Three days passed before Nessa returned.

Sam would arrive at dawn for their morning run, and then the day would proceed apace, with Harald and her falling into their old routine. Vic was often on hand to harangue them and oversee sword lessons, but for the most part it was a meditative time, with Harald losing himself in carrying the corpse bag across the gym floor or working on the different solo drills that Nessa had been teaching them before their last dungeon run.

Kársek spent his days happily demolishing the jungle out back; whenever he appeared it was with twigs in his hair, dirt smudged on his nose, and a gleaming twinkle of satisfaction in his green eyes. He used Vein Whispering to great effect, pushing the worst roots and tangles right out of the ground, or literally exploding intractable problems. In three days, he achieved a remarkable amount of work, though half of the first was spent just on restoring the tools.

Vic was unable to locate Nessa, despite picking up on rumors and sightings of her activities; she’d gone to ground, and he gave up after his first night of fruitless searching.

A second letter arrived from Lord Jin of House Silvershield, inviting Harald to dine with him at his manor, but Harald simply didn’t feel up to it. The mere prospect of dining with another charming manipulator was simply too much, so he asked Vic to pen whatever passed for a postponement and forgot about the matter.

This downtime proved to be salutary; Harald only realized now how deeply he’d drunken of his reserves on the day he’d done three dungeon runs and dined at House Celestara; Shadow Fortitude had allowed him to accomplish far more than he should have been able to, but at a cost; it took him days to feel renewed, and though he was able to keep up with the training, he found it hard to attack the trials and challenges as he’d once done.

He went to bed at sunset and slept dreamlessly each night till Sixth Bell.

No word came from Vorakhar. House Thornvale didn’t press its threat. Vic assured him that House Celestara was actively awaiting his response but would give him time to consider. No doubt Lady Hammerfell was also hoping to hear from him, as was Anita Lothheed of House Emberfell, but for three blissful days, Harald was able to forget about the wider world and focus exclusively on training and recuperating.

Then, without warning, Nessa strode into the kitchen late one morning, hair still wet from bathing, clad in practical training gear and with a light pack slung over one shoulder. Her blade hung at her hip, her face was clear of all make-up, so that the twin scars on her left cheek showed, and her manner was alert. There was no disguising the dark circles under her eyes, however, or the lusterless manner her black hair hung down over one shoulder.

“Have we a new gardener?” she asked, interrupting the conversation as she set her pack down by the archway.

Kársek rose to his feet to bow, even as Vic smiled lazily in relief.

“This is a new friend,” said Harald, studying her for signs of sickness and nausea. “Kársek, meet Evernessa, our Delve Captain.”

The dwarf set aside the gardening gloves he’d been repairing and bowed.

“Nessa, it’s so good to see you,” drawled Vic. “And in one piece. I was growing worried.”

“You should know better.” She moved to the stove to serve herself coffee, never once making eye contact with Harald. “Hello Kársek. Welcome to our merry circus.”

“It is an honor, Lady Evernessa.”

“Please, Nessa will do. And how did you get roped in to all this foolishness?”

Harald recounted the story. Nessa leaned against the far wall, and only occasionally glanced at him, expression stony.

“A Stone Shaper?” She considered the dwarf in new light. “But only Level 1?”

“I’m all for it,” said Vic. “He can carry my gear, and I love the idea of his opening walls where there were none before.”

“I’m for it,” agreed Sam, who’d been watching Nessa suspiciously. “I understand the desire the clear yourself of all debts.”

“Agreed,” said Harald. “I think our crew would be the better for his help.”

“Sure.” Nessa sipped her coffee, then shrugged one shoulder. “Whatever. I don’t care.”

Kársek frowned and glanced uncertainly at Harald.

“Good.” He chose not to press the matter. “Vic was suggesting we try the 13th Level.”

“The goblins?” She seemed momentarily surprised, but then shrugged again. “Fine.”

“Nessa, darling,” protested Vic. “Did you come back a day too soon? The children were growing so excited.”

“No, I came back precisely when I meant to.” Her smile was forced. “I’ll take my belongings upstairs, then I’ll be ready for lessons.” So saying, she picked up her pack and left.

Kársek slowly sat back down.

“She’s… difficult,” said Vic. “But charming, utterly delightful when she’s in the mood.”

“As long as she gets her shit together in the dungeon,” said Sam dourly. “I don’t care what mood she’s in.”

“Oh, that’s guaranteed. Nothing helps Nessa focus like the prospect of lawfully being allowed to kill other creatures.”

Harald was frowning at the empty archway. Should he follow her upstairs? Clear the air? No. That would only make things worse.

Vic, catching sight of Harald’s expression, reached out and patted his hand. “Cheer up, Harald. You did the right thing. Think of it this way: had you chosen the other option, she’d not be here at all.”

“Yeah,” sighed Harald. “You’re probably right.”

*

They all gathered in the gymnasium shortly thereafter to attend Nessa’s lesson. Vic mostly out of boredom, Kársek from a desire to begin learning how the crew operated, and Sam and Harald because they were both still out of their depth.

Nessa, clad in the same faded black training gear from before, moved to stand before their little group with her scabbarded longsword held crosswise behind her thighs.

“So. The 13th Level. I’d not agree to it were it not for the Artifacts we have.” Her tone was flat, her gaze hard. “The first dozen levels are categorized by mindless monsters who attack on instinct. The 13th?” Her smile was merciless. “Goblins are far more dangerous than people credit.”

Harald knew what she meant. As the first foes past the initial dozen Iron levels, they were ubiquitous in popular tales. Stupid, greedy, weak, they haunted children’s tales, nursery rhymes, and were considered below the notice of serious raiders. They were fodder for the scythe, endless ranks being mowed down by heroes heading deeper into the dungeon.

“The 13th works on two planes,” continued Nessa. “There’s an elevated level of broken corridors and rooms, but none with walls of any serious note. This runs over a mist-shrouded bottom level, and it’s from there that the goblins come. Unless you have unique powers and Abilities, it’s suicidal to drop to the bottom floor to hunt them. Instead, raiders work their way along the second, fighting the goblins as they come up from below.”

“Pain in the ass,” observed Vic knowingly.

“Goblins hate hand-to-hand combat.” Nessa raised her longsword and propped it on her shoulder. “They much prefer to hurl their javelins from a distance and melt away. Worst case scenario, raiding parties stumble ever forward, pursuing retreating goblins as their flanks and rear are attacked from afar, growing weaker and more desperate until at last they lose all patience and give chase to the ground layer, losing themselves in the mist and never returning.”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Sam blinked. “This is the 13th? It sounds…”

“Awful?” Nessa smiled again, though her gaze remained flat and cold. “It can be. Goblins are weak. You’ll have no difficulty cutting one down if you can reach it. Even their javelin throws are clumsy. The key to succeeding on the 13th is to go prepared and maintain discipline. Goblins love nothing more than a hothead who breaks away from their group to give chase. They tease and insult, they’ve even been observed feigning weakness or injury to draw a raider out. The moment you break formation, however, you’ll be swarmed. And where one goblin is no challenge, fighting four or five can be lethal to a weak raider.”

“Awful,” agreed Vic.

“Now.” Nessa raised her chin. “We originally chose longswords for you both because the focus was on dueling Yeoric and achieving some manner of proficiency as quickly as possible. But in the dungeon, longswords aren’t always the best choice. The 13th Level being a case in point. Sam, you’re already well covered with your shields, but the rest of us will need to bring our own to fend off the endless javelins that will be hurled our way.”

“My Strength is 11,” Harald said, hoping he wasn’t setting himself up for ridicule. “With Dark Vigor and the Goldchops it can rise to 15.”

“You won’t be using the Goldchops,” said Nessa. “There’s no point. They could clear the goblins out for us, but to what end? So that we collect a handful of Silver Starbursts? You’ll be working on your skill. You need to level. And didn’t you say Dark Vigor is an Active?”

Harald nodded.

“So you can’t rely on it for an extended crawl. Your Thrones will run dry. You’re going to need to adapt to the level, which means practicing with a classic arming sword. Double edged, single-handed, and about 30 inches long, it’ll allow you to fight with a shield.”

Which meant no Dawnblade.

Harald frowned but nodded.

“We’re going to get some kite shields. Goblins aren’t above hurling their javelins at your feet or shins to cripple you. Then we’re going to practice fighting as a moving group. We’ll need to be able to navigate and cross the obstacles we come across without falling apart and being picked off.”

“So wait,” said Harald. “If the goblins are constantly fading away and attacking us from a distance, how do we get our kills? Are we just going to turtle around all day, taking hits?”

“Agonizing,” said Vic.

“Scattered throughout the level are chests with variable rewards.” Nessa propped her sword across her shoulder. “These are defended by goblin bosses. Our goal is to find as many of these chests as possible. The goblins will give up their ambushing tactics to defend the boss and chest, and that’s where we massacre them. A good raid means we find two chests. Anything above that is gravy.”

“Variable rewards?” asked Sam.

Vic stepped forward. “The Fallen Angel alone knows what will be found within each chest. This being the 13th Level, nobody should expect something of real value, but still, rewards are usually a single item of note. A potion, a valuable scale, a valuable crafting component. Sometimes the chests can give multiple rewards, and sometimes—but not often—you can find an Artifact of real power.” Vic rubbed his hands together. “I love chests.”

“Such rewards are why people often delve into your dungeon,” agreed Kársek, thumbs tucked into his belt. “Especially in the lower depths it is possible to recover materials found nowhere else on the Continent.”

“All right,” said Harald, and he felt his fighting spirit rising to the idea of this challenge. “So how long are we going to spend training before the dungeon itself?”

Nessa hesitated. “Perhaps a week. It’s good practice regardless, and anything you learn up here will only be half as effective once you’re actually being attacked. That and you need time to grow at least marginally accustomed to wearing a shield on your arm.”

“Rapier Regents detest shields,” sniffed Vic. “But I am nothing if not adaptable.”

“A week.” Harald fought to keep his disappointment in check. “Right.”

“Oh come on, Harald.” Sam all but rolled her eyes. “A week is nothing.”

“Also,” said Vic, “if we’re to induct Master Karsy here into our ranks, then it’s incumbent upon us to learn how to best incorporate him into our tactics.”

“Kársek,” corrected Sam.

“Agreed,” said Nessa. “Your level? Abilities?”

Kársek told her, his manner polite, his words succinct.

“That can be of great use,” agreed Nessa. “But Vic’s right. We’ll need to adapt. And we’re going to need an area in which to train. A place where you can use your powers freely.”

“He can use them here?” Vic sounded confused. “We’re being evicted in a month. What’s the harm in his raising and demolishing a few walls?”

Harald glared at Vic.

“This is still our home,” said Sam tersely. “We’d rather not see it demolished.”

“I have it,” said Nessa, snapping her fingers. “The quarry tunnels under the Shambles.”

“Morbid,” said Vic. “The ones filled with bones?”

“Not necessarily. The tunnels are extensive. There are areas far beyond the ossuaries. And they’ll simulate the dungeon environment, too.”

“Hmm.” Vic considered. “I suppose.”

Sam looked back and forth between them. “What tunnels?”

“Back when Flutic was being built,” said Vic. “When it was a babe of a city. They mined for stone outside the walls, but the walls kept expanding, and soon the mines were within the city limits. They kept mining, but so as to not disrupt the buildings, they simply burrowed like maddened rabbits. There are entire warrens of tunnels under the Shambles. During the Sweating Sickness there were so many dead that many of the corpses were just tossed into the mines.”

“We’ll work on the basics first,” said Nessa. “We need the shields and arming swords. I’ll go buy them. Sam, can you give me the scales from the crew fund?”

“Sure,” she agreed. “But… is this a wise use of our time? To learn a new blade, a new way of fighting? Harald’s only got some five weeks left till he fights Yeoric.”

“I doubt Yeoric is going to prove much of a challenge for Harald at the rate he’s growing,” said Nessa cooly, and hearing it from her caused Harald to blush. “But raiding is a way of life. You can’t delve into the Silver-ranked floors without some measure of versatility.”

Vic nodded soberly. “It’s a pain, but raiders need to be adaptable.”

“For now,” continued Nessa, “Kársek, I’d like to talk to you about your abilities. I can’t get a sense of how to use you without understanding what you’re capable of.”

The dwarf nodded sharply. “Yes, ma’am. Whenever you like.”

“Now. We’ll take this to the garden. The rest of you work basic forms and then practice the bind. I should be back this afternoon with the gear for our new lessons. Harald, I’ll test your new Active and Passive then.”

And then Nessa crooked a finger at Kársek and strode out of the dungeon. The dwarf hurried after her, and then they were gone.

Harald did his best not to gulp. A test in this frame of mind… was she going to just beat him into the ground again?

Or would he start to hold his own?

“Well,” said Vic. “I almost feel bad for the goblins.”

“I’m just glad she’s still taking this seriously,” said Sam. “I was worried about what condition she’d be in when she returned.”

Vic nodded, rubbing at his stubbled jaw. “Fair. But… this charter, this little crew, this mission we’ve given her to ensure Harald’s survival? It’s good for her. I’d never admit as much to her face, but Nessa’s been… drifting… for years. Unmoored. I’ve been a friend, true, but I am by nature independent and infuriating. Nessa’s needed… I don’t know. Something to dedicate herself to. And this little family of ours is uniquely suited to benefiting from her talents. She’s making a difference, and few things are better for a lost soul.”

“Why Vic,” said Sam in mock surprise. “That’s the first sensible thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

He grinned roguishly. “The only way to keep my friends off-balance is to occasionally surprise them with some devastating wisdom. It makes my penchant for childish pranks and lewd innuendoes all the more off-putting and tragic.”

Harald chuckled even as he ambled over to the sword bag. “It’s as if there are two versions of her. The Delve Captain, and…”

“And Nessa,” agreed Sam. “How can she be so serious and deadly and then so…?”

Vic sighed. “We are all of us complex beings, Sam. Well. Some of us more so than others. You’ll get there. Think of people as mirrors. When we are born, we reflect the world with an unblemished perfection. But life is all hammers. Sooner or later we’re hurt, broken, sundered into hundreds of fragments, both large and small. We become wounded, bitter, resentful, suspicious. We stop being one person and become a dozen. One version with our friends, another with our employer, a third with our lover. The harder the blow, the greater the fragmentation. I’ve heard it said by fools with no appreciation for the finer things in life that one’s goal in life shouldn’t be power or wealth but to become whole once more. To be only and ever themselves no matter in whose company they find themselves in.” He plucked a rapier from the bag. “It’s why I hold myself up as exemplar of all that is good in this world. Whether in the company of a grandee or a goblin, I am nothing more or less than myself: golden, glib, and gratuitously glorious.”

Sam rolled her eyes as she took up her longsword.

Harald paused, though, considering Vic’s words. The man he’d once been, the harried, haunted boy desperate for approval, had focused all his energies on impressing others, on figuring out whom he needed to be to fit in, to belong.

The end result was that he’d felt as if he’d belonged nowhere.

Now that he no longer cared? Suddenly he felt as if he had a core, a foundation under his feet, a sense of self that nobody could assail.

It was only once he became this self that he found himself capable of pursuing his deepest ambitions.

Only once he’d given up on caring what the world thought about him that he found himself.

“Huh,” he said, realizing that perhaps Vic had the right of it. “I like that.”

Sam drew her blade and walked away into the gym. “But what if you don’t know who you are, no matter who you’re with?”

Harald and Vic exchanged worried glances.

“Well,” said Vic, blowing out his cheeks. “Then I think you’re just fucked.”

“Vic!” Harald glared at the man.

Sam came to a stop in the center of the gym, head bowed. She tapped the blade against her palm a few times, then inhaled sharply and turned, eyes bright. “Whatever. Forget I said anything. Let’s get to work.”

Harald wanted to object, to say something reassuring, to intervene, but Sam fell into the first sword drill, moving forward as she attacked invisible enemies from all angles.

Vic moved away as well to begin his advanced conditioning drills.

Reluctantly Harald began to warm up as well, but this time a new resolution filled him. It was time that he ask more about Sam’s new life. Learned more about what she was doing away from the manor, and who she was trying to become.

He began to swing his blade.

Being a friend meant more than just giving her space.

It also meant stepping in to see if he could help.

He just hoped she wouldn’t push him away, or that his attempts wouldn’t make things worse.