‘Stiff.’

‘Lothar.’

It was Wade and Femke.

‘We have something to discuss with you.’

‘Alright. Actually, I could do with your help. Signatures.’

They looked at him blankly.

‘It’s a legal thing. For selling The Rose. Don’t ask me to elaborate, because I can’t.’

He led them to his office, where three individuals were waiting for his return. Rosalind stood to one side, as if she were an independent observer, when she had in fact organised the entire thing. One-eyed Boris was pouring himself another glass of Lothar’s most expensive wine.

Tielemans, the Reckoner, had spread his papers across Lothar’s desk. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Here and here,’ he said to Wade and Femke, gesturing to one of the papers. He ran a hand through thinning hair. ‘The quill and ink are there,’ he said, when they were slow to act.

‘Now, this is transferring The Rose to a dummy company I have just created.’

Lothar nodded sagely.

‘Which will in turn sell the business on to Boris’s holding company.’

Boris glugged down his goblet of wine.

Take your time and savour it at least, Lothar wanted to say. Having already nodded sagely, he said “of course” to acknowledge the next step in the plan.

Rosalind smirked at him.

‘Now. It would be wise for the dummy company to change the name of the premises, to further obscure the transactions.’

Wade and Femke were whispering to one another, then giggling.

‘Out with it,’ said Tielemans.

‘Oh,’ said Wade. ‘I was suggesting The Smashed Marbles. You know. As the new name for the inn.’

‘Because?’ Lothar asked him.

‘It’s a bit of a personal joke,’ Femke explained. ‘The Cracked Nuts in Dorwich is where we pretended to be husband and wife. That was how we got together.’

‘Aw,’ said Rosalind. ‘How romantic.’

Boris drained the last of his drink. His third, Lothar noted. ‘I don’t get it,’ said the merchant. ‘If I’m buying The Smashed Marbles, I ought to get the joke.’

‘Well,’ said Wade. ‘The inn in Dorwich got its name for the method Rylan Blair uses as a punishment. So we always said, if we were to open an inn, we would call it The Smashed Marbles. In honour of—’

‘—As a sort of tribute,’ Boris said. ‘Alright, I get it. It’s about as lowbrow as you can get, but I suppose I can live with that.’

‘Excellent,’ said Tielemans. He dipped the quill in the ink, and scratched the name onto another piece of parchment. He then passed the quill to Boris, and gestured where he should sign. ‘So, the dummy company sells The Smashed Marbles to Boris. Boris sells it on to Ms De Cheney.’

‘For a profit?’ Boris said.

‘Sorry?’ asked the Reckoner.

‘Well, I’d only sell it on for a profit, wouldn’t I? Realistically?’

‘How much?’ Lothar asked with a defeated voice.

‘Let’s say six shillings?’ the merchant suggested.

Lothar sighed. ‘Very well.’

‘Alright then,’ Tielemans said. ‘Ms De Cheney ends up with the deeds to the property. It is no longer called The Rose. Salvador Blair can in no way claim any rights over it.’

‘You know,’ Lothar said, ‘the arrangement I had with him wasn’t a legal agreement in the first place. It was more of a “pay me, or I kill you” situation.’

‘But the mere fact that you paid him, with no other legal documentation, can be used in a court to assert his rights,’ the Reckoner explained. ‘And my understanding is, you won’t be here to contest his case.’

‘True.’

‘So,’ Rosalind said, ‘I will have legal documentation to prove my ownership. If he tries anything, I can tie him up in a court case.’

‘And if he decides to resolve the case outside the court system?’ Lothar asked. ‘Which, let’s be honest, is the more likely route.’

‘I’m playing for time, Stiff,’ Rosalind explained. ‘Until you’re ready to return. And do I think Sal will move straight to battering people like me to death? I’m well connected. It could turn the city against him. No, he’ll cajole; form alliances; threaten; blackmail. He’ll only use force when he feels strong enough to do so.’

Lothar sighed. He hated the thought of leaving Rosalind behind to fight a rearguard action against the Blairs. He’d never forgive himself if something happened. But, somehow, she had persuaded him it was the best strategy.

‘Any more of this wine?’ Boris asked him.

‘Lothar is only packing the essentials,’ Rosalind said. ‘I’m sure it would be doing him a favour if you took a couple of bottles off his hands. Right, Stiff?’

Lothar shot her daggers. ‘I’ll see what I can find.’

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

‘Oh,’ said Tielemans. ‘I’m not much of a drinker. But if it’s a help, count me in.’

‘Of course,’ Lothar said between gritted teeth.

He left to go down to the cellar. Wade and Femke followed him out. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘You wanted to talk.’

‘It’s not easy to say, Lothar,’ Femke said. ‘But we’re leaving. We wish you luck, but those missions out west just aren’t right for us. I’m taking Wade and Eden back to my farm.’

Lothar couldn’t hide his disappointment.

‘I’m sorry,’ she added.

‘Don’t be. I knew I only had you temporarily. And you stayed on to train Mila up. I thank you for that.’ He turned to Wade. ‘Your departure is more of a surprise.’

‘Yes, well.’ The thief looked embarrassed. ‘Gotta think about my son’s future. He’s been happy here, and thanks for letting us stay. But with everything changing, it feels like the time is right.’

‘It’s just, with The Baron away, I’d be losing my top thief with no replacement. Could you not wait a little? He’ll be back soon enough.’

‘I dunno, Stiff.’

‘I could do my best to make it worth your while. How does ninepence a day sound? You’d earn an extra little nest egg to take with you.’

Wade looked at Femke for her reaction.

‘And you too, Femke,’ Lothar added. ‘Ninepence a day. It would give Mila a little more time to take over from you. And there’s Christoph, of course. Reckon he’ll be Level 3 soon. That would be a good point to leave him on his own.’

She pursed her lips to think about it. He knew he had her. ‘Alright, Lothar. When The Baron returns, we’re both leaving.’

‘Deal.’

It was a relief. He might depend on the skills of one or both of them in the coming weeks.

He just hoped he wouldn’t come to regret persuading them to stay.

***

Wilson was fuming. He’d been called for weapons practice for the third day in a row. More torture. Listening to the great fool, who called himself Cap without a hint of irony, lecturing them on fighting. The only thing worse than the lecturing was when he got them all to train together. Why in Gehenna they needed to train, the gnome couldn’t fathom. They'd be doing it for real soon enough. That was what mattered.

It was even worse today. Stiff had allocated the items from the barrow. Of course, yet again, Wilson had been overlooked. The weapons were all the wrong size. The dreadful human, Eddie ‘Fortune’ Rich, had been given Blueblade. He’d done absolutely nothing to deserve it. Worked for the damned Blades, crossed over to The Apples, contributed nothing, got a magic sword. Wilson had lost a lot of respect for Stiff with that decision.

The fat bastard sat next to him while Cap put the spear wielders through their paces. Another thing Wilson didn’t get. Why were Ashlyn and Jaelin messing about with spears, when she was a swordswoman, and he was an archer? What, they all had to stand in a long line with a spear now? What a spectacularly dull way to fight.

‘What do you think its power is?’ Fortune asked him. His breath stank of stale beer.

Oh no, not this topic again.

‘They say Redblade does extra damage to greenskins. And Greenblade does the same to monsters. So Blueblade here might be the same. Its gem is blue, so I think it will light up when it's close to its target.’ He drew the blade from its scabbard. ‘Not gnomes then.’ He laughed.

The buffoon already made that joke earlier.

Fortune side eyed Wilson, as if he’d taken offence at the gnome’s silence. Wilson really didn’t care.

‘There ain’t no elves, nor dwarves, in Gal’azu. Just a gnome. Why’s that?’

What a surprise. He’s a racist. ‘Most elves and dwarves are highly skilled and can easily find work. What is there for them here? No honour. The only thing that might persuade a few individuals to come is if they hear about weapons like that.’

‘I ain’t giving my sword up to no elf, or dwarf. If their kind are too good for Gal’azu, what are you doing here?’

‘I don’t care much about money, or honour. I’m a warrior. I can follow my calling here, with more freedom than anywhere else.’

‘Huh. Not much of a warrior, from what I’ve seen. You got chewed up and spat out by one of those wargs.’

‘The exact same thing happened to you!’

‘Yeah, well. That was before I got the chance to swing my sword. And now I have Blueblade, that’s doubly true.’

‘You two!’ Cap called over.

Wilson was quick to his feet. The prospect of weapons practice didn’t seem so bad after that conversation.

‘Now. You’re our offensive strike team,’ Cap explained to the pair. ‘The rest of us soak up the enemy attack with shield and spear. Then you are free to unleash with axe and sword, with full action points. But that means keeping you protected in the first moments of battle.’

Protected? Wilson was starting to like the direction Leonard Babler was taking things.

‘You need to learn our manoeuvres, so that you are in the best position to strike when your turn comes. We want to avoid what happened against those goblin riders. You’re our damage dealers, and key to our success. Does that make sense?’

Make sense? At last, someone appreciated exactly what Wilson had to offer. ‘Sure does, Cap!’

They left Avolo, and made the journey west to Eisenberg. There was a chill in the air, an early sign that the long Gal’azu summer was coming to an end. Stiff had talked before about moving his base of operations out west. Now he’d sold The Rose, it felt like things really were changing.

Sharptooth was able to walk most of the way. Which was just as well. He was too big for the gnome to carry these days. He was growing at a ferocious rate, eating everything Wilson could find for him.

‘He keeps setting off Greenblade,’ Ashlyn complained, as the sword glowed at her hip.

‘Well, no harm,’ Wilson said. ‘I don’t think we’re going to encounter a monster between here and Eisenberg.’

‘The little shit keeps biting at my ankles, as well,’ Fortune complained. ‘If he comes near me once more he’ll feel a bite from Blueblade. That’ll teach him a lesson.’

‘Go near Sharptooth with that sword and you’ll feel a bite from my axes.’

‘Wilson,’ Stiff said, an impatient tone to his voice. ‘Either that beast is trained, and can accompany us without biting people, or it's wild, and needs to be set free.’

‘He’s trained, Stiff,’ Wilson said, tying a leash to the warg. ‘Might have known you’d take his side,’ he muttered under his breath.

They arrived to find Eisenberg far busier than Wilson had ever seen. Groups of people—many of them families—stood or sat along the road, their possessions with them. Wilson could see a lost, fearful expression in their eyes. Something bad was happening.

They found Steben, outside Henrik’s smithy. Half a dozen sorry looking miners were being outfitted with armour and weapons. The look of relief the mayor gave The Apples as they trundled up towards him was a picture.

‘Thank the gods,’ Steben said, as he looked over Stiff’s newest recruits.

‘Indeed,’ Bletcher agreed. ‘Praise them!’

‘What’s going on?’ Stiff asked.

‘An orc band has come east. Eyewitnesses say they have goblins with them. It looks like the orcs have defeated the goblins, and incorporated them into their host. We’re in trouble. They are already besieging Redblade’s hillfort. All the settlers near the fort have already fled here. If the fort falls, Eisenberg will be their next target.’

Stiff pursed his lips. ‘Looks like we’ve arrived at just the right time then.’

Wilson had to admire the sense of calm their leader exuded. It spread to his mercs, and to the locals.

‘What do you think, Cap?’ Stiff asked. ‘Are we ready?’

‘More than ready.’