

“Come back and show mumsy all the wonderful prizes you have uncovered for her!”

Eric lurched and fell to the ground, momentarily stunned to inaction.

He knew his mom had always been less than the perfect parent. A bit domineering, a bit headstrong, all but controlling his life and his sister’s, for the past two years especially. But their mother loved them both deeply. In her own way. He had never doubted that for a second.

Then the world had ended, and Eric was forced to accept that his mother was far more than a successful actress who loved to fight dirty in the arenas of politics, movie production, and real estate. And, it seemed, in the arena of war as well.

Fighting so dirty she’d use her own son’s desperate struggle to survive as part of a recruitment pitch without sending a lick of help his way. Fully aware of his struggles, and not just ignoring him, but recording him and capitalizing on them as pitilessly and dispassionately as he might watch colonies of bugs go to war while recording it all for a Self-Tube video.

And now? Aurelia Silver, his mother, was somehow the Winter Queen of faerie and legend herself, with the very earth and sky trembling at her beck and call.

“Eric! Get up and get the hell out!” Caliban urged, sangfroid evaporating as the terror of the moment infected them all. “I have a full Bronze regiment safeguarding our assets. YOUR assets! As long as you can claim autonomy, the accords we signed together will stand! Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Eric nodded. He understood all too well. He was rich beyond belief, for now. But the moment his mother got him in her clutches, the moment her silver tongue pierced his brain, he, and his fortune, were hers once more.

Eric gazed up at the looming lich who so clearly favored 19th century garb, flashing a desperate smile. “I don’t suppose you have a back way out of here, Lord Grim?”

Low baritone laughter washed over Eric. “Of course I do, boy. What necromancer worth his salt would lack such a thing? Come. This way.”

Such was his trust and his desperation that Eric didn’t hesitate to fly like the wind, racing along the fine stately corridors that soon became servant’s tunnels, then a warren of storehouses and root cellars, then as the increasingly ephemeral master of the house whom Eric only caught flashes of revealed itself to be no more than an ink-black crow, cawing triumphantly before a locked steel grate leading to a pitch dark tunnel, Eric was somehow not surprised to find both his tactical backpack and his steel-tipped pilum waiting for him. But what he wasn’t surprised were the pair of bardiche waiting for him as well. Both the spear axe and warblade versions, the weapons tightly bundled with the javelins with loops of leather that allowed him to secure the whole bundle across his shoulders. Though with his strength and the pitch black tunnel before him lit only by his infravision, he’d hold them in his hand instead.

Eric shivered sensing the dreadful winter storm howling above him, bowing before the crow solemnly and low. “Thank you, Lord Grim, I will do my best to retrieve your protege, if I can.”

The crow mirrored his bow, before emitting a final caw and flying back from whence it came.

Eric took a deep breath, noted the key hanging from a string just above his head, and proceeded to unlock the grate before him and take his first step forward, ready for whatever perils awaited him in the tunnel beyond.