The bustle of the inn’s dining hall silenced and the candles of the chandelier above flickered. In Adria’s vision, the entire establishment shifted and turned into the dark crevasses of Black Ice Bastion’s round table. Atop the mahogany wood laid goblets, maps and steel tokens. The Liar sat with the Band of the North. They planned their next conquests. Smiled at their next betrayals. Laughed when the steel tokens on the maps fell and the talk of genocides began.

Bleaksa—a dirty blonde warrior in chain armor with a burnt face and a beard flowing down to his waist—sat with the expression of a statue. When the Band of the North spoke of atrocities, his face twitched. Disgust.

He was the only one who gave Adria a sliver of hope that there was reason and humanity amongst those who ruled the north.

From the corner of his eye, he saw her and turned. Dozens of knives, daggers and rapiers that hung at his waist jangled. He stared at her then whistled. The Liar stopped reaching for a token on the map, retracted his lengthy finger beneath his cloak and looked at Adria. Her hair stood up.

“Ah, you’re early! Wonderful, wonderful,” The Liar said. “Hold on – we’re almost done here.”

The Liar and Bleaksa turned away from Adria. Again, the latter’s waist armory jangled.

Like the chains of the hounds in Saint Goblin’s Inn.

Adria snapped back to reality. La’Var, who stood beside her, tapped at her shoulder and whispered.

“Hey, you have any idea why everyone’s looking at these lads? They look like fellows who’ve got some lethal tricks up their sleeves. Maybe they’d land one of their paws for a hunt…”

“They’re the Band of the North,” Adria hissed.

“Band of the North?” La’Var scratched the back of his head. “I’ve heard of them. Definitely heard of them somewhere… They’re those traveling bards, right?!”

“They’re the Liar’s generals and most ruthless killers.”

“Oh, they’re nasty lads then. Won’t be easy bargaining with them. Might even ask for coins in exchange for me taking one of their hounds on a little detour.”

From the corridors of the inn’s back rooms, Saint Goblin emerged, the twenty crosses around her neck dancing and ringing. First, her eyes widened. The head of the inn muttered a prayer under her breath. Then, she rushed up to the Band of the North and bowed.

“Welcome back to Saint Goblin’s Inn,” she announced, eyeing the black-haired patron from yesterday. “We are so glad to have you back, mister…”

“Please call me Killmun.”

Adria remembered talks of a spy named Killmun back in Black Ice Bastion. He came from nowhere and started appearing everywhere. He’d been blamed for all the major events of the north. Adria expected to see him in the corridors of the dreadful fortress one day but left before he arrived.

And apparently took Bleaksa’s seat.

“Yes, sir Killmun and your companions,” Saint Goblin pointed at an empty far-away table. “Please, take a seat.”

The Band of the North nodded in silence and headed for the corner of the dining hall.

“If they’re such nasty fellows, I should introduce myself to them,” La’Var whispered. “Imagine the bait they could hook me up—”

“Whatever you do, don’t introduce yourself to the Band of the North.” Adria elbowed the hunter. “I know exactly who they are: that slender swordsman with flowing silver hair and a poorly kept beard is Ratbite and that brown-skinned guy with a mask covering his mouth is the sorcerer Yinto.”

“How does Ratbite get perfect hair like that?” U’lis appeared by Adria’s side, watching the Band of the North with interest.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“He feeds it by watching others suffer,” Adria muttered and continued, “See that bald old one with a crystal eye? That’s an assassin. Hutcher. And Killmun was the one who came here yesterday.”

Both La’Var and U’lis hmpfed and continued to watch the Band of the North as if entering a trance. At the same time, Adria’s head was buzzing with questions.

Why are you here? What do you want? Have you finally discovered me? Do you want to take over the inn?

Saint Goblin scuttled over to Adria and grabbed her hand. The head of the inn began to drag her after the new patrons. Adria kicked her feet into the ground, resisting. The Band of the North repulsed her like prayers repulsed curses. Then, she remembered her duty—as a lawful goblin of Saint Goblin’s Inn—to serve everyone and let green, wrinkly hand drag her towards the Band of the North.

The Band of the North tied their seven hounds around the legs of the table.

Why only seven? Adria wondered. Aren’t they supposed to get two each?

“We would graciously accept your finest wines and light desserts,” Killmun spoke for the northerners. “As we’ve come here not to feast, but to discuss important matters. Matters that, oddly enough, involve Saint Goblin’s Inn.”

Saint Goblin’s brows furrowed. Adria realized she was supposed to write it down and fumbled around her pockets. Notebook in hand, she began etching patron’s order.

“Yesterday, I had a very fine experience in your establishment. So enjoyable, in fact, that once I returned to my lands, I just had to mention it to… my lord. You wouldn’t believe: he was dumbfounded by my tale! He cast a spell upon one of my poor hounds and sifted through the beast’s memories, looking, himself, at what an incredible place this is. Sadly, the beast couldn’t handle such sorcery piercing its mind and it passed, but what happened next easily overshadows that unfortunate death -- my lord decided he wants to dine here!”

The ground beneath Adria’s feet vanished. Vertigo gripped her. Terrible. No, not terrible — atrocious, bad, godawful…

“I’m going to bring the wine and desserts,” she whispered to Saint Goblin and started slithering away.

The head of the inn grabbed Adria and pulled her back. ‘You’re not going anywhere yet,’ her eyes said.

“For the right coins, anything can be done,” Saint Goblin said. “Is your lord willing to pay up? And does he have any special requests?”

Why are you even contemplating serving The Liar?! Adria screamed inside. He’s everything you hate… Or… What if you don’t know you’re going to serve The Liar? You’re a goblin, after all, concerned with goblin things and running the inn. There’s no time, no way for you to learn the banners of the lands and who the Band of the North is.

Oh, Saint Goblin, you have no idea what you are about to hear.

“Of course. In fact, all my lord has are special requests,” Killmun said. He took out a scroll. “See, my lord is… The Liar of the Abyss and he wants to have a grand celebration, a feast of the ages in the name of--”

“The Liar of the Abyss?!” Saint Goblin snapped, eyes wide.

“Yes--”

“Such evil shall go nowhere near my inn!” The head of the inn grabbed a pair of crosses, rubbing them. “You may dine all you want, talk of any matters, but the Liar of the Abyss will not stand foot on these grounds!”

Saint Goblin marched off. Killmun smirked.

“We’ll see,” he said, looking at Adria. “Could you hurry and bring our wine and desserts? The wine first, obviously.”

Adria nodded and hurried away into the kitchen.

U’lis stored the wine in a hidden compartment in the walls. To get to it, first Adria had to move a table and then find a loose brick. A lot of scratching and gnawing got the brick out of the wall and revealed a set of buttons and levers. Adria messed with them until a hidden door popped open in the wall. Beyond it rested the treasure – bottles upon bottles of every wine imaginable.

This hidden compartment had been set up to combat a mysterious nighttime alcoholic. The witless were blamed. But strange looks always went La’Var’s way.

Adria took out two bottles, picked up some goblets and hurried out into the dining hall. When the Band of the North came into her line of sight, her stomach twisted. These decrepit men schemed and laughed among themselves. Knowing what they laughed at disgusted her the most.

To fight against the shaking in her hands, Adria controlled her breathing: she placed the goblets and poured the wine.

As Adria returned to the kitchen to pick up the desserts U’lis frantically cooked up, a pint, by the back wall of the dining hall, caught her attention.

The pint I dropped when I passed out last night, she thought. I forgot about it.

A gray liquid flowed from it, seeping into the floor and dripping below. The liquid was translucent… And not as much a liquid as smoke… Like the matter that made up the spirits of Gothsin Forest.