image [https://i.imgur.com/6CIYbbt.jpg]

I considered what Pixielite said about HoosierDaddy posting details about a weapon. Perhaps it wasn’t something he used or even owned. If people packed their ears with cotton or some other covering, they might not hear or identify spells he planned to cast—perhaps something critical to his game. I wouldn’t be the only person with Counterspell by now.

The chat also supported sharing power descriptions, which meant the mail system featured the same functionality. I couldn’t foresee ways to exploit this, but knowing how the game’s interface worked might help in the future.

Duchess Has anyone figured out how Crimson’s playback features work?

Bircht What do you mean?

Duchess If we’re dreaming, what does the audience watch?

Pixielite Heavily edited content is my guess.

Duchess No, seriously. After all, an audience can’t watch one another’s dreams.

Bircht Cusma and I talked about that earlier in the contest.

Duchess Didn’t you mind-control her off a cliff?

Bircht That was Riva—but only after she ninja-looted an orange core.

Pixielite Aww, yes—the old over-the-ledge trick.

Duchess How can Crimson visualize what’s in our brain? Their tech isn’t that advanced, is it?

Bircht Think about it. Inducing sensory data to players would have to be a two-way street—otherwise, how would Crimson synchronize everyone?

Pixielite That makes sense, but so what?

Bircht It seems a short order to channel dream data to recreate scenes.

Duchess You mean like a script?

Bircht Sure. And since they only need sound and movement to create a show. They can strip out smell, taste, and touch information.

Pixielite It’s going to be weird hearing someone recreate my voice.

Duchess It was weird enough watching my audition video.

Pixielite If Crimson’s playback doesn’t match our imagination—that’ll be strange.

Bircht But remember what that PR woman said? We weren’t going to remember the game until we watch it. The only thing we’ll remember is what Crimson shows us.

Duchess They’ll give us an unedited cut of what we did. Josie said so after the keynote.

Pixielite I overheard her say that, too.

Duchess Crimson creates the world from the things we see and hear. It seems like a lot of data to process.

Pixielite That’s probably why Octagon plastered their ads all over the hotel.

Bircht I’m not so sure. Cores provide entity parameters and state changes. The only throughput the servers need to process are events—and that’s probably minute bits of data.

HoosierDaddy Does anyone understand Bircht—ever?

Pixielite I don’t worry about understanding him. If he’s convinced, it’s good enough for me.

The technical discussion intrigued me, but my opinion seemed unlikely to further the conversation. With Uproar rabble-rousing players against me, I couldn’t afford to keep putting my name out there.

Besides, their casual reference to mind control put me off. But monitoring their conversation might prepare me to fight them. I’d already learned that several used dark magic. With my high willpower, that might not be a problem—and I felt pretty sure I could whip Uproar if he ever grew the backbone to attack. It was best to limit my commentary.

The sun lowering over the Highwall Mountains glared through my window, distracting me from the conversation. I couldn’t hear anything downstairs, which meant a busy office or everyone had left for dinner.

My internal clock confirmed the imminent evening meal, and I roused myself out of bed. Fashionably late worked for parties but not for anyone who wanted the best cuts of meat. I just hoped it wasn’t creating a faux pas by forcing everyone to wait for the governor to sit before eating. Uptight rituals had never been our tradition, but much had changed in my absence.

As I descended the stairs, I observed the great hall’s patrons. Only when Yula’s voice rang out did anyone acknowledge my presence.

“Attention Comrades of Hawkhurst—Great Governor Apache returns from most glorious conquest of Otter Lake.”

The bustling dinnertime activity erupted into fist-pounding across the chamber’s two long tables. Green armored guards stood and applauded. The hall seated a hundred, yet more than half the chairs lay vacant.

I blushed and waved my hand for everyone to sit down. “Please finish the meals Rocky and his crew worked so hard to prepare.” I pointed to Rocky and his staff, who nodded and curtseyed. “It took a lot longer than I expected, but we won’t need to worry about a relic bearer from the south.”

The guards remained standing and cheered.

Beaker surprised everyone from his lofty perch, emitting cries louder than the entire room combined.

While relating my adventures, I familiarized myself with the fresh faces. Thankfully, nameplates floated over everyone’s heads. Addressing everyone by name made me feel like a politician, but it made everyone else comfortable.

Rocky brought a plate of food and a cup. “Glad to have ye back, Guv.” He discretely palmed a sitting-down gesture, indicating that the guards wouldn’t relax until I took my seat.

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I accepted the meal and took the empty chair beside Ida at the table’s end.

The lieutenant governor whispered. “I was going to let you sleep as long as you wanted. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to make dinner or not.”

After thanking her, I dug into my meal. Flanking Ida and I sat Captain Jourdain, Yula, and two dwarves—Ivor and Hella Anvilhead.

The dwarves shared the same surname as the clerk who tried to stop me from entering the manor. I showed him there were no hard feelings by asking a softball question. “Are you related to Brodie Anvilhead?”

“I am at that. And this bonny lass is my wife, Hella. Ye knew me uncle?”

I nodded to Hella, who sat beside me.

“Pleased to meet you, sire. Runar didn’t know ye were the guv. Ida never let on that ye could return at any time. Should we have been negotiating with ye instead?”

Ida stiffened and introduced the pair in a tone so friendly that I knew it to be sarcastic—a detail missed by the dwarves. “Governor, may I present Ivor and Hella from Siros. They’re our honored guests this evening. They’re moneylenders speculating on property values. It became my regrettable duty to inform them that Hawkhurst’s work-to-own policy was non-transferrable.”

Ivor leaned around his wife to catch my eye. “Surely, it’s a needless policy. I’ve never encountered one in the backwater bergs in the southern colonies. Hawkhurst must remain malleable for a bright future. Ye need to pound out such hindrances, like slag in gold ore.”

Hella caught on to my resistance. “Dear, perhaps the guv doesn’t care to speak of business over dinner.”

Ivor grimaced at his wife and flopped back in his seat to pout.

Hella smiled. “Ivor hoped his name might buy extra consideration from a settlement his uncle helped establish. Perhaps he was wrong.”

I resisted the bait and changed the subject. “Were you and your husband expecting to stay? While we’re not selling land to non-tenants, we could sell you land if you wanted to join us.”

Hella shifted her posture. “I’m afraid our estate demands attention. We’ll not likely be able to set in permanent roots.”

I changed the subject. “Am I to understand your son may stay with us? That was him I met earlier today, was it not?”

Ivor tossed his hands. “Aye, Guv. He aims to stay—though for what purpose I cannot fathom.”

Hella asserted herself. “But we will buy a residence for him—eh, husband?”

Ivor withered under her gaze. “Aye. Runar does as he fancies—regardless of seasoned counsel.”

Hella placed a consoling hand on her husband’s shoulder and looked toward the clerks at the far end of the hall. “Runar does as Levina fancies. He’s courting her, ye see.”

I scanned the seats to where Hella gazed. The manor clerks sat among friends, chatting affably.

The rest of the room went about their business. With a half-empty hall of newcomers and people who hadn’t seen me in charge for a while, I tempered my expectations. Aside from Yula and the guards, it surprised me how little fuss everyone made over my return. I wasn’t expecting fanfare, but the noise level seemed lower than the town hall.

The construction crew, colliers, and woodworkers weren’t part of the great hall’s assembly. Other than a single family of farmers, few manual laborers dined.

More than a dozen diners wore green armor. Most of the congregation was human. Studying the crowd gave me a new appreciation for the uniforms. They helped me distinguish city guards from foreign combatants and mercenaries hired by merchants—who wore a patchwork of protective gear.

I turned to Ida. “Are those Iris’s mercenaries?”

Ida shook her head. “Merchant mercs. They do the same job but pledge themselves to specific trade channels. We’re having problems with them trying to enforce their own laws. Some are borderline criminals. Until we catch them doing something wrong, we let them go about their business. We can go over it later.”

“Where is Ally and Maggy?” I’m surprised they’re not around.

“They’re with their crew in the town hall. It’s closer to the roundhouses. But many don’t gather in the town hall anymore. Most farmers eat at home. The colliers go straight to the pub.”

I grunted. “I’m going to miss all the bawdy jokes and childish squabbling.”

“I won’t. It’s quiet enough to think.” Ida finalized her position with a long drink from her cup.

Entertaining state dignitaries wasn’t my idea of the fun table. I foresaw many meals with merchants hoping to ply their influence. I sighed. It would only be a matter of time before the same cliquey atmosphere of Belden’s Formal Hall infested Hawkhurst.

After I finished my meal, I formally addressed the hall, thanking Ida, Yula, and Jourdain for holding the settlement together. I gave the group an account of my adventures, including a mention of our friendly relations with the lizardfolk in the village of Kirthos.

People nodded and smiled, but few had questions. No one shouted Greenie’s name or shared jokes.

Ida and the dwarves retired after I finished, and I took her seat next to Yula.

“So, how are you guys liking the great hall?”

My icebreaker fell flat. When Yula failed to respond, Captain Jourdain leaned forward to answer. “Yula finds it very human.”

“Eet ees fake and not home. A good bonfire ees better zan walled-een fire.” She gestures to the nearest chimney.

“I hear the emperor is bogged-down in Arweald. Anything exciting in our scouting reports?”

“Only empty scouting reports. Orcs have been to Flattop, but not furzer south. No reason for emperor to attack. Ees too far from orc home.”

Captain Jourdain echoed the orc’s opinion. “The Doublespines have more to worry about than a trade route. Krek and the river deter imperial encroachment. The elves are holding their own.”

I crossed my arms and grunted. It was impossible to guess how a relic-endowed emperor might sway the battle without knowing how the elves or orcs fought. Was it possible the orcs hadn’t found it? Or perhaps they’d destroyed it themselves. Even if the orcs weren’t coming to Hawkhurst, I wanted the town prepared to receive enemies.

But anticipating Uproar wasn’t the only thing we needed to cover. Every major decision depended on intel. Charitybelle and I gathered it before moving to Hawkhurst. I’d never been camping before, and we’d put together a how-to guide on wilderness survival. Greenie and I spent weeks going over goblin battle tactics and customs. Captain Jourdain dedicated most of his career to fighting orc raiders, and Yula could fill in the blanks for anything he didn’t know. If I could brave a mission into her homeland, perhaps it would be a trip I wouldn’t make alone. This time, I wouldn’t leave Yula here.

“Can you guys meet me after breakfast to discuss the town’s security?”

The two shared a look, then nodded. “As strong as we’ve become, I promised the guards we weren’t relying on defense. I want to talk about killing the emperor.”

Yula leaned around Captain Jourdain and made eye contact with me. “We will talk of zees now, yes?”