Heart thudding in her chest, Elanor's mind ran over everything she'd done while other guards came and dealt with the bodies, then household staff cleaned up the mess she'd made of the walls. All the while, Elanor stood outside the doorway to the Earl's office, her eyes scanning the hall and her hand on her gun. "I killed them."

"I know it won't help, but you did the right thing." Brevity, standing beside Elanor, had managed to slow her racing emotions after the event. Her shaking at the loud reports of Elanor's revolver had calmed and she no longer saw the young man breaking into the office every time she closed her eyes.

"Everyone I've killed before has been resurrected. Mr. Travis doesn't let anyone die in his dungeon for more than a day. Why didn't they give all their people talismans?" What she hated more about it was she'd hoped her cousin didn't have one.

"Not everyone is lucky enough to have a patron that cares what happens to them. All the Earl's guards had one, as did the Prince's man. Not that they needed theirs with your healing."

The healing, Elanor reflected, was something in her favor—a purely good event. Anyone she could have healed, she healed. She focused on her link to Sandwalker and murmured a prayer of thanks to them. "Couldn't we resurrect them anyway? Take their bodies to the local temple?"

"There's still a fact in this that precludes— Sorry, lawyer speak. They were involved in a plot that endangered the Crown Prince. Even if they were brought back, it would only be until he passes judgment on them, and you know what that has to be." About to go on about the legal ramifications—despite her apology for getting too far into her job—Brevity held her silence as the door behind them opened.

Stewart let his guard precede himself and Judith. It wasn't common for the royal bodyguards to acknowledge anyone when on duty, but it made Stewart smile a little to see the stoic guard nod to Elanor. Clearing his throat to get everyone's attention, Stewart said, "We'll be moving on, Miss Brevity, Miss Elanor. This action has given me enough justification to deal with the problem in Far Reach as I see fit. The Earl of Hearthhome found the talismans on her person to have been replaced by one of her servants, and now she'll be cleaning her house out after the attack. She's also expressed a desire to fortify the railway station to prevent such people from entering the city again."

Elanor dipped her head and waited for the Prince and Earl to pass before she planned to fall-in with the group behind them, but the Prince stopped her from doing so with an offered hand. "Sir?" she asked, staring at his fingers.

"I'd rather you walked with us. Your actions betray your combat training and speak well of your mentor." When Elanor looked at him a little dazed, Stewart tried a winning smile. "Please?"

It was completely and utterly impossible for Elanor to resist, even in her state. She nodded and walked beside the Prince. "So you can act now?"

"Under the purview of rooting out co-conspirators of the attack on the Earl and I, yes. Earl Sanderson has brought to my attention that similar attacks have happened in Northridge and Far Reach—so I will travel to both of these locations to seek and remove this conspiracy." Walking down the hall, Stewart noticed the marks the fighting had left on the room mainly by the absence of a large tapestry that had been there earlier. "I would like you to join me, of course, since you have proved your loyalty and capability most aptly."

In a moment of levity, Elanor wondered how the Prince's guard knew where to go. Reaching the entrance of the Earl's keep, she waited while the Prince said his goodbye to the Earl. To Elanor's ear, it sounded very formal with no substance. She waited until they were outside to ask, "You trust her?"

"Judith Sanderson was an investigator for my father before I was born. The earldom here was his gift to her for relentless work. I trust her to guard our backs so that no more surprises come down the line while we work in Far Reach."

"'We work'?"

"If my information is correct, I'll be calling for the head of the current leader of Far Reach, and possibly whoever is in charge of their guards. It has been my experience that such people do not generally allow the tool of their destruction easy access to their person, so there will likely be more fighting simply to reach them." Now Stewart could see the holes in Elanor's experience. "If you do not wish to continue to assist in this—"

"No!" Elanor shivered at the realization that she'd interrupted him. His raised eyebrow, though, prompted her to continue. "I mean, I only wished for details. Of course, I'll assist you in any way I can. Mr. Travis and Northridge had us contact Far Reach—the city itself—and it wants to fight them too."

"The city? That is propitious. I admit I didn't look forward to fighting a city's avatar. If the city sits out, this shouldn't be too taxing."

"Far Reach wants to help, I think. I don't know what that means, but it responded to me when I asked."

Chewing on the information mentally, Stewart wasn't sure how much he liked the idea of a city's genius loci being convinced to fight its leaders. At least in this case, however, it could prove beneficial. "Well. I guess we'll find that out in a few days."

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

Fighting back up through the goblin dungeon was far easier. With the warren mostly cleaned out, Fife managed to keep everyone at a good trot. The few enemies that peeked out and saw their group either pulled their heads back into whatever tunnel they were hiding in or had two or more wolves race after them.

She felt lighter on her feet, and though she wanted to put that down to the way she'd changed, Fife knew it had more to do with knowing they could clear the dungeon. "Astrid?"

Loping along with Fife, her head uncovered, Astrid turned her face to look down at her savior. "Yes?"

"When we come back to end this place, do you want to be the one to destroy the heart?" Fife didn't need to hear Astrid's breath skip its normal rhythm or hear a single word to know she would enjoy it a lot—the look of excitement on her face was enough.

Delight at the idea of hunting the dungeon again and actually killing it made Astrid's spirit sing. "It would be an honor to hunt and kill the largest prey."

They ascended two more floors before Fife spoke again. "You don't regret joining us?"

Shaking her head, Astrid barked a laugh. "You have let us live as we always should have, free to hunt and kill. We spend nights under the cold moon and tell the tales of our ancestors. This is how wolves are meant to be." She slowed down a little, realizing she had lengthened her stride without meaning to. "Is it always like this?"

"Wild, crazy, things to fight? Trav hasn't let me down yet. Even before I became a kobold, he found me a bunch of slimes so big they devoured half of me before I realized it. Since then, I haven't gone more than a few days without something fun to do. If you ever want a challenge, we can start digging new tunnels on the third floor."

"That does sound fun," Astrid said, flashing her teeth and, spotting a troll in a side tunnel, baying to her pack and charging at it.

Fife let out a whoop of excitement as the wolves dashed after Astrid. "Yeah. We might have to organize something to keep them busy. Shame we lost that undead dungeon."

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

[a conflicted young priestess' journal]

I find myself in crisis, Miss Journal. Everyone tells me that what I did was right and just, but I still can't put aside that I don't like the feeling of having killed those people. A lady with a title could do that. She could simply believe the brave prince because he was a brave prince.

Perhaps I should blame Mister Travis, then. If it wasn't for his selfless acts, protecting the lives of not just his own minions but even his enemies, I wouldn't have seen things from this angle?

Or mayhap it is because, no longer being a noblewoman, I feel such things more keenly?

There's also my new perspective as a priestess. I can't bring people back from the dead, but I definitely saved several people from needing someone who can.

It's not like they were good people. They tried to kill me, but it's not like I would have stayed dead. I'm sure the Prince and the Earl have talismans, and I know Miss Delling has more than one. Why were those people so desperate they would risk their lives fighting me?

Now, too, Bite and Bark won't let me out of their sight. Here I am, sitting far away from the Prince and the others, with two huge wolves who whine at me every time I move. I have only barely managed to get Snipsnap to persuade them that I be allowed to write to you, Miss Journal.

I am also reasonably sure Ripper is hanging onto the roof.

The Prince keeps looking at me and smiling.

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

Elanor felt a strange tingling. It began in her chest and spread out, reminding her a little of the warmth of her god. There was another similarity to Sandwalker in it, though, and that was the need to take action—she felt like there was some purpose she needed to undertake as soon as possible. Folding away her journal and tucking it into her pocket, she also put a stopper on the ink bottle and gathered her blotting paper.

While the train slowed, and her big, fluffy friends whined at her, she checked her revolver and the loadout: four of the penetrating bullets and two explosive. Closing the mechanism carefully, she kept the first of the penetrators lined up to be the next bullet fired. "Sandwalker, guide my hand and my heart."

The tingling Elanor felt seemed to grow, but was joined by warmth. "Thank you," she said and looked over her backup pistol. It was a smooth two-barreled flintlock that was loaded with a pair of soft gold bullets. She checked the firing mechanism and judged it ready for use. Finally, her spear and shield were the targets of her attention.

"She's going to notice if you keep looking like that."

Stewart's head snapped around to his bodyguard and he closed his eyes. "I can't stop thinking about her. She's so bold and self-assured, she cares about what cause she supports, and she refuses to forward any of her own agendas. She seems to be doing all this to honor the dungeon she has been training in. I feel like I need to understand her and at the same time want to see what she'll do next. What do you think I should do, Harrow?"

"Sir, my advice would be to give her a life peerage for having saved your life in Hearthhome, then marrying her before she finds a cause crazier than yours."

The very idea of it hadn't occurred to Stewart. Here he'd been, admiring the woman's moxie and personal ethics; to say nothing of her prowess with weapons. "I'll need to think about it."

"Careful. A capable woman with her own signature zeal might attract other men while you think." Checking his own weapons quickly, Harrow nodded. "In fact…" A hand on his shoulder stopped him from standing up.

"I get your point." Stewart didn't let the jibe get to him, but the idea had found fertile soil. There was a political advantage to Elanor. She was unaligned except to the dungeon—Travis, he reminded himself—and she also knew where forks and spoons should be on a table, given her history. The ties to her old family weren't just broken on paper, either. He'd seen first hand how she responded to the vipers from that nest.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Making his mind up, Stewart decided that if Travis held so much of her respect, he would have to match that. Easy enough, he hoped; he would treat the dungeon as her father and ask Travis' permission to woo her.

First, though, Stewart would need to clear out a rat nest in his family's domain. Checking his sword and gun, he stood up and made his way to the front of the car and raised his voice. "I don't know when things will turn ugly, so be on your guard. Miss Delling?" He waited until Brevity lifted her head. "You can wait here if you like. The train won't be going anywhere."

Brevity let out a relieved sigh and slumped back into her seat. "I trust you won't require me for any witnessing or legal purposes?"

"I believe I have such things covered." Stewart performed his duties, he mused, almost entirely for people like Brevity Delling. Her life should never be impinged by the need to be violent. She definitely shouldn't be required to learn how to use a gun. He sighed softly, hoping that this wouldn't take too many deaths. "Let's be about it, then."

Watching the train disgorge its usual load of traders, message-carriers, and people seeking their fortune in the frontiers, the two guards were waiting for sight of some odd characters, and they sure got them.

The first man that stepped off the train looked like a soldier. He walked like he knew how to use the various weapons the guards could see him carrying openly, and a few of the ones they spotted outlines of under his cloak.

Then came the man who left the train that put the first in context. A court dandy with a sword and pistol so shiny they didn't look like they had ever been used, implied that the dangerous man was his bodyguard.

With everything back in balance, the two guards were relaxed again—until the third, fourth, and fifth beings debarked the train. The woman and her clothes marked her as one of the people of interest to their higher-ups. The giant wolves that stepped off behind her, and took up a flanking position on each side of the dandy, had them clutching their halberds. "Stop!"

Elanor froze, her right hand itching to reach for the holster on her left hip. She was about to open her mouth when Stewart pivoted to look at the two city guards. There was a buzz in the surrounding air, and heat began to burn through her.

"At ease, guardsmen." Stewart said in a mildly joking tone. "She's also with me." When he wore his less ostentatious clothes, Stewart expected to be overlooked, but the utter ignorance the two men showed when they glanced at him stung a little. When one steered his halberd to aim at Stewart, a pair of growls rose on each side of him. "You would dare raise a weapon against the Crown Prince?"

Harrow was ready to move the moment Stewart did. Until then, or if the man didn't lower his weapon soon, he wouldn't act. He wasn't the Prince's executioner, just his bodyguard.

Feeling like he'd been hit, the guardsman drew his halberd back and into an upright position. "S-Sorry, Sir!"

Ignoring the man's lack of correct address, Stewart felt somewhat at ease that the situation hadn't gotten out of hand. "Good man. Now, I take it her appearance is something you were to watch for? Don't worry about reprisals if you're only doing your job."

The second guard, silent until now, cleared his throat before his companion could speak. "We were to bring any strange guests to the city, or specific guests"—the last included a nod toward Elanor—"to the Baron and inform the head of the watch."

"Perfect. Please let them both know that Miss Elanor is here and take us to see them both right away." Stewart knew it was jumping into the fire, but those who attended this likely interrogation would ultimately be the people he most needed to deal with.

The relief was palpable in both guards. Carefully, they gestured to the keep within the city almost as one and dithered for a moment, trying to let the whole party go before them. When Elanor stood her ground, they decided that walking alongside the group was the best order of business, even if that meant they couldn't keep a perfect eye on all of them.

Elanor, of course, didn't want the guards behind her because Snipsnap was clinging to her back, under her duster, and she didn't want them to see her. She made a promise to herself, though, to not shoot them unless it was strictly required—since they seemed to be doing their jobs.

As they neared the keep, Stewart saw a group of guards manning the main entrance. Remembering his time in Northridge, and how their own leadership instead had a more simple building to conduct the city's business out of, he was gaining a radical new opinion on how close leadership should be with those they lead.

"Wait here. I'll let them know you're coming in and to send word to today's head of the watch. Do you remember who it was on duty today?" one of the guards asked his companion.

The other man winced and replied, "The Baron's younger brother."

Stewart did his best to keep a neutral face and hoped, inside, that perhaps there were others like Elanor who didn't toe the family line. When the guard notified his compatriots that they had guests, several of those inside scrambled for weapons while others raced inward. "If something happens, stand back and look shocked," he said to the guard still beside them.

Doing his best to appear disinterested, the guard replied, "I should have volunteered for gate duty today. That's relaxing, that is. No helping it now, though. Good luck, Sir."

"You'll be taken to see the Duke and the head of the watch," the guard said as he returned from the gates. "Move forward, we'll have a few others fall-in with us to, uh, keep you contained. Sorry, Sir."

"Did you tell them who I am?" Stewart asked.

"Slipped my mind, Sir."

The tone was exactly what Stewart hoped for. It wasn't a huge thing, but these men wouldn't get in his way. Advancing toward the rest of the guards, he cleared his throat. "We will be going in to meet with your masters. Please, keep your distance and don't interfere."

One of the guards gestured to Stewart. "We have to take your weap—"

Interrupting, one of the station guards said, "We only take weapons away from criminals. These folks came here willingly; none of them have broken the King's law."

Elanor tried to pay attention, but the heat inside her was growing. It wasn't her god, not entirely, but she could feel traces of Sandwalker among the flames that seemed to burn her up. She didn't fight them, instead trying to simply hold them within. Reaching out a hand to rest on Bark's back, she used her friend to support her as she walked behind Stewart.

She couldn't take her time to look at the beautiful tapestries they passed, nor the large doors they walked through into the main hall of the keep. It was an utter surprise when she heard a voice she recognized.

"Who are you?" Baron Richard Westerfield demanded. Appraising the two men and the woman, along with their pets, he rolled his eyes to his brother. Sitting as he was, and standing as his brother was, he felt somewhat at a disadvantage, but would be damned if he'd let it show. Then he noticed something. "Why didn't you take their weapons from them?!"

Before the man could begin to chew into his guards in earnest, Stewart said, "Sorry, Baron, but your men were hesitant to ask the Crown Prince and his retinue for their weapons. I hope this doesn't cause a hindrance?"

Jace Westerfield froze at the words and their implications. He was in the process of recalling the required distance to kneel when he heard his brother laugh.

Raising a pistol to point at the Prince, Richard struggled to tone down his laughter. "And here I thought I was going to miss out. Jace, go and collect their talismans. Be thorough, and if they resist, stab them somewhere painful but not life-threatening."

Elanor glared at her cousins. She'd recognized the voice because it was one belonging to a childhood tormentor. Time seemed to slow down as Jace advanced on them. The guards that had led them in retreated several paces while the guards that'd been present in the hall already, some ten men, braced their long polearms forward—ready to bring them down.

They have no right to live here. Fire burned hotter inside Elanor, and it boiled down her arm to her fingers. Draw, the fire told her. Fighting for breath, she curled her fingers around the handle of her revolver. Elanor felt the heat of the weapon sear itself in her hand. The gun burned with the heat of midday in a desert combined with the will of a city.

She thumbed the hammer back, which advanced the cylinder to the first penetrator round. One of the guards was moving, his polearm coming toward Harrow who was moving already to counter it. The thud of the explosive rune triggered by the hammer's impact sent the adamantine round at the armored guardsman's head. Barely acknowledging the hole appearing in the helmet's brow, she brought the hammer back and lined up on the next guard moving toward them.

Richard's finger was frozen on the trigger of his pistol and the gun dipped. The gun was too heavy to raise his weapon all the way now and it felt like the walls of the room were pressing around him. The sound of Elanor's revolver discharging again and again thudded like a giant heartbeat, counting out all ten of his personal guards in the room before finally lining up on him.

With her eyes moving among the guards, Elanor had seen a burning outline of where each held a talisman. She had aimed true to kill each of them and leave those holy marks intact. With Richard, though, she could see that he had two. One talisman was at his right hip and the other was on the right side of his chest. Elanor neither understood how she had fired ten rounds from her six-shooter, nor how she knew that the next shot would be an explosive one. Sighting at the point directly between the two talismans, she cocked back the hammer—and paused. Something needed to happen first.

"For the crime of participating in a conspiracy against the rightful ruler of Far Reach that resulted in their death, I find you guilty." Stewart spoke the words, urged by the city itself to decide justice here and now. "For the crime of raising a weapon against the Crown Prince, I find you guilty. For acting in open rebellion against the rightful representative of the King, I find you guilty. The sentence is death without resurrection."

It wasn't forcing her, it wasn't compelling her, but Elanor felt the city set her a task. Save Me, is how it felt to her. "Sandwalker, guide my hand true, and burn me if I stray." She squeezed the trigger, still aimed at that spot that would ensure, she knew, that the explosive would ruin both talismans.

The low note of the revolver discharging was followed immediately by a crack as the charge detonated. Stewart was seeing first hand the immediate result of Elanor's gun. The former baron was now in two parts. Any question as to him being dead was answered by the amount of blood that was on every surface within several feet of the body—a body that wasn't being spirited away by a talisman. "Thank you, Lady Elanor, for performing this service for the kingdom."

The growl of the two wolves at Stewart's sides was like a warm blanket. Now that the shooting had stopped, their deep voices—promising death to anyone who approached him—seemed to echo all around.

When Stewart looked at Elanor, though, he gasped aloud. Her right arm burned with the fire of a city's wrath while her eyes glowed with a gold light that spoke to him of divine support. Dipping his head for a moment of quiet, he heard a squeal from near the former baron.

Jace was on his knees. He should have been the city's avatar, but not once in all his time as captain of the guard did he ever feel the hand of the city lifting him up. Seeing its chosen now, and the devastation she had wrought in the Prince's name, terrified him.

"Jace Westerfield," Stewart said, "do you have anything to say in your defense before I read out your charges?"

The effect of those words acted like a strong breeze in Jace's head. His panic blew away like cobwebs and he was filled with the certainty that he'd be judged a co-conspirator. Remembering the sound of Elanor's gun—that terrifyingly final double explosion—he knew his life was measured in seconds now.

Harrow's gaze was fixed mostly on Jace's right arm, watching for it to move to sword or gun. Unlike Elanor, who was likewise watching it, he also kept the man's left arm in his periphery. That's why he was moving before anyone else in response to the twitch of motion as Jace reached for and drew his pistol.

Unable to get his own pistol up and aimed before Jace already has his own raised, Harrow knew this was going to be a bad trade. He had no idea who Jace was trying to shoot yet, but nonetheless only had one target himself.

The two guns went off almost simultaneously. Harrow's shot caught Jace in the wrist as his own finger was squeezing the trigger. With Jace having lined up on Elanor, the impact threw his hand to the side as he fired and instead of hitting the woman in the head, it instead caught Stewart in the neck.

The city, Sandwalker, and Elanor herself were furious. Flames licked up around the woman and the radiant heat scorched the rug on which she stood. Her gun aimed, she fired again and again, the first explosive round denting Jace's armor, the second, blowing a hole into it, the third went off inside his armor and ruined the talismans he wore, the fourth split the casing of his breastplate. The following five resulted in a crater and mess that would take an exorcist to identify as the former noble.

"Elanor!" Harrow shouted, not for the first time and also not for the last. "Elanor! Heal the Prince!"

With her narrowed vision now spreading wide, Elanor saw the Prince on the floor with blood pooling around him. Harrow was there beside him, holding onto Stewart's neck and applying pressure—only slowing the inevitable.

She fell to her knees, the fire still pouring heat off her, and despite the smell of burning blood and cloth, she reached out to Stewart. "Please, let me save him," she said, touching the man and feeling an answering fire within him.

"Yes." The word was spoken by the wind blowing past buildings, through carelessly open doorways, and even the whistle of the train as the driver tried to maintain the boiler's pressure. The stone walls of Far Reach shook and, in answer, the walls of every city in a wave outward answered. Not a crenelation in the whole kingdom was still as everywhere that word echoed in every voice of the land itself. As their future king lay dying, having worked to protect one of their number, the combined weight of every conscious city in The Trade Kingdom denied the need for talismans.

Swaying, pinned in place by the force of magic rushing through her, Elanor cradled Stewart's soul, rebuilt his body, and eased both together once more. The hurricane of magic stopped, its task done, leaving Elanor with only Far Reach and Sandwalker supporting her, and though they were both near and strong, she felt like a wrung-out rag; and promptly fell over.

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