Blackbeard and Ash put the boxes, the tubes, and the trunk onto their cart, bribed their horses with hay and, in Guido’s case, sugar, and hurried to the tavern. The Bent Horseshoe, as befitted similar institutions, reeked of booze and good time. The only difference from the ninety percent of other taverns was that the food here was served by trolls, that the cook was a dark elf, and that the place was guarded by two giant orcs.

The patrons of the tavern were just as colorful as its staff. Dwarves ate their mutton with such speed that one would think that they hadn’t eaten in ages, arguing with the elves about the quality of alcohol while the latter sipped their fruity wines. Orcs shouted and cheered, smacking the backs of those playing cards with the trolls.

“Hey!” someone called.

“Ah, there they are,” Blackbeard said, shoving Ash in the rib with his elbow.

The young mage narrowed his eyes, then scratched his head thoughtfully. When they had left this afternoon, their party counted six members, but now there seemed to be thirteen of them. An elf was chatting with Tul, while a muscular orc was clumsily courting Alice. A dwarf was openly staring at a dark elf who sat on the opposite side of the room. Joining them were four more rather colorful individuals.

Ash rubbed his eyes, thinking that he had imagined it all.

But he didn’t.

“Come on,” Blackbeard said, dragging Ash along.

When the two sat at the table, they were immediately served a plate of pork chops and a whole keg of fragrant ale.

“Did you get everything?” Mary asked.

“Yep!” Blackbeard nodded. “Rhea sends his love.”

A long round of introductions followed. Ash learned that these lovely people were old friends of the Stumps. The group called themselves “The Pink Bees.” Why pink and why bees, even they didn’t know.

The next couple of hours they spent drinking, sharing stories and secrets, and discussing the latest rumors and news. The main topic of the day was, of course, the beginning of an event called “The Final Arena.” It was an annual sword fighting competition, held in the giant amphitheater in the middle of the city. Anyone who could wield a sword or a spell would come to Zadastra to participate. The prize, except experience and chance to show off, was ten thousand gold coins. People always bet on Urga the Toothless, the undefeated champion, but they still secretly hoped that one day someone would manage to steal his title.

Ale, jokes, and stories flowed like a river. The atmosphere was so relaxed that no one kept an eye on Alice and she ended up drinking a tad too much. It was then that they learned that the usually shy girl had a bad temper when drunk. They had to tie her to the chair so that she wouldn’t fight the minstrel and his “ocarina from hell” or end up dancing on one of the tables.

“Ash,” Blackbeard whispered, red as an early dawn. He was giggling at the jokes that made sense only to his alcohol-infused mind. “Bring the hnesem.”

“Now we’re talking!” Ash hiccupped.

Holding a chicken leg in his hand as if it were a banner, he stood up and moved toward the bar. Hnesem was a strong drink brewed exclusively by the dark elves, spiked with some mountain mushrooms. Half a glass was enough for the average adventurer to learn all the secrets of the universe and then flop face-first to the floor, drunk off their ass.

“De-eer s-ser,” the young mage mumbled, swaying in front of the bar. “G-Gimme, burp, y-yer best... Give! A sm-smol keg of hnesem and... and two... too pints of eel!”

“Ale?”

“Ale!”

“Twenty coppers,” the bartender said.

Ash counted the amount with difficulty and slammed the coin on the counter. With a nod, the bartender put two mugs of ale on the keg and handed it to Ash who hugged it as if it were his beloved wife and carried it to the table.

But just before he reached his destination, he stopped, swaying on one leg. His gaze wandered to the lone figure sitting at a corner table near the window, bathed by the light of Mystrial.

Ash let out a drunken chuckle.

Puffing out his chest, which was hidden by the barrel, he moved toward the mysterious lady clad in a velvet cloak. Pointy ears peeked through the slits in her hood. By the reddish gleam of her eyes, one immediately knew that she was a dark elf.

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“Sit down,” she said, pushing a chair with her foot.

“Thank you.”

Putting down the keg, Ash plopped down on the chair and handed her one of the mugs. She drank it empty in a blink of an eye.

“What can I do for the lovely lady? I’m a mage, y’know! Ask, and I shall grant you any wish!”

“The Master sent me.”

“Really?” the mage drawled and then laughed. “Is Kessa the Unarmed running errands for the Order now? Or did you miss me that much?”

“Stop fooling around, Ash.”

“I don’t want it!” The young man stuck out his tongue and took a huge gulp of ale, almost emptying his mug.

Before him sat the most skilled assassin on the Continent and the seventh Master of the Order — Kessa the Unarmed. She had gotten this nickname by chance, rather than as a reward for some feat. She had just finished school when she got her first mission, the goal of which she had never revealed. From it, she returned with the legendary Blades of Invisibility, the history of which dates back to the first eras. It was because of these blades that they called her “the Unarmed.” It was also because of this that she was eager to prove to everyone that it wasn’t her weapon that made her strong, but her skill.

“You’re a part of the Order, such behavior is unacceptable.”

“I’m not,” Ash argued, still grinning. “I just happened to get in a fight with Ironhead.”

“Which eventually led to you becoming a member,” she countered. “The Master has a message for you.”

She was, of course, talking about the strongest man on the Continent, the mage who knew the secrets of illusions. How could one ever hope to defeat someone who could will an entire volcano to existence or bring down an ocean on your head?

“What could he possibly want from my humble self?”

“A trifle. To leave the Stumps.”

Ash choked on his ale and coughed.

“That’s not really a trifle,” he said, wiping his chin. “If I leave them, they’ll never reach the Fiery Mountains and the little princess would die.”

Kessa fiddled with her mug for a moment, then looked up at him.

“You know where all the Ternites end up when they die?”

“In the Abyss. And?”

The girl said nothing.

“If Eleanor survives, a storm will descend upon the land. It won’t be like any storm we’ve ever known, and it’ll be more deadly than any calamity that had ever struck this earth. Her death would postpone this apocalypse, her staying alive would only quicken its arrival.”

“Did he tell you that?” Ash exclaimed. “No one has ever seen him. Are you seriously going to follow orders scribbled on a piece of parchment without even knowing whose hand wrote them?”

“He’s never wrong.” Kessa sipped her ale. “Believe me, I don’t want to doom a young girl...”

“But you got no issues dooming me, huh?” Ash laughed. “This favor will cost you, you know. Have a pint with me, or, better yet, you can thank me per—”

Kessa’s foot found its way to his groin before he could finish the sentence.

“I... got the hint,” Ash hissed.

“Fool around as much as you want, but...”

“But what?” His face suddenly lost all of its cheer and became an emotionless mask. “Seven against twelve. That’s what you were sent for, wasn’t it? I admit that I’m flattered, I was, after all, rated eight.”

Kessa was silent. She was as beautiful as an elven princess and as deadly as a blade. Simply put, she was exactly the kind of woman he liked.

“You’re a fool, Ash,” she said at last. “Go, your friends are waiting for you.”

Ash turned but saw that the two groups were doing just fine without him. Guessing what was wrong, he turned around, but Kessa was gone. Worst of all, the ale was gone, too. All that she had left behind was an open window. The cool evening breeze brought her last words to him.

“I warned you.”

With a grunt, Ash got up and dragged the keg back to their table.

“What took you so long?!” Tul frowned.

“I got lost!” Ash said with an embarrassed smile.

“By the Gods!” Birch sighed. “Just pour us a glass! But skip Alice!”

“No, no, I want some, too! You’re not fair! By the Gods, why is it so hot here?!”

“Lari, tighten those ropes! Alice, stop embarrassing us!”

“I want booze! I don’t care!” she cried, struggling to break free from her bonds. “How can Cinder be a dummy but I can’t? How is that fair?! I will complain to the king!”

The Stumps laughed at the idea of the drunken Alice going to the king, claiming that her squad didn’t allow her to be naked in public.

“Eri! Sing something nice!” Blackbeard said.

Eri from the Bee’s wasn’t only good at cards, but at singing too. She had a wonderful voice with which she sang funny and often vulgar ballads, making people laugh and thus adding special charm to the evenings spent in her company.

“Ah, but I fear that this one will break your hearts,” she said with a wink.

“Ha, we’ll see about that!” Tul shouted, smacking his chest. “I am all steel, baby!”

“Sing,” the orc said.

“Sing,” Blackbeard said as well.

“Sing, sing, sing!” everyone at the table chanted.

“All right, all right!” The girl laughed and plucked the strings of her lute. “I’ll sing you a local ballad... You’ll forgive me, but I don’t seem able to remember its name...”

Shine, bright star, shine

Play, oh love of mine

Tomorrow, you won’t come home

But you died a hero, that the children will know

Look, darling mine

Look at the flame so bright

Look at the steel glittering

Look at your mother shivering

Look at warriors plundering

Please, darling mine,

Sit in silence till the battle dies

Please, darling mine

Hide the children and take the knife

“Hey, Ash, where are you going?” Mary asked, seeing the mage head for the stairs, mug of ale in his hand.

“I’m going to bed!” he said without turning around. “I’m tired.”

The last verses echoed behind him as he made his way to his room.

Play, oh love of mine

I’m already six feet under

Play, oh love of mine

Please, laugh and don’t cry

Look, darling mine

Tell the children how their father died

Hush, love, don’t you cry

As a hero, I did die

Tell them, though, that the spirit mine

still lies restless in the grime

Play, oh love of mine

Oh, darling love of mine

In a glorious battle did I

find eternal life