image [https://i.imgur.com/i4wquck.jpg]

Even if it meant delaying customers, Iris didn’t want to promise the wainwrights that we could cross the river until we had a ship in the water. This hesitance didn’t bother me. If things went to plan, our cross-continental route would make seasonal winds and tidal restrictions irrelevant to commerce.

None of this had a direct bearing on the RPG contest, but even tangential progress could yield dividends. Aggression came as a surprise boon to running a settlement, and I doubted other players discovered anything as powerful in The Book of Dungeons, whose stingy, incremental, and balanced game systems kept everything. By destroying Winterbyte’s relic, we’d probably be in an excellent position to prosper into the endgame.

No other players left the last-person-standing competition since Charitybelle’s knockout. The contestant interface showed that 34 contestants remained active.

The trip to Basilborough on horseback felt more pleasant than previous crossings. We covered the ground quickly since we weren’t clearing underbrush and dragging around caravans.

Beaker’s head darted back and forth, eyeing every nearby branch with either suspicion or alarm.

Whenever a low-hanging limb got danger close, I reassured him with mental messages. “You’re okay. It’s just a branch.”

Aside from encroaching foliage, my Familiar enjoyed the trip. He extended his wings for long durations, and I couldn’t decide if he stretched, strengthened his wings, or pretended to fly.

The same held true for Blane and Bernard. They talked to their horses at even the slightest gradients. “Easy, boy. Take care, horsey. We’ll get through this.”

Fletcher and Lloyd spared glances to see how the dwarves fared. They wanted to pick up the pace but said nothing. Horses weren’t much faster than people when just walking. If we’d ridden harder, we might have been able to make the northwest journey to Basilborough in two days, but out of respect to the brothers, we took our time.

We made it in three days, and only two encounters interrupted our trip.

The first encounter involved a large flightless bird. It reminded me of a small tyrannosaur matted with ugly, brown fur, and somewhere beneath its shaggy feathers, I guessed it hid a pair of vestigial wings.

Name

Protofeathered Dragonite

Level

14

Difficulty

Easy (green)

Health

370/370

Fortunately for us, the beast bore few dragonish characteristics. The first thing I did involved dismissing Beaker. He moved too slowly to avoid its attacks. Blane and Bernard hopped off their mounts to face the danger while Lloyd collected the horses.

The dragonite didn’t immediately attack until a few of us separated from the horses and presented more bite-sized morsels. Bernard and Blane were level 6, but we’d armed them to the teeth, so they faced the creature alone.

Fabulosa and I drew arrows in case their combat went poorly.

The dwarves had stood against greater foes, but I wanted to see what they could handle after training with Dino in the battle college. Fletcher dismounted and followed behind. If possible, we’d prefer that the pair split the experience themselves.

They fought well together, and the creature only attacked with its beak, making it a perfect opponent for the pair. Bernard blocked with my old Prismatic Shield. He didn’t bother bringing out my old mace, which was just as well. The creature’s heavy layer of feathers made it hard to deliver blows with anything except piercing weapons. Luckily, Blane had trained with spears and delivered effective attacks.

Two hook-like limbs lashed out from its chest and pulled the shield from Bernard’s grasp when the monster fell to half-health. It followed with a nasty bite. Blane charged with his spear and drew the monster’s attention, giving Bernard time to regain footing and equip himself with his own spear.

Ribbons of healing effects wrapped around his movements as Fabulosa and I landed Restore and Rejuvenate spells. Unfortunately, the heals meant we would leech away some experience points, but it wasn’t worth risking their skins.

After they felled the creature, we skinned and dressed the carcass for later consumption. Hawkhurst would soon have another staple of meat for its dinner tables. I resummoned Beaker and gave him a chunk. He gobbled it down and followed the movement of my hands—which usually meant he remained still hungry.

“More!” I heard him shout in my head and indulged him with more meat.

“A white core.” Blane fished out the monster’s prizes. “Also, a +1 long sword!” He beamed at us, cleaned the guts off the weapon, and held it aloft. It seemed quite a prize for only a level 14 opponent.

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I stashed the extra meat in my void bag. “Did anyone level?”

They shook their heads, cleaned their weapons, and remounted.

The second encounter created less excitement but unsettled us more—we found evidence of goblins.

Fletcher spotted a trail perpendicular to the trade route. He crouched down and studied the ground. “Something has been scampering about. I see sandal prints, and that means goblins.” He looked at me for a reaction.

I had none and shrugged. “Can you tell if they’re fresh?”

Fabulosa jumped off her horse and looked. She went back and forth, looking for imprints. She shook her head. “I don’t know how fresh they are, but they’re moving north.”

“What’s your survival skill?”

Fabulosa bounced her eyebrows when she answered. “Rank 21.”

“Really?” I couldn’t believe it. All that time she’d spent with Yula had paid off.

“Why? What’s yours?”

I looked at my character sheet. “18.”

“That’s not so bad.”

“I know. I just figured with my Applied Knowledge, I’d be higher.”

Fabulosa snorted and rolled her eyes. “Well, what do y’all want to do? You want to hunt them down, or what?”

Everyone exchanged shrugs until Fletcher proposed an idea. “We should investigate if they have a camp nearby. There’s no doubt they’ve seen our trail from Grayton, with all the carts and horses.”

Fletcher and Fabulosa disappeared into the vegetation while the dwarves and I guarded the horses. After a half-hour, they emerged from the forest.

Fletcher looked upbeat. “Nothing but thin trails and cold campfires.”

“They lit out of here a long time ago.”

I made a mental note to ask Greenie if he had any thoughts. He wasn’t an outdoor person—I doubted many goblins were—but he might read something into it.

On our third morning, we arrived in Basilborough from the east. I followed Fletcher through the town’s center while everyone else ate, drank, and relaxed at the Denning House, the settlement’s only inn.

Most of the Basilborough businesses weren’t exciting or unique. They plied typical wares one would expect in a small village. I followed Fletcher to a postal exchange, and he showed me how the mail system in Miros worked.

“For five coppers, you can drop a communication into a mailbox, and it’ll appear at any other mailbox to the addressee. When they retrieve the letter, the sender receives a confirmation, including the delivery’s time and place.”

I grunted. It amused me to hear its description from an NPC’s perspective, but it looked like a typical game’s global mail system.

“You just focus on the postbox to see if you have anything.” Fletcher held out his hand, and three scrolls with seals appeared in his palm. “See? Simple.” He shuffled through the scrolls. “This one is a note from an old army chum—I’ve been expecting his reply. I hope he’ll join our guild. These two are from Krek—they probably want to know about our progress with Hawkhurst. I’m surprised we heard nothing from Glenn or Oscar. It’s been quite a while.”

“I hope they’re not sending messages to Charitybelle.”

Fletcher tapped the scrolls against the mailbox. “That would be a problem. People send messages addressed to Iris, so she designates me to retrieve them. I hope Hawkhurst gets a mailbox when it upgrades to a town hall.”

“You don’t know if mailboxes are a tier 3 structure?”

Fletcher shook his head. “It can’t be that much higher if they have mailboxes in Basilborough. It’s tier 4 tops.”

“I’m surprised the dwarves haven’t checked the mail—since this is their first return to civilization.”

Fletcher shook his head. “Mail is a human contrivance. Dwarves don’t spread out enough to have a use for such a system.”

“After they dropped off the horses at the livery stable, they’ll be three sheets to the wind.”

Fletcher laughed. “Father won’t be much better. Let’s see if we can schedule a trip to Arlington today. It might save them from hangovers—and Fabulosa, too, if she’s planning to keep up.”

“Please. They’ll bring alcohol with them. There’s scant else to do on a flatboat.”

“Quite so. Aren’t you going to check for mail?” Fletcher watched me as I walked toward the docks.

“I don’t know anyone who might send letters. Maybe Mr. Fergus.” After I focused on the postbox, a notification chimed in my event log.

/You have mail—one letter from Winterbyte.

Vertigo struck, and I froze my hand over the letterbox as if its contents might burn my fingers.

“Apache. Are you okay? Did you get something?”

I still couldn’t move myself to retrieve the letter. “It’s from the gnoll who killed Charitybelle. Didn’t you say only humans used this system?”

“They do. But gnolls frequent human towns. They sometimes go downriver at Darton Rock. It’s south of here and the closest settlement to gnoll homeland.”

I regained the use of my limbs and reached for the rolled parchment. Fletcher grabbed my arm, and we exchanged a hard look.

“Beware, Governor. Picking up the letter will alert its sender to your location.”

Winterbyte had seen our titles in our nameplates. She knew of Hawkhurst but not its location. Picking up the letter wouldn’t give her coordinates, but it would draw her to Basilborough. If Ruk had a strong sense of smell, wouldn’t Winterbyte share the same trait? Could she pick up our trail in Basilborough to find us in Hawkhurst? As much as I wanted to find and kill this player, taking the letter here seemed to be a lousy play.

If Ruk and Winterbyte talked, then she knows about Hawkhurst. But she doesn’t know its location. I preferred to face her in a foreign city because the Aggression mandate doubled my damage output, so it seemed best to trick her.

“I’m going to open it when we get to Arlington. They have mailboxes there, right?”

Fletcher nodded. “You better believe it. Come now, let’s see if we can hire a boat. You’ll be able to read it in a couple of days, assuming Belden isn’t a port of call for the next boat.”

I certainly didn’t want to open the letter in Belden. Winterbyte’s letter ended my plans to see Mr. Fergus. Her determination and resourcefulness convinced me to avoid leading her into places where people knew me. Hostage negotiation wasn’t a skill anyone wanted to rank up.

Fletcher arranged for a direct trip to Arlington, leaving within the hour. The dwarves complained they hadn’t seen a pub in a year but quieted when I told them about my letter. In their book, everything took a backseat to avenging their governor.

On the way to the docks, Fabulosa checked her mail. She, too, spotted a letter from our nemesis but declined to take it. We hastily climbed into the flatboat and situated ourselves to be out of the way of the crew readying for departure.

I put my lettering skills to use and made a stack of fliers advertising Hawkhurst’s liberal immigration policy. I didn’t know who to hand them out to, but it seemed like there might be bulletin boards where I could post them. It felt good to brush up on my lettering skills, and it made me wonder about Arlington’s literacy rate. If only scholars and scribes could read, it might be a waste of parchment.

By the time we passed Belden, night had fallen. Even though I spent most of my time within the university’s walls, it disappointed me that nothing in the city looked familiar from the water where I could scarcely see roofs over the riverbank.

The river at Belden branched upstream to Darton Rock and Basilborough. In my research on Miros, I found nothing noteworthy about Darton. It amounted to little more than a mining town, probably smaller than Belden.

“Hey, Fab. Do you know anything about Darton Rock? Did you guys ever get that far?”

Fabulosa shook her head. “Nah, the farmsteads along the river usually meant fewer monsters. When we hunted, we looked for unsettled land. We usually set for high ground even though it wasn’t easy on the legs.”

“You want to see if we can get a boat to Darton on our way back?”

She thought about it. “Maybe. You reckon Winterbyte would be fool enough to hang out there?”

“Probably not. It’s too hard to guess without knowing what’s in the letters.”