The group – including Isobel – sat around a table at an outside tavern situated within the bastion. While Jude quietly plucked at his guitar’s strings, everyone ate salty snacks and drank overpriced mead.

“One thing is for certain,” muttered Isobel, “drinking in the sun sucks.”

Leland looked around their surroundings, finding most, if not everyone, constantly brushing sand off the tables or removing layers of armor. It wasn’t hot, but sitting in the sun wearing metal layers wasn’t so pleasant. Luckily for the group, they had a magical bear cub who liked to show off her magic. Keeping drinks cool was a given.

“Couldn’t they have put this place indoors?” asked Glenny.

“It will be, in time. They have to finish building the place first. The Captain even sent a letter to the Queen in hope’s Sybil will send more mages.”

Leland raised an eyebrow. “Did you tell him that you know the Queen personally and—”

Isobel raised her hand. “No, no I did not.”

“Good. She has too much on her plate already. Aunty P literally sent us here because there was no one else. Not for a little while, at least. Moving troops takes time, apparently.”

“So that’s what you are doing. Strange.”

“How so?”

“A couple of snot-nosed brats sent to secure a Tear? What kind of sick joke is that?”

Gelo frowned, huffing quick bursts of air from her nose. “I’m not snotty.”

Isobel glanced at the cub. “And you weren’t sent here by Aunty P. You’re just a tagger-on.”

Jude gasped. “Don’t call her a groupie! We do not have groupies! Don’t listen to her Gelo!”

Gelo blinked a few times, not really knowing what a “groupie” was. Still, she understood the sarcasm enough to say, “That’s okay. If Isobel is too mean to me, I’ll just let my mom know. She’ll take care of it.”

Isobel went stiff. “Wh—”

Leland had, unfortunately, taken that exact moment to take a big ol’ swig of his drink, sending his beverage rocketing across the table when he couldn’t hold back his laughter.

Glenny leaned away, “Ew dude.”

“It’s not my fault! Did you see the face she made!?”

Leland then had to dodge a closed fist. Having been expecting it, Isobel’s attack went wide.

“NO FIGHTING IN MY TAVERN!”

The shout caused all heads to turn, even the ones at other tables. All eyes fell on the tavern owner, a muscular woman with scars and large, over encompassing tattoos.

Leland quickly averted his eyes, staring into his mug. A moment passed. “Is she still looking?”

“Nah, you’re good,” Jude said.

He raised his eyes, finding the owner very much still staring at him and Isobel. “Jude!”

The berserker giggled.

Isobel, however, held the woman’s glare. “Got something to say?”

“Yeh, you're cut off! Get out!”

The former Inquisitor scoffed, standing from her seat with an exaggerated push. The onlookers quickly looked away as death radiated from the Huntress. While Isobel had left that title to die, her reputation could never be buried. Everyone at the bastion knew of her, and not even the Captain chose to openly defy her.

Isobel held the owner’s gaze, shrugged, then walked away.

“Guess we’re leaving,” Leland muttered, staring at his half full mug. He quickly followed. The others came a moment later.

They all caught up, Isobel leading the way around the bastion’s facilities. They passed an open area with men and women smashing target dummies with crude maces and rusted swords. Some people sparred along the far wall, but all with physicality alone. Strict “no magic” signs were plastered everywhere, some even with arrows pointing across the way to where magic was allowed.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Quakes and thunderous roars sang across the area as flashes of colorful light streaked like meteors along the night sky. Sand rained down after explosions of magic changed the landscape. The area, a fenced off section of desert, contained dozens of mages or the like slinging spells or launching artillery fire.

Targets had been set up around the firing range, larger pillars of hardened sandstone. As the group approached, a betting pool was started between two mages. The task was simple, first to break their pillar won. Gold coins and shouting marked the start of the duel, the first mage taking her turn.

She kicked off her barrage with a glob of orange water that glowed like a campfire. With a flick of her wrist and the power word “Smother,” the magic hurtled across the open air. Directly smashing into the pillar, water exploded as the glob collapsed under the excessive speeds.

The crowd went silent. “That’s it?” someone asked.

“For now,” the mage replied.

With a scoff, the second mage stepped forward. Without so much as a gesture, the sand split apart across the desert toward the pillar. The sound of shifting dunes and falling sand loudly pronounced a winner as the pillar fell into the created rift.

That was, until the first mage asked, “I thought it was first to complete destruction?”

The other mage eyed the woman. “Is that not destruction to you?”

“No, it looks like you put the pillar in a hole.”

He growled. “Fine, your turn.”

The woman instantly snapped, the orange liquid soaked pillar exploding into thousands of pieces. “Your turn,” she said.

The man glanced at his pillar, and just like last time, there were no signs of magic. The rift in the sand snapped shut, consuming the partially buried pillar, leaving only the top bit exposed.

“I’d say I won,” said the first mage.

The second mage stomped off.

Leland said to his friends, “Do you think those pillars have souls? I think I could earn us some gold if so…”

No one answered him, instead they followed Isobel… except Gelo. She stayed, inching closer to the firing line as the next two contestants stepped up.

“I’ll catch up,” she muttered to no one in particular, her eyes glued on the next mage’s beautiful spell work.

Jude paused, gave his friends a shrug, then joined Gelo in cheering after the mage’s pillar exploded in a single spell.

“Guess we’re down to three,” Leland said. “Where are we going?”

Isobel looked at him, took a deep breath, and said, “Aren’t you supposed to protect someone?”

Referring to Elin, the Legacy of the First Druid, whom Leland had a contract to protect. He nodded, “Is she this way?”

“This is the way to custom housing.”

“’Custom?’” Glenny asked.

“For people who can create their own dwellings.”

The housing section of the fort stuck out like flaming leaves on an evergreen. Huts and shacks made from any and all things sat around without reason or design. Single occupancy rooms made of stone sat between tents made of twigs. Deformed buildings made from rushing winds gave little room for privacy, but kept people from planting the foundations of their homes nearby – the howling wind was a little loud. Some buried into the sand, creating homes similarly to the Witches. Others took it upon themselves to build larger dwellings, offering rooms for sale at exorbitant prices.

A few traveling merchants dragged their carts through the area, selling daily wares at a premium. The group watched as a middle aged woman bought a set of pots and pans from a man with a curled mustache.

“That’s Elin,” Isobel said.

“How do you know?” Leland asked, squinting at her.

Neither tall nor short, the woman had hair like the stars above – solid black with white peppering specs. She stood with her hand on her hip, arguing with the man about prices all the while magically controlling a pile of sticks. One by one, the sticks floated onto the man’s wagon, snagging items and subtly sneaking them away.

“She’s stealing?” Glenny asked.

“Meet this fort’s best rogue, Elin.”

Glenny gave Isobel a level stare. “Rogue or thief? Because all I’m seeing is theft.”

She gave him a smirk. “Are you sure you’re not jealous that someone is better than you at stealing? Rogues aren’t only about stabbing things with daggers, you know? Your mom was one of the greatest thieves in the kingdom!”

He almost snarled, maybe he would have a year or two ago. But today? Today, Glenny knew and understood his mother’s role in the Inquisitors. An ambassador to the underground Umbra, Annie Red did more than commit petty theft. If she stole, she stole important or dangerous things from dangerous or important people.

“Uh huh,” he eventually said. “Watch this—”

Glenny’s words were cut off as he faded from vision, his presence from memory. Paired with his newest ring and Legacy invisibility, he strutted across the sand with both purpose and annoyance. Stealing from a working man felt sick to him, but letting Isobel have the last laugh? That was agony.

Looking over the wagon of stuff, nothing popped out as particularly worthy to steal and simultaneously not important to the seller. Everything was worth too much money or was too easy to take. But maybe… Glenny looked over the man, spotting something that would prove his worth as a rogue. The best part was it didn’t involve stealing.

After doing the deed, Glenny reappeared beside Isobel and Leland, a smirk along his lips. “Yeah, I’d say I’m the best rogue here.”

“What did you—” Isobel stopped herself and stared.

“Am I missing something?” Leland asked.

“The seller’s mustache.”

“What about it?”

“Glenny shaved it.”

“Ah!” Glenny interrupted. “I shaved it without him or Elin noticing. Best rogue here is me.”

Isobel eyed him, more specifically, his birthday present. “Nice ring.”

“It was my mother’s.”

“Hmm…”

Through all of this, Leland had a perpetual look of confusion across his face. “Are you sure that’s her? Because why would a Legacy of the First Druid be a rogue? That doesn’t make sense.”

“Not everyone wants to be a mage.”

He blinked. “Really?”

Isobel gave him a look. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”