1

“Fuck me,” Slogine muttered, tipping down his wide-brimmed hat to shield his eyes from the sun. “These plains go one forever.”

It almost looked like they did. The dull, green pastures rolled on for miles, only ending at the line of mountains jutting out from the earth far in the distance—their destination. A couple farmhouses and trees dotted the landscape just before the cyclopean mass of rock that bid entrance to visitors of the castle, and they didn’t make the place look any more inviting. Cammo looked over at the moon-man with a raised brow.

“And whose fault is that?” he asked. “It’s not mine. I’m not the one who looked at a map and said, ‘We’ll just cut through this empty section of land here! I know that it seems like a long way but I guarantee it’ll go quicker since we can turn our brains off on the way, we won’t even notice it!’ It wasn’t me who said that.”

Unlike Cammo, Slogine’s genitalia wasn’t something that just flopped about, he only needed to wear a long shirt to cover himself. Even then, the moon-man would’ve been fine without the apparel, only putting it on to make others feel just a little more comfortable in his uncomfortable presence. The wide black hat on his head was the only piece he found had any real use, protecting his eyes from the sun’s stinging rays. He tipped it up to look at his comrade, careful not to let an errant gust of wind carry his only protection from the bright ball of heat away. “Did I really say that?”

“You guaranteed it,” Cammo stated, staring far into the distance. “I can’t believe this… Invitations… Us!”

Slogine grabbed the papers in his pack with his long, flexible arms and fingers and pulled out two letters, already opened. “Neither can I… but these look legitimate enough.”

“Legitimate doesn’t mean it’s not a trap,” Cammo said roughly, holding out his hand for his letter.

Slogine gave it and looked over his own again, studying it for hidden meanings. “Don’t be so pessimistic,” he advised. “Why would the lord want to do that anyways? We’ve been fighting on Unigard’s side for a hot minute now. We could even be called assets.”

“We’re mercenaries,” the emp felt the need to remind him. “He might—or any noble, merchant, or royalty who don’t like to let things go to chance—think that we won’t be siding with Unigard next time. Might think that another country could put more gold in our pockets…”

The letter had the lord’s wax seal—which seemed real enough—but he’d already destroyed it upon opening, and he didn’t feel bad about it by an inch. It was the text that aroused his suspicion and interest, and it wrote:

Cammo Wurl,

Lord Joolian Itlid, head of House Itlid, invites you to his castle to discuss opportunities of the highest order. Food, drink, and lodging will be provided upon arrival. The payment for said opportunity comes to a thousand queens for each man and woman who rises to the task, including land and title if you may see fit. Arrive by the 28th of Browlef at his castle in Mane to hear more. This is a matter of utmost importance.

Signed: Ypoe Jue, Keeper of Texts

Cammo frowned at the paper but put it in his pocket gently so as to not wrinkle it, keeping it admissible. As brief as it was, a thousand queens weren’t something to scoff at, and definitely not something to ignore… Even if it was strange as all hell.

“Is he right?” Slogine asked, putting his letter back. “About us going off for another country?”

“If the pay is high enough, I suppose,” Cammo said. “War’s always the same, no matter what side you fight on. I’m done thinking one side is right.”

“I don’t know, Cammo. Sometimes it is a matter of black and white…” Slogine said.

“Would you hang by if I did join another side?” Cammo asked.

“I would,” Slogine admitted. He “stood” tall over the emp at six feet, and there was a certain pride in his posture that Cammo hadn’t seen before. “You know I would… So I’m going to trust you with it. If you did go, I’d be right behind you. I’ll leave the thinking to you.”

“Do it, then,” said Cammo. “Let me handle the thinking… Alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” the moon-man mumbled, tipping his hat down. But then, up ahead in the distance, he could see something approaching. With the way the hills rolled he couldn’t have seen it before. There were soldiers riding straight to them, banners with sigils of the Itlid house in hand. “You see that?”

“How could I not?” Cammo growled, slicking back his hair with the sweat of their journey. “There’s nowhere to run…”

Slogine tipped his hat up again and studied the approaching men. “What did I say before? Don’t be so pessimistic. I’m sure they’re just coming to welcome us.”

It wasn’t a particularly large group, only consisting of fifteen men, but they were armed and armored with iron and spears. Two sat in an open carriage while all the others rode stallins. Across their breastplates was the sigil of their lord’s house, Itlid’s house—the House of Wrath.

“They don’t seem too menacing,” Slogine said optimistically. “We could take them out if the need arose; stop worrying so much.”

Cammo could only grunt at that, keeping his red eyes focused on the approaching cappellas. He could see that their helmets were off and relaxed a little… Only fools would ride into a fight without them; fools or men riding into peace.

“They’ll be here in just a second,” Slogine said. “Should I introduce us?”

“Mmm… Look at me a second,” Cammo said, and Slogine did. “Smile.” Slogine did, and it was extremely unpleasant. Slogine was just unpleasant to look at. “I don’t know why I even have to check…”

“Hey!”

“I’ll do the talking, okay? Your face is a declaration of war,” Cammo stated, walking ahead.

“Hey!” Slogine yelled, following.

The cappellas stopped twenty feet from the duo, some of them eyeing them with suspicion, and others with fear. The “X” on Slogine's chest and back was hidden behind the cloth of his sturdy shirt, but they knew it was there and knew what it meant. Finally, after the strained silence was beginning to wear on the nerves, one of them spoke up.

“Cammo Wurl, emp of Treelund? Slogine, moon-man of… of the Blood Moon?” the leading man asked.

“That’s us,” the emp said, turning to the speaker. “You can tell who’s who, can’t you?”

The Unigardian didn’t seem to care for the joke but feigned politeness with a smile. “I’m a knight of the lord’s, at your service… May I see your letters?”

The emp reached into his pocket, never tearing his appraising gaze off the man, and pulled out the paper. “You can. Slogine, give him yours.”

“No problem,” Slogine said, slithering forwards to hand in his own letter. “They’re real, I assure you.”

The Unigard scanned the papers, rectangular pupils running from one end to his eyes to the next and back again, before finally tearing them up while staring back at the men with a smile on his face. “And they are,” he stated, extending his hand to the carriage behind them. “Please climb onto the wagon, it’s a far walk on foot—or on tail, I suppose.”

Cammo wordlessly walked between the stallins and the men that rode on top of them, and threw his bag on the back of faded wood before hopping on. Slogine followed, spooling his tail into a seat in the middle of the wagon and grabbing each side firmly with his long hands to support himself. The animals that carried them eyed the moon-man as curiously as the men who mounted them, but they went back to work the moment the little group of now seventeen started to turn back.

“You have some beautiful animals here,” Slogine commented.

The leading man had moved back, riding next to them in formation. “Mane is stallin country. All fields and grass; paradise for them,” he explained, patting the neck of the monster he rode. “They’re our main export. If they weren’t beautiful, we’d be in trouble.”

The creatures only broke into a light trot, but even that was enough to turn the short grass beneath them into a blur of green as they rolled across the flat fields. Stallins were powerful beasts with bare, thick skin of earthy colors. Three oval-shaped holes lined their long necks on each side, taking in the air as they galloped through clearings on the solid hooves into their large lungs, before breathing out through the nostrils sitting on the sides on its long and square lower jaw. Its teeth were exposed with no skin to cover them, leaving molars to clamp shut as they rode, the wind passing harmlessly over its white teeth as its head would bob up and down from the motion, its green eyes and horizontal pupils watched the world pass by on the sides of their angular head. Cammo always thought they looked peaceful and strangely dignified.

“Big too,” Slogine said. “How long is yours? Ten feet?” Stallins were longer than they were wide, allowing them to gallop in long strides that almost looked like jumps.

The Unigardian nodded. “Indeed, she’s an impressive thing, isn’t she?”

“That she is,” the gray snake agreed. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“Sir Wulter Inram,” he claimed. “You can call me Wulter.”

“Well, Wulter, you have any idea what Lord Joolian has in store for us?” Slogine asked. “The letter left us a little wanting in terms of information.”

Sir Wulter shook his head. “I can’t say that I do, but have no fear—he is a good man.”

“Are you saying that because it’s true? Or because he’s your lord?” Cammo questioned, piping up for the first time since they started back to the mountains.

“Both,” Sir Wulter admitted. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. When you meet him, you’ll think so too.”

“I’ll be the decider of that,” Cammo said.

Wulter must’ve decided he didn’t like this man and ignored that. “I’m off to the castle to notify the lord of your arrival. Please feel free to use the blankets under your seats if you feel the Falls’ chill. I’m off.”

Sir Wulter rode past his men and to the mountains, kicking the back of his stallin’s hind legs with the back of his own iron covered hooves to spur it on. The two on the wagon watched him go before turning towards each other with looks of skepticism.

“I don’t know,” Slogine said. “I believe him, I think. He really didn’t seem to know why we were called here.”

“Yes, I felt it too,” Cammo said. What that meant, he had no clue.

“In any case, I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.”

2

The valley almost seemed to choke everything that lived in it. The houses of the common folk were squeezed together, their usually pasty-colored stucco was dyed gray with the clouds of crushed rock that the miners carried out, making the entire place look dour. The one saving grace that elevated the area's depressing atmosphere was the nature hanging above them, clinging to the sides of the mountain like the way moss would collect on heavy stone, raining a constant flow of red, orange, and yellow leaves. But Cammo guessed that it wouldn’t last. Winter would come, turning the only pretty thing in the tight alley into dark, pointy branches more akin to wormy spikes crawling out of the crevices of rock.

“Mane…” Slogine muttered, as if tasting the word on his tongue. “I heard about this place, but I didn’t think it’d be like this.”

“What did you expect?” Cammo asked, studying the common folk, who were in turn, studying them.

“I guess what we saw before—long fields, healthy stallins, and fertile land. Not… this,” the grey snake explained. “It’s fine though. The trees are pretty.”

“Hm,” Cammo grunted, looking up ahead. There were homes on the right and left of them, the alleys that formed between them forming little walkways that led to the one place of interest—the main street. That’s where it looked like the farmers put their goods on sale, tight stalls lining their path on either side. In a way it made sense; they plot their land outside on the fields and live inside the valley for its protection. In another way it didn’t. “It’s easy to cut off.”

“Hm? What is?”

“The valley. They get their food from outside, but I was just thinking of how easy it’d be to cut off,” he explained. “I won’t think about it too hard. They probably have their plans for that.”

“Yeah, I bet… Hey, look over there,” Slogine said, pointing ahead with a long and bony finger. “Another emp.”

Cammo had been too focused on the castle to notice but the moon-man was right, there was an emp shopping among the cappellas, staring at the different fruits and vegetables with already wide eyes. Tall for an emp, she stood at four feet and four inches with light-blue skin and deep, wavy scarlet hair cut short to her shoulders. A simple cloak protected her from the cooling weather as she browsed. “Wonder what she’s doing out here.” It’d been a long way from Treelund. “Wait… Slogine, do you think—?”

“Yeah,” the moon-man nodded, taking off his broad black hat. “We’re not the only ones who were invited.”

The woman saw the vendor she’d been talking with turn to the duo as they rode close and did the same. She paid and ran over. The wagon stopped as she waved them down.

“Let me ride to the castle with you,” she told the man who took over leading them. “I don’t want to walk all the way back.”

“That’s fine,” the new leader said with a nod. “Just hop on the wagon.”

She walked briskly to them and handed Slogine her basket. “Hold this for me, would you?”

“Sure,” the grey snake said with a smile, accidently flashing horribly sharp (but remarkably white) teeth as he did.

Once the goods were given, she used both hands to climb the high and faded wood, before passing the two and relaxing in the back seat. “Locine Noo,” she introduced herself, extending her hand to shake. “And you both are?”

“Slogine. No last name,” the moon-man said, reaching over with his long arm and taking her hand. “I wouldn’t suppose you know why we were called here?”

She shook her head. “Sorry… I suppose that means you’re both wi—” she began, but stopped, looking over at who was most definitely not a wizard, “magic. I suppose that means you’re both magic.”

“We wouldn’t be on this wagon if we weren’t,” Cammo muttered, turning his attention back to the stone ahead, uninterested.

“That’s Cammo,” Slogine said. “He’s just a little on edge right now, so don’t mind him.”

“No offense taken,” said Locine. “They’re gonna start soon anyways.”

“Who is?”

“The lord is,” she said.

Cammo looked back at her, his attention regained.

“All the other wizards are waiting in the dining hall for him to start explaining,” Locine explained, nibbling on an orage. “I just showed up yesterday and wanted to explore the village a bit before the night came.”

“How many others?” Cammo questioned. “Ten? Twenty?”

“Thirty, or somewhere around there… All I know is that they’re all wizards,” she muttered. “Are you two traveling together?”

Slogine nodded. “Have been as mercenaries a couple years now. You a mercenary?”

“Nothing like that,” she said with a shake of her head. Her deep red hair bounced along. “But you two aren’t alone—there’s mercenaries, bounty hunters, and exterminators… Honestly… it's a pretty dangerous group all around. Are you two dangerous?” She seemed almost unsure if she should have even asked that question.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“What do you mean by that?” Slogine asked. “Do you mean good with magic? Or bad men?”

“There were a lot of bad men in there that were also good with magic,” Locine said. “Are you both or only one?”

Slogine smiled his unsettling smile and held up one finger. “Good with magic, not bad men.”

“Then it’s a pleasure,” the woman said, smiling back. If his grin was creeping her out, she didn’t show it. “Dreary place, isn’t it?”

Cammo watched the old stone grow bigger and bigger as they rode forwards. It was more of a wall than a castle, its heights reaching all the way to the peak of both mountains, four turrets lined the top, and small walkways of grey brick lined the flat of its walls. On second thought, the emp believed that Lord Joolian’s castle in Mane looked like a dam. It was big enough to be one. “That it is.”

And they continued on, its giant doors of sturdy wood parting, letting them into its courtyard.

3

The inside was a maze—like all castles usually were—of dead ends, drab decor, and long hallways. Luckily the woman they’d encountered managed to memorize the path to the dining room, leading them there with ease, even going as far as to sit with them as a line of servants exchanged empty dishes with full ones. Locine wasn’t wrong. The place—one that also looked like a long hall, it's one table stretching from one side to the other like a fallen tree—was completely filled with all manner of people. Cammo could spy cappellas, tousks, avilops, hiddunsons, and doggs feasting on the platters of food delivered to the table. Some watched Slogine with open curiosity while others only gave the most cautious of glances, but Cammo bet they were all thinking the same thing: What the hell is a moon-man doing here? Slogine didn’t seem to mind and started filling himself, saying something about how good it was to eat a meal without having to cook. The emp with him had only been in a couple of castles, but never in places like this; not prestigious places. They sat among those furthest away from the raised platform and table the lord and his family would eat, but they were empty now. Even if Cammo refused to admit it, his speculation was overpowered by the sheer curiosity he felt concerning their whole situation.

This is an army, he thought. I’ve never seen so many wizards clumped together like this…

Locine, who sat on his right, seemed to understand exactly what he was thinking of. “It’s a little amazing, isn’t it?”

“Hm?”

“All these wizards together… It really makes you wonder what Lord Joolian wants with us all…” she said, poking at the steak on her plate. “What do you think?”

“Probably a dangerous Crater,” Slogine said, before dropping a full drum leg into his maw and pulling it out as a bone. He chewed and swallowed. “Probably someplace that normal men couldn’t go… That’s what I think.”

“I had the same idea,” Locine commented, leaning her head over the table and cocking it to see the grey snake. “A thousand queens each… I bet he doesn’t even expect us all to make it back from… wherever he’s planning on sending us.” She fell back into her seat and removed her cloak, placing on the back of her seat made for cappellas, not emps. “What do you think, Cammo?”

The man glanced over, his mouth filled with mashed tatios and roast pork, and swallowed. The emps attitude towards clothing was different from the rest of the world—fashion, variety, extravagance; they were all tossed aside when it came to what the small men and women wore in their villages and towns. Every outfit was given a uniform coloration as determined by the village psychic, each one representing the general course an emp’s life would take. Cammo wore red, the color of a warrior—he had pride in that. And like their bodies, their clothes changed as they aged. At twenty-six, Cammo wore a tight-fitted shirt without sleeves, putting his trained body on display. In four years, he’d go to a tailor and order something baggier with short sleeves, his skinny pants following suit. But the woman wore yellow, the color of luck and fortune… And her outfit was the same that all young women of Treelund had worn, a simple long-sleeved half-shirt, a short skirt that ended at the top of her knee, semi-translucent leggings, and shin-high boots. He didn’t know what it was… Maybe the flat, muscled tone of her stomach or the way the swell of her chest made the fabric of her shirt hang, but he liked it. She was also a very pretty girl. Of course, being the man that he was, he hid this behind a face that someone might have carved out of a rigid stone. “Maybe it's a coup.”

She giggled for a moment, but stopped when his expression failed to change. “Are you serious?” she asked, growing it herself. “A coup?”

The emp shrugged. “It’s a possibility… Everyone—I’m assuming everyone if you were right about how they made their living—in this room is a killer, or at least skilled. And they all do it for money… It all depends on whether a thousand queens are enough.” He turned his head from the food and back to her. “How about you? You said you weren’t a mercenary, but you didn’t say what you actually did… What do you do? Do you kill?”

She couldn’t answer for a moment, locked in his studious gaze. The woman eventually managed to avert her eyes, focusing on the meager (yet nutritionally balanced) assortment on her pale plate. “Sometimes.” She shrugged. “It's not always so violent. I just do whatever puts food on my plate… Like now.”

“And are you dangerous?”

Emps didn’t have pupils the way that other creatures did or even misshapen ones like the cappellas, but everyone knew when one was looking at them. An ill-researched organ or section of the brain sent the signal whenever one did, and that signal triggered the moment Cammo asked. Her face was still looking forwards, only the corner of her eye in Cammo’s view. It was out of that corner that Cammo was sure she was looking at him. “I might be…” she said softly, just loud enough to carry itself over the revelry of the room. “I might not…”

Cammo frowned. “I don’t think I like that answer…”

“You, a fellow wizard, of all people should understand where I’m coming from,” she said, turning her pretty face back to him. “I want my strengths, my weaknesses, and my attitude kept to myself.”

Cammo opened his mouth to say something (nothing good) right before his companion swallowed his meal and interjected. “We get it,” Slogine said. “We won’t pry…”

She smiled at him. “Thank you. You know, you’d think that the kind, friendly one would be Cammo, and the cold, rude one would be you… but that isn’t the case.”

Slogine chuckled and patted Cammo’s back—the emp was not amused. “Right you are… Oh! I think that’s him.”

4

The laughter and conversation fell silent as the old man slowly stepped onto his platform and took his seat, his aged eyes surveying the crowd below him with unknowable intent… He definitely wasn’t what Cammo had been expecting. Lord Joolian looked about a hundred, he walked on a simple black cane, his posture was also that of an old mans, all leaned forward with a hand stuck on his lower back, and even his horns seemed scuffed. The simple brown robe and boots seemed to fit him well, and the scarf carrying his house's sigil didn’t seem the least bit faded. Only he climbed up on the platform. Some knights stood guard at the stairs leading up. What would they even be able to protect? Cammo thought. The cappellas didn’t seem like wizards, and that didn’t strike the emp as much of an advantage, especially in a room filled with dangerous strangers—him included.

He motioned for one of the armored men to hand him something, which the armored man did. It was far but Cammo could vaguely tell what it was, and it was a mic: a little crystal that made everything sound louder. Expensive little things that needed to be charged with mana, but Cammo also guessed that they weren’t out of a nobleman's reach. “Welcome to my castle, everyone. I am Lord Joolian Itlid, head of House Itlid, and ruler of Mane,” were his first words, even his voice sounding old. “I can understand any feelings of… impatience… But I’d ask you to forgive me for the… secrecy…” His sentences rolled off his tongue the same way a slug would crawl across a low, damp log, pausing every so often to collect the next string. “In fact, I’ll be needing you to wait a little longer… Two months… to be exact…”

The wizards of the room exchanged glances.

“I need to appraise you all so I… can determine which ones are right for the task…” Lord Joolian explained. “And I will not be… not be explaining that task until I have… appraised you all… It is a matter of life… of life and death. I can NOT afford those who… cannot meet my requirements… Those who do not wish… to… be appraised may leave now. And anyone… who does not meet my requirements will receive… seventy-five queens for the inconvenience of traveling all the way… here… Those who do stay will be given… lodging and dining until I have made a decision…” He grabbed his cane and groaned as he pushed his withering body off of his chair, choosing to stand for his final statement. “There are thirty-five of you here. And I will not repeat myself… or answer questions… If this displeases you… speak to Sir Wulter and… receive your pay. The rest will stay… and another knight will show you to inns that… that have been readied for your arrival… Good day…”

And then he was finished, now carefully inching down the platform steps with the help of a nearby knight. He gave the room one final, tired nod and left from the door he entered. Then the room full of wizards hunched over their half-eaten meals and began to quietly discuss the old man’s offer, whispers bouncing off the dark stone walls of the castle.

“What do you think, Cammo?” Slogine asked, leaning close.

“What do I think?” the emp repeated, his eyes cast on the bloody steak he’d been eating. That was the question, wasn’t it? Slogine may have been the talker, the one who—miraculously, despite his terrifying appearance—got peoples guards down when speaking, the one who handled routes to their next destination, food, haggling, and even contracts… But it was Cammo who decided what wars they fought in the first place. And was this mysterious battle one they’d take? The emp looked over at his companion, deep into his own mind in search of that answer… “A thousand queens are a lot of money. We make about three-hundred or so each campaign, and that’s combined… With that kind of money, we could get land, servants, and everything like that.”

“No more scrounging… No more blood and mud…” Slogine said seriously. “It’s our ticket out… But that’s not what I’m asking about… Are we doing this or not, brother?”

Cammo thought about it again. He came to a conclusion. “Yeah,” he answered. “No more blood and mud. Let's pass that geezer’s ‘appraisal’ and do his task. Let’s get rich, brother.”

“You two are brothers?” a feminine voice spoke, so close to his long ear that he could feel its warm breath.

Cammo, who had forgotten she was there, almost jumped out of his seat; he collected himself. “Do you mind?!”

She fell back in a seat that was too large for her. “Sah—rry. Geez…”

“What’ll you do, Locine?” Slogine asked. “Will you stay or will you go?”

“Are you kidding?” she said. “Don’t you guys feel it in the air? That’s adventure!”

People began to turn their way, cutting their brief conversations as her voice carried itself across the table.

“Hey, shut up!” Cammo whispered. “People are starting to stare!”

“I don’t care, triangle nose,” she barked. “This is the chance. The choice that sends a person's life down one path or another, I can feel it! Everyone in this room can!”

Slogine laughed. “She’s right, ‘triangle nose.’ ”

Cammo’s hand covered his angular nose reflexively before tearing it away and turning towards his friend with anger in his eyes. “Don’t you start!”

“Now who’s drawing attention?” Locine giggled.

The man turned to see that almost every eye was on him. His lavender cheeks turned violet. “What are you looking at?!”

Everyone stared for only one moment longer and went back to their conversations.

“You know that we’re going to be sleeping near these guys for the next couple of weeks…” Slogine reminded him. “And first impressions—”

“Suck a cock,” Cammo muttered, pushing his seat back and standing back. “I’m off for a drink. Stay here and get the details.”

“There’s ale here,” Locine said, holding up a mug—another object not made for her small hands—as proof.

“Don’t talk to us like we’re friends,” Cammo growled, before turning to his companion. “And you. Don’t humor her… I’ll find you when I’m done.” He turned his back and left.

“What’s his problem?” Locine asked, taking a small sip of ale.

“He can have kind of a pissy attitude, I’ll admit,” Slogine agreed, leaning back in his seat. “But don’t let it get to you. He wouldn’t be my brother if he was like that all the time.”

5

Ten wizards left that night, taking the pay, leaving them at just twenty-five left. Locine stayed and made a friend of Slogine, something that Cammo didn’t appreciate in the slightest. But her company soon turned out to be the least of his worries. Every time they went into town to drink or eat, someone watched them—the appraisers. They never revealed themselves and kept tabs of their activities with an impartial eye, and the small group of magic users never knew what they were looking for, or what they were judging of them.

Not much happened the first month. No one was booted.

But the second month changed that. On the first day, Sir Wulter came and requested one wizard to join Lord Joolian for tea and a chat. He went with a smile but came back with a frown, his pocket heavier with his consolation prize. Every day he came, bringing another person within the castle gates and kicking them out with a pouch of gold. The wizards who were rejected always said the same thing: I don’t know what I did wrong! I sat with him, answered a few questions… and then he kicked me out!

None of them gave the castle staff much of a problem apart from one, a hardy looking tousk that Cammo had met once. And from that one meeting, he knew that the man was trouble, that he had some other reason for being there that he wasn’t letting on about. He cursed the knight who guided him out and proceeded to curse every other wizard staying in the inn, screaming and hollering with the grace and maturity of a bratty girl, before stomping off into one of the tight mountain paths. He was found beheaded the next morning.

Cammo wasn’t surprised. The man—even if he was a tousk—had openly insulted and threatened a group of battle-hardened wizards. It wasn’t so unbelievable that one would take such an attack so close to heart and go off to repay him in kind. Cammo forgot this event quickly. He was occupied with the terrifying thought that he’d be swallowed by the cracked stone and spit back out, his pocket heavier…

Locine was the first of the three to be called in. There were ten of them by that point but being the last ones didn’t make them feel lucky in the slightest. They expected her to be another of the rejects, but that didn’t happen. She came back with a light pocket, just as confused as everyone she explained her story too. Even when Slogine and Cammo had her alone, her story never changed. She had tea and answered a couple of the old man’s questions. He said I’d get an explanation once he was done with everyone else, she said.

Are you sure you didn’t do anything? Cammo had asked.

Like what? she muttered defensively. I already told you exactly what he asked! Get off my back, triangle nose.

It was obvious that she was hiding something, but no amount of questioning brought the truth… Then, just days before they reached the sixty-day mark, Slogine was summoned. He came back with a light pocket too. Even the moon-man had no idea what he’d done right. I just told him my story… he claimed, just as confused as Locine had been. I just told him what I told you, Cammo.

Three others managed to come back from the castle gates with an empty pouch in hand, their answers just as simple as anyone else's. Two cappellas (Unigardians) and a tousk made up their group; Cammo got along with them fine.

One murky morning of low fog and wet streets, while the final wizards to take his test were eating breakfast with tired eyes, Sir Wulter came.

He wanted Cammo.

6

“How do you like… your tea…?” Joolian asked, just as half-awake Cammo had been at the start of the morning. “Milk…? Sugar…?”

His drawl seemed even worse than usual, something that the tall and nervous emp attributed to the sun's late rise. “I don’t like tea.”

“Please, sit…” the lord offered, motioning to the comfortable looking chair to his left.

Cammo accepted without a word, slowly sinking into its velvet cushions, not feeling the least bit relaxed. How could he? This small and seemingly casual encounter was what decided his course in life, if what that other emp said was true… and he thought she was. And even if she wasn’t, if all this was was just another job and another pile of gold—one thousand was still a big number.

“It’s relaxing here,” Cammo half-lied. It was a calm, peaceful place. The fireplace bathed them in its warmth and light, but every other corner of the room subject to the cold and dark, even the places nearby were drenched in light shadow. But even though the stark difference between the light and the spaces where it was absent, he could feel a certain mood rising: It feels safe in here, he thought. He put up even more mental defenses. Lord Joolian, whatever his goal was, was trying to lower his guard. “What’s this about? All of this? The waiting, the watching, and this interview… I want to know.”

“If you didn’t have the… patience to… tolerate it… You would… have left…” the old man managed to say. “But… you—”

“Are here,” the emp finished impatiently. “If it’s questions you want to ask, ask them.”

The—Cammo thought he might be—senile old man watched him silently with hazel eyes, his oval-shaped pupils never mover an inch as he did. “Are you… infertile?”

“What?”

“We all… live under His shadow… We live by… His rules…” Joolian explained, his wrinkles looking like dark scars.

Cammo immediately knew what he was talking about. He was talking about the Guerrieros… Noblemen had the privilege of giving birth, but that came with a price: the first two went to the black-eyed invaders. Cammo could tell that the old man had never really moved past that… But what right did he have to fucking complain? Cammo thought. After he had the two, he could have as many children as he wanted! That same privilege extended only to royalty, people with power. But men like Cammo, women like Locine, and even moon-men like Slogine weren’t so lucky. All their children were in danger. The emp felt his cheeks darken as a scowl grew.

“No, we don’t,” Cammo muttered. “You get to have children in the end, don’t you? If I had a kid, I’d have to worry about all kinds of people trying to sell them off. To kill them, to eat them, to have them as cattle. There is no we.”

“Only… one made it…” the old man said slowly.

Cammo frown softened, and he furrowed an eyebrow. “What ‘one’?”

“One child,” Joolian clarified, shutting the emp up. “After giving away the first two… I had four more… Three boys… one girl…” He looked back towards the fireplace and clenched his fist. “They were taken… I tried to watch them… had guards watch them… but it was all for… naught…” His hand went limp. “I… I asked the… Lesser Queen for help… but there was nothing she could do… You’d think that… the Guerrieros themselves would… give them back… They were the main buyer… after all… The easiest to… sell to… But they rejected me… Said… I should have paid… closer attention…” He looked back at Cammo, his eyes blank. “There is a we.”

Cammo couldn’t say a word, but that was only because he couldn’t think of anything to say. He had no idea. He’d always thought that men with castles and land were just exempt from that kind of danger…

Lord Joolian sipped his tea. “Are you… infertile?”

“No,” he answered, eyes off him.

“And… why not?”

It was common practice for a wizard to “fix” themselves. To kill the sperm in their testicles or destroy the eggs in their ovaries; it was responsible. Women with magic in their veins would be raped, and the men would get their testicles cut off for the sperm inside. That is, if they had living sperm and fertile eggs in the first place. Some wizards would engage in an almost cannibal-like behavior if they found out such a thing. That’s why the only person who knew that Cammo never subjected himself to such procedures was Slogine—until now. Lord Joolian now knew that he was a fertile wizard, and he wanted an explanation as to why.

“I don’t know,” Cammo said. He was frowning again. “Is this what you’ve been asking people?”

Lord Joolian nodded. “Yes.”

The emp’s Glow exploded out, adding its own light to fill the corners that the flame had missed. He stood up, suddenly thankful for the old man’s choice to speak to him alone. “I know what you're trying to do now.”

Lord Joolian didn’t flinch or even look surprised. “Do you?”

“I do. You’re just gonna sell our parts to the highest bidder,” Cammo claimed. How could he have been so stupid? The old man lured them in with the promise of gold, got rid of the ones who he couldn’t sell, and probably hired some other wizards to grab them the moment he was done. “You won’t succeed. I won’t let you…”

“Calm down… If that was my plan… then why would I… hire fighters…?” Lord Joolian questioned, poking a giant hole through the emp's thought process. “There isn’t a… single wizard under my… command… The six of you… could destroy us if… you saw fit…”

“Do you really expect me to believe that?”

“No,” Joolian said, shaking his head. “There’s no… way I could prove my intentions… No way… you could be satisfied with…”

“Me and companion are done here,” Cammo muttered, the green aura dissipating into nothing. He made for the door.

But before he could leave, the aging lord said, “I think… you want children… I think you want… peace and love…”

“What are you talking about now?” the emp asked, feeling his temper rise again.

“ ‘I don’t know,’ is what… you said… correct?”

“So what?”

“I’ve met men… who just didn’t care to have the procedure done… But that was… a reason… You don’t strike me as… someone who doesn’t… care… Everyone knows why… they do it…” the old man explained. “You just can’t admit why…”

“You don’t know me…” Cammo said, turning away.

He made it all the way to the doorknob before the lord’s tired voice called out to him, “You passed.”

Cammo’s hand stopped on the iron knob.

“Make your choice… Stay or leave. But tomorrow… comes the explanation…”

Cammo left and shut the door behind him and motioned for Sir Wulter to let him through, and that he did. Cammo exited the castle only twenty minutes after he entered, his pocket light.

7

“You didn’t tell me it was like that,” Cammo told Slogine.

The snake was chatting with the other ones who passed when his companion confronted him, only turning away from the conversation to say one thing: “It’s your choice. I wanted to see what you’d think… So, what do you think?”

Everyone was watching him then. The two cappellas that might’ve been brothers, the tousk, Slogine, and even Locine were all waiting to hear for what he had to say. So he employed a neat trick his father had taught him. He said, Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and say what the first thing that comes to your mind. That’s the answer. The one you really want. He thought it stupid at the time, but now…

Cammo shut his eyes and took a deep breath in. “Let’s hear him out. Worst case scenario, we break that wall to dust.”