Rhode steadied himself with a hand on his knee as he stood. [Hibernate] tugged at him. His eyes fluttered, so he shook his head clear. He’d won. He’d failed.

There had been six rioters, plus two guards that had needed to be subdued before they hurt the prisoners further. One was calming down, which meant he had three additional three fighters to rely on, and meanwhile one of the rioters was cooperating with Sergeant Bned. Rhode’s people had suffered a few injuries, but he didn’t know how bad they were yet. If this was leadership, it was a frustrating arithmetic.

The ringleader of the rioters wasn’t getting up. As his pupils rolled back and his tendons protruded alarmingly, his body began to convulse. A series of seizures overtook him.

“Guys,” Rhode cleared his throat, “I mean my Goode Friends or Compatriots – or I don’t really know how to address y’all right, but – can someone help? I think I really messed this guy up.”

There weren’t any herbalists, or barbers, or midwives. There were no magical, elemental doctor-priests at hand. Rhode and his entourage had outran or avoided pursuit, and this was partly the result. One of the corn-silk mercenaries was trained as a passable field medic, but he was occupied completely in the effort to staunch the bleeding of a lung wound.

“Give me a moment, Ser!” the medic called out.

Rhode reached out and touched the forehead of the man he’d killed. He reached around to the back of the head, and came away with a slight wetness. The sound of crunching gravel approached from behind.

“It’s not my place to say, Ser,” offered Captain Fent. He stood respectfully and drew off his helmet as he laid a hand on Rhode’s arm. “I don’t think ye should feel broke up about this.”

“No,” Rhode sighed. He reached over to the nearby grass and wiped his hand on the greenery. “Don’t worry about me, man. He pulled a knife, and that's it. Like, I’m going to feel guilty if he's really hurt; but at the same time, gosh this guy was such an asshole.” Rhode massaged his eyebrow, brushing lightly at a scabbing line of stitches. “I’m going to roll him onto his side, just so he doesn’t choke on puke. Go pack it up as best you can so we can get moving. Some of your crew can hold things down here, we’ll fold in the guards. And, uh – then I guess we’ll call it in on the [Relay].”

“Can do, Ser,” the mercenary verbally agreed. He didn’t step away though. Fent just made a few curt hand gestures to his subordinates, and waited as the homunculus rose again. Then, after a moment, the captain sniffed at the air. “Salt and Ash, ye feel that?”

Rhode took a dubious smell or two, and shook his head.

“Ah, no. I mean, it be gone now. That boy had an [Aura] on him. Strong one. Subtle too. Damn.”

“I’ve heard people use that word a lot. It’s like what, a magic glow? People just have them?” Rhode asked.

The captain frowned. “A glow? I’d not put it that way. Do ye not know what an [Aura] is?” The captain looked scandalized as he inspected Rhode, giving him the side (double) eye. “Ask someone smarter than me, then. Ye need a few levels before ye grow one. It goes, I don’t know, under yer other levels. Maybe, or maybe not. Changes how yer mana works, anyhow.”

“Okay. So what does it do.”

Fent laughed, and ran a hand through his hair. “For this one? How am I supposed to tell? If I was to guess: it’s got marks of a [Revel]. Have ye got a feeling of sobering up all of a sudden? Like ye were a mite drunk, and now ye’re clear?”

Rhode frowned. “Actually, I just took a lot of something called [Sensory Dissociation], so no. I’m worse off than I was a minute ago.”

Fent tsk’d. “And that’s why I ain’t about to [Mood Anchor] ye. But, ye know, this is why we’ve got diviners,” he explained. The goblin handed his helmet to Rhode and squatted down. He started patting down Baurkin carefully, avoiding the sharp tremors of his limbs.

Rhode stared blankly back.

The mercenary laid down a ratty handkerchief on the ground, then began turning out the dying gob's pockets and laying their contents on top of the faded stains of the square cloth. “It’s not like regular folk really know what all their levels do,” he scoffed.

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

This was news to Rhode, but he stifled a question before he embarrassed himself.

“But sometimes folk just grow a strong level. Kid in a tiny village, wakes up one morning with [Might of the Beast-King]. Search me why, things just combine sometimes. Ha! I bet this gods-cursed [Aura]’s been driving folks out of their gourds, and we didn’t even know it.”

The captain smiled broadly as he drew out a small, horn-inset metal drinking flask. After unscrewing the top and taking a whiff of the contents, he wobbled his head in satisfaction and tied his napkin around it, along with the boot knife and a few wedge-shaped chits of copper-silver billon.

“A genuine [Drunkard]’s [Legacy], ain’t we lucky. It’s not the whole thing, but it smells like that [Aura]. I’d bet a silver piece-of-eight easy that he’s left a good chunk of one of his levels in here.”

“Aren’t you worried I’m going to stop you from robbing that guy?” Rhode asked softly.

“Would ye?” Fent challenged sharply.

The homunculus grimaced, and looked away towards the high windows of the walls that surrounded them. Something dangerously close to a yes was forming in his heart. “Just don’t sell it for a little while,” Rhode whispered. “Let’s pretend it’s half mine, and I can buy it off you later.”

Fent dusted off his knees and motioned the rest of his squad over. His voice chilled as he reclaimed his helmet. “We can pretend that,” he accepted.

The two men, one dwarfed so completely by the other, stepped apart. Rhode was left separated from the others as the goblins secured the prisoners and organized themselves. He almost intervened. As the subdued men were treated roughly, Rhode looked to the killed guard, still laid out in the grass. He looked at her, and reminded himself why it was necessary. Then, in an introspective mood, he kept vigil as the [Reveler]’s motions became more feeble, and his breathing grew irregular.

“Sorry, man,” he murmured. “Do you think I could have stopped you if I tazed you? You probably don’t know what that is. It’s like an electric shock. Naw. Honestly, I kind of feel like that wouldn’t have worked on you. You were kind of a stubborn shit. No offense.”

Rhode looked up, to the smooth, enameled walls around him - to the overhanging gables, and dark tiles. He peered into the windows, grand and small. It was shocking how many there were, or how large the palace truly was. Here and there, there were faces, looking out from dark glass, or obscuring curtains. There weren’t many, but there were witnesses, and Rhode felt emptier for it.

Sergeant Bned was standing next to Rhode the next time he turned around. “What’s the plan, Ser?” the Prince’s man inquired as innocently as he could manage.

“I don’t know,” Rhode replied. “Things are winding down. Fent told me things got pretty bad at the front gate, but I doubt we’d even get there in time to make a difference. Maybe we’ll head that way, but we need to start figuring out a way to surrender all these people. All this [Aura] stuff – levels, magic. I’m worried these folks are going to be punished for stuff that wasn’t their fault.”

Bned stood in the faint, moon-cast shadow of the giant. It took him long seconds to consider how to reply. “Ser, do you believe that these gobs were not in control of their own choices? You and I would have been under the influence of it, just as much as any of these criminals.”

Rhode winced, and it turned into a guilty smirk. “Alright, maybe it was only sixty percent their fault. I still think that matters.”

“Maybe so, Ser. It’s just not often that our betters see fit to make that distinction. Truthfully, I don’t know if I really would think to make that argument myself.”

Rhode patted the sergeant on the shoulder, and the weight of his hand made the goblin flinch. But just as he was about to turn and order everyone indoors, Rhode spotted one particular window and his breath froze in his chest.

There, between the curtains, and framed by lantern-light, a figure looked down impassively on the courtyard. No, he was staring directly at Rhode.

A [Greater Brave Homunculus] was wrapped completely in white linen bandages, and adorned in glittering gold. He bore a crown-like head-dress, and a thick, jeweled torq around his throat. There were bracelets up and down his arms, and a chain of semiprecious stones and silver which hung over his rich silk shirt.

“Shit. Shit. That’s him. In the mummy getup. I remember that. I remember that.”

Bned was helpless as Rhode grabbed the goblin by his shoulders and shook him. The homunculus experienced hope as a kind of agony, as if he could not allow himself to trust the joy of good news.

“Sorry. I have to go.”

The curtains shut, and the light dimmed from behind it. Rhode’s gaze flickered between landmarks as he estimated the distance and position of that window as best he could.

The Hero drew away, and a score of goblins were watching him. He’d fought beside them – he’d actually fought against a few of them. But maybe, across the course of the night, they had begun to trust each other. Bonds of bloodshed could have made them brothers and sisters in time.

He abandoned them anyway. “I – sorry. I have to go.”