Alex stood in the doorway of the Whetstone Tavern.

Though many of the bar’s patrons were clad like any common mercenary or itinerant warrior, some carried one or more objects that radiated great power.

A sword encrusted with glyphs was belted at the waist of an elven woman. An enormous axe—of oddly familiar, yet mysterious metal—radiated power from where it was strapped to the back of its hulking, four-armed owner. Another axe blazed in the hand of a red-bearded dwarf, whose hair rose in a stiff crest.

There were daggers, bows, and blades all around—blazing with magic–and their owners had ferocious looks about them. Among these warriors were Alex’s potential mercenaries, but none truly mattered to him at the moment.

Familiar faces had caught his attention.

Chairs scraped across stone as Kyembe the Spirit Killer and Ezerak Kai leapt to their feet.

“Alex?” The tattooed former king squinted through the sudden light from the doorway, speaking in one of the many tongues of demons. “Is that you? It can’t be.”

“Do not doubt your eyes, my friend!” Kyembe clapped Ezerak on the shoulder with a deep, rich laugh. His ring shone on his hand. “The paths we wander in life are a twisting maze! It is no surprise that they might weave together once more!”

“Kyembe! Ezerak!” Alex called.

“Friends!” Claygon shouted excitedly.

The hulking wizard and his towering golem rushed into the tavern like stampeding buffalo. Chairs scraped and curses flew as warriors got out of their way. The tiny woman next to Kyembe gave a yelp and fell back in her chair, legs kicking.

One of the veiled dancers—an elf—had to leap aside to avoid Claygon. She shook her fist at them, shouting curses in an alien tongue. Baelin strolled in after the two with an easy manner and a dignified bearing; he glanced down at the fallen dancer and offered his hand. She paused, then took it.

Meanwhile, the former king, the Spirit Killer and the archwizard came together, clasping hands and pounding each other’s shoulders.

“Welcome back!” Kyembe grinned. “It is good to see you again!”

“It is!” Ezerak echoed.

“Damned right, it is! How long have you been here?” Alex asked. “It’s some luck that we ran into each oth—” He paused, remembering Baelin’s earlier words. “No, luck probably has nothing to do with it.”

“Now you are catching on,” the chancellor said quietly as he passed, making his way toward the bar while chatting with the dancer who’d linked arms with him. The goatman paused for a moment, double-taking at something in the room before muttering beneath his breath and going to the bar to order.

Alex threw him a look before turning his gaze back to Kyembe. “Here, this is yours.” The young archwizard pressed his bag into the warrior-wizard’s hands.

Crimson eyes lit up. “So you held onto them for me, as I asked.”

“Of course: we fought together. What kinda no-good bastard would I be if I just ran off with your pay?” Alex asked.

“The sort of no-good bastard that I would not drink with, even had we crawled through the desert together on our bellies.” The Spirit Killer hefted the purse. “And I thank you for holding onto it: I am in a better position to receive it now…and to share. I say—”

Kyembe raised his sack of gems, lifting his voice and turning to the rest of the tavern. “—the next round of drinks are on me, bartender!”

The warriors erupted into deafening cheers.

“Do not…spend…all of it…at once…” Claygon warned, his voice sounding worried.

The Spirit Killer clapped the golem on the forearm. “Not all of it, but what is wealth for, if not for little pleasures like this? I would buy you a drink too, had you lips or a belly to hold it.”

“Oh…thank you…” the golem said, sounding a little unsure.

“You are most welcome, we fought through the hells, and that makes us as close as siblings! Now, Alex, let us sit and discuss why you are here, and also catch up. I take it you did not come simply to deliver my pay?”

“No, I’ve got other business,” Alex said. “Something that you two might be interested in. We’ll talk about it after we catch up.”

Ezerak’s lip twitched. “Sounds good, but one thing I should warn you about.” He gestured to their table. There, the small woman was dusting off her cloak with a sour expression; she muttered something under her breath. The former king’s face darkened. “Don’t gamble with Kyembe’s friend there. It’s like trying to rob a tiger: you’re only going to end up poor and miserable.”

“Oh, Wurhi is not so bad,” Kyembe countered.

“Tell that to my gem-purse. Speaking of which, best hand me some of your gems. My purse is light for some reason,” Ezerak started to make for the bar, taking two gems offered by the Spirit Killer. “I’ll go get us more drinks. What’ll you have, Alex?”

“The sweet cider I had last time was really good.” The young archwizard licked his lips.

“Sweet cider it is,” Ezerak said. “I’ll meet you back at the table in a bit.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Awesome, I look forward to catching up. I bet you two have some stories.” Alex grinned. “I know I do.”

Kyembe gave a deep, rich laugh. “You have no idea.”

###

“And then they said: ‘Fooooool’!” Kyembe mimicked a monstrous voice. “Fire cannot huuuurt uuuuus!” He clapped joyously. “And then boom!”

Alex burst out laughing, pounding the table, then taking a long guzzle of cider. He was gasping for air. “They didn’t!”

“They did!” The Spirit Killer roared with joy. “I could not believe it!”

“You have to tell me what happened next!”

“Ugh, please no.” Ezerak rolled his eyes, sipping his wine. “He’s told that story five times in the last day.”

“Good stories deserve to be told again and again, my friend.” The Spirit Killer grinned. “And you tell of your journey across the Sea of Soot whenever wine touches your lips: I eagerly listen each time. It is a good story.”

The former king snorted.

Kyembe’s grin broadened.

“Either…way…it is good…that both of you…have been…well…” Claygon’s voice was warm. “I would be sad…if bad things had happened to you…”

“Bad things did happen to us, but we have simply conquered them.” Kyembe poured another cup of wine for his small friend.

The woman—Wurhi of Zabyalla, Kyembe called her—did not speak any demon-tongues; she, Alex and Ezerak shared no languages in common. Her body language, though, spoke volumes; the little woman’s movements were darting and nervous, and she hardly touched her wine.

Those beady eyes of hers kept throwing glances over Alex’s shoulder, at Baelin’s table.

The chancellor’s laughter filled the tavern; he sat—with the elven dancer—among a small herd of boisterous beastfolk warriors, all armed with weapons of bone, bronze and steel. They exchanged filthy stories, pounded each other on the shoulders like they were all old friends and focused on some game of cards that involved the rolling of bones. Several warriors were passed out on the table.

After a bawdy joke, Baelin poured a tankard of wine down his throat, slamming it on a growing stack beside him.

The other beastmen watched intently.

For a moment, the ancient mage wavered in his seat, his eyes growing unfocused.

His new companions half-rose.

Then the old goat released the most unholy belch Alex had ever heard.

It reverberated through the tavern, seeming to shake it to its very foundations. The other beastfolk recoiled as though faced by dragon’s breath, then—when the ancient wizard was finally done—he licked his lips, his eyes returning to their usual sharpness.

He raised his hand, looking at the barkeep. “More wine.”

The other beastfolk roared, pounding the table, their chests, and each other’s backs.

Baelin chuckled, raising his hands in victory.

The elven dancer wrinkled up her face behind her veil—having recoiled from his belch—but the ancient wizard leaned down, whispering something in her ear. Her sour look washed away as she collapsed into helpless laughter.

Alex raised his eyebrows. Hadn’t she been cursing them for nearly bowling her over? “How did…nevermind. A Proper Wizard never gives away all of their secrets,” he whispered.

A chair scraped at Alex’s table.

Wurhi had gotten up, saying something to Kyembe in a tongue Alex could not understand. The Spirit Killer responded with a vicious look and a thumbs up.

She grinned back, then scurried to the beastfolk’s table, pointing at the game of dice and saying something.

The beastfolk eyed her; Baelin raised an eyebrow then responded in her tongue. She nodded, and the chancellor said something to his companions. The warriors grinned at each other, rubbing their hands together as they made room for her to join the game.

Baelin smiled broadly as he dealt the little woman in.

Ezerak grimaced. “You should go warn your friend.”

“Oh, I’m sure Baelin won’t take all of her gems,” Alex said, thinking the king was talking to Kyembe.

Ezerak simply snorted. “It’s not her I’m worried for.”

Alex scoffed. “Baelin’s mastered a lot of skills: I don’t think she’s going to have a good time if she plays against him. Seriously, Kyembe, you should warn her.”

Kyembe simply smiled. “Perhaps,” was all he said, not moving.

A chill went through Alex, but he couldn’t figure out why.

“Well, enough catching up. You said you had business? Is it another job?” Ezerak asked.

Alex tented his fingers, his expression turning serious. “It is. And a dangerous one.”

Kyembe cocked his head, grasping his cup. “Oh? The last time, we journeyed into the very depths of one of the most deadly mazes in all the hells. And yet you call this job dangerous?”

“Because it is,” Alex said. “I want you—” He gestured to the tavern. “—and everyone in here to join me in fighting a kingdom-destroying threat. You see, there’s a creature called the Ravener—”

The young archwizard launched into the tale, telling them of Thameland’s struggle over many thousands of years. He did not explain Uldar’s true involvement, but he talked of the Heroes, the army, their preparations and the fact that the Ravener’s power was deadly.

He told them of different Ravener-spawn they’d fought, giving them a brief description of what their abilities were. Then, he told of the monsters he’d seen in his vision.

Ezerak whistled.

Kyembe’s eyebrows rose.

When Alex finally finished, the men were speechless.

“A great demon.” Kyembe took a long sip of his drink. “A creature that holds an entire people in its grasp. It should be destroyed, but this is a great thing you ask of us.”

“Kyembe’s right, this sounds like a big one, and you want us to defeat this Ravener?” Ezerak asks.

“No, I want you to join our army and fight the Ravener’s multitude of monsters,” Alex said. “Considering what I saw in those visions…even with me, the other Heroes and our allies focusing on the Ravener, we’re going to need help or the whole land could be destroyed. So I need mercenaries, and I want the best. You and the others here in this tavern are the best. We can spread you all out over different parts of the kingdom, attached to different battalions. Together, you can help our armies crush anything fighting to destroy the kingdom. In return…Claygon, if you wouldn’t mind?”

The golem opened the sack.

Ezerak nearly spat out his drink.

Kyembe whistled.

Within, was a king's ransom of jewels, sparkling in the tavern’s low light. They had cost Alex a lot of coin, but thankfully, he had a lot of coin. When he told the two warriors how many gems he was willing to pay each of them, they smiled.

Ezerak blew his breath out.

“Seemingly endless odds…and a pitched battle…this is very different from our job down in the hells. I think—”

“I will be with you.” Kyembe put down his drink.

“Wait, so fast?” Ezerak demanded.

“Indeed, what more is there to discuss?” the Spirit Killer cocked his head. “A fine cause. An opponent, possibly worse than a demon, it needs to be destroyed. A fortune waiting for us at the end—”

“If we live,” Ezerak pointed out. “Last time we lost Guntile and Celsus and this sounds a lot worse.”

“We will live.” Kyembe lifted his hand, his ring shining on it. “There are many who thought they could take my life in battle. They are all in the afterworld now. I am not: this shall be the same. If anything, there are a few comrades I wish I could bring with me. They will be upset to hear that they missed such a battle. But, come now, you cannot say the thought of such a deed does not capture the imagination?”

“Hrmmm,” Ezerak mused. “Well, my tattoos are well suited against armies…but you’ll need to recruit more than us two, Alex. And this will be a hard sell.”

“So you’re in as well?” Alex asked.

“If you can get more fighters.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” The young archwizard drained his cup, cast flight magic on himself with a twitch of a finger, then flew into the air. “Everyone! I have an offer for you!”

The tavern went silent.

Scores of eyes fell on him at once.

Alex grinned. “Who here wants riches? Who here wants glory? I’m offering both…if you’ll just listen to me for a few moments.”