The bodies are piled high. Higher than a man stands tall. They shift underfoot as I strike at a slender demon with razor-sharp claws. I hack an arm off and then strike at the exposed neck.

“Nyce! A little help?”

"I'm busy, Noelle. Try again later!"

“Ellie, where are you?” I ask.

"Here, big sis!" I turn to see her bright smile, speckled with demon blood. "What's up?"

“Can your firebird see the edge of this horde? When will it end?”

"It doesn't end," she says. Still smiling broadly. "This is it. Every day will be like this, forever. Isn't it lovely?" She asks.

Then, her bubbly smiling face is detached from her neck with a thick spurt of blood. Her body falls to the ground with a heavy thump, which seems wrong. She was such a small girl; her body should fall graceful-like.

“NO! No. No. NO.”

"What's up, Noelle?" Suddenly, Nyce is next to me.

“It’s Ellie, she’s dead…”

“Oh, it doesn’t look that bad. Ellie would have wanted it this way.”

“WHAT?! What are you talking about?!”

"She'll be here forever now, rotting nicely. That's good. She'll like that."

“Nyce, stop it! What is wrong with you?!”

“What? Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

“No, it fucking … what is happening?" I look around. This is wrong.

"You belong here, Noelle." Her tone is turning; it drips heavily like thick blood down a pane of clear glass. "This is the place for you. The only place for you.”

Agony bursts sharp and sweet from my middle. I look down to see Nyce's venom blade piercing straight through me, right below my belly button. My mouth tastes like acidic iron.

“No…” I look into her grinning face.

“Yeesssss," she hisses into my ear, then wrenches the blade out sideways. I drop like a puppet with its strings cut, falling forever into the mountain of dead, just another grinning skull.

----------------------------------------

I wake thrashing, gasping for air, tangled in my blankets in the tiny kitchen on the road to the Capital City. My hair is stuck to my face, and drool is around the edges of my mouth. Just a dream.

"How'd you sleep, beautiful?" I look up and see Arthur smiling at me wryly. He was already laughing at his own joke. He's preparing a breakfast of eggs and ham for the family; it's a big plate, and I am starving.

“I think you can guess how I slept.” I hop down from my little tucked-away bed. “Any of this for me?” I ask, already reaching for a slice of steaming meat.

“Sure is, help yourself.”

"How's Ellie?" I ask, tossing the hot ham around in my mouth to cool it off. Steam comes out into the cool air of the carriage. Arthur laughs at my attempt to avoid burning the roof of my mouth.

"She's doing pretty good; we turned her from the fire before Prete's death, so she didn't see the worst of it. But she wanted to stay for the whole story. She's brave like her mom. She was up for a while last night and woke up once with a nightmare, but she was tucked between us. She fell right back asleep." His hands are busy gathering utensils and plates, his eyes look bright, and he wears a small smile. He looks proud.

"I'm glad," I respond. "Ellie's a good kid."

"Yeah, we like her," he winks. Then he turns with his arms full and ducks his head as he steps out and down the stairs. I can hear his raised voice announcing the presence of food, then excited chattering from the pleased masses.

I feel an ache in my chest. He reminds me of my own dad. How is he doing back in Summerfall? Has he been playing Tlack with Godfrey and Laney? Is he worried about me? My disheveled bed tells the story of my battle with the nightmare. My dagger lies at the foot of it, kicked there at some point in the night.

I pick it up, still tight in its leather sheath. I remember my father's words when he gave it to me. It’s the most important thing you own. Always keep it near you. I hug it to my chest, alone in the carriage on the road to an unknown city. I think of him then and shed a few tears, resting my head on my bed on his jacket. It’s only a few weeks. I’ll be home again soon. It was just a tough night after a tough day.

I think back to the accidental inhalation of Nyce's acid gas and the subsequent scary bedtime story. It's no wonder I feel shaken. I wipe my eyes and unsheathe the dagger. It's balanced well, but its weight is still surprising and solid. It feels like an incredibly well-made tool in my inexperienced hands. I put the sheath on my hip and toss the dagger from my right to my left and back again, feeling its weight.

I lift it in a block, then dip and lunge forward in a strike, trying to put my weight behind the blow. It feels good, and I am glad for the time I spent learning with Cynthia. I sheathe the blade and sniff the air. The movement kicked up a sour aroma of sweat and body odor. I sniff my armpits and correct myself. My body odor, I've got to wash up.

I take a deep breath and remember my father’s warning, bathe alone if you are in a safe place. If not, do it with someone you trust. I wonder if Nyce or Alliyah would go with me. We've been traveling alongside a wide stream for the last few days. I know where the water is.

I step outside and approach Alliyah and Ellie, who are still eating their fill of eggs and ham.

"Hey, Alliyah, I was thinking of going down to the water to bathe. Would you like to join me?" She looks surprised for a second, I realize that I haven't asked her for anything or spoken to her directly the whole time we've been traveling together. I shift on my feet and look down at my hands, then up at her as she responds.

"Oh, I would love to, but I just went down earlier with Ellie. I could come with you, though, sit on the rocks, and keep you company?" She offered with a kind, open smile, clearly happy to do it.

"Thanks, I'll check with Nyce first. If she can't, I'll take you up on that. Thanks again.” I start to turn towards their cart.

“Nyce?” Alliyah asks. “She looks towards the Narst family carriage and then back to me. “I see you girls are becoming fast friends.” She says cautiously. “Do you know much about their family?” I can feel that she is trying to be careful about how she asks, and I remember my conversation last night with Ellie.

"Only that they are a prominent noble family, poison users," I reply quickly. "We get along well, though, and she goes out of her way to talk with me. I like her," I say. Unwilling to hide the truth, but also not interested in a lecture.

"And assassins." She says quietly, her eyes holding mine. "They rose to prominence through their ability to access and execute enemies of the Kingdom. They are no longer so mercenary now, but their classes are still entirely suited to dealing distasteful death." I pause. That is news to me.

“I didn’t know that," I admit. "Thanks for looking out for me Alliyah, I appreciate it, I really do. I'll be careful with them." I say, trying to ease her mind but still adamant that I will make my own decisions regarding Nyce. She smiles and nods.

"Thanks for listening, and really, I'd be happy to go to the river with you. Just let me know what you decide." She waves and picks her fork up again. Ellie pulls at her sleeve, turns to the girl, and puts her hand on her shoulder.

I walk towards the Narst cart and see that there isn’t anyone around their firepit. Their guards seem less integrated with the family and have set up their own fire pit further from the carriage. I walk up to the guards and ask about Nyce. One of them nods to the carriage.

I knock on the door, and a narrow, older man with dark hair and a sharp nose answers the door.

"Hello, you must be Noelle," he says with a kind smile.

“Hi, yeah, I am looking for Nyce.”

"Of course you are. Come in, come in." He holds the door wide open and turns and raises his voice slightly, "Nyce, I can't believe I'm saying this, but you have a visitor. She must not have been turned off by your noxious personality … yet."

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"Dad!" I hear her voice from deeper in as I step through the doorway. The space is nicely furnished, more ornate and elaborate than the Storm cart, with beautiful, patterned curtains and drapery spread throughout. The furniture looks sleek and refined, though not very comfortable.

The man laughs to himself at the sound of his embarrassed daughter.

“It’s part of the job, you understand.” He says with a wink. I find myself smiling at him, he has a natural charm that’s infectious.

"I understand. My fathers the same." I reply.

“Ah, good. It’s nice to hear that our annual meeting of the fathers is producing consistent results.” What an odd man.

Nyce appears before I can respond. She is wearing simpler clothing than she was yesterday. More like the traveler's clothing that you see the merchants wear.

"Hi, Noelle, I'm so glad you came by! Sorry about him." She nods towards her dad. He is wandering off towards the kitchen.

“I think he’s funny,” I say challengingly.

"Oh," she says, deflated. "And here I thought we were becoming friends. But you are secretly a simpleton" She exhales dramatically and rolls her eyes. I laugh.

"I've got to take a bath," I sniff myself, gross. "Like yesterday. I was hoping you would join me?"

"Sure, I could use a bath too, wash off the STINK OF THESE PLEBIANS," she declares. Her dad scoffs from somewhere in the kitchen.

“Okay, let's go," I say. After jokingly smelling my armpits, I am now actually worried about my smell. Nyce's dad didn't say anything, but it really isn't pleasant, and this is such a wonderful little haven they've created. No wonder they aren't out around a fire.

I step outside while she grabs a few things, including necessities I hadn't thought of, like towels and soap. Then, we start down the narrow trail to the water.

"Your dad's nice," I say.

"Yeah, he's the best. When you were talking about your family, I pictured my family as if it were just me and him. I think I'd be happier." She says seriously.

“She’s really that bad?”

"She's bad," Nyce says simply. "My brother is worse. She likes him much more than me. When they are together, I don't know, they make me feel alone, somehow." I look over to her. Her eyes are focused on the path.

"I'm sorry, Nyce."

“It’s okay. Let’s talk about something else. How was your night?”

We arrive at the stream, find a lovely flat stone as big as a table, and lay down our things. I am careful to remove my sling bag with the money at the same time as my shirt. So, as I place them on the stone, it looks like an especially bunched-up t-shirt. Which I then cover with the pants. I trust Nyce, but I remember what my dad told me. The dagger is resting on my towel beside my clothes.

“My night was interesting, you know Harold, the storyteller? He came to our site last night.”

"Ugh, I'm so jealous! I've heard of him, he's a bit of a legend on the southern route. There's a storyteller there, too, but he's only blue-ranked. You know, he used to tell stories to the royal family? What'd he tell last night?” she asks.

"It was called The Middle Child. Have you heard it?" She winced at the title.

"Aye," she says. "That's a traditional story in the Capital. You won't find a noble who hasn't. Not exactly my favorite, though it's always interesting to hear a real story about a Crucible." She says.

“Yeah, I’d never heard of it. It’s not something we tell up north.”

We are both nude now and start walking out into the water. I notice a thin, dark scar under her ribs, and I look away quickly. This spot is nice because it has a gradual pebbled slope out into waist-deep water. It's cold and clear, and our breathing intensifies as we lower ourselves into its icy flow.

“There aren’t many true stories of the Crucible,” Nyce continues. “So few people have ever survived it. I don’t think there is one alive today who has. Can I tell you a secret?” She asks, a conspiratorial grin on her face.

"Yes," I say quickly, wading closer. Nyce smiles and lowers herself in the water until she is submerged up to her chin. As if being lower in the water would conceal her words more effectively.

“I’ve seen it.” She says. “The Crucible.”

“No, you haven't," I respond instantly. "You'd be dead or powerful as all hells."

“Shh,” she shushes me. “I didn’t say I’d gone in, dummy. I said I’ve seen it. The entrance.” She says adamantly, her eyes holding mine as if she could impart the truth of the statement with her gaze.

“You’ve seen the portal?” I ask, still skeptical. She nods.

"With my brother, on the way up. We both have Classes that … well, let's just say we're suited to stealth. So when we stopped near the Crucible, we both snuck off at night and found it." She says quickly, looking around for any potential listeners.

"I don't think I believe you," I say. I don't want to call Nyce a liar outright, but there is no way that the entrance to the Crucible is unguarded. It must be monitored constantly in case there is a dungeon break. There are signal towers and everything. We've seen a few of them on the journey.

“I’m serious!” she responds.

"I know you're serious! But I don't believe you! There have to be guards protecting it. You couldn't just walk up to the portal."

“I didn’t say we just walked up to it. I said we snuck there; we had to sneak by the guards. And I did more than see it. I touched it."

“What?”

"You heard me. I touched the portal. It's cold. Like liquid silver, like a mirror. But when you touch it, it makes ripples. They spread out from your finger." She pokes her finger into the water's surface, trying to show me how the ripples spread. The water is moving too fast. Soon, she is splashing, trying to make the ripples happen anyway. Then she gives up.

I remember that, in the story, the portal looked like a mirror. Then, the brothers stepped through. She may be telling the truth. Why would she lie about this? Alliyah said to me that their classes are suited to assassination. They would have to be good at sneaking. And Nyce is the type to push boundaries like this.

“Did you really?” I ask.

“Yes!” she says exasperated, then looks around, paranoid. She lowers her voice. “I haven’t seen anything like it. I’ve been in a dungeon before, but they don’t look like that. And you could feel this … weight … just being near it made you feel heavy. Like time slows …” she trails off, grabbing at the water in front of her like she’s trying to find the right words.

“I believe you,” I say quietly.

"Really? Or are you just saying that so I'll shut up about it?"

"No, I believe you. Why would you lie about it? Now I'm just a little jealous." I say honestly. That is the kind of adventure I hoped for when this journey started. So far, it has been exciting, but only in a small way. Little adventures add up, and I've learned a lot. But I was hoping for more.

"My brother was freaking out about it, wanted to tell everyone. It was hard getting him to hold his tongue when we got back. Even now, I'm worried he's telling all his new rich friends about it at school."

“Would you get in trouble if people knew?” I ask.

"Yes! And not just a lashing from our parents. The king directly regulates who gets to try their hand at the Crucible. Otherwise, every desperate fool who'd lost a few too many bets at the Arena would be throwing themselves inside. The two potential outcomes are death or power. To some people, both options sound good." She says the last part thoughtfully. I wonder if sometimes she feels like one of those people.

“What’s the punishment?” I start to ask. But as the words leave my mouth, we hear three quick blasts from the horns at the front of the caravan. A sign that everyone needs to return to their carts, we'll be leaving soon.

We soap up quickly and submerge ourselves to wash it off. We get dressed, and I can secure the sling bag under my shirt without issue, though the strap is slightly twisted. I'll fix it later. We jog up to the caravan and wave goodbye as we load into our carts.

“Want to walk together later?” Nyce asks. I nod.

"See you then," I respond.

In the carriage, Ellie is at the table completing coursework with Alliyah. Arthur is in the kitchen with a weapon. That’s strange. I approach him and ask what he’s doing.

“Just maintenance.” He says dismissively. “How was your bath?”

“Good, water was cold, but I feel much cleaner.”

“Yeah, baths are good for that.” Is that a joke?

He has a longsword on his lap. Its handle's long enough to be held in two hands, and the blade is the width of my palm, so it's not that wide. But it is straight and long. The handle would reach my shoulder if the tip rested on the ground. It is a plain-looking weapon but clearly sharp, and the handle looks worn.

“Who is this?” I ask, gesturing to the weapon. He barks a laugh.

“She doesn’t have a name.” He says. “That’s just weird.”

“Oh, but she has a gender?” I ask pointedly.

"Well, yeah…" he trails off, squinting and looking into the distance. Unable to come up with a reason why that makes sense, but a name doesn't. "Well, does your dagger have a name?" He asks.

"No," I remove it from my hip and pull it from the sheath, looking at the grey steel. "I feel like I'm still getting to know it," I say. I don't know if I am playing along with a game or if I'm serious. Arthur just nods as though I've said something wise.

"Sit," he gestures to a stool next to him. I watch him for a while. He runs a rag over the blade, up and down, then flips it and repeats the process.

“Why are you doing that?” I ask.

"We are approaching the Crucible, so it's better to be prepared." He says idly.

“But those runes, isn’t it enchanted?” He smiles.

"Yes, it is a runed blade, they are all minor, and they help keep it in good shape. But that doesn't mean it can't rust or break. It just makes those things happen more slowly. Anyone teach you how to care for that?" He reaches down and picks up a scabbard off the floor, sheathing the blade slowly.

I've only had it for a few days.

"Then it certainly hasn't gathered any rust." He smiles, "Want me to show you how to maintain it?" I nod. He holds out his hand, and I pass him the dagger still in its sheath.

“With most blades, you don’t want to keep it in the sheath for more than a month at a time. The leather holds in moisture and can corrode the blade. Our enchantments reduce that corrosion but don't eliminate it altogether," Arthur traces the minor runes on my dagger with his finger. "you still need to clean, oil, and sharpen it."

He puts the sheath on the table and places the dagger beside it. He keeps talking. It's soothing like Dirk talking to the horses.

"With a merchant's dagger like this, there is no real sharpening you need to do, probably not for a long time, and you should have a weaponsmith do it when it starts to dull. But you should clean and oil your blade every week. And don't sheath the blade with blood on it. Sheaths are much harder to clean."

He shows me how to clean the blade and oil it. He is slow and methodical. Sometimes, it seems like he is talking to the blade instead of me. He tells me how I can expect the leather handle to wear down over time and how it will change to fit my grip. But then, it will change too much after a few years, and the leather will break down. It's easy enough to replace, though.

When he finishes, he hands me back the dagger, a small tube of oil, and a rough rag.

"Keep that in your bag, okay. Your dagger is young now and will only need it sometimes. Treat it well, though. It helps you protect yourself and the people in your life. The least you can do is keep her healthy and happy."

When the carriage slows down, I walk with Nyce and talk about small things. Our lives back home, her life at school. She loves the Southern Academy; I'd like to know if that's a path I could take once I'm done with this delivery. I'd love to attend the school in Summerfall, and I'd learn a lot.

I want to ask her more about the Crucible and her feelings when she stood near the shining silver portal. But Harrison is too close, so neither of us brings it up.

The night is quiet. The guards don't want people to move between camps because of our proximity to the Crucible. There is no Harold to regale us with stories. I help Dirk with the horses, eat a hearty meal of bread and roast turkey, then head off to sleep. That is fine with me. I had plenty of excitement yesterday and didn't sleep so well because of it. I tuck myself away in my alcove, put my dagger along my side, and fall asleep.