"Brr, its cold," I shudder, holding myself tight as a chill wind passes through Granite Pass, "Should have gotten something thicker from the farmer."

"Sorry, never actually been down this way before." Ramon apologizes, tucked snugly in an expensive wool coat, "If you were planning to return to Springvale, why didn't you pack appropriately?"

Our horses canter down the road cut into Granite Pass, the jagged grey mountains looming over us. The cold wind heralds the beginning of the monsoon season, meaning Ramon and I will probably have two weeks at most before Granite Pass floods, cutting Springvale off from the outside world. More than enough time for me to check up on my family and get back to escorting Ramon to his swamp man palace.

"I did pack appropriately." I grumble, "Then I lost all my luggage thanks to the Stabber. Its all lying about at the canal back in Deshawn City."

"Eh, you need another shirt or something?" Ramon asks solicitously, "I've got a dirty one I can spare you."

"Its fine." I wave the offer away, "The cold is more annoying than anything. I grew up in this region after all."

"Strange that such an isolated region still gets visitors." Ramon comments, "I didn't think Springvale would actually need a paved highway connecting it to the outside world."

"What do you mean?" I ask, keeping my eyes to the sky and tracking the clouds. Its overcast, but the rain clouds have not yet gathered. Good.

"My family's estate just has dirt roads." Ramon points out, "And that's the demesne of a baron. Isolated sure, but I daresay bigger and more important than a single village."

"Oh, right." I nod, "Springvale is special, not like any other place in the kingdom. That's why it has a paved highway."

"And what's so special about a village famous for corn?" Ramon scoffs, patting his pony.

"Potatoes. Springvale is famous for potatoes." I correct as we wend our way down the highway, birds cawing in the distance.

"You know what I mean." Ramon pokes me in the head, "Potatoes can't pay for this fancy bit of road."

"No, but snow birds can." I smirk, pushing Ramon's offending hand away.

"Snow birds?" Ramon questions, mystified.

"Its always spring in Springvale." I explain, "That's what gave the village its name. Rich folks from Deshawn City would take a trip down here to wait winter out. I heard we used to get poorer people too, but that was before my time. The village militia cleared out anyone who could not afford to stay at the inn. So the poors stopped coming."

"Never heard about this while staying in Deshawn City." Ramon muses, "Would have wanted to experience eternal spring for myself if I had known."

"Don't bother. You didn't hear about it because not all that many people actually make the journey." I harrumph, "There's no night life in Springvale. In fact, there's no life, period. Just the one inn and fields of potatoes."

"So who in the world would want to spend time there?" Ramon exclaims, incredulous.

"Rich old people who fear dying of the cold more than boredom." I say, "The air in Springvale is fresh and the lack of anything happening can be welcome if you're some stressed out noble or merchant. Its a very exclusive crowd you know."

"Is that why you have bandits camped out here?" Ramon pipes up, pointing to a small wooden fort built into the side of the mountain, far enough from the road to be quite a hike, but still close enough to maintain a watch over any travelers. Tattered flags bearing the skull and crossbones flutter in the wind, but the fort is otherwise completely silent.

"Yeah. That's the base of the King of the Mountain I've told you about." I sigh, "A blight on Springvale, as my parents would say. Since potatoes are not exactly something really valuable, you can sort of guess why he and his merry gang decided to set up shop here."

"Robbing rich old folks seems like easy work." Ramon agrees as he squints at the fort, "Place seems deserted though. The front gate has been busted down and no one is manning the watchtowers."

A weight immediately lifts from my shoulders and I exhale a breath that I had been holding for too long. The dilapidated state of the bandit fort is not ironclad proof that Springvale burned down like the Stabber claimed, but its a sign pointing in the right direction.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"You don't mess with rich people and hope to keep getting away with it." I shake my head ruefully, "I heard the Order decided to show up one day and deal with the King of the Mountain."

"Must have been scary. The Order just barging in like that, not asking questions." Ramon shudders, quickly looking away from the deserted fort, "If the Order was as powerful as they are now while Grandfather had just been starting out ..."

"Being in the right place at the right time." I stroke the wispy beard growing on my chin, "That's what sets aside the winners from the losers."

"I think there's more to it than that." Ramon denies mildly, "Not everyone could have accomplished what Grandfather did."

"Suppose not." I grunt affably, "Though you can't deny that being at the wrong place at the wrong time would be fatal."

"How so?" Ramon's mouth quirks upward, sensing a debate brewing.

"Like someone who bore witness to a murder carried out by a serial killer." I smirk, "Wouldn't you say that hypothetical person would be very dead if he stuck around?"

"Well ..." Ramon hesitantly begins to speak, "That's really quite different, isn't it? It was purely bad luck."

"Just like it was purely good luck no one bothered to go after your Grandfather in earnest?" I quip, "Same principle at work."

"No. Its not." Ramon smiles knowingly at me, "Southmarsh is far from most major settlements and Grandfather's gang was careful enough to tax peasants and merchants, never actually hitting the nobility. Sending magic knights after Grandfather would not have been worth the expense."

"Your Grandfather managed to buy an amnesty though." I point out, "Seems like his gang was bringing in plenty of gold."

"Of course." Ramon affirms, "But its like tiny grains of sand slowly adding up. Constant, persistent work, not big scores like your King of the Mountain. Nobody outside the gang knew of the fortune they had amassed. And by the time it became known, Grandfather had arranged for the amnesty."

"Never thought anyone would describe banditry as work." I laugh.

"Grandfather was more of an unofficial tax collector." Ramon scratches the back of his head sheepishly, "Payment for the protection his gang provided to the people of Southmarsh."

"Protection from the gang themselves?" I waggle my eyebrows.

"The point being," Ramon forces back a chuckle of his own, "Grandfather made his own luck. There was planning and work involved. His good fortune didn't just fall into his lap."

"I see." I muse, thinking back on my own career with House Robeur before all this unpleasantness.

Years, spent going with the flow, doing those useless eradication missions. Obsessed with keeping my place in House Robeur and hoping one day for my big break. Then there's Mills' betrayal and the doppelganger running amok in Deshawn City. If I had been more proactive, Mills might not have seen me as an easy patsy to setup. Had I been going about the whole thing the wrong way?

Should I have made my own luck? Why didn't I in the first place, when I was already so unhappy with House Robeur?

Because I was afraid.

I was afraid of losing my home in the Keep and the salary drawn from House Robeur. I was afraid of not being able of finding a patron to hire me after I left. I was afraid of losing whatever prestige I had by crawling to join the Order of Impartial Justice.

But most of all, I was afraid to return to Springvale in disgrace, with nothing to show for my years spent away. And look at me now, heading back home all the same.

"Speak of the devil." Ramon mutters as we pass a wooden sign planted by the side of the highway.

WELCOME TO SPRINGVALE

"An Order pennant." I confirm, the strip of cloth tied securely to the sign and flying proudly against the wind. A declaration by the Order that Springvale is under their protection.

"You know about this, Mac?" Ramon queries, taking a sip of water from his canteen.

"No. Its something new to me." I deny, "When I left Springvale, the Order wasn't present, other than to wreck the King of the Mountain."

"Looks like they decided to expand their operation." Ramon comments, "Is this going to be a problem? I mean it isn't for me, but you're a wanted man."

"I don't think so." I wave Ramon's concerns away, "House Robeur has been given the privilege of dealing with me. I doubt the House would tolerate the indignity of hiring the Order. It would be an admission of defeat."

"If you say so." Ramon says as we ride past fields of potatoes on both sides of the highway.

"Why didn't you go to the Order for protection anyway?" I ask Ramon, "It would be the natural thing to do."

"Please." Ramon rolls his eyes, "The Order would charge me for the supply of a bodyguard instead of actually dealing with the Stabber. Anyhow, the Stabber has been running wild in Temple all this wild with no end in sight. If the Order could have stopped him, the murders would have ended already."

"Makes sense." I agree as the chill wind suddenly cuts out, replaced by the gentle warmth of spring. That's it, we've passed the border.

"Its like going through a barrier, isn't it?" Ramon observes, feeling the same sensation as well, "Almost like entering another world."

"Something like that." I respond, "Local legend says that Ea created Granite Pass as a kind of bubble, to protect this little bit of paradise from the rest of the world. The annual monsoon flood is Granite Pass flushing out the garbage the outside world brings in."

"That would make Granite Pass magical." Ramon challenges, "And there's been no proof of that."

"Which is why I said it was just a local legend." I shrug, "Fact is, no one really knows why Springvale never changes seasons."

Both of us continue making small talk, but my attention is already pulled toward the chimney smoke rising in the distance, hovering over a collection of simple houses and thatched huts. There's the smell of cooking in the air and the voices of children, playing in the Evergreen Grove that forms a belt around the village, dividing it from the farmland.

Everything is as it should be.

I'm home.