By the time they returned to the main hall of the palace, Justin was beyond exhausted. Whatever magic powered the Vault didn’t seem to affect life’s natural rhythms. Justin suspected more complicated Vaults might take days, or even weeks, to complete. His body told him it was late, probably close to midnight, as Borgruk turned to face them.

“There are some spare cots in the barracks,” Borgruk said. “But with Grashuk being a suspect, that might not be the best idea.”

“We’ll accept nothing less than the palace itself,” Bohemond said. “Your Queen said to give us whatever resources we require to conduct our investigations.”

“Of course. I can lead you there right away.”

“Before we turn in, I’d like to meet this Ralthog,” Justin said. “Where can he be found?”

“Ralthog? Tavern, most likely. Hangs out with his mates there till well past midnight.”

“How can you even tell the time down here, anyway? It’s something I’ve been meaning to ask.”

Borgruk gave him a flat look, as if Justin had asked a child’s question. “The crystals. They dim a bit with the hours and are brightest around high noon. Otherwise, we wouldn’t know what’s what.”

“Of course,” Justin said. Now that Borgruk mentioned it, he noticed the blue crystals scattered throughout the hall were indeed dimmer than when they had first entered.

“You’ll find the tavern on the opposite side of the hall,” Borgruk said. “Goblins are a rowdy lot. A few broken chairs and tables are considered a quiet evening.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Kargan said. “Is Zogmar still awake, you think?”

“Doubtful. The man closes shop by early evening. He’s private. If you want to talk to him again, morning’s best.”

“Let’s get this over with,” Bohemond said, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “If one of these beasts tries anything, they’ll get a taste of my steel.”

“Relax, Sir Gallant," Justin said dryly. "We’re just going to have a friendly chat."

He led them across the vast hall, which was mostly quiet save for the occasional groan or snore from a few blacked-out goblins. Borgruk stepped carefully around them as if this was nothing new.

Justin heard the tavern long before he saw it. The sounds of rowdy goblin laughter, the clatter of tankards, and the occasional crash of what he assumed were chairs being overturned echoed toward them. As they rounded a pillar, the open doorway of the tavern came into view, its warm glow spilling into the hallway. They stepped inside.

It was a rough, dingy place. The walls were lined with jagged stone shelves holding up half-empty bottles, and the floor was strewn with sawdust to soak up spilled drinks—and, Justin suspected, blood. The air was thick with the smell of ale and unwashed bodies. A few goblins were passed out at tables, while others were engaged in loud, drunken conversations. When Justin and his group entered, every pair of goblin eyes turned toward them, sizing them up like outsiders trespassing in forbidden territory.

Borgruk pointed with his sharp chin. “He’s over there. See him?” Justin wasn't sure who he meant, until Borgruk stepped up onto a nearby empty table and whistled sharply. “Oi, Ralthog! Turning in early?”

Ralthog gave an ugly scowl, his piggish features twisting in irritation. He was short, even for a goblin, with a crooked nose and small, beady eyes that gleamed with a certain slyness. His leather armor was worn and greasy, and his fingers were stained with dirt.

“I wasn’t going nowhere, Borgie," Ralthog said in a low growl. "Did you get her?”

Several of the patrons stopped their conversations to watch, waiting for Borgruk’s answer.

“Still questioning witnesses,” Borgruk said, his tone nonchalant. “Your number’s up.”

Ralthog smirked, leaning back in his chair, clearly trying to look casual. “Yeah, all right. Happy to talk. Ain’t got nothing to hide.”

Borgruk picked an empty table in the corner, further from the commotion than the rest of the tavern. It was at least a little quieter here, though "quiet" was a relative term when it came to drunk goblins. The clatter of mugs, raucous laughter, and the occasional brawl still echoed across the room, but at least it wasn’t directly in their faces. The noise should serve to cover their conversation.

Ralthog finished whatever swill he’d been drinking and collapsed into a chair across from them, grinning lazily. “All right. Hit me.”

Justin took the lead. “Tell us what happened when you uncovered the alchemical lab for the first time.”

Ralthog’s eyes were glassy, and Justin wondered just how much of what he said could be trusted. Then again, as the old saying went: in wine, veritas. Or, in this case, goblin swill.

“Well, it was pretty boring, if you ask me. Creepy place. Borgruk and I were mostly playing guard duty while Glamshara and Zogmar acted like kids in a mushroom patch.”

“Did you steal the ingredients?” Bohemond asked, his eyes narrowing like thunderclouds. “Speak truly, or else!”

Ralthog laughed in his face. “I am speaking truly, Knighty. For me, it was just a job. Underpaid, underappreciated, underfed. That’s the life of a goblin warrior!”

Ralthog leaned back in his chair, his beady eyes darting between them. Despite his cocky half-smile, there was a twitchiness to him. At least the goblin seemed willing enough to talk.

Justin decided to ease into it, rather than outright accuse him of anything. “So, I take it they were pretty excited about the find?”

"It was like that at first. Of course, it didn't take them long to start bickering. From the way they carried on, I thought they’d call the dwarven automatons down on us.”

“Bickering about what?” Kargan asked.

“Nothing unusual. Those two hate each other. Given their expertise, though, sometimes they have to work together.”

Justin pressed. “Did you notice anything strange while they were working? See anyone handle certain ingredients?”

Ralthog shrugged. “Like I said, Borgruk and I were mostly keeping watch. But I remember Glamshara and Zogmar going through the vials and all that.”

“What about Grashuk?” Bohemond asked. “He was there too, right?”

“He was guarding the entrance, while Borgruk and I were watching out for ghosts. We had to kill a few of them. Nasty buggers.”

“That much is true,” Borgruk said. “Like Ralthog, I didn’t see anything useful.”

Justin didn’t feel like they were getting anywhere with Ralthog.

Kargan chimed in. “So, who was running the show? Glamshara or Zogmar? Who discovered this lab in the first place?”

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

“Grashuk did. I was a part of the patrol, but we didn’t go in. Grashuk poked his head in enough to see what it was we were dealing with, then decided it was best to inform the Queen first. That's how the expedition got formed. We warriors cleared it out while the potion folks did their work.”

“Did the Queen appoint Zogmar to be in charge, or Glamshara?” Justin asked.

Ralthog wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Well, that’s a funny thing. You’d think Zogmar would be in charge, him being the potions master and all. But Glamshara? She was the one calling the shots. Zogmar followed her lead. She had a kind of…what’s the word…authority. Zogmar seemed to be doing the grunt work and hating every minute of it. What do I know, though? Goblin politics are above my pay grade, you know?”

Bohemond’s expression darkened. “And what about Grashuk? Or Zildur? Did either of them have any interest in the lab or what you were doing down there?”

"Grashuk’s my boss. Ain’t no way I’m talking about him, unless it’s good. He’s higher up the chain, but he was just doing his job, like me.”

“And Zildur?”

“Zildur is above reproach, in my opinion. She loves her dear Nyrissa and wouldn’t do anything to harm a hair on her chin.”

Kargan was about to speak, but Justin raised his hand. “Harm the princess? Don’t you mean 'Harm the Queen?'”

Ralthog paused, his grin fading slightly. “Right. The Queen. Either way, I wouldn’t expect Zildur to be too interested in that sort of stuff. Not unless it helped with her Shamanism. She became more interested when she learned about the poison this morning. She’s hardly left the girl’s side since she came down sick.”

Justin remembered what Glamshara had said about it being someone close to the Queen and her heir. Who fit the bill better than Zildur?

“Tell me about Zildur,” Justin said. “Does she have beef with the Queen?”

Ralthog looked like he wanted to squirm. “Look, this isn’t really right for me to say. And I think I’ve said enough already.”

Borgruk slammed his fist on the table, his lips curling in frustration. “Out with it, Ralthog. If you know something, you better say it! Nyrissa’s life is on the line.”

Several goblins turned at this outburst, but one look from Borgruk sent them back to their drinks.

Ralthog hesitated for a moment longer, but then sighed. “All right, fine. It’s probably nothing, but I heard Zildur and Grashuk talking. A few days ago, when Nyrissa had gotten quite ill.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “She was saying that Queen Grizshara was to blame for her daughter’s death.”

“Zildur’s daughter?” Justin asked, his ears perking up.

“That’s right. She died around the same age Nyrissa is now. Ralthog should know a bit about it. Grizshara sent her off for Shamanic training at another tribe. Ryn was a bit of a troublemaker, so everyone thought it was punishment. Turns out the Shaman there pushed her too hard. The girl—Ryn—died."

Justin digested the story. In the back of his head, he wondered why Borgruk wouldn't mention it himself, since it seemed like a major event that was possibly related to the investigation. He decided to file the question away for now.

“What specifically did Zildur say?” Justin asked. “Her exact words.”

Bohemond slid a silver coin toward Ralthog, who snatched it up. “There’s another silver if you tell us. Then we’ll let you go.”

It was enough for the inebriated goblin. “Zildur was upset—really upset. She said something like, ‘She sent her away to die, and now the Hand of Fate is finding her.’”

Justin blinked. “The Hand of Fate?”

Borgruk interjected. “Goblin expression. Nyriss gives, but she also takes, as it pleases her. The Goddess of Chaos can sometimes have a funny sense of balance, especially if it causes…well, Chaos.”

Ralthog shrugged. “That’s all I heard before Grashuk hushed her. He said something like, ‘You crazy witch, talking like that! Your very life is at stake.’”

“And then?” Justin asked.

“I was out of there in a flash. I don't think nobody heard me.”

Justin exchanged a glance with Kargan, his mind turning over the new information. It was nearly damning information, but it wasn’t the full picture.

“Well, thank you, Ralthog,” Justin said. “We’ll take it from here.”

Ralthog snorted, leaning back in his chair once again. “You didn’t hear nothing. Just don’t come crying to me when things go sideways.”

Justin gave Ralthog a second silver coin, and together, the party left the tavern. Once out in the silence of the hall, Justin turned to Borgruk.

“We didn’t know that about Ryn,” Justin said, keeping his voice low.

Borgruk paused, his face hard to read in the dim light of the hall. “One thing you need to know about me. I’m a Queen’s man through and through. All this was five years ago. At the time, I agreed with Queen Grizshara that sending Ryn away was right. I’m loyal to her to the last drop of blood. No one knew that would happen to Ryn. It was a tragedy, but hardly the Queen's fault.”

“But it's easy to see how Zildur would blame her,” Kargan said, crossing his arms. “Though I can see you respect Zildur, too, and don’t want to add to her pain.”

Borgruk shook his head. “It’s not that. If I believed her guilty of the crime, I’d come after her like a grawl in the darkness. Her relationship with Nyrissa is a bit…strange sometimes. But Nyrissa has the gift, and the Shaman Class. Zildur is the only teacher who can help her, so Grizshara turns a blind eye to it. Zildur claims to have forgiven the Queen, and from what I can tell, that seems true. Maybe all this poisoning business is dredging up the past.”

“Do you think she’s using Nyrissa as a proxy of sorts for her lost daughter?” Justin asked.

Borgruk’s jaw tightened. “Maybe. But these things are not openly discussed.”

“And yet they must be if we are to uncover the truth,” Bohemond added, giving a jaw-cracking yawn. “Alas, this one isn’t going to solve itself tonight.”

“I agree,” Borgruk said. “Tomorrow, we can speak with Zogmar again, and Zildur if you’d like. The Queen will also want an update.”

Justin nodded, though he couldn’t help but feel dejected. Right now, they had some pieces of the puzzle, but they still lacked solid evidence. The tampered vials weren’t enough on their own; Glamshara could have messed with them herself.

He remembered the Vault’s description when they first accepted the challenge: “The greatest deceptions are often found in the smallest details.”

Justin mouthed the words to himself. That had to be the key. What small details were they missing?

"We need to sleep on it," Justin said. "No doubt Ralthog is telling Grashuk everything we talked about.”

“Probably,” Borgruk said, his tone resigned. “But he’ll leave out the part about Zildur, though.”

They walked in silence as they headed toward the throne room. But just ahead, Justin noticed the shadowed frame of Grashuk himself. It didn’t seem the warlord noted them in the darkness.

Borgruk was about to hail him, but Justin held up a hand. Thankfully, Borgruk stayed silent.

They paused in their tracks and saw Grashuk go off to the side, near the entrance to the throne room. They waited a couple of minutes before following.

When they reached the entrance, Justin looked the direction Grashuk had gone, noticing a side door. Flickering candlight was visible beyond, but there was no sign of the goblin warlord. Above the threshold of the small door was a small, bare-chested statue of Nyriss, demonic wings outspread.

“What’s this place?” Justin whispered.

“Shrine of Nyriss,” Borgruk said softly. “A place of prayer...and sometimes, sacrifice.”

Justin felt a strange pull, an impulse he couldn’t quite explain. “Wait here. I’ll be back.”

Before anyone could argue, he stalked forward. Slowly, very slowly, he poked his head through the open threshold.

The shrine was a small, humble space, illuminated by the soft glow of candles. At the altar, Grashuk knelt in deep prayer, unaware of Justin’s presence, not ten paces away. His voice was low, but Justin could make out the words.

“Nyriss,” Grashuk muttered. “Forgive me. Forgive us. She didn’t mean to go this far. Heal the girl. That’s all we ask. What I wouldn’t give to go back! I told her it was a bad idea, but she just won’t let go.”

Justin’s breath caught in his throat. He backed up carefully, grateful that Grashuk seemed too absorbed in his meditation to notice. He heard Grashuk murmur one final plea.

“Nyriss, guide us through the Chaos. Bring back what is broken.”

That was all he dared to listen to. Justin slipped away from the shrine, nodding at the others.

A few minutes later, Borgruk led them to a room where a few cots were set up.

“I’ll post a couple of guards by the door,” he said. “You have nothing to worry about tonight.”

“Thanks, Borgruk,” Justin said. “See you in the morning.”

Their guide gave him a questioning look, but in the end, left them there, shutting the door behind.

The room they found themselves in was simple, of bare stone, with four cots. There seemed to be no way in or out but the door. It felt claustrophobic, but there was probably no safer place for them to be tonight. Justin didn’t think the Vault would try to kill them in this man. If the goblin behind the plot wanted to try something tonight, they risked tipping their hand.

Justin didn’t trust the goblins’ food, so they ate a simple meal from their packs instead. As they ate, Justin related the details of Grashuk’s prayer to the others, recounting everything he had overheard.

“So, it’s Zildur,” Bohemond said, his brow furrowed. “She’s the guilty one, not Glamshara. As her husband, Grashuk is covering for her, trying to pin the blame on Glamshara.”

Kargan nodded. “It makes sense. Zildur has the motive, and Grashuk’s prayer suggests he regrets being part of the plan. As a Shaman, she has knowledge of potions, and easy access to the kitchens. We need to search her rooms while she's away. Figure out how she delivered the poison.”

Justin couldn’t find fault with their words, but it all felt a bit tidy. It seemed strange that as soon as Ralthog told them about Ryn, not a few minutes later, they’d stumble upon Grashuk praying about her.

Justin was much too tired to puzzle it out right now. As they prepared to sleep, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something still didn’t add up. They had pieced together most of the story, but something small, something crucial, was still missing.

“The greatest deceptions are often found in the smallest details,” he whispered to himself again.

He wondered if he’d level up upon waking up. So far, he had yet to sleep in a Vault.

He supposed he’d find out in the morning.