It had been three years since Threadbare had seen the campfires of battle lines in the night. It was as unwelcome a sight now, as it had been back then.
Especially since these battle lines were in his homeland, only a few miles away from his house.. That tended to put a damper on one's enthusiasm for war.
But this time it didn't.
Threadbare saw the fires, knew what they meant, knew what was to come, and for the first time in his existence, he found that he welcomed it.
Somewhere down there were people who had manipulated him, used his creations to kill innocents, dragged his home into yet another war, and worst of all, put his little girl into harm's way.
“Sir?” came a small voice from behind him. “Captain says we'll be landing soon.”
Threadbare turned on the railing, looked down at the plush fox standing on the deck. His name was Renny, and he was hugging his tail to him, looking up at him with glass eyes.
There was a hint of worry in there. Deep concern, Threadbare thought.
PER+1
“Thank you, Renny. Does anyone need anything from me?”
“Well...” the fox shuffled, looked down at his tail, let it go to wag behind him. “Celia thought you should probably come inside. So no spies see you arrive.”
“Spies. Yes. They'll probably have those, won't they?” Threadbare nodded, and clambered down from the railing. Renny moved to help him down, but he shook his head and hopped the last few feet. “Go tell her I'll be in shortly, please.”
“Yes sir!”
Threadbare watched him go, watched him hesitate and turn back to look at him, glass eyes glinting golden in the dim light of the ships' lanterns. For a moment it looked like the fox golem would return, perhaps with something more to say. But the moment passed, and he headed back to the stairs and down into the depths of the airship.
Threadbare didn't go back inside. Threadbare moved up to the wheelhouse of the ship, hopping up the stairs one by one with the practiced ease of a foot-tall teddy bear in a world that had always been made for bigger people. There were three figures up there, a robed and veiled rabbitkin at the wheel, and a dog-woman and piratey-looking doll over by the railing, heads lowered, and muttering.
“They're talking with your country's Scouts, so best to keep your voice low,” the man at the wheel advised. This was Stormanorm III, and he was the acting captain of the ship. “Giving signs and counter-signs and whatnots. Karey's filling your friend in on any questions she might have of us.”
“That makes sense,” Threadbare said. Though he hadn't thought about it, it probably wasn't a good idea to just sneak up on an army during the middle of the night without announcing yourself. But you didn't want to announce things too loudly, just in case the bad guys wanted to send a few shots your way.
Still, they'd been up here a while. “How much longer do you think we'll be?”
Stormanorm shot a look back at the two muttering figures. The doll, Harey Karey, raised her head and peered back with her single glass eye. “Shouldn't be too long. They're a gettin' someone called Garon over ta make sure we ain't a trick.”
“Oh, he'll be there? Good,” Threadbare said. “He can help us figure out who we need to kill.”
Karey went still. Stormanorm coughed. Cagna hesitated, staring at him with her mouth open, before she shook herself and put a hand to her ear, and resumed muttering.
“Is something wrong?” Threadbare asked.
“No,” Stormanorm said, staring down at him. “It's just that that's the most matter-of-fact and casual I've ever heard someone talk about killing their enemies. I'm used to people bragging and blustering about it, that's the usual pirate way. Hearing that, in that tone, in that way, and hearing it from you...”
“My apologies,” said Threadbare. “It bothers Celia, but I didn't know it bothered you, as well.. I'll just be more careful with my words in general.”
And then he turned and marched towards the stairs, before his mouth got him into any more trouble.
But not fast enough to escape Karey's muttered words. “Mark me, that bear's an overcharged cannon. He's gonna go off and it ain't gonna be pretty...”
Threadbare turned her words over in his mind, found them of little concern as he went. She wasn't exactly a friend, more of an ally. Her worries could be safely disregarded.
His friends, though... His friends had been acting just as funny, these last few days. And that was a little more worrisome.
To settle his mind, he went to the lowest deck first, and walked through the engine room. He'd learned to be a Tinker, here, grinding out levels in the job as the engines literally ground gears. Learning the skills to deal with this had been one part necessity, one part desperation, and one part satisfaction that the empty job slot he'd hung onto for years despite the occasional temptation was finally paying off.
It was simpler here. The engines worked or they didn't, and the only task he'd had to worry about was repairing them or improving them. They didn't fuss, they didn't fight, they didn't try to kill his friends, or take away his home, or pretend to surrender then take it back and start fighting again.
They just WERE.
He lingered as long as he could, steeling himself.
Then he went up to see his friends.
They were talking things over in the cargo hold, and he heard them long before he saw them.
“...don't think we have to worry about the north. Jericho and his people have no time for this sort of nonsense, desu,” said Kayin.
“But I don't know if they'll get involved, either,” squeaked Fluffbear. “They don't have a lot of people. And most of them are human, so I don't know if some of them agree with the revolution folks.”
“Revolutionaries,” Thomasi said. “Or insurrectionists, depending on where you stand.”
“Traitors,” said Celia, and that word was filled with enough pain to make Threadbare hesitate. “We had things working,” she continued. “We were rebuilding. Things were BETTER. Then they went and did this.”
Silence for a moment, and Threadbare shook his head, and gathered his courage.
It seemed wrong, somehow. To feel like he had to prepare himself before he could talk with his friends. Friends were who you were supposed to be able to go to and relax, to give comfort to and take comfort from in a world that did its best to make one very uncomfortable at times.
But these last few nights, everyone had been on edge. And he couldn't help but wonder if he were the cause, somehow.
Knowing that it wouldn't get any easier, he moved through the crates to the center of the hold, tapping his rod on the ground as he went to let them know he was coming.
The circle quieted as he got there. Glub and Renny glanced at each other and shifted over, and Threadbare nodded before hopping up to take a seat on a crate between them.
“Once Garon arrives we will be landing,” he said into the quiet. “Do we have anything else to do before that?”
He looked to Glub. The wooden fishman shook his head. “Nah, dude. We get the sitch from Garon, then we figure out what we need to do. That's what I figure.”
Zuula was next, a literal doll of a half-orc, and she merely stared at him, golden eyes gleaming in the glowstone light.
Shifting his gaze, he looked to Kayin. The small plush catgirl was sitting on the mountainous bulk of the Muscle Wizaard's shoulder. She shared a look with the bespectacled Wrestler, before the both of them shook their heads. “Nothing here,” said the Wizaard. “Just waitin' for the show to start!”
Celia was next, but he couldn't bear to meet her eyes, not yet. So he glanced over to Renny. The fox toy was pacing on his hind legs, tail lashing. “I'm sorry,” he said, stopping. “It just feels... tense. And I'm not sure why.”
“Probably because it's an internal revolt,” Thomasi said, the tall man reaching down to scritch Renny between the ears. The fox golem leaned into the scritch, as the human continued. “Those are always more complicated than an attack from outside your borders.”
“It's a little mah pahsanal this way,” said the looming wooden dragon, as Madeline weighed in. “We did ah best to save them all from the daemon king, and now theah pretending that times were bettah undah the daemon king. It hahts.”
“It does,” Celia said, and Threadbare met her eyes for the first time. Haunted, weary, and troubled, and he was pretty sure that whatever she saw in his own was either a mirror or close enough to one. She broke the gaze first, and Threadbare looked at the deck. The group fell silent once more.
The engines of the airship hummed, as their sound dampeners started to wear off. It had gotten them to friendly lines, but the spell effect was finite. Now it would take a day to recharge, before they could be used again.
The low droning gave Threadbare a boost of confidence. He had rebuilt these engines, had repaired them, and he'd done this mostly by himself, albeit with some help from the pirates when it came to acquiring new parts. They were aloft because he'd succeeded, airborne because he had done his work well.
“We can do this,” he looked up, and told Celia. “We're going to win here. Now let's pack up all our things, and get ready to leave this ship and fix things at home. And this time it'll be better. This is the last time we'll have to worry about sneaky conspiracies hurting our home.”
Threadbare spoke from the heart.
And he really hoped that what he was saying was true.
It only took a little while longer, before the Scouts finished their whispering, and the Cotton Tale was cleared to land. They settled into the scraggly patch of wilderness next to a farmer's field, the winds of the engines ruffling the grain, and dogs barking from the barn at the large intruding shape.
Smaller shapes faded out of the grain, slinking through it and waving open hands. Threadbare watched them all come...
...and so did Madeline, who grinned with wooden jaws and took off flapping. “Oi! Garon!”
“Supposed to be a stealthy meet— whoop!” Complained Garon, before Madeline bowled the minotaur-shaped armor over, and hugged him for all he was worth.
“Beh. Theah's nobahdy around ain't one of ya team. Deal... husband.” Purred the dragon, swiping a cloth tongue along his helmet a few times before deigning to let him up.
“Would you two like to get a room?” Celia asked sharply, making her way down a rope ladder.
“Well we do own that farmhouse now. And the rest of the farm,” Garon said, sitting up as Madeline deigned to let him stand. “So I've got plenty of rooms if you want us to go to... ah, right. Got it. Sorry, I'm in Guildmaster mode. Everything's literal to me right now. Also come here, come here...” he knelt and offered a huge, sweeping hug.
Celia hesitated, and Threadbare's paws tightened on the ship railing.
Then she ran to Garon, and wrapped her arms around one of his huge metal biceps, as Garon held her tight.
Threadbare's paws unclenched from the railing. Then he hopped over, hitting the soft ground with no particular ill effect. He was light, and his armor more than covered the minor damage he would have taken. The rest of his friends followed, and in short order they were walking through the fields.
“Dese plants been fast-grown,” Zuula said, pushing over a stalk and examining the ripened wheat. “Not good for de soil dis early.”
“Yeah, but it lets us save some of the harvest,” Garon said. “We promised the farmers we'd salvage what we could. So we need to get it in before the army moves through here.”
“Ours or theirs?” Kayin asked.
“About that... let's talk inside.”
Once inside, once clustered around the round table that filled most of the front room of the oil-lamp lit old structure, Garon spread his hands and addressed the group. “So... they don't actually have an army.”
Silence for a bit. “Excuse me?” Celia finally spoke.
“They uh... well, it looks like they were expecting the entirety of the country to rise up and join their cause. Without a battle.”
“They wouldn't be the first revolutionaries to make that miscalculation,” Thomasi drawled, easing his lanky form into an old rocking chair.
“Nobody did?” Threadbare asked.
“No, no, we've gotten reports from the Capital that they had a few dozen people sign up to their, uh... royal guard. But I'm pretty sure they were expecting more. We figure that in a day or two the guy who's calling himself the King is going to try to conscript people.”
“Who's calling himself King, anyway?” Celia asked.
“They say his name is Rex Mundi. Supposed to be a bastard of the old king that your father usurped.”
“I'm pretty shah that's a lie,” Madeline said. “Frahm what I remembah about the old king, he was devoted to his wahf.”
“And father would have made sure that no challengers survived. He was ruthless that way,” Celia said, rubbing her temples. Porcelain clicked on porcelain, and she shook her head, hair bouncing and flouncing. “Well the legitimacy doesn't really matter. Especially if the nation isn't rallying around him.”
“Well... it wasn't so cut and dry at first,” Garon said. “A group of farmers and merchants from Easterlynn sent wagons full of food and supplies to the capital.”
“You stopped them, of course,” Cagna said.
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“You're not from around here, are you?” Garon looked her over. “We don't starve people to death. That's something the mad king did, and we are very much not looking to follow in his footsteps. We did check the wagons for weapons, mind you, we're not stupid. And we did ask that they give the food to everyone there who needed to eat, not just the occupiers. I think they expected us to come down heavy-handed... no, it wouldn't have been good if we had. But the other reason was that the God Squad told us the best thing to do was stand back.”
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“I thought the point of God Squad was that God Squad didn't give the orders, just advised?” Fluffbear squeaked.
“Yeah. And after running it through Chase and thinking it over, we agreed with their decision,” Garon said. “And it was the right one.”
“That's only fair,” Threadbare said, after mulling the situation over. “Everyone at the Capital who's breathing needs food to eat. They shouldn't be punished because of what the revolutionaries did.”
Garon nodded, but waved a gauntlet. “Well that was the initial reason, but it actually worked out in our favor.”
“How so?”
“It turns out that the revolutionaries don't like paying for things. Instead of buying the food they seized it. And the wagons. And a few of the farmers' kids that had come along on the trip.”
“What?” Celia burst out. “Are they insane?”
“Maybe. Before they did this, Easterlynn was having town meetings to figure out if they wanted to declare for the new king. Now all the meetings are about how to help out a bunch of suddenly-bankrupted merchants and farmers without raising taxes or accepting blame for their own actions.”
“For that part of the world that's progress,” Celia said. “No, forget I said that. I don't want somebody telling them that or they'll go back to team evil just to be contrary.”
“You're being kind of mean, desu,” Kayin said.
“Yeah, no, I spent a ton of time trying to govern this place. Farmers have huge chips on their shoulders and make it their life missions to screw over anyone who doesn't live on a farm.”
“Quite a lot of Cylvania does live on farms,” Threadbare said. “But I don't think they're going to be too happy about how the Easterlynn folks were treated.”
“Oh, they're not,” Garon couldn't smile, not with his helmet being the way it was, but he folded his arms smugly. “We've been making sure the story goes out far and wide... and fast. That's the advantage we've got. Between my Guildmaster skills and all the Scouts on our side, we've been able to keep all the settlements updated as things happen.”
“It's a desperation move,” Thomasi said, pouring himself a cup of wine.
“Where did you get that bottle? And we're not that desperate.”
“No. Not you. Them. Seizing food and hostages... at least I'm assuming they're hostages?”
“We're not sure. The criers they hired in the other settlements called them new recruits to the revolution. But their parents say they were seized.”
“Mm. The point being, it shows a fundamental lack of confidence. People who are winning, or think they have a fair shot at winning, they don't do such things. No, if I had to venture a guess, this either went farther than anyone intended to take it, or someone up the chain lost their nerve. You say they've got town criers spreading their own version of the truth?”
“Not so much recently,” Garon said. “We've been arresting people who spread lies.”
“Now we're getting somewhere!” Cagna said. “What do the interrogators turn up from them?”
“Nothing. They don't know anything.” Garon shrugged. “They were hired to pass on information, and didn't know usually know it was untrue. The ones that did know it was lies, don't get to practice their Herald jobs anymore.”
“So what exactly are they doing now, exactly?”
“For the most part? Sitting in the Capital and yelling about how everyone else needs to rise up against the golem menace.” Garon shrugged. “And the monster menace. And the undead menace.”
“The monster menace?” asked Jean.
Garon paused to look at the rabbit beastkin. “What exactly is our status here? With the Belltollians, I mean?”
“We're probably at war with Belltollia, but Jean is on our side. And the few pirates that are left,” Celia summed up, then hesitated. “Actually, let me explain that a bit...”
As they spoke and sorted out other small details, Threadbare hunted around the table until he found a scrap of paper about his size. Then it was a little more work to dig a charred twig from the fire.
“Sir? What are you doing?” Renny asked, after he had gathered the materials.
He looked up to find the rest of the room staring at him. “Just getting ready to make a list of people we need to kill,” he said, and hopped up on the table. “I believe you said the fake king's name is Rex Mundi?”
Garon turned his glowing green eyes to him. “I did. But I'm not certain he needs to die.”
“I think I am,” Threadbare said, writing the name carefully onto the list. “Who else?”
Garon kept staring. “Threadbare, are you feeling okay?”
“I think I am,” Threadbare said again, meeting those green glowing eyes with his own unblinking black buttons. “Who else, Garon?”
He was sure that Garon didn't miss the various looks and shifts in expression among his friends at the table. But he put it from his mind, and tapped the stick against the parchment. “I need to know. Please.”
“I'll tell you the score,” Garon said, and he folded his arms, this time without smugness. “But accept that I want trials. I want justice here, buddy. Because we sure as hell didn't have that back in Melos' day, and we need to move past that if we want any kind of happy ending.”
“We had one. And they took it away,” Threadbare said. “The names, Garon. Please.”
“He's right, Threadbare,” Celia laid his hand on her arm. “We're trying to make something better here.”
Years ago that would have been it. He would have done what made his little girl happy, and continued on with his existence blindly and without hesitation.
But Celia hadn't been herself lately. She'd been unhappy and stressed and worrisome, even before this last month of upsets and turnovers had happened.
She hadn't seen things from the perspective he had. And while she wasn't wrong, he was no longer certain she was right.
If she couldn't even figure out how to be happy for herself, then how could she find the right way to a happy ending for everyone?
So he told the truth, but not perhaps every part of it.
“'We are trying to make something better here,” he said, taking her hand in his paw and squeezing. “I want to see trials as well. And I won't do anything bad. But I do want to know who we're going to be up against.”
Celia looked to him, then nodded.
“All right,” Garon said. “We don't know everyone who's involved in this mess. But aside from the guy calling himself the new king, there's a few names we've managed to turn up. Chase did her job well, when she was working undercover. There are three we need to capture or... take out of the equation, if we want to start fixing this mess.”
“Please tell me one of them's Lady Easterlynn-Proudsmythe?”
“No,” Garon said. “From what our agents tell us, she's under house arrest. She's been addressing the city and supporting the king, but it's a front. Apparently she's not happy about what happened.”
“That's... a surprise,” Celia said, blinking a few times.
“It's probably self-preservation,” Garon said. “Their mob killed poor Pleezetwomeetchu, and Longcroak barely escaped with his life. If we hadn't had a full moat, that would have been it for the poor guy.”
“What about the dwarven Councilors?” Fluffbear squeaked. “I really like them!”
“They helped Graves escape, then got clear themselves. Never fuck with dwarves underground, they always have a hidden passage or two for times like this,” Garon tilted his head in the way that meant he was grinning.
“Not Pleezetwomeetchu... he was harmless.” Celia rubbed her face. “Damn them.”
“Garon,” Threadbare said, and something in his tone quieted the room again. “The names.”
Garon nodded, slowly. “Baron Clarence Ruddimore. Lady Wendolyn Marks-Runcible. And Daffodil Copperfield.”
Threadbare was focused on Garon, but his ears were keen, and he heard a rustle of cloth, and a hitch of breath next to him. He wrote the names down carefully, then glanced left. Left to Thomasi.
The man's face was composed, his gloved hands were folded in front of him, but a wine stain was slowly spreading through their white fabric. He'd reacted, and spilled his drink. Just a bit.
Threadbare filed that away for later, as a question struck his mind. “Daffodil. I know him. Isn't he dead?”
“Evidently he faked his death. Graves is pretty sure he's behind that mess at the Rumpus Room. And quite a lot of mischief besides. Chase is pretty sure we need him alive, if we want to untangle this mess... oh, and there's more. He's working for Belltollia.”
“What?” gasped Jean. “No, that is impossible.”
“He let it slip when he was trying to murder Graves,” Garon said. “Chase says he wasn't lying.”
Threadbare thought back. “That happened the night we went for the Phantom. Did it happen after he declared war on us?”
Garon checked around the table, then shook his head. “Before. An hour or two, if the schedules line up the way I think they do.”
“So he didn't decide to do it after he thought we started killing his people. He set that in motion before things happened.”
“Looks that way.” Garon shook his head. “But something doesn't add up. That mercury golem you told me about... Graves thinks that Daffodil was the one who took it, so maybe he did that, too?”
“Except he wasn't in Belltollia at the time,” Celia said. “So unless there were waystone shenanigans, he had help. Or he was working with someone.”
“We need him alive,” Cagna growled. “My gut tells me this is someone we need to sniff.”
“No, we don't,” Threadbare said.
Silence again.
“I can speak with the dead,” he said simply. “But yes, it would be more effective if he were living, at least until we have the answers we need.”
More silence, until finally, Garon shook his head. “Threadbare, what happened up there?”
“I'm not sure what you mean.”
“Did the pirates rub off on you?”
“Maybe a little. But it's more than that,” Threadbare said, taking off his hat and putting it on the table. “But none of that matters right now. Right now we are deciding what to do, and how to go about it. So let's finish that.”
“About Daffodil,” Thomasi said, “you will probably have to capture him alive. And keep him that way if you want any answers.”
“Thomasi...” Cagna shot him a look.
“No. No, these are good people. And we've caused enough chaos.” The human sighed, and took off his own hat. “Cards on the table. Or hats, as it were.” And he put his own Ringmaster's hat next to Threadbare's tiny one. “What do you know of players?”
“Actors?” Celia asked, and turned to look at Jean.
“No. To make a long story short, players are humans from another world who inhabit created bodies here in this world. We used to have a lot of power, but it's faded. One of the powers that remains is, quite simply, the ability to return from the dead.”
“I've never heard anything about this,” Garon said, giving the showman a hard eye. “You?”
“It's true,” the Muscle Wizaard spoke up for the first time. “They can do this. Until they run out of tokens.”
“Tokens?”
“That's part of the longer story. But the simple fact of it is that Daffodil Copperfield is a player. I remember that name, I remember a conversation with him, back before things got weird. And if you kill him, he can come back to life a world away, far out of your reach.”
“Probably,” Renny said.
“Well, yes, probably.”
“I've seen this,” Threadbare said, slowly.
“You have?” Glub sat up.
“Midian showed me a vision of the past. And at one point there were a lot of very bad adventurers trying to raid a ground bee colony. The thing that was strange was that they came back after they died. And not as undead.”
“Oh was that what you saw?” Renny's ears perked up.
“Midian is another player,” Thomasi confirmed. “And I need to speak with her. Badly. Before I was captured, the group I was working with was certain she was involved with... an event that trapped us here.”
“The Oblivion?” Garon asked.
“I'm not sure,” Thomasi said, tugging at his goatee. “The timing is too close to be a coincidence, but... we wanted to research that, when we got here. Try to find a correlation. But then we got caught up in all... this.” Thomasi waved a gloved hand.
“Graves is probably going to have a lot of questions for you,” Garon concluded. “So I hope you're being honest.”
“I am,” Thomasi nodded. “And from what I've heard about him, I'll welcome the questioning. You understand there are things I'd rather not go into?”
“I do, and frankly we don't have time,” Garon said, tapping his armored finger on the table. “The army's on the march from the southwest, under General Lidus. They'll be at the city gates in three days or so, assuming there are no surprises along the roads. Councilor Jericho has rallied the rangers, and they're going to shadow the army once they get near Balmoran's borders.”
“The army's... two thousand, give or take?” Celia looked to Garon.
“Give or take. The revolutionaries have about ten percent of those numbers, which concerns me.”
“That sounds like a good thing, man,” Glub croaked. “For once we ain't outnumbered.”
“Yeah. Thing is, I don't know what they're going to do. This is bad enough that there's no way they can win conventionally. So they're either going to be desperate and stupid, or desperate and smart. Either way we're dealing with desperate people, and that's bad for everyone concerned.”
“That bothers me, desu. They're the underdog,” Kayin said.
“Excuse me?” Cagna said, shooting her a glare.
“No no, like they're hugely outnumbered. There's no way they can win. They're gonna get stomped by a vastly superior force. What does that remind you of?”
“Harsh reality?” Garon asked.
“No, no, in the stories, who's always outnumbered, but wins anyway?”
“The good guys,” Celia said. “But they're definitely not.”
“They think they are,” Threadbare said. “Humans do that, I've noticed. They want to win, and always be the good guy. Even when they're doing bad things to win.”
The shaman in the corner spoke for the first time. “You not wrong. But Zuula, she tinkin' dey not good guys. Dey just being stupid. Maybe not all, but enough dat dis get messy.”
“I'm surprised you're not cheering this and ready to lop off heads left and right, Mom,” Garon told her.
“No. Dreadbear had de right of it days back. Someone be playing let's you and him fight. So if dis get too messy, ain't gonna be good. Need to put de mess at de right doorstep before we make de mess.”
“We've got three days to figure it out, then,” Celia said grimly. “Let's talk about what other assets we can bring to bear, here.”
“Before we do, are Chase and Greta okay?” Renny asked.
“Oh yeah,” Garon said. “They're set up in the tents down the road. Since we had to scatter God Squad out to the various RAG detachments, she's got a few new recruits and is keeping an eye on divine developments for us.”
“I think I need to speak with her,” Threadbare said. This was one of the steps he'd decided on, before he could bring the rest of his plan into action. “Can you spare me, Celia?”
His little girl looked at him, confused. “Are you sure you don't want to hear about logistics? Or know what we can do before the army gets here?”
“You have far more experience than I do with armies,” he told her, hopping to the table and walking over to give her a hug. “And I trust you to catch me up or tell me what I need to be doing after I come back.”
“Then sure, we can spare you.” She hugged him back, larger arms folding around his squishy, fuzzy frame. “Leave the numbers to me. I've got this part.”
She did, he knew. If there was one good thing that had come from this past week, it was how she'd been shocked out of the dark place her mind was pulling her into. At least for a little while.
And as he found his way out of the farmhouse and headed out into the night, he knew that wouldn't last. Celia was still in a dangerous place. If they lost here, if the revolutionaries somehow had some trick they could bring to bear to pull a victory out of nowhere, then she might die, or slip back into the darkness. If they won here, but the sacrifice required was too great, then the result would be the same.
No. This problem needed solving quickly, simply, and with a minimum of fuss. And Threadbare thought he knew how to do it. But he wanted to make sure.
Once he got to the tents, and got a few surprised and happy greetings from the adventurers who were camping in them, a few inquiries got him pointed in the right direction. The Berrymore sisters' tent was away from the others, set up in an apple orchard, with green, half-formed fruit dangling over the small but wide pavilion where about a dozen halvens, humans, and golems spoke and prayed and checked cards against other cards.
Greta was the first to come out and meet him. Renny had told Threadbare about Chase's older sister, who had journeyed so far just to try and keep her family member alive. The blonde, somewhat heavy young woman looked nervous as she peered down at him. “She said you'd be coming.”
“I'd be surprised if she didn't know I was.” Threadbare looked around, as a few of the other Oracles and Clerics left off their tasks to come over and see the new arrival. Some he recognized. “Oh, hello Bessy!” he stopped to give a small stuffed cow a hug. “You're holy now, just like you wanted to be. I'm very proud!”
“The spirits moo-ved me.” The plush toy said with a mischievous grin. “And I've learned ever so much from Miss Chase.”
“That's what I'm here to do, too. I'm sorry, otherwise I'd catch up and talk with you more.”
“It's all right. Greta, you've got him?”
“Ya,” the halven grunted, then waved a hand. “Come on.”
On the way, Greta glanced back at him a few times.
“Hello?” he offered.
“Renny spent a lot of time talking about you on this trip,” the stout halven said.
“He spent a lot of time on our trip back telling me about you and your sister. You're very brave,” Threadbare said.
“I don't feel brave. I feel worried.” her lips twisted, and she slowed down. “Like I'm struggling to keep in place. To keep US in place. And Chase is going off and... I don't know. I don't know why I'm telling you this.”
Threadbare knew what to do. He stepped up and hugged her legs, and after a second of stiffening in shock, she reached down to gather him into her arms.
“Thank you,” she said, after a moment. “I think I needed that.”
“Everyone does at some point. Repeatedly,” Threadbare said, his voice a bit muffled, squished against her chest. “I can't promise much, but I'll try to end this current mess quickly so you can get some peace of mind.”
“It's not me that I'm worried about,” Greta said, her voice hitching. “My sister... I don't know. She's... she hasn't been the same since that mess in the castle.”
“Hard times can change people. And it hurts to see it, hurts even more when you can't help,” Threadbare said, squiriming to stare up at her. She was starting to cry, and he reached up to touch her face, let his fur soak up her tears. “You have to love her, and do what you can to help her, and hope that she works through the changes. That's what I've learned.”
More tears came, and Threadbare felt his paw getting quite soggy. But he didn't mind.
“Thank you. Renny was right about you,” she whispered, before setting him down. “Come on. Maybe she'll snap out of it when she sees you.”
Threadbare said nothing more, and after putting him down she led him to the tent furthest back. A black-haired halven sat at a table, flipping cards down rythmically, five cards in a pattern, over and over again, asking a question, then clearing, shuffling, and playing five more. To either side, lit by glowstones, a human woman with glasses and a small goat toy took copious notes. They probably had Scribe or Secretary jobs, Threadbare judged.
“He's here,” the halven said. This was Chase, had to be, Threadbare knew. She finished her latest spread, and shuffled, shuffling as she glanced left and right. “Please leave us.”
Greta moved to sit down, as the two transcribers left, but Chase shook her head. “You too, Greta. This is private, sorry.”
Greta's face fell, but she left without a word. Chase watched her go, and Threadbare looked for regret in her eyes. He couldn't find any.
“She worries about you,” he said, taking a seat.
“She shouldn't,” Chase said, pausing her shuffle. “For once, I'm exactly where I need to be, and I know exactly what I have to do.”
“That makes one of us,” Threadbare said, taking off his hat and considering it for a moment, before putting it to the side. “I think I know. But I'm not certain. And I don't want to start this until I am certain.”
Chase nodded. “The answer is yes,” she said simply.
“That's it?”
“It's that simple.”
“I haven't told you my decision.”
“You don't need to,” Chase said. “I checked it three days ago. The course you have decided on is the right one. You'll leave here and set out on it, and achieve your goals.”
Threadbare looked down.
He had come with questions, but this answered everything, more or less.
“Well then, I'd best get on with it,” he said, setting the hat aside. Then he laid his rod next to it, and shrugged out of his clothing. “Please get this to Celia, will you? After I'm gone.”
Chase studied him, and her eyes softened. “I wish we could have met under better circumstances. You're a good bear.”
“And you're a good sister. Please take care of yours, she worries about you.” He opened his tiny pack and started taking out tools, tinkering tools he'd made himself, mostly. But then he came to an object he didn't recognize, until he held it up into the light. The Scalesmasher, a hammer made to hurt dragons. It had been a gift from the pirates, a few weeks ago. Thinking about it, he decided it wouldn't hurt his plan. He took a string and looped it around his neck, then tied the tiny hammer to it.
Much, much later, he would look back on this simple act and be very relieved that he had done this.
When he looked back up at Chase she was staring off into the distance. The cards slipped, one by one, drifting down like leaves to fall on the table.
He picked one up. It showed a skull with the number thirteen engraved on its forehead. Below it were words in bold.
RESPAWN: Y/N?
“Death,” Chase whispered, still staring at nothing. “But not for you.”
“We will see,” Threadbare said. And then he whispered “Camouflage,” and walked out into the night.