This was something new, Ayara realized, as she watched Bonnelle flirting with Hohza. She’d witnessed the dwarf’s drunken seductions before; desperate prowls for a man to satisfy her for the night. Tonight, with the toothy smile and excited chatter she shared with the orc, Bonnelle was a woman finding connection as opposed to action.

The elf strained to hear the couple over the boisterous soldiers around her. So instead she leaned against a tree and watched. The show was an interesting one, as Bonnelle would stroke Hohza’s ripcord arms or lean to display her bursting décolletage and then glower at his resistance. Or perhaps he was oblivious? A surprising thing, given their discussion had been sparked by a mutual interest in romance novels.

Absorbed in each other, the would-be couple were themselves oblivious. The gathered warriors were appropriately engaging in carousing, song, and horseplay. But whenever they drew near Hohza & Bonnelle or Ayara & Kornin, laughing smiles died to wary stares. Gohta, Hohza’s most loyal soldier, drank among Bigrummar’s War Party. Even then he engaged them little as he glowered at Bonnelle while nursing a drink. At least the troll was keeping things lively. He strutted through clusters of warriors and boasting about his golden feather. With each retelling of how he won the trophy, which Ayara couldn’t hear, his illustrative movement grew more aggrandized, making his audience back away to avoid being clobbered.

“It feels like another war is about to break out,” Kornin said. He plopped beside Ayara and handed her a cup. He drank from his own in deep, noisy gulps, each making his throat bulge.

Ayara watched the display with mild disgust, lips slightly parted, eyebrow raised. “Drinking is a silent activity.” She shook her head and gazed into the brew. Sparkles swirled throughout it, reminding her of the night sky above and its ribbons of stars. She dipped her head down and smelled its sweet bouquet. “What is it?”

“A cider. I’m told it’s a local delicacy. Bonnelle says the stuff is treasured throughout the Land of Darkness.” Kornin licked his lips, testing the last taste of the drink there. “It’s an interesting taste. I don’t know how to describe it other than indigo and cyan, if that makes any sense. Very fizzy.”

By briefly tipping the cup against her lips, Ayara took a quick sip. The bubbles tickled the back of her throat. She sneezed sharp and dainty and then pulled her headscarf back into place. “Not so sure it’s wise to keep such a tense group liquored.” She took another sip. Her eyebrow suddenly nagged her.

“They don’t know whether to trust us. Most of them expected to be dead by our hands. They’ll stay true to their orders not to hurt us. Even if only grudgingly.” Kornin looked about the campgrounds. While swishing his cider around in the cup hee tilted to direct Ayara’s attention. There was a cluster of soldiers; Bigrummar, Gohta, and even Tad. “The one who really needs to be careful is Hohza. He’s not doing himself any favors by favoring Bonnelle’s company. Tad might be too naïve to hold it against him, but Gohta is going to carry a grudge.”

“His War Master met his first girl,” Ayara commented. Her voice was drowsy, drunk on both romance and cider. She kept her attention on Tad, who drink and smiled along with the goblin scouts around him. Gohta kept somewhat apart from the others. Sitting on a stump, with one hand poised on the pommel of his sword, he observed his War Master. Occasionally a fellow soldier would wander up to Gohta and attempt to congratulate his victory. Then, after a curt response, would put on a scowl and storm away.

“What kind of General sets his armies out with the intention of them dying?” Ayara took another sip. Her cheeks felt hot.

“Like Bonnelle says, it’s a game to them and the prize is reputation. To the Dread Lord, losing a handful of their forces is a small price for the honor of being invaded by the World of Light.”

“It was no small price for the soldiers we killed.” Ayara tapped her nails against the cup. There were indentations in the clay the size of an orc’s finger. It was clearly the rushed work of someone who just needed something to hold their drink. How had it found its way into her hands? Was the maker among this group of soldiers? Had this been handed down in a chain of forgotten deaths? “They fought their best to live.” She looked to Tad, who drank from a canteen strapped across his chest. It was dented and wrapped in yellowed, frayed cloth older than the boy. How had it found its way to him?

“They would have killed us, Ayara. Just as the Dread Lords seek a better reputation, so would any monster. It’s why their forces were so limited. Crushing us under superior numbers would mean nothing.”

Ayara rose and pointed to Tad. The goblin noticed, gasped, and then cowered. The scouts crowded around, leaving the elf staring down the whole squad. “He didn’t fight to kill me. He merely wanted to save his friends.” Ayara looked down at Kornin. “He called them that, you know. Not his soldiers, warriors, or men … but his friends.”

“He’s a child, Ayara,” Kornin groaned. He rose and wrapped his arms around her. “Given time, he’ll grow up to be a monstrous little fellow who scrapes the skin off his enemies, while they’re still alive, just so he can hear them scream.”

Stubble scratched Ayara’s palm as she slid her hand across his chin. “You need to shave,” she whispered. “The others will notice.” She pushed away from him and drained her drink. She set it down and strode to Tad.

In a burst of speed, Gohta leaped from his seat and dashed to block Ayara. Only the campfire beside the orc dared to make a sound as he faced Ayara. He gripped the handle of his sowrd, ready to lash out. Sweat beaded on Ayara’s head as she realized she wasn’t wearing her gloves.

“I wish to speak with Tad,” Ayara said, pointing at the boy above and behind the orc. She hoped nobody noticed how she’d slurred “speak.”

“What could you possibly have to say to him?”

Ayara was considering the question when Hohza interceded. “We are not to harm the Dread Lord’s guests, Gohta. Take your hand off your weapon.”

“It’s a ploy, War Master. She means to assassinate Tad! Separate the leadership, murder them, then finish off the men in the confusion. Have you not noticed the sprites are missing?” He narrowed his brows and leaned toward her. Ayara stood her ground, turning her head against his rancid breath. “I’ll bet they’ve set up a trap for her to lead him to.”

Tad broke away from the scouts. “Henri and Renaut are holding funerals for their birds!” Cawcaw had succumbed to his injuries during the battle at the prison, leaving Kornin hauling two dead birds in his satchel for most of the day.

“I didn’t even know where they were,” Bonnelle muttered.

“While I appreciate your concern for the safety of our men, Gohta, I fear you are being paranoid,” Hohza spoke in a stern tone and over-enunciated each word through clenched teeth.

“And you’re being a fool! They’re the enemy.” Gohta began drawing his sword. The red glow of the blade matched the blaze beside him.

“Restrain him,” Hohza yelled to all the nearby soldiers.

“Very well.” Bigrummar closed the distance with one stride and snagged Gohta by the elbow. The orc spun about and clocked the troll across the chin. Yurzan, and the rest of Bigrummar’s allies, ran into the fray. The camp erupted into shouts.

“Rude Rubies, do not interfere,” Bonnelle shouted.

The orc and troll scuffled; the troll unconcerned as he trod through the fire. The gangly Yurzan hollered “secure War Master Hohza’s party!” Tad’s eyes widened when Bigrummar’s allies reached for him. The scouts around the boy nocked arrows and drew daggers, threatening the encroaching orcs.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Sorry, Bonnelle,” Ayara muttered. With one bound she cleared the hillock and landed beside Tad.

“Stop right there, elf,” a squeaky goblin commanded. He jabbed his dagger up at her knees.

“I’m getting him out of here!” She knelt before Tad and spread open her arms. “You know they won’t come after me.”

“Why are you doing this?” Tad looked up at her with his eyes wide and lower lip trembling.

She gave him her warmest, most genuine smile, one she thought she’d lost hundreds of years ago. “I don’t want to see my friend hurt.”

“Oh,” he said, his mouth wide with surprise. She swept him up. Her sleeves lashed him, and his canteen slapped against her torso, while dashing through the woods. Some orcs from behind yelled about an abduction, but none gave chase.

Eventually they were away from the fires and the yelling. Alone in the deep, dark woods, only insects chirped, and birds screeched. After probing the ground with her foot, Ayara put Tad down. When she bumped into a tree she cursed and then leaned against it while catching her breath.

“You can’t see well in the dark?” Tad walked confidently. From the snatches of moonlight striking him the elf could see he was collecting twigs from the ground.

“No. I’m not used to night being so dark. You seem to handle it well.”

“I’m used to working underground. This?” He waved one stick around. “This is practically blinding,” the last word exploded from his lips, propelled by the boast behind it.

“Then you’ve no need for more light?” Ayara reached for her gloves, which were tucked under her belt.

He paused. “I wouldn’t mind,” he admitted in a deflated tone.

Ayara removed one of the gloves along with the jeweler’s screwdriver she kept with them. Biting on her tongue, she lifted them to her face and attempted to use the screwdriver to unlock the iris. Between the dark and cider, however, the head kept missing the drive. She growled in frustration.

Tad dropped his sticks. “Can I help?”

Ayara clutched the glove and screwdriver to her chest and looked down at him. This was a weapon, she told herself. “Be very careful with it. Don’t let the fingertips touch the plate on the palm.” She tapped it with her fingernails. “That’s what activates a spell.”

The iris was already opened. The boy left the tool resting in the palm. He gazed into the blue shine of the lens. “How does this work?”

“It’s like that staff weapon of the Lieutenant’s. It’s a dwarf crafted crystal bearing elven enchantments. Mine’s a little special, though, as the spell is incomplete. The fingertips have runes which complete the spell.” She pinched the knob at the tip of the index finger and tapped it to the plate. The glow intensified. “As a safety precaution, all the spells require two fingers, and some combinations do nothing. Well, almost nothing. As you can see, just this finger makes the light brighter.” She plucked the screwdriver from the palm and then took the glove from him. She kept the index finger’s tip in place to light the forest floor around them.

“It’s broken, you know.”

“You could tell?”

“The action on the iris was sticky. I may not be familiar with elf or dwarf magic … but I know when a machine isn’t working as it should!”

“Well, if we can get a fire going maybe you can take a closer look at it.”

At that, the woods around them bustled and the squad of goblin scouts emerged. “You need a fire, War Master?”

“I’m not a War Master, Yib!” Tad stomped his foot. “And yes, we do.”

“Get to it,” Yib said to the others. They darted away, some into the thick of the woods and others working the immediate area. Moments later the ground was swept, a ring of stones set, and a fire was lit. The dozen goblins stood and crouched around the fire.

Ayara whistled in admiration of the work. Scratching her cheek, she noticed her fingers were clammy. “You wouldn’t be able to get us something to eat, would you?” She crouched by the fire, set down her gloves, and warmed her hands.

“Not much more than razor squirrels around here, miss,” the lead scout answered. “Maybe some skull owls. Their taste isn’t agreeable, though.”

“Razor squirrels are fine,” Tad said. “How are things back at the camp, Yib?”

“They settled. Lost my bet on Bigrummar, though. I already had my team tracking you, but Hohza wanted a report from me. I’ll tell him you’re safe, as Lady Bonnelle said you’d be.” He looked at the elf. “She claimed you’ve the least killer instinct of the company!”

Rubbing her pointed chin with long, thin fingers, Ayara mumbled “I would like to think that’s a compliment.”

“I believe so!”

“Thank you, Tad.”

“I’ll also get you two something to drink.”

Yib was sinking into the bush when Tad pointed to his canteen while holding it over his head. “I’ve got Special Reserve in here!”

After disappearing into the shadows, Yib called back: “That’s too strong for you!”

“He’s probably right,” Tad mumbled. The boy sat beside Ayara and stared down at the canteen, which rested between his legs. “I don’t want to drink too much of it anyway. I need to save some to share with Glum. I’m pretty sure he’s never tasted it before!”

Ayara hugged herself while watching the goblin. In the fire’s light his green skin seemed almost black, but his eyes shone all the brighter. Every emotion seemed more intense in them. They’d shrunk slightly in a flash of anger when Yib challenged his drinking prowess and become watery when he mentioned that name. “Who’s Glum?”

“He’s my boss. Well, my old boss.. Hohza’s my new boss … but he’s Glum’s boss too, which seems weird.” Tad opened the cap and took a swig. His lips puckered and the sharp smell of over aged fruit wafted across her nose. For just a moment she was reminded of the fires which erupted around her at the temple’s entrance.

Then she saw him offering the canteen to her. He covered his mouth with his other hand and wheezed. “You seem a little young to already be on your second boss,” she said, taking the canteen. Its wrappings were damp in spots. After taking her sip she joined the boy in gasping for air. She reapplied the stopper and put aside the container with her gloves.

They joined each other in a brief laugh. As he did, Tad’s eyes glittered like the stars above. The stars! Ayara gasped, then rolled on her back to stare up. Tad did the same. His hair brushed against her scarf and Ayara reflexively scratched there. The forest bed crunched as the goblin scooted away, but just a little bit. Sadly, the full tree limbs blocked most of their view.

“Glum’s been my boss since I could walk.”

It didn’t surprise Ayara that children didn’t get a childhood here. She’d seen worse, though. “Is he a good boss?”

“I’d say so. He’s taught me so much and … and he’s always looking out for me. Even if sometimes it,” his voice trailed off.

“Makes you angry?”

“Yes. Sometimes,” he admitted, his voice choked.

“Most people have complicated relationships with their parents,” Ayara said.

“He’s not my father, Ayara! Just my boss. We don’t have parents around here. Maybe you could say the Dread Lord is our … they created us. But that’s different.”

“How would you feel if Glum died during this campaign?”

There was a pop as the boy opened his mouth, about to speak, but found himself unable to find the right words. “Why do you care,” he asked with a bitter hiss.

Her own little brother became guarded with her in the decades before he left Fairlaigh. Had Tad shut her out because he was fearful of being too vulnerable or because he remembered that just a day ago, she could very well have been the one to slay Glum? “I’m sorry, Tad. It must be odd, talking with someone who was your enemy, killed your friends, is an elf, and a woman. I just wanted to get to know you before I go home and it’s too late.”

“Go home with Doctor Toran?”

“Yes.”

“You kind of talk like him, you know. The questions you ask and the way you’re so gentle about it. When bosses ask questions, I get all nervous like it’s a test.”

She sighed. Her uncle played more of a role in raising she and her brother than her parents. While the two of them were either squabbling or working, he reared his niece and nephew. It was perhaps why her parents kept him around, allowing his projects and pupils to intrude on their lives. It was wonderful … until it was devastating. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I’ve thought about how Glum is old and that I’m going to lose him someday soon. I know it’ll hurt. I’m glad he’s with me now, working with Hohza, to help me with such a change. I’ve known goblins whose boss died while they were younger than I am now. They were unprepared to inherit workload and really struggled to deal with it. One gob I knew, he even … we call it the ‘purposeful accident.’ We all kind of saw it coming. He stopped going to Drink Town beforehand. Just lay in his bunk when he wasn’t working or eating.”

Bonnelle had told of the vicious servants of Dread Lords; orcs, goblins, and trolls alike, who served their masters to their deaths. All adventurers who earned a living by delving into this place told similar tales. She’d never heard of a goblin so distraught over losing his father figure that he committed suicide. Ayara smiled, understanding exactly why her uncle had come here and why he’d ignored his summons to Yendell. The man always had a soft spot for the downtrodden. It was why he’d taken in Harnen Brokenshield, then just a magicless half-dwarf, as a student. That was how she became a part of Ayara’s family … until she destroyed it.

Yib and his men returned with food and drink. They roasted squirrels over the fire. While the goblins were fine with the gamey meat’s grease coating their fingers, Ayara suffered through it. Eventually, one of the scouts handed her a napkin, stained with indigo and cyan, that she used to clean her hands. Ayara drank the cider sparingly because it made her itch, and so didn’t get as drunk as she would have liked while wiling away the night with Tad and the scouts.

They traded tales of their fallen commander, Gint, and Tad told of an odd goblin named Ottis. In between, he managed to pop open her gloves with his own tools and re-align the lenses. The elf even recounted a mission from her time in the Fairlaigh militia, but not one of the ones dealing with the cult. As much as that experience had weighed on her recently, it didn’t feel important anymore.