Leoden was the greatest city in the word of men. The seed for it had been laid thousand years ago by the so-called greatest of all human kings and it had been free to grow for ten centuries. The streets had become a labyrinthine trap that devoured the naïve and the buildings had grown so massive their shadows could crush the citizens. Every cobbled street was a testament to the city’s devastating history and its glorious future. It was a place of endless possibility and adventure. If you stepped into the right alleyway at the right moment, you could find anything. Even now people came in with everything they owned to make a better life for themselves.

But not every story had a happy ending and not every adventure ended with glory.

In the dead of the night a carriage rolled down the empty streets and every gaslamp the carriage passed by was snuffed out like the driver was chased by darkness.

Or he was bringing darkness with him.

The carriage was pulled by three kelpies smelling of seaweed and salty sea. The sea horses’ eyes glowed yellow in the night and the moonlight made their dark green fur look black. Once there had been four but overconfidence in the poker table with a vampire had cost the driver his strongest steed.

Few had dared to mock the driver for his carelessness and even fewer had survived it.

The driver was old and small but far more ancient than his face lined by claws of time would suggest and he carried his years easily. He was still lean and fit the way only an old swimmer could be. He was dressed like a gentleman in a dark pinstripe suit and bowler hat, but the clothes had seen better days. Long years on the road had worn them down and faded out the colors. The driver’s skin had a green glint to it and his ears were long and pointed. The fur on his paws and tail had gone white but his hair and mustache were a mix of steel and snow. His glare was sharp as a dagger and his eyes the color of poisoned water. The driver drove through the city, putting out light wherever he went and all who caught a glimpse of him, and his kelpies convinced themselves he was just a bad dream.

Finally, he found what he was looking for.

The orphanage.

A house full of unwanted, broken children. Rented by their caretakers to the many factories and businesses in the city for cheap labor. The numb despair had called the driver to them and now he had arrived.

Wherever all hope had been lost, you would find him.

One of the many nuns had stayed up to keep watch in case one of the children tried to flee and try their luck on the streets. She was armed with a lamp, a stick and a heart that had turned to stone a long time ago. When she heard the clapping of hoofs, she raised her lamp.

“Who goes there?”

The driver pulled the kelpies to a stop and when they looked at the woman, she fell quiet. All emotion was drained from her face when she gazed at the sea horses and could only think of one thing.

How much she wanted to ride them.

She had never wanted anything as much. Not love or riches. When she saw the kelpies, she remembered what it was to be young and good. All she wanted was to climb on top of those beautiful beasts and let them carry her to a watery grave where they would wait for her corpse to grow soft and bloated before devouring her.

The rider snapped his fingers and the kelpies fell back in line.

“Stop it. All of you. Trust me. You do not want to feel the back of this paw.” The rider said.

The nun was slow to come back to her senses but when she did, she brandished the heavy stick.

“Who…?!”

“Sleep. Forget.” The rider said while drawing glyphs in the air with his paw.

His words carried power and blew out the nun’s will like a candle. She slumped to the ground; sound asleep, dreaming she was new and beautiful again. The driver jumped off the driver’s seat like he was a young man and passed by the sleeping nun, only stopping to claim her lamp for himself.

He left the keys with her.

There was no lock he couldn’t charm with a look.

The driver walked through the orphanage that was kept clean with tiny hands. Slaves beaten and starved into obedience. The nun standing watch had been a waste of time. Any hope of something better had long ago been snuffed out of the slaves living in this place. If they were bad, the cross god would cast them into a lake of fire to burn for all eternity. The only way to earn the cross god’s love was by being good and obedient.

Always.

Always and forever.

The children could not be heroes even in their dreams.

The room where the children slept was cold, and the children shared beds to keep each other warm. The driver looked around and lit a cigarette. He regarded the children for a moment. They should have been plump and happy but all he saw was haggard misery.

That was all he ever saw.

There was no place for him in happier places.

The driver smacked his paws together. Loud enough to make even the exhausted children wake up. They looked around confused and alarmed. Thinking they were about to be punished for breaking some imagined and unknown rule.

“Evening. Your good pal Old Flea is finally here. Get up and follow me. We have a long road ahead of us.”

The children looked around confused but every time their eyes returned to this tiny, ancient goblin.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry. You don’t want to keep your good pal Old Flea waiting now do you? We’re off to see a dragon.”

The orphans had been conditioned to accept orders without a question and they cast aside the blankets and began following Old Flea. He lighted the way with the stolen lamp and brought children outside where his carriage was waiting. The children shot glances at the sleeping nun, but Old Flea ushered them past her quickly and opened the door to the carriage.

“No time for tardiness. You can visit nunneries when you have some hair in your balls. Or any hair.” Old Flea said and looked at the orphans and their shaved heads: “Why are you all bald anyway?”

One of the children, the oldest girl, who seemed to be used to speaking for the others stepped forward.

“… it keeps the fleas and lice away, sir.” The orphan girl said.

“Not this Flea and personally I don’t trust bald children. One of them stabbed me years ago. Mean, mad and monstrous. These are the things that make a Maximo.” Old Flea said and chuckled at his own wordplay.

While the children were climbing into the carriage and the kelpies clawed the ground with their hoofs, angry that they were not allowed to eat the nun. Once all the children were in the carriage, he locked the door and sent the kelpies galloping with a crack from his whip. Leoden was a port city like any city worth a damn and he headed for the ocean. The ports were always manned and watched over. Watchmen armed with rifles made sure that no one tried to steal from sleeping ships and no stowaway tried to climb on board.

The darkness and forgetfulness that followed Old Flea everywhere let him pass unmolested.

The whip drove the kelpies into a frenzy, and they ran across the pier and straight into the ocean, taking Old Flea, the carriage, and the cargo with them. This close to winter, the cold water would have been a death sentence, but the sea held no power over a grandmaster of Domdaniel, the oldest magic school in the Wyrding. Once they were under the waves, the kelpies kept pulling the carriage like they were running down a smooth road and Old Flea’s spells made sure his suit didn’t even get damp. After Girusai had fallen and the world had been divided between the fae and men, many thought the only way to cross between domains was using the Wyrd Stones. Great white rocks that marked the borders between kingdoms.

Old Flea knew better.

All great bodies of water belonged to merlings and selkies and all the other creatures that had made the ocean their home. Here the lines between Garuccia and The Wyrding grew blurred. If you knew how to follow the currents, you could sail between worlds.

Not even the selkie queen knew the waters as well as he did.

Inside the carriage, the children felt the first flicker of wonder when they caught glimpse of the ocean and what lived there. The sea could have been an alien world, but they were the only aliens there. The planet belonged to the oceans. Water owned nine tenths of it and a day would come when it claimed the rest.

All life had come from the ocean.

Being reclaimed by the ocean just meant returning home.

Finally, Old Flea felt the Wyrding calling, and he led the kelpies out of the ocean and into the shores of the Wyrding. Not a drop of water clung to Old Flea, or his carriage and they stepped out of the water dry as ever.

You could hear gasps inside the carriage.

The Wyrding was even more awe-inspiring to the orphans than the sea. They all knew this place by heart. No one had ever needed to tell them of this place. In the deepest depths of their hearts that not even the nuns’ cruelty had reached, they had known this place existed.

The kingdom of fairytales.

Every story of fantasy they had been staged here. This was where Little Red Riding Hood had avoided the wolf. Where the beauty had fallen for a beast. Where a girl’s hair could be used as a ladder. Where every road led to an adventure.

“But be careful. Not every adventure has a happy ending.” Old Flea said to his new wards: “Not everyone who wanders into the Wyrding wanders out.”

An orphan girl looked at him between the carriage’s bars.

“… where are we going?”

“You can see it from here. From anywhere.” Old Flea said and pointed at a mountain.

The Mountain.

In the middle of the Wyrding stood the Black Summit. The god of mountains. Every other mountain was just imitating it and falling short. No other could match its heights. Black Summit pierced the heavens, and on its side, had been carved a castle. A castle fit for the cruelest tyrant the Wyrding had ever seen. If Black Summit was the mountain that made other mountains look like anthills, Girusai had been a tyrant that made other tyrants look like schoolyard bullies.

The mountain and the Screaming Dragon had been meant for each other.

“Storm Roost. Girusai’s seat of power that he forced Alberich to build for him. Now, it belongs to Girusai’s son, Mordesai. It will be your new home.” Old Flea said.

Old Flea travelled during the day and rested at night. He no longer needed to sleep but the orphans could not rest in a rocking carriage. At the end of every day of travel, he let them play outside and help him prepare their dinner. He spent his nights reading while sipping his whisky and smoking his cigarettes.

It took a week of hard travelling until they arrived at Storm Roost.

Storm Roost was the largest castle in the Wyrding that had taken forty years to construct even with the oversight of the Blacksmith King and an endless stream of slave labor that had been worked to death. The forests around the mountain had been cut down to provide rafters and beams for the construction and even over a thousand years later the lands around the castle had not recovered. In places, one could see long, still streams, rivers of magma that had re-hardened into stone. The great dragon's breath had undone the very body of the rock, reducing it to the molten form it had once taken when it was buried beneath the earth. Proving it too weak to be used as building material. The castle had been built from stones the color of soot and ash, darkened by Girusai’s breath, and had seven drum-towers of dizzying height and they were crowned with iron ramparts. The castle’s yard was large enough for a dragon to take flight off it and Alberich had designed the castle in such a way that it would not collapse even if a dragon decided to fly over it. Inside the castle were kennels, stables, barracks, and kitchens fitting for a city. The serpentine pathways and staircases were a struggle to walk through and if you did not know the castle well, you could wander inside it like a ghost until you starved. The portcullis forged from steel was raised and the mighty doors constructed from oak and bronze opened on their own. Black gems had been planted into the doors to form the outline of a dragon.

Old Flea drove his carriage to the yard where older children dressed as servants were waiting for the new arrivals.

The orphans were ushered out of the carriage, and they were stripped of the lice-infested garbs provided by the orphanage. The clothes alongside the vermin were burned in a pyre and the orphans were washed with soap and warm water before they were given new clothes.

Black clothes with gold buttons and a golden dragon sown to the back to mark them as servants of Storm Roost.

Old Flea did not stick around to watch the welcoming ceremony. He had seen it countless times before and he handed his carriage and kelpies to the only person in the castle he could trust them with. The only one his kelpies liked more than they wanted to eat. A beautiful boy with thick, curly brown hair, dark eyes, and a heart-shaped mouth. A single mole hung under his left eye like a black tear.

“Give them a good brushing, kid. They’ve earned it.” Old Flea said.

Nuncio took the kelpies from him without a word.

***

Nuncio led the kelpies to the stables and like cats they made a show of pulling back even though they knew a good brushing and food waited for them. Cats and kelpies always chose the path of most resistance to remind their owners they could never be fully tamed.

“There, there.” Nuncio said.

He took strands of meat from his pocket he had taken from the kitchens and used the meat to lead the kelpies into the stables.

“Such good, kelpies.” Nuncio said and took out a brush: “Would Triton, Scylla and Lir like a good brushing?”

They always did.

Nuncio was sure to start with Triton. Kelpies lived in packs and the pack leader got the largest strip of meat and the first brushing. Nuncio had thought that Triton would have been more considerate to his packmates after inheriting his position thanks to a poker game, but Triton had an iron grip on his rights. Sometimes Nuncio wondered if Neptune who had been the leader before Triton had been worse. If that were so, Neptune and his father deserved each other.

“Were you a good boy out there? Did you get everyone here safely?”

Triton just neighed in response.

“I know you did.” Nuncio said.

Being this close to a kelpie was endlessly fascinating and Nuncio relished the chance to take in every detail. You could only mistake a kelpie for a horse from afar or when they were hidden under glamor. Their fur was a dark shade of green that made them blend in with water when they were submerged, and their mane was a dorsal fin but the most revealing thing about them were their eyes.

A horse’s eyes pointed to the sides so they could more easily spot predators.

A kelpies’ eyes pointed straight forward because they were predators.

Once he was done with Triton he moved on to Scylla and Triton looked at him like he was a criminal for stopping. A kind word and rubbing his neck made Triton drop the matter and accept that it was Scylla’s turn. While he was working on Scylla, the stable doors opened, and a newcomer walked in. Like a lot of people who had lived in an orphanage, his head was shaved clean to avoid lice, and he had a dead look to his eyes. Everyone in Storm Roost did. Those where the only kinds of people that Old Flea was drawn to. The kelpies were staring at the newcomer like he was dinner, but Nuncio soothed them with a touch.

“Hi.” Nuncio said.

The boy didn’t answer and just picked up a broom and began cleaning the stable keeping his eyes to the ground.

“I am Nuncio. What’s your name?”

The boy didn’t seem to hear him, but Nuncio didn’t let that deter him.

“I’ve been here for a year now. My father banished me here. He is a vampire. He killed everyone in my village and now only my mother and sister are left. I need to get back to them. If we all worked together, we could flee and…”

Nuncio fell quiet when he realized the boy had taken his eyes off the floor and was looking at him. It was faint but Nuncio could swear he saw a spark in his eyes.

“Do you understand me? What’s your name?” Nuncio said.

The boy began walking towards him and Nuncio’s heart almost jumped to his throat. Had he finally made a breakthrough? He had been trying to reach the servants in Storm Roost for a year.

Had he finally…?

The boy walked past him and towards Triton who was staring at the boy intently. The kelpie opened its mouth and revealed long, jagged teeth like a deep-sea fish’s. Without flinching or even hesitating, the boy offered his hand to the kelpie whose head lunged forward to get a bite of the fresh meat.

“No!”

Nuncio had never moved so fast as he did when he tackled the boy to get him away from the kelpie’s snapping fangs. Triton neighed dangerously and clawed at the ground out of indignation from having his meal denied from him. Nuncio stayed between Triton and the boy, keeping his hands up as if they could protect him from an enraged kelpie.

“Not food! Don’t hurt him!”

Scylla and Lir waited for Triton to make his decision. If the kelpies decided to start rampaging in a feeding frenzy, there was piss all he could do about it.

The kelpies knew it too.

Nuncio could feel Triton’s will when the kelpie stared at him. A kelpie might have had the general shape of a horse but behind those eyes that looked straight ahead was an alien intelligence that rivalled his.

Triton could not speak but his message was clear.

Only a fool came between a predator and his prey, but Triton would overlook it this once. Out of affection. But a kelpie’s affection would only take him so far.

“Thank you.” Nuncio sighed and then turned to look at the boy who had tried to feed himself to a kelpie.

The boy didn’t say anything and just stared back at him with a blank face. Unlike with the kelpie, Nuncio could not feel anything going on behind those dead eyes. Like the boy was just meat that could walk.

“… go… I’ll clean the stables.” Nuncio said.

After brushing the kelpies and feeding them the last of the meat strips he had brought from the kitchen, he started cleaning the stables. The kelpies watched him while he worked, and Nuncio could never shake the feeling he was being studied by a trio of curious cats. Just like he was curious about them, they were curious about him.

When he was done with the stables, he reeked of kelpie shit and Nuncio left the kelpies to get a bath.

“Still looking for allies, kid?”

Old Flea was waiting for him in the castle yard. The ancient goblin was leaning against a stone wall and smoking a cigarette he had wrapped himself. He had taken off his suit jacket and tie but kept on his bowled hat. Nuncio suspected he did it to hide the bald spot on top of his head.

“What if I am?” Nuncio said.

Old Flea blew out a grey cloud and regarded him through the smoke before heading back inside.

“Get washed and join me in my quarters. We’re having dinner.” Old Flea said.

Nuncio didn’t have the strength to argue and headed inside. During the first month he had ignored Old Flea every time he had been invited over for dinner and that had been how long he had been able to handle loneliness. He was the sole survivor in a castle full of living ghosts. The servants moved through the halls without seeing or saying anything.

Even Old Flea’s company was better than that.

Night and day meant nothing in Storm Roost. The fortress needed constant maintenance and servants Old Flea brought there worked night and day to keep it clean. The baths were always available and after dropping his dirty clothes to the wash, Nuncio entered the baths.

Despite the warm water, a chill always ran through Nuncio’s spine when he used the baths.

Whenever a bride had been brought before Girusai, the poor woman would have been washed here.

But even the baths dark history could not take away from the marvelous architecture. The baths were simple stone rooms supported by pillars, but you only needed to pull a single lever to fill and empty a bath with warm water. When building Storm Roost, the Blacksmith King Alberich had connected the fortress to an underground hot spring that was used for bathing water, but the same water flowed through tubes hidden inside the castle walls that kept Storm Roost warm even in the heart of winter.

After washing and drying himself, Nuncio dressed himself in a black suit with golden buttons.

Real gold.

Just the clothes he wore here were worth more than all the riches found in Cobbler’s Hold.

Once he was dressed, Nuncio headed to Old Flea’s quarters. When he had arrived in Storm Roost for the first time, the castle had been a maze ready to devour him or anyone foolish enough to get lost in it. After a year he could make his way through it comfortably.

Of all the rooms in Storm Roost, Old Flea’s was the only one without a proper door and a simple tarp protected his privacy. Not that anyone would have dared to enter without an invitation. When Nuncio stepped inside, he was greeted by the usual chaos of Old Flea’s living quarters. The goblin had forbidden the servants from cleaning his room which meant it was tidied only on the few occasions that Old Flea was staying at Storm Roost.

The room was small for a dragon’s right-hand man.

The walls were lined with books and leather curtains. There was no bed and instead Old Flea slept on a blanket he could easily roll up in the morning. There were no chairs, and the low table was meant to be used when you sat on the floor. When he had first arrived, sitting on the floor had been hell on his rear but he had gotten used to it soon. It had taken Nuncio a few visits to realize that Old Flea had done his best to make his living quarters look like a goblin’s tent.

“Don’t just stand there.” Old Flea said: “Set the table. Since you don’t smell like kelpie shit anymore.”

The biggest luxury in the room was the small kitchen in the back. Old Flea was standing by a wooden stove, cooking mushrooms and onions in a black iron skillet. Potatoes were boiling in a small pot next to the skillet and Old Flea checked randomly if the potatoes were done by poking them with a toothpick. Old Flea poured a cup of cream on the skillet and once the cream was brought to a boil, he seasoned the stew with salt and pepper.

Nuncio moved the book, whisky bottle and ashtray off the table before putting down wooden bowls. When he picked up the bottle, he was surprised to see writing on the label.

‘Happy birthday from Furcas, you miserable old coot.’

Nuncio stared at the bottle surprised for a moment. Shocked at the idea of Old Flea celebrating his birthday and even more shocked that someone would send him a gift.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Whose Furcas?” Nuncio asked.

“A former student who became my friend.” Old Flea said while cooking.

“You have friends?” Nuncio said surprised.

“Most people do.”

When potatoes were done, Old Flea poured the boiling water out of the window and sprinkled some dill on top of the potatoes. The goblin served them himself and covered the potatoes with a thick mushroom stew. Like everything Old Flea touched, the stew smelled fainty of tobacco.

“Has Mordesai called for you recently?” Old Flea asked while they ate.

Nuncio glanced out of the window at the highest tower in Storm Roost. You could see a telescope the size of a warship’s mast moving towards the stars which meant the dragon was in his tower.

“Not in a month.” Nuncio said.

“Poor form, Mordesai. Poor form.” Old Flea said: “One shouldn’t ignore their guests like that.”

“I’m not a guest.” Nuncio said.

“Still going on with that prisoner crap?” Old Flea asked: “You’re no more a prisoner than a child is their parents’ hostage.”

“You’re not my father.”

“You’re goddamn right about that. If anyone tried to pass you as mine, I’d name them a liar. You don’t even have a tail.” Old Flea said while chewing on his food: “Found anyone else who would like to try and run away from home?”

“You know I haven’t.” Nuncio said.

“You might be surprised, kid. Not everyone who comes here, stays forever.” Old Flea said.

“I know. One of the children tried to feed themselves to Triton.”

Old Flea went still for a moment before sighing and going back to eating.

“Then it’s a good thing you were there.”

Nuncio glared at Old Flea over the table.

“They are your kelpies. Your responsibility. If you bring children here as slave labor, you could at least keep them safe.”

The spoon stopped midway to Old Flea’s mouth, and he put it down.

“Kid, next time you call me a slaver, I will make you taste the back of my paw. I have been a slave myself.” Old Flea said.

“And you think the children here aren’t slaves?”

“They are made feel useful. Sometimes that’s the only way to save someone who has lost all hope. Even if it doesn’t work, this is still a better pace to die than the hell I pulled them out of.”

“So you’re just a misunderstood do-gooder?” Nuncio said and bit his lip: “Didn’t stop you from working with my father.”

“Take that up with Mordesai. He can only leave this place under special circumstances. Granting boon to those who dare approach him is one of his few joys.”

“Isn’t that nice. Let’s you conveniently off the hook.”

“Sticks and stones.” Old Flea said and licked his bowl clean: “I am a thousand years old. I have heard it all before.”

Nuncio stared at Old Flea for a moment. Whenever he laid his eyes on Old Flea for long enough, he found new things to be disturbed by. Old Flea looked like a goblin at the end of his life who had kept himself in shape. His mustache and the fur in his paws and tail had gone grey and there were deep lines in face like he had been scarred by time but…

… but…

But in those eyes the color of dirty water burned something unnatural that kept fueling him. Something that extended his life far past its ending point. Old Flea’s life force had been extended beyond anything natural.

And it hurt.

Old Flea was a man in pain.

“How did you do it?” Nuncio asked.

“Do what, kid?”

“Live for a thousand years. I know you can extend your life by drawing power from a high god’s Domain but do it for a thousand years? That’s not possible.”

Old Flea smiled bitterly.

“Then maybe I am not drawing power from a Domain like a common leech. Perhaps I am just built different.”

“Do you have your own Domain?”

“That would make me a King of the Deep but alas. A Prince of the Deep I remain.” Old Flea said and pushed his empty bowl aside before pouring himself a whisky: “I leave the dishes to you.”

Nuncio washed the bowls, skillet, and pot while Old Flea smoke and drank in silence. He dried them with rough cloth before placing them back in the cabinet to wait for their next inevitable meal together.

When he was about to leave, he stopped at the door covered by a tarp.

“Do you know what I think?”

Old Flea took a drag from his cigarette and had a sip of whisky.

“Why don’t you enlighten your good pal Old Flea?”

“I think you’re a sad, lonely, old man.” Nuncio said and bit his lip: “And a coward. You’re a coward.”

Old Flea didn’t answer and just stared at him. Nuncio could see his face reflected back in the ancient goblin’s eyes like he was looking at poisoned pools of water.

“Thanks for doing the dishes, kid.” Old Flea said finally.

Nuncio slept uneasily that night. He dreamt of Cobbler’s Hold and a crimson wave that washed it away. He dreamt of his mother and sister who were crying for help while they were devoured by ghouls. They were crying out to him but no matter how fast he ran, he could never reach them. They were dragged under a mob of gnawing fangs and hungry mouths.

Only to rise again.

Pale.

Dead.

Ravenous.

Nuncio jolted awake cowered in sweat. It was still dark outside, and he quickly lit the gaslamp by his bed, certain that vampires were hiding in the darkness. He scanned the room fit for a prince but saw no one. Not under the bed. Not in the closet. He was alone.

“… oh God… help me…” Nuncio muttered.

But you would not find God in the Wyrding, and he worried that he would not find God in Garuccia either. God had not come to his aide in Cobbler’s Hold and none of His icons had protected him from vampires. He was alone in a land of strange gods who were deaf to his prayers. When he had arrived at Storm Roost, Mordesai had given him the best guest room in the fortress but even the luxury he lived in offered him no comfort.

He was imprisoned in a golden cage.

When he sat by the window, his fingers traced the words someone had carved in stone a millennia ago. He had learned just enough of Old Garuccian to read it.

EWIENNE WAS HERE

If Ewienne had been one of Girusai’s brides, she had lived and died ten centuries ago but Nuncio felt an odd kinship with her. They were both held by dragons. Had Ewienne been waiting for her doom here? Crying herself to sleep every night? Praying to her gods who could not help her.

Even gods could not wrestle with dragons.

King Eld couldn’t have killed the Screaming Dragon soon enough and he wondered what it had been like for the people to see their tormentor gone. To know that tomorrow would be better. That there was hope again.

“King Eld… please help me…”

A promise had been made that one-day King Eld would come again. That one day the first king of men would be reborn and save them from another tyrant.

He doubted that Ewienne had been there to see it and he feared neither would he.

When morning finally came, Nuncio got dressed and left his room. As a guest he didn’t have any duties except those he took for himself and he spent most days wandering Storm Roost, trying to uncover its mysteries. He could smell breakfast being served in the grand hall for the servants, but he steered clear from it.

Eating with the servants was like feasting in a mausoleum with the dead.

He was tired of dead things.

Storm Roost was graveyard full of living dead. The children had been broken by the world and even Old Flea was no better than a corpse that wasn’t allowed to rest. The only living beings here was him… and Mordesai.

After a long walk, Nuncio stopped at a balcony.

Storm Roost had been carved to the side of Black Summit that was the tallest mountain in the Wyrding. Even the mountain range that separated Garuccia and Osetaria could not compare to it. Girusai had chosen the spot for his castle carefully. From here you could see everything… and be seen by everyone.

From here the despot had looked down on everyone and anyone who dared to look up would only see their tormentor.

While gazing out, a serving girl with a broom stepped to the balcony. Nuncio looked at her surprised but then smiled kindly at her. The girl just stared past him at the world outside the castle. Her head was shaved marking her as a newcomer. Orphans always had their heads shaved.

“Hi. My name is Nuncio. What’s yours?”

The girl did not answer and just looked at the vast forests. They had been hacked down for construction when the castle had been built and after all those centuries, the damage was finally being undone.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? If we got out there, not even a dragon would be able to see us.” Nuncio said and bit his lip: “I have been… studying the maps. I am pretty sure I know the safest way to the Wyrd Stones.”

At the mention of the Wyrd Stones the girl looked at him and hope flickered in Nuncio’s chest.

“I’ve also been researching the plants. It might not be easy but if we all left this place, I could keep us all fed until we make it home.” Nuncio said.

“… home…” The girl said.

Nuncio bit his lip from excitement.

“Yes. Home. I’m from Cobbler’s Hold. If we could get everyone out of here, I could take us all there. We lost so many in the Twelve-Year-War that the village has been dying so there is a lot of room. With all the people here, we could rebuild it.” Nuncio said.

For the longest time Nuncio had been sure he could flee the castle but what had stopped him was leaving all the children here behind. Abandoning people who had been cast aside once had been a price too high for him to pay.

“If we…”

The girl let the broom fall from her hand and she smiled at him. It was a smile that could break your heart.

Then the girl climbed over the railing and fell without a sound.

“No!”

He tried to grab her hand, but he was too slow. Far too slow and gravity snatched her away from him.

“… no… no… no…”

He clung to the railing like it was the only thing stopping the ground from pulling him under. He stared at the cliffs that had called to the girl until she hadn’t been able to resist them anymore… and he hadn’t been able to stop her. He had held her life in his hands… and he had been too weak to hold on.

“… I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

“What bothers you, my dear guest?”

The shadow that fell over him was immense. The brightest light cast the deepest shadow, and nothing was brighter than dragon fire. When he turned around, Nuncio saw a man who was no man with a body as immense as the world. He was dressed in black silk and gold, but neither could hide how inhuman he was. All hair had been burned off his body inside his father’s stomach and he didn’t even have eyelashes. His skin had the texture of melted wax but the most striking thing about him were his eyes. Eyes that shined like orange stars.

“Why do you cry?” Mordesai asked and touched the tears running down Nuncio’s cheeks.

When the dragon’s thumb brushed against him, Nuncio could feel the fires of creation burning just under Mordesai’s skin and the heat evaporated the tears.

“… she… she jumped…”

“Perhaps she wanted to know if she could fly.” Mordesai said.

Nuncio stared at Mordesai horrified whose eyes were as uncaring as erupting volcanoes.

“… she’s dead…”

“If she jumped, she wanted to die. Don’t cry for the weak or you will weep all day.”

Something gave in inside Nuncio. Something he hadn’t known he had been holding back this entire time. Forces he could scarcely begin to understand took over him.

“No one wants to die! They just want the pain to stop! You could have stopped her! This is your Domain! You could have saved her! And now she is dead! If you weren’t such a cowardly monster you could have saved her!”

Other servants had been cleaning the hallways with brooms and rags but suddenly they seized their work and looked at Nuncio. For the briefest moment they saw him instead of looking right past him.

“You call me a coward?” Mordesai said.

Meeting Mordesai’s gaze was like staring into the sun and waiting it to blink first. His eyes were burning, and tears were streaming down his face but he would not look away.

“All you do is hide in your tower all day and stare at the stars, ignoring what is happening all around you! You hand out gifts to anyone who would ask them and never wonder what they’ll do with them! Then you call yourself so much smarter than anyone else for not caring!”

All the years spent in Cobbler’s Hold’s choir had given Nuncio a voice that could scare off tigers. A voice loud enough for even someone as ancient as Old Flea could hear it.

“What is the meaning of this?!”

It was a shock seeing Old Flea run. Despite his age, he moved like an athlete. His usually smug smile was gone, and he looked furious.

“Our guest just called me a coward.” Mordesai said.

“He is a coward!” Nuncio screamed and pointed at the balcony: “He couldn’t even be bothered to save her!”

Under the wrinkled skin was plenty of muscle and Old Flea’s slap made Nuncio’s teeth rattle. When Nuncio held his swelling cheek, he was surprised to realize he could hate someone even more than his father.

“Even my father is braver than you.” Nuncio said while holding his aching cheek.

“You want to taste this paw again, kid?” Old Flea said before looking around at the servants: “This isn’t a show! All of you! Back to work!”

The servants quickly returned to their duties while Old Flea bowed at Mordesai.

“My apologies, prince Mordesai. I will handle this.”

“Then I will leave this in your capable paws, Old Flea.” Mordesai said before walking away.

When they were alone, Nuncio stood in sullen silence while Old Flea lit a cigarette.

“Someone jumped?” Old Flea said finally.

Nuncio wiped his running nose.

“I tried to stop it.”

“I know.” Old Flea said and beckoned him: “Come.”

“Where?”

“Outside. She deserves a better resting place than some rocks.” Old Flea said.

There were many hidden passages in Storm Roost built in secrecy. The castle’s architect Alberich had used one of them to escape after the construction had been completed. Girusai would not have wanted anyone who knew all the secrets of his castle to live and Alberich had been cunning enough to know it. Old Flea pressed a completely inconspicuous brick in the wall which gave way to a hidden hallway. Nuncio followed him and inside Old Flea tapped the glyphs carved into the walls whish made the secret passage light up. The passageway took them outside the castle, and they began their search.

They didn’t have to look for long.

When they found the girl broken on rocks, Nuncio began crying again. The tears came from a deep place like someone had cut his heart and it was now seeping pus.

“… I’m sorry… if I had been faster…”

“It wasn’t your fault, kid.” Old Flea said and lit cigarette: “If she had only clung on a bit longer maybe she would have realized it hurts less with time.”

Nuncio bit his lip hard enough to draw blood while tears streamed down his face.

“… we could have done more…all of us… I mean… what else can we do but look out for each other?”

“Not much but there is only so much of yourself you can dole out to others until you have nothing more to give.” Old Flea said.

Old Flea took out a small leather bag from his pocket and from the bag he drew dark grey powder that he sprinkled on the girl’s body. The body caught fire immediately and soon it looked like fireflies were dancing around a bonfire. Old Flea pressed his paws together and bowed his head.

“Blessing of the Deep upon your final journey.” Old Flea said.

Nuncio wiped his tears and bowed his own head in prayer.

“Blessing of the Balefire upon your final journey.” Nuncio said.

They held sigil over the girl’s body until all of her had been reduced to ash that the winds carried to the heavens. When it was all over, Old Flea sat down on some rocks and sighed. He lit another cigarette and smoked it joylessly.

“Don’t just stand there. Sit and let an old man enjoy the sunset in peace.”

Nuncio tasted blood when he bit his lip but then sat down next to him. He was too drained to even be angry anymore.

“Don’t goblins bury their dead?” Nuncio asked while watching the setting sun.

“She wasn’t a goblin, and the mountain is too tough for graves.” Old Flea said and blew out more smoke: “I guess your good pal Old Flea will also get the funeral pyre if he ever dies. You get what you give.”

Nuncio looked at his hands and then at Old Flea.

“Bringing kids here was your idea, wasn’t it?”

Old Flea shrugged.

“There were a lot of kids without homes once Girusai died and Storm Roost is too big to be maintained alone. So… your good pal Old Flea decided to pitch in.”

“That was awfully nice of you.” Nuncio said.

“I can be nice too. I guess that’s where it all started going wrong. Immortals shouldn’t be nice to mortals. You poor sods go to your graves in the blink of an eye and take a piece of me with you.”

Old Flea flicked his cigarette away and stood up. He stretched his back and Nuncio could hear something pop and crack in his spine.

“Goddamn… my effing back… Want some advice, kid? Never grow old but if you? Don’t become immortal. Eternal backpain is a special kind of hell.”

“You cared once.” Nuncio said.

“We all make mistakes. I cared and you bastards hollowed me out, but I still keep going through the motions. Let it be known that your good pal Old Flea doesn’t give in easily.”

They started heading back to the castle and Nuncio realized for the first time that he was taller than Old Flea. Among goblins being five feet made you gigantic and Old Flea hadn’t been gigantic even before old age had shrunk him down.

“I feel sorry for you.” Nuncio said.

“Save that for someone who cares.” Old Flea said.

Old Flea wasn’t the only going through the motions. Nuncio kept trying to shake the servants off their stupor, but he couldn’t throw himself into his self-appointed task without fear anymore. If he opened himself to others and they decided to jump… how much of him would they take with him? How long would it take until he was like Old Flea? Or Mordesai? Hollow. Cruel in his inaction. Was this what it was like to be immortal? To wander through a world of living dead? Seeing lives flicker out all around him while he kept going?

He didn’t get respite until the wizard broke into the castle.

Nuncio caught a glimpse of him one day when he was doing his rounds around Storm Roost.

The wizard scaling the mountainside with pickaxes.

He would jam the pickaxes into the cliffside and pull himself up one torturous inch at a time. Nuncio stared at him horrified, too scared to call out to him. He was sure if he distracted the man even for a moment, he would lose his hold and fall into his doom.

It took him nearly an hour to make it to castle wall, but the final push proved too much for him.

When the wizard tried to throw his leg over the rampart and pull himself to safety, his strength gave out and he almost stumbled to his doom.

Almost.

Nuncio didn’t waste time crying out and grabbed the man’s wrist. Despite his lean build, Nuncio was far stronger than he looked. His grandfather had made his living carving wood and toiling in the fields. Nuncio had helped him at both tasks.

It had made him strong enough to pull one wizard to safety.

The wizard was dressed in a sleeveless shirt and short pants. Anything that might have weighed him down had been cast aside. His clothes were drenched in sweat and the muscles in his arms and legs looked like they were on the verge of tearing.

“… kiitos…” The man wheezed and panted.

“Excuse me?” Nuncio said.

The man wiped the sweat off his face and grinned despite the exhaustion.

“Thank… you…”

The wizard looked to be around thirty and he had a solid build that was more sinewy than muscular. His short hair and beard were blonde as hay and his eyes were blue as the summer sky but the most striking thing about him were the tattoos. His body was covered in animal tattoos of all kinds. Nuncio could spot a dog, a bear and an eagle painted in his skin with black ink.

And they were moving.

Like they were alive.

Nuncio stared at the wizard’s tattoos with a mixture of fear and curiosity before he turned his attention back on the wizard himself.

“Are… are you okay?”

The wizard managed to snort despite being out of breath.

“I was curious if I could make the climb.” The wizard said and tried to stand up, but he had no more strength left to spare: “I think… you just saved my life.”

“I… it was nothing.”

“It means something to me.” The wizard said while sitting against a wall: “You’re more talkative than most of the kids here. What’s your name?”

“Nuncio.”

“Blessing of the Mountain upon you, Nuncio. I am Vincent.” The wizard said.

“The Mountain… You’re a wizard?”

“Of Scholomance. Smart lad.” Vincent said while trying to rub some life back into his legs: “Screw me bloody with a spear. I might have pushed myself too far. Damn legs don’t work. Could you help me find a place to rest?”

When Vincent leaned on him, he was able to stand up and Nuncio led him into one of the guestrooms. Vincent lied down on the bed and let out a relived sigh.

“Thank you, Nuncio. I wish I could have used the Portal System but that would have been a dead giveaway. Word of advice. If you want to sneak inside a high gods Domain, do it by foot.”

When Nuncio tried to answer, he realized that Vincent had fallen asleep. He looked at the sleeping wizard and then walked out of the room on his toes so he could sleep in peace. To make sure no one would find him, Nuncio stayed close to the room and only left to bring him food from the kitchen. The servants working in the kitchens paid him no heed and there were times that Nuncio could feel contempt for them creeping in. If they would only seize the opportunity, they could…

Nuncio bit his lip and shook his head.

The people here had suffered too much as it was. They did not deserve his judgement on top of it. He just took the food and thanked the kitchen servants for their hard work. As always, they did not answer, and Nuncio left them in peace. When Nuncio returned to the guest room, he found a dog made of smoke guarding Vincent. The dog had as many breeds in it as it had furs on it back that had produced something big and friendly.

But it was always the friendliest dogs that would fight the hardest for their master.

“Hey.” Nuncio said.

The spirit dog began wagging its tail when it saw him, and Nuncio wondered if he could offer it some sausages. Did spirit dogs even need to eat? Whether they did or not, the dog rushed him and started running circles around him. If you glanced at its feet, you could see its paws didn’t touch the ground and it was running on air.

“Does the good boy want a treat?” Nuncio said and he dangled the sausage in his hand.

The dog barked excitedly when it saw the sausage.

“Sit, boy.”

The spirit dog sat, and its tail wagged behind it like a hurricane.

“Good boy!” Nuncio said and threw the sausage at the dog.

The dog jumped after the sausage and caught it from the air. The sausage disappeared inside its hungry maw and Nuncio could see it dissolve inside the dog’s stomach. Nuncio scratched the dog behind its ear, and it felt like touching solid smoke. It was constantly moving and alive.

“Cinder doesn’t trust people easily.”

Nuncio turned to look at Vincent who had stirred awake and was sitting up in his bed. The dog… Cinder barked happily and rushed to his master’s side. Vincent petted Cinder and then put out his hand.

“Cinder. Return.”

The dog turned into mist… and then was sucked into Vincent’s arm, turning into another tattoo painted on his skin. Nuncio bit his lip at the sight of it. He had never seen magic like that before.

“How… did you do that?” Nuncio asked.

“With magic.” Vincent said while looking hungrily at the plate full of food.

“Not any kind of magic I have seen.” Nuncio said.

Vincent rubbed at the tattoos that moved all around his body.

“Will-o-wisps that I have bound to myself. A field of magic I created myself.”

“Neat.” Nuncio said and handed him the food.

“It is pretty neat.” Vincent said when he took the plate: “Thank you.”

Nuncio sat on the floor hugging his knees while Vincent ate the food, he had brought him and washed his meal down with cold water.

“This place hasn’t changed much since the last time. Or at all.” Vincent said.

“You’ve been here before?” Nuncio said.

“A long time ago. I was brought here like so many others.”

Nuncio bit his lip.

“You were a slave here?”

“More like a servant. I was able to regain hope and with it my sense of self. I swore I would return one day and now here I am.”

Nuncio nodded and tried to keep his excitement off his face. Had his prayers been answered? Had a hero come to save them?

“Has Scholomance decided to help us?” Nuncio asked.

Vincent blinked and then smiled. Afterwards Nuncio wished he had bpaid more attention to that.

“Someone ought to, and I think I know just the trick to do that. There is a certain book I am after.” Vincent said.

“A book?”

“Yes. Its an ancient tome stored somewhere in the castle’s library.”

“And if you have that you will help us?” Nuncio said.

Vincent nodded while smiling.

“I promise.”

After some sleep and food Vincent felt strong enough to walk again although his steps were still stiff after the hellish climb he had done. Nuncio took the lead to make sure none of the servants spotted Vincent. Even though the other children were more living corpses than anything, he worried what they would do if they spotted a complete stranger inside the castle.

“You’re different than most of the children here. More… talkative.” Vincent said.

“My father sent me here.” Nuncio said.

“Did he now? And why would he do that?”

“He is a vampire.” Nuncio said.

Vincent’s eyes widened ever so slightly when he heard that.

“Is he now? How curious.” Vincent said and smiled: “Now wonder you didn’t hesitate to help a stranger in a dragon’s castle. You’ve got some brass balls, Nuncio.”

Nuncio smiled with some self-satisfaction.

“How come Mordesai doesn’t know you’re here? This is his Domain. He should know about everything that happens here.”

“Even he can’t see everything at once. I’ve also prepared for this for a long time. I have cast spells that make me blend with the scenery. As long as he keeps his eyes on the stars and away from the castle, I should be golden.”

Nuncio nodded and led Vincent into the library.

It was a travesty that the largest castle in the Wyrding had one of the smallest libraries. It looked like a few closets had been combined by knocking over some walls and even then, most of the shelves were empty. Just Mordesai’s and Old Flea’s quarters had more books than the entire library.

“Breaks the heart, doesn’t it?” Vincent said while he looked around: “Have you heard of the Seven Great Libraries of the Wyrding?”

“Yes. All Wyrding’s knowledge was stored in them.” Nuncio said.

“The greatest foundations of wisdom, thought, and innovation the world has ever seen. The greatest achievement of the Lapoca. They could travel into the moon and the afterlife.” Vincent said before sighing sadly: “Then Girusai came and plunged us all back into the Stone Age when he burned them all.”

When Nuncio looked at the books in the half empty library, he wondered which was Girusai’s greatest crime. All the lives he had taken and all those women he had violated or destroying humanity’s heritage to make them easier to control. Greatest minds that had ever lived had worked tirelessly to expand humanity’s understanding of reality and others had dedicated their entire lives to cherish it so future generations might benefit from it. Thousands of years of research… burned to satisfy a Screaming Beast’s greed and need to dominate.

“Girusai was a brute but even he knew that some knowledge was worth keeping as long as no one else could benefit from it.” Vincent said while he walked between the shelves: “But so much was lost. So very much.”

“Curse of the Balefire upon his final journey.” Nuncio said.

“Yes. Curse indeed.” Vincent agreed while looking through the books.

After some careful consideration Vincent picked up two books written in Old Garuccian and placed them in the bag hanging from his belt.

“Are they what you were looking for?” Nuncio asked.

“I don’t know yet, but I certainly hope so.” Vincent said and smiled: “You helped. Now its my turn to help you.”

“You think we can escape?” Nuncio said.

“When I stand by my master’s side nothing can stop us. For now, let’s get you out of here. No need to be quiet so we can go out with a bang.” Vincent said and drew a wooden knife from his belt that had been carved full of glyphs.

When Vincent slashed at the air with the knife, the glyphs began to glow, and a passageway was opened in thin air. He had seen the air distort the same way whenever someone crossed the Wyrd Stones, but a wizard of Vincent’s caliber did not need Wyrd Stones to teleport. On the end of the portal, he could see a gentleman’s study filled with curiosities from all over the world.

“Come.” Vincent said and offered him his hand.

Vincent’s hand was a lifeline but… if he took it, would others be left behind while only he was saved?

“What about the others?”

“We will be back for them. I promise.” Vincent said.

Nuncio bit his lip but then let Vincent lead him through the portal. The road between realities was always marred with danger. The primordial chaos still lurked there was ready to swallow all life like a cancer, but Nuncio felt safe by Vincent’s side. The other side was already close, and they were almost…

“What?” Vincent muttered.

It all happened so quickly that Nuncio had barely time to register it. Suddenly they were diverted and the gate to the study was closed. Before Vincent could react, they were spat out by the forests at the root of Black Summit.

“Oh, Vincent, Vincent, Vincent. Always so sure you know better than anyone else. What am I going to do with you, boy?”

The three kelpies were stalking them between the trees but none of them looked as threatening as their master. Even the smallest creature could cast the largest shadow. Old Flea was leaning against a tree smoking a cigarette. His bowler hat was tilted to the side, and he had loosened his tie like a man expecting trouble.

“Flea.”

The even tone in Vincent’s voice had turned into an angry snarl and when Nuncio made the mistake of looking him in the eyes, they were cold as the winter sky.

“It pains your good pal Old Flea that you haven’t learned a damn thing.” Old Flea said and flicked his cigarette away: “Now… unless you want to taste the back of my paw, step away from the kid.”

Vincent was strong enough to scale the Black Summit and when his arm grabbed Nuncio by the throat, it felt like being trapped under a fallen tree. When something poked Nuncio’s back, he realized it was a knife. A real one this time.

“You think I am still a boy you can boss around, old man? I might have been an apprentice when I left but now, I am the master. I have learned more than I ever would have from you.”

“… what are you…?” Nuncio gasped.

“You should have had me swear solemnly by the Mountain to help you, Nuncio.” Vincent said.

Old Flea’s eyes narrowed, and he bared his teeth. The kelpies were neighing angrily and scratching the ground with their hoofs. Ready to strike and devour.

“Let the kid go.” Old Flea said.

“Has someone gotten attached? How curious.” Vincent said.

Old Flea’s paw clenched into a fist.

“Hurt the kid and nothing stands between me and you.” Old Flea said: “Drop the kid and the books and I’ll let you go this time.”

Vincent glanced at the kelpies and their sharp fangs. Then he looked at Old Flea. And smiled.

The knife was so sharp that Nuncio didn’t feel the knife cut into his back until Old Flea twisted the blade to make sure he would bleed out fast. He pushed Nuncio at Old Flea who caught him before he slammed on the ground.

“No!” Old Flea gasped horrified.

The kelpies attacked Vincent and he unleashed the spirit animals painted in his skin. Cinder led the charge against the kelpies and behind him came a bear and a hawk. Nuncio tried to breathe but all he could do was gurgle blood.

“Stay with me, kid!” Old Flea yelled somewhere far away.

***

Triton, Scylla, and Lir were on Vincent the moment the kid wasn’t in danger of getting caught under their hoofs. Few predators in the Wyrding were more dangerous than kelpies but Vincent had his spirit animals that he had bound with his own life force. An eagle with the wingspan of a grown man flew out of his arm and tried to gouge out Triton’s eyes with its talons. Scylla was pushed back by a huge bear made from smoke and Lir had to deal with Cinder. Cinder might have been the smallest of them but like all good dogs, nothing fought more ferociously for its master.

Then there was Vincent himself.

In his experience human sorcerers were always the most dangerous and unpredictable. A mortal’s short lifespan… their limited time on this earth… it put a hunger in them that they would do anything to satisfy. They wouldn’t hesitate to go to any lengths to make their fleeting life’s mean something. Baphomet’s wife had turned herself into an abomination and Vincent… the fool had meddled with a power that was best left dead.

But even then, Old Flea could have crushed him as easily as he wiped mud off his boots.

Despite his youthful appearance made possible by magic, he was only in his fifties. What was a few decades of experience next to a thousand years of study? Even though he had never created a Domain for himself like Baphomet or Camilla, the only spellcasters who could rival him were Drystania and the Grey Mother.

But his hands were tied.

The kid was bleeding out fast and if he took his paws off the stab wound, he would be a goner in seconds. He had buried enough children this week. So, all he could do was protect himself and the kid by repelling the spells Vincent threw in his way. And even then, Vincent was just trying to break his concentration so he could make his escape.

Finally, he got what he wanted.

“See you around, my dear old master.” Vincent sneered before disappearing into the Portal System.

Old Flea paid his mockery no heed and tried to stop the bleeding to the best of his abilities, but the wound was beyond even his powers. Vincent’s knife had popped the kid’s lung and now he was drowning in his own blood. The kelpies circled them I distress unsure what to do.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Mordesai’s cast a shadow like an eclipse. His skin was flaking off from having left Storm Roost without the Wyrd King’s leave and the curse Eld had cast on him at birth was already eating away at him.

“You shouldn’t be here…” Old Flea said.

“Plenty of people today are where they shouldn’t be.” Mordesai said and kneeled next to Nuncio: “Who did this?”

“Vincent… he got away.”

When Mordesai’s eyes narrowed, Old Flea could see a glimpse of Girusai in him.

“Old mistakes never stop haunting us.” Mordesai said and put his hand on Nuncio’s forehead: “He is fading fast.”

“Can you help him?” Old Flea asked.

In response Mordesai pulled back his sleeve and cut his wrist with the nail on his pinkie. No blood flowed from the wound. Just liquid fire. Mordesai let it drip in Nuncio’s mouth and the wound in his back.

***

“I’m dead, aren’t I?” Nuncio said.

Grandfather Death nodded on the other side of the table while pouring them tea. They floated in a void, sitting around a table loaded with biscuit, honey, sugar, and cream.

“I’m afraid so. It happens to us all.” Grandfather Death said and then offered him a plate of biscuits: “Cookies? I baked them myself.”

“Thank you.” Nuncio said and tried one of the biscuits: “The chocolate chips are a nice touch.”

“Thank you, Nuncio.” Grandfather Death said.

Nuncio chewed the biscuit unhappily without really tasting it.

“It was a pretty lousy life.”

“How so?”

“I couldn’t save mom or Ellie. I was never in love.”

Grandfather Death nodded and had a sip of tea.

“Then it’s a good thing this is not the end.” Grandfather Death said.

“… what?”

Tea with Grandfather Death in the void was replaced by the ceiling in his room in Storm Roost. Nuncio sat up in his bed and looked around perplexed trying to figure out if it had been just a dream.

“You gave us quite a scare, kid.”

Old Flea was sitting by his bed with an open book on his lap and reading glasses pushed up his nose. When he saw Old Flea, everything flooded back to him. Vincent scaling the Black Summit, breaking into the library… the knife… He tried touching his back where Vincent had stabbed him but there was no pain or even a scar.

“… you… saved me…” Nuncio whispered.

“Well, you are protected by sacred hospitality.” Old Flea said.

Nuncio fell back on his bed and rubbed his face.

“… who was that?”

“A warlock named Vincent. A very dangerous fellow.” Old Flea said while rolling a cigarette.

“He knew this place.”

“As he damn well should. He spent years mopping the floors after I brought him here. If I’d had any sense in me, I would have left him where I found him.”

Nuncio bit his lip and looked at Old Flea. He looked disheveled and in desperate need of sleep.

“Have you been watching over me? All this time?”

“Someone had to, and I don’t trust the help around here.” Old Flea said and started reading again: “Try to get some rest.”

Nuncio lied in silence for a moment before speaking again.

“Can I ask something.”

“You seem to do little else, kid.” Old Flea said without looking up from his book.

“Whose Ewienne?”

Old Flea… blinked.

When he looked up from his book, he looked like Nuncio had slapped him.

“How do you know that name?”

“She carved her name on the wall.” Nuncio said.

Old Flea sighed and put down the book before lighting a cigarette.

“I guess she thought this room was going to be her tomb.”

“Who was she?”

Old Flea took a deep drag from his cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke.

“Fine, kid. Fine. You win. You want to know so badly, I’ll tell you.” Old Flea said while sucking on his cigarette: “Ewienne was some chieftain’s daughter who sent her to be Girusai’s bride. I was the castellan of Storm Roost back then. Girusai’s head house slave. Seeing as I had studied in Domdaniel, I was the obvious choice.”

Nuncio sat up and looked Old Flea closely while he smoked without any joy.

“One of my duties was to have the brides bathed and prepared for Girusai… and treat their wounds afterwards.”

There was shame and sadness in Old Flea’s voice. Old shame and sadness that had festered like an untreated wound.

“Sometimes it looked they had been mauled by a beast and when… they became heavy with a child… Girusai ate them so no other dragon would rise to oppose him.”

A shiver ran down Nuncio’s back and his bowels turned in disgust.

“Did Ewienne…?”

“Yes. Yes, she did. I had… my… assistant Wasp…”

“Wasp? Hard Wasp? The founder of the Bone Flock Tribe?” Nuncio said.

“The very same.” Old Flea said and blew smoke in Nuncio’s direction: “Has no one taught you that its rude to interrupt.”

“Sorry.” Nuncio said.

“Whatever. Like I said, Wasp had… befriended Ewienne and by then she had seen too much. We all reach our breaking point eventually and Wasp had found hers. She convinced me to help Ewienne flee and against my better judgement I agreed.”

Old Flea closed his eyes and grimaced from pain like his entrails were being pulled out.

“My tribe paid dearly for my lapse in judgement. When Girusai found out what had happened, he marched them all out to the yard and promised to burn them all unless someone told where Ewienne and Wasp had run off to.” Old Flea said quietly: “Girusai always kept his word when it came to murder.”

Old Flea’s hands were shaking, and his voice was cracking so badly Nuncio was afraid he would start crying. Without even thinking about it, he put his hand on the ancient goblin’s paw.

“I am sorry.” Nuncio said.

Old Flea was ready to spit razorblades and barbed wire at him but then couldn’t find the strength to do so and swallowed whatever snarky response he’d had in mind.

“So am I. No one talked and they all burned. Wasp and Ewienne fled, and my tribe burned.”

Nuncio bit his lip… and then the pieces fell in place.

“In the stories… King Eld was trained by Hard Wasp.”

“That he was.” Old Flea agreed.

A shiver ran down Nuncio’s spine.

“Girusai was… King Eld’s father?”

“It’s not unusual for a rapist to sow his doom.” Old Flea said while Nuncio sat stunned.

Old Flea lit another cigarette.

“Eld grew into a man and as you might imagine… he had some harsh words for his father. Girusai proved himself to be a coward when he realized who Eld was and did everything to avoid facing him.” Old Flea said and a nasty grin crept on his face: “He was right to be afraid. Eld showed Girusai every bit as much mercy as Girusai had shown to my tribe.”

Old Flea sighed and blew smoke out of his nostrils.

“When Girusai was dead and Mordesai had been cut out of his belly, Oberon wanted to execute me. Eld shocked me by coming to my defense but… then again… maybe he had inherited some of his father’s cruelty. For saving Eld and his mother, I would live. For serving Girusai all those years, I would live forever. Eld made me eat Girusai’s heart and when I did, I inherited a dragon’s immortality. I would forever be Storm Roost’s castellan and make it a sanctuary for the unloved and unwanted.”

They sat in silence until Old Flea put out his cigarette.

“Eld placed two curses that day. One on me and another on Mordesai. I was condemned to be the eternal babysitter and Mordesai was bound to Storm Roost so he could never grow into the tyrant Girusai was.”

Nuncio bit his lip.

“There is one thing I don’t understand.”

“Just one thing?” Old Flea said: “Progress.”

“After everything you’d seen… why did you help Wasp spirit Ewienne away?”

Old Flea smiled sadly.

“Wasp loved Ewienne. What kind of a father would make his daughter see her lover burn?”

When Nuncio looked at Old Flea, he could no longer see a heartless monster. He patted the ancient goblin’s wrinkled paw.

“Old Flea… you should go and get some rest.”

Old Flea thought about it and then shrugged. He picked up his book and stood up.

“I think I will.”

Old Flea was half out of the door when he stopped and turned to look at Nuncio.

“I’m glad you’re alive, Nuncio.”

“Me too. Thank you, Flea.” Nuncio said and bit his lip: “Old Flea?”

“Yeah?”

“If you… die before me, I will make sure you get buried like a goblin. You’ll have a proper grave and not a funeral pyre.” Nuncio said.

Old Flea stared into the hallway for a while before nodding.

“Thank you, Nuncio.”

For the next few days everything seemed to stay the same until one evening Nuncio was summoned to the grand dining hall. The room was large enough to contain a thousand guests and still have room for servants to fulfill their every need. The walls were decorated with the burned armors and broken weapons of warriors who had challenged Girusai and died in the attempt. Mordesai sat at the end of the hall’s biggest table filled with roasted meat dishes and Old Flea sat on his right side. Mordesai looked… diminished somehow. Like he was recovering from a vicious illness that had robbed much of his girth. His skin was cracked and flaking in places, but his eyes still burned with the fires of creation.

“Are you okay?” Nuncio asked: “You don’t look so good.”

“Leaving Storm Roost without Oberon’s leave takes its toll, but I will live. My wounds will heal.” Mordesai said and pointed at the chair to his left: “Sit and eat with us.”

Nuncio hesitated for a moment but then took his place on Mordesai’s left side. Lord of Storm Roost served him personally and placed charred steaks on his plate. He wondered if Mordesai had prepared the food by himself.

“I have thought what you said to me, my beloved guest, and I have decided to try and be a friend. We will eat together from now on. On occasion.” Mordesai said.

“Works for me.” Nuncio said.

“It isn’t right to be eating so much meat but who am I to say no?” Old Flea said.

“No one.” Mordesai said and devoured the charred meat and the bone it was attached to: “I understand Old Flea has shared some family history with you.”

“… yes.” Nuncio said.

“Very interesting.” Mordesai said.

From then on, occasionally they did eat together.

After every meal with Mordesai Nuncio was left shaken but he recovered -faster every time. During the day he continued his self-appointed mission of trying to rouse the servants back to life until one day one of them approached him. The boy looked at him and Nuncio could see a flicker of life in his dull eyes.

“Hi.” Nuncio said: “My name is Nuncio. What’s yours?”

The boy had to think his answer for a while. It was like he hadn’t spoken so long he didn’t remember how.

"... Gilles..."

Nuncio smiled at him.

"Nice to meet you Gilles."