Tarn craned his neck up at the height of the Axe Dungeon. The thick Ak-Thanon clouds obscured the very top of the massive structure’s bladed heights, rendering the top of the weapon as hard to see as their future.

Before him the broad wide expanse of the weapon’s handle was as smooth as glass, offering no hint of the doorway he had used to dismember the Progenitor general just a few days before. The bottom half of the foul creature’s carcass had already been taken away to the local settlement, where Bog and other orcs were inventing a new ritual while burning it.

“Two months, Lash?” Tarn looked down at the small gremlin, trying to wrestle with his expectations. “Are you sure we can’t go back in for that long?”

“Not sure yet, boss.” Lash pointed up at the sky. “Just guess. Lash still studying, looking at orc books. But Sword key needed full moon rays, that’s where charge for key comes from. If Axe same, we need time to get them. Lash can’t make moon come faster.”

“I understand your expertise in this area exceeds mine, Lash.” Urthin folded his arms but leaned against a nearby tree. The effect was unsettlingly casual. “Yet I am forced to point out Yarex was able to make a key in a week?”

“Key was for sword, frown face.” Lash sighed as if what was obvious to him should be obvious to everyone. “Sword wanted people in. Axe doesn’t. This one less a key, more a prybar.”

The gremlin giggled as if this joke was terribly funny.

“Don’t worry, wing girl!” He turned to Isca. “Lash keep working, me and boss will get wing girl home. Promise is promise. But now Lash needs to look for interesting jungle birds, clear his head! Helps him think.”

With a happy jump, he padded off into the depths of the jungle, his ears wobbling as he ran. His tiny green form was a blur of motion, and he had vanished in moments, off in search of new treasures for his many curiosities.

The three of them listened to the gremlin’s progress in silence, for a moment each lost in their own thoughts. Isca stared back at the axe, while Urthin seemed to be looking through the jungle and back at the far-off sea. Or maybe, Tarn guessed, to a mountain even farther distant, and a vault of artifacts and histories he would never get to see.

“Lash may be unorthodox,” Urthin spoke at last. “Yet I have no doubt he will find us a solution. As he said, Isca, we have a commitment – both to you and to the larger mission.”

“Yeah.” Tarn nodded. “Smiley’s right on both counts. We need to get you home, but we also need to find a way to finish this. Just because we’ve blocked two roads, it doesn’t mean they won’t try again. We need to take the Progenitors off the board for good.”

“Urthin,” Isca put her hand on the monk’s shoulder. “What about you, though? About what Yarex said? Is there something … we can do?”

Urthin shook his head, his face as stoic as ever.

“My fate is history, just as he said. It has happened, and it makes no sense to argue with facts. I must stay true to my vow and myself, even if my people no longer agree with my path.”

“Smiley, I…” Tarn stopped, pausing. Based on what he knew of the Shattered Stone, Urthin was right. “You know you always have a place with us.”

“Yes, and though I may not display it outwardly, that is a comfort. Furthermore, I - ” He paused for a moment, turning his head. “I believe someone is approaching from the jungle path.”

Tarn followed Urthin’s gaze and saw the distant form of Ramad walking toward them down the trail. Seeing them gathered together, he stopped and waved. To Tarn’s surprise, Urthin waved back. He could see a small book slung under the steward’s shoulder.

“But I still need to kill you when you are forty.” The monk gave them both a small nod, then walked slowly down the path to meet with Ramad. “Excuse me for a moment.”

As Urthin walked farther away, Tarn’s eyes again drifted to the towering shape of the Axe, which held them all in its shadow. Everything they needed to do was still within this dungeon or past it, and now he would be denied access for at least two months.

Part of him knew it was time they could put to good use. The orcs would need their help rebuilding, to say nothing of the gauntlet his team had been through and the rest they needed. There were training opportunities, and maybe even a chance to discover more gem-touched among their new allies.

Yet his feet, his hands, and his heart would have none of it. He needed to move, to act. To make things right for the people who deserve it. And he could do nothing for now.

“You’re doing that thing, Tarn. The one where you squeeze your hands into fists.” Isca stood closer to him, her arm coming around his waist. “Is that a human habit? I am unsure as Bog does it as well. Either way, I find it – amusing.”

“I’m just frustrated.” He released an angry sigh. “All we’ve done, all the cost. The hard choices and sacrifices – by us and even more by others - and we still have so much work to do, and we have to wait longer to do it.”

“But we are closer to our goals, Tarn. And I believe you – I know you’re going to do everything you can to help me get home. Don’t lose sight of what those choices and sacrifices accomplished. We drove the Progenitors off this world. No one has ever done that. If we can do it once, we can do it again!”

He looked down at her, seeing her emerald eyes scrunching with optimism and amusement. He fought the feeling of warmth that grew inside him from her bemused stare, knowing it was a losing battle.

“Excuse me, Grease Monkey. I’m trying to be sullen here, and you’re ruining it for me.”

“You’re just trying to find defeat in victory.” She shook her head. “Every sky has a shadow if you look hard enough for one. Besides, sullen is a bad look on you.”

“Oh?” He gave in to the feeling, letting her see his smile. “And what would be a good look on me?”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“Maybe this.” Her wings buzzed slightly as she lifted herself off the ground, pushing her lips into his. Tarn found his arms around her in an instant, and in that heartbeat he allowed the world to slide away as he melted into her.

It was a moment he had thought of for a long time, one he knew they were both moving toward. But to keep the team functioning well and his head clear, he was sure they needed to wait to explore these feelings. He had been certain of it.

But now, locked in a kiss with her, he wasn’t sure of anything other than the nice feeling of this moment. As he closed his eyes, thoughts of Progenitors, dungeons, and hard choices were cleared from his mind, leaving just a blue sky.

“Am I interrupting?”

Urthin’s voice immediately brought the world back to him. He pulled away from Isca slowly, allowing his eyes to open and look at hers for a moment before he turned his sarcastic glare onto the monk. Isca’s hands lingered on his waist for a moment, before she released him with a smile.

“Really, Smiley?” He shook his head, laughing. “You don’t know if you’re interrupting right now?”

As always, looking at his face was like talking to stone. It only made Tarn love him more.

“I am afraid interpreting social interactions is not my strong point.”

“All this time together,” Isca laughed. “And I never know if he’s joking.”

“He’d better be joking.” Getting to his feet, he favored Urthin with a patient smile. “What’s up, Smiley? Ramad had something for you I guess?”

“Something… most unexpected.” Urthin nodded. “Ramad had uncovered a second hideout that Durmin was using. Closer to the shore, and likely abandoned as the Progenitors spread their influence more broadly.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised by that. It would make sense that Narsol and Durmin would have many hideouts.”

“Indeed. In this cache, they had taken much of the orc library and hidden it – perhaps fearing destruction during the invasion. This act alone preserves much of their history that may have been lost otherwise.”

Tarn noted the hint of passion that came into Urthin’s voice.

“That’s great, Smiley. That will be a big help to the orc elders.”

“Yes, that is good news,” Isca said. “I can only hope my people are doing the same. I’m sure Bog will be happy to hear that.”

She looked wistfully off up the form of the Axe Dungeon, rising high above the jungle and surrounding peaks. There was a road there, Tarn was sure of it. And he would find a way for them to walk it.

“She will indeed be pleased,” Urthin said flatly. He reached into his satchel and pulled out a small rolled-up piece of tapestry, tied with thin twine. “But Ramad found something else inside Durmin’s personal effects.”

Ah, Durmin. Tarn wondered what the orc would think of the choices he and Bog had been forced to make. His brother Narsol he expected would understand.

“Really?” Tarn sat up, his unease growing at the stiffness of Urthin’s tone. “What did he find?”

“Coded instructions from Narsol. It did take some time to break the code down. I suspect Narsol made it more arcane than Durmin’s song-affected mind could understand. Fortunately, I have some history in ancient ciphers. I was able to apply the technique first suggested in the Fourth Kingdom by the priests of-“

“Smiley?” Tarn smiled as he cut Urthin off before they were all here until sunrise. “What. Did. It. Say?”

“Yes, of course.” If Urthin was embarrassed, he gave no sign of it. “The instructions confirm that Narsol, on orders from the orc chieftain, had negotiated a bargain with the Progenitors. The Progenitors had a target individual they wanted to be brought to them, and if Narsol had achieved that within an agreed timeframe they agreed to release the orcs.”

“Yes,” Isca nodded. “But we knew some of that, and Narsol missed the deadline. Durmin said so. But I never understood why they would want Bog in the first place. What good is one orc to the Progenitors?”

“Your confusion is well founded. It would seem that Bog was never the individual Narsol was seeking, though he may have allowed us to believe this was the case. The instructions meant for Durmin led me to a second cache. Ramad had the location searched, and it contained this sketch.”

Urthin untied the twine binding the parchment and handed it to Tarn. With Isca looking over his shoulder, he unrolled it. They gasped in unison at the drawing contained within, the image of the Progenitor’s true target.

Rather than a fully grown orc, the pictured body was small, almost that of a child. It had green skin, long ears that stretched out from its skull, and yellow eyes as wide as saucers.

“Lash?”

Tarn stared back up at Urthin, his mind still trying to process the questions that rained down upon him.

“Apparently.”

Lash?

“All this?” Isca waved her arms around incredulously. “The orcs, all the death. The still-bombs? My home? Everything that the Progenitors have done, all of this was just about getting… Lash?”

“That doesn’t make much sense.” Tarn rubbed the back of his neck, fresh tension building in his shoulders. “Well – maybe a little bit of it does. Narsol always seemed to protect Lash, and I guess he was happy to let us believe he was after Bog. She did mean something to him, that’s for sure.”

“Yet our enemy’s ultimate goal would appear to be at least connected to our small friend.” Urthin began to roll up the small parchment. “I too am at a loss to explain the Progenitor’s motivations, but we do have time to ponder them.”

“Two whole months.” Tarn looked off into the jungle, the mass of tangled vines and damp overgrowth now seemed darker, more threatening. “Smiley, why don’t you go find Lash and just … keep an eye on him?”

“Prudent.” Urthin turned, then stopped to look over his shoulder. “Do you intend to tell him about our discovery?”

Tarn rubbed his beard. The idea that an entire race of unstoppable insects seemed to be hell-bent on capturing them would probably overwhelm anyone else. But Lash wasn’t like anyone else.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Of course, we’ll tell him. We’ve been lied to enough, we’re not going to start doing it to each other. But maybe… we’ll ease him into it. Together.”

“Indeed.” Urthin nodded. “I will … take an appropriate amount of time with my departure. I encourage you to resume your romantic moment as if I had not intruded.”

The pair of them sat wordlessly as the monk slowly departed.

“Tarn?” Isca finally turned to him as he watched Urthin continue to disappear into the jungle. “Are you sure he’s going to kill you when you turn forty?”

“Only if I don’t kill him now.”

He collapsed back to the ground, his eyes staring up at the clouds passing overhead. He thought back to the moment in Baltoro Prison, where he and Rykin had sat across from one another playing King’s Squares when a man had suddenly shoved a pouch of gems in his hand. A road began that day, a road that brought him here but still had not shown him where it was going.

“Lash.” He shook his head. A year ago, he had thought he’d never see the little gremlin, or Bog, or freedom again. “I never would have guessed that. What does it even mean?”

“I couldn’t say.” Isca’s tone was calm and peaceful, and Tarn could feel the same emotions spreading to him, like leaves blown on the wind. “As Urthin said, we do have two months to figure it out.”

“It might take us two months.”

“It might.” Isca lay down next to him in the grass, and he felt her fingers intertwine with his own. “Or it could take one month and twenty-nine days.”

Despite all the pressures and worries clouding his mind, Tarn laughed. She was right. Isca was here, as were Lash, Bog, and Urthin. After all he had gone through, and all they had bled and suffered together, he still had his team. His family. The feeling that ran through him felt like a stronger armor than anything a still-time gem could possibly conjure.

Narsol had repeatedly asked him what he was willing to do to win. What cost was too high? At the time, he hadn’t been sure, but now he knew the answer.

Anything short of his team. That and that alone was the one line he’d never cross.

Tomorrow, they would start the next fight. Tonight, he would remind himself why the battles were worth fighting in the first place. As Isca leaned into him, laying her head upon his chest, he allowed his arms to come over her as he stared up at the Axe Dungeon.

The next stage of this war would be fought inside there, and he knew things would only get harder from this point on. But Tarn and his team had faced the Progenitors twice now. They might be bruised and bloody, but they were still on the board.

And his next turn was coming.