On the outside, the North Wind pub was deliberately unassuming. It was in the northern part of Colme, with a simple sign and an entrance wedged between two storefronts. A stairwell lead down to the bar proper. It had no other means of ingress (for the public, at least), and the inside wasn’t terribly clean or maintained. Its clientele were incredibly shifty-eyed; its owners, more so. No one seemed to come for the drinks or the service. Everything about it screamed that it wasn’t a place for an AUTC captain, and Minerva hoped that was a good sign. The man she’d seen following the fat bard had gone inside.

“Good evening,” said the gentleman in question, who happened to be manning the bar. “Something you need?”

Minerva eyed him. He was in his fifties, the haggard lines from a life of early strife covered by a healthy layer of affluence. “Yes,” she said, after calculating risk. “I’m with the AUTC out of Rikston.”

“I can see that. Drink?”

She shook her head. “I noticed you following a man earlier - tall, overweight, had a bag slung over his shoulder.”

The man made no indication as to what he was thinking.

“…the AUTC has an interest in him,” she lied. “And I was wondering why you were following him.” She pulled out some paper and a quill. “And can I get your name?”

The man looked around at the patrons. Minerva knew the clientele here were of the sub-legal sort; the sort that don’t like authority figures wandering around, asking questions. She lucked out that the man happened to be working here - it was in his best interest to make sure she left quickly, before the customers started getting the idea that the employees were informants.

“The name’s Liam Hawl,” he said at last. Minerva overtly made a note. “What’s your interest in the guy?”

“My interest is the AUTC’s interest, which is not for you to know. Why were you following him?”

He looked her over, sizing her up. Eventually he turned his head, pointing to a long, jagged discoloration on his neck. Minerva recognized it as a scar from a bad wound, quickly healed. “See this?” he asked. She suppressed a sigh at the thought that he’d be telling her some overly macho story about how he doesn’t give up people’s information even when faced with violence. “Some asswipe jabbed me in the neck a couple days ago - a ‘last rope’ moron who probably should’ve just taken the Ware. It was bad. Lucky for me, a friendly tree-hugger was around to patch me up. She didn’t ask for nothing, but her big bare bodyguard wondered if he might have the shield I keep on the wall.” He gestured to the back of the bar where two swords were fitted in a cross, with a hanger for what must’ve been a shield to complete the ensemble. “Seemed like the least I could do, so I said yes.”

“What does this have to do with the man you were following?”

“Well, I was out on some errands today, and saw your fat guy wandering around the city with a pack of stuff on his back. Sticking out of it was the shield, I’m pretty sure. I was trying to figure out if I should ask him about it when he ducked into a dark alley. I didn’t want to follow there, so I just kept on.”

Minerva had been watching him with razor-edged focus. Her confidence in her ability to read people had been upset somewhat, and this guy seemed like he was as comfortable lying as he was breathing. “You said a ‘tree hugger’ healed you? Do you mean elf or someone practicing druidic magic?”

“Both,” he nodded.

“Can you describe her and her companion? Anyone else she might’ve been with?”

He described four people in total, and Minerva remembered the line of corpses she’d seen on the road from Woodsedge to Colme. They’d been attacked by goblins, and the goblins then fell to the adventurers she was following. At least, she was pretty sure that’s how it happened. She’d used a Sending spell to inform Colme’s local garrison of the bodies and to be on the lookout for more goblins in that general vicinity. Actually, she should’ve seen the soldiers sent to deal with that while she was following the adventurers - she might have to have a word with someone in person if they’re not taking it seriously. Goblins being this far north was worrisome, to say the least.

“Do you know them?” asked Hawl, who must’ve noticed something about how she reacted to their descriptions.

“No,” she said, truthfully. “What brought them to this bar?”

“You mean, besides the fact that we’re a fine establishment?” Minerva’s restraint managed to tighten her lips into what could almost be called a smile. “They just wandered in here, asking for jobs for adventurers.” He gave it a bit of thought. “The big one, though, he just kept asking for directions to some university.”

Minerva furled her brow. “Which university? The only one around here is in Rikston.”

“No, he said it was something like ‘George’…” Hawl strained to think. “Georgia, that was it. When I said I didn’t know, he got upset and started asking about… the United Estates of America, I think it was.”

Minerva’s quill stopped mid-note. “Did you say ‘America’?” He nodded. “And you’re sure it was ‘America’, right?” He nodded again, but slower this time to make sure she understood. “Tell me everything about these people. If there’s anyone in here that saw them, I’ll need to talk to them too.”

The patrons weren’t happy to be interviewed by the Law, but cooperated when they realized it had nothing to do with their business. By the time she left the North Wind, she had a lot to think about. Two seemingly random groups of adventurers mentioning a place no one had heard of - she doubted it could be explained away as just a small town in the middle of nowhere, which was what she thought when that bard mentioned it. Maybe it was code for something. Or maybe they were spies from outside of Dungeonia. Either way, it probably wouldn’t take much more before she could tell just enough half-truths to spin it to where even higher-ups couldn't complain if she detained and questioned them.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

It was dark outside, purple stars littering the sky in glorious fashion. She found herself needing to decide where she should spend the night. Fort Gaine was only on the other side of Colme. There she could find out what was taking so long to dispatch men, and she would have access to a bed for free. On the other hand, she could follow the adventurers back north, hopefully camping somewhere she could see and not be seen. Less comfortable, but a chance to discover something.

She cast Light and headed north. The sooner she could end this all, the sooner she could start getting answers - the Consul of Woodsedge, the explosion, Necropotent magic, the America connection - these people had something to do with all of it. Regardless of what Everan said, she couldn’t blindly trust an outsider’s judgement and orders on matters that would be capital offenses - especially not when it was her job to begin with. The whole situation smelled fishy. She wouldn’t be able to sleep well again until she knew all that had transpired and saw those responsible punished.

Those were her reasons, and they were good reasons, she told herself.

The road was dead this time of night. The excitement of her discovery had worn off, and she was surprised at how tired she was. She willed herself into wakefulness. These roads weren’t known for being unsafe, and the charm Everan had given her would alert her when the adventurers were within a thousand feet, but those goblins worried her. She counted twelve dead. There was no doubt there were more - they breed fast. None had been seen in this region for a while, which was one of the reasons the AUTC sent a double the usual soldiers via the Crysyx for the explosion; they were overdue for a reemergence. They were only off by a couple miles, on that point.

The stars disappeared as she strode under the canopy of trees. If goblins did attack, she was certain she could handle herself. She’d been saving a Fireball, just in case. Goblins have no backbone. Taking out half of their forces with a spell so frightening would send the others running like rabbits. Assuming they didn’t get the drop on her, of course.

“A lone wizard wandering in the dark? How mysterious!”

Minerva froze. The voice was high-pitched, almost childishly playful. A goblin wouldn’t sound like that. Or would it? Suddenly every shadow of every tree seemed significant. She readied a spell. “I am Captain Minerva. State your name and identify yourself.”

“Oh, bossy—how delightful! Now, say it again, but add ‘in the name of the Law’ or something sexy like that.”

Minerva mentally groaned.“I don’t have time for this.” She was about to leave, but hesitated.

“Let me guess,” said the voice with condescension that can only be acquired through rampant excesses of egomania. “You were going to walk away, but thought, ‘Wait, what if this isn’t just some shy punk? If I just leave without knowing who this silky voiced rapscallion is and what he wants, how can I be sure I won’t be stabbed in my bedroll tonight?’”

“Who says I’m sleeping in a bedroll?”

“Oh, and she thinks she’s clever, too. You’re spying on some people who’re camping outside - Jack, Keebler, Topher and Jenn.”

Any annoyance she was feeling evaporated.

“For the record,” added the voice, “Jenn is much prettier than you.”

And just like that, it was back. Her jaw clenched. She couldn’t tell where the voice was coming from - whoever it was could likely use magic.

“Show yourself, or I’ll burn down this forest,” she growled.

The voice laughed. “Well, we can’t have that.”

In the road ahead, on the edge of her light, a small winged figure flitted from behind a tree.

“…You’re a pixie,” breathed Minerva.

“Oh, is that what I am?” The pixie looked himself over as though it was the first time. “Well thank the trees you were here to tell me, or I might never have known!”

So she’d been set upon by a sarcastic twit. What a night. “Whatever. What’s your name?”

He tapped a finger to his chin in thought. “Let’s see… I prefer to be called, ‘Your Majesty’, ‘Your Eminence’, ‘Your…’”

“I see,” she said, shaking her head. “A bored pixie decided to follow me around and tease me, is that it?”

“Aww,” squeaked the pixie, pressing two tiny fists to his lips to hide his smile. “She’s trying to make it seem like I don’t have any significance so she can pretend she’s in control!” He spun around in utter glee. “How adorable!” Suddenly he stopped and hovered in quiet despair. “But she thinks this is all about her. How mundane.”

He managed to keep things interesting, at least. “If this isn’t about me, then what is it about?”

He perked back up. “Aww, did I bruise your self-esteem? So fragile!” Minerva was growing impatient. “And angry!” he added. “But I’m sure she can figure out the answer to her own question, easy enough.”

“…It’s about those adventurers,” she said.

“Correct!” beamed the pixie, spinning higher into the air. “She answered her own easy question! There’s hope for her yet!”

She politely waited for him to float down to a reasonable height. “So what about them? Are you following them as well?”

“Indeed I am.” He clasped his hands behind his head and looked thoughtfully off into the trees. “Been following them for a while, now. Usually invisible, sometimes as a small animal. The fat one freaks out when he thinks a squirrel is taking too much interest in him.”

“Why?”

“Oh, I think it has something to do with the defenses that hotshot ranger put up around his house…”

“…What?”

“Oh, you mean why am I following them!” He looked away for a second, embarrassed. “Well, surely it’s the same reason as you.” He grinned with a smile that looked too big for his face. “Orders are orders.”

Minerva’s eyes narrowed. “Who orders pixies around?”

“Who orders wizards around?”

“I’m in the military - the hierarchy does. Are you—“

“The military?” cooed the pixie, interrupting. “Are you sure you’re not following orders from anyone else?”

What did that mean? Was he referring to Everan?

“Oh dear,” sighed the pixie. “I seem to have confused her. Guess I didn’t have to be worried, after all. Disappointing.” It mournfully turned its back to her, leaving her utterly bewildered.

“Wait!” she called to it. “What are you talking about?” She was pretty sure he was trying to make her work to hear what he had to say in order for her to take it seriously, so she was prepared to hear it with a grain of salt.

“Let me guess,” said the pixie, stopping but not turning around. “You think I’m trying to manipulate you into being overly interested in what I have to say next, right?” He shrugged. “Sorry, sweetie, but no. You’re officially not worth my time.” He started flitting off again. “Oh!” he raised a finger, turning back around. “Of course, you won’t repeat any of our conversation to anyone.”

She clenched her jaw. “Why not?”

The pixie snapped his fingers. In half a second, Minerva was coughing on some sort of powder that was delivered by several small arrows. She fell to her knees. “Because you won’t remember any of it, my dear,” stated the pixie matter-of-factly. Minerva looked up at him. “Smart, willful girl like you should only lose… say, ten minutes, if you’re lucky?” Her mind was shutting down. Bits of the prior conversation were disintegrating at the mere touch of her consciousness. “Good thing you weren’t what I thought you were - would’ve had to kill you.” She fell over, the creeping sensation of blacking out draining the fear response. “Still might, if it turns out you’re too much trouble.” What was he doing now? Moving his arms and muttering - casting a spell? “There. Just in case someone tries to view our beautiful time together magically.” What was she staring at? Was it a pixie? Why did she feel so tired? “And with the warmest regards of the Last Lord of the Feywild, we wish you good night.”