“This place is a dump,” I declared.

Kan’on grunted in agreement.

Jass, stoic as usual, refused to comment.

I used the world ‘mudhole’ a few days before to describe any random town that we were likely to stop at, but this place looked like giant fists had punched a hole in the forest and then people had decided to move in and built on the aftermath.

The pit was situated in the middle of another forest, Ilfid free this time thank the deep ones, at the base of the two intersecting mountain peaks. Mountain water runoff and unpaved roads led to the only outcome one could have in such a place. Mud… everywhere.

I looked down at clean wagon bed and my clean boots and sighed, grabbed my wrapped sword and jumped down into the mud with a squelch. It looked like the beginnings of the main street through town.

Kan’on looked like he had eaten the most bitterest of fruits. I made a show of eyeballing his pristine battle robes and boots and winked at him.

“Oh, deep ones take you. I think I’ll stay with Jass and help him situate the wagon and animals,” he said.

“Suit yourself. I’m going to do some exploring. In a place like this, there is bound to be something interesting going on,” I replied.

I made my way into town, stopping now and then to check out an interesting display. Shops showed intricately carved and chiseled wooden products such as figurines and tools. The high quality surprised me, if I were being honest. The town just didn’t feel like the kind of place to support artisans of that caliber.

“It’s the southern grassland nomads, them’s the ones that come to buy up all the wooden doodads wouldn’t you know it,” an industrious stall owner informed me. “They don’t have any wood out there, no skilled carvers and such. Wood is ‘bout as valuable as gold ta them you know it? We get them nomad trading parties all the time, bringin’ us all kinds of stuff from all over. We’re practically a bonafide trade hub.”

I should have guessed from the location, but it turned out the town’s main business was lumber. They harvested the nearby forests, stripped the tress, then floated them down the river to some other mudhole town. Trading hub though? How many nomads were out there that the town could afford to support a second economy based on wood carving?

“Any nomads in town right now? I’d like to sit a few down and have a drink and a chat.”

“Not that I heard. Wouldn’t be many now leastways, wet season and all. Besides, this time o’ year is when all their hot blooded young’uns will be challengin’ the Labyrinth, tryna bring back them riches and prove themselves and such.”

I grunted at that. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d heard of such things, and likely not the last. Plenty of cultures all over the continent had similar traditions. Young, confident, and dumb hunters or warriors braved the Labyrinth in search of trophies to win prestige, women, wealth… whatever. But the Labyrinth always took its due in blood. Some of the lucky ones even made it out with valuable ore, gems, exotic parts from rare creatures. There were definitely friendly races down there, but you’d need to get past the first layer, but they were rare and kept to themselves, very mysterious. Then there were the Deep Ones.

“You hear of anything interesting you let me know, yeah?” I tossed a fat silver coin onto his work bench and waved as I walked away.

He scooped the coin up and bit down on it before giving me a wink and a wave.

I set off to do more exploring, making my way through some side streets before hitting the center of town. Maybe I’d been too eager to label the place a mudhole. Mud covered everything below knee level, but crafters had put together the buildings with care, using the local lumber. Most buildings had a false façade that made it look like they sat directly on the ground but were elevated above the mud a fair distance. High quality buildings appeared everywhere I looked, and the people, while still representing standard laborer stock, were polite and eager to talk to visitors.

The further toward the center of town I went, the more the builders had incorporated brick into their construction, mostly as foundation material. As a result, the architecture had an interesting multi-tiered effect that was pleasing to the eye.

I’d just made it back to the main street, kicking off the caked on mud from my boots, when I spotted a familiar figure riding his horse up the road. Orleander stuck out like a sore thumb. He wore a similar outfit as the last time I’d seen him up close. Brave indeed for something that was worth half the town. He was accompanied by Clyde and the mysterious Ms. Black.

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Before I could duck out sight, Orleander spotted me and kicked his horse in my direction. I cursed myself for not throwing myself into an alley at the mere sight of the man, but it was too late. I chose a building to lean against and crossed my arms while I waited, unwilling to squelch in his direction and acquire another few bricks worth of mud on my boots.

Two other people I hadn’t noticed before, probably due to the brilliance of Clyde’s ostentatious armor, trailed the party as they approached. A well-made and clean outfit, if a bit conservative for my liking, pegged one of them as some sort of local official, probably a mayor or local Baron or something based on his demeanor, along with an assistant. I snorted when I realized that Orleander was prancing around on his horse, far above the mud, while making the locals trudge through it behind him, and probably his horse’s shit too.

“Your Gr-, Ardashir,” he said with a pained expression as I interrupted him with a pointed look and another pointed look at these complete strangers. “I have been informed by the good Baron Palambre here that the road in our desired direction has been wiped out for a fair distance by seasonal flooding. As such, I’ll be establishing a camp outside of town. Since we’ll be staying here until the road is repaired, I thought it a good time to once again extend you an invitation to guest at my pavilion. There are matters I would discuss with you, if that is acceptable.”

Baron Palambre looked at me askance, clearly confused why a Count would address one dressed such as I so politely. I tapped my sword on my shoulder, considering the offer. Two invitations meant that the Count placed some importance on the subject, so it wasn’t likely to be something whimsical. Kan’on could use a break, right? It couldn’t hurt to relax, get away from tents and packs for a couple of nights.

“I’ll think about it. I’m not particularly keen on rubbing shoulders with certain types these days.” I didn’t even try to veil the insult behind pretty words.

Without missing a beat or showing any sign that he’d taken the insult to heart he said, “I look forward to your answer, hopefully I’ll see you tonight.” With a tight nod and a glance around at the mud, he urged his horse forward. Almost as an afterthought he turned back and said, “There are supposedly some issues with the local wildlife attacking livestock, and perhaps some residents. I don’t suppose I could impose on you to keep an eye out, could I?”

It sounded like a request, but it wasn’t a request. Damn, the man had moxie didn’t he, or was it just plain arrogance? I’d have to give him a reminder about who I was. Not the former Duke part, but the part where I was supposed to be an unhinged and unreliable vagabond drinking his way across the continent while doing the least amount of work possible. Maybe I could set up a confrontation with Ms. Black that would make everybody reconsider relying on me to do anything.

As I made my way back toward where I assumed the camp was getting set up, I stopped back at the woodcarver’s stand and my new friend to ask for any sacks I could borrow. He fished out a tattered cotton sack that would do the trick. I tipped an imaginary hat and left to find the nearest tavern. Using the bag as cover, I pulled out all the empty flasks I had squirreled away in my cubby. At the sight of the coins I slapped on the bar, the tavern keeper enthusiastic filled my flasks with whatever rotgut liquor he considered to be high quality around these parts. It didn’t matter, so long as they filled them to the brim.

I made similar stops at a bakery, a butcher, and a general store, packing my cubby with food and water, some other odds and ends I thought of, and a few items as a gift for Jass, for being the guy that didn’t bug the shit out of me and for being a steady hand.

I took to the outside of town, enjoying the intersection of nature and man on the outskirts. There was a metaphor there somewhere, about the constant struggle of man to fend off nature. A commotion up ahead interrupted my half-baked musings. Curious, I turned toward what looked to be a stable with some open paddocks.

A crowd surrounded one of the paddocks. I elbowed my way through the riff raff, trying to get a view of what was causing all the drama. Blood. Blood and body parts scattered all over the paddock. What were once horses were now so much mulch.

Wild animal attacks, the Count had said. Wild animals my ass. I’d be a depths fooled moron if I didn’t recognize the work of Carvers when I saw it. The Labyrinth spat out some nasty pieces of work every once in a while, but Carvers were some of the nastiest. They weren’t particularly dangerous to me, all things considered. A normal hunter could take on a couple without too much trouble, but to the normal townspeople and livestock they would be a nightmare.

Carvers gleefully mutilated any living thing in sight down to mush so they could suck it up like a fine noble lady sipping her cocktail through a fancy straw. They had gruesome feeding habits, and their mantis like appendages could slice clean through a horse no problem. Get a few of them together and they’d mow through a herd in no time. The only saving grace was that they weren’t particularly tough. Their chitin didn’t hold up well against piercing or crushing weapons.

How could the Baron miss a Carver infestation though? If there was a Labyrinth entrance nearby, they should have been more prepared for this sort of thing.

And I thought this place would end up being uneventful and disappointing. Things just got a whole lot more interesting. Carvers wreaked havoc on whatever caught their interest, and this town and its people looked to be caught squarely in their sights, the poor bastards.

Too bad I wouldn’t be able to stick around to see it. I felt the familiar itch start in the back of my mind. It was extremely early for it to start, but it didn’t herald good things. My curse already made itself known, and it might force me to leave earlier than either me or the Count had planned.