Funnily enough, the only thing that managed to wipe that smug grin off of Ranthomandir’s face was Mond declaring that he had lost the game.

What took the place of his grin was a nasty scowl, as if he’d learned that his prized cards had gone for a swim through a sewer, which Tay would’ve loved telling him about. Ranthomandir looked around, taking in the mutterings of the crowd and considering what Mond had announced.

“You lost?” Ranthomandir asked. “You’ve been losing. You’re going to lose.”

But Mond didn’t raise his cards up again to try and eke out a small play or anything. He only shrugged and said, “I realize that now. I’m at 8 Life, and anything I can summon from my hand will only bring me closer to death without actually taking care of your revenant. I could try stalling, but I don’t have an answer in my deck. I’ve definitely lost next turn—no question. And I don’t think I want to take another whack from your revenant. So, I forfeit. You win.”

And the crowd lost their minds. Most were crying out that Mond couldn’t give up before the game was actually over, and even Quincy joined in the mess. Tay was just glad that Mond didn’t have to get hit by that Darkwing Gargoyle’s blades again though.

Especially since, having been tossed against the ground like a rag doll, Mond hadn’t stopped clutching his limp left hand. He looked exhausted, and underneath that shining light coating his entire body, his skin had a layer of dirt of it and his clothes had torn in various places. In fact, both players looked worse for wear.

Cari hadn’t filled him in on all the aspects of a battle duel, but from what he knew, when a runekeeper summoned revenants, they were using their actual life energies—drawn out from their very blood and bones. Being reduced to 0 didn’t kill someone, but only because 100 Life wasn’t actually someone’s entire life force. It was close enough to it though. Cari had said that if 100 Life was what runekeepers played with, then a person really only had anywhere between 110 and a 120 Life. And losing all 100 felt about as good as getting kicked square in the stomach by a stallion, and was probably just as good for one’s long-term health.

Despite Mond declaring his loss, the Darkwing Gargoyle still beat its massive four wings up near the whale’s skull. And even though part of Tay was relieved to know Mond wouldn’t become more injured, could Mond really allow himself to lose after all that they had wagered?

“The game’s not over,” Ranthomandir said. His eyes were dark—darker than they were before, perhaps as a result of the black aura surrounding him. “Not until one of us is brought to 0 Life. This is a battle between House Polamund and you, a traitor. I’m not going to let you forfeit.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Mond said. Without flourish, he turned to the side, and stowed his cards back into his deck box.

There was a long silence that followed, where nothing happened and everyone seemed all too scared to move a muscle, much less say anything. But even through the the black aura, Tay could make out just how flushed Ranthomandir’s face became, visibly burning with anger.

“You can choose to not throw the next blow,” Ranthomandir said. “But I wanted to duel you to victory, and if you pass on your turn, then I’ll have the next attack!”

Without word or warning, the Gargoyle Darkwing surged toward Mond. It ground its wrist-blades together before blurring into a blitz of shadow and darkness. Tay blinked, and then Mond had been knocked onto the ground, shielding himself from the stony monster with nothing but his hands and the white light forming into a shield above him.

One strike from the gargoyle’s wrist blades, and the light deflected the attack. Mond grunted, but the shield held.

Then, Ranthomandir shouted, “Again! Attack him until he bleeds—the traitor!”

The revenant roared, like a crocodile’s growl but longer, louder, and infinitely more bloodcurdling. It then repeatedly brought down its blades again, and again, and again. Each time, more and more light from Mond’s shield chipped away, glittering off into nothingness.

The gargoyle beat the big man down into the ground, then it raised both of its arms over its head and struck with a final blow against Mond’s left arm. The white light shattered where both blades fell. In its bursting, the Darkwing Gargoyle vanished into a cloud of shadow. Nothing but silence and stillness followed.

Then, Quincy rushed out into the middle of Whalemaw Square. Tay followed soon after, making sure not to drop the chest on his hustle over. They were joined by the others who’d come with them up from Peace and Quiet.

Mond lay there, with his bruised head cradled in Quincy’s hands, motionless. His left arm was broken to the point where his skin had burst open in a couple places, coating his shirt and pants in splotches of his own blood. His eyes were closed, though from the way his face trembled, he wasn’t quite unconscious. He was a blow away from it though, if not a blow away from true death.

The folks of Peace and Quiet quickly set about to wrapping up his wounds in whatever cloth they could tear from their clothes. Some went to go and fetch some water, while others kept the gathering crowd back. All Tay could do was sit there and watch Mond struggle to keep himself awake.

Tay couldn’t have him die. No one else needed to suffer for his mistakes.

“Would you look at that!” The voice of Ranthomandir cut through all the worry talk, and the group gathered around Mond parted for Ranthomandir and his hired guards. “Not only did he lose, he didn’t even have the willpower to defend himself. By the Fourteen Above, there’s no way that man is my father’s champion. The Mondromo I’ve always heard about never backed away from a fight—and even in exile, he wouldn’t have gone down like that.”

Some of the crowd, cruel in their attentions, had already dispersed back through Whalemaw Square. Surprisingly, among those who yet remained, there was a consensus. They’d heard about the legendary duelist named Mondromo, and this man who hadn’t held even a flame up to Ranthomandir couldn’t have been him.

“His cards aren’t even fit to be fed to my horse, let alone be played in a game of Runicka,” Ranthomandir said. “Regardless, he played with them and lost. Which means.”

And Ranthomandir, grin now returning and shot directly at Tay, held out his hand, palm facing upward. His fingers did not tremble, nor did they shake. The aura that had surrounded him earlier was gone. It was just a regular hand, wanting back what its owner had paid for.

Tay looked back to Mond. The big man still hadn’t opened his eyes. His breath came in and out in sharp grunts, and when Quincy tried putting pressure on his left arm to staunch the flow of his bleeding, Mond howled in pain.

“That’s what happens to people who wrong House Polamund, thief,” Ranthomandir said. “So, are you going to hand over my cards, or do you want to suffer the same fate?”

The folk from Peace and Quiet were doing their best for Mond, but even with all their bandaging, the big man groaned constantly. And through that, Tay made out a few muttered words.

“Give it to him,” Mond said. He then coughed and added, “Let him go.”

Tay’s grip on the small chest only tightened upon hearing Mond’s frail and broken voice. He’d surrendered, and Ranthomandir had beaten him into the ground anyway. These might’ve been Ranthomandir’s cards, but Tay would’ve rather faced what Mond had than hand them over now.

Tay thought about how Sally had hugged Mond, and had called him the best Runicka player in the whole world. He’d just been dueling with cards which hadn’t seen play in far too long. If he’d had better cards, then people wouldn’t be bad mouthing him now, after he’d risked everything just to fix a mistake Tay had made. But while Mond might’ve not had better cards, Tay did.

“Well, so long as you’re offering me a choice,” Tay said, rising and honestly surprising himself as he held the chest back, “then I choose the same fate.”

The crowd seemed interested again, as if no one could believe that there were two people here willing to stand up to a Polamund. Ranthomandir seemed absolutely perplexed, as he mouthed out Tay’s response, trying to decipher what it was that Tay had actually said.

So, Tay elaborated by saying, “You wronged Mond, so now, you and I will duel.”

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For a moment, Ranthomandir’s eyes widened, and Tay thought he saw what might’ve been the first hint at fear. But then Ranthomandir’s eyes combed him over and that signature wicked smile returned to his face.

“You want to face me after what I did to your friend, thief? Do you even have a name that I might call you by, or is your name simply Thief? And, Thief, might you tell me what I have to gain from dueling you, aside from acquiring my cards a third time over?”

Tay reached into the collar of his tunic and produced the only thing of value he owned in the entire world. His mother’s amulet glowed brightly in the candlelight of Whalemaw Square, fighting back with a dazzling mixture of emerald, amethyst, and ruby glow.

“My name’s Taygion Ardwella, and if you beat me in a game of Runicka, then my word on the Fourteen, I’ll give you this necklace.”

Its illumination lit up the faces of the crowd, with each and every person admiring the beauty that Tay had already treasured for years. And among those hungry eyes were those of Ranthomandir.

“Alright,” Ranthoamandir said. “So, if it’s your wish to hold yourself to the wager of Mondromo and add in your own wager on top of it, I’ll accept. If you win, you get to keep the cards you stole. But if I win, I get that, my cards, and there will never be a place in all of Duskborough where either you or that liar can hide from House Polamund.”

Tay’s grip on his amulet tightened. Was he really willing to risk the only piece of his past—small as it was—to stand up for Mond?

But all it took was a glance back at Mond, who was fighting just to stay conscious, to convince him that he needed to stand up for himself. Mond had come to fight on his behalf, risked his safety here in Duskborough, and then lost. Tay needed to win that back. He had to, for Cari and Sally, at the very least.

“Fine,” Tay said. “But you also have to agree to keep out of Duskborough when I win.” That’s what Mond would’ve wanted. Just one Polamund coming down here was too much already.

“I don’t think we’re going to have to worry about that. If the liar’s cards are anything like what I can expect from you, I’m not all that worried.”

Tay smirked, and then rapped his fingers against the side of the small chest. Ranthomandir’s brows fell and he looked confused for a moment, before he finally realized what Tay was trying to convey.

“So, not only are you going to wager the cards you already stole, like a true thief would, but you’re going to use them against me as well? You know what, that’s fine by me. You think I don’t know what was in that deck originally? I probably know it better than you do. You’ll only be making a mistake by playing it against me.”

The worst part was that Ranthomandir was probably more than right about that. There were aspects of these cards in the chest that he didn’t know anything about. He’d stayed up all night learning about them, but Tay would be the first to admit there were aspects of this game that still eluded him.

Then there were the cards that neither he nor Cari had been able to decipher…

But now wasn’t the time to worry about it. Not when Mond was at death’s door behind him. Tay began reaching for the latch on the chest when Ranthomandir all of a sudden turned to one of his guards and snapped for him to come over.

“Find us a table in the Jar,” Ranthomandir said. “I can’t stand being down in this place any longer. I think my nose is beginning to bleed from the stench alone. After I win, I want to be topside again.”

The guard put a fist to his breastplate and then said, “Yes, Lord Polamund.” He spared not a second in pivoting and rushing off and out of Whalemaw Square.

“The Jar?” Tay asked.

Ranthomandir gave him a sidelong glance. “Of course. Do you see any tables around here that you’d want to play on? Or do you honestly expect me to be able to engage in another battle duel? I just expended more than half of my Life force beating your friend over there.”

And even though Ranthomandir stood with his chest swelled and arms at his side, there were bags under his eyes and he seemed a great deal paler than he had before, as if he’d gone a day or two without sleep. But something of what he’d said didn’t sit right with Tay—beating his friend? No, Ranthomandir hadn’t beat Mond. He’d attacked him. There was a difference.

Regardless, it was probably best that Ranthomandir wanted to face him without actually summoning the revenants though. He’d learned the basics of the game, but there hadn’t been time for anyone to teach him how to call forth one of the revenants. Ranthomandir would never have to know that he’d been inept and unable to play less than even a day ago.

Ranthomandir said aloud to everyone his plan to wipe the floor with Tay, and for any who wanted to see him flourish his skills as a runekeeper further, to follow them back to the Jar. Tay took that moment as a chance to bid Mond farewell for now.

“We’ll see that he gets back to his shop without so much as another scratch on him,” Quincy said as Tay came up.

The big man breathed shakily, with his chest rising and then falling in an asynchronous rhythm. Just seeing how his arms fell limply at his side made Tay’s chest constrict and his heart beat all the quicker. This was all too unfair. Why did people who only wanted to help him always end up getting hurt?

This hadn’t been a part of his plans. None of this had.

But he would, maybe for the first time in his life, try and set this right. Mond had two girls that he needed to get back to—who counted on him. Cari couldn’t be forced back out into the streets because the Polamunds didn’t want Mond down here anymore. No, Tay would win, and he’d keep them safe from the Polamunds and his own mistakes.

As Tay rose again, something clutched his wrist, keeping him down. Mond’s arm had snapped up and snagged him. The large man was shaking as he tried sitting up. Quincy had a hand on Mond’s chest, trying to get him to lay back down again.

But Mond’s eyes, blue as the ocean surrounding Stormwall, were firmly focused and could only see Tay. They did not tremble the same way the rest of the man’s body did. In fact, they seemed, despite all odds, to contain some of that original and so-very-Mond joviality that had been lost when the rest of his body had broken.

“Don’t go,” Mond said. “Come back… with us.”

His words all but tumbled out of his mouth as he tried pushing against the pain of his shattered arm. Even fighting against unconsciousness, Mond’s grip was terribly hard to shrug out of, and Tay had to step back to free himself.

“Just get him back to Peace and Quiet,” Tay said to Quincy and the others. “I’ll handle the Polamund.”

As he turned from the folks of Peace and Quiet, Ranthomandir gave a wave of his hands and those who wanted to see how this altercation concluded followed. Ranthomandir’s remaining guard lingered, full helmet turned toward Tay with his hand on the sword at his belt.

“Come along, scum,” the guard said.

The Jar itself was only a short walk down a sewer pipe that led out of Whalemaw Square, and it was easy to see coming up because it was the only place in all of Duskborough that actually received natural sunlight. Because, unlike the rest of bottomside, there was nothing above it aside from the open sky.

That was the Jar—a massive hole in the ground of Stormwall’s topside, where Duskborough was revealed to the rest of the city. Whether it was put there by purpose or accident, Tay hadn’t learned yet. They’d named it the Jar, obviously, because it was shaped like one, but the name didn’t account for what was inside.

After his eyes had adjusted, Tay beheld the network of wooden scaffolding that rose up from the bottom and spiraled all the way up to the top. Between, roads, paths, and ruins—made out of a wood, crumbling stone, and whatever else folks could get there hands on—made up a sprawling metropolis seemingly suspended between the darkness of bottomside and the brightness of topside.

Ranthomandir led up under struts, and then to a ramp that took them up into the middle of the Jar. Tay actually hadn’t been here before, despite this being the only true way of traffic between Duskborough and the rest of Stormwall. He’d come in via one of the smuggling routes that began outside of the city’s walls, and so, looking up, Tay soaked in the spires of stone buildings one could see beyond the uppermost rim of the Jar. Stormwall’s skyline was legendary throughout the country of Aenkora, and even from down here, he could see mansions and cathedrals with spires blended into the sky behind them.

But the Jar had a beauty in and of itself too—an order formed from the chaos of it all. The whole of it was like a giant spider’s web made out of wood and willpower, where merchant shops were stacked one on the other. Tay could even make out a few parks where people had cultivated fertile soil in suspended planters, complete with struggling trees and overgrown vines.

The edges of the Jar, where the wooden web of treacherous paths and climbable roads ended, were for more permanent structures like long-standing taverns and loan houses, while the suspended portions were any man’s game. All one had to find was some open space, lot, or ruin to set up their shop, which was why tucked underneath the open sky, on a wooden platform that groaned underneath their shoes, Ranthomandir’s other guard waited for them.

He’d found a small table, that could’ve only comfortably seated four people on a good day, except that half of one of the seats had rotted away. Of course, Ranthomandir left that one for him. Those who remained of their crowd—most of whom were either merchants looking to get chummy with a Polamund or other thieves wishing they could’ve been in Tay’s shoes—hung from the rafters around them or congregated around the small table.

One of Ranthomandir’s guards stood behind his master, while the other came up behind Tay. Ranthomandir had begun to shuffle his cards, but Tay didn’t miss how his eyes shot over and lingered as soon as Tay placed the chest upon the table.

When Tay unlatched the chest, and plucked out the glowing cards from within, Ranthomandir chuckled. “I’ll admit, you facing me with these cards will definitely prove more of a challenge than the last one. But you’re fooling yourself if you think you’ve a shot at beating me. I duel gutter-trash like you into submission on off-days. And today, I’ve never felt more alive.”

Tay didn’t respond as he shuffled his own deck, and then swapped with Ranthomandir so they both could do the same. Once they had cut each other’s decks, they handed back each other their cards. Except, Ranthomandir held onto Tay’s deck for just a bit longer than he should have. His black eyes all but stared directly into Tay’s own.

“Enjoy them while it lasts,” Ranthomandir said, and then he released the cards.

Tay glanced around at the Jar, and then looked back down below, where the shadows of the Jar connected back into the sewer and tunnel networks of Duskborough. “Funny,” he said. “I was just about to say the same to you.”