“So competitors aren't allowed to bet, right?” Alex’s eyes were locked on his companions, noting their rapt attention.

“Indeed, it is against the rules,” Isolde said.

“Betting?” Sinope asked, cocking her head to the side. “You mean gambling? How is it against the rules?”

“Competitors cannot—legally—bet on events in which they are participating,” Isolde explained. “For example, I could have bet on the Duel by Proxy last year—not that I would—though I was competing in the Grand Battle. But, if I were to bet on the Grand Battle, I would have been disqualified if my actions were discovered.”

“Why is that?” Sinope asked. “It seems reasonable to put coin on yourself: battle without risk is no battle at all.”

“Ah, there are some who say that such activities are against the spirit of sportsmanship,” Khalik said, smiling. “Of course, those opinions are usually held by folk most likely to make mountains of coin from sport, while keeping their teams, gladiators and competitors poor, but surely their positions have no relevance to their opinions.”

Sinope smiled. “Of course not.”

“Of course not,” Khalik echoed with a wink. ”But in this case, there is some historical precedent for disallowing bets.There was one notorious year where disaster struck because a large number of competitors had the brilliant idea of betting on their opponents in various events. Then, they would lose the event on purpose and win a large pool of coin. Apparently, what they were doing was ridiculously obvious, with competitors stumbling over themselves—sometimes literally—to lose fast and decisively. They lacked all subtlety…it seems,” the prince laughed, shaking his head. “So, it’s no surprise that a ban on competitors betting on their own events was instituted, starting in the following year. These days, such an offence sees one disqualified and banned from future Games for three years.”

“Exactly, exactly.” Alex smiled. “Unless somebody has a friend hold their coin and place bets for them.”

“Oh, come on, the Watchers would have thought of that, wouldn’t they?” Thundar asked.

“Oh, they did, but it’s very hard to police,” Alex said. “Usually people get caught because one person decides to keep all the coin, so the others get mad and turn their ‘friend’ in to the Watchers. Another way is if a strange or obvious pattern shows up in the betting.”

The young man shrugged. “No one can stop a friend from betting on their friend’s success, but let’s say Isolde bets on someone beating me and Claygon in the Duel by Proxy and then we lose, in spite of being last year’s champions. And then that happens in another event. And another. People would start asking questions.”

“But if I bet on you winning your event, it’s just one friend getting involved with another friend’s events. It’s part of the fun!” Thundar suggested.

“You got it.” Alex tapped the side of his nose. “Which is why—the other day—I went to say hi to Kybas.”

“And Kybas is someone we trust, yet he will not be competing in any of our team events.” Khalik smiled broadly.

“Exactly. And he was very enthusiastic about ‘borrowing’ some coin from his friends, and then passing that ‘borrowed’ coin back to said friends after the bets turn out to be winners,” Alex said excitedly. “I’m not one to gamble, but we’re strong, we’re going to try our hardest to win our events, right? So, why not get a little extra reward for us?”

“Because gambling is a foul habit that leads to addiction and ruin,” Isolde said.

“Not if you just do it once.” Thundar rubbed his chin. “I’ve been putting away the coin Alex’s been paying us for dungeon core hunting: I’m not the kinda guy that’s gonna waste all his winnings in ten minutes, and then go back to the betting pool looking for more.”

“My grandfather says that gamblers do not gamble for the coin, they do it for the thrill. That is where the deadliness of addiction lies,” Isolde warned.

“Look, I get enough thrills fighting for my life every other week against demons and monsters.” Thundar shrugged. “Don’t think I’m gonna need more from the betting grounds, Isolde.”

“Yeah, it’s just going to be for a bit of a financial windfall, and then we’re done,” Alex said. “Okay, well maybe a bigfinancial windfall.”

“That is what they all say,” Isolde sniffed. “Count me out.”

Alex shrugged, looking at the others. “Are all of you in?”

“Yes,” Khalik, Sinope and Thundar said in unison.

Isolde made a noise of disgust. “Then I hope we all lose.”

“You are not embracing team spirit.” Khalik rolled his eyes. “So what will Kybas get out of this?”

Alex held up two fingers. “Two things. First, we give him a small cut of our winnings, and a commission whether we win or lose. Second, we take his money and bet it for him. Then we’re all good to go.”

“Sounds like a win-win situation to me.” Thundar rubbed his hands together. “I come to Generasi and meet two rich friends, then the third one gets rich too. Looks like now it’s my turn to shine.”

“Exactly, exactly,” Alex said. “Same here: between this and the bakery’s grand opening, things are looking prosperous.”

“Right, about that…Alex, you’re not really hard up for the coin, right? From the bakery or the Games? I mean, Claygon, Brutus, Theresa and me have been getting you dungeon core substance. Ain’t that more than enough coin for you? Is it because you still need to make back all you spent on the hells trip?”

“Actually, I’ve made almost all of that back, and when Toraka lines up more buyers for our golems?” Alex explained. “I’ll have a ton of gold to throw around, but I’ll still need every coin I can get my hands on to do what I promised to do for Lucia’s shipping company: funds going in now will get me a lot more later.”

“Alright, so I could see that justifying betting…” The minotaur scratched his head. “But why open the bakery? I mean, you’re gonna make a hell of a lot more making alchemical shit than you’re ever gonna make slinging bread and pastries, even if they are super tasty.”

“Oh that?” Alex grinned, his eyes shining with malice. “Part of that is about the principle of the matter.”

“And what principle would that be?” Isolde groaned.

“Hehehe, listen. Every night that I work on the bakery, I go to bed, pray to the Traveller, lie down and then you know what I do? I imagine the look on McHarris’ face when I build myself an empire that could buy his little shop a hundred times over. No, a thousand times over. And I’ll do it with the skills he prides himself on having.”

“McHarri—Oh, I think I remember this man,” Sinope said. “He was your old boss from your home country, wasn’t he?”

“Exactly, and I’m going to destroy him at his own game.” Alex chuckled darkly, imagining his former boss, writhing in defeat.

Isolde frowned. “Alex, you do realise that this man is likely in the Rhinean Empire, praying to Uldar that his bakery still stands at the end of the war. He will not even know that you are doing any of this.”

“Until I show him one day!” Alex’s laughter erupted, attracting attention from students nearby. “I’ll be able to teleportIsolde. I can drag him across land and sea to show him what I’ve done. And then he’ll know real despair!”

“But will he even care? By the elements, Alex, this feels at least slightly unhinged.”

“Theresa and Selina told me that too. But what’s a little unhinging in the face of some good old, delicious, vengeance. You got your revenge on Derek, you should understand.”

She blushed slightly. “True, I can well understand obsessing over such thoughts, even if they do lack rationality. And in the end, running a successful business will benefit you. It just seems…well, it does not seem to be a fair contest, does it? This man is a simple baker, completely unaware that you—a wizard—are plotting to shake him to his very foundation.”

“Well, that’s the best part, isn’t it?” Alex drew himself up to his full height. He puffed out his chest and tried to mimic Baelin’s deep, ancient voice. “After all, ‘A Proper Wizard can gain great advantage if their enemies are not even aware that they are there.”

###

The tower rose on a lonely hill within the moors.

Below it, dozens of wizards, engineers and labourers gathered, swarming over the muck like bees building their hive. It was late evening, folk were tired. Many wished to go home. Many bellies rumbled. But the outpost, while close to completion, needed one final push to finish it.

And so they were completing the work in the dying light of day, while guards watched the hills around them. Watchers and mercenaries—including Ripp—paced the hillsides, alert for any movement from the surrounding grounds.

They remembered spying birds well, and so they turned suspicious eyes toward birds above; no one could forget the tale of the blue annis hags watching them in secret for months. Now every animal was suspect if they lingered too long.

And so Ripp watched a herd of deer in the distance, chomping on new shoots springing from wet earth. The herds had appeared in droves this spring, wary of the Generasians, but drawn by the lack of other predators, as most had been driven away by the survey teams last year.

An absence of carnivores, along with an abundance of new, green growth had brought several herds in force, and the expedition team were treated to nature's display of fawns, does and bucks feasting after a cold, sparse winter.

But deer were not the only creatures drawn this spring.

Their presence had brought other things.

Ripp had been watching the herd for hours as they drifted along the moors, and he’d noted a tension among their number that seemed to cover all of them. They moved quickly, often glancing over their shoulders, grazing only briefly before checking the surrounding terrain.

Their skittish behaviour had then set the swiftling on guard, so he’d warned the other mercenaries: in his day he’d hunted enough deer to recognise how the animals acted when a predator was on their trail.

“Come on, show yourself, ya sneaky bastard,” Ripp muttered, his sharp eyes scanning the hills. If it was merely a beast, then there was little to worry about. If it was a wild monster or Ravener-spawn, though…

Suddenly, he caught eyes flashing in the early evening light, and a buck raised his head.

The deer stilled.

There came an explosion of movement.

The herd was running now, panic spreading, spurring them into motion. Guards gathered around Ripp, workers paused, watching the commotion.

The source soon became apparent.

Eyes were revealed first, gleaming in the evening light. Then lean, loping forms. Then shining teeth.

Wolves had come to Greymoor, chasing herds that were there looking for an easy feast. And now the ‘safe’ terrain proved to be the preys’ undoing. As panicked deer sprinted away, their hooves sank into Greymoor’s thick mud, slowing their escape.

But wolf paws were broad, letting them glide over snow, ice or—indeed—mud. As the herd sought to flee, fighting through muck, an old doe struggled, quickly growing exhausted.

She stumbled once.

The wolves closed in.

She stumbled twice.

The wolves closed in.

And then they were on her. The kill was mercifully short, as far as wolves went, and Ripp sighed in relief as the pack circled their meal. It wasn’t a very big pack—perhaps no more than seven—and they were lean, likely from the hard winter.

“Well, all’s well that ends well,” a mercenary said from nearby. “Circle of life and all that.”

“Aye,” Ripp agreed, turning away. “Let them eat.”

The lupine creatures were too busy pulling their kill away from the outpost—some already tearing at it—to pay the guards much heed. They seemed no more than natural predators, having gotten lucky.

Yet, as the expedition’s attention turned from them, some of their number looked up, eyes glowing in the failing light. To a casual observer, it looked like they were making sure the mortals were not going to challenge them for their food.

But, a few of the pack turned their gaze away from the outpost, noting the next one perched on a hilltop no more than a mile away. And beyond that, another. And another.

They did not watch the outposts for long though, instead, their muzzles returned to their kill, gorging their lean bodies on steaming meat. Hours passed as they feasted as any wolf would, long after those raising the tower had gone, and the night patrols had begun making their way through Greymoor.

Watchers—flying above the hills—-inspected the pack as they flew by, the wolves flinched, drawing away as wolves would.

And so the Generasians moved on.

At last, the lupine beasts were alone.

They looked at each other, something passing between them.

Then the creatures turned, bounding over the moors. For miles, they loped through muck and spring growth until they reached the borders of Greymoor. From there, they sprang into the forest, loping deep into the woods, drawing further away from the wizards’ prying eyes.

At last, they were deep in the wood—where the canopy was so thick that there was little light below—their pace slowed, trotting between tree trunks until they reached a clearing.

In that clearing sat a boulder smoothed by time, seeming as though it had been there since Uldar walked Thameish soil. The beasts dropped to their haunches at the base of the boulder, forming a perfect half circle, watching the rock…

…it began to shimmer.

A squat, solid form emerged; the priest Eldin stepped into the night air, standing atop the boulder and looking down upon the pack.

“Speak,” he said. “Tell me what you have seen.”

And the wolves’ forms began to shimmer.