The Liar cast a heavy presence in the inn without ever having stepped foot inside. Adria and the witless of the tavern scurried around faster by the minute, checking off fine details from the scroll of requirements: putting certain eating tools by specific individuals’ seats, making sure the chairs don’t creak and such. The Liar in Black Ice Bastion, Adria knew, was not this kind of person. He lived and breathed in the idea of his empire. The matters of the north were everything to him, and everyday things were far beneath him. Of course, when his name was gawked at, he could play the role.

And, oh, did he play it now, Adria complained to herself, wiping the sweat from her forehead, passing La’Var, who had slumped in a corner of the dining hall and snored.

The steel entrance opened. The inn flinched. Then a witless meandered inside with an empty pint, and the worries receded into their usual state of permanently whispering terrible things. The pint was Ba’Gan’s: he stood watch of the army posted at their doorstep, greeting the few guests who dared to break through the crowd.

The witless who had returned stopped in the middle of the dining hall and joined a circle of little green ones. Their green mouths were ajar and strange squeaks of excitement sounded from them. Their wide eyes stared up at Martin, who shapeshifted, played tricks and entertained the crew.

Adria had a sneaking suspicion he liked the attention of being the only ghost in an inn of goblins and gladly disrupted the tavern’s flow. But he also brought light when darkness crept in from all sides. Adria could only applaud him for that.

Once the few customers who hadn’t been waded off by the King of Dark Alley’s army left, the inn shut. With prayer, Saint Goblin locked the doors and witless barricaded them with potato crates and empty mead barrels. Adria cleaned up the mess left by the customers: no matter how little business a tavern received, it couldn’t run a single day without a pint-smashing-over-the-head. This phenomenon of sorts was observed not only in Saint Goblin’s Inn.

Saint Goblin called for evening prayer in the heart of the dining hall. With the inn barrelling towards the unknown, it could’ve been the final one. Adria didn’t see it as a chore anymore, but as a priceless moment: she tapped La’Var to wake him up and entered the circle with a grin.

The hunter arose and rubbed his eyes, which opened to the odd sight. He fixed his hat, scurried over, and joined the circle, in between Adria and Martin.

Yes, even the tavern’s spirit got to say a word to the Twenty Gods.

They’re real, Adria discussed in her thoughts as the ritual went on. They’re immensely powerful and they’ve indeed done good, but… Are the Twenty Gods… really gods? Do they really have some sort of divine plan for everything and everybody?

For ages before her, millions asked these questions. And years after she would be gone, these mysteries would nag people. Another thought grabbed her interest more. Would the answers be revealed once she died? Then, before she could get into it, the prayer finished. Silence reigned over the inn. For a moment, it seemed there would be no holy apparitions or oddities of any kind.

Then, the walls whispered. In the flickering flames of the lanterns above and the candles on the walls, patterns appeared. They shifted into faces and eyes, and Adria’s hands trembled. Soon enough, the hushed tones turned into screams and yells, and other sounds came into the symphony.

A battle! Adria’s eyes widened. The King of Dark Alleys finally broke through?

She threw the guess away a moment later: orbs and shifting tendrils of light spawned at the edges of the inn. This was the doing of the gods. Saint Goblin, on her knees, continued speaking different prayers, going through numerous tongues and old dialects. Her words turned to angry shouts -- she jumped to her feet and waved at the orbs.

“Answer me! Curse you, answer me!” the head of the inn yelled. “What does it mean? It… It can’t be so, right?!”

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

In the walls, the sounds of cannons and explosions deafened everything. The last few wails of dying men whimpered away. Rain fell on the inn’s roof. Real, this time. The storm Adria had seen in Gothsin Forest had arrived in town. And so had The Liar, she suspected.

Or at least you’re very, very close.

As the evening seanse finished, the witless scampered away to their living quarters, some falling asleep in the middle of the dining hall, as La’Var had. Adria carried them over to their beds. She passed by Saint Goblin. The head of the inn had a blank stare and seemed lost in her head. When Adria returned, Saint Goblin had come back to her senses: she was ordering Ba’Gan to guard the entrance.

“It’s already locked and barricaded!” the waiter protested.

“Steel doors and the blessings of the Twenty Gods is every precaution in the world too little,” Saint Goblin said. “You don’t understand what kind of night it is. Evil creeps everywhere and in a way the inn has never seen before. If you dare, for even a moment, to let your guard down, I promise on my sainthood you will face the worst punishment of your life.”

Groaning, Ba’Gan turned away. Saint Goblin could see in his eyes that she hadn’t convinced him and grabbed the waiter by the collar.

“For the first time in my life, the gods have not answered a prayer of mine.”

Now, Ba’Gan gulped, nodding reluctantly. It was hard for someone without sainthood to understand the true meaning of Saint Goblin’s words, but the way she said them could make a stone move.

Saint Goblin turned to Adria. She waved after herself, and they walked over to U’lis.

“You have a duty tonight as well. Do not sleep. Keep your fellow goblins close and your hidden blades even closer.”

Adria and U’lis looked at each other, then at Saint Goblin and saluted. At the same time, Martin dropped down from the chandelier. Transforming into a miniature version of himself, he clambered atop Adria’s shoulder.

“What about me? Can I sleep? I’m neither human nor goblin,” Martin said. “You know, I’ve not even introduced myself to--”

“Hey! Remember that talk you gave me about being two in one, a spirit and a man at the same time?” Adria asked. “Keep to your word.”

Martin sighed.

“Not like us, ghosts, need sleep in the first place.”

“Very well -- the three of you, keep watch.” Saint Goblin grinned. “We shall see each other tomorrow, where the path of our fates ends and a new one begins.”

She felt one of her crosses. The candles Adria had mounted had turned blue and now they went out at Saint Goblin’s command The head of the inn strode away. Must’ve been guided by the gods -- no other way Adria could explain Saint Goblin’s ability to navigate in complete darkness.

Along with U’lis, Adria stumbled and struggled until the whispers of a spell word left U’lis tongue. Adria stopped. After a moment, in the master chef’s palm, an orb of light appeared. Martin hopped off Adria’s shoulder. He levitated with his head right above the light.

“Let me tell you a spooky story!”

The smell of spices, meat and ale appeared in the air, and the three arrived in a different room. U’lis lit a match, gifting its flames to a candle. The kitchen came alive, drenched in orange hues.

“This is going to be rough,” the master chef uttered. “Spending all day in the kitchen, I imagine, is no better than being out on the battlefield, especially with the witless constantly messing up and accidentally attempting to murder you by running around with knives.”

“I can imagine,” Adria said. “I’ve had rough nights like this for so many nights in a row I can’t even count them all.”

Cackling, Martin hovered over to a counter and sat.

Yeah, you caused at least half of them.

“Nevermind.” U’lis shook her head. “Working in the kitchen is harder than casting the most powerful spell I know… I just want to sleep… If I close my eyes for even a second…”

“It’s alright. You can go to bed and I can stay up -- I have a ghost to keep me company.”

“I don’t trust a ghost to keep you up all night. On the other hand, I can annoy you out of sleep for at least a good few days.” The master chef paused for a moment. “We’re in this together…”

“You must know a spell that would give us energy,” Adria said, pointing at U’lis’ long fingers.

“Who do you think I am? Surely I do.” U’lis crouched in front of a row of cabinets and began searching. “But we have something better than magic.”

Pots and pans flew all over the kitchen, along with bags of flour and grain. Eventually, the master chef took out a big brown bag. An earthy smell overwhelmed all others. She untied the bag.

Inside? Coffee.

“I am way too northern for this.” Adria laughed.

U’lis dropped the bag on a counter, found a pair of cups and began boiling water. The water began raging and the master chef took the pot off the open flame. As silence returned to the kitchen, something crashed in the dining hall. Someone walked.