Weaponsmaster 2

WEAPONSMASTER SAGA

BOOK TWO

PHIL AERIX

Copyright © 2024 by Phil Aerix

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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. No resemblance or identification with any actual persons (living or dead), organizations, events, structures, products, or locales should be inferred.

Cover by Joolz & Jarling

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Qamara’s Foretelling for Gar

Below is the foretelling Qamara gave to Gar in the first book, for easy reference.

At the beginning, a companion will you find, one who knows what should not be known. This one will be necessary for you to succeed. Cleave to the one.

The parts are stronger together than ever they could be individually. Unite.

Dark things will haunt you and trace your steps. You shall not be free until the very source is destroyed.

A bright light will save your life after you have prevented it from going out.

Be wary of the symbol of the poison knife and spade. See beyond what your eyes tell you.

A shining warrior will aid you in your time of need as you must return aid.

Under the sign of the pike, the secret key may be found.

Strength of mind, strength of arm, and power to create will keep you from failing in your task.

There are secrets hidden where one would not think to investigate. Do not overlook the depths or the bowels, for within the roots, that which is desired may at last be found.

You will gain succor in the most unlikely places. Be vigilant, and accept aid where it is given in sincerity.

One from past ages grows in power and must be stopped or all will be forfeit.

When all seems lost, put your faith in knowledge

As the very world rebels, search out the one who searches and protect them from the searcher, to discover the prize for which you search.

Do not discount the little things in the world, for in them may lie the secret of your victory.

What Has Come Before…

What Has Come Before…

Garfield “Gar” Hailey was taken from his life and world by shadow creatures called umbrenix and dropped into Valorae, a world where everyone has magic of some kind. The moment he regained consciousness, one of the dark creatures attempted to drain his very life force. He killed it, drawing on the fighting ability honed from countless altercations on the rough streets in which he’d grown up.

Gar’s best friend, Lucas, had also been taken and his highest priority was to find the missing man. Believing he must be close, Gar began his search in the forest he’d appeared in. At the edge of the trees, he found the alari prophetess Qamara Enorana. The enigmatic woman gave him information about the strange new world, a few coins, and a weapon called a siangham, which was basically a stick with a metal tip.

Taking her advice, Gar went to the nearest town to begin his search. Finding no information about anyone like Lucas, he moved on and encountered a group of goblin slavers who held a woman in a cage. He rescued her, a blue-skinned moonwisp named Brinawynn Tolsen, though he quickly started calling her Brin. She’d been captured and her magical possessions taken. She offered to help him find Lucas and he told her he would help her in trying to find where the goblins had taken her items.

Along the way, the two met Tiporian Zethroban—or Tip, as they called him—a down-on-his-luck satyr. People of his race were treated poorly in the world, but that’s not why Gar asked him to join them. It was because of Tip’s unique magic: memories and knowledge that apparently floated around in the world made their way to his mind, giving him an extraordinary perspective, knowing things he shouldn’t have known. Some of these things included knowledge from Gar’s own world. Together, the three set off to try to find Lucas before any harm came to him.

As they traveled, Brin helped Gar to commune with the weapon Qamara had given him, establishing a mental connection with it. The blue woman hinted at interesting and powerful things he might be able to do with the weapon, which was apparently made of magical materials, if he could truly attune the item.

Rumors of shadow creatures in the area brought them to Greyveil, a city enshrouded by an ominous mist, home of a light elf lord named Arinthalas. They found that the elf controlled the shadow monsters, and Gar hoped he would finally discover where Lucas was. In the end, they faced off with Arinthalas, revealed to be a follower of the centuries-old demigod Aeyr who was using the umbrenix to drain peoples’ lives, capture their life force, and add it to his power.

Gar discovered that Arinthalas and his shadow people had killed his friend Lucas, ending Gar’s search for his best friend. He fought and killed the elf, then succumbed to depression from the tragedy and the strain of being pulled into the new world. When he recovered enough to be coherent in a few days, the three companions decided to change their quest. Now, Gar would hunt down Aeyr and all his minions, making him pay for what he did to Lucas and perhaps many other people, from Gar’s world and others. First stop: Forgehaven, a smithing city where the prophetess Qamara said one of Brin’s magical items could be found.

Chapter

One

“You’re going to have to leave your pet outside,” the obnoxious shopkeeper told me. He looked like a smallish bear beastkin, about five and a half feet tall with grey-brown hair and rounder ears than other bearkin I’d seen. A koala beastkin? Yeah, yeah, I know koalas aren’t actually bears, but maybe they were in this new world.

I patted our little dinosaur chicken creature on the head. He was a species called a furcan. “Rex is trained. He’s good. He won’t cause any damage or shit all over your store.” My mood was still sour. It had barely been a week since I’d learned that Lucas had been killed. The last thing I needed was some asshole trying to pick a fight.

“I’m not talking about the furcanis. I’m talking about the taranji. That kind is not welcome here.”

I blinked at the prick. The taranji? Oh. He was talking about Tip. I looked over at our satyr companion, shoulders slumped as he headed toward the door to the street on his little goat hooves.

“Nuh-uhn. Tip, stay where you are. Listen, you fu—”

“Pardon me,” Brin said to the bear ass—see what I did there? “We are looking for a specific item. Rather, one of possibly several specific items. Have you received any magical jewelry in the last two weeks?”

The shopkeeper narrowed his eyes at Tip, but when he shifted them back to Brin, he couldn’t maintain all of his anger when looking at the beautiful woman and her exotic blue skin. “I didn’t get no jewelry. What exactly are you looking for?”

“It is a bangle with a large blue-green oval-cut gem as its centerpiece. There are other items, though. A ring, a brooch, a tiara, any number or type of jewelry, really.”

“I got nothing like that. Just what you see on the shelves and here in the case.”

Brin walked up to the man and searched the case in front of him. With a little sigh, she turned back to me. Remember me? I was the human guy still standing there waiting to kick some bear ass.

“Thank you for your help,” my companion said, and walked past me toward the door.

“Don’t you go bringing your goat back to my shop,” the man said impotently.

I took one step toward him to both teach him some manners and to expend a little pent-up energy, but Brin smoothly snatched my arm, pulling me along with her. I glared over my shoulder, telling myself I’d come back to the shop and grind Tip into his ugly face, but there was no real rage in it. As soon as we passed the threshold into the street, the anger disappeared in the maelstrom of feelings I didn’t seem to have any control of over the last several days.

But let me back up. A few hours earlier, my companions and I had entered the city of Forgehaven—by far the largest city I’d seen since I came to the world of Valorae. I stood on a wide street just inside the main gate. People bustled around me like ants in a slob’s kitchen. The air was not remotely clear, though not in the same way as Greyveil. Smoke and soot hung thick, smelling of burning coal and industry.

“What a shithole,” I muttered under my breath. Brinawynn Tolsen’s head snapped to me, a familiar expression on her face. It was tricky to pin down. Embarrassment, irritation, worry? Her gorgeous green eyes set within her sky-blue skin showed a bit of sadness and her luscious red lips were set in a straight line. Not pressed into a line but refusing to show anything but a neutral expression. She was not enamored of the way I’d been saying exactly what I felt the last few days.

I wanted to tell myself that was too fucking bad, but I couldn’t bring myself to go there. Brin didn’t deserve to be the recipient of my less-than-optimal mood.

“Sorry,” I said, producing a tired smile as the woman tossed her long red hair over a shoulder.

She was a moonwisp; a rare, if not unique, example of her species in the world. The race was created directly by the goddess of the moon, Auryana. Not created from nothing, though. Brin had been human, like me, but upon entering the special service of the goddess, she’d been changed. The outward sign was her blue skin, but there were other effects, mostly magical.

Beside us was Tiporian Zethroban—whom I called Tip, or Throb if he was being an asshole, which was kind of often. The satyr, or taranji as the race was known in this world, stood a couple of inches under five feet, had hairy goat legs and hooves, with two curved horns coming out of his head. An infuriating smile normally graced his face, though it was dampened now by my mood. Or the words of that beastkin dick.

Hopping on his claws between the three of us was the fourth member of our motley group, Rex. He was a…well, shit. I wasn’t sure what he was, exactly. In Earth terms, he was probably some kind of dinosaur or something. More than anything else, he looked like a chicken, though he was covered in scales. He was cute in an ugly, almost disgusting sort of way, his multicolored orange-yellow-grey eyes moving independently like a lizard’s and his beak very chicken-like, if wider than it should be. He had some feathers, too, and a trio of little horns on the center of his head between his eyes. With his coloring of mostly blues and greens, he kind of stood out. Especially on this street.

The people around us wore a lot of plain, drab colors. Earth tones, greys, and blacks dominated. Utilitarian outfits, like everyone was a laborer. For all I knew, they were.

“Forgehaven is, not surprisingly, known for its heavy industry,” Brin said. “The smoke that hangs in the air is not solely from the many forges in the city, but also the volcano, Mount Thetsay, alongside which the city was built.”

After our adventures in Greyveil, including killing some big muckety-muck elf lord and finding out he had indeed killed my best friend Lucas, we’d come to Forgehaven to search for one of Brin’s items. A prophetess we knew, Qamara Enorana, had told her it was in the city. I’d heard about the place, its industry, and the damn volcano before.

“Right. Strange, magical, metallic lava and a ready heat source they use for many processes,” I recited. “I didn’t think it was going to be smoggy here. I mean, shit, it’s like some of the places in my world. Can’t they, you know, magic all this away?” I waved my hands like I was a master prestidigitator.

Brin gave me a side eye. I let out a long exhale.

“Perhaps we should find an inn?” she said. “Maybe it was a bad idea to stop at that shop so soon after reaching the city. We have been traveling and maybe we are tired. Too much so to put up with petty shopkeepers who cannot think beyond their own pitifully small worlds and accept others who are not the same as them.”

A smile tried to push itself onto my face. It really tried. Unfortunately, my mouth wasn’t cooperating. “Did you just, in your uber polite and beautifully flowing way, call that man a bigoted asshole?”

“I do not think I know what you are talking about, Garfield Hailey. Come now, I believe I know where we can find an inn where we can sit on a bench, have some wine or ale, and eat a good meal before we get rooms to rest. Is that acceptable to the both of you?”

Tip nodded vigorously. He’d gone from trying to get Brin to have sex with him—along with every other female we came in contact with—to nearly worshiping the woman. I can’t say they’d grown close, but their dynamic had definitely changed. Like he had a massive crush on her and would do anything she said, or even suggested. I got it. She was hot.

I nodded more slowly and Brin took my hand in hers. “Splendid.” She aimed us down a street that looked about the same as all the others and we started walking.

It took me a few minutes to notice, since I was a bit out of it lately, but a large percentage of those I saw on the street were either dwarves or goblins. I’d seen examples of them already in my travels, so I could pick them out. It wasn’t hard. Dwarves were short and stout, just like in fantasy stories in my world. Even the women had the same stumpy figure, though with a few more curves than the men. Oh, and the women didn’t have beards, like in some stories. Thank God.

The goblins ranged from about three and a half feet to the largest one I saw being just over four and a half. They had the green skin, the pointed ears—though different than elf ears—but otherwise, their bodies were shaped similar to humans. I wasn’t sure what to think of those ears. Longer, pointier, and standing out a bit farther from the head than those of the elves, I couldn’t decide if I liked them or not. I finally came to the conclusion it would depend on the individual goblin.

As we walked, Tip strutted. When I say that, I mean he really strutted, like John Travolta in the ancient disco movie Saturday Night Fever. He swaggered like he owned the damn city. Each time we passed a woman—no matter what race, age, or attractiveness level—he would do something slimy. From the double finger gun thing to smacking his lips at them to various phrases.

“Hey, ladies.”

“’Sup, mama.”

“How you doin’?”

“Hello, foxy.”

That last one might have even sounded fine, had he been talking to a fox beastkin, a few of which we’d seen. But nope, he’d addressed it to what I believed was a cow woman, based on the shape and color of her ears, the tail, and the size of the woman’s chest.

I cringed every time he tried to flirt in ways that were straight out of several time periods from my world. When he started being more forward, I decided to put a stop to it.

“Whadya say we go find a nice bit of shade and fu—”

I put my hand on his horn and pulled him back, wrenching his neck like I was taking down a calf in a rodeo. He squawked.

“Chill out with the creepy stuff, Tip.”

“Just trying to get a piece of ass. It’s been a long time. A really, really long time.”

“Like ever?” I asked.

He deflated. It almost made me feel sorry for him, but not quite.

“Dude, you’re not going to get laid by doing that. Do you expect some random woman to hear that and say she’s been waiting for someone like you?”

He shrugged. “One can hope.”

I could only shake my head at the satyr. “Let’s try not to get kicked out of the damn city less than an hour after we got here, okay? We still have to find Brin’s magical thingamabob. Just be cool. Ladies like a dude to be cool.”

“Easy for you to say. You look like an ancient hero who has statues on every corner.” He pointed to the left. “See what I mean. Jesus!”

I looked to where he was pointing. Sure enough, one of the statues of the ancient hero Kael “The Blur” Serus stood proudly, the guy with an elaborate sword and barely any clothes on, showing a physique not too different from Arnold in his prime.

What the satyr said was true, though. The faces on the statues that were still in good shape looked a lot like me, though I’d noticed that the bodies were wildly different. Some were more normal physiques, like mine, while others were of superhero proportions, like this one. Still, the little bastard had a point. I’d been hit on by women from the moment I got to this world, them somehow believing that I was the resurrection of the ancient hero, despite resurrection and reincarnation not being a thing in this world.

“It hasn’t done me any favors, believe me,” I said.

Tip jerked his head toward Brin, who happily walked by my side holding my hand.

“Nope. Had nothing to do with it. I saved her from those goblins, remember? We started traveling together and we got closer, a little at a time, like regular people.”

The satyr made a show of looking at our clasped hands.

I rolled my eyes. “You know that’s only because it recharges her magic power more quickly. It’s practical.”

“A blowjob is practical, too, but you don’t see me getting one of those.”

“And I hope I never do.”

Chapter

Two

Brinawynn walked beside and maybe slightly ahead of Gar, holding his hand and directing him and Tip where to go. She listened to them banter, but as usual, she understood only part of what they talked about. There were so many unfamiliar words, phrases, and constructions in their speech. It was interesting and infuriating at the same time.

In Valorae, everyone had magic. Everyone. Gifts ranged from grand, epic powers down to ones that were nearly mundane. Hers was not uncommon. She had the gift of a mage, to take mana from her surroundings and from within herself and channel it into useful spells. Once the moon goddess transformed her, she had become more powerful than she had been when she was human, but the basis, the gift, remained.

Unfortunately, the goddess had not contacted Brinawynn for some time. Worse, the power that she drew from the goddess Auryana had disappeared as well, leaving Brinawynn essentially powerless compared to how she had been.

Tip’s power was of a different kind, one she had not encountered previously. The taranji absorbed knowledge from his environment, much as Brinawynn absorbed magic. Until recently, it was unclear to her where this knowledge came from, and by what means, but he had produced some extraordinary bits of knowledge in the time she’d known him. Most often, it seemed, this knowledge was from Gar’s world.

She knew little of where Gar came from, but after speaking with Qamara about it, she believed that there was an abundance of free-floating information in Valorae because of the same activities that had brought Gar to this world.

Aeyr the All-Engulfing-One, also called Aeyr the Ever-Hungering, had created creatures to help him steal life energy. Through his creations—the umbrenix—and his minions, he stole people from other worlds and drained the very power of their lives to feed himself. That act released thoughts, memories, facts. Stray bits that were the only thing left of what had been a person.

So it was that Tip had an uncanny knowledge of things and speech from Gar’s homeworld as well as other places, ostensibly. When the two of them began to converse in earnest, she quickly lost the meaning of what they said.

Usually, Gar would realize she was being neglected, as if they were speaking a foreign language in front of her. He would shift his words back to more understandable speech and translate for her what Tip said.

But not lately.

She glanced at him as they walked. He was looking at another statue of Kael, one portraying him late in his career as a hero. He was much bulkier than Gar was right now. She wondered if he knew that the statues were created to depict different periods in his life, not to stylize the man himself.

Her friend hadn’t been the same the last several days. Since they’d killed Arinthalas and Gar had found the watch that had belonged to his friend. His whole purpose, the core of his drive to do anything, was to find Lucas and to provide safety for him. Finding the watch in Arinthalas’s collection meant that his friend was dead.

Gar had retreated into a shell. The joking, easygoing, friendly man had been replaced by one who barely kept his anger in check, one who said little. When he did speak, it was often negative, complaints and the like.

Brin squeezed his hand without thinking. She had shared intimacy with him and looked forward to doing so again. Not only because it made her feel things she’d never felt before, but because it—even if briefly—pulled him out of the emotional battlements he’d hidden himself behind.

His grief would pass, but until it did, she needed to help him regain who he was.

The best way to do that was to give him purpose. He’d agreed to help Brinawynn find her lost items. Stolen, really. By the goblins who had captured her. Though Gar rescued her from her imprisonment, one of the goblins had taken her possessions to go and sell them. It was why they were in the city to begin with.

There was also Tip’s quest to become more than he was. To do something worthy of a hero, something that would bring honor to his people and perhaps change at least a few opinions of the taranji.

But those were Brinawynn’s and Tip’s journeys. Their goals. Gar had promised to help and his own honor bound him to do so. He needed something of his own, though. The greatest hero could not live only to help others with their travails. Eventually, they had to do the things that meant something to them personally. What would that be for Gar?

Brinawynn worried it would be the simple and common quest for revenge. Once his despair and sadness turned fully to anger, he would seek out Aeyr and anyone associated with him and he would do his best to kill them. That way lay insanity, frustration, and most likely death. Aeyr was essentially a demigod, and Gar, though extremely skilled at combat, had no magic of his own and simply couldn’t meet the power of the enemy.

She looked at Gar once again, wishing she could read his mind. She’d try to talk to him, perhaps after they’d eaten and relaxed in the inn’s common room. If he allowed her to snuggle with him in his bed this evening, she might be able to speak softly with him, drawing him out to find how she could help. It was the least she could do.

He had saved her, more than once, and she owed him a debt. More than that, though, she wanted to help him, for no other reason than she cared for him. Tonight, then. She’d do her best to soothe her friend over his loss.

I TIRED of the banter with Tip and let the conversation trail away. The satyr went back to flirting with every woman we passed, though he did tone it down a bit. He only alluded to sex every once in a while, instead of coming right out and begging for it every time. It would have to do.

The street we were on became suddenly more crowded. A long line of people walking the opposite way from us pushed against the few people going the same way as me and my companions.

I hated crowds, especially crowds where I was trapped in a stream, apparently going the wrong way. I tended to puff myself up, making myself look bigger. If someone bumped me, I’d slam my shoulder into them, showing everyone they should not fuck with me. It was childish and primal, true, but it was instinct, something drummed into me during my time growing up on the street.

You never showed weakness, you always showed strength. In the street, you always met the eyes of those passing you. Always. If you averted your gaze, if you refused to meet the eyes of someone else, that was how you got your ass kicked. No posturing, no foreplay. You looked away and you were jumped.

Most of those coming toward us were goblins in a variety of clothing styles. Many were different from what I’d seen earlier. These were not the sturdy, utilitarian outfits of the working class, but something nicer. Not nobility kind of nice, but like what someone on my world would wear to church, even though they were poor. The cut of the pants, tunics, and jackets had the look of a movie scene where a commoner has to go speak with a lord and wants to make a good impression.

I wondered if they had church in this place. I mean, they had gods, but did they have formal worship? Maybe some god’s temple had just let out their congregation or something. It interested me for a second, and then I decided I didn’t give a shit. Not much held my interest lately.

I sighed. Just about the time a small green body slammed into me.

I reached out, ready to kick the shit out of whoever had attacked me, but found myself facing a goblin woman. She was under four and a half feet tall, though maybe only by an inch, but damn, the woman was solid. Her orange eyes flared at me from her green face, and her hair—blue and orange and not even reaching her shoulders— swayed as her head moved so she could look me over.

“Sorry,” she said, not sounding like she was too sorry. Her voice was kind of high pitched, but had a grating, gravelly quality that reminded me of cartoon or video game characters. Almost like it was fake. It wasn’t unpleasant, but different. Kind of like a New Yorker with a touch of a sore throat and who had been kicked in the balls. Twice.

I looked her over. She wore a long coat, almost robe-like, but the toggles were undone and between the folds peeked something like underwear, exposed as she moved. I took a second, and a third look, and realized that wasn’t it at all. She didn’t have panties on, but skintight shorts with a belt wrapped around the top of them. They were really small, showing about as much green leg as possible without revealing more…interesting bits. Her top, though it looked kind of like a bra or a bikini top, was made of leather. The ensemble bared her midsection, where an impressive set of ab muscles flexed and twitched as she shifted, one hip rising as she changed her center of gravity.

“No worries,” I said. “Sorry I didn’t notice you. My mind was kind of wandering.”

“Yeah, I get it. Mine, too.” She took a better look at me and her mouth dropped open a little bit. Her head swiveled toward the statue that we’d passed a little while ago. I recognized the look in her eyes.

Great.

“You’re not part of the wake,” she continued. Then she clucked her tongue and shook her head. “No. Of course you’re not. I didn’t see you before and you’re walking the opposite fucking way. Sorry. I…I’m out of it. Don’t mind me. I’ll go now.”

She stepped to the left as I stepped to the right to let her pass, then she stepped back to her right as I stepped left, blocking her again.

“Oh, for motherfucking fuck’s sake. Goru’s warty testicles, I can’t even fucking walk right.”

I laughed for the first time in four days. She gave me a look that made me think she was going to kick me in the nuts or something, but then slipped around to the right side of me and tried to pass me. I grabbed her arm.

“You asked about a wake? Is that what this is, all these people?”

She looked from my hand on her arm up to my face, then back to the hand. I didn’t let go.

“Yeah. It’s a wake for Terago Tyswix. He died a few days ago.”

“Oh.” I finally let her go. Memories came rushing back to me and I had to clamp down to keep from crying or raging or just screaming into the air. “Sorry.”

Her orange eyes locked onto mine. Damn it. She’d noticed.

“It’s not your fault,” she said, and for a second I thought maybe she knew what I was feeling.

But no, she was talking about me telling her stupidly I was sorry she was at a wake. “Did you…know him, the...you know.”

“The dead guy?” She spat out a chuckle that was the least humorous thing I’d ever heard. “Yeah. He was my father.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, kind of.” She peered into my eyes again. I wasn’t sure what she was looking at, but apparently she found it there. “Hey, you wanna go get drunk?”

“Fuck yeah, I do.”

Chapter

Three

The words were out of my mouth before I really thought about it all. I wasn’t a drinker, didn’t like the loss of control of my faculties. Though some people felt invulnerable when drunk, my reaction time would be seriously affected and I wasn’t comfortable with that. If I were someone trying to kill me, I’d use the opportunity to do it when I was at my lowest efficiency.

Still, the constant pressure on me, pushing me down and grinding me into the dirt, was real. I analyzed myself and my actions over the last several days and realized I hadn’t been acting like myself, but I also didn’t give a shit. They fucking killed Lucas. He was gone. Maybe a little escape from realism would help.

The goblin woman grabbed my arm and pulled on me. I stepped after her but within a step ran to the end of my leash. Brin was still holding my other hand. I looked to her face to find a conflicted emotion. A bit of sadness, some surprise, and a healthy dose of irritation.

“Come on, Brin. I think drinking a little bit might help. Please?”

The sadness took over the better part of her expression, her eyes glimmering, but she nodded and allowed me to pull her along, even as I was being pulled by the goblin. Tip and Rex shuffled along behind us.

Half a block later, we plunged in through the doors of a tavern called The Little Hammer. It was only half full, it still being mid-afternoon, but that didn’t seem to bother the goblin. She dragged us along to an empty table in one corner of the room and finally let go of my arm.

“Gods-damned dress robes,” she cursed, pulling off the longer clothes she’d been wearing to fully reveal her scantily clad body.

I almost whistled at those tiny, tight shorts, leather cropped tank-top bra thing, and low boots. The woman was ripped. Besides her obvious curves, she also had toned muscle that told me she was either a warrior or a serious fitness freak. Her abs were etched, her arms and shoulders large and so toned I could see striations as she moved, and she had a tribal kind of tattoo running from her left shoulder down her arm. She was a fucking badass.

She also noticed my eyes running over her. A smirk pushed its way onto her face and she flexed, displaying impressive biceps and thick muscle underlying her ample breasts.

“I’m a smith,” she said. “Well, a crafter, but a lot of my work is with metal. Moving all those long, hard objects keeps a girl in shape, you know.” The way she stressed long and hard, I couldn’t have missed the innuendo if I had already been drunk.

“You must be really good at handling material,” I said, only realizing after the words left my mouth that it sounded like I was trying my own hand at innuendo. Not very effectively.

She let out a bitter chuckle, tossed her robes onto the back of a chair, and sat down.

Brin had been silent the whole time and even though Tip tried several times to catch the goblin woman’s attention, she didn’t so much as glance at the satyr. There was none of the prejudice of the earlier shopkeeper, only complete disinterest. Though her eyes flicked to Rex a couple of times, her focus was almost completely on me the whole time.

“I’m Tyra, Tyra Tyswix.”

“Garfield Hailey, though you can call me Gar.”

“Like the fish?”

“Sure.”

“The Gar is a long, thick fish,” she said, and made a show of letting her eyes drift down toward my lap, under the table.

“Uh, yeah. This is Brinawynn Tolsen, Tiporian Zethroban, who we call Tip, and Rex.”

Tyra nodded to my companions. “Tip, not Throb?” The satyr blushed. “Brinawynn, are you a moonwisp?”

“I am.”

“Wow. I didn’t know they were real, not in present times. Your skin is so beautiful. I’ve heard stories, but damn, you’re more gorgeous than I ever would have imagined.”

Brin gave her a smile. “Thank you. Please call me Brin. It’s what Gar and Tiporian call me. May I say that your green skin is very lovely as well. I have rarely met a woman so beautiful.”

“Awww, thanks. I don’t go in much for doing anything to make myself look better, but I appreciate it. Give me a hammer and some hot metal, and I’m happy.”

“We can tell, babe,” Tip said. He apparently had overcome his bashfulness of just a moment before. “If I told you you have a rocking body, would you hold it against me?”

Tyra glanced over at Tip. That was it, a single flick of the eyes and a small snorting noise. Then she turned to me.

“Who was it?” she asked.

“Who was what?”

“Who died?”

An inappropriate level of anger flared up in me and I barely kept myself from snapping at the woman. But just as quickly as it rose up, it bled away. She wasn’t trying to pick a fight. She’d just lost her father.

“My best friend.”

“Damn. For me, it was my father, as you know.” She banged on the table, making Tip jump. “Where the hells are our drinks?”

A serving girl, another goblin, made her way to us. “Hiya. What can I get for you?”

“Ale,” Tyra said. “Lots of it. Pitchers, mugs, something to eat.” She looked at each of us and no one disagreed. “Yeah, let’s start with that.”

The woman left and Tyra turned back to me. “So, how’d it happen? With your friend?”

I usually wasn’t forthcoming with details when talking to someone I just met, but something inside me screamed that I needed to let the words flow. Not only because it would relieve a little of the pressure on me, but I thought it might help Tyra deal with her own recent loss. So I started at the beginning and told her my story. How I’d been taken from my world, right after Lucas had. How I arrived and the umbrenix tried to kill me. How I killed it instead. The meeting with Qamara, my visit to Stonefort, how I found Brin and then Tip, and how we ended up killing Arinthalas. All of it.

“And I found Lucas’s watch in Arinthalas’s collection. There’s no way they could have taken that from him without him fighting to the death. It meant more to him than anything. So we came here to find another of Brin’s items and here we are.”

“From another world,” Tyra said, taking a deep pull on her ale. The serving girl had brought our stuff while I was talking. “Is that why you are the perfect image of Kael the Blur?”

“No,” Tip answered. “That’s just blind luck.”

I nodded. “I don’t think I’m him brought back to life or anything. Just a coincidence.”

“Damn nice coincidence.” She looked me over for about the tenth time since we’d met, licking her lips.

“What about you? What’s the deal with your father?”

“The son of a bitch,” she spat. “I’ll be the first one to admit that he wasn’t a nice guy. He was harsh and hard to get along with, but he was my father. He was also arguably the finest smith in Forgehaven, if not the world. I mean, the man could do things with metal that defied belief. The art of smithing lost a shining star when he was murdered.”

“What? He was murdered?”

“Yeah. Some fucker killed him in his own forge. Stabbed him in the back a few times and slit his throat. It was a mess.”

“That’s horrible. How are…uh, are you okay?”

She raised her mug to me and I tapped it with mine. Then she proceeded to down the whole thing in one go. “Fucking feelings.”

I followed her lead and did likewise. “Yeah. Fucking feelings.”

Tyra gazed at me, her eyes half-lidded. “Sometimes I like feeling things, though. Sometimes I love feeling things.” Her voice had gone down in pitch, taking on an almost growling, purring quality.

I studied her face. I’d seen goblins since I got to this world. As early as Stonefort, members of that race had been around. Some had seemed like normal people, though others were like those slavers who had Brin in a cage. I hated to think I applied a blanket label to all members of any race, but I’d kind of thought, even in the back of my mind, that more were like the slavers or criminals than just ordinary folk. Too many stories in my world had trained my preconceptions. Shame bit at me over that.

I had also noticed one more thing about them. A lot of the ones I’d seen—I’d have to say most of them—were not overly easy on the eyes. In fact, until I’d come to Forgehaven, where there were multitudes of goblins, I hadn’t seen any that were at all attractive to me. Many of the males were bald, with misshapen heads and ears that looked more ragged than not. The women, though not quite as bad, still didn’t move my attraction meter even a little bit.

When I got to this city, I’d spotted the rare one or two who I wouldn’t mind taking a second look at, but I hadn’t seen any that really stood out. Not until Tyra. Was that the alcohol talking? I didn’t think so, not yet. Besides, I’d noticed her from the time we collided in the street.

The woman was green, but Brin was blue, and she was one of the most spectacularly beautiful women I’d ever met. Tyra’s green skin made her exotic. Her body was fantastic, nearly the perfect form for my taste, though on the short side. But her face! No blemishes marred her gorgeous creamy green skin and her facial structure was custom designed to reach out and grip my eyes, not letting them loose. Her pointed ears, if anything, were more of a turn-on.

My mind wasn’t addled enough yet that I missed her overt invitation. Then again, it also wasn’t clouded enough to forget Brin, sitting next to me and holding my hand.

Even if she hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have taken the bait. I wasn’t sure what we were, the moonwisp and I, but I wasn’t some guy who chased after a pretty ass swishing in front of me at the expense of my friend’s feelings. I’d look at said ass, enjoy the view, but I wouldn’t act on it.

So, I changed the subject.

“What do they do to people who kill others like that in this world, in this city? What did they do to the one who took your father?”

Tyra refilled her mug from one of the pitchers. “Murderers are usually executed. There are contingencies, like if it was a duel or self-defense or something like that, but murder typically means death. If they find the murderer. We don’t know who did it.”

“Oh, shit. That’s…I mean…how do you feel about that?” I know, not the most tactful question. It sounded like something a shrink would ask in a therapy session, not what a man would ask a stranger while slowly drinking himself into oblivion with someone he’d just met.

Tyra blinked her orange eyes at me. “No one has asked me that since this happened. Thank you.”

I blinked back. Right, another world. What was cliché where I lived might not be here. I shrugged. “I know a little bit about what it’s like to be where you are. My mother was killed. Not on purpose, but that didn’t matter to me when she was taken from me. It felt like a hole opened up inside of me that would never be filled. Kind of…kind of like with Lucas now.”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes. Exactly. We didn’t get along the best, but he was still my father. What do I think that they didn’t find who killed him? I’m furious and bruised and want to get back to my forge so at least I can beat the hells out of some hot metal, if not someone who might be responsible. It’s like it’s all building up inside of me and if I don’t blow some steam, I’m going to explode.”

She took a deep swallow of her ale and let out a long breath. “Gar, I’d really like to fuck you, blow off some of my energy that way. I’m not sure what you have going on with Brin, but I think we could both use some good sex. What do you say?”

I resisted looking over at Brin as if I was asking permission, both so it didn’t look like I was doing that and so I didn’t put my moonwisp friend in a spot. Of course I wouldn’t agree, though part of me really, really wanted to. The chance for disaster was too great, even if it sounded like just the thing I needed. There was something about no strings attached spontaneous sex that sounded like the perfect medicine at the moment. Or at any moment, really.

“Tyra, you’re gorgeous, with an amazingly sexy body, but no. It would be a mistake. Drunken hookups usually are. I wish I could help with the situation, the pressure. I get it, really I do, but I can’t just fuck my way to feeling better.”

“You could try.”

I laughed. “Sorry.”

“I happen to be very available for such a service,” Tip said, sliding into the conversation like the snake he was. “I’ll even waive the normal fee.”

“Fuck yourself, goat boy. You so much as breathe on me and I’ll crush your stones in a vise.”

“Or we could just drink,” the satyr said, taking another sip of his ale.

The rest of the evening was a jumble of memories, as was going somewhere and climbing into bed. Brin climbed in with me, and I knew nothing else until the morning, when sunlight coming through the window dragged me from my slumber by my eyelids to more fully explore the wonder that was my pounding head and generally beat-to-shit condition.

Chapter

Four

Several days before meeting Gar in the street, Tyra Tyswix had been working in her small forge in the city, trying to distract herself. A messenger, some kid, brought her a folded message, holding out his dirty hand, palm up before he’d hand it over. She eyed the little fucker. He couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen.

A goblin, one of the street variety, or near enough, the kid had a sour smell like he hadn’t bathed in more than a little while. She contemplated kicking him in the stomach and tearing the letter from his hand to make sure it was legitimate but decided not to. That scam made the rounds in the city occasionally, but if she gave him a coin and found the letter fake, she could kick the shit out of him then just as easily as now. No way he was fast enough to escape her if he was trying to pull one over on her.

She flicked him a copper coin and put her own hand out. He fumbled, barely managing to catch his payment before ducking his head and holding the paper at arm’s length. She snatched it from him and opened it, skimming the short message.

“Fuck.”

She didn’t even notice the kid wriggle away. The message had stopped her mind from latching onto anything else. Her father was dead. Murdered in his forge. She’d already been told the day before, by her father’s assistant, but she’d somehow believed it had been a joke, that she had dreamed it. This message was from the constable’s office. The constable invited her, as her father’s closest relative in the city, to come and “discuss the issue.”

As she chewed on the confirmation of the news for a moment, she finally got to the last sentence.

THE MESSENGER HAS ALREADY BEEN PAID, DON’T PAY HIM AGAIN.

“You little fucker.”

Tyra banked her forge, closed up, and headed to the constable’s office. There, she found her father’s body in the storage area along with a few other corpses, some of them a few days older. Even in the cold confines of the room dug into the bowels of the constable’s offices, the smell was nearly overpowering.

Terago Tyswix had been stabbed several times in the back and his throat had been cut.

“All were fatal injuries,” the man showing her the corpse told her. He was a goblin as well, a smaller-than-average man with a bald, wrinkly head and a curious twitch of his right eye. “The back first, then the throat. The last slash finished him off quickly. The other injuries would have taken some time for death to claim him. He didn’t suffer much. I assume you will make the arrangements to have him interred?”

Tyra barely heard him. Her father had always been so hale, so powerful. He was a force of nature. When she’d been told, just hours after it had happened, it had been a shock, but it was more so now that it was confirmed. Seeing his body lying still, his normal working clothes blood-stained and unkempt, seemed surreal.

“Huh? Oh, yes. His assistant is taking care of it. He wasn’t on friendly terms with most of the other family members. The only one here in the city besides me is his brother, my uncle. Has he been notified? Dargen Tyswix?”

“I believe so.”

“Okay.”

She looked at the man and he pointed his eyes to her, one twitching.

“Umm. What am I supposed to do?” she asked. “This is all new to me.”

“Of course. Go back upstairs to the desk. They will have you sign to claim the body.”

“Right. Thank you.” It seemed stupid that they had taken the body to begin with and now she had to sign something to take it back. It didn’t surprise her, though. The constable didn’t seem to be the sharpest punch in the toolkit. Then again, money probably needed to change hands.

Tyra took one more look at her father’s body lying motionless on the table. Then she went upstairs to do as the strange man suggested.

“Even dead, you’re still a pain in my ass,” she muttered as she went.

A FEW DAYS later found Tyra at a gathering of “friends” the day her father’s body was to be entombed at the local cemetery. Though there was room at her father’s expansive home, he’d always been resistant to a family plot.

“Why the hells would I want to live with a bunch of dead people buried next to my house?” he’d always said when the idea had been brought up.

Tyra almost had him buried there out of spite but decided she agreed with him. Now that she was going to be living at the home he’d left her, she found she had no desire to share it with a colder, less vocal version of him.

Tyra wandered the large home that was now hers, simply because she knew she should. A fair number of people had come, ostensibly to show their support for her—or rather, her father—but in reality, they’d come for the free food and drink.

Most were goblins and dwarves. Her father was ever at work and though she spotted a few of his longer-term clients, it wasn’t the selling of items Terago Tyswix had loved, but the craft, the art of making things. It was where she’d gotten her love for the same, how she’d started on a similar path. To find the end of his path so abruptly set forth a tremor in her middle that she couldn’t explain.

What did you do to make someone want to kill you? she asked in her mind.

For more than three hours she forced herself to chat with people she’d not seen for years and didn’t care if she ever saw again. As if that weren’t torture enough, she wore dress robes over her normal, more comfortable clothing. All she could think of was how much she wanted to be back in front of an anvil, pulling hot stock from her forge and shaping it into what the metal told her it should be.

She sighed.

“Having too good a time?” a voice she recognized asked from behind her.

Tyra turned to find a man she hadn’t seen in almost two years standing behind her. He looked like he always had. Rugged, almost worn out, bald head with a few more wrinkles and the normal sour expression on his face. It ran in the family, so why wouldn’t her father’s brother wear it as proudly as her father had?

“Uncle Dargen.” She wanted to hug him, but their family didn’t do such things. Not normally.

He put his arms out and she slammed into him, wrapping hers around his solid smith’s body.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she said. Dargen was often traveling, but even when he was home, that meant he was outside the city. When Tyra’s grandparents had left the city, their home had gone to Terago, the eldest, with the “country estate” going to Dargen. As fourth generation master crafters, the Tyswix family did not want for coin. At least, those in the official, approved arms of the family.

“I thought about skipping it,” he said. “My brother was a bastard, but he was still family.”

They released each other and Tyra ran her eyes over his clothing. Typical Uncle Dargen. He wore a sleeveless leather tunic, belted at the waist with the front of it open to show off his muscular chest. His arms, roped with muscle, looked as strong this day as when she was a child. He’d always been her favorite adult and his lessons, as well as the fun times they’d had joking and playing pranks, had helped to shape her into who she was today.

She suddenly felt cheated. She almost took off her dress clothes so she could be more comfortable in what she always thought of as her forgewear. But no. He was older and well-respected, not held to the same standards as a young woman with little renown. Damn her obscurity. Still, the final thing that kept her from stripping off the robes was that she wanted to at least make a pretense of showing respect to her father.

Unlike he ever did to her.

“How’s the forge?” she asked.

“Business is good. I’m busy, as always. Still learning new tricks and getting better with every project. Never—”

“…stop progressing,” she finished for him. “I know.” Falling into the comfortable banter with her uncle almost made her smile, but couldn’t quite get her over the tipping point.

“How is your own crafting going? I heard you built yourself a little forge. That’s good, quite the accomplishment with the lack of support from Terago.”

“It’s a refining fire. Having to go it alone will make me stronger in the long run.”

“Spoken like you’ve heard that a hundred times.”

“More like two hundred. There’s some truth to it, though. I’ve gotten better, using the lessons you and Father gave me when I was younger and feeling my way through to improve. You should stop by sometime and I’ll show you some of what I’ve done. My place is down on Smelter Street.”

“In the Forge District?” he asked, eyebrows raising.

She let out a little sigh. “No. It’s in the Dross. Or you could wait a week or two until I move everything here. I guess this is all mine now.”

“It is. One of the finest smithies in the city, and the extra crafting wing for other materials will fit your skills perfectly.”

“Yeah. It’ll be a definite change from the cramped space I have now. It’ll take some getting used to, though.”

He put a hand on her shoulder. She felt the strength in his rough hands. “You’ll do fine. It’s up to you to carry on Terago’s name. You are his legacy.” A smirk crossed his face and Tyra’s heart ached. Was he making a joke about her and her skills?

No, that couldn’t be it. Dargen and her father fought like only brothers could. They saw eye to eye on basically nothing, and she’d even seen them nearly come to blows twice. Both times, heavy drinking had been involved, but still, she didn’t like to see it. But her Uncle Dargen had always been a mentor, a friend, and even a partner in crime with elaborate pranks they’d played when she was younger. Back when her mother and father were still together and Grithem, her younger brother, was still living with them. He would never consider a joke at her expense.

“I’m going to go find some of the strong stuff and make the rounds to say hello to some people,” he said.

“And try to scoop up some of my father’s best clients before they find another smith,” she said.

“Well, yeah. And that. You wouldn’t want them to leave the family, would you? Did you want to try to convince them to let you take over? I’ll back off if you think you can handle it.”

“I’d thought about it, but no. Go ahead. They’re used to my father’s work. They wouldn’t be satisfied with mine.” She didn’t say that they might not even be satisfied with his. Though he was a skilled smith in his own right, he wasn’t nearly the level her father had been.

“I will, then. Walk with me to the burial?”

“Of course. I’ll be easy to find.” She shook out her hair, outrageously orange and blue.

Sometime later, the two walked together in the middle of the rest of the people at the wake and suffered through the ceremony of the actual burial and all the endless words from people she couldn’t care less about listening to. Thankfully, no one asked her to speak. She wouldn’t know what to say anyway.

When it was over and done, the attendees walked in a solemn parade back toward her house. People split off as they got to their own destinations, so the numbers gradually dwindled.

By the time about a quarter of the number had trickled off, Tyra was walking in a daze. The whole thing was unbelievable. She’d thought her father would live forever. How did it come to this? She had a lot of questions, not the least of which why it had happened. She was under no impression that people liked her father. Hells, she didn’t even like him most of the time. But still, murder? She needed to—

Tyra rammed into a wall of a man. A human man. She looked up to spit out some invective at him but stopped when she got a good look at him.

“Sorry,” she said instead.

He looked her over, took her in with a sweep of his eyes in a couple of seconds. “No worries. Sorry I didn’t notice you. My mind was kind of wandering.”

“Yeah, I get it. Mine, too.” Something about him…

She glanced over at a nearby statue of Kael the Blur. Holy fucking shit. This guy could have been the ancient hero’s twin brother. Or Kael himself.

“You’re not part of the wake,” she continued. She had the urge to strike her own head with a fist. Stupid thing to say of a group made up almost entirely of dwarves and goblins. “No. Of course you’re not. I didn’t see you before and you’re walking the opposite fucking way. Sorry. I…I’m out of it. Don’t mind me. I’ll go now.”

She stepped to the left as he stepped right. She stepped right and this time he stepped left. Were they dancing? This was one of the things she hated about dealing with people.

“Oh, for motherfucking fuck’s sake. Goru’s warty testicles, I can’t even fucking walk right.”

He laughed, a strained, forced sound. She liked it, thought she might like a real laugh from him more. Her embarrassment at what she’d said and done so far pressed her lips into a thin line. She finally made it around him, going left again, and walked quickly to put the whole thing behind her.

He grabbed her arm. Her body tensed, ready to use her prodigious strength against him. She’d seen how he eyed the bit of her body visible under the robes. She was no one’s prey. He’d find out…

“You asked about a wake?” he said. “Is that what this is, all these people?”

She looked from his hand on her arm up to her face. She saw in his eyes that he didn’t mean any harm, but he still didn’t let go.

“Yeah. It’s a wake for Terago Tyswix. He died a few days ago.”

“Oh.” His grip finally released. He had strong fingers. The look on his face was complex. Pain, sadness, a little anger. “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said. His expression changed, like he relaxed a little.

“Did you…know him, the...you know.”

“The dead guy?” Her body tried to chuckle, but her mind or heart or whatever wouldn’t allow it. Instead it came out like she was spitting out bad wine. “Yeah. He was my father.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, kind of.” She looked into his eyes again. Something in there was familiar. Tyra wasn’t sure how she knew, but he seemed to be in a similar mood to hers. A melancholy, life-is-kind-of-shit-right-now kind of mood. “Hey, you wanna go get drunk?”

“Fuck yeah, I do.”

It surprised Tyra, but not as much as the blue woman, the taranji, and the little lizard creature that followed along in his wake as she took his arm to drag him to the closest tavern. Well, it was going to be an interesting evening. There was a chance she’d get laid, if the way his eyes roamed over her was any indication. She just hoped any plans didn’t include the taranji. Or the lizard. But mainly the taranji.

Chapter

Five

“Ugh.” I tried to swat the sunbeam out of the air as it struck my eyelids with almost a physical force. The sand in my mouth, the army of tiny miners in my head pounding on the walls with their little tools to get out, the uncertainty of where and when I was, it all gave me a clue to what foul bewitchment had afflicted me.

I was hung over. And I was a dumbass.

Memories from the night before swirled around in my head, so much color and texture being chopped up in a blender. I strained, and coherent images formed, but not nearly enough to account for an entire evening.

Did I do anything I’m going to regret?

The soft, warm pressure next to me was something I recognized. I thought. At least there was that.

“Good morning, Gar.”

Thank God. It was Brin’s voice. I could strike one fear off my list.

“Mor…ahem…morning, Brin.” My voice sounded like I had rocks in my mouth, in addition to the sand. I could smell my breath without even blowing into my cupped hand.

She pulled me toward her, but I pushed her away. “Hold on. Let me…hold on.”

I went to the basin and poured some water from the pitcher on the little table into a cup. Some swishing, spitting into the basin, and scrubbing with a towel. Even if I wasn’t quite ready for serious kissing, at least I wouldn’t feel like I was inflicting torture on another person by mere proximity. I went back to her and leaned in to give her a chaste kiss. How the hell is her breath so delicious in the morning, the fruity, sweet scent? Maybe it was a moonwisp thing, or some kind of general magic thing.

I sat down on the bed next to her and ran my hand along her arm and shoulder. The blue skin all over her body didn’t just look great, but felt it, too.

“Did I…do anything last night? Anything that I should apologize for?” I asked. “I don’t remember much. I have only drunk that much maybe two or three times in my life. Now I remember why.”

“You did not do anything egregious. You neglected to give me attention for most of the night, focused on your new friend, but I am not some timid and needy pet, needing to be the object of focus at all times.”

Her dismissal of being treated unfairly made it sound like it didn’t mean anything to her, but her expression belied what she said. Her lips drooped slightly and her eyes showed a flash of anguish.

“I’m sorry, Brin.” I took her hand in mine and brought it to my mouth to kiss it. “I didn’t mean to be an asshole. I appreciate you, and I know I haven’t been fun to be around lately.”

“I understand. You have suffered a great emotional blow with the loss of your friend. It will take some time to regain your equilibrium. I will not say it doesn’t affect me, but I do not find your actions intentionally cruel or offensive.”

Intentionally cruel or offensive. I noted the distinction. “Was I rude to Tip?”

“No ruder than at other times when his…proclivities shift from embarrassing to outright harassment of others. Your stern rebukes probably saved him from being pummeled by Tyra. She is impressive and I believe her strength would have caused considerable pain should she have lost her temper at our companion.”

“Ah. I can imagine. I don’t remember much of it.”

“May I ask you something, Garfield?”

Uh-oh. When a woman uses your full name, it rarely means a good thing. “Sure.”

“Would it have improved your condition, your disposition, to have engaged in sexual relations with Tyra Tyswix?”

Yeah, definitely an uh-oh. “I…”

She chuckled. I loved the sound. I’m sure it was all psychological, but it eased my headache a little bit.

“I am not trying to trap you. I am genuinely curious. You obviously find her pleasing to look upon. I can understand. She is formidable, as I said, and unconventionally beautiful. Classic female beauty does not generally include such musculature. I find myself attracted to her and would not fault you for doing so. My question?”

“I don’t know, Brin. My entire body hurts, starting from the inside and radiating outward. It saps my energy, affects my mood, even distracts my mind. Part of me thinks it could help. When you and I did what we did a few days ago, it seemed to, but I care for you. It could be different if it were just purely physical.”

Her blue cheeks darkened. “I care for you as well. As I have already discussed with you, I am unfamiliar with social activities involving such intimacy. However, I do not lay a claim on your body—even if I could. You have shared affection with Qamara Enorana, though as with me it helps to provide her a bit of magical impetus. If it will soothe you and help you to recover from what you are feeling from the loss of Lucas, I would not take it as an insult if you shared such activities with Tyra.”

I blinked at the moonwisp. “You wouldn’t take it as an insult, but how would it make you feel? Emotionally?”

A pensive look settled on her face. “I am unsure. As I said, I am not selfish as regards the time you spend with me. I enjoy being with you, working with you. Holding your hand.” She raised our clasped hands as if to show me proof. “I would not begrudge you spending time with another in that way, any more than I do with the time you spend training Tiporian in his weapons use.”

“Really?” I asked. “It wouldn’t bother you if I had drunkenly had sex with Tyra last night? You wouldn’t feel threatened or jealous?”

“I would not. Am I misunderstanding the situation? You engaging with her in that way, would it mean you care less for me?”

“Of course not. You’re my favorite person in this world, no question. We’ve only been together for a little while, but I honestly can’t see me living here without you being with me.”

“Truly?”

“Absolutely, Brin. The only reason I thought we’d go our separate ways after what happened with Lucas was that I don’t know what I’m going to do anymore and I know you have things to do.”

“I do. Things which you have kindly promised to help me with. So why would you believe I would want to stop accompanying you wherever you go?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t been thinking as clearly as I’d like. Lucas…the whole thing really knocked me on my ass. Uh, figuratively speaking.”

“I understand. I, too, would not desire to navigate this life without you by my side. So to answer your question, it would not affect me adversely if you were to partake in Tyra’s charms, especially if it would help to ease your suffering. It would have an added benefit of easing hers as well. The two of you have suffered similar loss recently and could do much to soothe each other. You both deserve it.”

Damn. “How did I have to be dragged into another world before I found someone like you, Brinawynn Tolsen? You are spectacular.”

“Thank you. I find you to be quite sensational yourself. Would you like me to go and get some food from the kitchen and bring it back here to share?”

“God, you’re perfect.”

“I will dress and do so. I will be back shortly.”

While Brin was gone, I did a better job of cleaning up. When she came back with food, we sat on the only two chairs in the room, ate breakfast, then fell back in bed. My head still pounded and I had even more trouble concentrating than normally in the last few days, but cuddling with the beautiful woman and napping was about as perfect as things could be in my condition.

It wasn’t until I groaned when I moved too fast that Brin sprung something on me I hadn’t even thought of.

“Oh, my. I had not realized the extent of the effects of your drinking last night. I have never experienced overdrinking, so the tales I’ve heard slipped my mind. Would you like me to heal you?”

“Wait, you can heal a hangover? The effects of getting drunk?”

She grinned at me and tightened her grip on my hand. More often than not, our hands were together, the habit we’d developed so I could constantly trickle magical energy into her as the insulator or capacitor or refiner that I was. I didn’t understand it completely, but the point was I somehow helped to pull and refine mana from the environment and allow it to flow into her with our touch.

A cooling wave washed over my body and just like that, my headache was gone. The distraction and emotional shift I’d felt since Lucas’s death didn’t change, but the physical symptoms of getting shit-faced did.

“Brin, that was amazing. Thank you so much.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

“Speaking of which…you just used some magic. Maybe I can show you my thanks and help you regain some mana at the same time.”

“I used little magic. My healing spell, which is relatively weak now, is very efficient with…oh. Ahem. I mean, yes, I would accept your thanks and can always use a boost in the mana stored in my internal reservoir, if you are so inclined.”

I gave her a big smile. It was one of the things I absolutely loved about the woman: how fucking smart she was. I was about to show her appreciation for some of the other things about her that often made me sigh. Or pant.

Without a word, she began to remove her clothes, loosening the straps on her corset top and on the longer skirt that was more like the bottom half of a cloak. She slipped the longer part off first, then shimmied out of the one-piece corset-miniskirt thing she wore. I sat quietly, observing. She wouldn’t meet my eye, looking anywhere but toward me. That she was embarrassed to show me her fantastic body was adorable.

I was already stripped from the waist up, with only my pants between that and my bare feet. I could focus completely on the show she was providing me.

She turned, the smooth curves of her back toward me as she slipped on the top she wore when relaxing or sleeping. I had a feeling she didn’t wear the top when she slept alone. Or maybe it was a hope.

I took Brinawynn’s hand and pulled her toward the bed. Her fabulous body moved with the grace of a dancer or a skilled warrior. The latter of which she was.

“Were you always so good at combat?” I asked, since I’d wondered before. “Or did you only learn to fight well when your magic lessened?”

She tilted her head at me, unsure about the sudden change in subject. “I learned to fight at a young age but did not use the skill for many years. When my magic waned, I began practicing again, first pushing myself through old drills in memory. Then I hired a few trainers to help refine my skill since I found myself needing to engage in combat more often.” She bit her bottom lip. “Are you saying you would like to spar with me?”

“What? Oh, no. It was because of how you move, and how you look. I could watch your body for hours. Your motions are so fluid. I think your training and your fighting shaped you into the exquisite woman you are.”

Her cheeks darkened and she gave me a sexy little shrug.

It was true, though. With the clothes she wore for relaxing and sleeping, I could see so much of her blue skin, it was hard sometimes to decide where to let my eyes roam.

She stood on bare feet, in the Tanga-cut panties and what amounted to a strap wrapped tightly around her chest, kind of a tube top thing. Both were extremely tight and in a soft, crimson cloth. She looked like she should tower over me with her slender, leggy appearance, though she was a couple of inches less than my six-foot height.

Smooth blue skin covered her sleek, toned muscle, with the hint of musculature in her abs. Flat, not rippled muscle. She was soft and feminine, but not the soft of inactivity. I loved the feel of her tight muscles under silk-smooth, perfect skin. She twisted where she stood and I caught just a piece of her firm behind, where she was barely covered by her panties.

Her chest, only covered halfway at best by her normal clothing, was now covered completely with her loungewear, but her large breasts looked just as delectable without any part of them showing.

All that was only her physical form, her physique. When I directed my attention upward, to her beautiful face, my eyes locked there, like I couldn’t drag them away even if I used my hands to push my head to the side. Her long red hair, bright green eyes, and lips that always seemed like she had just applied deep crimson lipstick always made me feel like I was staring at a goddess.

“Gar?”

“Yes, Brin.”

“Will you touch me now?”

“Oh yes. I will definitely touch you now.”

Chapter

Six

Ipulled Brin to me and kissed her eagerly. The soft cloth covering her breasts felt good on my bare chest, but I suspected that if she was wearing sandpaper, she’d feel good against me, physics be damned. She moaned softly as our lips and tongues met, familiar acquaintances but feeling like they hadn’t met for a very long time.

“I’m sorry if I haven’t been paying as much attention to you as I should,” I told her.

She stroked my cheek. “You are in a difficult situation. I understand and I wish I could help more. I wish I could show you how much I would like to make you feel better.”

“You’re doing a really good job right now.”

She smiled, her eyes lighting up as the skin on either side of them crinkled slightly. Her hands massaged my back and she kissed me again.

I held her tighter and leaned. As it became clear that we would fall, her body tightened, but then, instantly, relaxed. We fell onto the bed as one, both with a little huff as we landed. She extracted her arms from me and pushed me over so I lay on my back. Straddling me, she leaned down and kissed me again, then sat up, her hands running up along my abs and my chest, kneading the flesh and sending warm sensations throughout my body.

Looking up at her, past the very distracting bulges covered in red cloth, how extremely hot she was sucked the breath from me. I pulled her down for another kiss. We wrestled for a moment, me unseating her and pinning her arms to the bed while I straddled her and kissed aggressively up her neck and along her face to her ears. I licked her from the base of her throat up to the tip of her chin and pressed my teeth down like I was going to bite down hard. Through it all, she let loose sexy little moans, little more than exhalations, but sounds with the power to ratchet my arousal up an incredible degree.

My mouth found its way down to her chest, biting at the cloth and skin beneath progressively along the tops of her breasts, around them, and to the sensitive centers where stiff bumps marked the spot where the treasure lay. I worried one nipple through the cloth with my teeth and she hissed out a breath.

“Ooooooh. I missed your touch these last days.”

I pulled at her nipple with my teeth. “Me, too. God, I love how you feel.”

“Mmmmm.”

I kissed the flesh under the edge of her tube top, spending some time exploring her belly and navel. She was soon inadvertently thrusting upward with her hips. Just the shadow of a movement, but between that and her rumbling moans, she was driving me crazy.

My cock was already trying to press its way out of my pants, but I resisted the urge to take her as soon as I could. I had been neglecting her heavenly body the last few days in my depressed state and I wanted to take it slow. I knew how much she liked that. I thought maybe she would like me aggressively ravishing her, too, but that could wait. She deserved a long, slow buildup.

I moved up and braced myself above her, letting our lips meet tentatively, softly. When she lifted her head to engage the kiss more fully, I moved away, teasing her with the barest of contact.

She growled in her throat, flicking her tongue out as if she could reel me in like a frog with its meal. Less than a minute of that and she wrapped her arms around me and pulled me down hard on top of her. I let myself dip down, kissing her and grinding my body against hers.

“Mmmmmm. Why are there still clothes between us, Gar? Why?”

I chuckled into her mouth as I kissed her again. “Do you want me to do something about them?” I locked lips with her again before she could answer.

She tried to break the kiss to speak, but I didn’t release her. Not yet. “Mmm. Mmmmm. Mmmmm-hmmmmm.” She turned her head, panting and speaking quickly. “Yes. Off. All of them.”

“So quickly.”

“Now!”

I buried my mouth in her chest, laughing. “As you wish.”

I peeled her top down a few inches first, revealing her magnificent breasts slowly, uncovering them in slow, careful increments. As I did, I kissed the newly revealed skin with the softest pressure. She writhed underneath me, moaning out sounds that sounded half whimper. She didn’t beg, though. A pity, that.

I finally revealed her entire chest and suckled her left nipple. I had to close my eyes. Between the sight, the feeling of her stiff flesh in my mouth, and her moaning at the top of my head, it took every bit of willpower I had to keep from tearing off her panties and attacking her.

The top went smoothly over her head and onto the floor before I kissed her and slipped a hand down the side of her body, shivering flesh following in its wake. When I reached the top edge of her panties, Brin shuddered, like she’d suddenly been placed on a block of ice. It was the sexiest fucking thing ever.

“Finger,” she panted. “Finger me.”

“Hmmmm.” I licked her chest, up her neck and around her jaw to tease her lips. “No. I don’t think so.”

The moan-whimper was so mournful, it made my heart ache. I’d make it up to her, though. Very soon.

I slid down her body, grabbing her panties and pulling them down. As I did, my face passed by her newly naked nether regions, only an inch or so above. I inhaled deeply. Her scent, like a cool evening breeze over an endless plain, tickled my nose. The barest hint of grass and other green plants and a bit of sweetness, like smelling a ripe peach from a few feet away, made my mouth water.

It wasn’t the only thing that was producing moisture. I stared at her glistening folds. I was so close. I could literally extend my tongue and touch her. She wanted me to, and I wanted to. But should I?

An answering chorus within me sang Fuck yes!

I licked her bald, beautiful, wet slit from bottom to top, slowly dragging upward as her body gyrated.

“Yes-yes-yes. Yes, Gar. Oh-oh-oh.”

When I reached the top, I pulled away, watching. Brin’s body shuddered and twitched rhythmically.

“Oh.” She stretched the word out to about four syllables. The sound of it made my dick twitch in my pants, almost matching her rhythm.

I blew on the wet skin.

“Gaaaaaahhh!” Her hips thrust upward and more juices pooled across the surface of her pretty pussy. She tremored and her hands found my hair, pulling hard on it, trying to get my mouth on her again.

But I refused, using my superior strength to keep my mouth away from her slit, even though she tore some hairs from my scalp.

I stood up, pulled my pants and underwear off, and went to her, but not in the way she’d expected. I lay down on my side, rolling her to her own side so we were both facing the same way, with my front pressing against her back.

“Gar,” she said. “What are you—”

My hand wrapping around her, just below her navel, stopped her question. I wriggled my body, notching my hard shaft in between the most perfect butt cheeks I’d ever seen.

She sighed.

“Does that feel good in there?” I asked.

She wiggled her perfect ass, settling my cock even more between her cheeks. It reminded me of what she’d done the last time we’d played, how she nestled that very same meat tube between her tits. My hips thrust without my permission, sliding me up along her asshole.

“Ooooooh. Yes-yes. I love that.”

“Just wait.”

Her body felt so good, even without the added friction just now. My dick twitched and dribbled. I distracted myself by grabbing at her tits with one hand and sliding the other down toward her wet slit. I took a bit of skin on her back into my mouth and started to stroke her with both of my hands.

She went suddenly silent, like she was afraid talking or making noise would scare off what she was feeling. The only sounds besides the bed creaking was the soft whisper of our skin sliding across more skin and her breathing. Her panting.

For some reason, it was one of the sexiest things I’d ever heard. The soft but insistent “Huh-huh-huh-huh” sent jolts through me. I could imagine her gorgeous face, eyes slitted, mouth opened halfway, air rushing in and out as her body tried to figure out how to grind in four places at once.

I’d teased her long enough. Too much more, and I was going to spurt all over her lower back.

I put a finger into her slit.

“Oh! Oh-oh-oh-oh.”

I tweaked her nipple, thrust my hips to press my shaft against her hole, and curled a finger inside her wet pussy while tapping another finger on her clit. I was a little proud of accomplishing it all at once. Like the old rubbing your tummy and patting your head thing, it took some coordination. Doing it without coming was a bonus.

She did not get the bonus.

A handful of seconds after I started, Brin writhed against me, breathing faster than I thought was probably healthy, and creating sounds that would make a priest cream his robes.

“Oooooaaaaaaaaahhh! Huh-uh-huh-uh-huh-uh.”

Her hand came down on mine, fingernails digging in as she pulled hard on it to drag my fingers across her faster. I went with her direction and in seconds, it was done. Warm, thick fluid gushed over my finger as her ass cheeks squeezed my shaft in the most delicious of ways.

Brin sighed and relaxed against me, molding to my body even better than before.

“Did you like that?”

“Goddess, yes. But you…”

“Don’t worry about me. Will you do one more thing for me?”

“Of course. Anything.”

“Good.” I laid down flat on my back. When I removed my finger from her, she sighed even more loudly. “Don’t worry. You won’t miss it in a few seconds. Okay, I’m ready. Come here.”

I arranged her to straddle my face as I lay there. She literally dripped onto my mouth and I lapped up her nectar, swirling my tongue around her lips to clean her off even as more came down from above.

The sight was phenomenal. Her beautiful slit was too close for me to focus well on, but my gaze skimmed along her sexy, slender midsection, up to her fantastic tits and, when she gyrated as she arched and rounded her back, to her gorgeous face. It was an awkward angle, but damn, it was one of the most erotically spectacular images I’d ever seen.

When I put my hands on her ass and pulled her down onto my mouth, Brin let out a little squeak, but the sound changed immediately when my tongue shot up into her.

“Huh? Oh. Ooooooh.”

I placed a finger inside her and sucked on her lips, my other hand going up to massage one of her breasts. One of the things I loved most about this position was what she was doing right at the moment. Head thrown back, mouth open, she ground her pussy across my face, arching her back and throwing her tits out. There was something about the shape of a woman with her back arched like that. It had always turned me on. This was no exception. In fact, this might just be the epitome.

“Oh-oh-oh. Gar. But you…you are not getting pleasure.”

I wanted to shout, “What the fuck are you talking about. This is ecstasy,” but my mouth was kind of busy. I did lessen the grip on her butt to allow her to pull away slightly, though, so I could speak.

“Then turn around and play with my dick.”

I immediately pulled her back and swished my tongue from side to side within her inner lips. Suddenly, I found a hand between me and her pussy.

She panted for a good half minute before she spoke. “A moment.” Then, after a few more deep breaths, she swung off me and turned to straddle me again, this time facing my lower body.

Sixty-nine position.

I wondered if she’d figure it out, but didn’t bother asking. I settled into the new angle and resumed trying to make her come yet again. Tongue flicking her clit, finger exploring inside her, other hand on her ass, pulling her down onto me.

A wet hand wrapped around my shaft and I jumped a little before continuing my work. Brin was a natural at working a cock, as I’d found out the first time we were together. She fumbled for a time, but then she’d settled in. I found now that she hadn’t forgotten the lessons she’d learned, as the hand job she was now giving me brought me to the very edge.

She’d also said she learned something else the last time. Her body shifted, followed immediately by a familiar warm sensation on the head of my cock.

The angle was different, but I recognized the feel of Brin’s mouth. My body jerked and I was afraid I was going to explode already, but the pressure of me clenching my muscles at just the right strength helped me to overcome the close call.

Then she started swirling.

Oh. My. God. For a rookie, the woman had been surprisingly fast in figuring out how to make me feel things I didn’t think were even possible. As I continued to suck on her clit and reach her sensitive spots within her pussy, she worked my shaft, and worked it well. Hand rotating around with the exact amount of friction to make me light-headed with her mouth sucking and teasing the precise spot on my frenulum that caused my whole body to tremor, she ratcheted up my arousal until I wasn’t sure if I was going to pass out for lack of oxygen.

I gasped into her crotch as she moan-hummed onto my dick. The vibrations it sent through my cock had my hips bouncing up and down. The added friction of that only increased the ecstasy.

It wasn’t only me, though. Even with my hand clamped down on Brin’s ass, she moved back and forth, grinding into me. Our chaotic rhythms met and synced, through no conscious effort, until we pistoned in perfect harmony.

A particularly powerful suction, coupled with lip pressure and a sliding, rotating friction from her hand, and that was it for me. I dug my hand into her ass cheek, sucked hard on her clit, and rammed my finger even farther up into her as my body bucked at my release.

Brin, as good as her word the last time we shared such intimacy, took all of my cum into her mouth and gobbled it down. I heard the sounds of her swallowing through the rush of blood in my ears. Somehow, she moaned while doing it, accompanied by my own sounds. Those of groans, grunts, and the lapping of the fluids she released down onto me.

Even after we cleaned each other up, we didn’t say anything, only breathed as hard as we could to drag air into our lungs.

I slapped her ass playfully, and she finally spoke.

“Oooh. Was I a bad girl?”

I laughed breathlessly. “Hell no. You were a very, very good girl. That was amazing.”

“I enjoyed it. I do like the taste of your seed. This will not be the last time I drink it from you, if you’ll allow me to do so again.”

“Allow you? Baby, I’ll beg you to. And for the record, your taste is amazing.”

“Is it?”

“It is.”

“Mmmmm.”

“Let’s reposition. I want to hold you.”

“I would like that, too.”

Positioned more conventionally, we snuggled until we fell asleep for another couple of hours.

Chapter

Seven

Aloud banging on my door yanked me from my slumber. My body jerked up, ramrod straight, my mind trying to catch up and figure out what was happening. While I delayed, more pounding shook the door. I found my pants and put them on as I walked across the room to find out who the hell was making such a racket.

I jerked the door open to find the innkeeper, Arlin Temkins, holding Tip’s arm in an obviously strong grip. The flesh of the satyr’s arm was indented and reddened and when the stodgy old bear beastkin released his grip, a recognizable handprint remained on Tip’s flesh.

“This is your…companion?” the no-nonsense man asked me.

“Uh, yes.”

“You need to keep him under control, or I will have to ask all of your party to leave my inn.”

I glared at Tip, who was making a study of the doorframe. I couldn’t tell if the neutral expression and slight blush was embarrassment, anger, or a reaction to being manhandled by the slab of beef—or bear meat, as it were—standing next to him.

I knew I was going to be sorry I asked, but I had to ask. “What did he do?”

The innkeeper cleared his throat. “First, he attempted to mount the inn cat.”

“He tried to make it into a trophy to hang on the wall?”

“No. He tried to have sexual relations with poor Petunia.”

“Everyone loves a little pussy,” Tip mumbled under his breath.

I closed my eyes and took a breath, doing my best to ignore Tip. “You said first.”

“Yes. His second activity involved putting his mouth on the breast of a statue of Sietima, the Goddess of Beauty, within her own temple. The servants of the goddess struck him and brought him to me.”

That would explain the black eye that’s forming on his face.

“Just a little breastfast,” the satyr casually threw out there.

I shook my head, doing my best to give the satyr a stink eye, but he still wouldn’t look at me.

“Third, he did his best to mount…ah, to have intercourse with at least three of the inn’s chickens.”

“I love a little fowl play as much as the next horny guy,” Tip said. I found myself raising my arm to backhand the little fucker.

“As I said, if there are any more occasions where your companion misbehaves, you will all be ejected from my inn immediately. No refunds and no holding back.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Temkins. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“If it does, I will notify the constable first and then send you all away. Forcefully.”

“Yes, sir.” I turned to the satyr, snatching one of his horns and wrenching it. “Why don’t you come in, Tip. We have some things to talk about.”

He kicked at the floor and squeezed past me to enter the room. I let go of his horn, though I considered using it to toss him through the doorway instead.

“Thank you, Mr. Temkins.”

He scoffed, turned, and walked away without another word.

I calmly looked up and down the hallway and didn’t see anyone else. I closed the door and turned to search for Tip. He sat on one of the chairs, his legs swinging.

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” I asked him. I thought I did a good job at not screaming the question, though my voice was a bit louder than normal conversation.

He shrugged and I took a step toward him to knock his ass out. Brin stepped in front of me.

“That’s not necessary, Gar.”

“Oh, I disagree with that, Brin. I believe it is. Really, I do.”

Brin turned to Tip. “Explain yourself, Tiporian. You have nearly caused us to be thrown out onto the street.”

“Dunno,” he said.

I looked over to Brin, hoping my expression of exasperation and anger conveyed my feelings. Can I fucking kick his ass now?

Apparently it didn’t, or at least she didn’t want to answer me.

“That is unacceptable,” she said. “Three inappropriate acts. What are we to do with you?”

His eyes lit up and he opened his mouth to speak.

I cut him off. “If you say it, Tip, so help me, I’ll kill you.”

His mouth closed with a click.

“Now, answer her, and not how you were going to. None of us want to hear that.”

He shrugged again. “It’s hard, okay? I’m frustrated, you know, down there. Then I hear you two getting busy through the wall. What’s a guy supposed to do? Only so many times a day I can toss off. I need something wrapped around me—”

“Tip!” I warned.

“I need companionship. So, I went out looking for it.”

“You went out looking and the best you could come up with was a cat, a statue, and some chickens?”

“Pickin’s are slim right now.”

I suddenly thought of something. “Where’s Rex?”

“In my room.”

“You didn’t…?”

“What? Oh! No, no. Give me some credit. He’s a dude. I don’t swing that way.”

“And saying it like that is supposed to make me feel better. If Rex had been female?”

He shrugged again.

“Dude, Tip, you need therapy. And a solid ass-kicking.”

“I need to get laid. How many times do I have to tell you that? You don’t know how it is, walking around looking like a famous hero like you do. I feel like I’m going to die.”

“You’re not going to die from a little abstinence.”

“A little? Do you know how long—”

“No. Nuh-uhn. We’re not talking about this anymore. I’m telling you right now, if you can’t control yourself and you cause trouble like you did today, just choose any direction we’re not going in and start walking. I mean it.”

“But the prophetess…”

“Her vision can go fuck itself.”

“Even visions are getting some action,” he groused.

“I…I mean it. It’s bad enough all the bad guys are trying to kill us. We don’t need every normal citizen to hate us, too.” I almost laughed at that last thing he said. I think I covered for it well with my little slip of the tongue, but that was fucking hilarious. The horny little prick.

“I’ll try to be better.”

“No, Tiporian,” Brin said. “You will be better. You must. We can ill afford upsetting people who only expect a little respect and appropriate behavior. We are not in the tribal lands where you can act like a savage.”

He slumped at that more than he had at anything I said, even threats. Of course, I didn’t have a spectacular blue-skinned body with fantastic tits. I was sure that made a difference.

“Did you eat breakfast?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, let me get dressed and we’ll head out to look for Brin’s item at the different shops. Maybe we can find a magic sword for you. It’s a different city, and a forging city at that. Maybe someone’s got one.”

“I guess,” he said.

WE SLOGGED THROUGH THE CITY, scouring shop after shop, market stall after market stall, and even talking to solitary hawkers that literally had items in multiple pockets in their long jackets. I almost laughed at the image of some medieval dude in a long coat saying, “Hey man, wanna buy a watch?” but by the time I got to the end, I only thought of Lucas. I was carrying his watch in addition to wearing the one he gave me as a gift.

That soured my mood and I grew quiet. It was a defense mechanism I’d developed. Not defense for me, but for those around me. When I was having a rough time of things, I tended to be blunt. Not at all polite. I also, if anything, adhered even more closely to my habit of telling the truth. I could be brutal, so it was best not to say anything at all. If I hurt Brin’s feelings because of my irritation, I’d feel like shit for a week.

With Tip? The little fucker deserved for me to tear him to shreds verbally. I didn’t, though. Best to keep all that bottled up.

When Brin looked at me, I could tell she was getting sick of my attitude, though I was doing everything I could to not show an attitude. She seemed to take the silence as an affront and for a short period of time, she wouldn’t even hold my hand. I was still working out what to say to her when she snatched it up again, squeezed it, and gave me a tired smile.

I appreciated it.

I also appreciated how Tip was on his best behavior, though he had to be bored out of his mind. As before, we found no magic weapons for sale, so he found little interest in what we were doing. He’d even stopped checking out shops, still soured from the asshole shopkeeper who’d chased him out of his store the day before.

“I would have thought in a city that makes weapons, there would be more magical ones for sale,” I said.

Brin’s face lit up. I think it was the simple fact that there was conversation, little as it was. “There are plenty of weapons for sale, but magical ones are still rare. The smiths make all manner of weapons in Forgehaven, but to become magical they must not only be made of materials and of a quality that lends them to being enchanted, but it requires an enchanter to do the work. As a profession, enchanters are rare.”

“Can we find one here? Maybe they’ve got a shop full of magical items.”

“I doubt it. Like I said, they are rare. If they did have weapons, do you not think that their wares would be snapped up quickly?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“It is unfortunate the goddess is missing.”

“Why, is she an enchanter?”

She laughed her sexy, trilling laugh. “No, though she could probably do the work with little trouble. We have spoken about this. When I was in my full power, I could enchant a sword myself for Tip’s use. For mine as well, for that matter.”

I frowned at the situation. “I’ve been wondering. Are there items that could help you to regain your magic, or give you some of it back in another way? I know your items helped you, but it seems like they all do one or two specific things, like protecting you from a type of magic while giving you access to one spell. Do any of them help out generally, allowing you to get closer to how you were before? Maybe amplifying your magic or something?”

“No. I wish it were so, but I know of no trinket that would do such a thing. My former possessions were crutches, ones that gave me a fraction of my former power, typically through very specific circumstances.”

“That’s gotta be hard. Any way we can do more to investigate your goddess being missing?”

She gave me a sweet smile. “Thank you for your concern. There may be a way to obtain more information. I know of a researcher, a scholar, who might be able to find something.”

“That sounds like a good lead. Why don’t we go and find this scholar of yours?”

“She is notoriously difficult to find, searching the world for an ancient library that shames all others because of its complexity and completeness. I am keeping my mind and my ears open, however, for any information on her. Perhaps Qamara will have some when we meet her again.”

“You expect us to meet Qamara again?” I asked.

“I do. It is plain she is smitten with you, or she at least enjoys what you do with her. We will see her again. When we do, perhaps I can convince her to try to find Dayra.”

Chapter

Eight

We spent several days repeating the same actions. Forgehaven was a big city and there seemed an endless number of shops to check out. Though no one said it in concrete terms, I think it was generally understood that we would continue to check every little hole in the wall until we either found Brin’s item or we’d literally visited every place and person in the city that might know who had the item Qamara told us was here.

“I wish she would have told us exactly what we’re looking for,” I groused as we left a shop in the southeastern section of the city.

“She told us the item,” Brin said. She seemed unfazed by our constant failure to locate what we were looking for.

I did not share her optimism. “Yeah, but I mean it would have been more useful if she told us where it was.”

“Things are rarely that convenient.”

I had to agree with that, but still, the days, hours, and minutes dragged on and on. Believe it or not, one thing kept me sane in what was essentially mall walking every fucking day, and I had to thank Tip for it. Yeah, it was that bad.

After our first day, while we ate dinner, I sat silently, as I’d become accustomed to doing. My new quiet demeanor acted like a damper with the others, for which I felt bad, but at least it didn’t force me to talk. The little conversation that did happen usually consisted of general statements that inevitably led to Brin and Tip talking, ostensibly at me, though they answered each other.

“I was thinking,” Tip said.

“Be careful, Tiporian, that you do not injure yourself.”

That drew even my eyes. I stared at Brin.

“Was that a joke?” Tip asked. “From you? I didn’t know moonwisps had senses of humor.”

“How many moonwisps have you met?”

“Only you. Okay, let me rephrase. I didn’t know you had a sense of humor.”

She raised her chin, her lips curving into a smile. “I do, should I desire to use it. But pardon me for interrupting. You said you were thinking?” She glanced at me as she spoke, as if to gauge my reaction. Once the shock was done, I went back to staring into space, sipping on my ale. I didn’t even grace her with a smile. Too much work.

“Right. So like I said, I was thinking. We’re running all over the city—”

“We are covering the area and any shops present in an organized, systematic manner,” Brin corrected.

“Yeah, yeah. So we’re running all over the city and while that gives us some exercise, it’s not going to do much the next time we get attacked. My legs might be stronger, so maybe I’ll be able to run away faster, but is that really what we’re working for here?”

Brin’s eyes narrowed at the satyr. He shrank a little bit into his seat and put his hands up in surrender.

“I’m just sayin’. Gar teaching me to fight has been hit and miss, especially since…uh, lately.” He turned to me. “Can we maybe set a little time aside each day so you can work with me? We don’t have a magic sword, so I’m not worth a shit with the umbrenix, but the way things are going, there will be a lot of different types of people and things that try to kill us. Most likely on account of my good looks and the jealousy that creates in others. If I can fight better, then maybe I won’t die. Or be such a liability.”

His eyes darted to and from mine, refusing to keep contact for more than a fraction of a second. He sounded sad when he said it that way.

“I think that’s a great idea. We can go to the park a few blocks away and practice a little each day. Good call, Tip.”

We’d tried, at various times during the day, to convince Brin since she was the only one who could recognize her items, she should be the one looking for it. Tip and I were just along for companionship. I didn’t put it that way, of course, but I did ask if it was the best use of our collective time.

She’d shut down all our attempts to get out of going with her, having no qualms with pointing out that if we didn’t go with her, we would not have anything useful to do. I had to give it to her; she pegged me. The entirety of my plans was to mope around in the room and maybe sleep twenty hours a day. This new idea sounded like what we needed.

Maybe she would let us beg off the shopping to train.

“I think that is a fine idea. We can search for my item most of the day and we can all go and train in the park each evening.”

I figured it was at least half a win.

The third day into our new schedule found me correcting Tip’s form with his sword. Despite his normally flighty personality, he got about as serious as he ever was when we trained. It was the one time of the day when I could push the world and everything in it out of my mind and focus on something I loved.

It had taken me a while to come to terms with it, but I loved fighting. I don’t mean that in the sense most people do. I didn’t like arguing or coming into conflict with others. I wasn’t an antagonist who was always trying to rile things up. I also didn’t generally like hurting people. What I mean is that in a pure physical sense, I loved the act of combat.

Growing up, it had been a defense mechanism. Literally. People were trying to kick my ass, even kill me later on, and learning to keep that from happening had been logical. I likened it to people who were crazy about going to the gym, or playing basketball, or rock climbing. It was an obsession.

Somewhere along the way, I’d also picked up on some of the wisdom involved, too. The confidence and the well-being of not only being in shape but also knowing I could take care of most threats had kept me centered. Even when my only parent had died. Even when my best friend had.

But in the training yard, it wasn’t just tolerating the bad things that happened. There, I could drown out all the bullshit and focus on the movement, the skill, the science of beating your opponent. And teaching it to someone else was almost a spiritual thing.

“Hey,” Tip said to me. Brin was sitting on a bench a few dozen feet away. She wasn’t paying much attention to us, instead watching a couple of squirrels fighting in the trees near her. “I just want you to know that I’m sorry I’m always causing you trouble. I’m not trying to. Especially with the current state of things.”

I eyed him, trying to figure out what angle he was trying to work.

“I know I’m a pain in the ass,” he continued. “I have a lot of things to work on and I’m not making it easier with what you’re going through.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked him, starting to get a little irritated. Why he and Brin constantly danced around, throwing vague references at me, I didn’t know. So what, I’d been quiet lately. It’s not like they knew what was going on with me.

“You know, the thing.”

“The thing.”

“Yeah. I know we’re not supposed to say it, but I know how you feel.”

A rush of fire danced through my body. He was really starting to piss me off. He knew how I felt? Bullshit.

Tip put his hands up. He quickly started speaking again, probably the worst thing he could have done. “Don’t get mad. I know no one can know exactly how someone else feels, but I…well, I kind of do.

“I had a best friend, another taranji. Replus Exordinen. We basically grew up together. When the small group we lived with was scattered—attacked by ‘decent’ folks breaking up a pack of troublemakers—he and I traveled together, found a town where we could try to make a life. All we wanted to do was find some work and try to live like normal people.

“It didn’t end up so well. No one would let us do even the most menial of tasks. We ended up drifting, wandering. Begging. Eating whatever we could get our hands on. We didn’t steal, though we were tempted. People treated us so badly, it would’ve served them right to be robbed. But we didn’t.

“Near one town, we found a group that was even angrier and more violent than that shop owner from the other day. Or even than Tigger—umm, Scar—who wanted to hunt me and kill me for fun, if you can believe that.

“They found us one night, where we’d located some bushes that kept us hidden so we could sleep. Six of them attacked us. They killed Replus in front of me, made it into a game. Cut him and cut him as he cried out in pain. Two of them held me back as they bled him. He got weaker and weaker as he lost more blood. In the end, they got bored when he was too weak to do anything but mewl. They slit his throat. I’ll never forget the hissing sound it made as air bubbled out through the cut. The gurgling.

“I screamed, kicked out so hard with my hooves I think I broke some bones on one of the men holding onto me. I almost picked up one of their knives, but knew I’d be captured, tortured, and killed just like Replus had been. They probably would have invented new ways to treat me since I’d dared to hurt one of theirs. I darted off.

“I ran for a long time. If there’s one thing I can do, it’s run. I never went back to that area again. Sometimes, I still see him. Replus. The way he screamed, how he looked at me, like I could have rescued him. It was four years ago but still, sometimes I have nightmares. I…” He choked back a sob but turned it into a cough to cover it.

“Anyway, that’s what I mean when I say I know a little bit about how you feel. Not exactly, but maybe a little? It took me a long time until I was the shining example of handsome perfection you see before you.” He chuckled. “So I’ll try not to piss you off too much. Just so you know I’m trying and, you know, if you want to hit someone to get some aggression out, you can beat me up. Or if you want to talk. I’d actually prefer that because listening is a lot less painful physically than getting my ass kicked. But either one is fine. You’ve saved my life more than once, so I’ll do whatever I can.

“Just remember that although it seems like I’m perfect, some things are hard to resist. No promises that I won’t fuck the next hot chicken I see. Fair warning.”

He stopped talking and launched into a set of sword forms I had taught him, not doing a bad job. I stared at the goat man as he whirled, struck, blocked, and danced with invisible opponents, ranging across the grass area we’d been training in. I caught a glimpse of Brin in the corner of my eye, also looking at Tip and wiping one of her eyes.

“Thanks, buddy,” I whispered, feeling like an asshole. I was the proverbial guy bitching about my sore feet while he—irritating and broken as he was—was the guy with no feet. I suddenly wanted nothing more than to escape to some place where I could be alone, but I stayed. I couldn’t run away after what he’d just told me.

“You’re dropping your right shoulder again, shithead,” I said. “Keep that left knee turned in more. You’re doing great, but damn, dude, you need a lot of work.”

The flash of white teeth as the satyr corrected his form gave me hope. If he’d come back after what he’d told me happened to him, even if his finished product was strange as hell, maybe I would start giving a shit, too. Maybe it would just take time.

And the blood of Aeyr and every motherfucker who worked for him. All the blood.

Chapter

Nine

Halfway through another grueling day of trying to locate Brin’s lost item—or shopping, as I’d come to think of it—I was engaging in the most unproductive habit I had. I checked my watch, regretting that it showed that only twelve minutes had passed since the last time I consulted it. I even took Lucas’s watch out of my pocket to make sure mine wasn’t running slow. It wasn’t.

I sighed. A pall hung over our trio, so conversation was at a minimum. Brin spoke a few times, her tone cheery and directed at Tip. She even took us to one of the streetside food stands. If I’d doubted that she heard what the satyr had told me the day before, I didn’t now. Despite her effort, though, our collective mood wasn’t great.

Somehow, looking for the elusive magical thing, whatever the hell it was, had become our job. Worse, the general mood was probably my fault. My laconic tendencies over the last several days seemed to have worn the other two down. Between that and Tip’s story, which probably had him dwelling on darker thoughts, too, we didn’t chat much. We put one foot in front of the other and went from vendor to vendor. Searching. Ever searching.

“Hey!”

It was a voice I recognized. I turned to see a familiar green body, demonstrated enticingly without a cloak this time. Damn. In the sunlight, without my mind addled and my vision softened by too much drink, my new acquaintance was breathtaking.

Tyra Tyswix wore the same ensemble she had underneath her dress robes the day I’d met her. The tiny shorts, the skimpy leather top, and low boots. The amount of creamy green skin on display would be scandalous in some cities and towns, though I’d found that Forgehaven had a looser opinion of such things.

I wholeheartedly agreed with the city. It would be a shame to cover up a body like that. Though she was shorter than all three of us—just barely in Tip’s case—she was hotness personified.

“Tyra,” Tip said enthusiastically.

“No.”

“Okay.” The satyr put a hand on Rex’s head, patting him instead of fidgeting.

“Hey, Gar,” the goblin said, her voice suddenly a little deeper, slower, and a tad huskier than normal. It went back to normal when she addressed the third member of our group. “Hi, Brin.” She smiled when she said it, friendly but not flirty like when she addressed me.

“Hey, Tyra. How are you? Holding up?”

“Psht. Yeah. Of course.”

I wasn’t buying it. Even as she scoffed, the pain of loss was evident in her eyes. My heart went out to her. I understood some of what she was going through. The open wound in my heart was almost as new as hers.

She forcibly put a smile on her face. “What are you three up to? Oh, four. Hiya, Rex.”

The lizard squeaked at her and bounced on his claws.

Brin raised her chin and took on the regal look she sometimes adopted. “We are searching for an item that was stolen from me recently, which we learned might be in the city. For sale, most likely.”

“Oh. What kind of item?”

“A piece of jewelry, a bangle. One item of several.”

“More than one?”

“She had several magical items that were stolen,” I said. “We got tipped off that one of them is here, so we’re going through every shop and market stall trying to find it.”

Tyra scratched her head. “That sounds like a lot of work. There are dozens of shops in the city.”

“We’re aware.” I couldn’t help the flat tone it came out in.

Brin cast her eyes toward me. Her expression didn’t change, but I got the sudden feeling that I was in trouble. It wasn’t the first time since we’d gotten to Forgehaven. The general mood of our little group was tense and even inadvertent comments caused offense at times.

“Can you take a break?” Tyra asked. “Maybe get something to drink?”

“I don’t think that is a good idea,” Brin said, a little too quickly.

I had to agree with her. I didn’t want to get drunk again, but a little break wouldn’t have been bad.

“No problem. Eat, then? It would be a late lunch. Did you eat the midday meal already?”

“We haven’t,” Tip said. “We were going to hit a few more shops first.” His words implied a group decision, but the forlorn way in which he said them made it clear he was suffering a most dire torture.

I watched Brin. Even irritated, she was always polite. She seemed to like Tyra, had sympathy for her because of her situation. When she took her bottom lip into her teeth, even though she realized it and released it immediately, I knew what she was going to say next.

“We would be delighted to share a meal with you. Can you recommend a place to eat?”

Tyra’s smile was less forced now. “Sure. Come on.”

Brin snatched up my hand. She’d let it go a dozen minutes ago, after I’d muttered something about “our daily slog.” Tyra glanced at us and I thought she might take my other hand, but thankfully she started walking, with us right behind her. I didn’t need to be treated like a tug-of-war rope.

We were soon in another tavern, this one with two large windows set in the front, letting in the sunshine. I didn’t catch the name on the sign, but I’d check on the way out and remember the place. It seemed a lot livelier than the typical tavern, at least during the daytime.

The goblin’s orange eyes flicked from me to Brin. With her skin color and the majority of her hair being blue, the color of her orbs was mesmerizing. I locked gazes with her a few times, but her eyes always skittered away after a few seconds. While we sat waiting for the serving girl to come to the table, there was an uncomfortable silence. Uncomfortable to the others, at least, the way they were fidgeting. I was fine with silence.

“Thanks for taking a few minutes to eat with me,” Tyra said. “It’s been tough transitioning to my new place. I can’t seem to keep my mind on my work in a new forge and house.”

“What has happened with the house and forge you were in before?” Brin asked.

“I moved all my stuff. My father’s house came to me after he died, so I have that and the much larger forge he had on the property. It’s kind of stupid, really. I’d always loved working in that forge, dreamed of someday having one of my own like it. Now that I have it, I…well, I can’t seem to focus.”

Brin put her hand on Tyra’s, which was resting on the table. “That is understandable. With what happened, and with everything changing so abruptly, it’s normal that you should feel that way. Do any other of your family live there, or nearby?”

“No. Most of my family lives in other cities. The family broke apart years ago. My father was kind of an asshole and it finally drove us all apart. I get along with them, but since I have dedicated myself to the same work he did, my family and I don’t see eye to eye all the time.

“My uncle lives here, outside the city. When my grandparents relocated, my father got the estate in the city and my uncle, his brother, got the one on the outskirts.”

“Do you get along well with your uncle?”

Tyra stopped watching her fidgeting hands and looked up at Brin. “I do, yes. He was always my favorite adult when I was growing up. He taught me a lot of things, most of all how to have fun. He’s busy, though. He’s a smith as well. It keeps him occupied. He has that drive my father and my grandfather had. That I have. I did see him at the service for my father, which was nice.”

“Have you no one else to converse with or to engage in recreation with?”

“Nah. That drive I was talking about, to become the best I can be, it takes time and focus. I’ve only had a handful of friends my whole life. Most of those I chased away by wanting only to pursue my crafting.” The goblin shrugged. “It’s fine.”

Brin squeezed Tyra’s hand even as she squeezed mine under the table. “It is not fine. Isolating yourself after such a traumatic experience as a loved one dying is the worst thing you can do.”

“Oh, I don’t isolate myself. There are a few servants at the house. You know, to clean it and cook and take care of things. Then there’s Klaard, my father’s assistant and butler. He always ran the business end of my father’s work so he didn’t have to, and he runs the house. He agreed to do the same for me, so he’s around a lot. Lives at the house, actually.”

“That is fine that you have some contact with people, but it is not enough.” Now Brin patted Tyra’s hand. “You let us know if you want to talk and we will be your friends.”

Orange eyes raised up to meet Brin’s green orbs. “Really?”

“Of course. We will be in the city for a time, at least until we find my missing item, and perhaps after that. We are…unsure where we will go next. It is a long and dull story, so I will not bore you, but I would enjoy learning more about you, your work, your family, whatever you would like to tell us about.”

Tyra’s eyes glimmered and she dropped her gaze. “Thank you. I would like that.” She looked over at me and gave me a shy smile, which seemed out of character for the animated woman.

We got our food and some drinks, though I kept myself to a couple of ales, Brin had a single cup of wine, and Tyra alternated between ale and water. The tension had eased and the goblin adopted a more relaxed manner.

“He really was a bastard,” she said at one point. “My father. Impossible to please. He started teaching me to forge when I was seven years old. He seemed so patient and supportive back then. By the time I was ten, nothing I did was good enough. He picked apart every little detail, telling me all the mistakes I’d made. When I was a teenager, even correcting me wasn’t enough. He had to throw in insults, telling me how I’d never be a good crafter, that I should learn to be a caravan guard or a clerk in a shop, though he admitted I would only be mediocre at those jobs as well.

“By the time I was fifteen, I couldn’t stand it anymore. He’d already driven the rest of the family away. I left to seek my own fortune. Come to find out, I was actually pretty good at what I did, despite him always telling me I wasn’t.

“I eventually figured out that he was trying, in his own way, to push me to become as good as I could be, but it never felt like that. One time—and I’ll never forget it—he gave me a long speech about my bad attitude, worse work habits, and my lack of creativity. ‘You’re just a simple tool, Tyra. Until you can become the crafter that wields the tool, you’ll only be an implement for others.’”

“I understand that sentiment,” I said. Most of the conversation up to that point had been between the goblin and Brin, with an occasional comment from Tip. “I’ve felt that way many times during my life, but none so much as since I came to this world. Everything I’ve seen and experienced screams at me that we’re all just tools for the ones with power. Governments, people stronger than us, mages, even the gods. We’re just devices they can use and abuse, only to throw us away when we’re no longer useful. It’s not a good feeling.”

Tyra nodded and took a gulp of her ale. “Maybe that’s why I rebelled. I’ve made decisions in my life solely because I knew my father would tell me to do the opposite. I guess something inside me wanted to show that I had my own free will, that I could decide for myself. I don’t know, maybe I went overboard and did it too young, or fucked it up in another way. Sometimes I wish I could go back in time, even a week or two, and talk to him. Did he really think I was worthless, with no talent? I’ve always told myself he was trying to toughen me up, make me better, but what if he was really disappointed in me? Embarrassed, even?”

I was thinking maybe drinking more might be the better option. Brin squeezed my hand and when I looked at her, she jerked her chin toward Tyra. I raised my eyebrows at her and she repeated the gesture while squeezing again.

The goblin stared into her mug, held in both hands in front of her. Her posture, shoulders slumped, arms limp, a forlorn expression on her face, clearly displayed how she was feeling at the moment.

When Brin released my hand and jerked her head again, I finally understood. I wasn’t sure I agreed with her, but the woman was smart and I trusted her. I put my hand on one of Tyra’s and peeled it off her mug, then opened my arms to her.

I thought for a moment she was going to cry, her eyes shimmering as liquid filled them. Then she lunged forward into my arms and wrapped hers around me, squeezing me with a strength I probably should have expected with the muscles she displayed. Air left my lungs and I rubbed her back as she breathed into my chest.

Chapter

Ten

Isat there for what seemed like at least an hour, holding the goblin girl as she held me. I glanced over at Brin, who had a sweet smile on her face, so at least this unexpected—to me—development met with her approval.

Tip’s face only showed hunger.

Tyra finally loosened her grip on me and leaned back, but only a little. Her orange eyes met mine as her lips formed a smile.

Then she dove in to kiss me.

I turned my head toward Brin, taking care of two things at once. It turned an amorous kiss into a friendly peck on the cheek and it allowed me to throw the blue woman a confused look. She gestured with her hand, rolling it at the wrist, in what was in my world the move along sign. I was going to assume it meant the same here.

Really? I raised my eyebrows even more than they were already raised and she nodded. I guess that meant she wouldn’t feel slighted if I obliged the smaller woman, so I turned back to her just in time for her to press her lips against mine.

She mumbled what sounded like, “Thank you,” and kissed me tenderly, softly. The kiss only lasted maybe half a minute, but it was enough to rev up my engine and shoot fiery magma through my body.

“Sorry,” she said when she leaned back into her own chair, which she’d been perching on the edge of while hugging and kissing me. “The hug felt so good, I wanted to reward you, to thank you. I also just wanted to kiss you. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I…” I wasn’t even sure what to say. Tell her I loved it and wouldn’t mind doing it some more? That I was following the direction Brin gave me for some reason? I wasn’t sure where I stood here. Brin and I, despite the recent issues with her getting irritated with me, had grown close. Very close. I didn’t want to jeopardize that. On the other hand, we’d talked about it and she seemed cool with me being affectionate with others. “You surprised me, but I liked it. A lot. You’re a good kisser.”

Her expression changed to sly and sexy, her lips pursing as she scooted her chair closer to me. “I do other things well, too. I’d love to show you.”

And there it was. She’d come onto me strong the last time we hung out, but I thought it was mostly the alcohol. Apparently, it wasn’t.

“Uh, that’s probably not a good idea.” If Brin hadn’t been sitting right next to me, I would have told Tyra the reason: that as far as I was concerned, the moonwisp and I had a connection, a commitment. I didn’t want to talk about her like she wasn’t present while she was, though.

“I think it’s a great idea. Come on. It’ll be fun. It will help us forget all the bullshit that happened lately, better even than drinking. With no hangover. You can’t beat that.”

She didn’t have to convince me of that. I’d take an endorphin hit from sex any day over drinking. I hated the vulnerability that over-imbibing alcohol created. I’d created enemies and they might be waiting for me to let my guard down to attack. While being assaulted while having sex was not ideal, at least I’d have all my faculties to utilize.

“It’s still not a good idea, Tyra. No offense meant. You’re gorgeous and I’m sure it would be amazing…”

“It will be,” she said. “Fuck me, Gar. I need to be held and shown that I have value.”

I picked up one of Tyra’s hands. “Of course you have value, Tyra. Why would you think you don’t?”

She slumped, like all the energy in her body suddenly fled. “I don’t know. I’ve been feeling…off since all this stuff happened. Lonely, I guess. It’s a lot to deal with.”

“I know, believe me. I just don’t think that taking that step is healthy for either of us right now, you know. I’m dealing with shit, too.”

“Yeah.”

The silence stretched on, the two of us so close our bodies were almost touching, her hand in mine. Brin, that wonderful woman, saved the day. For like a second.

“Tyra, you told us you were trying to find out who killed your father. Have you discovered the culprit yet?”

I winced inwardly. Way to throw salt and squeeze a lemon into a wound, Brin. Surprisingly, the goblin girl didn’t flinch.

“I haven’t figured anything out. I don’t know where to start. It’s not something I’ve ever learned about.”

I wanted to laugh. Not because she was lost about what to do, but because in my world we had lots of TV shows where people went about solving crimes every episode. I wasn’t sure how much of it was true, but I had a basic understanding of how an investigation happened.

“You should comb the location of the murder for clues as to exactly what happened and what kind of person could have done it. You can interview anyone near at the time, like servants or neighbors if they’re a short enough distance away. Then, when you start collecting clues, you take them and add them all together and then maybe you can figure out the next step. Each discovery may lead to another and may combine with all the others to give you a better picture of what happened and, more importantly, who did it.”

I took a drink of my ale as my three companions stared silently at me. Tyra and Brin had their mouths open.

“What?”

“How did you…” Brin said.

“He watched a lot of Perry Mason and Murder, She Wrote,” Tip said, nonplussed about it all. “Maybe Law and Order.”

I chuckled. “Exactly, man. Do you have some of that stuff rattling around in that head of yours, too?”

“Yeah, buddy.”

Tyra tugged on the hand that was holding hers to get my attention. “Gar, do you think you could spare some time to help me? With doing what you just said?” She waved her arms to encompass all the things. “Even if you could give me hints or tell me what to do next, it would help me a lot. I’ll make it worth your while. In any way you prefer.”

The sexy goblin was back. I was pretty sure it was just an excuse to “reward me.”

“That is a marvelous idea,” Brin said. “Such a task could help both of you by distracting you from the thoughts you dwell on silently. Once the mystery is solved, Tyra would have her closure and you, Gar, would have the satisfaction of having helped our new friend.”

“Yes!” Tyra said, bouncing in her seat. “That would be great. I wasn’t kidding, I’ll pay you. My father had money, which is now mine, so I can afford it. I can reward you in other ways, too. Whatever you want.” She threw her shoulders back and her chest out. With the tiny top she wore, not all the willpower in the world could keep my eyes from locking onto her two assets.

Damn it.

“We require no payment,” Brin said. “Helping you will be reward enough. I think it will help Gar as well. We can start working on it immediately.”

“You’ll help, too? That’s very kind of you, Brin, but I will reward you. We can discuss it later.”

“I’ll help, too,” Tip said. “I already know what reward I want.” He waggled his eyebrows, something I told him I never wanted to see him do again.

“My first reward for you is to refrain from putting my boot in your ass,” Tyra said without changing her tone in the slightest bit. “Like I said, we’ll figure it out. Oooh, I know. Why don’t you come live with me while you’re here? No use spending money on an inn when I have so many rooms sitting around unused. Then we can work closely without having to travel across the city to meet all the time.”

I traded looks with Brin. Tip, in the corner of my vision, smiled widely, still somehow believing he was not going to get shot down every time he tried to get with Tyra. I was more concerned that she might take some liberties with me if we were living in her house. I was trying to be good, trying to be considerate to Brin.

“That is a splendid idea,” Brin said, drawing my mouth open. “If you have room and you’re sure?”

“I’ve got lots of room and I’d love for you to be there. We can even chat by the fireplace in the evening or drink until we pass out, whatever you want to do. My cook is very good, too. She can make anything you could want. You may end up getting fat. I’m going to go to the privy. You talk it out and let me know what you decide.”

With that, the goblin got up and headed out the back door to the privy, which was a separate building behind the inn. No sooner had she left than Tip clapped his hands together and rubbed them.

“Oh, yeah. She wants me bad. Do you see how she plays and acts like she doesn’t? This is going to be great. A big house, lots of food, a hot goblin chick.”

I lifted a finger and opened my mouth, but then decided it wasn’t worth trying to get through his thick fucking skull. I turned to Brin.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” she said. “It is perfect. We will help her with searching out the killer, you use your unique information about investigation, and both of you will be distracted from the emotional times you are experiencing. I believe your boredom is making it all worse for you.”

I had to agree with her there. “Sure, but what about her wanting to ‘reward’ me? Is it wise for me to be in the same house?”

Brin’s eyes flicked to Tip. “You and I will discuss that later. There may be issues, but not insurmountable ones. I think it is ideal, Gar. Tyra knows the city and why should we pay for rooms at an inn if she is kindly offering to let us stay at her estate?”

“Okay. If you don’t have a problem with it, that’s fine. We’ll give it a shot.”

When Tyra returned, Brin told her we would gratefully accept her offer. The goblin hugged me, then hugged Brin, then hugged me again. I thought she was going to kiss me again, but instead she leaned down and petted Rex on the top of the poofy feather-hair stuff on his scaly head. She acted like she’d forgotten something, then turned and gave Tip a thumbs-up. You’d have thought she’d given him a hand job by the smile the gesture plastered onto his goofy face.

God, I hoped we weren’t making a mistake.

Chapter

Eleven

We left the tavern without the typical blinding I faced leaving a building. It made me appreciate that much more the windows that had kept the place from feeling like a subterranean dungeon.

“Where are you staying?” Tyra asked.

Brin waved toward the east. “The Tipsy Smithy.”

“My house is closer than your inn. Do you want to go and check it out first, make sure you’re okay with it, before going and getting your things from the inn?”

I narrowed my eyes at the goblin. Why did she think we might not like it after we saw it? I didn’t ask. In fact, as much as possible, I kept my mouth shut and let Brin talk. I still didn’t have much interest in conversation.

“Of course,” the moonwisp said. “No sense in backtracking. Thank you.”

“Why do they call it the Tipsy Smithy instead of the Tipsy Smith?” Tip asked. “It sounds stupid. How does a building get drunk?”

“It’s an old name and an old inn. When it was first built, by the great- great-grandparents of the current owner, there was a problem with translation. They didn’t speak the common tongue and they used their children as translators. I think they meant it to be the Tipsy Smith, but after they’d already made the sign, they didn’t want to pay any more money to make a new one or to fix it, so they left it as it was.”

That solved that question. I’d wondered about it, too.

“It’s this way,” Tyra said, leading us to the southeast.

Out of habit, my hand and Brin’s found each other, like a pair of magnets that, when they get close, move on their own until they connect. Tyra gave us a quizzical look.

I’d spent most of my time in the last week or so with Brin at my side, our hands clasped, but before that, I’d spent some time watching the moonwisp. She walked like a noble lady, all grace and perfect movement. Elegant.

Tyra, on the other hand, stomped down the street like she owned it and like it had insulted her and she needed to smash it down as punishment. Even doing so, though, she had a smooth sort of poise, like even though she was powerful, she could be gentle as well.

With the general lack of clothing, there was plenty for my eyes to feast upon. Her smooth, toned legs were fantastic, her butt exceptional. The tiny shorts she wore were mesmerizing, clinging so closely that I’d swear I saw muscle fibers jumping, even through the rugged material as her tight ass swayed in front of me. Her muscular back and powerful arms and shoulders didn’t escape my notice, either.

Both women were exquisite, but in different ways. There was no comparing the two. How do you compare a sunset to a view of a gorgeous landscape from atop a mountain?

I noticed Tip’s head swinging to and from Tyra’s form as well. He hadn’t perfected the technique for keeping his head steady and using only his eyes so as to not make his leering too obvious. Once, Tyra turned and saw him staring at her ass. She made a gesture that was pretty damn close to the English version of flipping someone off, two fingers jerking upward. The satyr flushed red and focused on Rex, next to him. I laughed. He’d apparently picked up that information from my world as he’d had so many other things.

We reached an area of the city we hadn’t visited yet. It was clear why. There were no shops, no businesses of any kind. It was a purely residential section, but not only that. The houses were larger than ones we’d seen in our travels, with yards of various sizes. I understood immediately.

We were in the rich folks’ neighborhood.

As we continued, the homes got larger, as did the yards. Whereas we would usually see the city guard maybe once every few blocks in places we’d been before, they were more common here. Like so many places on my world, money took care of money. How the hell did Tyra’s father get murdered with so many guards around?

Just when I thought the string of estates would end, Tyra turned us down a private lane. There were no walls or gates, so I couldn’t be sure, but it seemed to be all one parcel. Either that, or we were entering a public park. Up ahead, I caught a glimpse of a house that blended into the trees and manicured lawns and shrubs.

“This is your house?” Tip asked.

“It is. My father’s, really, but now it has come to me.” The goblin shrugged. “Will this work for you?”

“Fuck yeah,” Tip said.

“It is lovely,” Brin told her. “Isn’t it, Gar?”

“Yes. Your father seemed to have done pretty well. How much of all this surrounding land is yours?”

“All of it. Well, all that you can see. There are other estates around it, but it’s big. About forty-five acres.”

There it was again. Since I’d come to this world, it puzzled me how many of the words they used were what I would use in my own. Was it the magic of being brought over here? Was I actually speaking and hearing things in my own language, or did the magic translate it? Would my familiar feet, miles, and pounds be meters, kilometers, and kilograms if they’d taken me from another country?

“That’s pretty big,” I said.

The goblin shrugged again. “It’s nice to not have to worry about people crowding you. Until you end up getting murdered in your own home.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

She smiled at me. “No need to apologize. I don’t care much for the things that the rich put first. Give me a nice forge and a cot to sleep on and I’m happy.”

“Is that what you have here?”

She barked a laugh. “If I tried to sleep in a cot in the forge, Klaard would have a fit. He’d be scandalized.”

“Klaard?”

“Yeah. You’ll meet him in a minute. Klaard Denz was my father’s assistant. He all but ran the business and he makes sure the house, grounds, and servants all operate efficiently. He also pretends to be a simple butler. It’s one of the few things I have in common with my father: without Klaard, I’d be lost here.”

As promised, an older goblin stood at the front door, somehow knowing we were coming. He was even shorter than Tyra, maybe three and a half feet tall, dressed in what looked suspiciously like a Victorian-age butler outfit. I mean, he had a little hat, a cravat around his neck, and was wrapped up in a formal suit in a respectable charcoal-grey color. He had the air of a man who wore the suit, or one like it, everywhere. To bed, to bathe, even having sex.

That last part made me shiver. The little man’s posture was perfect and he looked fit for duty, but his wrinkled green face—a darker yet more faded shade than Tyra’s—would make me guess he was about a thousand years old. Even his too-large ears, tufts of hair fuzzing around them, looked like leather that had not been cared for properly. Tough and wrinkled, with what looked like cracks in some places. Even considering that such a man would have sex made me wish I’d never had the thought.

“Klaard, these are my friends. Gar, Brinawynn, Tiporian, and the lizard is Rex.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you all. Welcome to Tyswix manor.” His raspy voice wasn’t a surprise with how old he looked, but one thing was a shock. He had a bit more than a hint of an English accent in his speech. Brin’s accent was more pronounced, but it didn’t seem odd with her. For a half-pint, old-as-dirt goblin? Yeah, a little more of a wonder.

Tyra rolled her eyes. “They’re going to be staying here for a while, helping me out with some things. We can discuss what later. I’m going to give them a tour, then they’ll go and get their stuff and come back. Do we have rooms ready for them to use?”

“Of course, young miss. All rooms are ever at the ready for guests, as is proper.”

“That’s great. Thank you.”

“Would the sirs and misses care for refreshments?”

“I’m good,” I said.

“No, thank you, Klaard,” Brin said. “It is my pleasure to meet you. We have just come from a late lunch, though we appreciate your offer.”

“Of course, Miss Brinawynn. Anything you require, please feel free to ask.”

“One thing. Please call me Brin. I find I rather like the shortened form of my name.”

“Of course, Miss Brin. Is there nothing more I can do?”

Tip opened his mouth, but I caught his eye and shook my head. I had a feeling the little fucker would ask for something extravagant just because he could.

Tyra took us around the house at a whirlwind pace. We didn’t go into any of the rooms off the two main hallways, but she did point to an impressive set of double doors as we passed.

“That’s my room. Oh, I mean ‘my rooms.’” She said it with a snooty accent, halfway between a stuck-up American heiress and a British princess. I laughed and she winked at me.

The kitchens were, in a word, amazing. We met the cook, Sivelle Onoolin, a slender, pretty woman who was, I believe, an otter beastkin. Her fine black hair suited her with a simple style that left it long, though she had it in a tight bun when we met her. I gauged her at about forty or so years old. I instantly connected with her, and not only because I absolutely adored otters in my world. She wasn’t that much older than me, but she had that motherly vibe that tugged at my heart to such an extent, I couldn’t not like her.

Once we left the main home, we headed toward a separate building, connected by a covered walkway shaded by trees. Tyra’s steps quickened, as did her speech. She was obviously excited.

“This is the crafting area, including the forge.” She swung the heavy oaken doors open and led us inside.

The place was every romantic thought I’d ever had about medieval craftsmanship all rolled into one. I’d played video games, many of the RPG type, and what I was standing in was how I’d always pictured the main crafting hubs.

The forge dominated the room. A soft glow from the banked coals indicated that Tyra had been here working earlier in the day. Three separate anvils, each a different size and shape, were arranged to efficiently move hot metal from the forge for working. Tongs hung everywhere, from the sides of the anvils to along the edge of the forge, even on the walls. Vises, benches, and frames for holding stock were situated perfectly so that I imagined Tyra flitting around snatching up whatever she needed for her work without missing a beat. Separate racks of various implements, hardy tools, chisels, and hammers abounded. Oh, God, so many hammers. Rounding hammers, forging hammers, sledges. Ball peen, cross peen, some with rounded spikes, though those probably weren’t hammers so much as hole-punching tools with wooden handles.

“This is amazing,” I said, and I’d never been more truthful in my life.

“It is, right?” she said. The smile on the goblin’s face was by far the biggest and most joyful I’d seen since I met her. In that moment, all the troubles and all the bullshit were simply erased. Not only did it lift my own heart, but if I have to be truthful, it kind of turned me on.

I mean, Tyra was drop-dead gorgeous anyway, but her love and excitement for her craft drew me into a real connection with her.

“That’s not all,” she said. “Come on.” She grabbed my hand and started pulling on me before her eyes went wide. “Oh. Umm, I’m sorry.” She wasn’t looking at me when she said it, but at Brin.

The moonwisp, ever a sweetheart, smiled at the green woman. “Lead on, Tyra. I cannot wait to see what’s next.”

Through another set of doors, we entered another room, one not quite as big as the forge area. In common with the other room, this one had benches, vises, and racks, but the items were different. Saws, chisels that were not as beefy as those in the forge, knives, rasps, and dozens of other things told me the purpose of the room.

“Woodworking?”

Tyra winked at me. “Yes. That, and other materials. The difference between me and the others in my family is that I work with all sorts of media. I have a talent for all crafting and I love working with my hands with all of it. Whereas my father thought crafting with anything but metal was beneath him, I love it. He built this room for me when I was young. He rarely used it.”

“This is quite a workshop for one so young,” Brin pointed out.

“Probably, but that’s when he still had hopes for me. He didn’t build it himself, just paid for others to do it. I always dreamed that one day, I would build something like this for myself. I still might, if I decide not to live here.”

Tyra showed off some of the tools she’d made herself and we spent a good hour roaming around the crafting building. There were five rooms total, including a stock room that had more metal and wood materials than I’d ever seen in one place, like a Home Depot and a stock steel shop put together.

Tyra brought us back to the house. “There are some other things on the grounds I want to show you, but we’ll have time for that later. Do you want me to go with you to your inn and help carry some of your stuff back? We should probably do that now if we want to have dinner at the ‘normal’ time. Klaard can get grumpy if meals are not on schedule. ‘Not appropriate for a young lady of your standing.’” She nailed the impression of the butler goblin.

“We do not have much to carry,” Brin said. “We travel light, since we have no place to call our home at this time. You needn’t trouble yourself. We will fetch them and return shortly.”

“Okay. Just so you know, though, you can call this place your home. For as long as you like. I think you’ll like it here. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.”

Brin took Tyra’s hand in both of hers. “As am I. Thank you so much, once more. We should go so we may return all the sooner.”

I gave Tyra a little wave, noting the sadness in her eyes. It almost seemed like she thought we were leaving for good. She didn’t have to worry. I wasn’t sure what it would be like living in her house but I did like the goblin girl, and even though I found it hard to care much about anything currently, I did want to help her. Maybe finding her father’s murderer would help me to regain some focus. Like Brin said.

Hunting down Lucas’s murderer wouldn’t give me closure yet, but maybe finding the murderer she searched for would for Tyra. I hoped so.

Chapter

Twelve

In no time, or so it seemed, we had our meager possessions and were on the way back to Tyra’s house. I glanced at Brin as we walked. All of our things fit easily in our packs, or at least tied to them in the case of the bedrolls, so our hands were free to clasp each other’s.

“I’m sorry we took time out of our search today,” I told her. “I know you’re anxious to find the item Qamara told us about, but we lost several hours eating with Tyra and then going to her house.”

“It’s fine. We needn’t keep too strict a schedule.”

I gaped at her. We had been doing just that since we got to the city. It was a major cause of irritation between us. Well, that and how uncommunicative I'd been. I didn’t want to get in an argument, though.

“Okay. We can search for longer in the next few days if we need to so we can make up for it.”

She squeezed my hand. “Thank you. We shall see. I do not wish to take time away from your training with Tip. That is important as well.”

“Yeah.” I looked over at the satyr. He was doing that thing, sort of a bobbing kind of walk, silly grin on his face. I had to hand it to the dude, despite the shit life he’d had, he almost always seemed content. When he wasn’t bitching about something.

When we got back to Tyra’s house, Klaard was waiting at the door. He opened it when we were two steps from knocking. The little goblin must watch out through the window or a peep hole or something. Either that, or he had some kind of magical alarm system that notified him when people showed up.

“Welcome back, lady and sirs. I assume you had no troubles finding your way?”

“Thank you, Klaard,” Brin said. “We did not. This manor is quite unforgettable.”

“That is kind of you to say, Miss Brin. Miss Tyra is in the study. Would you like me to take you there or show you to your rooms?”

“Which one’s closer?” I asked.

“The study.”

“Let’s go there, then, touch base with Tyra.”

“Very good, sir. Please follow me.”

We followed the little butler to impressively carved doors that opened into an even more impressive room. Bookshelves dominated, crafted of hardwood and as beautiful as they were sturdy. From Tyra’s description of her father, I hadn’t pegged him as a big bookworm.

Tyra sat on a couch near the fireplace, wine—in an actual glass—in her hand. I hadn’t seen one of those yet in this world. Usually wine, ale, water, and everything else was in wooden cups or mugs, or tin or pewter vessels.

“That’s it?” the goblin woman said. “That’s all you have?”

I looked at my backpack and shrugged. “I just got to this world recently. Besides, we’ve been traveling. Can’t expect us to accumulate a pile of possessions or furniture or anything.”

“True. We’ve got an hour or more until dinner. I can show you to your rooms. Do you want to take baths?”

Brin’s eyes lit up. Taking baths at an inn was an ordeal. Unless it was a large inn with some very expensive rooms that contained their own bathtub, you had to try to find a place in the schedule or, even worse, bathe in a communal bathroom. We hadn’t availed ourselves of the service since we got to Forgehaven.

“If it would not be too much trouble?” the moonwisp said, phrasing it like a hopeful question.

Tyra smiled at Brin’s excitement. “No trouble at all. Klaard, could you have one of the women get Brinawynn set up in the third-floor southwest bathroom?”

“Of course, Miss Tyra.”

“What about you two?” she asked, turning to me.

“I’ll take one, too, but it can wait. I’d like to drop these off somewhere, if I can.”

“No problem. I’ll take you up to the rooms right now. Brinawynn—”

“Please call me Brin, if you desire,” Brin said. “It is how my friends address me.”

Tyra smiled. “Brin, then. If you want to choose clothes to change into, I can take your other stuff and put it in your room when I show the men to theirs.”

Brin’s cheeks darkened. I knew exactly why.

“Uh, we don’t have many spare changes of clothes,” I said. “Or any, really.”

“I’m sorry. Of course. Traveling light. I have robes you can wear. While you bathe, I can have the maid wash your clothes and dry them near the fire. They should be ready for you not too long after you finish bathing, as long as you’re willing to soak for a few minutes in the hot water.”

A mischievous smile stole onto Brin’s face. Now that she had the excuse, there was a good chance the blue woman would be late to dinner. She’d mentioned more than once how good a nice hot bath would feel. I couldn’t blame her. It did sound good.

“Klaard, could you make sure that happens?”

“Of course, Miss Tyra. Miss Brin, if you would follow me, I will ensure you will not find it unpleasant to spend some time soaking.”

Brin waved at me and left the room. It was the happiest I’d seen her in quite a while.

Tyra clapped her hands. “Okay, let me show you where you’ll be staying. The same deal goes for you. If you want to bathe before dinner, there are other bathrooms and we can have your clothes cleaned for you as well.” She looked at Tip, who was wearing only short pants that left his hairy goat legs uncovered. His torso was bare, though I had tried to get him to wear a shirt many times, to no avail.

I picked up Brin’s pack. “Sounds good. Room first, then a bath?”

“Sure. Come on.”

Tyra took us up the main staircase to the third floor and down a long hallway. If my sense of direction wasn’t off, we were heading northwest. Toward those double doors Tyra told us led to her rooms.

“I’m at the end of the hall, the big double doors, as I showed you earlier,” the goblin said. “Tip, you’re here.” She pointed to a door to her left. “Gar, you and Brin are on the other side of the hall.” I nearly dropped Brin’s pack. Brin and me? Then I noticed two doors and relief flooded me. I wasn’t sure Brin would be keen on sharing a room like we had when I was out of things. “You two can figure out which room is whose. They’re nearly identical. They also have a door in between them.”

“Connecting rooms?” I asked.

“Yes. Is…that okay? I just thought that, you know, with how you act with each other and the holding hands and all that, that…”

“It’s fine. I didn’t know you had those in this world. They’re common in hotels…ah, inns, in my world. Thanks, Tyra. I don’t have a problem with it. I don’t think Brin will, either. I can take the one directly across from Tip.”

“Does my room connect to yours?” the satyr asked the green woman. He waggled his eyebrows again, exactly like I had prohibited.

“Uh, no. Anything special we need to do for Rex?”

Tip sighed. He was so used to being shot down, I don’t even think it registered. “He’s fine to stay with me. He’s a good boy and won’t cause any trouble, will you Rex?”

The little dinosaur stared at Tip but didn’t give any kind of sign he understood any of the words coming out of the goat boy’s mouth.

I laughed. “Thanks, Tyra. This is great. What do I do about the bath?”

“Well, I actually have a private bathroom in my rooms, if you want to—”

“I’m not so sure that would be wise. Or appropriate.”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay. I’ll have Klaard get you all set up. There are several bathrooms on this floor, as well as privies. I’ll see you at dinner?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t miss it. If there’s one thing I know that’s a constant in this world, it’s that Tip won’t miss it either.” The satyr nodded his head so vigorously, he stumbled to catch his balance.

“Good. I’ll see you then.” She started walking toward the staircase. “Make yourselves at home. I’m really glad to have you here. I think you’ll like it. You’ll definitely make it more enjoyable than me being here all by myself.”

She left Tip and me both watching her body sway down the long hall. When she turned to go to the stairs, I met the satyr’s eyes.

“Damn,” he said.

“Dayam,” I confirmed.

“Just so you know. You’re a stupid ass. She practically begged you to take a bath with her.”

“No she didn’t. She practically begged me to take a bath in her room. Those two things are different.”

“Only if you’re a stupid ass.”

“Yeah, well, I know how to keep it in my pants.”

“We’ll see if it stays there tonight, with your connecting rooms.”

“You’re an asshole.”

He smiled at me, not a trace of sarcasm present. “Yep, I kind of am. I don’t understand it. Something in the memories and knowledge I’ve accumulated tells me that assholes always get the women. That’s from more than one world, too. Yet here I am, pussyless.”

I barked a laugh. “I don’t know. I’ve seen you fight. I think you’re plenty pussy.”

He leaned forward in the hallway and threw up a fist. I leaned forward and bumped it.

“I’ll see you later, dude. I need a bath and then some dinner. From what I’ve seen so far, I could get used to this place. Let’s just remember we have things to do. Enjoy every day because we won’t be here long.”

Tip’s smile dimmed, but jerked back into place. “I know. But it’ll be fun while it lasts.”

“It will. Don’t do anything to fuck it up.”

The satyr threw me a double thumbs-up and entered his room, then closed the door. I heard his muffled voice. “This is fucking awesome!”

I shook my head. One hundred percent, the little bastard was going to cause trouble.

When I entered my room, I had to agree with Tip. What I stepped into wasn’t a simple room, but more like a suite. I guessed that was why all the rich people called them “my rooms.” There was an entry area with a table, two couches, and four stuffed chairs aside from the ladderback chairs around the table. Two bookshelves, with both books and art pieces, lined the walls, and two other doors graced the room. One went to a private privy, something I hadn’t seen yet in this world, and the other led into a huge bedroom with yet more bookshelves, a desk, another table, two wardrobes, and several more pieces of furniture as well as a fireplace. Set on opposite walls on either side of the bedroom were two other doors. I opened the one to my left to find another doorway with the door open into an identical bedroom. That one must have been for Brin’s rooms, with the same type of stacked doors you’d find in hotels. I tried the one on my right and found the second door closed and locked. It must have gone to another room like mine. I was glad Tyra hadn’t put Tip in there. I’d probably hear him snoring through it.

I put the moonwisp’s pack on a chair near the bed in her room and went back to my own room, closing the door. No sooner had I finished than Klaard knocked at the door to the hall to take me to the bathroom.

I had to agree with Brin’s sentiment. Once I lowered myself into the water, hot enough that I had to dip myself slowly, I could have fallen asleep right then and there. When I was done, all relaxed and scrubbed, I padded back to my room in the robe Klaard provided to wait for my clothes. The butler brought them to me minutes before I needed to go down to dinner. Clean body, clean clothes, and an actual meal to look forward to. Not bad at all. Then I remembered what I’d said to Tip. I couldn’t get used to this. Once we found Brin’s item and decided which way to go, we’d be hitting the road again. After we helped Tyra with her murder investigation, anyway.

I exited my room to find Tip already in the hall and Brin just leaving her room. The blue woman looked radiant. Without thinking, I put my hand out and she took it. It seemed the action was ingrained in me as a habit. I didn’t mind. Like the luxury of Tyra’s house, I could definitely get used to touching Brin at every opportunity.

Chapter

Thirteen

Dinner was pleasant and comfortable, similar to the meal we had earlier in the day with Tyra in the tavern, except without all the other people around. Even only having been in the house for a short period of time, it had soothed me. Maybe the bath was responsible, but I thought how peaceful and quiet it was had more of an effect. I almost felt my nerves slackening, the tension slowly but surely lessening.

The four of us talked for a little while after dinner. Tyra stared, enraptured with our stories. My unintended arrival in this world, Brin’s capture by the slavers, even Tip’s recent experiences in Fanning and Windridge. We mostly touched on general information, but the way the goblin’s eyes locked onto whoever was speaking and the way she turned her body to face the speaker squarely, I knew we’d be talking about details in upcoming conversations.

We bade Tyra goodnight and went up to our rooms.

“Goodnight, Tip,” I said, standing at my door. “Goodnight, Brin. Same schedule tomorrow? Up early and searching more shops?”

Tip looked at Brin and the moonwisp nodded. “Yes, I think that would be best. We should make more effort to listen for something that might tell us where we should go next, as well. I know I have been focusing on getting my item back, but we should make plans for what we will do in the future.”

“After we help Tyra with her problem,” I said. “While we investigate her father’s murder, we can use that opportunity to try to get the information you’re talking about.”

“Yes. Of course.” Brin had a slightly glazed look in her eyes, like she was preoccupied with something, but I wasn’t going to put her on the spot. Maybe if I could get a few words with her alone, I’d ask if something was wrong. For now, I’d assume she would tell me if it was important enough.

We split up to go into our own rooms, Rex darting into Tip’s room as soon as he opened the door. I closed mine and set the latch, surveying the luxurious suite of rooms with a sigh.

I sat on the bed in my room and imagined sinking into it to sleep. With everything else that had happened to me, you wouldn’t think I would be so excited about getting to bed early and sleeping, but I was.

I’d barely lowered myself onto the soft mattress when a faint tapping at the door surprised me. It wasn’t the door to the hall from the sitting room, but the one that Brin’s room shared with mine. I opened it to find the beautiful moonwisp standing with her hands clasped in front of her.

“I know there has been tension between us of late,” she said, “but I was wondering if we could speak. Maybe sleep together. We have not done so for several days and I find myself missing the habit. If you have no disagreements?”

I put my arms out and she came to me, wrapping her arms around me.

“I miss it, too,” I said. “I’m sorry I’ve been so—”

She put a finger on my lips. “None of that. We will speak of it, of whatever you desire, or we will not. I ask nothing but to feel you beside me. You need not apologize, or even speak, if you do not want to.”

I kissed her finger, then put my hand behind her head and brought her close enough to kiss her lips. It had only been a few days, but it seemed like an eternity. The simple kiss stoked a hunger in me, had me greedily holding her like I was afraid she’d fly away, kissing her with a fiery passion I hadn’t realized was so close to the surface.

“Mmmm. We can do that, too. I missed your kisses as well.”

She put her hand on my chest and pushed me away, then gave me a shy smile. Then she started to take off her clothes to get ready for bed.

I watched her every move. Each undone strap, buckle, and button fascinated me, but not so much as the skin revealed as her layers came off. By the time she was done, she stood in her panties and nothing else. The small clothing she usually wore on her breasts when she slept was nowhere in sight.

No complaints from me.

Brin set her clothes on a chair and glided toward the bed, throwing a sexy look back over her shoulder that made my pants feel three sizes too small. Her long, toned legs, tight and perfectly curved body, and the red hair that clashed so enticingly with her blue skin, all of it brought back memories of exploring that body.

“Are you coming?” she asked.

Not yet, I’m not, but give me a few minutes.

Then I blinked at her, realizing she hadn’t meant it the way I took it. I’d almost answered what first popped into my mind. Luckily, I had restrained myself.

“Of course.” I stripped my own clothes off, down to my underwear, before meeting her at the bed. She climbed under the blankets and I followed her quickly, putting my arms around her heavenly body and pressing my chest up against her back.

Her scent filled my nostrils, that cool, green smell of the outdoors. I kissed the back of her neck, my hands around her midsection. She hummed. I wriggled, trying to keep from pressing my hard shaft against her. As if she didn’t know what she’d done to me.

“You can move closer. I enjoy the feel of your hard…parts against me.” She wagged her ass, generating just enough friction to make me sigh heavily onto her neck and back.

“Brin…”

“Gar, we have spoken about Tyra, yes?”

I froze. “Tyra?”

“Yes. She is very attracted to you.”

“I…”

“I find no fault with it. I myself feel it as well. We have discussed it, and I have told you I have no problem with you exploring any attraction you have for her. She is quite sexy.” I knew better than to verbally confirm her opinion, even though I completely agreed with her. Old habits. “I have been thinking about it.”

“About what?” I closed my eyes and enjoyed the feel of the woman, her skin warm and soft against my own. I could die happy spooning her. We fit together so perfectly.

“I told you that I didn’t mind if you shared intimate things with her. That you could, without guilt, lie with her and have sex with her. I know she wants it. She has said as much in front of me. I find that upon further reflection, there is one thing that I am not comfortable with.” She ground her ass against me as she said it, resulting in a moan escaping my lips.

“Uhhhhnnnng. What…what are you uncomfortable with?”

She rolled over so she was facing me. Her mouth opened to speak, but she leaned forward and placed the gentlest, softest kiss I’d ever experienced on my lips.

“I find that I dislike the thought of you entering her when I have not had you in that way. It’s only fair that I should feel you inside me. I have known you longer and we have already established a connection, shared hardship and danger, as well as many pleasurable experiences. Is that too selfish of me? Am I unreasonable?”

I had to lean my head back to focus on her eyes. “Are you saying that you don’t want me to get with Tyra?”

“No, of course not. I still believe that it would be good for both of you. As far as your struggles with Lucas’s death and Tyra’s father’s death. Good in other ways, too, no doubt. I am saying that, if I am not being too presumptuous, I would like you to engage in intercourse with me first. Put your shaft within me. Finish inside of me.”

I stroked her hair and kissed her. “Brin, do you want me to make love to you? Not just the petting and licking and other fun things we’ve done, but actually putting my shaft deep inside of you?”

“Yes. If you—”

I kissed her hard, causing the rest of what she said to be lost in mumbling sounds. “I absolutely want to. Are you sure?”

“I am.”

I smiled at her. “Your wish is my command.”

“Truly?”

“Yep. We have all night, and there’s nothing I’d rather do than to explore your body and experiment with how to make you feel more pleasure than you’ve ever felt before.”

“I have not done this with any other man, though I have experimented a few times with tools inside me.”

I pulled our bodies closer, so her crotch pressed against mine. “We’ll figure it out. You tell me what you like, or if you don’t like something I do, and we’ll learn from it. The next time, it will be even better.”

“The next time?”

Oh, shit. I probably shouldn’t have said that out loud. “I…I mean…”

“Promise me? That if you don’t enjoy it, you will allow me to try again. The thought that we might do this more than once makes me happy.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about. What we’ve done already has my mind set on being with you as much as I can. Just the thought of you drives me crazy. I want you so badly.”

Her lips formed into an evil grin. “Then take me, Gar. Don’t wait another moment.”

This was not the first time I’d been intimate with Brin. Though I hadn’t entered her before, at least not with my dick, I did know a little about what she liked. She told me she wanted me to rush, but she didn’t. She liked it slow. Building. Teasing. We’d talked about it and had proven it. I made an executive decision.

“We’re not going to need these for a while.” I peeled the blankets off us and flipped them off the bed, taking in the scene of the hot blue woman lying on her side with only her panties on. Her face softened into a hazy-eyed gaze when she saw the hunger I displayed for her.

“Did you notice?” she asked. “Tonight is a full moon.”

“How could I notice small, simple things like the moon when this is in front of me?” I gestured to her perfect form, easily within reach.

She let loose a sound somewhere between a giggle and a chuckle. “Do you not know about moonwisps and the moon?”

“All I know about moonwisps is what you’ve told me. And that the only one I’ve ever seen is sexy enough to constantly haunt my dreams and is more beautiful than the moon.”

She narrowed her eyes like she was trying to figure out if I was teasing her. “Do not be silly. As the moon waxes, up until it is full and round, so do the amorous feelings and passion of a moonwisp grow.” She looked at me meaningfully.

“Are you telling me that when there’s a full moon, you’re really horny?”

“That is exactly what I am telling you, Garfield.”

I rubbed my hands together, running my eyes lecherously over Brin’s exposed body.

“Buckle up, baby. You’re in for a long night.”

Chapter

Fourteen

“Oooooh.”

I started off kissing Brin’s instep, then her ankle, and moving slowly up her perfect, smooth legs. I hovered over her panties, feeling the warmth and smelling her aroma, but did no more than breathe onto it. That was what prompted her to make the sound.

“Will you not take me immediately?” she asked, and I rewarded her by dragging a finger lightly over the front of her panties.

“No. I am going to make you suffer in the most delicious of ways. You’ll thank me for it.”

“I…uhhhhnnng…I…oh. You may be…aaaaahhh…correct. But…ooooooh…I want you inside me.”

While she tried to talk, I kept my hands and my mouth busy. One hand traced the edges of her panties, even dipping a finger a hair’s breadth under the cloth, while the other caressed her side, sliding up toward her armpit and veering toward her chest. My mouth, well, let’s just say that I thoroughly enjoyed the smooth, tight skin on her chest, especially in between her tits.

I kissed upward and around, thrusting my tongue out to lick up the side of her breast, around the areola, to finally flick her nipple. I took it in my teeth and hummed, vibrating my whole mouth.

“Oh! Goddess, Gar. That feels so good.”

My finger pressed down on her warm, wet panties, rubbing upward as I sucked each nipple alternately. Her body was already in motion, grinding below and wriggling above. With only a little stimulation, she panted heavily and thrust like I was already inside her.

“It…it is much…uhhhhhnggg…stronger with the full…moon.” The poor girl could hardly get a word out from panting so hard. It was really doing it for me. I mean, seeing her body always got me ready to go, but at the moment, I ached from root to tip. I found my own hips gyrating, creating friction between my crotch and her leg, which seemed to intensify what she was feeling even more. If I wasn’t careful…

“Aaaaaaaah. Uh-uh-uhhhnnnggg. Nnnnnnnnggggg.” That last sound was a strained, breathless, screeching sound. One I recognized. Brin had the sheets clenched in her fists and her panties were completely soaked through. Her body shuddered and I watched with fascination as it tremored.

That was one.

“More?” I asked rhetorically.

“More!”

I took a little detour to pull her panties off and toss them away. There was some cleanup to do, and I was just the industrious worker to handle the job. I slid down the bed and licked her blue slit, the lips engorged and soaking wet. The mixture of sweet, fruity nectar with a pinch of salt not only turned me on, but it tasted fantastic as well.

She rammed her soft pussy into my face, grabbing my hair and pulling me down to meet it. I sucked on her lips as both my hands found her tits and massaged them, tweaking a nipple now and then. All through it, she treated me to a symphony of soft moans and whimpers that had my dick twitching and screaming at me to put it into her.

But not yet.

She came three more times between my licking, sucking, and a little finger action. Each time, she made the sexiest whimpering sounds as she came, and the sound threatened to make me eject all the fluid stored in my balls. When I backed off—I had to fight her grip to do it—and blew onto her sensitive slit, she actually came another time. Thick, creamy nectar oozed up as she lay back, trying desperately to catch her breath. I fucking loved the full moon.

By now, the beautiful moonwisp was covered with perspiration. I sucked on her clit for a couple of seconds, threatening to make her climax yet again, then moved up to lick off a trail of the salty dampness from her tummy and her chest. When my mouth found hers, she kissed me hungrily, so much so I had to pull back for fear of her passing out from lack of oxygen.

“Are you happy I didn’t go right to the end?” I asked.

“End? You have not even played with my ass yet.”

I smiled and sucked her lip into my mouth. I loved how this woman could surprise me with statements like that. “It’s in the plan.”

“Gar, I can feel magic infusing me, but I am becoming exhausted physically. I am unequal to the task of continuing all night long. I have failed you.”

I swept some damp hair out of her face. “Failed me? Hell no. I’m going to fantasize and relive this for a long time.”

“But you have not reached your climax.”

“Yet,” I said. “I will. I only need one, and you’ve kept me on the edge of it all night. You have held me in a little pocket of ecstasy this whole time. Are you ready for me?”

“I am. So, so ready.”

I pulled my underwear off and her eyes went to my steel hard cock. She’d seen it before, of course. She’d sucked me off. But now, she hesitated, her eyes worried.

“We don’t have to—”

“We do,” she said. “You are bigger than any of the tools I have used.”

“How about we take it slow. You can control how far and how fast we go. If it hurts too much, I still have lots of fingers. We can build up to it over time. Lots of delicious, amazing, perfect time. Does that sound okay to you?”

For an answer, she kissed me, sucking on my tongue with both hands on my cheeks.

“I’ll take that as a yes. I would normally want you to straddle my face right now so I could lick you some more, but we can go straight to you straddling me down lower.”

“You want me to sit on top of you and lower myself down onto your shaft?”

“Mmmmm. I do. That way you can go at your own pace and back off if it hurts.”

“I have never thought of such a thing.”

“Think of it now. I could sit in a chair if it’ll be better.”

“No. I’ll try.”

She moved down and positioned herself on top of me as I lay there. When her hand went around my shaft, I twitched and my eyes closed on their own. She had me so ready, I hoped I lasted long enough for her.

I made the mistake of forcing my eyes open to look at the exquisite blue body hovering above me. I loved this angle. Brin’s tits were perfect. Firm and round with her blueberry nipples twice their normal size. Her beautiful face wore a look of concentration as she considered my cock in her hand and her quivering slit just above it. Her eyes flicked to mine and I smiled. The one she returned was so spectacular, I almost came in her hand. Bedraggled, wet hair, sweat-slicked skin, and hesitant confidence in what she was about to do combined and plunged me into irresistible love for this woman.

I wasn’t sure how I survived before, without her, but I swore to myself right then that I would do everything I could to keep her by my side forever.

She lowered her body and the tip of my dick brushed her soft, wet lips. I sucked in a breath, even as she did the same.

“Uhhhhhhnnnnng.” She moved her hips to rub my head along her slit. “That feels so…aaaaaah. Goddess, I’m going to come again before you’re even in me.”

I didn’t answer. Pre-cum dribbled out of my member and I had to focus to keep from spurting.

She dropped an inch and sensations like lightning shot through me as my head spread her lips to enter her.

“Oh, Gar.” She moved front to back, but didn’t lower herself. The way her body swayed, how her lips felt sliding across my glans, the world spun a little and I had to close my eyes again or get dizzy.

Lower.

The entire head was inside her now, and her lips slurped it up and closed on the frenulum, embracing my shaft. My eyes shot open again. Her own eyes were slitted, her mouth open slightly as she breathed heavily. That body, oh God, the way her body moved. I clenched down on my Kegel muscles and my dick jumped.

“Oooooh.” She met my eyes with hers and smiled. “Huh-huh-huh-huh.”

A little farther and she started moaning in earnest. I reached out and caressed her perfect breasts. It was like a starter’s pistol. She sank another inch and rocked back and forth.

“Oh-oh-oh. Huh-uh-huh-uh-huh. Yes-yes-yes.”

I thrust my own hips, holding myself back from ramming my dick so hard up into her that I might have hurt her. We found a rhythm and together we pumped. Not the greedy, passionate pounding of two people out of control, but the controlled and careful friction of two people who tried their hardest to hit the right spots on their partner. Surgical rather than brute force.

It worked well.

Neither of us lasted long. After less than two minutes after sinking a bit more than half my dick into her, tremors in Brin’s internal muscles assaulted my shaft and I knew what was coming.

We were.

“God, Brin. Oh God. I’m…I’m…aauuuggghhh.” The keening, whimpering noises she made only intensified the sensations. They triggered me. Powerfully.

“Uhhhhhnnnnggg!”

My hands on her slender waist, both our bodies jerked as I emptied all my sperm into her. Her entire body shuddered like she’d bitten into a high voltage power line and with each convulsion, she clamped down on my dick with the muscles in her canal. When we had control of our bodies again, she leaned over and fell to her side, my body moving with her because of the leverage she had. My dick was still—for the moment—hard.

She began to giggle, putting her hand up to her mouth to stop it. Her cheeks, already flushed from our work, darkened even more as she couldn’t control her laughter. It was contagious and as soon as I realigned with her, we kissed while chortling and guffawing.

It took several minutes for the humor to subside and I looked into the eyes of the moonwisp.

“You’re so gorgeous,” I said. “That was amazing. Did you have enough? We could probably go again in a little while, after I rest for a few minutes.”

She kissed me. “It was perfect, Gar. I have never felt so much pleasure and I don’t believe I could manage another climax if it were to save my life. I will be sore tomorrow.”

“Sorry.”

“No. Do not ever be sorry for what you do to me. Hold me?”

“Of course. It’s my favorite way to sleep.”

We dozed a little, then used the wash basin in the privy to clean up before settling back down in bed, both of us without clothes. I held Brin to me and reveled in the feeling of her body, fitting so perfectly with mine, as we fell asleep.

We didn’t wake until a knocking at the door rudely tore us from our blissful sleep.

“Gar, wake up,” Tip yelled. “It’s late. Brin’s not answering her door, either. Are you there or did you two go out without me?”

I grinned at the gorgeous blue face next to mine. She returned my smile.

“We should probably rise,” she said. “Already, I will never hear the end of putting us behind schedule.”

“Fine. Promise me, though, that sometime soon we can have some morning sex. I already want you, as you can probably tell.”

She nodded. My morning wood was pressed up against her. She leaned over to kiss me and rolled out of bed to pick up her clothes and go back to her own room. She closed the door on her way out and I sighed.

I was definitely going to have to thank Tyra for the connected rooms. What a fantastic fucking night.

Chapter

Fifteen

Idressed quickly and opened the door just as Tip was bringing his fist up to knock again.

“Hey, Tip. Sorry. These beds are so nice, I wish I could take the day off and sleep in all day.”

He looked at me with suspicion. “What’s going on, Gar? Where’s—”

Brin’s door opened and she entered the hallway. “Good morning, Tiporian.”

The satyr opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened and closed it again. Finally, he shrugged. “Good morning. We’re running late and it’s not my fault.”

I slapped him on the shoulder. “We know. Have you seen Tyra?”

“Nope, but I think I heard her leave her room this morning. Really early, like right at dawn. Aren’t blacksmiths supposed to get up with the sun and go to bed when it goes down or something?”

“That’s farmers, Tip,” I said.

“Oh, right. Well, come on, I’m hungry. We better not get cold food because you two…slept in.”

I traded a look with Brin. Her cheeks colored. I guess we weren’t as sneaky as I thought. Hell, Tip could probably hear us from the other side of the hall. I wondered who else had. Oops.

We found Tyra in the same dining room we’d eaten in the night before. It wasn’t the big one, all fancy and spacious enough for several dozen guests. This one was moderate sized, though still with fine furniture. The goblin was sitting in the same chair she’d been in the night before, too. I took the seat to her right, Tip the one on her left, and Brin directly across from her, the same as before.

“Did you get up really early?” I asked her.

“Yeah. Sometimes I don’t sleep so well. Even if I do, I’m used to being up at sunrise so I can get started on my work. I put a few hours in at the forge and just came back to have breakfast. I figured you’d be up around now.”

“We’re sorry,” Brin said.

“Nah, it’s fine. I didn’t have any big plans. A little work to keep busy. What will you all do today? Ready to start looking for our murderer?”

Brin bit her lip. “We planned on looking for the item Qamara told us was in the city.”

“That Qamara, she’s the prophetess, right?”

“Yes,” I said.

“She must not be very good.”

“Why do you say that?”

“She didn’t even tell you what you’re looking for. What kind of bullshit is that? ‘Your item is in the city. I don’t know what it is or where it is, but it’s there.’ Sounds like a scam to me. Did you have to pay her for that? I can tell you things like that, too, and I’ll charge less than her.”

“She did not take money from us,” Brin said.

“No,” I added. “In fact, I still owe her some because she gave me a few coins when we first met.”

“You’re that bad at sex?” Tyra asked. “Or you’re that good at sex?”

“She didn’t pay me for sex. She gave it to me because I’d just come to this world and didn’t have any. Uh, money, I mean. Not sex.”

“I’d pay you for sex, just in case you were wondering. I’ll do my best to make you come into this world.”

I stared at the gorgeous goblin. “Uh…”

“I don’t think I’ll have to, though. Once I show you what I can do to you, you might want to pay me.”

Brin burst out laughing. It was so unusual for her, especially lately with my mood affecting everyone, I wasn’t sure what to do. I did enjoy her laugh, though.

“None of that matters, though,” Tyra continued. “I was thinking about it and I figure you’re wasting your time.”

I was getting a headache trying to follow the rapid-fire shifting of topics. “Why do you say that?”

“Think about it. Those goblins who captured Brin and were going to sell her as a slave took all her possessions. They didn’t know where she’d been or who she knew. They wouldn’t show up at just any shop to sell the items, especially if they’re unique or uncommon. They’d find someone who deals in stolen things. There are more than a few here in Forgehaven. Some buy the stuff outright, some provide a service to connect buyers and sellers, and some do both. You may find one by accident, but you’ll almost have to knock on every door in the city to do it.

“I know people. I’ve already started things going. Once the people I know check into it, I’ll probably have a list of at least a few potential places to find your stuff. You can relax for a couple of days. I’ll let you know when I’ve got the tip-offs.”

“That is very kind of you, Tyra,” Brin told the goblin. “Thank you. Perhaps taking a day or two off from our search would be good. We could start on your puzzle.”

“Sure, or you can just rest up. I still owe you a more complete tour of some other parts of the property. I understand wanting to find your lost possession before starting on my little project. With the boys here, I thought they might like to see the training yard? My father never used it, but some of his guards did. He mostly made it for my brother, but it hasn’t been used in years.”

“A training yard?” I said.

“Yep. A nice one, too. If you want to use it, I can get Harlan—he’s the groundskeeper—to get it back into shape. Fighting dummies, archery targets, sparring rings, feel free to play there all you want.”

I caught Tip’s eyes. He gave me one of those chicken nods, moving his head forward and back like he was dancing to some unheard music.

“That would be helpful. I’ve been trying to train him with a sword, but he’s also got a bow. Some practice would be nice. We’ve been trying to squeeze in an hour or two in the evening, after we’ve finished searching shops during the day.”

“Great. Let’s finish eating, and then I can show you around some more and take you to the training yard. There are targets for magic, too.” Tyra looked over at Brin, who nodded.

Our meal was fantastic, better than any I’d had for breakfast since I came to this new world. Tyra’s cook knew what she was doing. After eating more than I probably should have, I followed the goblin on her more extensive tour around the property.

She wasn’t kidding about the training yard. Though it was a little messy, with some plants growing where they probably shouldn’t be, it was still a thousand times better than finding a spare patch of grass to train with Tip on. He obviously shared my enthusiasm. His eyes lit up as his head swung around, taking it all in.

Brin knew searching shops was no competition for playing in the training yard. She was being uncharacteristically reasonable about not searching. Either she placed a lot of hope on what Tyra had said about her contacts, she was won over by mine and Tip’s enthusiasm, or a night full of sex had drained all the tension and strictness right out of her. Personally, I thought it was the sex. I felt pretty loose and reasonable myself, much more than any time since we found out about Lucas.

“Good choice,” Tyra said. “If you don’t mind, I’ll watch you. Maybe I’ll even train a little myself. You guys want to go and get your weapons and meet me back here? I’ll check and make sure the practice weapons are still where they used to be while you do that. Meet me back here in fifteen minutes or so?”

We agreed and headed back up to our rooms to grab our stuff. Between sparring with practice weapons and using our real weapons on the dummies and targets, I was really looking forward to getting a good workout.

When we got back, Tyra was waiting for us. In her hand was what looked like a steel rod.

I jerked my chin toward the thing in her hand. “What’s that?”

“Steel rod.”

“Okay. I mean, what are you doing with it?”

“Oh, this old thing? You wanna find out?”

I felt like I was stepping into a trap. The smirk on her face wasn’t the only indication. Her forced nonchalance was a big clue as well. The thing almost looked like a piece of five-eighths-inch rebar, possibly three-quarter-inch, but smooth. It was about the length of a smaller escrima stick, twenty-five or twenty-six inches. Tyra was strong, no doubt, but using a solid metal rod like that? How fast could she move the thing?

As if she read my mind, she whirled it, striking out quickly while angling the weapon as if she were blocking incoming strikes. The whir of the metal through the air was enough to convince me.

“Nice. Do you have practice versions? Something that heavy could do some real damage if you get carried away.”

Her lips shifted into a half-smile. “You don’t think I have enough control to keep from letting it get away from me?”

“Shit happens. I don’t want you cracking my elbow accidentally with that thing. Or on purpose.”

She laughed. “Fair enough. Yes, I found the practice weapons. We can use those if you’re going to be a little baby. Boo hoo.”

I clucked my tongue at her, shaking my head. “Insults aren’t going to keep me from trying to be as safe as possible. I’ve met people—in my world—who were big into swords, especially samurai swords. The most common injury is cutting themselves with their own blades. No surprise. Training with real weapons is necessary, but not always. For this first time, I’d just as soon not have to worry about any accidents. Say what you want about me.”

Tyra looked over at Brin, who shrugged. “Okay, safety boy. Choose a weapon and let’s see what you’ve got.”

“You choose a weapon for me.”

“What?”

“Pick anything you want. I’ll use that.”

“You kidding me?”

“Nope.”

She scratched her head. “What do you usually fight with?”

“My bare hands. If I use a weapon, it’s a knife in one hand and my siangham in the other.”

“Your what?”

“Siangham.” I pulled the weapon out of the long pocket alongside my thigh.

Two minutes later, when Tyra stopped laughing long enough to be able to speak, she made it through a whole sentence. A short one.

“You’re giving me shit about my baton and you bring out that little stick?” She laughed some more. “Go ahead and use that.”

“No. It’s got a point on it. That’s the point of using practice weapons.” I smirked.

“Fine. Pick up a stick off the ground, then. There should be some over there under those trees. You can pretend it’s your special stick. Oh, I mean your other magic stick.” Her cackling was kind of getting on my nerves, especially when Tip’s Woody Woodpecker laugh joined the goblin’s. Brin wasn’t laughing, though. I appreciated that.

I did as Tyra said and found a stick about the same thickness as the siangham. It wouldn’t be the same, of course, because a hard block of a sturdy fighting stick would break the twig I’d found, whereas the siangham was basically indestructible as far as I knew. No problem. I’d just have to deflect and parry her blows, redirecting the force completely so I didn’t break my stick.

The goblin dug through a nearby shed and emerged with a fighting stick about the same length as her steel weapon, but with a bigger diameter. It wasn’t light and flexible rattan; I could tell by looking at it that it was hardwood. Better than steel for practice, but it would do some damage when wielded by someone who knew what they were doing. I wasn’t worried.

In a pinch, Brin had her healing spell.

“You sure you don’t want to trade in your stick for a real weapon?”

“I could fight you without any weapon at all, if you want,” I shot back.

She tilted her head at me. “You’re being serious.”

“I am.”

Brin took the opportunity to finally let loose a chuckle. “You’ll understand in just a minute. Gar doesn’t just look like Kael the Blur. If ever anyone fought like the ancient hero, it’s Gar.”

Tyra swung her stick around in a figure-eight pattern. “Yeah? This I gotta see.”

Tip settled on a bench to watch the sparring match, Rex at his feet. “Then don’t blink.”

Chapter

Sixteen

Istowed the practice siangham—aka the stick I found on the ground—in the long pocket in my Dickies and moved toward the center of the fighting area. The real weapon I left on the bench nearby.

“How do you want to score this?” Tyra asked.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter?”

“This isn’t an official tournament or anything. We don’t need to keep track of points. It’s just for fun, right?”

“For you, maybe. Don’t you want to put something on the line? Make a bet?”

“No.”

“Well, I do. If I beat you, you have to grant me a favor. Anything I want.”

“Fine.”

Her eyebrows drew down. “No hesitation? I have a good imagination. You’re not even going to ask what I’d tell you to do?”

“Nope.”

“O-okay.” She almost looked like she was going to back out of it. I imagined the wheels turning in her head. Was I so confident I’d win that a bet didn’t matter, did I not care what she asked me, or was I bluffing? I looked at her with a straight face, though I was giggling on the inside. “What do you want if you win?”

“Nothing. Like I said, it’s just for fun. For training. You’ve already let us stay in your house and you’re helping Brin with her search. I can’t ask anything more of you.”

“Rules?”

“Don’t care. I’m not going to fight dirty or any way try to take advantage. This isn’t a street fight or a fight to the death. Tell me if you have specific rules you want us to fight with.”

“It’s fine. We don’t have to have specific rules. Fight with honor. That should cover it.”

“Fine with me.”

The way the goblin looked at me, I could tell she thought I was fucking with her, trying to get inside her head. I wasn’t. All those things she mentioned didn’t matter. Mostly I was there because Tip would benefit from us training in a legitimate training area. Getting a chance to see what Tyra could do was a bonus.

Of course, that didn’t mean I was going to roll over and let her beat me. She wanted to see what I could do, with or without my weapons? I’d show her. I could use some exercise anyway.

“Warm up, Tip,” I called out to the satyr. He still hadn’t grasped how important warming up and stretching was during training. True, most of our real combat wasn’t something we could stop and prepare for, but pulling a muscle in training was wasteful, even if Brin could heal it with a spell.

Tip started swinging his sword around in slow motions as I’d shown him. Once his shoulders, core, and leg muscles were warm, he started cycling through some simple forms I’d made up for him. They were essentially drills on basic weapons techniques.

Tyra and Brin did similar things, both using their weapons—the real ones, not the practice variety—to prepare. I jogged in place for a few minutes, striking out like a boxer doing roadwork. The goblin girl kept looking over at me, maybe waiting to see if I’d do series of movements with my weapon as well.

I didn’t. My body was my weapon. The cold wood and metal implements didn’t need warming up. My body did.

Only when I was on the verge of breaking a sweat did I do some light stretching. A few more minutes of that and I was ready to go. I sat on a bench and watched the others finish up.

Rex ran around Tip like a puppy while the satyr warmed up, but then the furcan acted strangely. He looked like he was sneaking, trying to get close to someone without them seeing him. Then he pounced. The way he did it, though, wasn’t like the lizard creature was trying to hurt someone. It looked like…

“Tip?”

“Yeah, man.”

“Have you been teaching Rex to steal things again?”

“Umm, what?”

“Didn’t I tell you not to do that? If you train him to be a thief, he’s going to get us into trouble in a town or city.”

“Nah. He only does it on command.”

I glared at Tip and at Rex but pushed the subject aside. We had other work to do, though I’d bring it up again later. Definitely.

“You ready?” Tyra asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Come on, then. Let’s go.”

Once again, I stepped to the center of the training area. Brin and Tip, who had been slowly trading blows with practice weapons to warm up, sat down to watch.

Tyra asked Brin to start us, so the moonwisp raised her hand, inspected us from afar to make sure we were ready, then spoke the command while dropping her arm. “Ready, and fight.”

Tyra took off like an arrow, her stick already moving while she kept her empty hand locked in place in front of her chest to cover her centerline. Her eyebrows rose when she noticed I didn’t bother taking my “siangham” out of my pocket. I chuckled inwardly seeing her concern that she would hurt me with her first attack.

She didn’t have to worry about it.

As she reached me, her stick came down in a familiar diagonal strike from her right down to her left. I slapped it, moving my hand along the same arc to nudge it out of the way so it wouldn’t hit me. Her momentum had carried her into me, expecting that I was going to dodge.

The stick went wide and as she crashed into me, I lowered my shoulder and rammed her, right where her hand was poised to defend. Her much smaller body flew backward as she huffed all the air in her lungs out of her mouth.

I had to hand it to her, she kept her feet where many wouldn’t have. She stumbled, but didn’t fall. She shook her hand out. It had been sandwiched between my shoulder and her chest. I was glad I’d expended almost no force, mainly letting her charge provide the power.

The green woman shook her head and gritted her teeth. She charged me again.

She opened with the same diagonal strike. This time, I sidestepped to my left and slapped the stick to deflect it. She immediately circled it around to attack from the opposite diagonal.

I raised my right arm up at an angle in a classic upward block but didn’t aim for the weapon. Instead, my wrist contacted her forearm, pushing up and away. My wrist snapped around and I snatched her wrist while slamming a straight vertical punch into her belly. Not really, though. I pulled the punch so it barely made contact—enough to show her I could have hurt her if I’d wanted to.

I didn’t give her time to think about it. I slid my fist along her midsection and around to apply an arm lock to her weapon hand, pivoting so my back was up against her chest, trapping her empty hand there. A light tap with a reverse elbow into her solar plexus let her know that, once again, I could have damaged her. For effect, I torqued my hips and rammed my shoulder into her chest again.

This time, I’d pushed so hard, she left her feet, though she rolled impressively and was back up immediately.

Tyra rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck to the left, then to the right. She rushed me, this time with a straight thrust with the end of her stick.

A half-step to the left and my body pivoted with the motion of the weapon. I grabbed the stick with my left hand. Stepping forward with my right foot, I pressed my forearm down onto the hollow of Tyra’s elbow, bending her arm and pulling her toward me. Raising the same forearm up to the bottom of her chin, I showed her again that things would have been bad if I was using full force. Before she could react, I pushed her chest with my forearm and, as she fell away, I struck down with the edge of my hand where she held the stick. It fell out of her grip into mine and I cocked it over a shoulder. I only held it for a moment before tossing it back to her.

Tyra mumbled something under her breath, but then said more loudly and clearly. “You’re not even using your weapon.”

What she’d said could be construed as a compliment, but I was pretty sure she didn’t mean it that way.

“You want me to use it?” I asked.

“Yeah. Would you have been able to do the things you did if I was using my metal baton?”

“Yes. It’s fine, though. If you want me to use my fake siangham, I’ll do it.”

She growled and sprinted toward me yet again.

This time, she wasn’t messing around. Her attacks felt like a well-practiced combination. I could almost see in her eyes what she expected me to do with each strike. I decided to oblige her, for the most part, and started off responding as she’d expect.

Her flurry of attacks started with a downward diagonal strike from her right to left, followed immediately by a backhand thrust with the tip of the stick. That morphed into the opposite diagonal strike with a forehand thrust, then an upward vertical strike, a horizontal attack from her left to right and finally a repeat of the first diagonal attack.

As the first blow came down, I drew my practice stick from my pocket, holding it along my forearm, as I often did with the siangham. I parried the blow with an outside parry, using the siangham as a contact point. Rotating to my right, I pushed aside the thrust with my left forearm, then smoothly transformed that motion into a parry with the same forearm at precisely the same angle the stick was traveling, with similar speed. That allowed me to nudge it to the side, the weapon passing harmlessly past my body.

Another rotation of my hips, this time to my left, and I swung my twig down to deflect her second thrust and brought it up to guide the vertical strike safely away from me. The horizontal swing I met with a hard block, the stick nestled against my forearm clacking with the impact.

The last of her strikes I actually ducked in for, bobbing like a boxer working the string. All it took was another tap of my left hand, an inward parry that left Tyra leaning too far forward. I met her neck with the tip of my fake siangham, thrusting it straight into what would have been a fatal strike to tear her throat out. I stopped my blow—and her forward momentum with my other hand—before she could get hurt, but it was crystal clear she would have been dead had this been a real fight.

“What the hell is that?” she groused. “The way you duck and swivel and move around my stick, I can’t hit you even though you’re within my guard. What the fuck is that about?”

I shrugged at her as I backed up a couple of steps. Tip’s laughter was the only sound as my eyes met hers.

Tyra turned her head slowly toward Tip and his laughter fizzled out.

“What are you laughing about, goat boy?”

“Nothing,” he said. “We did warn you. Don’t blink.”

“Get your weapon and come over here and warn me to my face.”

In the time we’d been traveling together, I’d found that Tip had a real problem with “reading the room.” His eyes lit up and he grabbed his practice sword. His hooves clopped on the hard ground as he joined Tyra and myself in the center of the sparring circle.

I nodded to the goblin and headed back to the bench to sit with Brin. She was fighting a smile. I picked up her hand and kissed it. “This ought to be entertaining.”

She let loose a giggle, then schooled her face to neutral.

Tip, meanwhile, made a show of looking Tyra up and down. Granted, the woman was a knock-out, and those clothes she wore were a perfect mix between functional—it got hot in the forge, after all—and flat-out sexy.

“Same bet?” he said in a cocky voice that promised he was going to get extra punishment in the next few minutes. “I win and I tell you how you can serve me?”

“Is that how you think it is? Did I say ‘goat boy?’ I meant ‘pig boy.’ Don’t you worry about what you’ll win. Try to keep from throwing up.”

“Why would I do that? Throw up, I mean?”

An evil grin stole onto Tyra’s face. “You’ll see.”

“Uh-oh,” I told Brin. “This is going to be ugly. You might want to get a healing spell ready.”

The satyr swaggered as he cut at the air with his practice sword. I shook my head. The little asshole.

“It’s your fault,” Brin told me.

“What? How is it my fault that he’s acting like a prick and poking at Tyra when she’s not in the mood to be poked at?”

“You made it look too easy. You had her stumbling around out there, unable to even come close to touching you.”

“What should I have done, let her beat me? Let her get a few strikes in? She was pretty arrogant when we started, too.”

She didn’t answer and I didn’t press. Tyra moved in toward Tip on the practice field.

The goblin started with a lazy thrust. She’d seen him warming up, but she was probably going to throw a few half-hearted attacks out there to gauge his skill. Tip batted the stick away, almost contemptuously.

Tyra’s stick came back immediately in a backhand diagonal strike. To the untrained eye, it might have looked like a casual attack, but I noted Tyra’s feet shift and her hips torque. Though Tip got his sword up in time to block it, he was completely unprepared for the force of the blow. His sword rebounded back, the spine slamming him on the forehead, and he almost lost his grip on it completely. He surprised me that he didn’t lose it, to be honest.

Before he could recover and move his sword, Tyra swung the stick around again, barely losing any momentum, and bashed him in the rib so hard I winced.

“Ooh, that’s going to leave a mark.”

Tip backstepped, his limp making it obvious he was in pain. He rubbed his ribs, but had finally learned to keep his mouth shut. I was surprised by that, too.

The goblin girl waited for him to breathe, straighten himself with a few pitiful moans, and go at her. Tip, the trooper that he was, lifted his sword high, wincing at the pain and bringing the wooden blade down in a vertical chop.

Tyra didn’t move her feet, only cracked her stick against the sword to deflect it from her. Then she jammed the end of her stick into his solar plexus, a look of disdain on her face.

The satyr dropped to the ground, curling into a fetal position, but he kept hold of his sword. Apparently, all the times I yelled at him in training never to lose his weapon hadn’t fallen on completely deaf ears. It took a couple of minutes, but he levered himself to his feet and—wheezing still—did his best to stand up straight.

Tyra gave him a look that communicated clearly what she must have been thinking: Really?

Tip approached her more cautiously, staying as far from her as he could while still slashing at her. He was no great warrior, but I could see how much his form had improved over the last several days. He had some work to do, but at least he was getting better. Like the difference between an infant and a toddler. He was working hard, though.

Tyra, on the other hand, circled him, stick always in motion, always right there to smack aside any attack Tip made that were at the correct range to strike her. Suddenly, she jerked as if to lunge in with an overhead attack and Tip brought his sword up to block.

She kicked him hard in the stomach.

If the solar plexus strike made me flinch, this one had me doubling up, like when a guy sees another guy take a shot in the nuts. I could almost feel the sympathy pains. Tip’s body formed around Tyra’s foot, like she was kicking a glob of life-size Play-Doh. When he crumpled to the ground, he proceeded to throw up.

“I’m done,” he said. “You win.”

Chapter

Seventeen

After some quick healing from Brin, Tip silently went off to try his luck with his bow at the archery range. He was still within sight as the two women and I talked. He’d taught Rex to retrieve the arrows for him. I was mildly impressed that he’d been able to manage it, especially because the little lizard took them in his mouth carefully, not damaging the shaft or feathers. For the most part.

“How’d you learn to fight like that?” Tyra asked me.

I shrugged. “I’ve always been good at it, naturally. Where I grew up, I found that I needed to do it and though it came easily, I still practiced a lot.”

“I’ve never had anyone make me feel like I was standing still like that. I’m not a professional warrior or anything, but I can handle myself.”

“Yeah, so I saw.”

“Sorry about that,” she said, casting her eyes to Tip. “Coming off being humiliated, his attitude made me a little rougher than I normally would be.”

“I get it. We’re working with him. Trying to train him to defend himself as well as less violent things. Like not being an asshole.”

Tyra laughed. “How’s that working out for you?”

“Not great, as you saw. He’s got some rough edges that need to be filed off. If he continues to run his mouth like he does, he’ll need to learn how to fight a lot better than he does right now.”

“He is trying,” Brin said.

“I know. He’ll get there, both with combat and with manners. I don’t blame you at all for taking a couple of shots at him. He deserves them for how he talks to you. It remains to be seen if the lesson sticks, though.”

“Speaking of training,” the moonwisp said, “have you been practicing attuning your weapon?”

Tyra held a hand up. “What? Attuning his…what are you talking about?”

I pulled out my siangham. “I told you about how Qamara gave me this weapon. It may just look like a stick, but it’s made of magical materials. Brin is teaching me how to commune with it. I’m still not sure what that will do, but I already feel more connected to it. Plus, it’s indestructible, as far as I can tell. I can block sharp steel with it and it doesn’t show a scratch.”

“Can I see it?”

I handed the weapon over to Tyra. She held it in both hands and closed her eyes, then snapped them open and inspected it closely. I wasn’t sure what she was trying to find, but the way she looked at it, you would have thought it had magical runes marked on it, tiny ones like at those places that write messages on a grain of rice.

She studied it for a few minutes. When she was done, she handed it back to me.

“Huh. You’re right. It doesn’t just have some magic materials. It’s made completely of magical materials.”

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“Oh, right. I haven’t told you yet. We’ve been talking so much about you three and your stories and about my father and that whole thing, I haven’t told you what my magic is.”

“What is your magic, Tyra?” Brin asked, leaning toward the other woman.

“I can see materials. Into materials. I can identify them, see the potential in them and do the work to bring out the most of them. It’s why there was never a doubt what I would do with my life. I was literally born to be a crafter.”

I looked down at my weapon. It wasn’t all that impressive, from a mundane point of view. “That’s amazing. Can you tell me what it does?”

“It doesn’t work like that. Sometimes, I can see enchantments, figure out generally what they’re for, but magical materials? It’s all potential. I can tell you that this one wants to connect.”

“Connect?”

“Yeah. With you—but not in the same way I want to connect with you. With other magical materials, too, things like that. I think Brin is right to have you try to attune it to you. Once you’ve established a strong connection, you can use it to do…things.”

“Like what kind of things?”

“I don’t know. Right now, it’s just potential, like I said. You keep working on it and I’ll check it every once in a while and we’ll see if we can figure something out.”

“That would be great, Tyra. Thanks. So, you can do this with all kinds of materials?”

“Yep. It’s why I do work in lots of different trades. I think it’s something that always bothered my father. Whether because he thought squandering my time and talent on things like wood, leather, and stone was wasteful or was jealous he couldn’t work those other materials at the same level he did with metal, I don’t know. He supported me experimenting and practicing with it when I was young, but as I got older, he resented me for it. Especially when people started talking about me and calling me a prodigy. It’s why I finally left. He locked up the other workshops and refused to let me use them.”

“That’s bullshit.”

She shrugged. “Yep. They’re unlocked now, though. In fact, I should probably go through all the stock rooms. There may be some stuff you could use.”

“Do you have any magic weapons? Ones that are enchanted, I mean?” I laughed.

“Yeah, I just might.”

My laughter cut off immediately. “Really?”

“Maybe. You wanna go look? It’s either that or let you kick my ass again. I’d rather explore the storerooms.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. My attitude wasn’t much better than Tip’s when we started. You probably should have been rougher on me. You pulled all your punches. Come on, let’s see what we’ve got. You want to call the goat boy to come with us?”

“Yeah, we’d better. If we let him out of our sight, we might find him trying to fuck one of your statues.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry, I doubt he will. I’ve threatened him the last three times it happened.”

“The…last three times?” Tyra blinked at me. I knew the blank look she gave me.

“No, I’m not kidding. He’s got issues.”

“No fucking kidding. Statues? Really?”

“Don’t even get me started on livestock.”

“He, him, the lizard…”

“No. He says he doesn’t swing that way.”

“Thank the gods.”

“Because Rex is male.”

“Wait, what? He hasn’t tried having sex with Rex because he’s a boy? Not because he’s a furcan?”

“Yep. Issues.”

“Fuck me.”

I almost lost control of my tongue and responded in a joking, flirty way to what she said, but stopped myself in time. She wasn’t as bad as Tip, but she didn’t need any encouragement to have sexy talk with me. I decided to respond with a small joke. “Please, don’t ever, ever say that where Tip can hear you. He’ll hear it as an invitation. You’ll have to beat him off.”

Her face went pale.

“With a stick, I mean. So, the stock rooms?”

She nodded. It was half nodding and half shaking her head. “Right. The stock rooms.” The goblin cupped her hand to her mouth. “Come on, goat boy. We’re gonna look for treasure.”

Tip raced the chicken lizard to us. He lost.

“Treasure?”

“Don’t tell him that,” I said. “Now he’s going to expect something. Tip, we’re going to check through the stock rooms and see if there are things we could use. Maybe, and don’t get your hopes up, maybe there will be a weapon that will solve our problem with you being able to hurt the umbrenix.”

“Oh, nice. I hope so.”

“Yeah,” Tyra said. “If we can find something with an enchantment, it will be a great boon to your group.”

“BOOOOON!”

I’d almost forgotten how much raw sound the skinny satyr could generate. I winced, putting my hands to my ears, but too late. “For fuck’s sake, Tip. I told you to stop that.”

The satyr was in mid-dance, singing. “Boon. Boon, boon, boon, boon.” I pushed him hard and he gave me an injured look, rubbing his shoulder where I shoved him. “She said boon. It’s kind of my thing.”

“Let’s go. Please, no one ever use that word again. Ever.”

Searching the stockrooms attached directly to the forge area was uneventful at first. They were the most frequently used by Tyra’s father before he died and had a surprising amount and variety of metal stock. I’d always thought forging was cool, and seeing so much metal that might one day become a weapon was interesting. At first. After more than half an hour of looking at raw metal, it stopped being so fascinating.

When we delved into what Tyra termed “storage rooms,” though she didn’t really explain how they were different from stockrooms, it was more like sorting through a garage or a long-abandoned storage unit. Shelves, tables, and cabinets adorned the storage rooms, but things didn’t look organized and there was a fair amount of dust involved.

Tyra would occasionally mumble things like, “I remember that” or “That’s where that went,” but like our shopping trips when searching for Brin’s item, it got old pretty fast. One room consisted almost entirely of blacksmith puzzles, the kind you had to figure out the trick to separating and putting the pieces back together. A few looked like they might be fun, but I knew better than to pick one up. I’d lost hours to the things before, some of which I never figured out how to solve.

Unfortunately, Tip didn’t seem to know better.

“I have memories of things like these,” the satyr said. “Can I play with some?”

Tyra chuckled. “Sure. You can take a few with you. Most of the ones here I made. My father always demanded them. ‘They exercise your creative abilities and allow you to practice smithing techniques that will help you in other work,” my father always told me. I’ve made dozens of them, most of them unique, as far as I know.” She turned to me with a smirk. “The trick is to put your peg in the right hole. I can help you with that, Gar.”

Her statement had caught me so by surprise, I didn’t respond.

She laughed and continued. “Come on. This next room holds some of the work I did just before I moved away.”

I seriously considered taking a couple of the puzzles, too, once Tyra gave Tip the option, but I didn’t. What she’d said made my mind go to places I wouldn’t come back from if I tried to solve one of them. She piqued my interest about the stuff we’d find in the next room. I hadn’t actually witnessed Tyra at work and I hadn’t seen any of the larger things she made. She looked and sounded like she was a good crafter, but who knew?

I’d expected a small room, like a little closet or something, but that’s not what I found when I followed the green woman through the doorway. The storage room was huge, like forty feet by forty feet, and it was filled to the brim with all kinds of objects. Sculptures in wood, stone, even bone lay around on shelves or tables. Practical items, ranging from carpenter’s or smith’s tools to individual nails were scattered around. I spotted some horseshoes, though I’m not sure what kind of sentimental value they had. I was still scanning the room when Tyra spoke.

“Oh. Right. I forgot about this one.” She shuffled through some stuff on the table in front of her, knocking some cleverly forged knickknacks onto the floor, and when she turned around, she held up an object.

It was a short sword in a scabbard. The whole of it a little dusty, but still looking like it was made well. Leather wrapped around the hilt, and the scabbard had lacquered patterns of red, blue, and black. She drew the weapon to reveal a simple design: a straight blade, edged on both sides, with a shallow point.

“That’s a nice weapon,” I said. “You made that?”

Tyra smiled. “I did. Made it when I was thirteen years old. Not a bad job, if I do say so myself. I can spot a dozen flaws now, but not major ones. I crafted the whole thing. Blade, hilt, scabbard, even the hooks and straps to attach it to a sword belt. In fact…” She rummaged around on the table again and came up with a leather belt. “I actually made a sword belt, too. I walked around wearing the thing for two solid weeks before my father ordered me to stop. Bastard.”

She handed the weapon to me and I inspected it. “This is amazing. You made all this stuff when you were thirteen?”

“Yep. Pretty good, huh? You wouldn’t know it by the way my father reacted. He pointed out all the mistakes. I didn’t let it bother me much, though. I thought I did a good job. In fact, one of my father’s regular clients, an enchanter, saw me wearing it and he was impressed. So much, he put enchantments on it.”

“He enchanted this blade?”

“He did. Just a couple of simple ones. He wasn’t going to waste enchanting materials or a lot of time doing anything special, but what you’re holding there is a magic sword. It’s got a couple of spells cast on it to keep it sharp and to give it durability so that it won’t break. No damage magnification or anything, but it’ll hurt creatures who can only be injured with magic weapons.” She raised her eyebrows and glanced over at Tip, who stood spellbound, watching the sword in my hand like it might turn into something fantastic and fly away on its own power.

I ran a finger across the edge lightly. I was no stranger to sharp edges, but even barely touching it, my skin parted and blood started to drip from the wound.

Brin, standing next to me, clucked her tongue, and then the familiar healing sensation washed over me. She looked at me in disappointment. I just shrugged.

“I told you, it’s magically sharp,” Tyra said. “Best not to touch the edge. Idiot.” She received it when I handed it back to her. “What do you say, goat boy? Will this do?”

Tip’s eyes welled up with moisture, glistening as he stared at the goblin. “Do?”

“Yeah, you think you can handle it? It’s about the same size as the one you’ve already got, but this’ll cut those shadows. What do you say?”

“You’ll l-l-let me use it?”

“Use it? I’m giving it to you.”

The satyr started weeping.

I traded worried looks with Brin and Tyra. I’d seen a lot of sides of the satyr since we met him, but this was a new one.

He rushed Tyra and she grabbed the hilt like she was going to defend herself. Luckily, she refrained. Tip put his arms carefully around her, making sure he didn’t smash his chest into her breasts. “Thank you. Thank you so much. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Now maybe I can be helpful to my friends instead of a liability.”

Goddamn. I couldn’t even describe all the emotions swirling around in me at that moment. I mean, I felt good for Tip’s pure joyfulness, but I also felt like an asshole for anything I’d ever said—even joking—about him not pulling his weight. There was also his apparent belief that he’d been nothing but an impediment. I felt sorry for the guy.

“Wait till the chicks get a load of this. They dig heroes.”

And…the feeling was gone. I let out a little sigh.

Tyra handed over the sword and showed Tip how to wear the sword belt. The cheap belt we’d gotten with his other sword was of the regular variety, meant to keep one’s pants up, and the scabbard didn’t fit it well. The new set compared to the old one was like the difference between the single lap belt on 1970s cars and a racing car harness. He almost looked dangerous as he struck a pose with his hand on the hilt.

“That’s really nice of you, Tyra. That’s an expensive sword, even more valuable because of its sentimental importance.”

“It’s fine. It’s the making of things that creates those feelings. As a crafter, you learn quickly that it’s better to release your creations out into the world than to hoard them in some room. It makes it all that much more contradictory to my father’s nature that he kept all this stuff for all these years.” She swung her head to take in the rest of the room. “Unfortunately, that’s the only enchanted weapon I have here, as far as I remember. I thought giving it to Tip would be better because you can actually cast magic, Brin, even though you are skilled with weapons, too.”

“It is the appropriate choice,” Brin said. “While I have been looking for more of my items to augment my weakened magic, we have been searching for a weapon such as this for Tiporian. I thank you for your generosity and for considering me as well. You have aided us greatly this day.”

“My pleasure. Your help with finding my father’s murderer is worth more to me than you know. Well, what do you say we go clean up after traipsing through all these dusty rooms. I’m hungry and could use som—”

“Whoa.” I hadn’t meant to interrupt Tyra, but as soon as my eyes rested on an item sitting on one of the racks of shelves, it just came out. “Is that a three-sectional staff?” I started walking toward the shelf, Tyra following me.

“A what?” she asked.

“This.” I picked the weapon up. It consisted of three hardwood sticks, about the same length and diameter as the single stick Tyra used to fight with me earlier. Two feet long and one inch or so in diameter. Connecting the three were short lengths of chain, probably about five or six inches each. “I didn’t know you guys had kung fu weapons in this world.”

Tyra looked at Brin, who had a confused expression on her face. “Where are all these words coming from? I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

Tip nodded like he knew what was up.

“Kung fu is a type of fighting, a martial art, where Gar is from,” the satyr said. “A three-sectional staff is a weapon that fighting style uses. It’s similar to some of the weapons of karate—another martial art—that were based on grain threshing implements the farmers learned to use as weapons to defend themselves from bandits, rogue warriors, and asshole samurai when typical weapon types were outlawed.”

Tyra blinked repeatedly, like she was trying to compute what the fuck we were talking about. I gave it a try myself.

“TMI, Tip. Tyra, a three-sectional staff, sometimes nicknamed a triple stick, is this weapon.”

“Huh. I thought I invented it. I made it when I was fourteen—I think. I imagined it and built it. Do you like it?”

“It’s awesome.”

“That’s what Master Ilias thought, too. He had me make another one for him. He’s developed a whole set of techniques using the thing. It’s impressive to watch. He uses it like fighting sticks or whips it around. I’ve seen him fight handfuls of opponents in tournaments before.

“Unfortunately, that one’s not enchanted, though it is made of magical materials. Kind of like your sand-gum thing.”

I chortled. “Siangham.”

“Yeah, that. Hey, didn’t you say Brin was teaching you to commune with your weapon? Take this one. I bet you could do the same thing. It’s magical in nature, though not enchanted. It won’t hurt the shadow men.”

“It will,” Brin said. “Gar can kill them, either with weapons or with his bare hands. When he uses his knife, which is completely mundane, it is able to harm them. I assume it would be the same with this…triple stick?”

“Great. It’s yours. Now you can try to commune with both. Maybe you’ll get good enough to change their shape.”

“What?” I said. “What do you mean, change their shape?”

“Brin didn’t tell you about that? It’s essentially unknown nowadays, but in ancient times, communing with magical items allowed them to be manipulated. Haven’t you heard all the stories about Kael?”

I glanced at Brin, but it seemed to be news to her as well. “No. I’m not from this world, remember?”

“Ah, yeah. Grab your new weapon. Let’s get cleaned up and sit down to eat and I’ll tell you about it.”

Chapter

Eighteen

For as formal and sophisticated meals appeared to be in the manor, Tyra was very informal. After cleaning up and meeting at the small dining hall again, I noticed Klaard roll his eyes several times at what I imagined were social faux pas made by Tyra. She didn’t seem to notice.

“Oh, Tip,” she said, still not finished chewing the bit of food she’d taken. “I forgot to tell you the condition for me giving you the sword.”

Tip had been stroking the scabbard under the table while we sat. At least, I assumed—hoped, really—it was the weapon he’d been stroking. “Condition?”

“Yeah. It’s not a big deal. At least, not if you don’t break it. If you do, I’ll kick the shit out of you.”

Klaard, posted across the room for some reason, rolled his eyes again.

“What is it?” The satyr’s eyes flicked to the sword like he was afraid she’d take it from him.

“You will never flirt with me or proposition me again. Never. Don’t make me have to kick your ass after giving you a gift.”

He breathed out in relief. “Yes, ma’am. I can do that, even though you’re hotter than hell.” His eyes grew big. “I-I-I mean…”

Tyra laughed. “That’s fine. You can compliment me—sparingly—but no over-the-top flattery or…” She held up a fist and the satyr gulped. “A girl does like to hear she’s attractive every once in a while, even from a despicable troll like you.” She smiled to indicate it was a joke and he chuckled. Weakly.

“Now that all that is over,” she continued, “let’s talk about items made out of magical materials. Gar, Brin has been trying to get you to attune to your weapon, but has she explained the mechanics and why you should do it?”

I glanced at Brin. She hadn’t told me much of that, but it felt wrong to say so straight out. In my mind, saying that sounded like I was criticizing her.

“She said it would help to make the weapon like it was part of me, so I could use it more effectively. We only really had a few days to talk about it before everything kind of went to shit.”

“I worked with him a little,” Brin said. “I told him what little I knew about it, but it is not my area of expertise.”

“Oh, that’s right.” I jumped on what she’d said, seeing a chance to brag about her. “You were usually focused on the other part, enchanting the items, not making them or using them.”

Tyra’s eyebrows rose. “You can enchant things?”

“I could, before my magic waned. I still have the knowledge, but I no longer possess the power. Giving items magical enchantments requires large amounts of mana.”

“We have got to find out what’s going on with this goddess of yours. Do you realize how much money we could make? How much renown we could gain? I could craft the items and you could enchant them. We’d be known worldwide.”

“Hold up on planning your empire,” I told the goblin. “We’ve got other stuff to worry about right now.”

“Right, right. Sorry. Anyway, I asked that question because if you’re going to try to attune your weapons, you should know what it entails and what it might accomplish.”

“I don’t know much. Anything you can tell me will be helpful.”

The goblin smirked at me. “I’m glad you feel that way, because the whole process is very interesting to me, with my particular magic. When I first heard of doing what you’re trying to do, I was maybe seven or eight years old. I was still coming to grips with my magic and what I could do with it. I’d already figured out that I could instinctually understand how different materials should be worked, especially magical ones, but it was a story that brought it all together for me. Do you know who the story was about?”

“No.” I wasn’t sure where Tyra was going with this, but I figured I’d play along. She seemed excited about it.

“Kael the Blur Serus.”

Tip leaned forward at the name and even Brin adopted a more focused gaze on the goblin.

“Wait,” I said. “That’s the dude who they made all those statues of, right?”

She laughed. “Yes, that guy. People liked to call him the Blur, on account of how damn fast he was, but he had other titles and nicknames. You know which one I always liked?”

“I can’t even begin to guess.”

“The Weaponsmaster.”

“Weaponmaster?”

“No. Weaponsmaster. He was the greatest hero this world has ever known. Yeah, he was fast and skilled, but there was one thing I always liked most about the many stories of his exploits. He was an expert with any weapon he ever took up. He often traveled with no weapons at all, fighting like you do, with only his hands and the rest of his body. But there are countless stories about him picking up regular objects and using them as weapons, devastating entire armies with a sapling or a piece of vine, or a bone of some animal he found.”

“That sounds like you, Gar,” Tip said. Had the satyr never heard these stories? I was confused. “Didn’t you kill that first umbrenix with a fern?”

“No.” I grimaced at the memory. “I was choking the monster out, but then the fern broke, so I had to bash its head on the ground and on a fallen tree.”

“Oh, that’s much more normal.”

Tyra stared at me. “You almost killed one of the shadow men with…with a fern?”

I put my hands up. “Okay, so Kael was eclectic. That’s great, but what does that have to do with him being called the Weaponsmaster or with what we were talking about?”

Tyra’s slack mouth formed into a smirk that turned into a sly smile. I could feel her pulling me in, wanting me to ask more about it. I let out a little sigh. I hadn’t realized the goblin was so dramatic.

“Quit playing around and tell me.”

She slapped the table and laughed. “Okay. Kael Serus was born with insignificant magic. In fact, I’m not sure anyone really knows what it was, though he stated plainly many times that it didn’t have anything to do with his fighting prowess. It was so weak, he was teased when he was young because he essentially didn’t have any at all.

“As time passed, however, he realized that his lack of powerful magic was actually a blessing. He found that he could create a connection, a bond, with magical materials. He never took the path I’ve taken, that of crafting them, but he went another way. He experimented and learned how to harness the technique to manipulate the very stuff the items were made of. In so doing, he birthed an entire field of study, inadvertently.

“You see, the trick with connecting to materials in such a way was that magic actually interfered with the process. Those with more powerful magic could never accomplish what he did, while others who were weak could, with practice, repeat some small feats of material manipulation.

“No doubt, by now you know that many types of magic interact with, even pull power from, the magic in people. With little magic to interfere, Kael was able to forge a relationship with items—primarily weapons, of course—and was able to command them to do things that were…extraordinary. Later in his career, he began carrying around a grand weapon, a complicated-looking sword. It was called Justice. You can see it in a lot of his statues of his later years, when he carried it more often. It’s easy to tell the period each statue displays because not only does he carry that weapon more later, but his body changed over the many years he did his heroing. The thinner, less muscular ones are from when he was younger, then you can see his progression up to the bulky, impressive heroic figure that is the epitome of one who fights against evil often, and wins.

“Sometimes Justice appears as a huge sword, at times an elaborate axe, even others as some kind of polearm. No one knows how many forms it had. The most common in statues is the sword, though.”

“Hold on,” I said. “Stop for a second. You said he had this grand weapon, called Justice, but now you’re saying he had multiple types?”

“No. All those types, all those forms, it’s one weapon. Justice. Because of his study, practice, and experimentation, not to mention his lack of powerful magic, he manipulated the one weapon into whatever form was best suited to whatever he faced. Like he’d done when he was first starting out, using anything nearby as a weapon, he did the same thing with Justice later in his career. He changed the weapon’s form to the most ideal shape to meet his enemies.”

Brin nodded. “I hadn’t realized he originated the study of attuning items made of magical materials. I never heard those stories.”

“Sure,” Tyra said. “I was born into a crafting family. It follows that we’d focus on those details.”

I looked at the three-sectional staff sitting on a chair next to me. “So with me not having any magic, I should be able to make a connection with items made of magical materials. If I can figure it all out, I’ll be able to change the shape of these things?”

“I’m betting on it,” Tyra answered.

The siangham was where it normally was, slipped mostly in the long pocket along my thigh. Had Qamara known about all that? She was a prophetess, after all. Why hadn’t she told me?

“Damn. That’s…kind of impressive.”

“It’s more than impressive,” the goblin said. “It’s fucking fantastic.”

I put my hand on my head, trying to come to grips with everything I’d been told. “Does that mean I’m somehow this Kael guy? Born again, reincarnated, whatever?”

“Nah, man,” Tip assured me. “All that stuff, those aren’t things here. You’re no second coming of anyone. You’re you. It just so happens that you are a badass and you have been blessed with both looking like Kael the hero and having his…disability.”

My head bobbed up and down without me telling it to. “Thanks, Tip. That’s reassuring. Being someone else reborn is kind of a mindfuck.” Something occurred to me. “So, if Kael had weak magic and could do that stuff, then I, with no magic, should at least be able to do what he did. Maybe even more, right?”

Tyra clapped her hands. “Now you’re getting it. Are you ready to try to make those connections now? Did we sufficiently motivate you?”

“Uh, yeah. You can color me sufficiently motivated. What do I need to do?”

We finished our dinner and moved to an indoor training room I hadn’t been to before. Between Brin and Tyra, I went through several types of concentration exercises, a few of which Brin had already taught me.

It was fascinating, the difference between the two women. Obviously, they were different physically, as well as where their interests lay. Tyra was mostly a physical person, while Brin was more intellectual. Not like a bookworm, so much, but someone who liked practical applications of whatever she learned. While the moonwisp worked on my focus, Tyra had me contemplate the internal structures of the magical materials, even to the extent of how they might react to different scenarios. Crystalline structures, lattices, and all that.

Honestly, it almost sounded like she was telling me that wood, stone, metal, and every other type of stuff in the world, could almost think and definitely could react. I’d never thought about things that way.

At the heart of it all was magic, of course, but the complex way magic acted and reacted to things in the world actually had me glad I didn’t have any magic of my own. My un-magicness was magical in its own way, allowing me to do things that most people couldn’t. More than anything, that was the thing that fried my noodle when I thought about it.

My greatest liability in this world might just turn out to be my greatest strength.

Chapter

Nineteen

Tyra and Brin worked with me for a while that evening, trying to combine their knowledge to help me form a connection to my weapons. I tried it with the siangham as well as the three-sectional staff.

“I feel like I do have the start of a connection with the siangham,” I said. “When I reach out to it with my mind, it seems familiar. More so than the other weapon, anyway. I still can’t do anything with it, though.”

As I was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the training room and Tip was swinging his sword around on the other side of the room, Tyra leaned over me from the back. She picked up the weapon she’d given me, positioning it directly in front of me so I could grab it from her. Brin and the goblin had been hovering over me to “help.”

As she bent at the waist to grab the weapon, her breasts pushed against the back of my shoulder. There was no way I was going to complain about it, but damn, it was distracting. The tantalizing pressure on my back scattered any focus I had managed to achieve with the two beautiful women paying such close attention to me.

“You needn’t press your breasts against him in such a way,” Brin complained. “We all know how exquisite they are. Do you not know that it will affect his concentration?”

My cheeks warmed up, but I didn’t say anything. I grabbed the three-sectional staff and set the siangham down as Tyra chuckled right next to my ear.

“Sorry. Sometimes they get in the way. You know how it is, Brin, I’m sure.”

“Ladies,” I said. “What are we doing right now?”

“Sorry,” both of them said at the same time.

Tyra straightened, then moved around to sit down on the floor in front of me, easily within reach.

“How about I help you by pointing out the energy flow through the sticks?”

“You can do that?”

“Yes. It’s part of my magic. I can see into materials. If they are magical, there is always some sort of flow. Mana from the surroundings going in, coming out, or circulating around. Maybe if you can learn to see—or feel—them, it will help. I’m sorry, but I’ve never tried to help anyone do this before. I myself can’t manipulate materials. My magic interferes, so I’m not sure exactly how you can do it. Brin?”

“Though my magic is weak now,” the moonwisp said, “I do not possess that knowledge either. Much of what I’ve tried to teach Gar was based on other techniques for utilizing energy or interacting with magical items. I am unsure how it will apply to what you are trying to accomplish.”

I nodded. “That’s fine. I appreciate your help, anyway. You both know a lot more about it than I do. So what do I do next?”

Tyra took my hand. Though her palms and the inside of her fingers were callused and strong, she held mine gently.

“Close your eyes and focus on the weapon. I will watch the mana flows and move your hand along with them. Try to picture the magic like a liquid or a gas, moving through the physical space of the weapon. Trying to do something with it is much later. For now, I want you to only be concerned with feeling the magic that is present. One step at a time.”

“One step at a time,” I repeated.

“Okay, focus. Give me a minute to track the flows and then I’ll move your hand with them.”

I did as she directed, reaching out, trying to find something—anything—I could latch onto. I sensed nothing. Well, nothing but Tyra’s warm hand holding mine. It reminded me of Brin and how we more often than not held hands when standing, sitting, or walking. Hers felt really good in mine…

Okay, that wasn’t helping at all. I completely lost my focus and Tyra had started to move my hand along one of the sections of the weapon. I doubled down, trying to force my mind to concentrate. Of course, anyone who has ever meditated, even a little bit, knows that you simply can’t force your mind to blankness. Not without a lot of practice, which I didn’t have.

I took a deep breath, then relaxed as I let it out. Aside from Tyra’s hand, I didn’t detect anything. I directed my mind to the exact point where my hand touched the wood and paid attention, bringing my senses to the forefront of my mind.

For a long time, I felt nothing. I started to get self-conscious, sitting there while two women stared at me doing nothing. I started to get nervous, but focused on my breathing and then back to the staff section.

A little spike of warmth registered on my fingertips, like I’d passed them over a place where someone had been holding the stick tight. My breath hitched.

“Did you feel something?” Tyra asked.

I shook my head. “Warmth.”

I could almost feel her question coming on, but she never verbalized it, only kept guiding my hand. The third time I felt it, I realized it wasn’t a fluke. Maybe it was supposed to feel like warmth.

“Hold on,” I said. “Can you do the same thing with my siangham?”

“Sure.”

I reached for it without opening my eyes. I knew exactly where I had put it, next to me on the floor. I held it in my right hand and Tyra brought my left onto it. In half a minute, she had figured out the magic flow and was moving my hand across it.

“Yes, that’s it,” I said. “I feel the warmth again, stronger since I’m more used to this weapon.”

Tyra pulled my hand off the weapon and enclosed it in both of hers.

“It sounds like you’ve got a start. Do you need me to continue to guide you, or do you think you can figure out how to find it yourself now?”

I had to think about it for a moment. I did like her touching me, but that wasn’t what we were doing here. I didn’t understand what was going through my mind. Maybe with all that had been happening, good old-fashioned human contact felt more powerful than it had before. But I didn’t need pretenses for that.

“I can try it on my own. If I can find it, then it’ll just take practice to get better at it, right? To get stronger?”

“That seems logical and reasonable,” Brin said.

Tyra held my hand for a moment more, then released it. The air felt cold on my skin.

“Remember,” she said. “It’s not just how energy flows through the item, but what material it is made of. Magical materials can be rearranged, their internal structures changed and modified. When you’re able to manipulate the structures, along with the energy within it, that’s when you’ll be able to do the really interesting things. I think. You’re the only one who can verify that.”

With another hour of practice, I confirmed that I could find the warmth on my own. Once, I thought I felt a sort of pulse, but I couldn’t be sure. It was good. I was on my way. On the way to what, I couldn’t be sure, but if I kept practicing, I’d get somewhere. Even if, for now, the structure of materials was a big mystery to me.

“IT’S STRANGE BEING HERE,” Tyra confessed. We’d finished up in the training room and were relaxing in the library that I’d come to realize was Tyra’s favorite place in the house to kill time, other than the forge or other crafting rooms. “This house was my home when I was a child, the only place I’d ever lived. When I left—or was forced out, depending on whose story you believe—it was like something broke in me. Suddenly, all those cherished memories felt like accusations. I wondered if things were really as good as I remembered or if that was just me seeing through the lenses of childish ignorance.”

I held my cup of ale, at a loss for what to say. I’d only sipped it, while Tyra had downed three glasses of wine so far.

Brin came to the rescue, breaking the silence. “Our memories often change, depending upon our emotions. I have found that if my remembrances of certain times make me happy, it is better to leave them that way. Through analysis and skepticism can such things be soured. What use in destroying happiness? Do not the tragedies in life do that enough?”

Tyra laughed. She turned her entire body to me. “You know, you’ve got a good thing going there. I mean, look at her. She’s gorgeous and sexy, and she’s so smart.” She swayed a little bit in turning back to Brin. “You’re so smart. You’re also right, of course. Sometimes I think too much.” She shook the glass in her hand, threatening to splash the wine out of it. “This helps so I don’t have to think as much.” She held it out as if to toast Brin, who looked at her blankly.

I raised my mug to toast her from a few feet away. She winked at me.

It was obvious Tyra was still hurting, and not only from her father’s death. There was a lot of unfinished business there. At the moment, I had a hard time with how apathetic I felt about it. No, maybe not apathetic, but definitely not very sympathetic. I had my own shit to deal with.

Still, I liked the goblin. She’d been nothing but good to us and the least I could do was to make an effort to soothe her.

“Tyra, how was it growing up here? I would think this would be like a wonderland for a child. Especially one who already knew she was going to be a crafter when she was very young.”

“Yeah. A wonderland. There were the magic crafting rooms, the library…” She waved her glass outward, gesturing toward the shelves of books. “The library. Oh, I said that. The grounds with places to play and hide and climb trees, the training yard, all of it. But no wonderland is complete without the trolls and monsters and beasts. My brother was a pain in my ass. Always so sure of everything, always right. Just like my father.

“My mother would rather hide in her cups than to deal with my father. He blustered and screamed and controlled. I didn’t notice, of course, not until later.” She scratched her head. “I don’t know if it’s because I truly didn’t notice or if he was kinder when I was younger. Like once I got into my teen years, suddenly he expected me to be perfect. No mistake could go unnoticed…or unpunished.

“It fouled my opinion of this place. Does still, if I’m honest. How can anyone do that to their child? Why? Was he so threatened that he had to tear me down? Did he care so little that his constant criticism didn’t seem hurtful to him? What would things have been like if I’d stayed? Who would I be now? Maybe a shell of what I am. Not that I’m much to begin with.”

I glanced over at Brin. Her somber eyes clearly communicated that she was at a loss about how to respond to that, just like me. I couldn’t let that last statement stand, though.

“Come on, Tyra. Not much? God, look at you. Let’s just—I don’t know, for fun—talk about what we all see. One, you are so impressive, you’re intimidating. I mean, look at yourself in the mirror. It’s obvious to anyone who has eyes that you’re powerful and competent in whatever you do. A person doesn’t get muscles or a body like that from doing nothing or from being lazy. Two, you’re drop-dead gorgeous. Again, look in the mirror. Three, you’re so smart. That thing about Kael and his abilities and how you figured out how the magic works and everything? Brilliant. Where are we? Oh, four. You’re a fucking expert crafter. You can take hot metal and turn it into a work of art. The same with other materials. You let us see some of the stuff you made when you were a kid. Not much? I haven’t known you long, but I have to disagree. You are much. Very much. Whatever the hell that means.

“I’m rambling, but please, don’t ever underestimate how good you are at so many things. I know it’s easy to feel like that, especially after drinking a little bit, but trust me, you turned out great. I can’t wait to find out more about you and to see everything else you’re capable of.”

The goblin stared at me, the wine in her hand all but forgotten.

“Are you sure you don’t want to fuck me?”

Brin, of all people, burst out laughing. She’d had a couple of cups of wine, and I don’t think she usually drank much.

I almost answered her honestly: I do, very much, but not right now, not like this. Instead, I looked over at Tip, who was turning red from clenching his jaw not to comment himself. He kept flicking his gaze to his sword, which was leaning against the chair he sat in. Good boy, Tip. Priorities.

“Would that really help things?” I asked, trying to be diplomatic.

“It certainly would. Your dick inside me would be pretty much a cure for everything, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Says the wine holding the goblin.”

She blinked at me, then a guffaw exploded out of her mouth like a sneeze. The glass made it to the table before she started shaking with laughter, thankfully. Poor Klaard would have a fit if she spilled it all over the rug.

“Seriously, though, Tyra, we appreciate you. If you want to talk about any of what’s bothering you, I’m here to listen.”

She settled down. “Thank you. Maybe I’ll take you up on that. Sometime. For now, maybe it’s better if I go to bed. You gonna join me?”

I shook my head at her. The last thing I wanted was to take advantage of her being drunk. Not that she would hold it against me. She’d propositioned me several times while sober. I had no doubt we’d end up together in bed at some point, but for now, I opted not to add that complication. I still wasn’t feeling normal myself. Dealing with my feelings for Brin was enough to occupy me for the moment.

“Not tonight, Tyra. Let’s give it a little time, okay?”

“Sure, sure. I’m used to people not being able to handle me.” She winked at me again, but I wasn’t sure if that meant she was joking. “We’ll talk in the morning. I still have to fill you in on the murder you’re going to help me to investigate.”

“We can go over that tomorrow morning,” I agreed. “We’ll come up with a plan and see what kind of trouble we can get into.”

“That sounds like fun. Okay. Goodnight, all of you. I’m suddenly very tired. I might even go to sleep before I finish masturbating.”

Tip let loose a little moan and slapped both hands to his mouth. Brin looked at the goblin wide-eyed. I shrugged. I hadn’t known Tyra Tyswix long, but it had been long enough that I wasn’t surprised at all hearing that coming from her mouth. That was part of her charm.

Chapter

Twenty

Ihad no such problem. Not that I would stay awake and reduce some sexual tension myself. That’s not what I mean. As was now her habit, Brin knocked on the door between our two rooms minutes after we settled in for the night. I have to admit that the soft sound started my heart thumping a little faster. When I opened the door and found the gorgeous blue woman dressed—or undressed, if I wanted to be more accurate—for sleeping, the endorphin rush that struck me every time I saw her in this particular setting took over.

We cuddled and stroked and kissed for a little while, talking about our day and my new weapon and what the next few days would entail. I felt closer and closer to Brin every day and spending the night with her was a perfect way to end it. I kissed her and made love to her. No pounding, sweaty sex, but blissful slow enjoyment of each other’s bodies. When I woke the next morning, I was well-rested and ready to face whatever would confront us.

Brin got up as soon as I woke. She kissed me, told me she was going to avail herself of the bath before breakfast, scooped up her clothes we’d discarded the night before, and went to her room to grab the clothes she would change into. I watched her perfect blue ass and those long, toned legs until she turned around and caught me staring.

“It’s not nice to stare,” she said.

“It’s very nice. If you don’t like it, come back here and punish me.”

She laughed, knowing it would mean missing her opportunity to bathe before breakfast. Instead, she wiggled her butt at me then closed the door between our rooms. I sighed but climbed out of bed myself. I might take a bath that evening, but for now, I wanted to practice some of the things the two women had taught me the night before.

I’d just settled in with my two weapons when a knock at my door interrupted me. Not the side door, but the main door into the hallway. I answered to find Tip standing there.

“What’s up, Tip?”

“You’re awake.”

“I am.”

“Brin is, too.”

“Is she?”

The satyr narrowed his eyes at me. “I saw her in the hall. Heading toward the bath.”

“That’s what you came to my door to tell me?”

“Nah. I just…how are you doing?”

“Huh? I’m doing fine. Something you want to talk to me about?”

Tip stood there, fingering his sword hilt.

“Tip, what’s going on? How are you doing?”

“Do you think I should give the sword back to Tyra, or give it to Brin?”

I blinked at him. “What? Why would you ask that?”

“I’m not worthy of this weapon. Brin is better than me with a sword. I don’t want it to go to waste.”

“Dude. Sit down. What’s going on? We both know you’re pretty new to fighting, but that’s fine. You’re training hard and getting better all the time. What’s all this about? Is it because Tyra told you you couldn’t flirt with her anymore?”

He shrugged and sat on one of the couches. “Not really. But, I mean, that’s all I really am. Just some goat boy who can’t seem to get laid no matter what I do. I can’t fight, I’m not much help to you and Brin. I appreciate the charity you’re giving me, but this sword, it’s too much. I don’t deserve a weapon like this. I’m a fuck-up.”

“Tip, why are you so stressed out? Like I said, you’re not used to fighting, but you’re working on it. You know a lot of shit, most of it things you shouldn’t have any way of knowing. Just that makes you valuable to us, but this isn’t some professional sports team. You don’t have to show us ROI or anything. Do you want to leave us? Is that what this is?”

“No, though maybe I should so you can get someone to replace me that will help more.”

I laughed, and almost felt bad when he winced. Like I was making fun of him. “Tip, listen to yourself. You sound like damn Eeyore.” I did my best impression of the sad-sack character from Winnie the Pooh. “‘Well, I’m not much of a friend, but I’m the only one I’ve got.’ Quit feeling sorry for yourself. You don’t have to prove that you’re valuable. You’re our friend, and that’s a good enough reason to keep you around. Besides, Qamara told me that the most important thing I could do in this world was to make sure to keep you around, that you are the key to everything.”

“She said that? The key to…what is everything?”

“Hell if I know. You’re the one who knows all this stuff from different worlds, and this one. Like I said, though, that’s not why you’re still with us. If you were a total asshole, I’d kick your ass out of our group even with what Qamara said. Don’t take things too seriously. Relax. You’re only mostly an asshole.”

His lip twitched. Not like it was going to smile, but more of a sneering type of thing. “Relax? We are literally being hunted by magic monsters who want to kill us, and they’re not even the dangerous ones. Their bosses, including Aeyr—remember that guy, the demigod?—want us dead. I would say that we literally can’t take things too seriously.”

“Huh. Okay, I guess I’ll give that one to you. What I mean, though, is that you don’t have to be some kind of elite hero or anything.”

“Why not? You are. Brin is. Even Tyra is. I’m the only one who’s not.”

“Rex,” I said. “Rex is not a super-strong hero.”

“Yet,” he spat.

“And by your own word, the same could be said of you. You’re not a super-strong hero. Yet.” I gave him a cheesy fake smile.

“Do you think I can be?”

“I think you’re probably the only one who can answer that. How hard are you willing to work to become one? Is it important to you?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s important that I’m not always dragging you guys down, that I pull my weight, even in battle. Especially in battle.”

“Then there you have it. If it’s important and you want to do it, then work hard and accept our help and I don’t see any reason why you can’t become what you want. It’s how I learned to fight. I found that I had to, or I’d get my ass kicked every single day. It took a while, and a lot of work, but I don’t get my ass kicked much anymore.”

The satyr rubbed his chin and nodded. “I guess. Maybe it’s because I see how you are, and how Brin is, and you’re so far above me in fighting ability.”

“We’ve got some years on you. You train hard and you’ll be surprised how fast you improve. In a few weeks or months, you’ll be doing things that right now seem impossible. So, you’re going to keep the sword, stay with us wherever all this crazy stuff takes us?”

He gripped the hilt of his sword. “It is a really nice sword.”

“Yeah, it is.” I chuckled. “There’s an easy fix for you feeling like you’re not worthy of that weapon.”

His eyes flicked up to me. “What is it?”

“Get better. Train so that you use it with such skill, no one will be able to tell you it doesn’t belong to you. Then, if anyone—including yourself—tells you you’re not worthy, you can tell them to shut the fuck up, and you’ll be able to back it up. Okay?” I put a fist up toward him.

That goofy smile splashed onto his face and he bumped his fist with mine. “Okay.” His expression suddenly got serious. “Thanks, man. That was just what I needed to hear.”

“No worries. But, uh, Tip?”

“Yeah?”

“Make sure you don’t slip and act according to your nature. Seriously. Tyra will kick your ass if you try anything. She’ll kill you dead before you get a chance to become a skilled swordsman.”

“Oh, I know. Even after I become a famous hero, I wouldn’t mess with her. She’s a badass. I mean, look at that body.”

“Look at what body?” a voice asked from the open door. Tyra’s green head poked into the sitting room.

“I…ummm…you…it…” The way Tip stammered, it sounded like someone was stepping on his tongue.

“Your body,” I told her. “He was just talking about how badass you look with all those muscles and how he’d bet you could kick some ass if you wanted to.”

She gave a cute little one-shoulder shrug. “Psht. Of course. These guns aren’t all for show. Just ask any of the metal stock I’ve flattened with my hammer. So, is that what you guys are doing, sitting around talking about me?”

“Nope. You just happened to come up. Did you sleep well?”

“You know, I did. I’m ready to get started on whatever it is we’re doing today. What are we doing today?”

“I’m thinking that as soon as Brin finishes her bath and joins us, we can eat breakfast,” I said. “After that, I think it’s time to start working on your mystery. Are you ready to try to figure out who killed your father?”

Her lips curved into a smile as her eyes glimmered. “I am. Do you want to wait for her here or go to the dining room?”

“Here’s fine. We’ll leave the door open and she’ll see us on her way back to her room. Come on in.”

I wasn’t going to get any more practice with attuning my weapons, so I sat on the couch across from Tip. Tyra sat next to me, leaning over so her head rested against my shoulder. She’d flirted with me, propositioned me several times, but this was the first cute affectionate thing she’d done. I traded looks with Tip but kept silent.

“So what’s the holding hands thing about?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“That thing you and Brin do. Unless you’re actually doing something with your hands, the two of you clasp them together. I’ve seen you doing it when you’re walking, sitting at a table, just standing around. What is that about?”

Brin had told me that holding hands wasn’t really a thing in this world, that a few generations ago people did it, but no one really did it much anymore. I wasn’t sure if Tyra knew the significance to people in my world. I know Tip did.

“It’s all part of the weird stuff that happens with me because I don’t have magic,” I said. “Somehow, contact allows me to filter mana from the environment and pass it into her. She recovers her magic a lot faster than normal that way, so we got into the habit of always holding each other’s hand.”

She put her hand up, fingers splayed. I craned my neck to look at her and the little smirk she wore. I put up my hand and interlaced my fingers with hers.

“Hmmmm. I like it. Of course, I don’t use mana like a caster would, so it’s not a benefit to me, so far as recovering magic faster.” She hummed, her eyes closing as she dozed on my shoulder, our hands still together. It was only a minute before she moved and her eyes snapped open.

“Contact. Holding hands. Does closer contact over a larger area make her recover her magic even faster?”

Shit. She was too smart and had figured it out.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You guess?”

I sighed. “Yes, more contact and she recovers her magic faster.”

“So if you were to f—oh, hi Brin.”

The moonwisp stood in the doorway. She waved. “What are you talking about?”

Tyra pulled her hand from mine. “Oh, nothing. We were waiting for you to finish so we could all go have breakfast. Are you hungry?”

“Mmmmm. I am. Allow me to return my sleeping clothes to my room and I will be ready to go.”

She went down the hall and her door opened.

“We’re not finished talking about this,” Tyra said, reaching her head out to kiss the side of my face. “Not by a long shot.”

Chapter

Twenty-One

Klaard was waiting at the door to the dining room as if he’d been standing there since the last time we’d seen him. The goblin butler wore different clothes, though similar to what he'd worn the day before, so he had to have at least gone to change at some point, but it was still kind of creepy.

As the rest of us sat down, he pulled Tyra aside with a, “May I speak with you a moment, Miss Tyra?” Their conversation was short and Tyra joined us at the table as servants brought food in for us. How they knew exactly when we’d show up, I wasn’t sure, but the way the meal steamed, it had just been cooked.

“Klaard received a message from one of his sources. We think we know who has your item, or at least who had it a couple of days ago. Jarek Rostelion, a low-level criminal who mostly deals in items and information. He acts like he’s tough, but he’ll cave when up against someone stronger than him. You shouldn’t have any problem dealing with him. Do you want me to go along when you talk to him?”

Brin shook her head. “No. Let us try first. I’d not like to get you involved in trouble unnecessarily unless we cannot convince him to sell us the item ourselves. Thank you for finding this information.”

“It’s no problem. Tell you what, when you go to talk to Jarek, I’ll take the opportunity to speak with that combat master I told you about, to ask him if he’d help Gar with the weapon I gave him. Those two tasks won’t take too long, and then we can start trying to find whoever killed my father. Like we planned, though, I’ll tell you what we already know after we eat breakfast.”

After eating—another meal so good I probably ate more than I should have, again—we filed into Tyra’s favorite library.

“Okay, let me tell you about what happened. You can ask me questions and then I guess we can work on what we’ll do next. That’s where you come in because I don’t know the first thing about trying to find someone who killed someone else after the deed is already done.”

“Do you have some paper and ink we can use?” I asked. What I really wanted was a dry-erase board, or at least an old school chalkboard, but paper would do for now. Tyra went to the desk at the other side of the room and I mined my memories for how I’d seen investigations carried out on various movies and TV shows.

“I’ll keep the notes,” Tip said. I nodded at him, glad he volunteered. I hadn’t been sure he could read or write and didn’t want to put him on the spot.

“Okay,” Tyra said. “Fair warning. My father was a prick. Just about anyone you talk to about him will agree, though the smarter ones won’t tell you too emphatically, for fear you’ll think they killed him. Also pertinent is that he spent the vast majority of his time here at home, mostly in his forge. It was the one thing in life that he cared about.

“Six days ago, my father did what he normally does each day. He worked in his forge, receiving visits by a few people. Klaard kept him on a schedule, as far as meals, but other than that, all the servants knew not to bother him.

“After the midday meal, which Klaard brought to him in the forge, my father continued working on various projects. In the afternoon, he received three visitors. One was our neighbor in the next property over, Trag Sila. Trag is the closest thing to a friend my father had and he came over to get some tools sharpened.

“While Trag was here, another visitor arrived. This was Vasz Volin, who had commissioned my father to make him a pair of daggers. Trag doesn’t care for the man, so he bade my father goodbye and went home. He must have passed the third visitor on the way, Oberon Wespa, another customer coming to give my father an order.

“My father and Vasz argued about the commission he was working on. Apparently it centered around the price.”

“The two men left, and my father went back to work after Klaard retrieved the lunch dishes and brought them to the house. Like always, Klaard stopped in an hour before bringing out dinner to make sure what the cook had planned was agreeable to my father.

“When Klaard picked up the dishes from dinner, my father told him he had more work to do and that he didn’t want to be interrupted, that Klaard should go to bed.

“When Klaard went back out later that night to check on my father one more time before he went to bed, he found my father slumped on the floor of the forge, surrounded by a pool of his own blood. He was stabbed in the back, I’m told, as he was working, then his throat was cut. As close as anyone could tell, the killer didn’t steal anything, though he had several expensive projects complete and he even had a full coin purse on his belt that remained with him.

“So within an hour or hour and a half after the last time Klaard had seen him, someone came, killed my father, and left, with no one seeing the murderer, as far as we can tell.

“That’s about it. I tried asking the constable about it, but he wouldn’t tell me anything. I’m not sure if he’s trying to find out who did it or not.”

I scratched my head. “Okay. That’s a start. What we need to do now is to figure out who might be suspects and come up with a list of people we need to talk to. As we interview each of them, we’ll look for clues, some of which will lead us to others we need to talk to. We’ll follow the information, writing everything down, and eventually we’ll hopefully be able to come up with who could have done it.

“Like a great fictional detective from my world once said, ‘When you have eliminated all which is impossible then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’”

“What is a fictional detective?” Tyra asked.

“He didn’t really exist. He was in a story. A lot of stories, actually.”

“So then the person who invented those stories actually said that.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Your world is weird. So that’s it?”

“What do you mean? It’s a simple process, but it’s in no way easy. We have to gather information to make assumptions, then we need to test those assumptions and from the results, we make more assumptions. We keep going until we’re left with the only possible thing that could have happened, the only person who could be guilty, ‘however improbable.’ That’s the theory, anyway. I’ve never done it, haven’t even read a lot of mysteries. It’s all I know about it, though.”

“It’s elementary,” Tip said, chewing on the end of the pen Tyra had given him.

The goblin turned toward him, opened her mouth, then shook her head and spoke to me.

“How do we start, then?”

“We already have. Getting your account was the first step. I think the next logical step is to talk to those who are here. Let’s start with Klaard. Later, after we talk to the others, maybe we’ll go out and talk to people outside. Little by little we’ll build up our list of clues and our list of people to talk to.”

“People like who?”

“We’ve already started on that list.” I glanced over at Tip. “We’ve already started on that list?”

“Yeah, man. Trag Sila, Vasz Volin, Oberon Wespa.”

I threw him a thumbs up.

“Okay. Sure, we can talk with Klaard,” Tyra said. “What exactly are we trying to find out?”

“Means, motive, and opportunity,” Tip said, just as I was about to say the same thing.

I shot him a smirk. “Exactly. Who could have done it, why they would have wanted to do it, and what conditions allowed it to happen? It may take a little while, but we’ll figure it out, one step at a time. Can you call Klaard—oh, hey Klaard.” The goblin butler had appeared as soon as I said his name, like I’d invoked him. It was kind of unnerving, to be honest. “Do you mind if we ask you some questions?”

“Of course, sir. What would you like to know?”

“Come on over and sit down. It may take a few minutes.”

He strode over to a chair facing me and he sat, his back straight and eyes on me.

“We are trying to make sense of the murder of Terago Tyswix. As far as we know, the constable has not found who did it, or at least he hasn’t told anyone if he did.”

“That is correct, sir. I have asked him on numerous occasions if he has found anything, the most recent being yesterday, at approximately the second hour after noon. He merely grumbled at me and claimed he had no time to discuss it.”

I looked over at Tip. The satyr was busy scratching the pen on the paper he’d been given. Good man.

“We’ll be talking to him eventually, too,” I said. “For now, though, could you please tell us all you know about the day Terago died? Maybe start in the morning and give us as much information as you can for the entire day?”

“I can certainly do so. This was six days ago, apparently a day like any other. The master got up early and ate his breakfast. Three eggs, poached, a thick slice of ham, fried potatoes, toasted bread with butter and honey, a small glass of milk and a large cup of ale. When he finished his meal, he proceeded to his forge to begin his work for the day.

“The sound of the hammer on anvil ceased at approximately two hours before noon, precisely at the time the young lady arrived.”

“Young lady?” Tyra asked. “Which young lady would that be?”

For the first time I’d seen, Klaard looked uncomfortable. He put a finger under his collar to loosen it and took a steadying breath.

“Ah. A young woman from the Scholar’s Respite. A regular appointment.”

“Scholar’s Respite? She was from the Scholar’s Respite? You know what that place is, Klaard.”

“I do, Miss Tyra.”

I put my hands up. “Hold on. What is Scholar’s Respite?”

“It’s a brothel,” Tip said, not bothering to lift his eyes from the paper he was writing on. “She was a whore.”

Klaard cleared his throat. “Ahem. Just so.”

“And how often did this ‘young lady’ visit my father?”

“Twice a week, Miss Tyra. I have no doubt that after a time, it would go to once per week as it had with the previous…young lady who visited him.”

“What? Are you telling me—”

“Tyra? We can ask about that later. How about for now, we let Klaard tell us about that day.”

Tyra crossed her arms under her breasts and glared at the butler like it was his fault.

I motioned to the goblin man. “Go on, Klaard.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you. I brought the young lady to the forge, where the master escorted her to his resting room.”

I’d seen his resting room when Tyra gave me the tour. She said it was for when he was working on a project and wanted to take a nap before continuing, so he didn’t have to come all the way back to the house. If anything, mentioning the room deepened her scowl now. I wondered what the place would look like under a black light.

“I escorted the young lady to the front door when she was…finished providing her service.”

“What is this young lady’s name?” The stank Tyra put on the term young lady made me wince.

“I am sorry, Miss Tyra, but I don’t know. I can easily identify her, if necessary. She had been coming to the house for a few weeks.”

Tyra mumbled something, but I ignored it.

I eyed Tyra. “Go on, Klaard.”

“The master continued his work until I brought his lunch. Precisely at noon. I returned half an hour later to retrieve the dishes. The master spoke with me for a few minutes, asking if Harlen Silzin, the groundskeeper, had cleaned up the fallen tree in the northwestern corner of the grounds.

“As we spoke, he worked on a beautiful pair of matched daggers. I believe the pieces were commissions for Vasz Volin, a local noble who often requested specific items from the master. He was nearly finished, putting the final touches on the hilts and the sheaths, as well as sharpening the blades and performing final polishing.

“Two and a half hours later, the neighbor who lives in the estate to the south, Trag Sila, visited with a handful of tools for sharpening. While returning from delivering Mister Sila, I heard the bell and found none other than Vasz Volin waiting. I brought him to the master as well.

“Mister Sila is not fond of Mister Volin, I believe. He took the opportunity to leave at that time. The master promised to have the tools sharpened by dinner, and I escorted Mister Sila out the front door. When I opened it to let Mister Sila out, however, another visitor stood there.

“Oberon Wespa is another client of the master’s, and he was visiting to ask about a current project the master was finishing for him as well. When I accompanied him to the forge, I found the master and Mister Volin deep into an argument, both bellowing loudly and extremely agitated. The master told Mister Wespa to bide his time and, when I looked toward the master to see if he wanted me to eject Mister Volin from the property, he waved me away, growling that it was none of my concern. I returned to the house.

“The two visitors soon left. When I brought the master’s dinner, he still showed anger and commanded me that no one was to interrupt him for the rest of the night. Of course, I am exempt from such commands because it is my duty to serve the master. Thus did I return to pick up his dishes after he’d eaten. I noticed that the daggers he’d made for Mister Volin were still on the worktable. When I asked if the master needed anything further, he told me to go to bed, that he’d be working late but wouldn’t need anything else from me.

“One further visit occurred, Mister Sila coming to retrieve his tools. I explained that the master was accepting no more visits but offered to speak with him to determine if the tools had been sharpened, in which case I could bring them out. He declined, telling me he’d come back in the morning, since he would not be doing any work with them that evening in any case.

“When I returned to check on the master at precisely twelve minutes until midnight, I found his body slumped in a pool of his own blood.”

Chapter

Twenty-Two

Ilooked over at Tyra to see how she reacted to the description. Her eyes were locked on the butler, the expression on her face neutral. I couldn’t read if she was sad or outraged, curious, or contemplative.

“You didn’t hear anything during that time between when you picked up the dishes and when you went back and found him?” I asked.

“No, sir, I did not. The master has bells in different areas of the grounds, with different tones. The one from the forge area is very distinctive and familiar. The forge walls are insulated and even the sounds of him striking metal on the anvil are not very loud. He has tried to yell to get my attention before, but unless I happen to be outside, I hear nothing. With the large doors on the forge closed, nothing short of the bell or a piercing scream would have traveled to the house.”

“Okay. Thank you for—”

“Would you like for me to continue, sir? What I described was the full account of the day, but my discovery being after midnight, the ordeal continued into the next. There is more to say, if you are so inclined as to listen.”

“Oh. Yes, I’m interested. Thank you. Please, go on.”

“Very good, sir. As I said, I found the master on the floor of the forge. I immediately checked his injuries and found his body to lack the warmth I would expect of a living person. He did not breathe and his heart did not beat. Without moving him, I inspected him and found that he had been stabbed several times with a sharp implement. In the back. It was messy, but I did look carefully at his clothing to find that it had at least six holes in the cloth. I also noticed the edges of a cut on his neck but did not move him to investigate it.

“Strangely, the master’s purse was still attached to his belt. Though bloody, it did not look to have been tampered with. So, too, the expensive pieces on the worktables earlier were still there, including the daggers he had been working on for Mister Volin. By no means did I complete an inventory beforehand, but it appeared to me that nothing was moved or taken.

“I sent a messenger to the city guard and the constable arrived approximately two hours later, his hair tousled and his mood decidedly sour. He grumbled about losing sleep, interrupting me multiple times to do so, though I did my best to tell him exactly the information I have just given you. I must say, sir, that you are much more polite and attentive than he.”

“Thank you?” I said, inflecting it like a question. It could be that the constable had been woken from sleep and I hadn’t. Another glance at Tip showed him still writing as fast as his hands could accomplish. “What did the constable say?”

“Not much of value, I’m afraid. He gave a cursory look at the forge, poked at the body a few times, then told me he would communicate what he found soon. After that, he left.

“I, however, was not done. I gave instructions to have the undertaker meet me in the morning and had some of the other servants help me to wrap the master and place him on one of his work tables, then to clean up the blood. I took the opportunity to sleep for two hours before waking and continuing with the arrangements for the burial and wake.

“I also sent messengers to family members, the few friends the master had, and his most important clients. Next, I visited Tyra personally to give her the news, along with the master’s brother Dargen, who lives near the city. The rest of the family is not near, so messengers had to suffice for them.

“The constable commanded that the body be brought to his office, though I know not why. I came to learn that he sent a message to Tyra to have her claim the body. Perhaps it was to collect the death tax.”

“The what?” Tyra asked.

I put my hands up. “Tyra, please. Let him finish.”

“Three days later, we interred the master in the family plot in the city. The day, I believe, you met Miss Tyra for the first time. That is what I can recall from that day, but I will answer whatever questions you have or clarifying anything that is confusing.”

“Thank you, Klaard. That helps a lot. We’ll have more questions for you later, I think, but for now, that gives us enough to think about. We appreciate it.”

“Of course, sir. The master was difficult to get along with at times, but he was not a bad man. He did not deserve such as this. Please do not hesitate to ask for any aid you find necessary. If I cannot provide it myself, I have extensive contacts from dealing with the master’s household for so long and may be able to find someone who can help. Is there anything else I can do, either with this investigation or otherwise? Some tea, snacks, drinks?”

I chuckled. The little guy was strange and kind of stuffy, but I liked him. He reminded me of every good butler in every story I’d ever read or watched. “I’m good, thank you.”

He glanced over at Tyra and she shook her head. “Very well. Let me know if you change your mind.” He got up and walked out the door, as dignified as Alfred ever was. The thought tickled me as I imagined the goblin using a feather duster on the bat pole or polishing the bust that flipped up to activate the secret door to the bat cave.

“That was a lot,” I told the others. “Did you get it all, Tip?”

He gave me a salute and I noticed ink splotches on the heel of his hand. I hope he hadn’t smeared the ink trying to write fast enough to keep up.

“Cool. We’ve got a start. Why don’t we think about what we’ve got, and then we can talk to the remaining servants. Klaard mentioned several people we’ll want to visit, so we can make a list to work from.”

Tyra rubbed her chin. “That was very impressive. You say you don’t know much about this investigation process? It looks to me like you know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Nah. Just trying to channel my inner Sherlock or Hercule Poirot.”

“I don’t know what that means,” she said.

“Yeah, I don’t either. Tip, you want to keep hold of the notes or do you want me to take them?”

His eyes widened. “I…you trust me to keep them?”

“Of course, buddy. You’re the court reporter, or clerk, or secretary, or whatever it is. Thanks for writing them up. We’ll both be looking at them, I’m sure. With what you know, the memories you have from people in my world, you probably know as much as I do about this stuff. Maybe more.”

“No, I don’t really think—”

“Do you know who Sherlock Holmes and Hercule Poirot are?”

He sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Well, there you go, partner. We’re in this together. We’ll back each other up.”

He nodded and straightened the papers he’d written on.

“Okay. Let’s talk about what we heard. I want to hear any ideas anyone has.”

It only took an hour or so to brainstorm about what Tyra and Klaard had told us about the murder. We already had a decent list of people to interview, including the other servants. As we wound down, I turned to Tyra to ask who we should talk to next, but she beat me to the punch in speaking.

“I think you should go and find Brin’s magic item,” she said. “Better to take care of that now. While you do that, I’ll go and ask Master Ilias about showing Gar a few things with his new weapon. With those things done, we’ll be able to focus completely on trying to find my father’s killer.”

“Are you sure, Tyra?” I asked.

“Yes. You have been looking for that thing since you got here. With Klaard’s information on the item earlier, you can go get it now. I don’t want to hold you up in what you came here for. Until that’s settled, it’ll distract you. Be careful with Jarek, though. He’s got a picture in his head that he’s some great crime lord and he may do something stupid, like try to get others to attack you.”

I cracked my knuckles. “He’s the one who should be careful, then. I wouldn’t want to be the one to stand between Brin and the thing that was stolen from her.” I winked at the blue woman.

The goblin smiled. “I could still go with you, if you want.”

I returned the expression. “It’s fine, Tyra. We’ll try and if we can’t handle it, we’ll be sure to come straight to you.”

“Okay, no problem. Let me know if you need my help after you give it a shot. I’ll go talk to Master Ilias.”

We ate an early lunch, then we went to our task and Tyra to hers. Our path led us into an area of the city we hadn’t visited yet. There were no shops or market stalls, only crowded buildings and darkened alleys between them, even with the morning sun shining brightly. We found the location Tyra had given us, a nondescript building like the rest of the lumber-sided structures around it.

“I’ll let you handle it, if you want,” I told Brin. “You know more about this world than I do, and it’s your property you’ll be discussing.”

Brinawynn gave a relaxed nod. Tip, on the other hand, fidgeted, his fingers tightening and loosening on the hilt of his sword, over and over again.

At our knock, a large man in dirty clothes opened the door.

“Whatdya want?”

Brin ran her eyes up and down the man, from his huge, booted feet to the unkempt, greasy hair nearly seven feet from the floor. “We wish to speak with Jarek Rostelion.”

“What if he don’t wanna talk to you?”

“He most likely will not want to talk to me, but talk he shall.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. I understood Brin wanting to be truthful, but there was such a thing as too much information. I prepared to step up to take care of things.

“Here,” the moonwisp said. “Perhaps you can ask him in a way that he would respond to appropriately?” She handed the thug a few coins. “Tell him we are here to buy some of his wares.”

Huh. Bribes. It could work.

The man took the coins and scratched his head, no doubt trying to figure out if getting paid was going to get him in trouble. He seemed to work it out, because after a moment he shifted his eyes from the coins in his hand to Brin.

“Wait.” He closed the door and the sound of the latch engaging echoed through the wood.

I rocked back and forth on my heels, inspecting the wood siding on the building. Tip spoke softly to Rex, while Brin stood with perfect posture, no sign of anxiety or any expectation. After several minutes passed, I was pretty sure that thug had fucked us, taken Brin’s money and was not even bothering to talk to his boss.

Anger simmered beneath my skin, moving toward boiling. Like someone had cranked up the gas on a stove. I eyed the door. It had only sounded like one latch, not a crossbar or anything. I contemplated kicking it in.

Footsteps sounded inside the building a few seconds before the latch withdrew and the door opened, revealing the same man.

“Follow me,” he said. Without waiting, he turned and padded off.

Brin glanced at me and I gave her a shrug. Her beautiful face didn’t hold any sign or victory or gloating.

We walked deep into the building behind the man until he stopped us at a door. He knocked, and someone inside said, “Come.” He opened the door and gestured for us to enter.

I debated whether to go first in case of a trap or last so I could handle any ambushers from behind. In the moment I hesitated, Brin marched into the room, making the decision for me.

I ushered Tip and his lizard in, then followed. The room was decent-sized, probably twenty feet by twenty feet. Two other thug-looking men leaned against the walls. They appeared to be from the same mold as our talkative friend. Maybe this was a family thing. Or maybe Jarek liked hiring the same kind of ugly brutes. Sitting behind a desk near one corner of the room flanked by windows was, I presumed, Jarek the fence.

He was a dog.

No, I mean, seriously. He was a dog beastkin, with ears pricked up like a Doberman’s. He wasn’t the most handsome of dudes, either. As he sat, fingers steepled on the desk, his eyes flicked to me, Tip, and Rex, but settled firmly on Brin.

“Arn said you were a beauty, but gods, you look like a goddess. I usually don’t let just anyone in here, but I wanted to see you. I’m sure whatever you’re looking for, we can work something out. Spin for me.” He put a finger up and twirled it in a circle.

Brin ignored everything he said. “You recently received a stolen item from a goblin. It was stolen from me. You will give it back.”

The man laughed. “You don’t understand, sweetheart. You don’t come in here and tell me what to do. Now, once you’ve let me have a taste, we can discuss things, but not before. Turn for me.”

Brin sighed. “You will choose to be difficult?”

“I will choose to do many enjoyable things to you and that heavenly body of yours.”

The moonwisp looked at me and shook her head sadly. “I will never understand why people make decisions such as this.”

Without a word, she leaped from standing still, clearing the desk and plowing into Jarek’s chest, foot first, like Bruce Lee doing a flying side kick. Brin was not a large woman. She was relatively tall, but her body was slender and probably didn’t weigh more than a hundred fifty or so pounds. All of those pounds landed in one spot, throwing the dog beastkin back, tipping him and the chair toward the wall. When they landed, he slid for a couple of feet, but it didn’t seem to bother her. She pulled him up by the collar and punched him square in the face.

The three goons only froze for a few seconds before they lurched into shaky motion. One drew a knife, one picked a cudgel up from where it leaned next to the wall, and the last, the guy Brin paid, raced to aid Jarek unarmed.

Moneybags was the closest to me, so I turned, gauged his speed and distance, took half a step, torqued my hips, and drilled him in the jaw with a hard right hook. He dropped to the floor, out cold. I think it surprised me as much as it did him. It hadn’t even hurt my fist, but then, I was used to using them after all these years.

Suddenly, the two other thugs decided their boss could handle the woman, so they came for me. I smiled at them. It was the decision I’d hoped they’d make.

Knife man slashed at me from the front while the Cudgel came at me from the side. I ducked, slapped the hardened wooden weapon, and twisted. The knife missed me by an inch, but the blunt weapon slammed into the knife wielder’s upper arm. Sadly, it was not the arm carrying the knife, but the sound of the impact made me wince. That had to have hurt like hell.

Before cudgel guy recovered, I kicked him between the legs, then shifted the motion into a side kick to his knee. I didn’t hear a crack, so I guessed that my kick had only damaged the ligaments as it bent way too far to the side to be natural. Either way, he yowled and dropped to the ground, holding his knee and his lower abdomen while letting his weapon drop.

My foot was already in motion, so I shifted my center of gravity, utilized my large glute muscles, and fired off a back kick with the same foot. It was enough to upset knife guy’s balance as he tried to get his weapon around to me. By the time he did, my foot was gone, but the pain from my heel on his hip bone was not. It rocked him to the side, giving me plenty of time to continue the motion of my body, spinning a quarter turn to slam a left-footed roundhouse kick into the side of his face.

That one threw him to the ground, his knife lost somewhere during the plummet. He lay there, moaning, but didn’t try to get up. I let him be.

By the time I looked over at Brin, her hand was aglow and in front of Jarek’s face. He squinted, apparently not wanting to close his eyes all the way with an enemy literally straddling him. Blood drizzled from his nose and bruises were already visible under his eyes and on his chin.

“You will produce my bangle this instant,” Brin said in a voice that was sterner and scarier than any I’d ever heard her use.

Jarek put his hands up. “Was it one of those bands, a bracelet thing, except the kind that goes on your upper arm? Gold and copper, with a reddish mirror-like surface? A large oval gem, kind of like opal, blue with swirling lights in it?”

“It was. Produce it immediately.”

“I can’t. I don’t have it. It’s already sold.” He flinched when Brin brought her glowing fist back again. “Please. I sold it. It’s what I do. I’ll tell you who has it. You can go get it back. He was going to keep it, not resell it. I could tell by the way he looked at it.”

“Who is this man you sold it to? You will take care to tell me the truth, Jarek Rostelion, lest my friends and I come back. No matter how many minions you have, it will not be enough to save you should you tell us false and send us on a worthless chase.”

“No, I wouldn’t do that. I’ll tell you. I’ll even tell you where he is. Don’t hit me anymore.”

“Speak.”

I chuckled inwardly. The dude was a dog beastkin. I half expected him to bark.

“Rory. Rory Bodeen. He’s a low-class criminal. Mostly protection and extortion, with some theft and the occasional beatings or even murder to spice things up. His place is in the Haze, on Tannery Street. Fourth building on the right from Saltpeter Way. He gave me two and a half gold for it.”

“Very well.” The moonwisp dropped Jarek’s collar and got to her feet. “Let this be a lesson to you. If you would not have been so rude and had told us what we wanted from the beginning, there may have been some coin in it for you, instead of the bruises and blood you received. Know that should you be lying to us, we have other, more effective ways of making sure you can never do so again.”

Brin passed by Tip, who stood with his sword in hand, looking expectantly around the room for any backup for Jarek. She patted him on the shoulder and stepped out the door. I jerked my chin for him and Rex to follow her and I brought up the rear, leaving the unconscious thug, his two moaning friends, and their boss.

Chapter

Twenty-Three

As we left Jarek’s building, I couldn’t help but to replay what had happened in my head. The fight with Jarek’s thugs didn’t leave much of an impression, but Brin’s actions sure did. We’d been traveling together for a while and I’d seen her in different kinds of situations. From seeing and feeling her naked body to her being kept helpless in a cage with the little magic she had left suppressed, she always grabbed my interest.

I’d seen her fight, too. Not only using spells, but also with weapons. This was the first time I’d seen her as a brawler, though. I had to admit, the badass persona she displayed for Jarek turned me on a little. Okay, a lot.

“So,” I said, not able to keep from smiling at the thought.

She was on the same page as me. “Some people do not respond to polite requests.” As if that explained everything.

“You know, you are amazing.”

Her eyes flared in surprise. “Thank you.”

“So hot,” Tip muttered under his breath. I was going to call him down for it, but how could I? He was totally correct.

Instead, I changed the subject. “You know where the area Jarek mentioned is, the Haze?”

“I do. It is an unsavory place. No, perhaps that is not the correct way to describe it. Disagreeable? Perhaps I will allow you to experience it without a description from me beforehand. We will be able to reach it within twenty minutes. This way.”

I smelled the place before ever seeing it. “Goddamn, what is that smell?”

“Disagreeable,” Brin said. “This area of the city consists of industry with a potent aroma.”

“That’s one way to describe it,” Tip said, putting his hand over his nose. “Another way is to say that it smells like rancid asshole.”

I barked a laugh. I’d been thinking exactly the same thing. “What kind of ‘industry’ is it?”

Tip tilted his head at me and shot out, “They make rancid assholes” before Brin could respond.

The moonwisp cleared her throat. “There are tanners and leatherworkers, but I believe most of the scent comes from candle and soap makers.”

“Who would want candles or soaps that smell like that?” I asked.

“It is not the finished product that is odorous. It is the precursor.”

I finally got it. “Shit. You’re talking about rendering?”

“Yes. You are familiar with the process?”

“A little. I had to make a delivery at a rendering plant once. I looked it up. Nasty shit.”

Tip swiveled his head between me and Brin. “I know a lot of things I shouldn’t, but this isn’t one of them. What is rendering?”

“Basically,” I said, “they cook animal parts, what’s left over after all the meat and other useful things are already taken. They simmer it or subject it to steam for a long time and it breaks down, creating a soupy kind of slush. They separate the fat as a liquid and let it cool into tallow or lard.”

“Why?”

“Because then they can use it to make candles, or they can mix it with ashes and lye to make soap. In my world right now, they also make food products, cosmetics, and things like that. Gelatin is a big one. Can’t have Jell-O without it.”

“You know, I’d rather I hadn’t asked. I’ve never eaten Jell-O, but I wanted to. Not now.”

By the time we found the correct building, my sense of smell was already fatigued. All it did was to keep the gagging and dry heaves down to a minimum, but it was better than when we first got into the Haze. I’d thrown up twice, Tip four times, and even poor Rex coughed and gagged like a cat with a hairball. Somehow, Brin didn’t vomit even once, probably because she was too fucking hot to do so.

Rory Bodeen’s place wasn’t like Jarek’s. It wasn’t a private area with a door and a guard. For whatever reason, it was set up like an office building in my world, with windows on the front, through which we could see a woman sitting at a small table, like she was a receptionist. Brin opened the door and went in, with the rest of us following.

“We need to see Rory Bodeen about a matter that…” Brin trailed off as she spotted another woman walking through the room toward a door off to our left. She was tall and slinky and wore a cropped corset and tight, barely-there shorts. Furry ears stood out from the top of her head of white hair, and a tail covered in fur of the same color swished behind her. A cat woman.

The woman herself wasn’t the thing that grabbed Brin’s attention, though. Her eyes locked on a piece of jewelry on the woman’s left upper arm. The metal in it was a golden, coppery color, but the outside surface reflected its surroundings in a red, gem-like surface. The large stone set in it caught my eye, it was so gorgeous. That, and the light blue flashes that sparked within the stone looked alive. It was exactly how Brin had described it earlier.

“I will buy that bangle from you.”

The woman stopped, looking around to see who Brin was talking to. Her eyes went to her arm and understanding dawned on her face.

“Are you talking to me?” Her smooth, sexy voice fit the whole catgirl vibe perfectly.

“Yes. No doubt you were given that by Rory Bodeen. It was stolen from me. I offer to buy it from you to avoid any unpleasantness.”

“I can’t sell this to you. Rory lets me wear it, but it doesn’t belong to me.”

“Then lead us to him and I will buy it from him.”

The catgirl glanced at the other woman—the receptionist?—then at Brin. Her attention went to Tip, and skipped off right away to Rex, then to me. Her eyes widened, then narrowed, and she flipped her long hair and shifted so one hip was higher than the other.

Brin took a step toward the woman and suddenly her attention was completely on the moonwisp again. She bit her lower lip, eyes darting around the room.

Then she took off running through the door she’d been heading toward.

I sighed. “Shit. Why does it always have to be difficult?”

Brin took off running after the woman, with me right on her heels. The clip-clop of Tip’s hooves and the scratching of Rex’s claws followed closely behind me.

We raced through three corridors and a set of double doors thrown open by the catgirl. She’d managed to stay ahead of us the whole time. I slid to a stop in the room we ended up in, barely avoiding slamming into Brin. Tip wasn’t so fortunate, skidding into me and bouncing off to land on his ass.

“Falasi, what the hell are you doing?” The speaker was a short man with thin, membranous ears. A glance at the scaly tail waving behind him as he stood identified him as a rat beastkin, though it wouldn’t have been too hard to figure it out from his ears and his pinched face with dark, beady eyes.

“They’re chasing me, Rory. Trying to take my armlet.”

“Is that so?”

“It is not,” Brin said. “I offered to buy the bangle from your…Falasi. Now I offer the same to you. It was stolen from me, then sold to Jarek Rostelion, who sold it in turn to you. I must have it back. How much do you want for it?”

Rory’s dark eyes glittered with greed. “How much is it worth to you?”

“It is mine by right. Do not use this situation to try to satisfy your greed. I will give you three gold for it.”

“Get outta my building. Three gold! I paid seven for it.”

“I will not and you did not. You paid Jarek Rostelion two and one-half gold for it. Thus, you will be making a profit when you should get nothing for dealing with stolen items.”

Brin darted to Falasi, who hadn’t noticed her slowly edging closer to the catgirl. The moonwisp reached up and touched the bangle precisely and it separated at her touch, falling off the woman’s arm. Brin snatched it away and attached it to her own left arm. She then took out three coins from her purse and held it out to the rat man.

Rory sputtered, then got his tongue under control. “Stont. Stont Deex. Get out here and do your job. Don’t you see this woman robbing me right in front of you?”

A large human man stepped into the room through a doorway, hand on the hilt of a curved sword scabbarded at his waist. The dude looked like a bouncer, heavily muscled, but the bulky kind of figure. Not cut like a body builder. He grinned at me, even as he spoke.

“Boys, tear ’em apart.”

Four other men entered the room. As they did, he addressed them by name. “Antoni, Cathal, Rowan, Skritch. These are trying to rob the boss. Whadya say about that?”

None of them spoke, but the first guy, Antoni apparently, charged Brin from across the room. He had a similar build to Stont, but hairier. I mean a lot hairier. Judging by the little round ears on his head—also hairy—I’d have to say he was probably some kind of bear man. Possibly even stronger than he looked, and he looked plenty strong. If he hit Brin going at the speed he was building up to, she would have broken bones, guaranteed.

I wasn’t going to let some hairy football player hit my girl like that. He hadn’t taken more than a step when I jumped into action myself.

We met in the middle of the room, a few paces from Brin.

When I say we met, what I mean is that I body slammed the fucker, using not only my mass—which was, admittedly, not as much as his—but also the leverage of my angle and the precise spot I chose to hit him. Coming from the side, slightly angled from behind so I could take advantage of his forward momentum, I body slammed him just above his waist, crashing into his kidney and making him ricochet away from Brin.

Right into the wall.

Even as I sandwiched the man into the unmovable wall, the other thugs drew their various weapons. As I got back to a stable stance, everyone went into motion. Cathal, the wiry goblin, turned toward me and threw a couple of knives. Luckily, I’d already recovered my balance and easily dodged at that distance. One stuck in the wall behind me and the other bounced off it, almost striking Antoni, the guy I’d bodyslammed.

Tip pulled his sword from the scabbard and rushed the goblin, who took two more knives out. They weren’t throwing knives this time, though, but regular fighting knives.

Rowan, a human with an average build and just shy of Brin’s height, lunged in to grab the moonwisp. She threw a hand out and the man bounced like he’d hit an invisible barrier. Her Push spell didn’t knock him off his feet, but he did stumble as he backpedaled to keep his balance.

Stont, the second-in-command, stood back, his sword bared. Next to Rory the rat and Falasi, who stood behind the rat man, Stont smiled. I guess he figured his boys could take us. Oh, was he going to be disappointed. After fighting magical shadow creatures, two-bit thugs held no fear for us.

Finally, Skritch came at me with his two short swords. A human, I think, but really thin. So thin his body dimensions seemed off, kind of like the Area 52 aliens. He was good with the swords, though, not only slashing with both in a coordinated effort without cutting himself, but all the while he kept his guard solid.

I dodged around Antoni, who was picking himself up slowly. He shook his head, probably still dazed from going headfirst into the wall, which suited me just fine. I darted mostly behind him and kicked the back of one knee so he dropped it onto the floor, bringing his massive bulk down to a manageable level. As I brought my foot to the ground, I used everything from the ball of my foot all the way up through my hips and shoulders to slam my fist into the back of his head. Right at the base of the skull.

Antoni’s head whipped forward, then back and he face planted on the wooden floor.

Though fighting a guy with two swords probably would have been easier with the three-sectional staff Tyra had given me, I’d left it in my room, so I smoothly drew out my siangham instead, tapping aside a cut from one of Skritch’s swords. He twirled the blades, cutting at me, even though he wasn’t at the ideal range as I circled around Antoni’s prone form to keep some distance.

I watched him for a moment, timing his swings. He handled the weapons well, but his rhythm was simple. When I stepped away from Antoni, Skritch came forward to engage me.

I casually drew my knife and tossed it at him.

The way the thin man’s eyes doubled in size almost made me laugh. He fumbled his movements, the smooth swings of his swords breaking up and slowing down immediately to keep from cutting himself. While he was distracted, I leaned and kicked his lead leg out from under him.

I’d done it exactly when his center of gravity shifted, allowing me to kick his leg up high enough that he teetered backward. By reflex, he windmilled his blades, cutting into his own leg like a dumb shit. His back slammed against the floor, the air coming out of him in a whuff. Both weapons dropped from his hands at the impact.

I dropped to a knee, using my downward momentum and gravity to punch him square on the jaw. The force was enough to slam the back of his head to the floorboard and bounce it back up again, where I went ahead and punched him again like a speedbag. The man’s eyes crossed and he laid there, stunned, as his body tried to decide if it wanted to retain consciousness or not. Spoiler alert: not.

The whole thing with Antoni and Skritch hadn’t taken long, so I yelled out my slightly belated direction. “Don’t kill them.” Getting to my feet, I surveyed what was happening with my friends.

Tip did an admirable job at keeping Cathal’s knives busy blocking his strikes. As he did, Rex slinked around behind the goblin and at the perfect moment, the lizard launched himself and latched onto the green man’s arm. He turned to use his other knife to attack Rex, but Tip took advantage of the distraction and cut into the arm, deep enough that he dropped his knife. Rex shook his head, like a dog worrying a rat, until the other knife dropped as well. Tip casually put his sword to Cathal’s throat and Rory’s minion put his bleeding arms up in surrender.

Rowan, the human who went after Brin, found himself outmatched by her sword skills. He’d drawn a shortsword, but already shaken up by her Push spell and softened up more by her water spike, his attacks looked like no threat at all. Brin parried the sloppy strikes, maneuvering him to the right position, then cut his sword hand. The wound wasn’t deep enough to make him drop his weapon, but she didn’t need it to be. The distraction allowed her to flick her sword and cut into his lead leg as she moved in closer. A perfectly performed checking motion with her own sword moved the other weapon out of the way and allowed her to punch down hard on his forearm with her other hand.

Her aim was perfect, just above the cut she’d given him. Her strike was hard enough to bring a pained grunt from him as the sword clattered to the floor.

With no one left but Stont, the lead thug launched himself at me with his wide, curved sword. As I expected from his appearance, he used the aggressive, powerful attacks of a bruiser. He wasn’t particularly fast or creative. His strikes consisted mainly of overhead chopping attacks, as if he thought he could wear me down with them. It might have worked with other opponents he’d engaged, but I wasn’t most opponents.

Once in range, I evaded the first attacks easily, already having clocked his timing. As the third came down, I swung my arm outward to parry his blade with the thin siangham, nestled along my forearm. The musical ting that resulted made the man’s eyes go wide. He didn’t have long to wonder about it, though.

Even as the blade bounced toward the outside, I took half a step and slammed an uppercut into his floating ribs on his right side. With him stretched out from overextending due to my parry, I felt the bones shift. I may not have broken ribs, but I definitely cracked one or two. The blow stopped his forward momentum and lifted him slightly up onto his toes.

Without a pause, I shifted my momentum through the rotation of my hips, tucked my fist in toward my chest, and cracked my elbow across his jaw, loosening it up. Rotating further to my right, I wrapped my forearm around the wrist of his sword arm to straighten his arm and hammered my open palm into his elbow. I felt it give way as a loud crack echoed in the room. The sword dropped from his grip.

I was already in position, so I flicked my wrist to bring my siangham out to deliver a backhand blow with the point, stopping just as I made contact with the side of his neck. Even in his pain-addled state, his wide eyes showed that he knew I could have killed him.

I flicked my wrist again, laying a scratch along the skin of his neck, then moved the shaft of the siangham behind his neck, took a step back with my right foot, and pulled hard. He rocketed forward and, unable to catch himself on his broken arm, he sprawled face-first on the floor and slid for a couple of feet.

The rat man shifted, trying to move behind Falasi, who was trying to hide behind him. I glared at the man.

“You have forfeited the money I offered you,” Brin said to Rory. “Call it an inconvenience fee. We will go, leaving you with your lives. Should you try to find us and try to retaliate, know that you haven’t seen the tenth part of what we are capable of. The next time we see any of you, your lives are forfeit.” She turned to walk out, but stopped and addressed Falasi. “Except you, dear. I am sorry you got caught up in this.”

I watched her walk calmly out of the room and let Tip and Rex go after. I took one more look around the room, met eyes with the rat once again, and left.

Outside, Tip and Brin stood waiting for me. Rex near the satyr.

“Hey, man,” I said to Tip. “Good job in there. You and Rex work well as a team without our team.” I put up a fist.

He bumped it with his own and gave me a cocky look. “Of course. Beating ass, getting shit done. It’s what we do.”

I laughed. “It is. It totally is.”

Chapter

Twenty-Four

Tyra barely noticed the people she passed by as she made her way across the city of Forgehaven. She’d lived here her entire life, so her feet didn’t need her direction. Besides, the thoughts occupying her mind were much preferred to seeing the same citizens surrounding her every day. Most were goblins and, not to put too fine a point on it, her own race was the last thing she wanted to muse over.

Human. That’s what Gar was. Brinawynn was a moonwisp, possibly the only one in existence at this time. While Tyra had never seen any of the blue race created by the moon goddess, not until she’d met Brin, Tyra found it hard to call her to mind at all. Gar, a human, the unlikeliest race for a goblin to dwell on, had captured her attention. But why?

Tyra walked around a pair of goblin children sitting in the street eating confections from the bakery a few steps away. Her week had been momentous, no doubt. It was not often one’s father was killed, the murderer unknown, and an entire estate passed down. But that was secondary.

When the goblin crafter had run into Garfield Hailey in the street, she took note. Of course she did. He looked like all the fucking statues of Kael the Blur Serus. Not his Adonis form in the statues made a decade or more into his fame; the ones of when he was younger. Not as bulky, but still damn nice to look at. So, yeah, she noticed him.

But it was more than a fit body. There were plenty of those around. Many in her field of work were fit, as were warriors, adventurers, and many types of hard laborers. But his face, though not as angular and sharp as a handsome goblin face, somehow grabbed her eyes and wouldn’t let them go. In the few days she’d known him, she wondered how she’d ever thought a goblin was good-looking.

As if that wasn’t enough, something about the man screamed for her undivided attention. She hadn’t seen him fight, not really, but she knew enough to know he was dangerous. He handled her with no problem in their sparring match. She wondered what else he could do with that body.

That got to the heart of it, she thought. Their connection, having both suffered losses through death recently, linked them, but even without that, the sheer animal magnetism of the man had her acting like a fool. She’d asked him—begged him—to take her. She was in no way shy or timid, but even for her, that had been surprisingly aggressive.

He had declined to feel her, to ravish her, but in the politest and most caring of ways. There was something there with him and Brin, but it wasn’t only that. When he said that he didn’t want to take advantage of her being drunk, he was telling the truth. She knew he was attracted to her; she’d seen his eyes linger on her body and face. But his kindness wouldn’t allow her to make a mistake. Or allow himself to make one. Somehow, that made him even more tempting.

She blew out a breath and a dwarf she passed gave her a strange look. Yeah, I don’t understand me, either, she thought at him. She’d never been a people-hater and had always tried to be polite, but how did someone who was torn from his own world and thrown into this one, where his best friend had been cruelly killed, care so much about others? He even seemed to have grown attached to that little troll Tip.

None of this was going to make sense anytime soon. She’d have to keep her eye on the man, learn more about him, and hopefully figure out how to convince him to taste her. She was almost certain it wouldn’t end in tragedy. The most grating thing was that the slim chance it would end badly was what he wanted to protect her from. Who the fuck did that? For a stranger, even.

A guy who also agreed to help a stranger find out who killed her father, that’s who. Just for that, she owed him. More than giving him a strange weapon she invented when she was a kid or a sword she’d made.

So, here she was, traipsing to the other side of the city to talk to a man she hadn’t seen in years. To beg him to help Gar out. There was something about the human. His kindness prompted her to go out of the way to do things for him. Tyra’s father would be appalled. He’d probably call her anvil-headed and stupid. Well, fuck him. It made her feel good to know she was doing something for Gar. If it led to some sex, that would be great, but shockingly, she’d be fine if it didn’t. Doing nice things with no thought of reward? It wasn’t really the goblin way. Especially in her family. But it felt right in this situation.

For the entire trip, Tyra’s thoughts spun around in her head, making the distance pass in the blink of an eye, until she stood before a familiar door. She knocked, glancing at the park across the street. She remembered that place. The trees seemed bigger now, but the familiar sight of people walking about, sitting on benches, performing games with balls, hoops, and sticks looked the same as ever. She missed those days.

The door opened and there he was.

“Master Ilias,” she said.

“Master, is it?” the man responded.

“Uncle Ilias.”

“Better. Tyra, it’s good to see you. I heard about…I’m sorry.” He put his arms out and she stepped into a hug. “I almost went to the burial but decided it might cause trouble or be inappropriate.”

“It’s fine. I understand.”

“Come in, have some tea. Let’s talk.” He stepped aside to let her enter the house, then closed the door.

Ilias Lightningstrike looked the same as ever. Slender, lithe form; long, dark brown hair gathered in a tail at the back; snug-fitting red robes; pointed ears that were the mark of his dark elven ancestry; and the floating, graceful way he moved. He was every bit the combat master she remembered. He busied himself with preparing the tea as she walked through his sitting room, glancing at tiny figurines, paintings, even sketches he had done himself.

“What brings you to my humble home today?” he called back at her from the kitchen.

“Can’t I visit an old friend for no reason?”

“Ah.” He laughed. “Perhaps you can, but I think that you wouldn’t. Is there something I can do for you?”

The damn man was too smart by half. “Okay, yes, there is. Let me ask you, though, do you still practice with that weapon, the pole whip?”

“Of course. Since you created it for me all those years ago, it has been my signature weapon. Why do you ask?” He brought the tea leaves and pot to the table and set the leaves to steep.

“Funny story. Do you remember the first one, the original version I made as a prototype?”

“I do. You would not let me have it. Gave me some excuse that you would take what you learned from the first and make the second one better, though I could never tell the difference between the two. I am of the opinion that despite who your father was and the attitude he tried to inculcate in you, you have a sentimental streak as wide as this city.”

“Be that as it may,” she said, “I recently met someone. A very interesting someone. Actually, there are three people, and one lizard, if I’m to be complete. This one, though, he’s not from here.”

“A traveler from another city or kingdom?”

“Another world.”

“Truly? That is interesting.”

Tyra accepted her cup after Ilias poured the tea. She added honey to it and sat down across from the master. “That’s only the start of it. Don’t get me talking or we’ll be here all day. As I was showing him around the storage rooms, he saw the original weapon. He said in his world, it’s called a three-sectional staff, or a triple stick. It’s a classical weapon for some of the fighting styles there.”

“Is it? Then you did not invent it, nor am I the originator of the forms and styles of using it as I have long believed. Did he show you any techniques from his world?”

“Not with that weapon, no. We did spar. He prefers to fight unarmed. He took me down with no problem, with me using a practice baton. When I say no problem, I mean he probably could have beat me with one arm.”

“That skilled?”

“He is.”

“You have piqued my interest, young Tyra. When will you get to what it is you need from me?”

Tyra laughed, then took a sip of the tea. “Mmm. This is good. Okay, to answer your question, I was wondering if you would help him. Teach him some things.”

“If he is so skilled, he may have nothing to learn from me. Or he may believe he has nothing to learn from me.”

“No. He’s not like that. Not arrogant at all. He freely admits he doesn’t know everything, loves to learn new things.”

“You sound so sure, are so quick to defend him. I still do not see—”

“I gave the weapon to him.”

The master smiled at her over his teacup. “So smitten? How long have you known this man?”

“Oh, stop. It’s not like that. Or, it’s not totally like that. He has no magic.”

Ilias blinked at her. “No magic?”

“None at all.”

“Ah. The material manipulation stories. Is that what this is about? You still cling to those fables?”

“He has another weapon. It’s made of magical materials, too. I think he can attune them.”

“But he prefers unarmed combat.”

“He does, but he’s very eclectic. Listening to his friends, he is skilled at using everyday items as weapons.”

“Like Kael.”

“Like Kael. I think he’s going to do great things, and the weapon I gave him could be useful, especially if he can learn to modify it. He has killed umbrenix.”

The master coughed, choking on his tea. “This man has killed an umbrenix?”

“More than a dozen of them.”

“He possesses an enchanted weapon?”

“No.”

“It is impossible to kill the shadows without a magically enchanted weapon, Tyra. Even if there were any left. They were all destroyed centuries ago.”

“It’s not, and if they were gone, they’re not any longer. According to his friend Brinawynn—a moonwisp, by the way—he’s killed most of them with his bare hands.”

Ilias stared at her. She could swear something shifted behind his eyes.

“I would like to meet this man.”

“I thought you might.”

“And if I do so while carrying my pole whip, then an old man cannot be blamed for wanting to demonstrate some basic techniques with it.”

Tyra gave the master a big smile. “You could not be blamed at all. They are staying with me at the manor. You can stop by, or I can bring him here, whichever you prefer.”

“I would enjoy visiting your home again—and seeing a moonwisp. I had not realized any existed at this time.”

“Oh, she exists. She’s spectacular. Keep hold of your heart or she’ll steal it.”

He gave her a wink. “I will do my best to remain whole.”

“Also, his other friend is a taranji, and they have a furcan as a companion. I don’t want you to be surprised.”

“I believe you speak truth, Tyra. It sounds like a very interesting group. May I come visit the day after tomorrow? In the morning, perhaps?”

“That would be great. If you come early enough, arrive hungry. I’ll have Sivelle make up those special breakfast cakes you like. It’s been almost eight years since you’ve been to the estate.”

“For such a tempting offer, I will be there at sunrise.”

Tyra chortled. “How about an hour after sunrise? My new friends do enjoy their sleep.”

“I will be there. Thank you, Tyra.”

“For what?”

“For reminding me of the great service you did me when you presented the weapon to me, and for remembering an old man.”

“Psht. Old man. You are far from an old man. As for the other stuff, you’ll be doing me a great favor in helping Gar. I think you’ll enjoy meeting him. There’s something about him…”

“I look forward to it. Again, I apologize for not reaching out after what happened with your father. It shames me that I did not pursue speaking with you.”

“Don’t worry about it. Now that it’s my house, you can come over any time you want to use the training facilities or just to visit. Even to have some meals. Sivelle has asked about you on occasion.”

If Master Ilias hadn’t had such precise control of himself, he would be blushing. His expression was too neutral and the pause was telling. “Please convey my greetings to her.”

“I’ll do more than that. I’ll tell her you’re coming to visit the day after tomorrow. It’ll be a nice reunion. I’m sure Klaard will be happy to see you as well.”

Tyra finished their conversation and headed for home. Only a block later, another thought occurred to her and she changed direction. While she was out and about, there was one more thing she wanted to do.

Chapter

Twenty-Five

It was rare for Tyra to be in the southern part of the city. It seemed a shame to be in the area without taking full advantage of it. Instead of heading north toward home, she traveled further west to the limits of the city and beyond.

She could count on one hand the times she’d gone to visit her Uncle Dargen, and it was no wonder. Forgehaven was a large city anyway, but once one factored in the outlying areas, the place was massive. It took her more than an hour and a half to get to the edge of the area called Anvil Sink, a depression in the land where the city sat that wasn’t quite a valley and contained a large number of small smithies.

When Tyra’s father was given the land and house in the city proper, with a forge much smaller than the one that graced it currently, that left his brother, Dargen, to receive land a bit further out. There were other parcels, most of them farther from the city, or even in other towns and cities, but Dargen chose to stay as close as he could to Forgehaven. It was, after all, the heart of the smithing trade in Valorae.

It did make it difficult—or at least time-consuming—to visit him, however, with Tyra living in the northeastern part of the city. Still, she hadn’t been able to speak with him much at the wake and there was something specific on her mind.

She’d made the arrangement with Gar and the others for them to help her investigate the murder of her father, and that was good. But as much as she was beginning to like them, they weren’t family. They weren’t even really friends yet. She’d only recently met them. So Tyra really couldn’t be blamed for withholding a little information. Surely not. The goblin woman found herself wanting to discuss a particular subject, and so here she was, striding between the homes and the forges in Anvil Sink toward her uncle’s house.

Knocking for the third time, Tyra cursed inwardly. That was the problem with Dargen living so far outside her normal path. Now she’d spent way too much time trekking over to find his house empty. Her uncle had a few servants—assistants, he called them—but when he was off on business, he didn’t have them occupy the house. They were more like part time help. He didn’t have nearly the money her father—now she—had.

Well, he had said he was busy, and that he was going to try to lure some of her father’s old customers in to pick up some more work. She sighed, and not only for the wasted trip. She wanted to talk to her favorite uncle. About her father, about smithing in general, about the other thing weighing on her mind.

“Damn it,” she hissed. There was nothing for it. Turning back the way she’d come, she started walking. If she kept a good pace, she’d make it home before dinner. At least she had good news for Gar. In two days, Master Ilias Lightningstrike would visit her home and help her new friend learn some things about how to use the weapon Ilias was uniquely suited to instruct him upon. That wasn’t nothing.

“YOU DID WHAT?” Tyra asked. She had indeed made it home in time for dinner, even with some time to spare to listen to the account of the day Gar and the others had. They had moved to the dining room to finish their discussion while eating.

Gar shrugged. “Jarek was kind enough to tell us who he sold the bangle to, so we went to get it.”

“You went to the Haze and demanded it back from Rory Bodeen?”

“It wasn’t really like that. Brin offered to pay him for it. At a profit, no less. The problem came in when he outright refused and lied about how much he’d paid. He didn’t even haggle, just said no. He’s an asshole.”

“He’s a well-connected asshole.”

“We didn’t kill anyone.”

“You didn’t…” Tyra looked at Brin, whose expression did not match what she’d have expected of people tangling with the Forgehaven underworld. “Why did you say that? What do you mean you didn’t kill anyone?”

“We did not, as Gar says,” Brin assured her. “I believe Gar broke a man’s arm, but it was hardly more than that. Some minor injuries, unconsciousness, a cut on an arm. Oh, and Rex tore up another arm, but I do not think the man will lose it, if he got attention right away.” Her face brightened. “We did find my Bangle of Spell Capture, however. That task is now complete.” She turned toward Tyra and moved her shoulder forward to show off the jewelry on her upper arm.

The goblin had to admit that it was a beautiful piece. The way the surface shone and how the large oval stone set in it flashed like it had trapped lightning within, the workmanship was exceptional.

“So, that’s what it does? It captures a spell?”

“Yes. It can take in a spell aimed at me when I’m wearing it, turning the magic into mana I can use myself. I’ve found it useful in the past. No doubt it will be a boon to us in the future as well.”

“Boon!” Tip shouted, causing Tyra to jump and juggle the cup she held.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she asked the satyr.

“Sorry. Habit.”

“You’re lucky he didn’t do his little song and dance,” Gar said, glaring at the satyr. Watching him. “The point, though, is that Brin got her item back. We warned Rory and his thugs not to try to retaliate or we’d kill them all. It’s probably good that you didn’t come. I’d hate to drag you into all that.”

Tyra shook her head. “It’s not going to be hard for people to notice that we’ll be moving around the city together. It still may come back to bite us. It probably couldn’t have played out any other way, though. It was always going to be a shitshow.

“My trip was successful. I talked with Master Ilias and he’ll be here the day after tomorrow. He’s interested in speaking with you and showing you the techniques he’s developed for the…uh, triple stick.”

“I appreciate it, Tyra. Since we’ve found Brin’s item, we can spend tomorrow working on trying to find out more about your father’s murder. We’ll start in the morning with interviewing the rest of the staff, then we’ll go from there. There’s enough in what you and Klaard told us to start us interviewing others even if we don’t have a suspects list yet.”

“Sounds like fun,” she said. “What are all of you going to do? It’s not late yet. Any plans?”

“I think I will turn in early,” Brin answered. “The new moon is upon us and I find myself a little tired after the excitement of the day.”

Tyra noticed the moonwisp’s grasp on Gar’s hand tighten, giving his hand a squeeze. She was pretty sure she knew what that meant. They’d be taking advantage of the door between their rooms again. She mentally shrugged. There was no one to blame but herself. She was the one who gave them connecting rooms.

Tip yawned. “Why’d you have to go and say that. Now that you put the suggestion in my head, my body thinks it’s tired, too. I guess I’ll be boring and go to sleep early, too.”

Gar leaned forward. “What about you, Tyra? What are you going to do?”

She shrugged. “I think I might get in some work in the forge. I’m not tired yet. It’ll help to clear my mind.”

Tyra hoped Gar would ask to join her, to come watch her work, but she knew it was a fantasy as soon as it popped into her head.

“I think I’m going to look through the books in my room. Sitting in front of the fire and reading sounds like the perfect relaxation after running around the city today.”

The goblin forced her face not to display the frown she was feeling. “Well, goodnight everyone. I’ll see you in the morning when we start figuring out our mystery.”

The others left, heading to their rooms. Tyra almost called out to them, making an offer of something that would be fun for them all to do together, but she couldn’t drum up the courage to do so. She’d never been great with people. With a sigh, she headed to her forge. Maybe beating the hell out of some hot metal would relieve some of her frustration.

Once she had the forge raging and her current project heating within, Tyra left all the feelings of missing out behind. She selected her hammer—a nice rounding hammer for her current task of moving a lot of metal on a stock piece of steel—and picked up the material with her tongs. A grin flashed onto her face as she positioned it and started hammering.

She’d been working two projects at a time for maybe forty-five minutes, heating one up as she worked the other until it cooled below the ideal working temperature, then switching to the other while she reheated the first. She worked with a rhythm, not only dictating her hammer blows, but also her other movements. From the forge to the anvil, back to the forge, to the bellows, and back through the cycle again. As always, she lost herself in her work, the pure joy of creating something special from something common.

As she turned to bring her stock to the anvil, motion caught her eye and her head snapped up to find Gar standing at the opening to the forge. Tyra had thrown both doors open wide to allow the heat to escape into the cool night and there he stood, leaning against the door frame.

“Gods, you scared the shit out of me,” she said. “How long have you been there?”

“Just a few minutes. You were focused on your work and I didn’t want to interrupt you. You look like you were enjoying yourself.”

She chuckled. “Always. When I’m in the forge, all the bullshit in life goes away and there’s only me, the fire, and the steel.”

“You’re so smooth, probably bashing that hot steel harder than I could but doing it so efficiently you could probably go all night.”

Tyra was going to make a joke about going all night, but she decided she should be on her best behavior. “Bang it until it’s good. Oh, and I can go all night. Want me to prove it to you?” He put his hands up in surrender, so she continued. “I’ve practiced enough. Swinging a hammer is like second nature.” She bit her lower lip. “Ummm, did you need something?”

“Nope. I got tired of reading and thought I’d come watch you work. If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind. Have you ever tried it? Forging?”

“No. I haven’t ever had the opportunity. It’s always fascinated me, though.”

“You want to?”

The surprise and confusion on his face was purely adorable. He even put his hand on his chest.

“Me?”

“You see anyone else around?”

He grinned and Tyra had the strongest urge—no, craving—to kiss those curved lips. She tamped down on that idea, though. She’d be good. For a change. Being too forward hadn’t seemed to work on him when she tried it, so maybe being casual would make him notice her more.

“There’s an anvil stand in storage that would put it at your height. We can get it if you want, put another anvil on it. This one’s at my height and it’ll be pretty low for you. If you work on it for long, your back might hurt.”

“It’s fine,” he said. “It’s not like I’m going to do it for hours. Just a small taste, to see how it feels. Then, if you’re kind enough to let me try again some other time, maybe I’ll take you up on that.”

Just a small taste to see how it feels. She almost commented on that but reminded herself to be good. “Fair enough. Let me pull my pieces out of the forge so I don’t burn the metal and put a piece of stock in to heat for you. What do you want to make? A sword?”

“Let’s not get carried away. It’ll be the first time I’ve picked up a smithing hammer.”

“Sword it is. Don’t worry. If you don’t like it and don’t finish it, I’ll be able to turn it into something. Just consider it a practice piece, so you can experience moving metal.”

Tyra showed Gar how to heat the metal, which colors to look for, different techniques for striking the piece, and half a dozen other basics of forging. She’d taught a few people before, giving them a chance to experience a little of what a smith does, but none had been as fun as teaching her new friend. He had a way of getting excited about the simplest things. When she described how to use hardy tools, you would have thought she was teaching him magic for the way his eyes lit up. The goblin couldn’t remember having a better time with anyone else in a forge.

Not even when her father was first teaching her what she taught Gar now.

“Whew,” he said after he’d done an admirable job in moving the metal of the steel bar he started with into a respectable facsimile of a sword’s shape. “How the hell do you do that for hours at a time? My arm and shoulder are like pudding.”

She winked at him. “A hard pounding is always a good thing. A lot of it is technique. More hips and abs when you take the big swings. It’s like—”

“Fighting. Right. I should have known that. Actually, I think I did. My core muscles are tired, too.”

“Yeah. It’s easier if the anvil is at the right height, too.”

“Thank you, Tyra. This was awesome. Maybe I can work some more on this another time. If we can find time to do it. At the least, it gave me an appreciation for what you do. I thought you were amazing before, but I didn’t know half of how incredible you are.”

Tyra wasn’t shy. In fact, some had called her boastful and arrogant, but damn her if she didn’t feel her cheeks grow hot when he said that.

“You’re one to talk, looking like a hero and being all expertly skilled in fighting. You even know how to investigate a murder. Who knows that?”

Tyra blinked at him. The light in the forge was dim—the better to see the color of the metal—but it looked like his face was coloring.

“First of all, it’s purely coincidence I look like those statues. As for the fighting, I had things rough when I was a kid and I had to learn to defend myself. So thank you, but it’s more a self-preservation thing.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“And the investigation thing? I heard and saw a lot of stories that give me the barest understanding of trying to figure out a crime. I can’t promise any kind of results, but I’ll do my best. By the time we’re finished, you’ll know as much as I do about it. Probably more. Tip already knows as much as I do.”

“Well, thank you,” she said. “For helping me. For coming out here and sharing in…this.” She swept her hand out, gesturing at the forge. “For spending a little time with me.”

“You’re welcome, and thank you for helping us find Brin’s item and for setting up that thing with Master Ilias. I can’t wait to meet him and to talk combat with him.”

She shrugged, not sure what to say next. Worse, Gar’s eyes were locked on hers and he was silent, too. The flickering flame from the forge danced in his blue-grey eyes, sucking her in like they were twin whirlpools.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. An explosion of sensations burned through her body as she tried to think clearly. In the end, she settled for kissing him back. It seemed like the right thing to do.

Their contact was brief, but there was a lot of feeling in that little bit of time. When he leaned back, that smirk on his face again, all she could do was blink at him.

“What…?”

“Sorry,” he said. “I just felt like I had to do that.”

“You can feel like you have to do that all the time. You won’t get any arguments from me. But, ummm, what about Brin?”

“Brin?”

“Yeah, you know. Gorgeous blue woman with a body men would throw themselves off a tower for. Some women, too. Maybe a lot of women. That Brin?”

“I know which Brin you’re talking about. She doesn’t mind if I kiss you. We’ve talked about it.”

“You…you’ve talking about kissing me? With her?”

“Sure have. Other things, too. She doesn’t have a problem with it. We’re not married or anything, and even if we were, she said she doesn’t have a problem sharing.” He shook his head and waved his arms in front of him. “Anyway, never mind about that. Too much information. The point is, she’s okay with it.”

“Oh. Well, shit, if she’s okay with it, and I’m okay with it, and I’m assuming you’re okay with it, how about we—”

“Okay.” He pulled Tyra to him and kissed her, more thoroughly than he had a moment before.

Tyra, for her part, couldn’t latch onto too many coherent thoughts. One she did manage to pin down though was that she definitely needed to do more of this. She set her will to do her best to make him feel the same.

Chapter

Twenty-Six

Brin was lying in my bed when I returned to my room. I’d stopped to take a bath to wash off the grime from the forge and walked into my room holding my clothes and wearing only a towel. The sexy blue woman’s eyebrows raised.

“No,” I said. “I went to watch Tyra in the forge and she showed me how to shape hot metal. It was awesome. I did kiss her, but that’s it. I took a bath, she went to her room, no doubt to take a bath in her personal bath room, and here I am.”

“You did not wish to engage in intercourse with her?”

“I…” I wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence. “Of course I did. I mean, look at her. Not just look, though. She’s a great person. I like her a lot. So, yeah, I probably did…do want to do that.”

“But?”

“Mmmm. Is that an offer?” I shifted my eyes to her lower part, though her butt wasn’t in view.

She shimmied for me, a sexy smirk on her face. “If you wish it to be such, then by all means, take it that way.” Her face took on a more serious expression. “Why did you not join her in her room?”

“I don’t know. I think I’d like to spend time getting to know her better. There’s no rush.”

“You do not have cravings?”

“Of course I do, but I also have you lying in my bed. I have cravings for you, too, and we already both know where we stand with each other.”

“Will you allow me to pleasure you, then?”

“I will allow you to be pleasured by me, and what you said, too. There’s no moon. Are you still…?”

“I do not need influence from the moon to desire to be with you, Gar. Do you not know this?”

“I do now. It’s the same with me. So, what happened to turning in early?”

“I have taken a nap. I find myself with an excess of energy now that I would like to share with you, even as you share magical energy with me.”

I crawled onto the bed and kissed her. “That sounds like a perfect bargain to me.”

“To me, too.”

In the morning, we started off right after breakfast with interviewing the other three servants at the estate. First up was Harlan Silzin, the groundskeeper. The man was of a size with the goblins I’d seen, maybe a little taller than the average green-skinned denizen of the city. He was a beastkin, some kind of gopher or groundhog or something. It seemed reasonable he’d have chosen the profession he did, keeping up with the extensive lawns, trees, and flower gardens at the Tyswix residence.

“Good morning, Harlan,” I said when he entered the sitting room we were using for the interviews. “Thank you for taking the time to talk to us. I know you must be busy.”

“Always a lot to do. Whether I talk to you or not, there’ll still be a lot to do. I don’t reckon I’ll ever catch up no way, so might as well sit and chat, yeah?”

I smiled at him. “I guess I can see your point. Still, I’ll get right to it. I wanted to ask you some questions about what happened in the days around when Terago was killed.”

“’Tsa shame, ’tis. Master Terago warn’t the easiest person to get along with, but he did right by us, most o’ the time. Dint never done me too wrong, I’m not ’fraid to tell ya.”

I glanced over at Tip, tongue hanging out of his mouth and scratching out notes on the paper Tyra had given him. He had a full bottle of ink and enough paper to last us for days of interviews. Tyra and Brin sat on the other side of the room, lounging on couches while Rex played with a string ball Tyra had whipped up for him.

“That’s good,” I told the groundskeeper. “Can you tell me about the day Terago was killed? Just go through what you did that day and tell me if there’s anything you think we might need to know.”

“I can surely do that. Are you lookin’ to find who done it? Attacked the master like that?”

“Yes. There are still some questions about it. No doubt the constable talked to you already, asking the same thing we are.”

“Nope. Never talked to the constable before, on, or after that day. Figured he wasn’t interested in anything from the likes of me. I just keep the plants green. I’m a simple man.”

I shot a look at Tyra, but neither her eyes nor her posture changed.

“He must have overlooked you. Please tell me about that day.”

“I was up at dawn, as normal. Lots o’ work to do, like I said. A tree’d gone down on the northwestern lawn, so cleaning that up was a priority. Took me more’n two hours to take care of that, sawing it into pieces of a size to pull them with one o’ the horses. I cleaned it up good, even fixed up some of the grass it tore up when it landed. Right nice old tree, a walnut. Damn shame, it were.

“The rest of the day, asides lunch—which Miss Sivelle was kind enough to fix for my old, worn-out self—I trimmed some other trees, replanted a flower bed over near the west entrance, and brought a load of wood over to the house for the fireplaces. Some oak and a touch of orange tree. Good wood. Burns hot for a long time. The orange smells nice in the fire, too.

“The day ended afore I could get all the work done I’d have liked, but that’s how it normally goes. I hit my pallet less than an hour after sundown. Early to bed and all that. Didn’t hear about the master until the morning. Slept through all the excitement of people wandering around the grounds. That might be why the constable didn’t talk to me. I heard he was here in the wee hours.”

“Sounds like a full day’s work. Is there anything you saw or heard in the days before the tragedy, something that might have anything to do with someone wanting to hurt Terago?”

“No, sir.” For the first time, the groundskeeper paused, a pensive look on his face. “That is, nothing out of the ordinary. Not really.”

“What do you mean, Harlan?”

“Well, you probably know all about how the master could be…difficult at times.”

“I don’t know much about him. Can you tell me about it?”

“Umm, sure. It’s general knowledge. The master’s had a rough life. What with his family up and leaving—no offense to you, Miss Tyra—and people trying to take advantage of him and such, he was on edge sometimes. I don’t fault him, mind you. Just stating what’s what. So, on edge. Right. He had a short temper, sure as can be. Like a cat tossed into a water trough, he could react…uh, strongly. Sometimes.

“That is to say, folks might say he was hard to get along with. I’ve never had trouble with it. I don’t say much most times, and the master seemed to appreciate that. He only got mad at me a few times…”

“Harlan?” I said as he drifted off.

“Yes, sir. Just thinking.”

“You can say it like it is. I know you respected Terago and don’t want to say anything negative about him, but anything you can tell us could help us find out who killed him.”

“I s’pose. What I’m trying to get at is that the master’s temper sometimes caused problems.”

“With people he dealt with often? People like you or the other household staff?”

“Me? Nah. Like I said, we were good.”

“Others in the house?”

“Everyone gets a little short with others sometimes. I heard the master say angry things at just about everyone in the house. Miss Bessa the maid, even Miss Sivelle. Mister Klaard, too, no doubt. Him more than most, truth to tell.”

“And did that cause hard feelings? Did they argue with him?”

“Oh no. No one argued with the master. In the house, I mean. Miss Tyra did, but after she left, he was mostly civil to her if she visited. Nope, no one here would take offense for long. It’s just how the master was. Even when Klaard said he was gonna quit, it was just because of the drink.”

I kept my expression as neutral as possible, though that last sentence thrown out casually caught my attention like I was a fish on a hook.

“I can understand it getting to someone. Can you tell me about that, with Klaard? He said he was going to quit?”

“Yessir. It were after a few hard days. The master was not happy with how things were going. With his work or the merchants or customers or some such. None o’ my business, that. I just knew that he was hotter’n ants on a kettle. Mister Klaard drank a bit one night. We sat and talked and after he’d had a few, he said he was fed up, gonna quit and retire. Never seen him so upset.

“It weren’t nothing, though. In the morning, he did his job like nothing happened. We never talked about it again. I’m of a mind that the drink loosened him up a bit and once he said his piece, he was done. Like a relief on the still the master made for me. Sometimes, you gotta let out the pressure, you know.”

“Of course. Everyone has to let out their tension occasionally. I’m glad he worked it out. Klaard seems like he does a really good job.”

“He does. The estate would fall apart without Mister Klaard, no doubt.”

“Okay. Well, I think…oh. When was it that Klaard opened up to you and told you that? When was that night?”

Harlan scratched his head. “Three, maybe three and a half weeks ago? Can’t recall the exact day, but around there.”

“Thank you, Harlan. Anything else you want to add that might be important, that could help us in looking for the one who did this?

“No, sir. I don’t live an exciting life. Each day I work on the grounds, do what I love, but it’s all calm, steady work. That’s the way I like it.”

“I’m glad you enjoy what you do. I hope we didn’t take up too much of your time. Thank you. I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Thank you kindly.” He dipped his head to Tyra and to Brin. “Miss Tyra. Ma’am.” He nodded to Tip, rested his eyes on Rex for a moment, then got up and left the room.

“Did you get all that, Tip?”

The satyr gave me a little salute. “Does the Pope shit in the woods?”

I chuckled at his knowledge of my world, then laughed harder at the confused looks on the women’s faces.

“It’s a…thing. From my world. I...” I shook my head. “I’m not even going to try to explain it. Let’s move on to the next interview.”

From there, we moved onto the maid, a middle-aged goblin woman named Bessa Toq. She was a little thing, barely three and a half feet tall with greying brown hair. She moved well, but her eyes were constantly squinting to focus. I hadn’t seen many eyeglasses in this world, so I wasn’t sure how common they were, but I figured she needed a pair.

Bessa was delightful and in her soft, soothing voice, she answered all our questions. Her story was from the perspective of one who was in the house the entire day of the murder, so she saw people come and go. What she told us matched up with what Klaard had told us. There wasn’t much else to it. She was already in bed when Klaard found Terago’s body and though the entire ordeal stressed her out, there didn’t seem to be anything about her that would require more questions.

After Bessa, Tyra had Sivelle Onoolin come into the room and sit down. Sivelle was the cook for the estate, but you wouldn’t know it to look at her. The old belief that a cook had to look like they liked food didn’t seem to apply. At least, she was thin and shapely, but then she was also an otter beastkin. I wasn’t sure how that all worked, but otters—the animals—are always slender and slinky, so maybe it allowed her to taste all the fantastic food she prepared without putting on weight. And the food was amazing. I might have put on a few pounds already in the couple of days I’d been staying with Tyra.

When Tyra had told me the woman was in her mid-forties, I’d taken it as fact, but seeing her for the first time, I wasn’t sure I believed it. She was pretty, no doubt, and as I said, she was shapely as well. But the thing that really made me disbelieve that age was how energetic she was. I don’t mean just moving around quickly, but she was like a hyper child, zipping here and there, even fidgeting as she sat in front of us. That observation might have solved why she was so thin.

Her account of that day was based on the meals, of course. She spent most of it preparing meals, cleaning up after them, and getting ready for the next one. It wasn’t just Terago she fed, but the rest of the staff as well. As kindly as the woman presented herself, it was no surprise that she would often make specific dishes for each of the other staff members. Sounded like extra work to me, but she didn’t seem to mind.

To my question about her day in general, she answered with the energy I’d noted already.

“For breakfast, I prepared his usual meal: poached eggs, roast ham, fried potatoes seasoned with a medley of spices, and toasted bread with butter and honey. I mix the slightest amount of spice into the butter to give it a sharp bite; the master was very fond of the taste. That was after the breakfast I shared with Klaard, Harlan, and Bessa, of course, a simple fare of fluffed eggs, a bit of ham, bacon, and the outer portions of the loaf, toasted and buttered. Then, for lunch, I made up a nice chicken dish with an orange glazing and crumbled almond crust on a bed of wild rice for the master, sandwiches from the roast boar from the day before for Harlan—he likes a hearty lunch because of the heavy work he does. For Klaard, a fresh salad of greens from the garden and some slices of fruit. Bessa and I had some nice fish given to us by a visitor two days past.

“The master chose to take dinner in the forge again. He did that often, when he was busy working. That’s not good for digestion, I’d tell him. He would shake his head and say, ‘Yes, Miss Sivelle.’ Like I was a school marm or something. It always made me laugh.

“But it wasn’t eating in the forge or while standing up that got him. I didn’t see him…after, but I heard that someone stabbed him. There was blood and everything. Poor Master.”

I handed the otter woman a handkerchief when she started to cry and waited for her to compose herself.

“Do you know anyone who might have wanted to hurt Terago? I understand from talking to others that sometimes he could be hard to get along with.”

Sivelle waved the handkerchief, sweeping the statement away. “Oh, posh. Everyone can be difficult to get along with at one time or another. Why, one time when Klaard stepped into my kitchen with mud on his shoes after coming inside from a rainstorm, I gave him a piece of my mind, told him that if he was going to drag dirt into my kitchen I’d not only make him clean it up, but I’d feed him day old bread. No fresh bread for slobs, I told him. Of course, I apologized soon after. He’s a dear and it’s not like he was trying to rile me up.

“Ahem. My point is that there’s no telling how folks will take what someone says and does. Why, even my sweet dear Tyra can show a contentious bone now and then. Do you remember when you came to visit, Miss Tyra? Two weeks past?” She turned to me and leaned forward like she was going to tell me a secret. “She and her father started arguing in his forge. I heard it from the house, especially when she walked out on him and came inside. Screaming at each other, at the top of their lungs. Such impolite things they said. I won’t repeat any of them, but it was the same thing as always. He ruined her life and she left him on his own, spurring the rest of the family to leave as well. Such anger.

“But look at her. She’s such a sweet girl. She loved him, without a doubt. Even she can be difficult to get along with, sometimes. Not often, but sometimes. Just like everyone.”

I refused to let my eyes go to the goblin girl, locking them firmly on the cook. “I understand completely. I myself have been hard to deal with lately. Things happen that can tax us and some little bit of anger can leak out. Can you think of anyone who might do that more than others? Someone who was really, really mad at Terago?”

“No. Can’t say that I did. I heard that he argued with a customer or two, but I didn’t see or hear it firsthand, so I can’t really comment on it. Who would want to harm the master? I don’t understand. Not unless they were trying to steal from him. Why else would they come here and do such a thing?”

“I don’t know, Sivelle, but that’s what we’re trying to find out. If there’s nothing else you need to tell us, then I think we’re done. Thank you for talking with us.”

“It was a pleasure. I hope to talk to you again soon.”

Tyra raised a hand and caught my attention. I nodded to her.

“Sivelle,” she said. “I haven’t gotten around to telling you yet, but tomorrow we’ll have a visitor. I was hoping you could make something special for lunch, and maybe for breakfast. I’m sure you’ll know what to make.”

“Of course, Miss Tyra, anything you want. May I ask who this important visitor is, so I can try to think of what would be appropriate?”

“Of course. It’s Master Ilias Lightningstrike. I expect you know exactly what to prepare.”

If the otter woman was fidgety before, now she was downright twitchy. “Ilias. I mean, Master Lightningstrike? He’s coming here?”

“He is. To talk with Gar, and to visit you. It’s been some time since he set foot here.”

“Y-yes, Miss Tyra. Too long.” She jerked, realizing what she’d just said. “I mean, I know exactly what he wants…uh, what to prepare for lunch. Yes. And breakfast cakes, the ones he loves so. Thank you for telling me.”

Tyra laughed. “Calm yourself, Sivelle. He’s looking forward to seeing you. Maybe try to arrange things so the two of you can talk for a little while. Catch up.”

“Yes! Ahem. Yes. I would like that. Thank you.”

“Of course. Thank you for your help. Let me know if you need anything before tomorrow. Relax. An old friend is visiting tomorrow. It’ll be a fine day.”

“Yes, it will. I better go. Straighten up the kitchen. Plan the meals. Do some work.”

“Sivelle?”

“Yes, Miss Tyra.”

“There’s some nice brandy in the east library, as you know. Maybe taste it for me to make sure it’s still in good condition?”

“I will. Immediately. Thank you.”

Tyra laughed and made a shooing motion with her hand. “Go on.”

I watched the otter woman zip out of the room and turned to Tyra. “Was that what I thought it was?”

“Oh, yeah. They’ve had crushes on each other for more than a decade. Maybe their long absence from each other will finally spur them to do something. It’s very sweet, but the constant dancing around each other is frustrating to watch.”

I smiled. Even in the midst of a murder investigation, there were things that could make me smile. I hoped we’d find more, because even with what we’d found in just one day, figuring out who did the deed wasn’t going to be easy.

Chapter

Twenty-Seven

Done with the household staff, we chose to go to the next closest person we wanted to talk to, distance-wise.

“The neighbor on the estate next to mine is named Trag Sila,” Tyra explained as we walked out of the gate of her own property to visit her next-door neighbor. “He’s the one Klaard talked about, the neighbor who came to get some tools sharpened.”

Tip had swapped out loose sheaves of papers for a bound book that looked surprisingly like a three-ring binder. Two semi-rigid covers, little metal rings, and sheets of paper with holes punched in them would allow the satyr to transport any notes he took and even allow him to write without a desk. If someone held his ink bottle. Brin was kind enough to accept that role.

Trag Sila’s estate wasn’t as big as Tyra’s, and though it was well-kept, it wasn’t nearly as perfectly manicured. Most likely, it was a simple matter of the groundskeeper and, despite his quirky personality, it was clear that Harlan earned his pay.

As we approached the door to the home—also not as big as Tyra’s—I spotted a large garden off to the right. When I say garden, I mean a vegetable garden, not like a park with grass and flowers. A section of corn, some low leafy greens, a grouping of carrots, and other edible plants grew in organized rows, almost like a tiny farm.

A goblin I estimated to be in his fifties answered the door. When he recognized Tyra, the skin around his eyes crinkled and he gave her a big smile.

“Tyra? Gods, girl, I haven’t seen you in some time. Come in, come in. Rihx will be thrilled to see you. She’s been talking about you a lot lately, what with the tragedy. How are you?”

“Hi, Trag. Thank you. I’m sorry to bother you. I really should have stopped by earlier, but I’m trying to settle into Father’s estate and things have been hectic.”

I observed the neighbor as he led us to a sitting room. All these rich people and their numerous rooms for sitting, thinking, and socializing had me shaking my head. Trag was average height for a goblin, based on my experience in Forgehaven so far. Right at about four feet tall. His hair was mostly black, barely touched with a few grey streaks. My eyes were drawn to his left ear, though I tried not to stare. It looked like something had gotten hold of it and chewed it, tearing away parts of the appendage.

“These are my friends, Trag. Gar, Brin, and Tip. The furcan is called Rex. He’s well-behaved. Everyone, this is Trag Sila. He’s been our neighbor for most of my life.”

We all greeted Trag and then his wife, Rihx, when she joined us. The woman—maybe a couple of years younger than her husband—was pretty enough to catch the eye and was sweet as could be. She hugged Tyra right off and twitched like she was going to hug some of us, too. In the end, she settled for shaking hands and rubbing Brin’s shoulder before announcing she was going to bring some cakes and tea, and then she left the room.

Tyra sat near Trag on one of the couches. “I’m really sorry, both for not visiting sooner, and for the reason we’re visiting now. We wanted to talk to you about that day.”

He seemed to understand which day she was talking about. He dipped his head. “I understand. There are still a lot of questions. Of course you want to get everything clear in your head.”

“If you don’t mind, can you tell us about that day? Is it okay with you if we jot down some notes, too? We’re asking other people, too, and I don’t want to get things mixed up.”

Rihx came back with the promised tea and cakes and we paused long enough to accept her hospitality. She sat down next to her husband, a satisfied smile on her face.

“I don’t mind telling you all I know, Tyra. It’s not exciting, or particularly pleasant, but I’ll explain it to you and if you have questions, go ahead and ask.

“I visited your father before noon. You know how I like to toil in my garden. I don’t even let Deeb do anything within it. It’s my hobby and in that small bit of dirt, I am the king.” He chuckled, then blinked. “Oh, pardon me. Deeb, he’s my groundskeeper. So after puttering a little, I brought my tools to be sharpened that day. They were due. It’d been near a month of work since the last time. I think maybe your father rued telling me to bring them back for sharpening whenever I wanted. It was enough he made them, but I pestered him with keeping them in tip top shape.

“Like I said, I brought them over and chatted with Terago for a few minutes. Then Vasz Volin showed up.” His lip curled up into a half-sneer.

“He’s an ape, that one,” Rihx said. “I’ve seen him with customers and he has a smooth tongue in his shop, but unless he’s expecting something from you—like some coin—he can be very rude.”

Trag patted his wife’s hand. “Yes, dear. Like I said, Vasz showed up. Terago was working on a custom order for him, a pair of beautiful daggers. Your father showed them to me. Spectacular work, which wasn’t unusual for Terago Tyswix. As soon as Vasz showed up, he started complaining. ‘There’s a nick on that blade. You’re taking too long. You’re charging me too much.’ One complaint after another. Then he said it.

“‘I’m not paying you more than eighteen gold for that shoddy work.’ I thought Terago’s eyes were going to pop out of his head. You know how he gets, Tyra. His face turns dark green, he starts to breathe heavier, droplets of sweat pop out on his forehead. He was not happy. Not one bit.

“I’ve lived next to your family for decades and I knew what was coming. Had no desire to watch it. I took that opportunity to say my goodbyes to Terago. ‘Come back later for your tools,’ he told me. ‘I’ll have them all sharpened up before dinner.’

“So I headed back to the house to say goodbye to Klaard. On the way out, I passed another customer of Terago’s: Oberon Wespa. I gave him a wave as we passed. His brow furrowed when the yelling started. I only had to say one word to him. ‘Vasz.’ He nodded, then shook his head, but continued on to the forge.

“I didn’t come back until the evening, when Klaard told me that Terago was not in the best of moods. His argument with Vasz brought out his temper and he told Klaard he didn’t want to see anyone else. Klaard offered to go and ask Terago if he’d finished sharpening my tools, but I told him not to bother. The only thing to do when Terago is riled up like that is to let him be and allow him time to cool down. I told Klaard I’d be back in the morning to get the tools.

“That was really all there was to it for me. I came home, sat with Rihx by the fire, and ended up dozing off in my favorite chair. When I went back over in the morning, I found out what had happened. The constable had come and gone by then and everyone in the house was running around like a furcan chasing a bumblebee. Ah, no offense.” He nodded toward Rex, who looked back, his lizardy face expressionless.

I raised a hand to get Trag’s attention. “Thank you, Trag. Was there anything else out of the ordinary that happened that day? Anyone else coming around or anyone you saw acting strangely. Was what you saw with Vasz and Oberon typical of how they normally acted?”

Rihx was already bobbing her head at the question. Trag patted her hand again. “Everyone seemed to be normal,” he said. “It’s just like Vasz to try to renegotiate a deal that had already been set. Oberon, he’s an easygoing fellow. It doesn’t surprise me he’d continue on into the forge. He probably sat down and waited for the whole thing to blow over so he could talk to Terago about whatever he came for. The only other two I saw were Klaard and old Harlan.” He shrugged. “They were the same as always, too.”

“Did you notice anything else, either during the day or when you went over to get your tools that night?”

“Nope. Same old thing. I could tell Terago was still wound up. He was talking to himself. I could hear him as I left to come home. The night was silent and he was chattering like he does sometimes when he’s working on problems. Speaking two sides of a conversation.” He chortled. “I always told him people are going to think he’s mad—in the crazy sense, not the anger sense—when he talks like that. He hated when I poked fun at him because of it.”

“You heard him talking?” I asked.

“Sure did. I’ve found that the more riled up he is, the louder he argues with himself. I was glad I told Klaard not to go bother him. He can get angry as a bunny on the other side of a fence from a lettuce patch when people interrupt his talking it out with himself.”

“Trag, could you hear what he said?” Tyra asked.

“No, sorry. If the night wasn’t so quiet and him so loud, I’d never have even heard him from the forge. It’s pretty far from there to the edge of the property. He had to have had both doors open, or maybe even had gone outside for some air.”

That was it for Trag Sila. We stayed for a little while, talking about when Tyra was younger and still lived with her father. I got a sense from the two goblins that they delighted in the young girl, which I completely understood. I mean, she was a pretty great adult, so I could see her being a spectacular child.

When we finally left, we did so with a promise from Tyra that she’d have them over for dinner once things were a little less tense around the house. We made our way back to the house and had a late lunch.

On the way, Tyra was uncharacteristically quiet. I watched her out of the corner of my eye while discussing with Tip what he’d written and responding to Brin’s observation of a particularly pretty bright red flowering bush at the edge of Tyra’s property. When we sat down to eat, our goblin hostess fidgeted, her hands making jerky movements as she ate.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think about it before, to tell you about the last time I saw my father. I know it looks bad…”

Her voice trailed off and I met her eyes with mine. She took her bottom lip in her teeth for a brief moment, then her eyes flared in recognition of what she was doing and she released it. I stared for half a minute, the others with us fading into the background. Every second, Tyra’s face warred over which expression to display. Her entire body tensed up.

I gave her a crooked smile. “Tyra, we don’t think you killed your father.” Her breath hissed as she released it. “The one thing that’s been consistent in all this is that everyone who knew your father said he was an asshole, no disrespect intended. Family and friends argue, sometimes vehemently. It doesn’t mean we suspect you of doing the deed.

“True, our job is to suspect everyone, but I hardly think you would ask us to help you find the killer if you were involved. What would be the point? It would be easier and more effective just to leave it alone. Relax. So what, you and your father screamed at each other. It’s normal and it doesn’t mean you would have tried to hurt him.”

Tyra let loose a nervous chuckle. “I know. Still, it doesn’t look good.”

“It does,” Brin said. “If you told us everything was fine between the two of you, that would look suspicious. Not only have we found you to be caring and honest in dealing with us thus far, your argument merely shows that you are a person like any other, not some ideal of a loving daughter.”

“We’ll find more little bits like that,” I added. “As we interview more people, things will come out in the open, stuff that people keep hidden in their daily lives. Once we have all the facts, we’ll sort through them and see what they mean. You’re not a suspect, Tyra. You’re one of us, investigating the crime and trying to find who killed your father. We trust you, so you should trust us not to jump to conclusions. Sound fair?”

“Sounds fair.”

“Good. We have enough time left today to interview someone else on our list. What do you think about talking to that constable everyone’s been referring to?”

“I think I’d rather lick ass than to deal with Droga Esten.”

“That can be arrang…” Tip said, but cut off when I glared at him. “I mean, he’s that bad?”

Tyra grimaced, and I had a feeling it wasn’t about licking ass in general. “You’ll find out soon. Then you can tell me.”

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

In my short time in Forgehaven, I’d already found that some of the names were plain silly. Not just the names of establishments like the Tipsy Smithy, the Little Hammer, and Court of the Golden Balls, but also of the different districts, neighborhoods, and sections. Case in point: the area we visited after lunch carried the name Chieferton.

“Chieferton? Really?” I shook my head at the goofy name.

“It’s because this is the area where the mayor, the city council, clerks and records, and the city guard are all based. Almost all the important leaders are here. If you gather all the chiefs in one place, what else would goblins call it?”

“Bossville,” Tip suggested.

“It came in second. Some still call it that.”

I barked a laugh. “Whatever. Chieferton, Bossville, Jefetown, MFWIC District. It doesn’t matter. Let’s go talk to the constable and check him off our list.” Tip guffawed at that last name, but the two women looked at both of us like we’d lost our minds.

“MFWIC, pronounced ‘miffwick,’ stands for ‘Motherfucker What’s in Charge,’” I said. Tip laughed again, but the women still weren’t feeling it. “It doesn’t matter. It’s an Earth thing; you wouldn’t understand.”

“Yeah, boooooy,” the satyr hooted.

We arrived at a simple, squarish building that looked identical to the other simple, squarish buildings around it. Despite how much money seemed to circulate in Forgehaven, it appeared that not much of it found its way to the leaders of the city. I followed Tyra inside to find a room that was surprisingly like lobbies of government buildings on my world. Sparse, simple, and without personality. I stood by Brin and Tip, looking around the room, as Tyra went up to the table where a goblin woman, probably some sort of receptionist, sat.

I was too busy looking around to pay attention to what Tyra and the other woman were talking about. The wood paneling on the walls and the way the tapestries and a few paintings were arranged so like where I’d come from, a pang in my middle afflicted me. Any time I thought of home, I thought of Lucas. The sour mood I’d mainly staved off recently with all the work we’d been doing crashed down on me again. Fucking Aeyr and his fucking minions. I gritted my teeth.

The discussion between the two goblins seemed to be heating up. I glanced at Brin.

“No doubt the woman is doing what she has been told and trying to repel those who want to speak with the constable,” the blue woman said. “However, Tyra, being Terago’s heir, has inherited a significant amount of money, as well as land and the house in which she resides. Those things make her powerful, not the type of person the constable would be happy disappointing. His position is half political and he would not like to make a decision to protect his privacy at the cost of insulting a wealthy citizen. I expect despite the woman’s insistence, she will give in and allow us to see her superior.”

I rubbed my chin, considering what she’d said. As I watched Tyra, it seemed likely that Brin hit the nail on the head. The constable was a mid-level bureaucrat and he wouldn’t want the decline in political capital stonewalling Tyra would impose.

The receptionist left the room through one of three doors in the back wall, returning a few minutes later with a look like she’d eaten a rotten plum.

“The constable will see you now,” she said, biting off each word and chewing it like year-old beef jerky.

Tyra jerked her head toward us, then toward the door. “Thank you.” She opened the door the receptionist had just come through and held it open for us.

The constable’s office was purely functional. A desk, a few other chairs scattered around the room, a fireplace, and some cabinets and bookshelves, with no decorations. The man sitting behind the desk was a dog beastkin, with hair and ears almost the color of a chocolate lab. He stood until Tyra sat down and then plopped back into his seat, not bothering to even meet eyes with me, Brin, or Tip.

The man was about five foot nine and a little pudgy. The typical desk jockey body. His ears flopped over, like a boxer breed. Not a boxer that had its ears cropped, but the natural way they lay. His face held even less expression than a regular canine. The term resting bitch face came to mind. I chuckled inwardly.

“Miss Tyra, good afternoon.” The greeting came out like a growl. “What can I do for you?”

“Constable, these are some friends of mine. They’re helping me to make sense of what happened to my father. Garfield, Brinawynn, and Tiporian.” She turned to us. “This is the constable of Forgehaven, Droga Esten. Constable, I wanted to find out where you’re at in the investigation of my father’s murder. We’ve also got some questions for you.”

“Miss Tyra, you know how busy I am. I have many other things beyond working on what happened to your father. I know you understand that.”

“Oh, I do. Still, it is your job to find criminals who have broken the law. Doesn’t that apply to murderers, too? I would assume it does.”

He sighed, but a rumbling in his chest made it sound like a growl. “My investigation concludes that your father was the victim of a robbery. The killer surprised him, stabbed him from behind, then fled.”

“Who is this criminal? I’ve heard nothing of anyone being taken in and locked away or executed.”

“That’s because he fled.”

“He? You know that it was a man?”

“Miss Tyra, your father was a strong man. He worked metal all day. No woman would have been able to overpower him.”

“You know this?” Tyra said. “It so happens that I work metal all day long as well. Do you think I can’t overpower a man?”

“Of course not. That’s not what I mean.”

“And are women too stupid to be able to sneak up on a man while he hammers loudly on an anvil and stab him with a knife?”

“I’m not saying—”

“Have you given any thought at all to this case, Constable?”

“Of course I have. It’s my job.”

“It is, indeed.”

“I am so sick and tired of everyone sticking their nose into my business. There are plenty other pulls on my time, I’ll have you know. Despite that, I know what happened. A criminal who has been on a crime spree lately has gotten away with several big robberies. Usually there was no interaction with people, though there were two occurrences where it could have escalated to serious altercations if the citizens didn’t back off.

“The thief—no doubt masked as was his habit—attempted to rob your father but was discovered. He killed your father, then fled. There have been no further reports of the thief robbing anyone. We can therefore conclude that the murder was unintentional, or at least unplanned, and he has left the city, not wanting to be caught as a murderer. That is what happened. The case is closed.”

“Pardon me, Constable,” I said, “but that’s horseshit.” The man’s eyes widened satisfactorily. “First off, both of the women in this room could kick most men’s asses, including Terago’s.” I didn’t add what sounded in my head: or yours. “Second, what you say doesn’t make sense. If the thief was detected, there’s no way Terago would be standing with his back to the criminal. Also, nothing was taken. All the projects he was working on are accounted for and Terago even had his full purse on his belt when he died. Killing someone by stabbing them in the back accidentally, slitting their throat afterward, then not even taking a purse full of coins? How is this criminal still at large if he was so stupid?” I gave him a significant look, then added. “Oh.”

“What do you know about it?” the dog beastkin said to me.

“I know it doesn’t make sense. I know it sounds like you don’t care about the case and don’t want to bother finding the one who did it. I know that any ten-year-old child could punch holes in your conclusion. Come on, man. You can do better than that. At least find this criminal you believe is the perpetrator.”

“Are you too stupid to understand what I said? The thief has fled. Or do you think he suddenly stopped because his conscience bothered him about murdering Terago? There is no other conclusion.”

“Again, I say horseshit. I’ll give you another conclusion. Terago was the thief in all those other cases and he was murdered, so that’s why the robberies stopped.”

Droga sputtered, trying to come up with something to say.

“No,” I said. “I don’t believe that’s what happened, but it shows there are other conclusions possible. I guess it’s good we’re investigating the murder. Is there anything you want to tell us, maybe something that isn’t general knowledge or utter bullshit?”

“No. You have wasted enough of my time. Please leave. The case is closed and unless the thief returns and begins his robberies again, this matter is finished. Good day.”

I glanced at Brin. She showed me her open palms. Tyra shrugged. Tip lifted the left side of his lip, sneering. Rex, who the constable hadn’t even seemed to notice, stared at the man with his big orange eyes.

I gave the constable a disappointed look. “Fine. I feel like we wasted more time than you did. We definitely wasted more valuable time. We’ll let you get back to whatever you were wasting time doing. It’s obvious you don’t know anything, anyway.”

We passed the receptionist on our way out. She didn’t even look up from the papers she was reading. I let the others go ahead of me and followed them out, closing the door behind me.

“What a crock of shit,” I spat. “What a waste of half a day to come out here.”

“I was sure to write down all his brilliant explanations,” Tip said, tapping the notebook he held. “Wouldn’t want to forget any of that.”

I slapped the satyr on the shoulder. “Yeah, buddy. You got that right. Let’s head back home. We can figure out what to do after Ilias’s visit tomorrow. There are a lot more people to talk to. Hopefully some of them are more intelligent and lucid than this jackass. By the way, I didn’t ask before, but what exactly does a constable do?”

Brin answered for me. “A constable is an appointed official—or elected, depending upon which kingdom or other government the constable serves under—who is generally responsible for the rule of law in a city. In most places, like here, he is not only in charge of the city guard, but he is responsible for the investigation of crime. The results of an investigation are made available to a judge, who will determine the guilt and punishment of the criminal. If one has been apprehended. Judges are often simply a noble within the city structure.”

“So he’s the boss of all the city guards and he’s supposed to investigate crimes?”

“Yes,” Tyra said.

“It’s literally this guy’s job to investigate, yet he snatches up the flimsiest explanation he can use to get the case off his desk? Or is he doing a bad job because he doesn’t like this particular case?”

“From what I hear,” Tyra said, “he does a similarly poor job with everything he’s supposed to investigate.”

“Well, at least that’s good, I guess.”

“Good?” Tip said. “How is him being incompetent good?”

“Because if he did a good job on some cases but flubbed this particular one so badly, I’d say we would have to count him as a suspect. As it stands, it seems that he’s too much of an idiot to be a suspect. We’ll definitely keep him in mind, though. There are plenty of idiot criminals.”

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

The next morning, we camped out in one of the smaller dining rooms after getting up early. We waited for Master Ilias to arrive before eating breakfast. Tip had all his notes and we sat around discussing what we’d learned so far from the interviews we’d done.

Every once in a while, Sivelle poked her head out of the door to the kitchen. Her eyes would scan the room and she’d bite her lip, frown, then disappear again. After the third time, Tyra addressed the cook.

“Sivelle. Please come here.”

The pretty otter woman slinked over to Tyra like she was in trouble. She wore the same white apron she always did, but underneath was a nice blue dress, conforming to her slender figure and looking much too fancy for her to be in doing her job.

“Yes, Miss Tyra.”

Tyra stood up and squared herself to the woman. She picked at the straps on the apron, straightening it, while Sivelle stood nervously in front of her. Then the goblin girl leaned in and hugged the cook.

“You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“There wouldn’t be a reason you are wearing such a gorgeous dress today, would there?”

“I…uh…”

Tyra laughed. “Poor Master Ilias is going to have to use his exceptional breath control to keep from panting when he sees you. Don’t worry, you’re not going to miss out on seeing him. You will be having lunch with us. I’ll tell you straight away when he gets here. Relax. I could tell when I asked him to come here that he was excited about seeing you. I’m sure it’ll be like no time has passed since you last saw him. Is there anything I can do for you to help make you more comfortable?”

“No. Thank you. I want to make a good impression. It’s been…”

“I know, sweetie. It’s been years. But you look just as beautiful as ever and he is not going to be able to take his eyes off you. If he’s ready to leave at the end of the day and you two have not set up a time to meet again, I’m afraid I’ll have to force the issue, no matter how embarrassed that makes both of you. I fully intend to undo the damage my father did. If I have my way, Master Ilias will visit us often. Often.”

Sivelle let out a shuddering breath. “That sounds wonderful. Thank you.”

“No thanks necessary. I don’t expect him for another hour or so. Try to calm down.” She hugged the cook again and kissed her on the cheek. Sivelle disappeared into the kitchen.

“Poor thing. She’s a bundle of nerves.”

“It’s sweet,” Brin said. “Why have they not spoken for so long?”

“My father. Ilias was his friend. Briefly. He couldn’t abide my father’s attitude or his overall demeanor. By the time they had their falling out, though, we’d developed a relationship. He was a kind of father figure for me. He taught me how to wield the fighting sticks I still use and I made him that weapon. I learned so much from him in just a few years. I think he’s responsible for much of who I am. You’ll understand when you meet him.

“But to answer your question, once he stopped visiting, it was too awkward and difficult to keep up with Sivelle. My father is a demanding employer and the house staff’s lives revolved around their service to him. Out of respect for him and to keep from placing undue tension on Sivelle, he stayed away. I only saw him a few times after that, all after I’d left home myself, and his first words were always asking about Sivelle. I’m nervous myself thinking about it. Their meeting, I mean. I think once they speak, it'll all become comfortable after a few minutes, but those first few minutes are going to be interesting.”

The sweet look on Brin’s face had me expecting an “awwww” at any moment. She and I had been getting closer every day, but our relationship was still in limbo as far as where we were at. With Lucas’s death affecting me and all the other stress we had, I hadn’t been doing much in the way of courting her. Sure, we had some delicious physical interactions, and I loved holding her hand all the time, but I hadn’t done anything overtly romantic. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if she’d be into it. Now I had no doubt. The way she reacted to the story of Ilias and Sivelle, I was going to have to strum that romantic chord within her. I’d already thought of a few things to do.

“That’s some Romeo and Juliet shit right there,” Tip said. “You know, without all the suicide and death and feuding families.” He tilted his head. “Actually, their story does kind of have feuding families in it, huh?”

I waved the curious looks from the women away. I was not going to start trying to explain Shakespeare to the two.

Right at an hour later, Klaard entered the room with a man trailing him. He certainly dressed like a martial arts master. Sharp robes, reminiscent of an Eastern style, almost kimono-like, fit him like he was born in them. They were primarily green, with some red accents. Soft shoes completed the picture of a kung fu monk, as did the long black hair that he wore loose. It struck me as odd that he had pointed ears. I don’t know why. Tyra told me he was a half-elf, the elven blood on his mother’s side.

“Master Ilias Lightningstrike,” Tyra said, giving him a hug. He returned it stiffly, fidgeting like he was uncomfortable embracing her in public. “These are my friends: Brinawynn Tolsen, Tiporian Zethroban, and Garfield Hailey. Also, Rex.”

Ilias dipped his head, a compromise between a bow and a nod. He greeted each of us individually with a handshake, though it seemed an awkward movement. I felt like he usually greeted others in a different way.

“Master Ilias,” I said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Tyra has told me a lot about you. I hope you don’t mind me saying that you remind me very much of a class of martial monks from my world.”

“The pleasure and the honor is mine, Garfield.”

“Please, call me Gar.”

“Very well, Gar. Martial monks, you say?”

I laughed. “Oh, yeah. There is a place, famous for its fighters, called the Shaolin Temple. A certain area in the world is recognized as the birthplace of many of what my world calls martial arts, though technically that term can apply to any fighting style. May I teach you the greeting for one of the countries where formalized fighting arts are popular?”

“I would be honored.”

I put up my right fist in front of me, then wrapped my left around it. Displaying them at chest height, I also bowed my head.

“There was a sickness in my world several years ago and this type of greeting, without contact, became even more popular. It originated thousands of years ago as a sign of respect and a display that the greeter had no hidden weapons.”

Ilias performed the greeting perfectly, a smile on his face. “Thank you. I enjoy learning new things, especially within the field of martial theory. I am excited about the interchange of information with you, Gar, and I thank you for the opportunity.”

We had a nice breakfast. Sivelle didn’t show herself. I didn’t know if that was the plan or if something had gone wrong or she had become too nervous. I glanced at Tyra a couple of times and she didn’t seem to be uncomfortable at all.

We moved into the library to chat, but Tyra excused herself and headed into the kitchen as Ilias conversed with Brin, Tip, and me. He even greeted Rex, mentioning that he knew some forms that originated with an ancient warrior observing furcan fighting.

“A furcan form,” I said. “I’d love to see that.”

“I will show you. Perhaps we should go to one of the training yards and—”

Then Sivelle came through the door. She no longer wore her apron over her blue dress and she looked fantastic. I hadn’t realized how much that apron had covered up, but damn, the woman had a body, slender but containing appreciable curves nonetheless. Her hair also looked freshly brushed out and arranged.

Ilias stood with his mouth open, the rest of whatever he was going to say forgotten.

The two stared at each other for long seconds before Ilias sucked in a breath. He had stopped breathing.

“Sivelle. I…”

The otter woman curled a lock of hair around her finger and swung her body back and forth. “Ilias. It’s been a while.”

“I apologize. I never should have—”

“None of that,” Tyra said. “Sivelle, Master Ilias, I’m going to take Gar and the others out to the training yard. I’ll give you two a few minutes to talk, but only a few minutes. When it’s lunch time, Sivelle will join us and then there will be plenty of time for you two to catch up later. Does that work for you?”

Ilias didn’t take his eyes off Sivelle, like the two of them were physically attached at the pupils. “Yes. Thank you, Tyra. I’ll be out in a few minutes. To talk…about fighting…with Gar.”

I held in a laugh. Oh, yeah, those two had it bad. “See you in a little while.”

Brin was the last to leave the room, craning her neck to catch a last glimpse of the master and the cook. Her hand found mine and I squeezed it as we followed Tyra.

True to his word, Ilias showed up less than five minutes later, his face flushed.

“Gods, how has that woman gotten more beautiful than before?” His eyebrows shot up and he cleared his throat. “Excuse me. So, yes, let’s discuss some martial theory, Gar. Tyra tells me that she gave you the original pole whip and that you call it by another name?”

“Yes. It’s a fairly common weapon in my world, at least in the area that I spoke about before. They call it a three-sectional staff or a triple stick. I have heard that the original name in their language meant coiling dragon staff.”

“Fascinating. Have you used the weapon before?”

“No.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Tyra said. “He’s got an intuitive sense of combat. I’ve seen a little bit of it, but Brin and Tip tell me he’s eclectic and he can use anything—or nothing—as a weapon.”

“Ah, yes. That is a useful skill to possess. Perhaps before we discuss specifics, you would do me the honor of some light sparring? I have found the fastest way to take the measure of a person is by fighting with them.”

“Sure, I’m game.”

“Splendid. We can proceed unarmed, but I would also like to try with various weapons, if you agree.”

“Whatever you want. I’m sure I have a lot to learn and Tyra says that you’re the best. I’ll do whatever you ask.”

“Tyra has a way of exaggerating. I do have significant experience, however. I brought my…three-sectional staff, but if I remember correctly, there are many weapons in the storage rooms for use in practice. We can choose a few and see what we can do.”

“That sounds great.”

I wasn’t bullshitting the man. Though I’d never had any formal instruction, I enjoyed talking about fighting theory with other fighters. Boxers, martial artists, even other streetfighters. I’d also read a lot of historical information. In the last few years, I’d even been reading a little bit or watching YouTube videos on different types of fighting styles. This was the first time I’d be getting direct one-on-one instruction from a legitimate master. Ilias not only had the family history and formal training, but he was a true badass, having applied his techniques in real battle with life versus death odds.

My hands shook a little bit with my giddy energy. Ilias wasn’t going to turn me into a master with one day’s instruction, but damn if I wasn’t eager to get into the nuts and bolts of his combat system.

The master gave me a smile, his eyes sparkling in the morning sunlight. “First, Gar, I want you to attack me.”

“You want me to…attack you?” I said.

“Yes, please. You can use the strange weapon along your leg or you may use the knife sheathed at your waist, or you can try to strike me unarmed. It’s completely up to you.”

I glanced at Tyra. She shrugged. Tip, standing next to her, gave me a double thumbs-up. I’m sure locked away in that brain of his were memories of martial arts movies, fully forty percent of which had a scene just like the situation I was in.

“You’re going to kick my ass now, huh?” I asked. Tip burst out laughing.

“I will not strike you on the buttocks, Gar.”

“I know. I meant…oh, never mind.” I closed the distance on the master and threw a couple of jabs with my lead hand, just to get a feel for what he’d do.

From a casual stance, Ilias moved like a snake, not even bothering to parry my strikes. Like he had all day, he moved his head and neck to be exactly where my punches weren’t. It wasn’t anything spectacular. I saw boxers do it all the time.

I sped up. Jab-jab, straight punch, cross, hook, even an uppercut that I thought for sure would at least get a piece of him. None landed.

“Good. You are fast, controlled, and show good improvisation.” I noticed that he was breathing slightly faster than before. At least I’d made him move around, even if he didn’t break a sweat. Yet. “I will now take a more active part and redirect some of your blows and even counterattack. Are you ready?”

I threw my arms out like I was punching, but toward the ground, mainly to loosen my muscles and tendons. “Ready.”

Ilias was suddenly in front of me, as if he’d skated on ice to get there. He struck out, starting with a straight punch and transforming it into no less than four different strikes that seemed to involve his wrist, fingers, and knuckles. Dude was fast. Very fast. But I managed to deflect most of the blows, hard blocking two of them. The impact stung my forearm.

Going strictly on instinct, I lashed out, throwing a quick elbow at him, morphing it into a backfist, and kneeing him in the thigh. At least, I tried to knee him in his leg. He slipped aside like the greased eel he was and threw his own elbow at me. I caught it with my hands, stacked one behind the other, and I pushed him with my upper arm and shoulder. My eyes were still trying to catch up to everything, but damn me if it didn’t look like he absorbed the push and floated back a pace to land lightly on his feet.

I blinked. What the fuck was that?

The master’s face broke into a grin. “Impressive. I see that Tyra and your friends did not exaggerate your abilities. You have no formal training?”

“No. Not unless you consider being beat up every day when I was a kid and then learning little by little to make that not happen anymore.”

He laughed, his entire demeanor seeming to change from stuffy, formal master to a guy I wouldn’t mind hanging out with. “In my family, we call that the ‘education of pain.’”

His smile was contagious and I returned it. “In my world, it’s called the ‘school of hard knocks.’”

“Fitting. Tell me, Gar, how long was it after you decided you would no longer allow yourself to be defeated that you began to win your fights?”

“A few days. I didn’t win every fight after that, but eventually, I had no need to fear anyone in my neighborhood. I mostly win nowadays.”

“Mostly?”

“Sure. If I had to make a judgment, I’d have to say that you just beat my ass.”

“Nothing of the sort. It has been many years since anyone has pressed me so. You have a natural ability. I can tell by the way you reacted, improvised. The attacks and defense you strung together are too complex to be taught. They are instinct for you. Could you recall for me and recount the movements you made in our exchanges?”

“I…” I went through it in my mind, miming the quick session as best I could. I found that I couldn’t remember more than half of what happened. “No. It was too fast. I couldn’t even see your movements most of the time. You’re too damn quick.”

“Exactly. Instinctual moves like that cannot be trained. Perform something several thousand times and your body may do it without you needing to initiate it. But those particular combinations? I dare say you have not trained those precise movements together many thousands of times.

“Out of curiosity, how would you classify my movements?”

I didn’t even have to think before answering. “A soft style. Fast, flowing, some circular movements, exquisite body control, and a coherence I’ve rarely seen. Like every move was there to set up something two or three actions later.”

He rubbed his chin. “Hmmm. You have a warrior’s mind. One more question. Tyra tells me that you have fought—and defeated—umbrenix.”

“I have. A few.”

“Ah-ah-ah…bullshit,” Tip said, acting like he was sneezing. “Oh, pardon me.” I shook my head at him. “What? I’ve seen you take down at least a dozen myself, and I haven’t been with you as long as Brin has.”

I let out a breath. “Fine. Several.”

The master chuckled at the exchange. “And how would you categorize their fighting style?”

“Aggressive, offensive, with no concern for defense. Attack, attack, attack.”

“Truly? Why do you think that is so?”

“Uh, I don’t think. I know. Not to sound like an asshole. They can’t be hit except with magic or enchanted weapons. They’ve spent their entire existence not fearing being struck. They’re all offense because they need no defense. Usually.”

“Except when they fight you.”

“Yeah.”

“How many did you fight before you arrived at that conclusion?”

“That they were all offense? One. That it was because they couldn’t be hit? A few. I didn’t make the connection until Brin told me they couldn’t be hit, that what I did was impossible. Then it all made sense.”

“I am afraid that one day talking to you will not be nearly enough, Gar. I have missed conversing about the deeper things pertaining to combat. Not since my family was all together have I had the opportunity. What do you say we grab some weapons and discuss and demonstrate our knowledge to each other. I would enjoy hearing about your world and its martial heroes.”

“That sounds like a great idea to me.”

Chapter

Thirty

Master Ilias and I shared information back and forth, our conversation excited and our words speedy and clipped. There was so much I wanted to talk about but even more I wanted to hear. We alternated with describing something, then demonstrating it. Surprisingly, he was as interested in what I had to say as I was in his knowledge.

“These martial societies, they train in the arts for love of it and for sport? There are no wars in your world that requires these specialized skills?”

“It’s not really like that,” I said. “There are plenty of wars, but those usually require skills of a different kind. Imagine crossbows or even catapults or ballistae, but increase their speed and their damage by a hundred times. Some people still fight using weapons you would recognize, or with unarmed combat, but that’s the minority as far as large scale battles are concerned. Guns, the projectile weapons of my world, are the method of choice in killing enemies. Unless you count what they call weapons of mass destruction, like bombs, nukes, or chemical warfare.”

“Those words are not familiar to me.”

“You should be glad about that. Millions of people and billions of dollars—our currency, like gold—have been dedicated to inventing new ways to kill. Some can destroy a city of millions of people in the blink of an eye.”

“That sounds a dishonorable way to carry out combat.”

“It’s very dishonorable. When it comes down to it, though, dead is dead. Whether with bare hands, classical weapons, high technology, or magic, taking a life is a serious thing.”

“You do not enjoy killing your enemies?”

I looked the master in the eye. “I do it because if I don’t, they either kill me or they will kill others. I don’t like it. I’ve been known to take a little satisfaction in beating someone’s ass because they deserve it, but killing? I wish I didn’t have to do it. It’s not so bad with monsters, like the umbrenix. But people, I wish I didn’t have to do that. I’m not accustomed to it and I hope I never get to that point.”

“Spoken like an honorable warrior. Would that more who take up arms had your understanding. Tell me, Gar, how did you learn to move the way you do?”

I blinked at the change in topic. “Move?”

“Yes. I don’t mean overall movement, walking around and things like that. Specifically, the way you position yourself when you fight, especially when you strike. Stances, power generation, those things.”

I shrugged. “I pay close attention.”

The master’s forehead crinkled. “You pay attention to what?”

“Pretty much everything. When I first started fighting back against bullies, I found that I was good at it. I didn’t put a lot of thought into it, just did what seemed natural to hit someone and to keep from being hit. As I had to become better because some in the neighborhood saw me as a challenge, I paid closer attention. To other fights I saw, to those fighting me, even to ones on TV. Uh, ones performed as a sport, or in stories, like stage plays.”

“The sport you spoke of is not the only entertainment involving combat?”

“No, there are many stories of heroes and villains and the actors perform flashy, choreographed fight moves. A lot of it is ridiculous, unnecessarily showy, but some are more realistic. When I started watching more closely, I found I was good at distinguishing which was which. Not only techniques but how fighters moved. Then I would go and practice different things, work out the body positioning that helped me to be most effective. Even when I was smaller, I could generate a lot of power in my strikes.”

“Yes.” The master rubbed his chin. “I have noticed. You take advantage of the structure of the body, skeletal and muscular. I have noticed how efficient your movements are.”

“In my world, they call it biomechanics. I only learned about that recently, but it helped me to fine tune things. Simple changes, like the turn of a foot here or the shift of the hips there make a lot of difference. Not just punches, either, but kicks, throws, all kinds of things.”

“It does. There are certain techniques to harness magical energy as well, from within oneself and without. Perhaps I can teach you some of the basics today, or should we have the opportunity to meet again.”

“Yes, I would love that. There are internal energy systems in my world. Masters harness it to perform incredible feats. Fighting, but also wellness, whole body harmony, all kinds of things. We don’t have magic of any kind, but some of the stuff kung fu masters or yogi can do seems like magic.”

“Very well. I would like to show you a few basics for the…three-sectional staff. If you don’t mind, I think I will borrow the name from you and use it. I like its sound better than pole whip, which is the name I made up. I like coiling dragon staff even more, though it is a mouthful.”

I chortled. “It’s not mine. It’s just what they call the weapon in my world. You can call it that and let everyone think you made it up. It doesn’t matter. For all intents and purposes, Tyra invented the weapon and you invented its use in this world.”

“Perhaps someone could look at it that way. So, I will show you a bit of what I have devised. Lunch will be soon, but after that, I would like to teach you a few forms for the weapon. That way, you can practice on your own. If we have the opportunity to meet again, we will continue from there.”

“Thank you, Master Ilias. I think it will come in handy with all the stuff that seems to happen to me.”

I’d seen the weapon before, of course, mostly in old kung fu movies, but it was the first time I got the opportunity to break down the basic movements of the three-sectional staff and understand the versatility of the weapon. Like a lot of the weapons in the Chinese martial arts, the uses of the thing were incredibly complex. Not in the sense that they were flashy and complicated, though they could be. More that there was a hell of a lot more going on in using one than met the eye.

Flexible weapons were always tricky, as any kid who ever used nunchakus and smacked himself in the back of the head when trying to chamber it under his arm could attest. With the triple stick, there were three sections—thus the name—instead of two. Master Ilias had been wise enough to bring a practice weapon consisting of thinner sticks wrapped tightly with cloth. It still hurt like hell when I tried it and whacked myself in the head, the back, the knee, and the elbow, but I didn’t break any bones or cause a concussion. That was a win, as far as I was concerned.

In no time, we had to quit to go eat lunch. Where I was treated to another kind of demonstration.

Sivelle had made a dish of dumplings and some fried meat strips and vegetables in a savory sauce, apparently the master’s favorite. It seemed like your typical Chinese meal, no doubt from the master’s homeland. Funny how it fit so perfectly into the memories of my own world. The otter woman ate with us, directed to the seat across from Ilias. The two of them couldn’t keep their eyes off each other. I was pretty sure that if the rest of us had gotten up and left the room, neither of the two would have noticed.

Brin spent the entire lunch smiling dreamily at the two, squeezing my hand almost to the point of pain. She was eating the whole sweet romance thing up in big heaping spoonfuls.

We were all in close proximity, so the conversation was mostly innocuous, about the weather and things happening in the city. The two found opportunities for probing questions, though subtle. To be honest, the dance being performed in front of me was fascinating. They seemed less like people who had known each other for years than two who had just met for a blind date. Finally, toward the end of the meal, they got going.

“How have you been keeping busy?” Sivelle asked Ilias.

“I have my training. For a time, I hired myself out as a guard, even did a little mercenary work for the war in southern Teaphotria.”

“Training and fighting? Was there nothing else? No friends to share your time with?”

“I have a few good friends, but we are all busy, so we seldom see each other. What about you, Sivelle? How do you pass the time?”

“There is no issue there. Terago was an expert at filling up my time. Days pass, then weeks, even months, and it all seems a blink of the eye.”

“Have you no recreation? Going to the theater, walking near the river, enjoying gardens? Surely you must have numbers of adoring friends and acquaintances to help you relax.”

“No. Not since…” She gazed into Ilias’s eyes. “I mean, no. I take comfort in my ovens and my cooking.”

“Comfort, you say? Are things not well, that you need comfort?”

“Oh, no.” She scrubbed at her lips with her napkin. “It was a poor word choice.”

“I see. The riverwalk is lovely this time of year, so I hear. I remember you had a fondness for that flower, the pink blossoms with the streaks of purple. Ah, the blushing horizon flower. Maybe some time you would like to see them?”

“I do love those flowers. I’m surprised you remember.”

“Ahem. My memory is substantial. The mental training I do and all.”

“Maybe I will find time to see them. Is it safe to walk alone along the river?”

“It is. I could…accompany you, if you have any fear of danger.”

“Would you?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

The two continued on, fencing timidly with each other. By the end of lunch, they’d all but set up a date, though their hesitation was almost painful to watch. I wasn’t sure if it was because they had observers or if they were both that uncomfortably shy, but by the time Ilias and I went back out to the training ground, the man was smiling like his face was stuck.

“…and those are the three basic forms I created,” the master said to me after demonstrating them. “It wouldn’t surprise me if you commit all three of them to memory within the next two hours. We’ll get as far as we can, then we can engage in some controlled sparring with the weapon. Forms are fine for developing a familiarity with a tool, but how to react to things in real combat is important as well.”

Time passed quickly as I took a handful of movements in chunks and strung them together into the forms Ilias had taught me. I learned all three, though I couldn’t perform them well yet. Still, the master’s approval meant a lot to me. I would practice them several times a day, slowly at first, then get more familiar with the weapon Tyra had given me. He also showed me two different staff forms, focusing on how to spin the staff effectively, since it was the basis for how to spin the three-sectional staff as well.

The sparring was a real treat. Unlike some people I’d run into, Ilias didn’t have a big ego to keep fed. Many people, when teaching new techniques and especially when sparring, try to demonstrate their superiority. The better ones only set their movements slightly above the student’s in speed and power, but some need to prove what they can do.

Master Ilias wasn’t like that. He didn’t even push me, moving at the same slow speed as I did and explaining everything as we went. Not one stray strike, not one too-fast counter, nothing at all that would take away from the point of the entire thing: showing me in precise detail how exactly to manipulate the weapon in my hand.

“It saddens me that the day has passed so quickly,” he told me when Tyra came to find us. She and the other two had gone inside an hour or two before, but they showed up now that it was getting dark. “There is so much more I would have liked to have talked about and done.”

“I feel the same way,” I said. “Give me a few days to practice what you taught me today and maybe we can meet again. I’m not sure what we’ll be doing, with the investigation of Terago’s death, but I’m sure I can clear at least half a day to learn whatever you’ll teach me.”

He gave me a sly grin. “It is a pleasure to train with you, Gar. Are all in your world of a same mind when it comes to martial endeavors?”

“Not even close,” Tip said. “Even in his world, from what I know of it, he’s some kind of weird outcast there as well.”

We’d told Ilias about my world and about how Tip had received memories from it. The master nodded.

“Be that as it may, I am glad to have been able to spend time with you. If you would like help with finding the criminal, I will volunteer. My abilities lie elsewhere than investigation, but the offer is there if you desire my help.”

Tyra stepped up to Ilias. “Thank you, but for now, I think we can handle it. Besides, don’t you have a walk by the river to plan soon? Maybe followed up by a trip to the theater or a picnic or something?”

The master’s cheeks reddened and Tyra chuckled at him.

We saw him out—after he went into the kitchen to say goodbye to Sivelle—and gathered in the library where we usually went to talk about the investigation. I was still going through the forms he taught me in my head when we got down to business, planning what we’d do the next day. And who we’d be talking to.

Chapter

Thirty-One

Before we left the next morning to go conduct more interviews, Tyra showed me Terago’s accounting books, at my request. Klaard apparently kept his own set of books in his capacity as Terago’s assistant, but the smith didn’t like to rely on anyone else completely.

“He kept good records,” I said. Not only did everything look in order, but the sheer number of projects was staggering. At any given time, he worked on at least a handful of commissions, and sometimes it was well over a dozen. Three entries were what I focused on, though.

Tyra pointed them out. “Here they are. Vasz Volin, who both Klaard and Trag said argued with my father that day. Oberon Wespa, who witnessed the argument. Yrtee Drez, who by the looks of it, was a middlewoman between her own customers and my father’s finished products.”

“No one that we talked to so far mentioned Yrtee. What’s her deal?”

“I don’t know. I’ll ask Klaard later. We’re going into the market districts in the city to talk to the other two?”

“Yeah, that’s the plan. I want to find out what the deal is with that argument. It sounded serious and it was within hours of the murder. A bad enough disagreement could heat someone up enough to come back and try to harm the other arguer.”

“True, but the books show that the price remains as it was. My father was careful enough with his books that if they came to an agreement or compromise, he would have noted it in the book. If Vasz had paid him, it would be in there. He not only used it for accounting, but he entered things meticulously so he could use it as a reminder of the ‘horrible side of the business,’ as he called it: dealing with customers. I told him many times to let Klaard take care of it all, but he waved the suggestion away.”

I skimmed the page in the journal. “He may have been careful about entering stuff, but he was really pissed off that day, according to Klaard and Trag. He might have forgotten or was planning on updating the books later that day, before he went to bed.”

“Anything is possible.”

We gathered Brin, Tip—along with his note-taking supplies—and Rex and headed out.

“We’ll be heading to Stalls first,” Tyra said.

I looked over at her. “Stalls?”

“Yeah. Since you want to talk to Oberon Wespa, we’ll go there first. He has a shop.”

“Hold on. He has a shop where they board horses?”

Tyra’s raucous laugh dragged some color out of me onto the surface of my cheeks. “I forgot. You’re not that familiar with the city. Stalls is the name of one of the market districts. It’s older, been here since the city was founded. Back in the old days, it was full of tents and stalls. It’s mostly shops now, but the name stuck. The other major market area is called New Money. Like the name says, it’s newer, and there is definitely more money there. That’s where Vasz Volin’s shop is.”

“Okay, I get it. I think we went through both when we were looking for Brin’s bangle. There’s a definite difference between the two.”

“Lots of money will do that for you.”

“Says the woman living in a mansion with money coming out of her…ears,” Tip threw back.

Tyra glared at him for a moment, but it dissolved into a laugh. “Fair enough. It’s all new to me. My old place is on the other side of the city, near the volcano. The area is called Dross, if that’s any indication of the type of place it is.”

We continued to head west. “So, Oberon first,” I said. “In Stalls. Then we go to Vasz?” That got no response. Looking over at Tyra, I found her looking out into the distance, her eyes not fixed on anything. “Tyra?”

The goblin blinked at me, then shook her head. “Huh? What?”

“Oberon first in the stalls, then to Vasz?”

She nodded. “That’s the plan. We’ll swing over to his shop in New Money after we talk to Oberon.”

The cramped streets around the area called Stalls opened up when we got into the center of the area. As Tyra said, there weren’t more than a few stalls there, basically tables with cloth awnings above. The physical shops were smaller than some we’d visited in other areas, but I remembered well coming through when we were looking for Brin’s stolen item.

When we arrived at Oberon’s shop, called simply Wespa’s Deals, I scanned the front of the building. We hadn’t gotten to this one when we were searching before. I’d wondered if I had met the man we were there to see, but now I didn’t think he’d be familiar.

Tyra jerked her head toward the door. “He sells common items, not a lot that’s special. A general item merchant, a bargain seller. Occasionally, he’ll commission simple work from my father so he can sell them to regular customers. He’s got a few on the books right now. Shaping tools for a cooper—a hoop driver and a topping plane—and a couple of draw knives for a carpenter.”

With that information, she opened the door and walked in, leaving it open for the rest of us.

“Good morning,” a male voice said. “What can I do for…gods, Tyra. How are you? I didn’t get a chance to talk to you at the wake. I was sorry to hear about your father.”

“Hey, Oberon. Thanks. It’s been rough, but I’m doing all right. I was hoping maybe my friends and I could ask you some questions.”

“Sure, anything you want.”

Tyra introduced us as I looked the goblin over. He was on the short side of goblins I’d seen, not even three and a half feet tall. I placed him in his early forties, though his head was completely bald. He seemed nice enough and greeted us warmly.

“We’re trying to piece together what happened that day,” I said. “With Terago. We understand that you visited him in the morning?”

He looked at me for a long moment, not answering. Just when it might become uncomfortable, he spoke. “Do you know you look a lot like Kael?”

I had to force myself not to roll my eyes. “One or two people have told me that.”

“Huh. Well, yes, I did. Talk to Terago that morning, I mean. Just checking up on where my orders were. He was normally busy and I’d found that if I stopped by to chat, my presence was enough of a reminder for him to move me up on the priority list. It’s a game we used to play.”

“Did you stop by often?”

“Once or twice a week, if he had projects of mine ongoing. If I didn’t have anything on the books, I still stopped by every week or two. We weren’t friends by any means, but it kept things cordial.”

“Unlike some of his other customers.”

The small goblin man laughed. “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t laugh, but you’ve obviously heard about the argument between him and Vasz that day.”

I nodded. “We did. Was it as serious as it sounded to others?”

“Nah. You have to understand that Terago was, umm, difficult to get along with. I never had much trouble because I let his ill manners and his quick anger slide off me. The secret to dealing with him was to let him bluster and not engage. You do that, and his anger often disappeared quickly.

“With Vasz, though, it’s like pouring lamp oil on a forge. He’s not the most tactful of people and when someone says something that sounds like a challenge to him, he has to prove he’s up for it. The two fed off each other. They had blowups often. I witnessed a few of them, somehow timing my visits around the same time as Vasz’s.”

“So, it didn’t seem to you like something that would cause Vasz to do anything…violent?”

“I’ve heard worse screaming matches between them. None of those ended up with murder.”

“Can you tell us what you saw and heard that day?”

“I can. Let me get some water and ale first, though. In fact, come on back. I have a small kitchen and we’ll be more comfortable sitting down.” We all moved to a table in the kitchen and Oberon told us what he’d seen. “I stopped by, Klaard led me to the forge. On the way, I saw Terago’s neighbor, Trag Sila. We waved at each other. I was chuckling when I arrived at the forge because between the look on Trag’s face and the sounds I heard before actually getting to my destination, I knew Vasz was there and they were already well into an argument.

“I sat on a stool at the edge of the forge and watched as Klaard tried to get Terago to let him throw Vasz out. Instead, Terago yelled at Klaard, told him to go back in the house.

“The dispute was typical. Vasz tried to find reasons to not pay the price they’d agreed on for the project. He called Terago, and I quote, ‘an overpriced, lying, crooked, money-grubbing bastard.’ Terago shot back that Vasz was a ‘slippery, honorless, cheap, cow-fucking wart of a dick.’ That was a direct quote also. I remember because I thought he should have said he was a wart on a dick. It would have made more sense. No accounting for creativity, though.

“They went back and forth for several minutes, almost like it was their job and they had to put the work in. There was real anger, definitely, but it was anger by rote. I think of the two of them, Terago was closest to actual rage. Vasz almost seemed like he was toying with the smith.”

“What was the project the dispute was about?”

“The pricing, like I said, for a couple of custom daggers. Beautiful work, too. He was almost finished when I was there, just putting the final touches on them. They weren’t for Vasz to sell, but for his own personal use. He fancies himself a dashing warrior.” Oberon laughed at that, though I didn’t see that it was particularly funny.

“How did it end?”

“They wore each other out with their screaming and they both just dropped the dispute, but not before the finale of the argument. Terago said, ‘The only way you’ll get those daggers at the price you’re offering is over my dead body.’ Vasz answered with, “Maybe so.” But like I said, I’d heard nearly the same thing a handful of times with the two of them.

“Eventually, Vasz grumbled, but agreed to pay him the original price and Terago promised to have the daggers done that evening. Vasz didn’t say so much as a word to me, only nodded as he left. He doesn’t associate with low-class scum merchants like me, as he told me once.” He chuckled at that, too.

“Interesting.” I scratched my jaw. “That’s more detail than we’ve heard so far. Thank you. How did things go with your meeting with Terago?”

“Oh, he was livid. Even though he ended up winning—as far as I’m concerned—he could hardly speak for being so enraged by Vasz.”

“Any threats or anything from either of them?”

“No, other than the normal, ‘you don’t deserve anything you’ve got and the world would be better off without you’ kinds of things. From both of them. That’s normal, though. I hear statements like that every time those two are in a room together. I went to the theater once and found the two of them embroiled in an argument, calling each other names, casting aspersions, and saying how their seats and even the air they breathed were being wasted.”

“What did the two of you talk about?”

“I wasn’t there long. I asked about my order and he said he hadn’t started it yet, but he could punch it out in a day and would start within a few days. He was more interested about complaining about Vasz. I left fifteen minutes after Vasz had.”

“I’ll get those orders done for you, if you want,” Tyra added. “I’ve been going through my father’s books and trying to get a handle on what needs to be done. You can either get someone else to do them or I can make them for you.”

Oberon smiled at Tyra. “That would be great. I’ve seen your work. I have no doubt you’ll make them as well as your father would have. Besides, they’re simple tools, not masterwork blades.”

“I’ll get started on them within a couple of days.”

“Oberon,” I said, “is there anything else you can think of that will help us piece together exactly what happened? Anything you saw or heard that might interest us? Is that all Terago talked about, your order and his argument with Vasz?”

“I don’t think it has anything to do with anything, but he did complain about Yrtee Drez.”

That name sounded familiar to me, but I couldn’t place it. “Who’s that?”

“She’s another merchant. She’s been pressuring Terago recently, pushing him to agree to an exclusive agreement, so he’ll only produce items for her. She probably has the customer list to make it a good deal, but Terago felt like it would be as if he worked for her. Like a regular employee. He didn’t want to relinquish control over being able to decide what he wants to do and when he does it. He was all about control.”

“You’re telling me,” Tyra said under her breath, but I heard it clearly.

“Huh.” Now I remembered the name. We’d talked about it earlier. I looked over at Tip, scratching away at his notebook. “We’ll probably go and talk with her. Thank you. Oh, one more thing. After you left Terago’s forge, what did you do the rest of the day?”

“I came back here, spent the rest of the day in the shop with my helper, then went home to eat dinner with my family. Tyra knows Jak and where I live, if you want to talk to anyone to make sure.”

“Thank you for talking to us. We’ll let you know if we have any other questions.”

We left Oberon’s shop after Tyra gave the man assurances she’d get his order done. When we were outside, I looked over to the goblin woman.

“Well, what next?”

“Off to New Money. Vasz’s shop is there and, if I remember correctly, so is Yrtee’s. We can talk to both of them while we’re this close.”

“Lead on. Three in one day is a good amount of work. I can’t wait to meet this Vasz Volin guy.”

“Oh, you’ll be sorry for that feeling a minute or two after you meet him, don’t worry about that.”

Chapter

Thirty-Two

Half an hour later, we stood before a shop proudly signed as VOLIN ENTERPRISES. It was situated in a prominent location on a wide street. The appearance of the shop was so much more enticing than the one we’d just left, and the shoppers walking the street reeked of money. The business was also closed.

“Why would the shop be closed?” I asked. “It’s the middle of the day.”

“Who knows?” Tyra said. “He’s a weird one. Maybe he doesn’t trust any of his employees to mind the shop while he’s gone. Maybe he doesn’t need the money.”

“Do you think something happened to him?” Brin asked.

“We can only hope.” Tyra looked through the window, trying to peek through the drapes pulled closed on the inside. “We can go check his house.”

I eyed the goblin woman. “You know where he lives?”

“Of course. Even if I hadn’t seen the house before, he constantly brags about it, telling everyone who will listen to him where it’s located. It’s close. Some of the more successful merchants live in this section of the city. The homes are not estates like my father’s—uh, mine—but they’re big and ostentatious and expensive. Just with less land.”

After another short jaunt, we found the house to be in the same condition as the shop, with no one in sight.

“Is it normal for a rich guy not to have someone answer the door?” I was getting tired of chasing this dude down.

“No,” Tyra answered, “but who knows with that crackpot. It’s strange that not only are there no servants or guards, but none of his family answered our knocking, either. Maybe Brin is onto something. Maybe he fled the city. Or whatever he was involved in with my father being killed came back to bite him. It’s strange.”

I scrubbed my hand through my hair. “We’ll have to track him down another time, I guess. Unless you know where he hangs out. A tavern or something?”

“Beats me what he does when he’s not pestering others or selling overpriced shit. While we’re in the neighborhood, we should go talk to Yrtee Drez. Find out about what Oberon said with her trying to get my father into an exclusive agreement.”

Backtracking to where the shops in New Money were, we found another nice establishment called Drez for Success. This one was open, so we walked in to find three goblins standing in the midst of a remarkably nice selection of quality items. Several customers were browsing in different areas of the store as well.

Armor abounded in one section, bordered by a fair-sized collection of clothing, with others for tools toward one wall, but weapons dominated the inventory. Swords, knives, axes, spears, flails; any implement to hurt or kill, the shop probably had it. We hadn’t gotten to this place, either, when we were looking for Brin’s items, but if one location had magical objects, I’d have thought this would be it. We might have even found an enchanted sword for Tip, though I doubt we could have afforded it.

“Tyra Tyswix,” one of the women said. Of the other two goblins, one was male and the other another female. The one who had spoken had long blonde hair and blue eyes, something I didn’t think I’d seen among all the goblins I’d passed in the city. “What a surprise. Welcome to Drez for Success. What can I do for you?”

The other two goblins continued their conversation, the woman leading the man to one of the aisles and leaving the blonde to us.

“I’m sorry,” Tyra said. “Do I know you?”

“We’ve never been introduced, but I’ve seen paintings of you and know who you are. I’m Yrtee Drez.”

“Oh. You’re who we’re here to see.”

“I thought as much. Anything particular I can do for you?”

Tyra paused and I jumped in. “We were wondering if we could ask you some questions. About Terago Tyswix.”

The goblin’s eyes ran over me, from my feet up to my face. “Mmmm. Look at you. Are you Kael Serus come back to us? Where have you been all my life?”

I forced a smile through my embarrassment. The damn hero statue thing again. It didn’t help that the woman was very attractive, but not only that. I wasn’t sure if it was the way she stood and moved, her facial expressions, or even how smooth and alluring her voice was, but she definitely had an effect when she addressed me. She oozed charisma. Fitting, for a successful merchant, but still a little discomfiting.

“I’m not from around here,” I said, trying to ignore both Tyra and Brin looking at me. Tip, too, with that familiar expression that I could almost hear in my mind. Another hot woman who would jump you at first meeting.

“You’re here now,” she purred.

“I am. Uh, the questions?”

“Oh, yes. Right.” She turned toward the other goblin woman and called out. “Frida, I’m going to go to the lounge in the back to chat with these folks. Watch the shop for me?”

“Of course, Miss Drez.”

Yrtee Drez’s back room was much nicer than Oberon’s, of course. Couches, chairs, a few tables, along with snacks and drinks.

I started as soon as we were settled. “We understand that you’ve been trying to get Terago into an exclusive business relationship with you. Can you elaborate on that a little?”

“Oh, honey, a proper lady never shares secrets about exclusive relationships.”

My mouth moved, but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how to respond to that.

“I’ve heard you were a vixen, but wow,” Tyra said. “You know we’re talking about business and not”—she waved her hand toward the blonde goblin—“whatever you’re going on about.”

Yrtee gave Tyra a sexy wink. I wondered if all goblin women were that flirty. I’d only talked to a few of them. “Fine. I’ll be good.” She pursed her lips and turned to me. “I’m very good, by the way. To answer your question, though, yes, I proposed a business arrangement where he would produce items exclusively for me. I have a large customer base and he would always have work to do. I also charge more, and he’d end up making more money in the end.”

“Where were you two on the proposal?” I asked.

“He refused. Many times. Never came out and said it straight out, but I know it was about control. Terago was not one to take orders from anyone else. I assured him I wouldn’t treat him like an employee, that it would be the same as when he did commissions for me now, but he didn’t buy it. I even tried to seduce him, entice him into having a little exclusive access to this.” She ran her hands up her body, which my eyes were more than happy to roam over.

“How did he react to that?”

“He wasn’t interested. No, that’s not true. He looked plenty, but he didn’t let it affect his business decisions. He already had his pet whore, so that didn’t help. If I could have gotten him during a dry spell, I think I could have worked him around to an agreement.”

“His pet whore?”

“Yes. He had that goblin on retainer. Then he switched to that sexy catgirl. There wasn’t much time between the two. If only I’d known, I would have pounced on him.”

“Did you want my father, or was it all business for you?” Tyra asked, frowning at the other goblin.

“He wasn’t bad looking, your father, and he was in good shape, but to be honest, his attitude and that anger turned me off. I’d have put out, though. Sealed the deal, so to speak.”

Tyra’s deepening frown told me I needed to move the conversation in another direction.

“So, did his refusal cause any hard feelings?”

“Look at you, questioning me like a constable. How cute. No, like I said, it was business. If you’re looking to find out if I hurt him, think about it. Why would I do that? It’s not like I was a jilted lover. There’s no logical reason for me to want him out of the way. On the contrary, even without the agreement, I still commissioned him to do work for me. I’m already missing him for that. In fact, Tyra sweetie, maybe we can talk about some projects you can do for me.” She shrugged provocatively. “I can make you the same offer as I did with him. You don’t have some trollop on your payroll, do you?”

Tyra’s eyes turned cold.

“The girl,” I said quickly. “Girls. The goblin and catgirl. Do you know who they are? I’d like to talk to them.”

“Mmmm. I bet you do. But no, I don’t know their names. They are both at the brothel, though. The Scholar’s Respite. You can talk to Griselda and she could tell you all about it. Don’t think you have to patronize that establishment, though. I’m more than happy to offer you my services for free.”

“Thank you, but I think I’m fine.”

“Oh, you are. What a shame. You’ve got me feeling a little…adventurous.”

“I’m available,” Tip said, adopting that sleazy look and posture, like a bad impression of a 1970s lounge lizard. “What do you say we talk privately after Gar is finished questioning you?”

Yrtee swung her head around to look at Tip and rolled her eyes. “Sorry, goat boy. I’m not into hairy legs, and I don’t like that type of horny.” She gestured to his head.

Shit was falling apart. I’d asked all the questions I could think of. It was time to leave before a cat fight broke out.

“Thank you for your help, Yrtee. We’ll let you know if we have any other questions. Oh, I just thought of one. What were you doing that day when Terago was killed? In the afternoon and evening.”

“I was here all that day, along with Frida. You can ask her on the way out. In fact, if Lottie Vacor is still out there, she was in the shop in the late afternoon as well, along with probably ten other of my customers. You can check around. I’ve got records of sales from that day, if it helps.”

“It’s probably unnecessary, but I would like to look at the list of sales for that day, just in case I need to talk to any of your customers.”

“Of course. I’ll get them for you right now.”

The customer had left, but the assistant was still out on the floor. I asked her and she confirmed what Yrtee had said. Another customer came in as we were ready to leave, and he was one of the people in the store that day. He also backed up Yrtee’s alibi.

“Thank you for your help, Yrtee,” I said.

“My pleasure. Speaking of which, Tyra, think on my offer?”

Tyra nodded sharply but didn’t answer verbally. After asking Yrtee about any magical weapons in inventory—she didn’t have any—we left, Brin hiding a small, amused smile at Tyra’s reaction.

We were more than a block away when our goblin spat out, “Exclusive ‘contract.’ The little hussy.”

Brin broke out laughing and Tip smiled as he darted looks at the incensed goblin crafter.

I patted Tyra on the shoulder. “Hey, look at it as a compliment. She noticed how sexy you are and wanted a piece of you.”

“Only as a second choice to you.”

“Yeah, but she was interested, unlike with your father. It could be worse. She could be trying to woo you to take advantage of your smithing talent.”

Tyra’s face showed her confusion. I could see the wheels turning, trying to figure out which would be the greater insult. Or the greater compliment.

“Oh, come on. Let’s go back home. I feel like I need to take a bath.”

“Do you want me to go back and ask Yrtee to join you?” I shot back.

“Oh, fuck you.”

“I’m avail—” Tip started, but was interrupted by all three of us saying the same thing at the same time.

“No, Tip!”

Chapter

Thirty-Three

Our trip home was uneventful. If you consider people gaping at you and whispering and pointing uneventful.

I eyed the fourth couple to repeat the actions, a large goblin woman with a smaller goblin man. “What’s all that about?”

“What?” Tyra asked. She’d phased out again. I was starting to wonder what was going on with her.

“The pointing and whispering. The staring. What’s going on?” I jerked my chin toward the newest gawkers.

Tyra watched them for a moment before yelling at them. “What’re you looking at? Go on, get the hell out of here.” She turned back to me. “Huh. I don’t know. I couldn’t tell if they were looking at you, Brin, or me. Maybe even the lizard.”

“Hey,” Tip said. “They could have been looking at me. You know, when there’s all this sexy sauntering down the street, people are bound to go all dewy-eyed.”

Tyra laughed. “Doodoo-eyed, maybe. Or maybe you’re confusing tears for liquid eyes.”

All joking aside, I wasn’t sure what we were doing to garner so much attention. It could have been the two drop-dead gorgeous women I was with, but I didn’t think so. The looks, the whispers, those didn’t look like an attraction thing. More of a sensational train wreck kind of thing.

Whatever. I wasn’t going to let it bother me. We had other things to deal with.

One of those things was combat related. When we got home, I headed out to the training grounds to practice the forms Ilias had taught me. Tip came out with me and watched as I ran through all three at a slow speed.

“You’re never gonna hit anyone like that,” the satyr said. “You’re too slow.”

I shook my head and finished the form, then walked over to where he was sitting on a bench and promptly slapped the top of his head, right between the horns. “Do you remember what I told you the last time I helped you train? About doing all the movements carefully?”

“Slow is smooth, smooth is fast,” he said in a mocking voice.

I flicked the side of his head. “Don’t get an attitude with me. I’m your teacher and if I think you’re being disrespectful, I’ll kick the shit out of you.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re always looking for an excuse to hit me.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Really? Is that what you really think is going on? That I’m spending all this time and effort to try to teach you to defend yourself and it’s all because I get some kind of entertainment value out of it? Do you honestly think with all the other things I have happening, I’m so frivolous that I choose to do that instead of—I don’t know—helping to save the fucking world? Or helping another friend to find who killed her father, a friend that will actually appreciate it when I spend my time and effort to help out? Jesus, Tip. I knew you were an asshole, but I had no idea you were such a total prick. Fuck you. Learn to fight yourself. Or leave. Go see how long you last with umbrenix out there looking for you. I’m done with you.”

Tip’s forehead furrowed and his mouth turned down into a frown.

“I’m sorry, Gar. I didn’t mean it. Not really. I know wasting time on me isn’t something you have to do. I’m…frustrated.”

“If you talk about sex, Tip, so help me.” I shook the three-sectional staff at him. The chains rattled like the Ghost of Christmas Past.

“Nah, I’m being serious. I appreciate you helping me, but I can’t seem to do anything right. Trying to learn to move like you is tough enough, but it’s not just the combat. People don’t like me, I’m nothing but a burden on you and Brin, and I can’t change how things are.”

“Tip, first thing: no one expects you to ‘move like me.’ I’ve been fighting my whole life. Of course I can be efficient with my movements. I’m trying to teach you to improve, too. The way I did when I had to keep from getting my ass kicked every day. As for people liking you, quit trying so hard to be a douche. When you keep your mouth shut, or when you’re not around anyone new, you’re fine to talk to. When some woman enters the area, though, you become a grade-A prick.

“And the thing about being a burden? I don’t know why you feel it necessary to keep score. You’re helping out a lot by taking the notes and contributing understanding you’ve gained from the memories you’ve gotten from your magic. So what, when it comes to fighting, the bulk of it is done by me and Brin. That’s why I’m trying to help you get better. You’ve pitched in and I have no doubt you’ll do even more in the future. If you can get rid of your piss-poor attitude.”

The satyr crossed his arms and folded in on himself, his frown deepening. “I’m not a natural warrior or athlete.”

“You don’t have to be. Listen, this shit is hard. You see how it is with me. Ilias taught me those forms and I know I need to practice them. Slowly at first so I get the movements correct, then I can get progressively faster. Just because something is difficult doesn’t mean you can’t become an expert at it. I’d much rather have someone who doesn’t have natural talent in something but is willing to work than some kind of prodigy that won’t get his hands dirty or break a sweat. You get what I’m saying?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I’m serious, Tip. You need to decide what you want to do. You said your goal, your quest, is to become a hero to vindicate your people. If that’s true, you’re going to need to look inward and check that attitude. I can’t wave my hands and make you a hero or a warrior. There’s not even anything that says to be a hero you have to be a warrior. I can offer to help you, to train you, but you’re the one who has to put forth the effort. If you don’t want to, that’s your choice, but if it is what you choose, I suggest you leave us.

“We’re going to be involved in some serious shit here for the foreseeable future. If you can’t—or won’t—train to be able to defend yourself better than you already can, you’re gonna die, man. I’d rather see you back in Fanning, eating out of the trash and sleeping in the gutter, than dead at the claws of an umbrenix, or worse.

“You think about it and let me know. No one is forcing you to stay with us. If danger and fighting for your life isn’t something you want to deal with, there are a lot of other things you can do. For now, I need to do some more training. With the weapon I don’t know how to use and have to practice slowly so I can eventually use it faster.

“Whatever you decide, it’s all good, man. I’m always around if you want to bounce stuff off me. Instead of getting frustrated and butt-hurt, I mean. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Cool.”

I glanced at him as I stepped out into the middle of the training grounds again. I caught a small movement toward the house and saw Brin disappear behind a bush. I wondered how long she’d been there listening. I’d have to ask her later if I was being too harsh with Tip. Later, though. The satyr’s frown had transformed into a contemplative expression. He was thinking about it. That was all I could ask.

When I was halfway through the first form, Tip got up from the bench and walked over to another part of the training grounds, thirty paces or so from me. He drew his sword and started stepping through basic techniques I’d taught him. Slowly.

I suppressed my smile. I needed to learn more about sword work so I could help him more. I could show him how to move efficiently, maybe work him to gain a little fitness, but I only knew basic sword maneuvers. Maybe Brin would agree to help train Tip. He almost never flirted or said inappropriate sexual things to her anymore. If he put forth the effort, I’d help him in any way I could.

After an hour of practicing, Tip came over to me as I sat on the bench watching him. He asked for a few clarifications and then told me sheepishly that he needed to go back in the house and organize the notes he had taken earlier in the day.

“Good work,” I told him. “Thanks for the effort, and for all you’re doing with writing down everything for the investigation. It helps to have good notes.”

He nodded and gave me a smile before he trod back toward the mansion, Rex skittering along behind him. He disappeared from sight only a moment before Brin appeared, almost as if by magic. She ambled toward me from another direction than before, from where the crafting rooms were.

“He looks more content than he was earlier,” she said, sitting down next to me.

“Yeah. I kind of snapped at him. You heard me. I get it. There’s a lot of pressure on him, but most of it he creates himself.”

She picked up my hand and wove her fingers with mine. “You said and did exactly what he needed.”

“Maybe. Still, there’s so much he’s working on. The combat, trying to fit in with us, facing his own low opinion of himself, changing how he acts—or at least how he speaks—to please us. I know it’s a lot. Do you think you could help him with the sword? I’m shit with that weapon.”

Brin laughed. “You are not shit with any weapon, Gar, but I understand your meaning. You are unfamiliar with specific techniques and it is difficult to train someone to use a weapon by instinct. I was trained by several professional soldier trainers. I can help him.”

“Thanks. Just slap him on the ass with the flat of your blade if he reverts to his nature and says something inappropriate.” I tilted my head at her. “Then again, maybe slap him on the face. If you go anywhere near his ass, it might just turn him on. Hell, it’s turning me on just talking about it. Not you being near his butt, but mine.”

She leaned over and kissed me. “I got your meaning the first time. I will put up with none of his antics. Are you ready to come inside now?”

“In a little while. I think I’ll take a walk around the grounds, let my mind wander. I’ll see you inside in a little while.”

I got another quick kiss and she headed back to the house, stopping a dozen paces away to catch me watching her sway, and smirking at catching me.

Chapter

Thirty-Four

Iwalked one of the many paths on the grounds, this one coincidentally going toward the crafting areas. The one Brin had come from minutes before. I took a deep breath, taking in the clean air. Even with a tinge of coal smoke flavoring it slightly, it was still better than I was used to on my world. In Southern California, you didn’t find air this clean except maybe in the middle of winter. Far away from any city and the freeways.

As I wandered, it struck me just how beautiful the place was. Tyra lived in the middle of a park, the trees and bushes and flowers cultivated and maintained so well by Harlan, it was like a botanical garden. Birds flitted and small landbound animals skittered, giving a peaceful forest-like vibe.

Why was I not feeling the peace?

Dealing with Tip and his attitude, his frustration, had started me thinking. I promised I’d help him to learn to defend himself. It was so close to another familiar situation. One that didn’t end well.

I’d known Lucas for a good chunk of my life. He hadn’t known me when I was getting beaten up every day, when I was running from others constantly. By the time we’d met, I had already started fighting back. I wasn’t quite the badass I came to be soon after our acquaintance, but I was leaps and bounds above him in my ability to take and dish out punishment.

I’d taken him under my wing. Not necessarily because he needed someone, having just moved into a strange new neighborhood, but because we connected. It was my pleasure to share what I’d learned, to teach him, spar with him, back him up if necessary.

He was no slouch. He worked hard, always ready to take suggestions and advice. When the inevitable assholes in the hood pushed him, he pushed back. He got his ass kicked sometimes, having made me promise not to interfere unless they ganged up on him. He took his lumps, but he gave them, too. Soon enough, he got some respect. Even better, the bullies and thugs left him alone because of that respect. Just enough not to mess with him, but not enough to feel threatened by him. They didn’t see a need to prove themselves against him, like they did with me. It wasn’t an ideal balance, but it was comfortable.

We’d sparred more times than I could ever count. I knew how he’d react in almost any situation and we both knew if we ever got in a real fight, I’d take him apart. But we never would have. The man was the brother I never had and I would have done anything for him.

Aeyr and his goons, shadowy or not, ended that. I couldn’t help but wonder if we’d trained a little harder, if he’d had a few seconds or a lucky break, if he could have beat the umbrenix that snatched him into this world.

I had to assume from all that I’d seen and learned that anyone from my world could harm the shadows. Nothing indicated to me that I was special or had any magic or other benefits. It was my total lack of magic that made me exceptional. Were there others from Earth here, too, others who’d used that ace to survive? If so, could I find them? Maybe join forces with them?

If only I’d been with Lucas, or been faster, or something.

I sighed, realizing I’d stopped on the path, staring into the trees as I flogged myself within my mind. I pushed my feet back into motion. If only…

The forge was silent as I passed it. At first I thought Tyra had gone back into the house, but I spotted the small green woman standing still in the center of the space, her own eyes locked on nothing. I wondered what she was thinking about, though it probably wasn’t hard to guess. I almost went to her to ask her if everything was all right, but decided not to. It wasn’t for me to interrupt her thinking.

Instead, I turned toward a part of the grounds I hadn’t seen much of, one that looked even more like a forest. Shaded paths, larger trees closer together, it fit my mood better than the sunlight and lawns.

I’d barely broken into the dense shade when a voice reached me.

“Gar.”

I turned to find Tyra walking quickly toward me. I put a hand up in greeting.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “I thought you were practicing the forms Ilias taught you.”

“I was. I was helping Tip, too. I finished and decided to walk around. Let my mind wander.”

She blew out a long breath. “The grounds are good for that. You didn’t want to stop by and chat?” Her gaze swung back toward the forge. She knew I’d seen her.

“You didn’t look like you wanted to be interrupted. Like you were thinking.”

“I appreciate it, but I would have welcomed the interruption. Can I walk with you? I can do with a little mind-wandering, too.”

“Sure. It’ll be nice. We don’t get to chat that often. It’s always about the investigation or some crisis. I’ll be glad for the company.”

Her eyes went down to my hand and, for a second, I thought she was going to take it in hers, but she didn’t. She wasn’t Brin, and contact with me wouldn’t replenish her magic or anything. That’s not how her gift worked.

We strolled along, Tyra pointing out a tree she’d fallen out of when she was younger, a place where she’d found a litter of skunks, another where a fawn had gotten caught in some bushes. It was nice to learn about the little girl who had grown up to be the amazing woman beside me.

Then I had to go and ruin it.

We sat down on a bench, angled so we were obliquely facing each other. I’m not sure why, exactly, but I took that moment to ask what I’d been wondering for a while.

“How are you doing? With this whole…everything?”

She fidgeted on the bench, fiddled with her fingers. “It’s tough. I mean, my father and I were basically strangers, but the more I think about it, the more I learn from others, the more I see him in myself. I never thought it would hit me this hard. I’m not ready to say I miss him, but the whole thing…”

“It’s a trip, huh? The way things can affect us when we never thought they’d be able to.”

“Yeah. How about you? Your loss is only a few days older than mine.”

“It’s tough.” I forced a smile. “I feel like I let Lucas down. I know it’s stupid. I have no idea if he was brought to this world near where I was, or a thousand miles away. I still feel like I failed him, though. That it should have been me and not him. It makes my stomach queasy. That son of a bitch Aeyr…”

Tyra’s hand covered mine on the bench between us.

“I wish I could help with that. You’re helping me to deal with what happened to my father, trying to find who killed him and why. I can’t do anything about what’s affecting you, though. I might be able to help you with Aeyr and the shadows and all that, and I intend to, but what can I do to help you deal with what happened to Lucas?”

I put my other hand on top of hers. “Just knowing you’re near and that you want to help does a world of good. Not that Brin and Tip don’t want to help, but even if they understand loss, theirs isn’t fresh. Really, aiding you helps me the most. I’ve not only been too busy to feel sorry for myself, but sharing the pain with you and contributing my efforts to make you feel better has elevated my mood, or at least dimmed my constant irritation. So thank you for that.”

Her orange eyes locked onto mine. “I’d like to help you feel even better.”

She left it at that, which I appreciated. She’d been flirty since we met, but now was not a time for empty flirtation. We were both feeling the weight of our loss at the moment.

I leaned toward her and she met me halfway, our lips touching with the softest contact, it almost felt like pressing mine against the wind. Her scent, the warm metallic tang, reached out and caressed my nostrils.

We shifted, settling our lips more firmly together. Her tongue tentatively moved, pressing onto my teeth, and I opened my mouth to meet it with my own. Her soft humming intensified the feeling.

I shifted my hand up to caress her cheek, then snaked the other around to run it across her upper back. Her skin was soft as a puppy’s fur and the solid feel of her muscular body sent a jolt of electricity through me.

We continued the kiss, exploring different angles and gauging each other’s reactions, finally ending with less and less contact and finally drifting back away from each other as our lips lingered for one more perfect instant.

I opened my eyes to find hers a few inches away, excitement sizzling in them.

“Mmmm,” she said. “I knew when I first met you that kissing you would be better than a hot forge.”

I laughed at the metaphor. “I had no doubt you’d feel that good in my arms. You’re so damn sexy, with your perfect body.”

She wriggled her body, muscles twitching as she moved. “What, this old thing?” Her smile dropped and she grew more serious. “That felt so good, Gar. I know I come off as easy, but I’m being serious now. I meant what I said, how you’re sexy and I want you and I’ve fantasized about fucking you, but really, just being held by you would make my day. Hells, my year. I hate to seem needy, but could you just…”

“Hold you? Absolutely. It makes me feel good, too. Not in that way. Uh, okay, yeah, it does make me feel good in that way. But even better, it soothes me. Comforts me. I still don’t think we should jump right into bed. There’s plenty of time for that later. I would love to hold you and kiss you, though.”

“Yes, please. Now, and any other time you like. You’re sure Brin won’t mind?”

I picked her hand up and kissed the palm. “She won’t. We’ve already talked about it. How about we take some comfort in each other and see what happens?”

“I’d like that.” Her hand stroked my cheek. “I’d like it a lot.”

We basically made out on that bench in the middle of Tyra’s little forest. It was strange, to be honest. It aroused me, no doubt, but the more powerful feeling was the closeness, the intimacy. She had a wound that I helped to heal slightly and she aided me in the same way.

I’d had sex with women I thought were hot before. I mean, Brin was spectacularly gorgeous and I loved every lick and suck and…other things. But somehow, the connection I was forging with Tyra felt just as strong. Better, I felt like some of the negative energies or thoughts coursing through me lessened. Almost like it assuaged some guilt I felt. Maybe because it helped her too. Maybe it was simply because my affection and connection with the sexy goblin increased.

All I know is that by the time we started back to the house, I felt like I’d had a massage and had sat in a spa for an hour. My muscles were loose, even the ones in my neck that seemed to have never been anything but steel cables lately.

“Would you agree to maybe cuddling with me for a while in my room?” she asked shyly as we walked.

I narrowed my eyes at her, wondering if it was a trap and if she was trying to lure me into sex. I found only sincerity in her eyes, though.

“I think I could manage that for a little while. Maybe until dinner?”

“Mmmmm. Yes. I would offer to take a bath with you after dinner and to invite you into my bed for more serious activities, but I’m afraid it would ruin all this. I’ve never felt anything like this before. Is it possible this could be better than sex?”

My eyebrows shot up. After a short pause, we both burst out laughing. “No fucking way,” I finally said. “Still, let’s enjoy this for now, okay? This is too good to rush.”

“I agree.” She took my hand in hers, to my surprise, and pulled me down the path. Her hand was so different than Brin’s. Smaller, shaped a little differently, dotted with calluses on the pads of her palms. But it felt fantastic. I wasn’t giving her magical energy, but it felt magical all the same.

God help me, I was starting to grow attached to the small green woman.

Chapter

Thirty-Five

At breakfast the next morning, I caught Tyra gazing at me as she moved food around on her plate with her fork. When I flicked my eyes to hers, she gave me a sweet smile and looked at her food, finally lifting her fork to eat.

Brin, sitting next to me, nudged my leg with hers. After dinner the night before, she’d used the door between our rooms and hopped into my bed without so much as asking. As if she had to, anyway. We’d settled into each other’s arms and talked softly. I’d told her what Tyra and I had gotten up to earlier. She smiled at me and said it was good, that it would help both of us feel more comfortable.

With her sexy body pressed up against mine, I was anything but comfortable. We didn’t have sex, though. I dozed for a little while until finally losing the fight against slumber.

So it wasn’t too strange that she found it amusing that the goblin girl seemed a little more upbeat, a little more pensive, and a lot more obsessed with me and what I was doing.

It made me happy. We’d shared our time, our thoughts, and a little bit of our bodies the day before. We would do so again, even more so, I was sure.

Tip’s head swung back and forth, detecting the undercurrent but not exactly sure what was going on. He’d figure it out, sooner rather than later.

“So,” I said. “Vasz Volin. We’ll head over to his shop and see if we can find him. If he’s not there again, we’ll check his home again. Then, whether we talk to him or not, we’ll head over to the Forge District and to Tink to talk to those other two smiths who are Terago’s biggest competitors. If we don’t find Vasz earlier, then we can try again on the way back here.”

“That’s the plan,” Tyra said.

“Tip, do you have enough paper and ink for notes?”

“Yeah, boss.”

I wasn’t sure what thought process had Tip calling me boss, but he’d done it a few times recently. I was curious if it would stick or if he’d get tired of saying it.

We finished our meal, grabbed our supplies—for Tip, his sword and his pack with note-taking materials; for Brin, her shortsword; for Tyra, her batons and the case for them she strapped to her back; and for me, my siangham and dagger—and headed out.

Forgehaven wasn’t particularly dangerous, but it could be at times. We’d gotten into the habit of arming ourselves as we traveled to ask questions. There was no telling when someone we were questioning would take offense or if our queries got too close to the truth and caused them to lash out. I could handle most threats without weapons, as could Brin with her magic, but better safe than sorry, as the saying went.

For a wonder, we found Vasz at his shop. I hadn’t seen the infamous goblin before, but somehow he looked exactly like I thought he would. He was probably the largest goblin I’d seen. Tyra had told me that her father was bigger, by at least a little, but Vasz was damn near five feet tall. Exceptional for a goblin.

The man was the perfect picture of what a fantasy story goblin would be like in my world. Long crooked nose, scraggly black hair, beady black eyes. He wore fine clothes and unmarred leather boots, but his movements were that of a bruiser, not a skilled warrior. Sure, he had some size, possibly even some strength, but my mind automatically gauged him and disregarded him quickly.

It was a habit I’d gotten into growing up in Oakland. I didn’t even have to think about it. My senses would take in information, analyze it, and spit out a danger rating. Really, it was pretty fucked up that a kid would need to develop such a danger sense, but hey, I didn’t make the rules, just tried to live by them.

Despite my categorizing the man as no threat, he puffed his chest up, apparently deciding he would prove he was one.

“Tyra.”

“Vasz.”

That was it. One word from each of them. He eyed me and gave me a chin jerk. I chuckled. It was adorable how he tried to act tough.

“You’re the ones helping Tyra ask questions all around the city,” he said. “People are talking about you four and your…creature. Are you meant to scare me?”

With the obvious bad blood between Tyra and Vasz, I answered the question. “If it’s scary for friends to help friends figure out what happened, then I guess so. What are people saying about us?”

“You think you’re tough because you look like a guy who they made some statues of? There are plenty of people who will be more than happy to show you that you’re not really Kael the Blur.”

The conversation was not going in a way that was conducive to getting information. After a sigh, I got us back on track. “We wanted to ask you about the day Terago died.”

“What about it? Am I sorry it happened? Not really. That arrogant bastard got his comeuppance. Did I do it? No. He was a pain in my ass, but he also did good work, even if he did try to rob his customers. No businessman should ever do that. Not blatantly anyway, if you know what I mean.” He chuckled and winked at me. His ugliness made it disturbing with how ugly the man was.

“The argument you two had that day—what was that all about?”

“Same old thing. He was trying to rob me blind. Overcharge me.”

“You’re talking about the daggers he made for you?”

“Of course. What else?”

“Didn’t the two of you agree on a price before he even started the work?”

“Sure, he pressured me into accepting his price, but I found out just how inflated it was later on. So, being a reasonable business owner, I did what was appropriate. I went to talk to him to ask him to lower the price to one more reasonable.”

“You politely asked him to cut the price?”

“More or less.”

“Less,” Tyra said. I shot her a look, and she frowned but didn’t continue.

“How did the argument end up?”

“We had a discussion and he wouldn’t budge, so I had no other option than to accept that he wouldn’t change the price.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“What about what a witness told us you said?” I held out my hand and Tip handed me a paper with a note he’d written on it. “To his statement, ‘The only way you’ll get those daggers at the price you’re offering is over my dead body,’ you responded, ‘Maybe so.’”

The goblin merchant crossed his arms. “I don’t recall saying anything like that.”

“Well, the witness sure did. Where were you after you stormed out of Terago’s forge?”

“I went home to my family, ate dinner, and spent the evening with them in my lounge.”

“Did you kill Terago Tyswix?”

Vasz’s mouth dropped open. “Wha—are you out of your mind?”

“That doesn’t sound like a denial.”

“Of course it’s a denial. I already said I didn’t. I didn’t kill your old man, Tyra. You know as well as I do that he was a bastard and half the city probably didn’t mind that he was murdered. I’m not the violent type.”

Tyra barked a laugh.

“Were you having him make you a custom set of daggers?” I asked.

“Sure, but those are just for show, not for killing.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What do I have to gain from him being gone? Sure, his prices were unreasonable and he was an asshole, but he was the best at what he did. There’s no denying that. The man could do things with metal that should be impossible.”

“That sounds very much like a compliment.”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Whatever. I’d never say it to his face. He was too self-important already. If you want to find someone who would have benefitted from his death, or at least would be in a better situation because of it, there are plenty of people to talk to. Yrtee Drez, a number of other smiths, that whore he cut loose to go after someone else on a whim. Take your pick.”

“We’re talking to other people. You’re not that special. Anything else you want to say about it? A confession, maybe?”

“You come into my store and throw accusations at me. I was the one wronged here. I still haven’t gotten my daggers.”

“Did you pay for them yet?”

“No. What do you think I am, stupid?”

“If you didn’t pay for them, then you haven’t been wronged and you haven’t lost anything.”

“He made them for me. They’re mine.”

“They’re finished,” Tyra said. “I’ll bring them to you, if you like.”

“Yes, I would like that.”

“What was the price?”

“Twenty-seven gold.”

“I can have them for you in the next few days, whenever we’ll be in the neighborhood. You can come get them, if you want.”

“I might do that.”

I eyed the merchant. “Well, if there’s nothing else, we’ll be going. Other people to talk to, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah. Everyone already knows about you…you amateur constables. Good luck with your hunt. When you find who did it, give him my compliments.”

Tip packed up his notes and we left the shop.

“Asshole,” I said once the door was closed and we were on the other side of it. “In general and because even to the last he’s trying to cheat you.”

Brin looked at me in confusion. Tyra noticed and answered the moonwisp’s unspoken question.

“The price they agreed to was forty gold, not twenty-seven. Even worse, the entire argument that day centered around Vasz stating that he would only pay thirty. He must not realize that my father kept excellent records. I’ll break it to him when he comes to pick up the daggers. I’ll have to check, but I think there are fees my father set up in all his contracts that will allow me to hold the knives pending the payment of at least five gold extra in fees. If he balks, I’ll put the daggers into the forge and turn them into garden trowels.”

I laughed, not only at Tyra’s words, but her delivery. The man had really pissed her off. Like father like daughter. Not that I’d ever say that out loud.

“One more checked off the list. Let’s head to the Forge District. We have more people to talk to.”

The Forge District and Tink were sections of the city next to each other in the northwest area. In goblin fashion, Tink was the name they gave the industrial sector, where large forge operations—as well as other types of industry—were located. The Forge District consisted mainly of mid-sized and large smithies owned by a single individual or by a family. If it weren’t for Terago having his forge on his extensive estate, it would most likely be in one of the two areas where we were going next.

We found Gnilk Jonk in the Forge District. The goblin had green hair he kept short, had an average height for a goblin, about four feet tall, and was in phenomenal shape. Almost as trim and muscular as Tyra.

“You want an honest answer?” he said after we’d introduced ourselves and I asked him what he thought of Terago’s death. “Personally, I’m not sad he’s gone. Terago Tyswix was an asshole, but I’m sure you’ve heard a lot of that in talking with others. Me, though, I’ve never hurt anyone in my life. I sure wouldn’t start with a man with a famous and rich family. Now Fwergen, that man has a temper to rival Terago’s. Have you talked to him yet?”

“We haven’t, but he’s on the list.” I didn’t need to tell him the dwarf was our next stop.

“Watch him. If you ask too many questions—and too many might be just one or two—his face will turn red and he’ll move his mouth like he’s chewing something. It’s not soon after that when he’ll start cursing more than he does normally and if things continue to escalate, pay attention to his hands. He’s strong, and I’ve seen him throttle folks for no other reason than he was in a bad mood.”

“We’ll do that, thanks. Where were you the day Terago met his end?”

“I was here, like always. I had a couple of customers in, and my son spent a few hours with me, helping to clean up the forge. I’ll write all their names down for you, in case you want to check up on me.”

“Yeah. That would be great. You seem pretty calm about all of this.”

The goblin chuckled. “I heard you were asking questions and figured you’d stop by eventually. Fwergen and I are Terago’s biggest competitors. I’m surprised the constable didn’t come talk to me. None of the rumors say why you’re investigating it instead of him.”

“We want to find out for ourselves what happened,” I said. “Relying on the constable to make this investigation a priority doesn't seem wise.”

“Ha. You learned about how things work here quick. I’ll grant you that. So besides knowing I’d be talked to eventually and knowing I didn’t do anything, why wouldn’t I be calm? If it means anything, Miss Tyra, I’m sorry for your loss, but I have trouble being upset about Terago being dead. Maybe if he was a nicer person…”

“Thank you, Gnilk,” Tyra said. “You don’t have to explain it to me. I knew my father—and his faults—well. Thank you for your help as well.”

“Sure. If you need anything, you let me know. Smiths should stick together and though I haven’t had too many interactions with you, they’ve all been pleasant. So glad you didn’t take after…well, I appreciate your attitude. Let’s just leave it at that.”

Without any further questions, we headed to the next forge. It was close to Gnilk’s, right on the edge of the Tink. As we walked up, a deep, gravelly voice echoed from behind the large double doors that led into the work area.

“I told ya, don’t quench a good blade in pure water, ya daft bastard. Use the brine tank or the oil quench or you’ll send cracks through the metal. Fookin’ twit. If ya weren’t my own son, I’d send your ass onto the street to look for work that matches your level of incompetency.”

I traded looks with the girls and Tip. The satyr and I both mouthed “damn!” at the same time and chuckled.

Once inside the small room used as an office, another young dwarf—I assumed it wasn’t the son who was getting the ass-chewing—gave a nervous look at the door to the work area, sighed, then went to fetch the smith.

Fwergen Stonefoot was the stereotypical dwarf in fantasy stories. Short, squat, with long hair and beard of a chestnut color, he had massive arms and the reddened face Gnilk had warned us about.

“What d’ya…ah. Good day, Miss Tyra. These must be your friends you’ve been wandering around with asking questions of decent workin’ folk. It’s my turn, is it?”

Despite how abrasive the man was, I found myself amused at his antics.

“If you don’t mind,” I said. “Yes, we’d like to ask you some questions.”

“Did that green fucker Gnilk send you over here? He never misses a chance to piss in me ale. Uh, figuratively speaking.”

“He mentioned you, but we had already planned on talking to you.”

“I suppose he told you I did the deed, that it was me who took out Terago.”

“He only said—”

“He’s full of shit! Just because I make no secret of complaining about Terago using slave labor to make his items and then charging a king’s ransom for them, doesn’t mean I done him in. It’s clear to me that in reward for his wickedness, the gods had their retribution and justice was done. You can’t convince me otherwise.

“I didn’t attack the man, though. I purposely stayed away from him ever since our disagreement a couple of years back.”

“Disagreement,” I said. “You mean when the two of you fought in a public park and you both ended up bruised and bloody?”

“That would be the time. I don’t believe I’ve even seen the man since then. I’ve got a list of customers, friends, and family who can confirm I was here in my shop all day at the time Terago was killed. Some folks actually work during the day, unlike lazy bastards like Vasz Volin. We can’t all rely on someone else doing the work while we stomp around like we own the whole damn world.”

The rest of the interview went about the same way. After half an hour of cursing and bellowing about how unfair everything was, I accepted the list of people that could back up Fwergen’s alibi. When we left, I was exhausted simply from trying to get a word in edgewise and failing at my task spectacularly.

“Whew,” I said when we stood on the street in front of Fwergen’s shop again. “I’m glad that’s over. Why don’t we check some of these references from Vasz, Gnilk, and Fwergen. They have to be easier than dealing with that guy.”

Luckily, the lists included addresses of the customers and family members. I wasn’t sure if there were public records where we could look that information up. I thanked my luck that we were dealing with business owners who at least kept the appropriate records.

We’d only talked to a couple of people on the list before we headed south from Tink, toward more residential areas. Crossing through some alleys between a large warehouse and two manufactories, a group of shadows placed themselves in front of us.

At first I thought more of the umbrenix had found us, but it was only seconds until one of them—a human man—stepped into the light. He was no shadow monster, but the naked blade in his hand and the other weapon-toting people with him told me they weren’t there to offer us free cookies.

Chapter

Thirty-Six

Tyra followed Gar as they headed out of Tink toward a section of the city where middle-class homes lined the streets. As they crossed through an alley to get to Ember Street, Gar suddenly stopped in front of her.

“What the…?” she said before noticing that a big human with a sword blocked the space ahead. Three others closed in behind Tyra and her friends. Goblins. Two men and one woman.

The alley was maybe fifteen feet wide, but even as Tyra looked around, four other figures appeared out of the edges of the darkness ahead of her. Now, besides the three goblins behind, there was the big human, two other goblin men, another goblin female, and a rat beastkin man. Eight, all with weapons.

If she weren’t afraid it would set everyone else off, she would have grabbed her weapons. The main reason she didn’t was the goblin woman behind holding a bow and the goblin male in front of them with a crossbow raised at them. She wasn’t up for dodging arrows or bolts.

“What do you want?” Gar asked calmly, his hands in the air. “We don’t have much money on us.”

The human man flashed an evil grin. The guy was huge. Not that most humans weren’t to Tyra, but this one was a good half foot or so taller than Gar and probably one and a half times the weight. “We’re not looking for money.” He jerked his head toward Gar and things got a lot more complex.

The goblin with the crossbow, in front and to Gar’s right, brought his weapon up, aimed it, and pulled the trigger. Tyra gasped. No matter what the stories said about Kael, people couldn’t dodge a crossbow bolt, let alone catch it. Not at less than twenty feet away. Arrows, at distance? Maybe. But not bolts.

To his credit, Gar’s body vibrated like a struck tuning fork and his eyes instantly locked onto the goblin with the weapon. Maybe he could predict where the missile would strike and could at least turn a fatal shot into one that just injured him. Tyra hoped so.

But the bolt didn’t shoot toward Gar’s head like she’d feared. As the man moved his finger, he suddenly fell backward, as if someone had pulled on the back of his shirt, hard. The bolt zipped off and stuck in the eave of a building further down the alley. Only then did Tyra notice Brin’s hand stretched out toward the group standing in front of them. The goblin crafter didn’t know what the moonwisp did, but it was probably some kind of spell. It might have just saved Gar’s life.

But the Kael lookalike didn’t even waste time heaving a sigh of relief. He spun and locked his eyes on the goblin woman with the bow behind them, no doubt prioritizing her as the next person to attack. But she was having trouble drawing the string back with Rex attached to her arm, tearing at her skin.

“Good boy,” Tip said, moving toward the woman to make sure she wouldn’t be able to shake the lizard loose and use the ranged weapon.

The surprise only lasted for a few seconds before all the other muggers rushed toward them. The crossbow-wielder was still a threat as he was trying to get back to his feet, fiddling with another quarrel to slot it onto the string of his weapon. Brin drew her sword, but calmly made a throwing motion with her other hand and the goblin was suddenly bleeding from small holes that had appeared in his clothes and chest. He fell back again, this time dropping the weapon completely.

With Brin about to finish the man off and Tip and his pet taking care of the archer, Tyra felt a little better about their odds. They were still outnumbered, but it was time to show these fuckers they had chosen the wrong people to try to rob.

Tyra’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. She’d trained in combat, mostly with her steel batons, and she considered herself a fair hand at it, but this…this was different than anything she’d experienced before. If it weren’t for the two ranged fighters being taken out, one or more of her and her friends might be seriously injured and bleeding, maybe dying.

The goblin crafter had heard that in rough parts of town, sometimes groups of people fought each other like this. Like it was a proper battlefield or something. For a moment, she stood with her sticks at the ready, trying to figure out what to do. When had she actually drawn them? She couldn’t remember.

The bandits or thugs or whatever they were all charged in. Their ranged fighters had been mostly neutralized, so that was good, but there were still eight of them all together, to four of her and her friends. Okay, five if you counted the lizard, who seemed to be doing a good job in keeping the archer from getting an arrow off.

The human man, the male goblin with what looked like a carpenter’s hammer, and the goblin female with a shortsword went after Gar. The rat man, wielding a similar weapon to Tyra’s own steel fighting rods, shuffled tentatively, trying to find an opening to attack Gar that wouldn’t result in him being the first one killed by the doppelganger of the world’s most famous hero.

Brin had already done some damage to the goblin with the crossbow, but now that she had her blade bared, she stalked the man. No use in Tyra even paying attention to him. He was already dead; he just didn’t know it yet.

Tip had his sword out and was about ready to attack the woman his lizard was tearing at, leaving the two goblin men nearest the archer. One of them, the one with the two daggers, rushed toward Tip, while the other one, wielding a club, headed for Tyra.

It was the strangest thing. The man took three steps toward her, got a good look, and immediately changed direction to go after Tip. Did Tyra look that scary that he preferred to attack a satyr with a sword rather than her? True, Tip was not all that intimidating, but he was looking more comfortable with that sword she’d given him even since she’d sparred with him.

In any case, Tyra wasn’t going to stand around watching—even though that’s what she’d been doing for the last handful of seconds—when her friends were fighting. She chased after the club guy.

“Turn and go and we’ll let you leave,” Gar shouted. He seemed to be addressing the human. The guy did seem like he was the leader. Instead of an answer, he thrust his sword at Gar. At the same time, the goblin with the hammer swung it in an overhead arc and the goblin woman wound up to slash him with her sword.

In the time it took Tyra to go a step and a half, Gar had taken care of all three.

It was fast—very fast—making her believe that when they had sparred, he was probably taking it easy on her. Responding to the man’s lunge with his sword, Gar simply stepped aside half a step and twisted slightly. Pivoting, he kicked the man’s heavily weighted front leg out from under him, sending him into a tumble. With barely another twist of his hips, Gar tapped the hammer coming down at him with two fingers, redirecting it safely to the side, while simultaneously punching so fast Tyra couldn’t see his fist.

She saw the result, though, as the goblin’s nose crunched and his head snapped back. The moron dropped his weapon and put both hands up to his ruined nose.

Without breaking his smooth motion at all, Gar swung around in what Master Ilias called a leg sweep, spinning in a kind of crouch and lashing out with his straightened leg. It contacted the goblin woman’s legs at calf height and hit so hard that the woman went horizontal before she slammed down onto the cobblestones on her back. Her sword, jarred from her grip, clanged across the alley.

That wasn’t all, though. The rat man had darted in, trying to take advantage of Gar being distracted by the other attackers. He found himself facing the man who didn’t only look like the hero Kael, but fought like him, too. Almost like he’d done his prior movements to set up for it, Gar’s legs went into motion and he shuffle-stepped to land a beautiful side kick square on the rat man’s chest. He shot like a cannon had fired him across the alley to smack into the wall of a building. His metal stick skittered away from his hand to rest several feet away. Not a stick. It was a metal pipe. Fucking amateur.

Tyra reached the goblin with the club. The man threw out an attack that was, at best, half-assed. Like he didn’t want to fight her and was trying to intimidate her so she’d leave him alone. She didn’t bother with whatever game he was playing, but leaped to the attack.

One stick whipped out and smacked his weapon forcefully away, leaving him open to a flurry of blows. Four, to be precise. Plus one finisher. His weapon arm—which wrested the club from his hand—his other arm, his clavicle, his floating ribs on his other side, and then a final strike that caved the side of his skull in. With her strength and the solid steel batons, it wasn’t a surprise she could do that kind of damage. Especially with someone who didn’t seem capable of any sort of defense.

Before the body hit the ground, Tyra was turning to find her next target.

Brin finished off her opponent, knocking his crossbow to the side and cutting him down viciously with a diagonal slash that opened up his torso and belly. None of the bandits had armor on, only normal clothing, and Brin’s attack split the crossbow goblin’s tunic down the middle. He frantically tried to catch the entrails that spilled out of the wound and Brin left him to it.

Checking quickly on Gar, Tyra lost another couple of seconds. The human man had gotten back up from his fall and swung his sword at Gar. A wrist lock and a sharp pop and the sword came away in Gar’s hand. He spun, slashing out the man’s throat with his own weapon, then dropped while still rotating to land on one knee with the sword thrust out straight.

Right through the goblin swordswoman’s chest as she tried to slash at him from behind. She slumped, already dead from the precise strike to her heart.

Rex was still tearing at the archer as Tip lunged in and ran his sword through her middle. She cried out in pain and finally let go of her bow, putting her other hand over her wound. Her frantic gaze went to Rex, then to Tip. Tyra could tell by that panicked look that she knew she was not surviving the next few minutes. Tyra had a hard time feeling sorry for her.

The goblin male with the double daggers had been harassing Tip. The satyr had cleverly darted around the other side of the archer so that the dagger man would have to go past Rex to get to him. He hadn’t gathered up the courage to do it yet.

Now that he saw where things were going, the man did the sensible thing. He threw his daggers on the ground and ran for his life.

That only left…nope. The rat man, still wheezing and trying to catch his breath, took one look at the disaster that was his group’s attack and lumbered off. The goblin man whose nose Gar broke ran after him.

Brin started to chase them, but Gar waved her back. “Let them go. There’s no reason to hunt them down and kill them. There’s been enough death.”

Tyra could only shake her head. Yeah, there was enough death. She had no doubt that had Gar been alone, he’d probably have killed them all even faster than how it happened with her and her friends there. The man was a monster. She meant that in a good way.

“Everyone okay?” Gar asked. “I didn’t know you had groups of muggers in the city like that. I mean, it’s the middle of the day.”

“We don’t,” Tyra said. “Mostly. These weren’t just trying to rob us, though. They were trying to kill us. I’m not sure who the others are, but I recognized that rat.”

“Was that Chef Boyardee?” Tip said, cleaning his sword off on the archer’s shirt. She’d apparently died. Of steel exposure. Rex stopped ripping at her arm.

“Who?” Tyra said.

Gar burst out laughing. “Chef Boyardee. I thought it was only me.” He put up a fist and Tip bumped it with his.

“That rat guy we dealt with before,” Tip said. “The one with the goons.”

Tyra shook her head. “Rory Bodeen?”

“Yeah, that guy.”

She looked to Brin for help, but the moonwisp only offered a shrug. Tyra sighed. “He’s not Rory, but he is Rory’s cousin. Let’s just say that it’s a family business. Tolon Bodeen hires himself out for odd jobs. Odd illegal jobs. He’s worked for several of the crime bosses in the city. They weren’t here to steal from us. Someone sent them to kill us.”

Chapter

Thirty-Seven

We left the bodies of the ones who attacked us in the alley after checking through their pockets for anything that might be useful. None of us thought we’d find a letter that conveniently told us the plans of the ones who hired them or gave us any indication of why we were being targeted, but we checked anyway. Just because it was a convenient device for lazy writers didn’t mean it couldn’t happen, right?

“Forty-three copper, eight silver between all of them,” Tyra said. “If they were being paid decently for the job, they sure didn’t get paid in advance. Either that or they were smart enough to put the money somewhere else.”

“Why would Rory send people to kill us?” I asked. “No, don’t answer that. Better question: why would he only send eight? He saw what we were capable of. If he wanted vengeance, he should have sent more, or at least thrown better fighters at us.”

Apparently, my friends thought it was a rhetorical question, because I got no answers. We spent most of the walk home talking about the battle rather than what it meant. I congratulated Tip on doing well, and on training Rex to attack on command. Without the furcan occupying that archer, things could have gone a lot worse for us.

I noticed that Tyra didn’t take part in the conversations, but walked up ahead of us a little, silently leading us back to her house. I sped up and joined her.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah. No problem. They didn’t get a hit in.”

“That’s not what I mean. What’s going on?”

“Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“It was strange. When we fought, some of them were literally running away from me.”

“You are pretty impressive. Look at those muscles. You also hold and handle those steel rods in a way that lets anyone who sees you know you can use them effectively.”

She gave me a smile. A small one. “It’s not like that. One of the goblins ran at me, but when he got a good look at my face, he stopped in his tracks and went after Tip. It didn’t look like he was scared. More like he recognized me and wasn’t willing to hurt me. Even when I caught up to him, it was more like he tried to keep me away than try to hurt me.”

“That is strange. Why do you think it was like that?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Just another question that needs to be answered.”

We spent the evening as we normally did, discussing what we’d found during the day and comparing notes, then getting ready for the next day’s interviews. Tip and I got in some training, both together and some time alone individually.

If things went well, we’d be finished with our first round of interviews the next day. I already had a few opinions but didn’t want to mention them to the others until we’d finished gathering information. I hoped we’d find something more concrete because there didn’t seem to be a clear suspect to focus on at this point.

Tomorrow, I thought. Tomorrow we’re going on a field trip to a brothel. Should be interesting.

THE SCHOLAR’S Respite was in the entertainment district of the city, of course. Where else would a brothel be? After breakfast we’d headed over to the establishment to track down the last of the people of interest.

“Weird name for a brothel,” I said, looking up at the three-story building that took up most of the block.

“Forgehaven has been around a while,” Tyra told me. “Just about everything has an interesting story for why it’s called what it is. This place is no different.”

I looked up at the sign. It had a picture of a bed, a small table next to it with a book resting on top, and a line of text: COME IN AND WE’LL TEACH YOU SOMETHING.

Tyra continued. “It was originally a small library meant for study. Students from one of the colleges would come by but tended to group themselves in pairs to relieve tension from their rigorous studies. The owner soon realized that he could make more money catering to those habits rather than to provide a place for learning. He turned it into a brothel and became a very rich man. The place changed hands several times after he finally sold it and retired, but the name stuck. It’s an institution here in the city.”

I shook my head and opened the door for my companions. This world was very strange sometimes.

Once we were all inside, a pretty wolf beastkin woman glided up to us wearing a revealing dress and more than a little makeup. Her jet-black hair was coifed to the nth degree around her matching furry ears. She smiled seductively at me. Though I spotted some fine lines on her face, telling me she wasn’t as young as she tried to appear, she was alluring. The quantity of perfume she’d doused herself in tickled my throat, nearly causing me to cough.

“I’m Griselda, though you can call me Gris. Welcome to the Scholar’s Respite. What can I do for you? Do you want something individually or will you all play together?” Her voice was low and husky, which was unsurprising for a wolf. None of the others spoke, so I guessed it was up to me.

“We’re looking for someone.”

“Aren’t we all, honey? What kind of someone are you searching for?”

“Well, we wanted to talk to the…companion who used to interact with Terago Tyswix.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

My shoulders slumped. “This is Tyra Tyswix, Terago’s daughter. We’re trying to figure out who killed her father. We just want to ask Terago’s…”

“Lady friend,” Gris offered.

“Yes, ask Terago’s lady friend some questions. We’ll be quick. It’s important.”

The madame put a finger over her lips, thinking on it. “Which girl did you want to question?”

“I’m not sure what her name is.”

“You misunderstand me. Terago had two. One was his longstanding escort, but a month ago, he changed her for another.”

“Oh, right. We heard about that. If we could talk to both of them—individually—that would be great.”

“Tell you what, sweetie. I usually wouldn’t allow this, but things are slow. You pay for the girls’ time like you were…conducting business, and I’ll have them join you in one of the bigger rooms we use for groups your size.”

It was something I hadn’t expected, but I could respect the workers getting paid for their time. “Sure. How much?”

“Since it’s your first time here, I’ll give you the teaser rate. One gold apiece for, let’s say an hour.”

Tyra scoffed, but I pulled two coins from my purse. We still had a fair amount of money from Arinthalas’s home and the things we sold from there.

Ten minutes later, we all sat in comfortable chairs as a goblin woman with cherry-red hair, yellow eyes, and a huge chest sauntered into the room. I blinked at her, not really believing the size of her tits. How the hell did she even stand up? Her shoes must have been made of lead or something, or she was really strong.

“Trolee Gex, these are the ones I told you about,” Gris said. “You can keep your clothes on. They just want to ask you some questions.”

She didn’t bother introducing us. In fact, she hadn’t even asked our names earlier. It was probably standard practice.

“Whatchya want?” Trolee asked. Her voice was scratchy and kind of grating. I watched her mouth, expecting it to move in the act of chewing gum. Even though I wasn’t even sure if such a thing existed in this world.

“Hi, Trolee, I’m Gar and this is Brin, Tyra, and Tip. The lizard is Rex. I wanted to ask you about Terago Tyswix.”

She settled her gaze on Tyra. “Tyra. Tero has a daughter with that name. That you?”

“Yes,” Tyra said.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

“That being said, I got nothing to do with Tero, not no more. He dumped me for that hussy Meryl.”

“Meryl?”

“Meryl Aynen. The pussy girl.”

My mouth dropped open. Seemed there was a little professional competition in the old whore house. “The…?”

“The pussy girl. You know. Cat woman. Furry ears, tail.”

“Oh.” I let out a breath in relief. “A catgirl.”

“That’s what I said.”

“You know the day Terago died. Everyone in the city knows. Where were you during the afternoon and evening that day?”

“I was here. Had three clients that evening. Busy day.”

“How was your relationship with Terago?”

“It was good until he traded me in. He paid me good, but after he pushed me away, he was nothing to me. Just business, you know.”

I scratched my chin. “Do you know why he did that?”

“You seen Meryl?”

“No.”

“When you do, you may not need to ask the question. Hell, I’d fuck her. For free.”

“No hard feelings?”

“Nah. I got plenty of work.” She lifted up both breasts and jiggled them at me. “He did pay good, though. I’m sorry for the loss of the money, but now no one’s getting it, right?”

“Do you have any idea who might want to kill Terago?”

“Not me, that’s for sure. Meryl’s old favorite, I don’t think he was happy when Terago started buying up all her time. Parn, I think is his name. I’m sure Meryl will tell you all about it. You gonna do her?”

“Uh, no,” I said. “We’re just here to ask questions.”

“Fair enough. You got any more for me? We have time left. I can show you what Terago paid me for.”

A scratching of hoofs on the floor drew my attention and I caught Tip, eyes wide and slightly glazed, his mouth opening. I glared at him and answered the goblin woman.

“No, thanks. We might come back and talk to you if we think of anything else. Is there anything you want to say?”

“Nope. I’m fine. Enjoy your pussy girl. If you come by again for other reasons, look me up. I might be willing to give you a go ’round for free. Anyone ever tell you that you look like all those hero statues around?”

“It’s been mentioned. Thanks, Trolee. Have a good, umm, day.”

She winked at me and swayed her way to the door, threw a sexy look over her shoulder, and slipped out.

“Can’t I—” Tip whined, but I cut him off.

“No. We’re not here for that. Focus, Tip.”

I was pretty sure the soft sound he made was a whimper.

Meryl came in a few minutes later. I understood immediately what Trolee was talking about earlier. The cat woman was all slinky sensuality, wearing a skintight leotard-like outfit. Her hair, ears, and tail were the orange of a tabby and the way she moved was sex on ice. Her tail lashed, calling attention to one of the finest, tightest asses I’d ever seen, her slender flexible body gyrating as she closed the door behind her. She also had a chest nearly as big proportionately as Trolee’s. There was no way that could be natural. I’d seen catgirls and none of them had been that stacked.

“You wanted me?” she purred.

“I…uh, we wanted to ask you some questions.”

“Yes.”

I looked at her, trying to figure out what question she was answering. “Pardon?”

“Yes. Whatever you want to ask me, the answer is yes. You’re paying for my time. I’ll do anything you want. Anything. It’s all about you.”

Tyra stood from her chair. “We understand you were my father’s new favorite toy, after he dumped Trolee. Where were you on the night my father died and how did you feel about him? In short, did you kill him or have someone else do it?”

The cat woman rolled her head toward Tyra, calm as can be. “I take that back. The answer to that last question is no. As for how I felt about him, he was a customer. Do you know where you are, girl? People like your father pay me and I f—”

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s take this down a notch. Was there anything other than a business relationship between you?”

Meryl shrugged. “No. I had no problem with him. He was hard to get along with, but I wasn’t paying him to be pleasant. He was paying me. It’s a shame, really. He paid well and he hired me out in large time blocks. Like…what did Gris call it? Retainer. Like a big shot.”

“Where were you the night it happened?”

“Here, of course. I’d already been to my appointment with him earlier in the day, but I had work here later.”

The door burst open and a dwarf man charged in.

“There ya are, Meryl. Don’t be dodging me again. I’m here to tell ya that we’re going back to our old arrangement. You’re my girl and no one’s gonna be taking you from me again.”

I stared at the short, stout man. Between his long black hair and same-colored beard, he was a mess of tangles. Even with his bushy beard, though, his beer belly was big enough that no amount of hair or clothing could cover it up.

“Parn,” Meryl said. “Get out of here. These folks have my time hired up for an hour. Go wait in the lounge.”

The name clicked. He was mentioned earlier, by Trolee. “Parn? That’s your name?”

“Aye, ’tis. Who’s askin’?”

“I’m Gar Hailey. This is Brin, Tyra, and Tip. We’re asking about Terago Tyswix’s murder.”

“Terago.” The dwarf spat on the floor. “Rich fucker thinks he can do what he pleases, that he can take my favorite girl from me. Arsehole.”

“Did you and Terago have issues?”

“Issues? I’d have killed the bastard if I had a chance. Lucky someone else got to him first, though, I guess.”

I traded looks with Tyra. “Just out of curiosity, where were you the day Terago was killed?”

“I was here. All day. My Meryl forsook me and I was drowning my sorrows along with sweet Joni. ’Course, she can’t compare with my pussy girl here.”

The conversation never recovered from Parn’s interruption. We ended up cutting it short and telling the catgirl and dwarf we might return if we had more questions. On the way out, we checked with Gris and confirmed that all three people we talked to had been where they said they were. We took the names of the clients keeping Meryl and Trolee busy that night—another thing we had to pay for—and left the Scholar’s Respite to head back home. Tip threw sad looks over his shoulder until we turned down a street and the brothel was out of sight.

I kind of felt sorry for the satyr, but not enough to shell out some of our coin to get him laid. I wasn’t sure if that was mean of me, but afflicting some poor woman with him wasn’t really in the budget.

Chapter

Thirty-Eight

“Tyra, what do you think?” Gar asked and Tyra blinked at him. They’d come back home, had dinner, and were again in the familiar room talking about what they’d found so far in their investigations. Her mind wasn’t on it, though. She was still chewing over what happened earlier in the day. And other things.

“What?”

Gar raised an eyebrow at her. “I asked if you think we should cancel Ilias’s visit tomorrow and the training I was going to do with him so we can follow up on the list of people we still have. The ones we were told would confirm that the people we already talked to were where they said they were on the day Terago was killed.”

“No, don’t do that. You guys set that appointment up days ago. It’s important.”

“Not as important as getting the information we need about this mystery.”

She frowned at him. “Sure it is. Besides, it’s not a problem. Stay here and train with him. I’ll go track down the people on that list. It won’t take more than a few minutes for each person. I just have to ask where they were and who was with them or who they saw. I can take them in batches, make a circuit of the city, and get it all done tomorrow while the rest of you train.”

“I’ll go with you,” Brin said. “To keep you company. I can train anytime. I won’t be learning from Master Ilias directly. Gar and Tip can stay and benefit from his tutelage.”

“Are you sure, Tyra?” Gar asked. “I can postpone it. I don’t want you to have to do that by yourself.”

“I won’t be by myself. Brin just offered to go.” She winked at him. “It won’t be dangerous. It’ll be talking to regular people. We’ll even stay out of any alleys.” That made Gar’s lips go into a straight line. She put her hands up. “Oh, don’t be silly. It’s safe enough. We’ll be where lots of people are in broad daylight. No alleys and no shortcuts. Besides, we’re not helpless.”

“I know, but…you’re sure?”

“Yes. Train with Ilias. I expect you to show me something masterful he taught you when I get home tomorrow afternoon.”

“Fine. Thank you.”

As planned, Tyra and Brin headed out in the morning before Ilias showed up. She’d been thinking of the fight with those thugs. It still confused her the way they acted. The more she went over it in her mind, the more she recognized other little things in the attackers’ behavior. It wasn’t just the one goblin. Even the archer, who was closest to Tyra, trained her arrow on her for a second before shifting to another target. Others, too, looked at her funny, like they were confirming who she was and where she was positioned.

It didn’t make sense, but it did pique her interest.

“Where to first?” Brin asked, breaking Tyra’s thoughts apart. She jerked in surprise at the moonwisp’s voice.

“I figure we can head to New Money, follow up with Vasz’s family. Then we can head near Stalls and the residential areas close to there, onto the Forge District and Tink, and their associated home areas, and make our way back past the Entertainment District. One big circle.”

Brin followed along as Tyra stopped at each place on their list. The blue woman was kind enough to take notes in Tip’s notebook as they went, allowing Tyra to do nearly all the talking.

By midday, the goblin crafter realized she had severely underestimated how much time it would take. With each person, another name came up and she added them to the list. The entire process seemed silly to her. If someone was going to murder another person, she was certain they would generate a list of people who would lie for them about where they’d been when the crime happened.

“Gar explained it to me,” Brin told her when they were between locations. “If we have several people to check with, the chances of small details in their story being different are greater. If we can catch them in a lie, it reflects on the one for whom they are vouching. It may be a lot of work with no real clue coming out of it, but it could also produce something that points directly to the one who committed the murder.”

Tyra thought it sounded reasonable, at least. After a quick lunch from one of the vendor stalls selling roasted meat and assorted other foods and another trip Brin wanted to make to a leatherworker, they continued with their task.

“Last one,” Tyra said hours later. She pinched the bridge of her nose. Her eyes were tired, her throat sore, and her feet were killing her. How many miles had they walked that day?

Thankfully, the woman they talked to, one of Gnilk Jonk’s customers who lived at the edge of the Entertainment District and Seest, where Master Ilias lived, was delightful. She was friendly and helpful and—maybe more importantly—didn’t get caught up in complaining about her life or vomit details about some obscure subject upon them. They thanked her and turned toward home. Brin was a few steps behind, as she had stopped to jot something down in her book.

“Tyra Tyswix.”

Tyra turned at the sound of the unfamiliar female voice. She thought for a moment what she told Gar would not happen was happening. She reached over her shoulder for her batons, sitting in their open-ended case on her back. The speaker was not what she expected.

A black-haired woman stood before her. A human woman, she thought, and what a human woman she was. Tall, of course, since that’s what humans were, but more than that. She was gorgeous. Not the way that people usually threw the word around. Starlight-shaming, flower-embarrassing, the absolute epitome of beauty. Maybe even more alluring than Brin herself, though with pale skin instead of cerulean.

She wore extremely pale-green and sheer clothing, a dress that left her shoulders and a good part of her upper chest bare, though it extended almost to the ground. While it seemed to flow loosely, also still clung to her magnificent body, like it was part of her, or was magically affixed. Tyra herself had much more skin visible, but even covered up, the woman would snatch every eye within a mile.

“Qamara!” Brin said, finally turning to see who was confronting Tyra.

The woman smiled, and of course that made her even more beautiful. “Brinawynn. It is a pleasure to see you. Where are Garfield and Tiporian?”

“They are back at Tyra’s house. We’re staying with her. Are you looking for him?”

“Not as such. I do desire to see Garfield again, but I wanted to speak with Tyra.”

“With me?” Tyra was still trying to figure out what was going on. It suddenly came together. “Oh, Qamara Enorana. You’re not human. You’re Alari.”

The woman’s pale tan eyes locked onto the goblin woman. “I am aware. Thank you.”

“No, that’s not what…oh, you’re playing with me. Okay. You’re the prophetess who met Gar when he first came to this world, right?”

“I am.”

“And you’re looking for me?”

“Yes.”

“Ummm, why?”

“There is something I wish to tell you.”

“Okay.” Tyra glanced at Brin, watching the two with interest. “What is it?”

“I believe it is time for you to reveal the secret you have been hiding. From Garfield and Brin, and Tiporian.”

Tyra froze. How in the hells…aww, shit. Prophetess.

“You know of what I speak.” It wasn’t a question, nor was it a guess. The woman could probably read her mind.

“Uh…”

“May I visit your home and call on Garfield?” Qamara asked, as if she hadn’t just told Brin that Tyra had been keeping secrets from them all.

The goblin gave Qamara a nervous look. “I suppose. We’re heading there now.”

“Excellent. No need to worry, Tyra. I will not reveal your secret, though I do suggest you do so yourself. It will make things…easier.” The prophetess smiled at Brin. “You are looking lovely, Brinawynn. Your magical energy is greater than last we met. Garfield is aiding you with that, I assume?”

“Yes. We’ve…progressed.”

Tyra would have laughed if she wasn’t feeling so nervous. She was well aware of how things had progressed. On that thought, she hoped her little secret wasn’t going to affect her from “progressing” with Gar.

By the time the trio got back to Tyra’s house, it was nearly dark.

Tyra sighed inwardly. While Brin and Qamara chatted on the way back, Tyra’s mind whirled with what was going to happen when they arrived. To make it all worse, she was going to need to act politely, even though Qamara was a threat in several ways, including the one that involved how fucking spectacular she was. Gar was not going to even glance at Tyra as long as Qamara was around. Well, better to get it over with. The goblin took a deep breath and prepared herself.

“It’s almost dinnertime. Would you like to eat the meal with us, Qamara?”

“Why, thank you, Tyra. I would love to.”

Damn it. Of course she would. If I’d known she was going to say yes, I wouldn’t have asked her.

As soon as they came through the door, Gar and Ilias came from the sitting room to greet them. Gar’s eyes lit up—as did Tip’s—at the woman in the wispy clothing. Even Master Ilias’s eyes got fractionally bigger.

“Surprise,” Tyra said weakly. “Look who we found in the city. Or who found us. Qamara is going to have dinner with us. Excuse me and I’ll go and tell—oh, hello Klaard. Can you please set another place for dinner?”

“Of course, Miss Tyra. Miss Sivelle has informed me that she will need half an hour from when you arrive home to finish up the meal. I will inform her you have arrived and about our visitor as well.” The butler headed toward the kitchen.

Tyra gestured toward the sitting room. “Let’s all go sit down and relax. You heard the man. Half an hour until dinner. Gar, maybe you and Tip can tell us what Master Ilias taught you today. Brin and I can tell you who we talked to. Qamara can tell us, I don’t know, probably everything.” She winced inwardly at how that came out, but Qamara smiled at her. The goblin couldn’t tell if it was sincere or condescending. As much as she’d love for the woman to be spiteful, she hadn’t seen evidence of it yet.

Wonderful, she looked like that and she was a nice person. Tyra thought she had it bad with just one desirable woman in the house. She was never going to get Gar to go any further than kissing now.

Almost as if to prove her point, Gar finally made his way over to the stunning prophetess and put his arms around her. He whispered something Tyra couldn’t hear and then he kissed her on her smooth, perfect cheek. Everyone took seats after that to wait for dinner.

Though there were several opportunities for Tyra to tell her friends what Qamara had suggested she divulge, she didn’t. It wasn’t so much that the prophetess was there—she already knew what Tyra was hiding. It was more that she didn’t want to talk about it, or admit what she’d done, with Master Ilias there. So she listened, smiled, and engaged in conversation on anything but what she was going to tell them before the night was done.

After Ilias went home.

Dinner was tense. For Tyra, anyway. The others seemed to enjoy it and to be at ease. After the meal, Ilias talked to Sivelle for several minutes, but then excused himself to go home. He wouldn’t accept Tyra’s invitation to stay. It wasn’t like he had any fear of crossing the city at night.

Once she’d made the offer to Ilias, Tyra was bound by propriety to propose the same to Qamara, as much as she didn’t want the radiant woman to be in the house all night.

“Would you like to stay the night, Qamara?”

“Oh,” the prophetess said. “That’s very generous of you. If it would not be too much trouble, I would gladly accept your invitation.”

“It’s no trouble.” The trouble was keeping her face straight when Tyra said it.

“You can share my room, if you’d like,” Brin told the other woman. “The rooms here are so large, there is plenty of space for both of us.”

For about the hundredth time since she’d offered to let the others stay at her house, Tyra cursed herself for putting Gar and Brin in connecting rooms. Now there was twice as much temptation only a few paces away from his bed.

Qamara accepted Brin’s offer. Once the sleeping arrangements were decided, conversation settled down as bedtime was imminent. Qamara shot a significant look toward Tyra and the goblin woman sighed. It was about time to find out how the group was going to react to what she had conveniently left out while working closely with them every day for the last week.

Tyra cleared her throat. “I’ve got something I need to say. I haven’t been completely forthcoming about what happened with my father. There’s a small bit of information I left out.

“I…didn’t mention that something was actually stolen from my father’s forge. Something priceless. Something that, to certain people, was worth killing for.”

Chapter

Thirty-Nine

“Tyra?” I said. I hardly recognized my voice from the pain indicated in it. “You lied to us?”

“No, Gar. No. I…well, yes, I guess it’s technically a lie.”

Brin flashed a disapproving frown at the goblin. “You told us nothing was missing from the forge.”

“I’m sorry. Yes, I guess that wasn’t the truth. I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t even sure if they’d just been moved. After, when it was clear the items had been taken, it was too hard to confess. You’d moved in and we all got along so well…”

“Tell us everything,” I said. “All of it. Then we’ll decide what we’re going to do about it.”

The goblin woman deflated. I know what I said sounded like we’d tell her to go fuck herself if what she said didn’t satisfy us. Honestly, that result crossed my mind. Even though keeping busy with learning from Ilias and helping to hunt down the murderer had distracted me from my pain, I still hadn’t regained my emotional equilibrium after Lucas’s death. I had strong emotions for a lot of things, and my threshold for irritation was low. At the top of my list of things that pissed me off was how much I hated liars.

The woman was so unsettled, she even looked to Tip for support. He gave her a flat look, waiting for her to tell us how badly she’d deceived us. She actually winced at his reaction.

“Okay.”

I put a hand up. “Before you start, why are you coming clean now?”

Tyra glanced over at Qamara and it was abundantly clear to me. The prophetess must have known about it and she put pressure on the goblin.

Brin confirmed it. “Qamara showed up out of the blue as we were getting ready to come home and she told Tyra she needed to tell us her secret.”

If it were possible, Tyra got even smaller in her chair. “I know. It looks bad, like the only reason I’m telling you is because of Qamara. But that’s not true. I have been wanting to tell you, but it’s hard, you know. I’ve never had friends like you. I was afraid of ruining it.”

“Just tell us.” I let out a long breath. The situation wasn’t getting any easier.

“All right. I’ve told you before how good my father was. At smithing, I mean. He was shit at just about everything else, but as a smith, he was the best. I’m not just saying that because he’s my father, either. You’ve heard everyone we’ve been interviewing. Working metal is in my family, has been for generations. Though most of them would only admit under torture, it’s recognized that he’s a master. When I lived here with him, there were people at least every few weeks begging him to train them. I heard one successful smith offer him a hundred acres of prime land, along with a ridiculous sum of money, just to teach him for a month.

“He never would. It’s probably no surprise that Terago Tyswix didn’t like people much. One time, he told me, ‘There is no reason for me to teach others the techniques I have discovered through my own labor. If they were meant to know them, then they would figure them out themselves.’

“That included me. He taught me the basics when I was young, gave me tips as I grew and got more skilled, but nothing he ever told me was something I couldn’t have heard from other experienced metal workers. It was like he decided decades ago that he would die with his secrets and no one, especially an undeserving daughter, would benefit from his expertise.

“Well, that’s what he said. I visited several months ago and was in the forge with him. Someone called on him and he went to the house to talk with them, leaving me in the forge. I wandered around, looking at his projects in process and even some finished items that he’d kept, for some reason. In my searching, I found the tomes.”

“The tomes,” I said. Her long-winded explanation wasn’t doing anything to calm my anger and feelings of betrayal. If she didn’t get to the point soon, I’d push her along.

“Yes. He’d begun writing instructions, detailing the very techniques he’d always sworn he wasn’t going to divulge. I only got a chance to glimpse them before I heard him stomping back toward the forge, muttering to himself as he sometimes did, so I wasn’t sure how extensive they were, but I recognized his own brand of smithing wisdom, in the same tone he typically dispensed the lesser wisdom: in a condescending manner.

“I thought a lot about those books. He’d had one filled and started on another back then. Who were they for? What was he going to include? When would he let someone else read them? I’d assumed it was to be his legacy, the things that survived him, and that he’d save them for when he died. I dared to dream, once or twice, that he was writing them for me. That he didn’t actually think I was worthless and hopeless. That it was all a test to gauge my worthiness. Of course, each time I did, his voice came through in my mind. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Tyra. Why would I even waste the paper these are written on to give them to you?’”

Tyra paused for a moment and sucked in a breath. Almost like a gasp. Or a sob. “Anyway, when I came to visit a couple of weeks before his death—you remember Sivelle talking about that argument—I saw the tomes again, sitting off to the side in his forge. There were three of them by then. I didn’t know if he’d finished writing them. Probably not. What my father knew…just what he knew that no one else did, it would fill half a dozen books at least. The man was like a mage, but with metal instead of magic…”

The room took on a somber feeling. Damn the woman, but despite her hiding this from us, I felt sorry for her. What kind of asshole father disparaged such a wonderful and talented daughter? In that moment I could understand completely why someone would want to kill the fucker.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m easily distracted. As my father often said. So, I saw the tomes two weeks before he was killed. When I searched the forge for anything that would help me understand what happened the day after he died, I looked for the books, but they weren’t there. I was not in the mood or the right mental state to look elsewhere, but I did try to find them several days later. I continued to search the forge, the storage rooms, even in the house, but they were not to be found.

“We’ve spoken many times about how nothing was taken when my father was killed. We point to it to show that it was not a robbery, but a killing, plain and simple. That’s why I knew I needed to tell you all about it. I don’t know why other things weren’t taken, but the tomes were. That means they were probably what the killer came for. I tried to convince myself that maybe the murderer saw them and decided in the moment to take them, but I was fooling myself. For a smith, or someone who wanted to sell them to a smith, those three books were the most valuable items in the forge. On the estate. In the whole damn city.

“Of course, there’s always some doubt. What if he’d written them for someone else, already gave them away? What if he took them outside the estate and hid them? That doubt is what my mind latched onto, justifying not telling this to all of you.

“There was also not knowing you well at first. My father kept those books secret, even to me. I wasn’t sure who I could trust to maintain the secret that they existed.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you and that I wasted your time with interviewing all those people, but it was so nice—so comforting—to have friends and a project to distract me, I couldn’t bear to ruin it all. I know it’s no consolation, but I’ll pay you for the time you’ve spent. I’ll do anything you want to show you how sorry I am.”

The goblin woman chewed on her lower lip like she was waiting for judgment to come down. I was still miffed that she hadn’t told us, but I also wasn’t so naïve as to not understand how a little mistake could snowball. She hadn’t done it maliciously and once time had passed, I got it how the pressure built within her, afraid we’d abandon her in anger. I thought her distraction and contemplative moods had been an effect of her father’s death. Maybe some of it was her thinking about the tomes and telling us about them.

Damn it. Watching her nervously awaiting our response, her eyes wide and shimmering, how could I smack her down? She wasn’t playing the pity card. That wasn’t how Tyra Tyswix did things. I think I’d come to know her well enough to figure that out.

“Oh, come here.” I stood and opened my arms wide.

She blinked at me. In her eyes, I saw a flicker of suspicion. Like I was playing a cruel joke on her, only to snatch it back at the last moment. Is that what her asshole father would have done? This whole thing was fucked up. I flexed my wrists, motioning her toward me. She finally went into motion and stepped into my embrace.

“We’ll talk more about this, but I figured you might need a hug. We’re also going to have to talk about how this changes things. With a motive like the theft of a priceless treasure, one that’s specific to certain types of people, we’ll have to go back over all our notes and rethink things.”

“You…you’ll still help me? Even though…”

“Even though. Don’t mistake me. You ever lie to me again and I’ll leave forever. Got it?”

She laid her head into my chest and put her arms around me. “Got it. Thank you. For everything. You don’t just look like a hero, you know?”

I shifted my eyes to Brin, who wore a little smile, as did Qamara. I winked at them. We’d be talking about this later as well, without Tyra. I was glad they seemed to agree, but I wanted to make sure. Tip even flashed me a thumbs up.

“There’s nothing else you forgot to tell us, is there?” I said softly into Tyra’s orange and blue hair.

“Nothing about the murder or investigation,” she whispered. I could barely hear it, muffled as it was and vibrating against my chest. My upper abdomen, anyway. “If you want me to tell you everything, there are some fantasies I’ve been having…”

I laughed and kissed the top of her head. “You can keep those in your own mind. For now.”

She froze, not even breathing, for a few seconds. Then she sighed and tightened her grip around me. “For now.”

Tyra turned in early, claiming she wanted to go and soak in the bath before going to sleep. We all bade her goodnight and continued talking in the sitting room. As expected, Tip had no problem broaching the tough subject.

“What’re we going to do?”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “What are we going to do about what?”

“About what she said. What she hid from us.”

“What do you think we should do, Tip?”

The satyr shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not happy she lied to us, but it doesn’t seem like she was trying to hide anything specifically to cause harm.”

“I agree,” Brin said. “When she asked us to help with finding out who killed her father, she didn’t know any of us. Even now, we have only been acquainted for a handful of days. I think she trusts us enough to tell us what she’s been hiding. If those books are as priceless as she said, they would not be something to be mentioned idly.”

“But should we trust her?” Tip scratched the patchy facial hair on his jaw. “Is she hiding something else, or lying about another thing?”

They were both making good points. “The way I look at it, there’s no real harm from the information she withheld. I don’t like to be lied to, but I can understand not wanting to tell us everything after just meeting us. I’m fine with carrying on as we’ve been doing. If she lies again, that’s another story, but for now, I still want to help her. I originally agreed because she lost her father and I felt like her getting some closure could help. I think that’s still the truth. If any of you think we should leave, tell me now.”

Brin looked at each of us in turn. Even Qamara. “I am in agreement that we give her another chance. I, too, do not believe she kept the information secret for ill intent.”

“Sure,” Tip said. “I like her. I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt.”

I turned toward Qamara. “What do you think, Qamara?”

“Me? I have had no part in this investigation you are carrying on.”

“Yeah, but you already knew she was hiding something. If you knew that, you might know something else that’s pertinent.”

“Suggesting to Tyra that she inform you of certain indiscretions is one thing. Divulging information belonging to another—or about another—is quite different. My role as a prophetess must be carried out within the most stringent of ethical guidelines. It would be unbecoming if I shared what I knew about someone else. Anyone else.”

I put my hands up. “Whoa. I’m not asking you to tell me anyone’s secrets. I’m just asking if you think we’re right about letting this ‘indiscretion’ slide. I feel like you’re part of our little group, and I trust your judgment, so I want your opinion. If you’re willing to share.”

The prophetess narrowed her eyes slightly at me. “You feel I am part of your small company?”

“I do. If you want to be. You’re my oldest friend in this world.”

“I often have tasks to complete in various locations.”

“I understand. I know you won’t travel with us all the time, but if you want to, you’re welcome to join us in whatever we’re doing. I’m even fine with helping you with your tasks. As long as it doesn’t conflict with my overall goal of finding Aeyr and helping my friends with their goals, I’m willing to aid you, too. Once I’ve finished that, anything you want help with, I’ll be there with you, if you want my assistance.”

“That is very kind of you, Garfield. I may accept your aid, at times. For the present, I do not believe that Tyra Tyswix tried to deceive you purposely. If she had a nefarious goal, I would not have suggested that she share the information. I would have acted to prevent anything untoward from happening to you. My friends.”

“That’s good enough for me,” I told the black-haired woman. “We’re all in agreement, then. We’ll shift our investigation based on the new information we’ve received and get back to work on it tomorrow. For now, if you all don’t mind, I want to try some things I thought of today, a combination of what Tyra has told me and what Master Ilias taught me applied to communing with my weapons. I’m anxious to try it out.”

“Might I help you, or at least witness what you do?” Brin asked.

Qamara leaned toward me. “I, too, would be interested in what you do, if it involves the weapon I gave you.”

“It involves both the weapons I’ve got. The siangham you gave me and the three-sectional staff Tyra gave me.” I met eyes with Tip. “We can make it a group effort, if you want to be part of it, too. It’ll probably be boring, with me silently meditating and trying to reach out with my mind, but you’re welcome, too.”

The satyr shrugged. “Sure. I don’t have anything planned. Maybe I can pick up something that’ll help with my training. Just what I learned from Master Ilias today in those few minutes during your breaks from learning forms for your weapon have given me a lot to think on and practice.”

“Okay, I guess we might as well do it right here, then. Hopefully Klaard will forgive us if we move some furniture around to make a clear space in the center of the room.”

Chapter

Forty

Iretrieved the three-sectional staff from a table in the corner of the room where I’d set it earlier. My siangham was already in the long pocket along my thigh, my ever-present companion. When I dropped to the rug in a cross-legged position, Brin did so as well. Surprisingly, so did Qamara.

After a moment, Tip also sat down, though he had an extra set of knees that bent the opposite way from ours, so he knelt instead of trying to tie his hairy goat limbs in knots.

My eyes went from one companion to another, the three of them in a circle around me. It struck me as strange to have companions surrounding me like we were going to do group meditation, but hey, I’d been snatched by living shadows and pulled into another world. Strange was normal in my life nowadays.

I closed my eyes.

Though I like to think that I sensed my friends around me, I don’t think I did. I was no yogi or qigong master or mage. I could almost feel them pressing close to me, detect their breaths so close I could reach out and touch them, but that was because I knew they were there already. I did my best to push them out of my mind and to concentrate on what I was trying to do.

Thanks to plenty of practice with Brin, I produced an image of my weapons in my mind. She’d helped me to get the slight tingling that she explained as the beginning of the connection between me and the siangham, and Tyra had helped me further to feel a kind of warmth from the items. I couldn’t honestly tell if it had gotten any stronger in all my practice, but I think it probably did.

Now I wanted to extend that to the other weapon. And to increase it in power.

I’d played around with what Tyra had shown me. Her ability to look into the materials from which something was made provided a unique insight. I took what she told me, then changed it a little bit to be more in line with what I knew about chemistry. Just the standard stuff, like how all matter was made up of atoms.

I created a journey in my mind, diving into the macro structure of the wood and metal, then into the compounds, the molecules or crystal lattice structure, and channeled my best approximation of Ant Man or the Atom, superheroes that had been doing such things for decades in the comics of my world.

Standing—or rather, floating—in a miasma of what made up the siangham, I felt for the first time a kinship with my surroundings. I mean, yeah, it was wood and metal, but it wasn’t so different from what I was made up of, when it came right down to it. I had more water, but also minerals and structures that could be broken down into atoms.

Something drew me, some kind of force. I thought it might be electromagnetism, or something similar, but hell, it could just have easily been gravity or one of the nuclear forces. I let go all ties and floated, allowing it to drag me where it would.

Suddenly, I understood more of the item. It was kind of like learning something new about a friend. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but intuition told me how the siangham would react in certain situations. Like if I tried to nudge it one way or another, structurally.

I tried so hard that after countless minutes, I realized that outside of my mind I was sweating. Still, I hadn’t done anything significant, even if it did feel like I’d had a workout.

What good, exactly, that new information did for me, I had no idea. It seemed important, though. Try as I might, again and again, I couldn’t change the simple weapon.

Simple weapon.

I shifted my focus to the three-sectional staff. It was by no means a complex weapon or item, but things couldn’t be much simpler than the siangham. The triple stick had moving parts. That seemed like it might be important, at least right now, at the beginning of my exploration.

I dove into it as I had with the siangham and found that familiar feeling of being part of the structure of the weapon. I phased through the length of it, like I was Superman flying in a long pipe. Until I ran into the end of one section. The metal cap and the chain that attached the two sections were different than the wood. That’s obvious, but I mean it was really different. The way it felt, the way it acted, it was as foreign to the feel of the wood as air is to frozen water in the Arctic Ocean.

That realization gave me an idea. I decided that I wanted the chain—metal—to act more like the sturdy wood. No movement, no jingling when jostled, just solid, uniform, and, most of all, static material of one piece, fused together.

Little things shifted, almost imperceptible if I hadn’t been smack dab in the middle of the object itself. In my mind, of course, but still.

The first indication of success was a hollow pop and Brin taking in a sharp breath. I opened my eyes to find her staring at the three-sectional staff. At the junction between one of the end sticks and the middle, to be precise.

“What?” I asked. She pointed to the chain next to the end cap.

It looked like it had been attacked with a torch and started to melt into slag. More importantly, as I moved the weapon, that small section wouldn’t shift. I felt it with my hand and it wasn’t hot. It also didn’t really feel like metal anymore. Maybe a cross between steel and stone, or possibly even moving toward wood.

“Huh. That’s strange.”

“What did you do, Garfield?” Qamara asked. “I felt something. Not precisely magic, but some type of alteration. Did you just manipulate that weapon?”

“I don’t know. I was sure trying to. How long have I been sitting here with my eyes closed?”

“Perhaps three quarters of an hour?”

“Whoa. I was exploring the materials from which my weapons are made and I tried to make it so the chain wouldn’t move. I tried to make it solid, like the sticks.”

Brin leaned in and looked carefully at the chain. “I would say you have done something. Can you make it progress further? It would seem that you started to make the chain immobile, but it is but the first step on the path.”

“Let me see what I can do.” I took a deep breath, then closed my eyes again.

I was easily able to go back into my former frame of mind and I worked for the next hour or so on doing what Brin had asked. At the end of that time, I had a three-sectional staff that, to all appearances, had been ruined. The section of chain I’d worked on was a misshapen lump of dense wood, kind of like burl growing on redwoods. It did stabilize and immobilize the weapon, but the thing would be unusable in its current condition. Seriously, it looked like the first attempt at stick welding, if it were possible to weld with wood slag.

“Well, shit. I took that beautiful weapon Tyra made and I turned it into an ugly piece of shit. She’s so going to hate me for this.”

Qamara laughed. I tried to remember if I’d ever heard the sound from her before. I liked it, a pure, happy, joyful sound, like birdsong and the wind. “Garfield, have you made such a great leap without understanding any of it? If you created these changes, you can also undo them. I believe it will be easier than making them to begin with. Simply reverse what you did. If you continue to practice, perhaps you can control it better and manipulate the items in many useful ways.”

“Oh, right. I better try to undo it now. I do not want Tyra to see it in this condition.”

If anything, it seemed to take even longer to get the weapon back into its original condition, but I did get it there. Inspecting it afterward, moving the chain around while watching it closely, relief washed over me. I hadn’t ruined it after all.

Then it hit me.

“Shit.”

“What now?” It was the first time Tip had spoken since we’d all sat down. He’d been watching with interest, though.

“I just realized what I did. What it means. I went inside the weapon, the materials it’s made from, with my mind. My mind! Then, I changed its structure. I don’t know if chemically, atomically, it actually changed, but imagine what else I might do. If I can change a metal chain to some kind of hybrid wood thing that’s closer to the stick, could I change wood into metal? Can I change its shape, make it pointy or edged? Can I stretch it? This shit is crazy. It’s like a superpower, or…”

“Magic,” Tip said.

“It is not magic,” Qamara corrected. It felt like a slap in the face. She must have noticed my expression because she rushed to explain. “I mean no insult. I know it must feel unfair not to have magic in a world where everyone else does, but what you did, it was not magic. Magic obeys certain rules and in addition to my gift of vision, I also have keen senses of magical power. I can feel magic. When it is used, when something is touched by it, what is accomplished with it. What you did was not magic.

“Perhaps Tyra can explain it better, since her gift is seeing into the structure of things, but I believe rather than magic, you are simply harnessing a simple rule of the universe. You, I, and everything else are made from the same stuff. The building blocks of both living and nonliving things are the same, and you have developed an affinity with your weapon as kindred objects made from those same blocks. What you did is better than magic.

“Magic is a complex interaction between the forces of different things. For one who has the power and the knowledge, magical effects can be interfered with. Blocked, even. If you are doing what I believe, your manipulation of the materials from which your weapons are made cannot be undone by anyone but you. They cannot be blocked or interfered with. If you desire them to be permanent, convincing the material to be so, they will be permanent.”

I scratched my chin. “Okay. That’s great, but so what? Even if I can change a stick into a sword, and can learn to do it in less than an hour, what difference does it make? It’s easier to go buy a sword.”

Brin took up the discussion. “Gar, this is but the first step on the path. I do not know the possibilities, the extent to which you can use this. It will be something you learn as you progress. I’m sure you will become more proficient, and faster. It would not surprise me if, with practice, you could change the shape of items you commune with during battle. Changing a sword into a shield in time to block a powerful attack, or some such action. Do not disparage what you have learned simply because it lacks the label ‘magic.’

“Work at it, speak with Tyra. To us as well, and to others who may have knowledge or ideas to help. Master Ilias, other crafters, warriors, the possibilities abound.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. It is kind of cool. I’ve got a few ideas that might be useful if I can get to the point where I can make the changes more quickly. I’ll get to work on it. Thanks. Right now, I’m happy enough that I don’t have to tell Tyra I changed her beautiful weapon into a lumpy, unusable door stop.”

I was done with trying to work with the weapons for the time being. Sitting in one place and working like I had with my mind, I was exhausted.

“I think I’m ready for bed,” I told them. “What are you three going to do?”

“Bed is my choice as well,” Brin told me. “This day has been trying, emotionally and mentally.”

The other two agreed and we headed upstairs, Brin’s hand finding mine as we walked and slipping into our normal hand-holding gait. Tip peeled off to his room, saying his goodnights, I went into my room, and the two women went a little farther down the hall to open Brin’s door. The blue woman gave me a wink as she disappeared.

I wasn’t positive, but I thought that meant I would be seeing her soon. My heart jumped in my chest. After a long day, seeing my gorgeous moonwisp in a more intimate setting sounded like just the thing.

Chapter

Forty-One

I’d only been in my room for a few minutes when a soft knocking came from the door to Brin’s room. I opened it to find the blue woman standing there in her underclothes. I’d seen her several times in the ultra tight tube top and her panties, but I was in no way bored with doing so.

“I thought maybe you would accept some companionship,” she said.

I took much too long to drag my eyes to her face. Her body screamed for attention and I was powerless to resist.

“Sure. But what about…”

Qamara slipped past Brin into my room, looking around curiously. She had on a bikini top that seemed to be made of the same material as her green dress, but the dress was nowhere in sight. Instead, she had tiny, tight panties that I was usually only able to catch a glimpse of through her skirt as the wind and the light allowed. I’d seen them before—even seen her naked—but the sight still spiked my heart rate.

“You are correct, Brinawynn. The rooms are almost identical. Interesting, this configuration with the doorway between them. Very…convenient.” The prophetess dragged her finger across my cheek. “Hello again, Garfield. Thank you for inviting us to your room.”

I met eyes with Brin and she gave me a shrug. I wasn’t sure exactly what this was, but I wasn’t above entertaining two stunning women in my room.

“Make yourself comfortable,” I told them. “There’s some wine and water in the sitting room. I’ll go get it.”

I left the two to explore the room, though I didn’t see the reason. Brin had been in my room as much as she’d been in hers and, as Qamara had said, the two were basically the same anyway. I didn’t question it, though.

When I came back with the pitchers and cups, I found the two women sitting on my bed, eyes locked and softly conversing. I cleared my throat, but neither looked to me. Instead, Qamara spoke.

“Don’t you think Brinawynn’s eyes are spectacular? I can scarcely keep from staring into them. Have you noticed the flash of blues and yellows within the green?”

Brin’s cheeks colored, but she kept her gaze on Qamara’s. Even when the prophetess leaned forward and put her lips softly on the blue woman’s.

I almost dropped the pitchers, my attention focused solely on the two women. When the hell had that happened? What the hell was it?

“Mmmmm,” Qamara hummed. “I can taste the magic within you. I have never been so close to a moonwisp. You are divine, Brinawynn.”

Brin’s hand had found Qamara’s hand and held it while she flicked her tongue out to tease the prophetess’s lips. “You are so sexy, Qamara. I hope you do not mind me saying so. Your lips are very soft as well.”

“I don’t mind. May I put my lips on you some more? Perhaps in places other than your lips?”

Brin let out a shaky breath. “Yes. Please.”

I wasn’t sure if I should interrupt them. I wasn’t sure I wanted to. Both women’s hands started moving, stroking the abundance of uncovered skin as their kisses got deeper and their movements more urgent. Both tongues came out to play now, seeking each other and gliding over the other woman’s.

It was Brin who first slid her hand under a bit of clothing. Her fingers grazed Qamara’s breast, trailing just under the cloth covering it and pressing softly on the nipple. The cloth clearly showed the little nub increasing in size and pressing on the fabric.

“Huh.” Qamara put a hand on Brin’s cheek and sucked her lower lip into her mouth. Then she dropped it to help the blue woman out by pulling down the cloth covering her breast and pressing Brin’s hand further onto it. She threw her shoulders back and pushed her chest out, increasing the contact even more.

“Do you like that?” Brin asked.

“I do. There are many other things I enjoy. Perhaps you can help me with them.”

“I would love to.”

The prophetess’s eyes drilled into Brin’s and she extracted her other hand from Brin’s grip. She moved it, making sure the moonwisp’s eyes followed, and she brought it up to tweak her own nipple. As she did it, and pulled it toward Brin, her mouth opened and her chin raised. The most delicious moan escaped her lips.

Brin’s eyes widened at the sight, then narrowed as she repeated what Qamara had just done to herself on the other breast.

“Mmmmmmm.”

I set the pitchers down and absently put my hand to my crotch to shift my member. It indicated its desire to straighten completely and I wanted no obstruction.

Both women’s heads snapped toward me. Damn good peripheral vision.

“I’m sorry, Garfield,” Qamara said. “We came here to help you enjoy the evening, but it seems we have gotten caught up in enjoying each other. May we offer to make it up to you?”

“I…uh…it’s not a problem. What you’re doing is…wow. It’s really sexy.”

Brin crooked a finger at me and put on such a sexy expression, it’s a miracle I didn’t cream my pants right there. Like she had me on a line and reeled me in with the motion of her finger, I walked toward the two.

“I think I may owe you an apology, Garfield,” Qamara said. “I believe it’s obvious that I enjoyed our other encounters, but in speaking with Brinawynn, I think maybe I have not been clear about a few things. I do enjoy you, your body. However, I also feel a connection to you, an emotional attachment. I would not want you to think the attraction is purely physical. I find myself thinking about you often. I enjoy a certain attachment to you that goes beyond you helping to replenish some magic or even beyond simple pleasure. It is important to me for you to know that.”

“I like you too, Qamara. I agree that the sex is great, but I felt an attachment to you when we first met, even beyond you being so beautiful and sexy. You also have proven to be a good friend, helping me both times we’ve encountered each other.”

“I’m happy we could share that. Also that you have developed a relationship with Brinawynn. She is not only extremely alluring and sexy herself, but she is magically powerful and she is a loyal companion for you. I think she needs to be rewarded for that, don’t you?”

My eyes flicked to the red-haired, blue-skinned woman. “Definitely. She is very important to me and I love to show her that.”

“Allow me to aid you?” Qamara asked, her mouth curving into a smile so sexy, it caused my dick to twitch.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Qamara kissed Brin again, then leaned back to first take her own top off, then to snatch Brin’s and pull it over her head. Both women inspected the other’s breasts and I could swear the heat in the room went up ten degrees. I know I felt hotter. It was probably my body that heated the room.

Before I even reached them, the prophetess put her mouth on Brin’s left breast and sucked her nipple into her mouth. I joined her quickly, giving the other one the same treatment.

Brin’s eyes rolled and she threw her head back. I shifted quickly to kiss Qamara, but then went back to teasing Brin’s nipple with my tongue.

“Yesssssssss,” Brin hissed. Her hands scrabbled at Qamara’s chest and my shirt blindly, her eyes mere slits and pointed toward the ceiling.

I kissed up Brin’s chest, to her neck, and nipped at her, nibbling upward until I reached her mouth. Our lips were well acquainted and we easily slid into a long, passionate kiss as she moaned softly into my mouth. Qamara continued to service Brin’s breast, but her hand moved slowly down her belly to the panties that were the only clothing still on the blue woman.

Brin’s breathing accelerated as Qamara’s hand got closer to its target.

“Huh-uh-huh-uh-huh-uh.”

“Mmmmm,” the prophetess hummed with Brin’s nipple firmly sandwiched between her teeth.

Brin’s hips started to preemptively thrust.

I kissed Brin one more time and slipped around behind her as she sat on the bed. Wrapping my arms around her from the back, each shift and thrust in the moonwisp’s body pressed her against me to excite new pleasure centers. Qamara’s hand had reached Brin’s treasure and stroked it softly outside her panties, while I put one hand on Brin’s breast and the other joined Qamara in heating up the blue woman’s lower region. I kissed and bit at her trapezius muscle and her neck.

“Oooooh. Oh-huh-uh-huh-uh.”

I caught Qamara’s eye and she smiled at me, then looked toward Brin’s crotch, as if to point my attention there. Yeah, I know. I’m working it already. It took a few seconds to realize what she was doing. Her fingers had slipped under the edge of Brin’s panties and held them a few inches from the tight, blue skin underneath them.

I growled in my throat and took the invitation. My hand slid under Qamara’s, under the cloth, to slide along the soft, short hair around Brin’s pussy. I didn’t need the slushing sound to know how wet she was. The warm wetness was evident on my fingers.

I lifted my hand to my mouth and licked my fingers. The faintly fruity taste with a pinch of salt was as wonderful as always. At Qamara’s keening moan, I dipped my fingers into Brin’s junction again and then offered it to the prophetess. She sucked my fingers into her mouth.

“Mmmmm.” She smacked her lips. “Moon goddess, Brinawynn, you taste as spectacular as you look and smell. May I lick you?”

“Oh.” The word sounded like an anguished moan from the moonwisp. “Yes. Yes, please.”

Qamara had the panties off in a second and put her face to Brin’s crotch. I kissed the blue woman from behind, rubbing her breasts and nipples in a circle as Qamara’s tongue touched Brin’s wet slit.

“Ooooooh. Huh-uh-huh-uh-huh-uh-huh.”

Brin was strong, and the urgency with which she thrust her hips and the rest of her body writhed could not be denied. I held her as best I could, kissed her, and played with her tits. It took less than two minutes for her to build to a crescendo. The sound of Qamara lapping up juices from Brin’s pussy went straight to my dick, which Brin had found with one hand and was awkwardly stroking through my pants.

“I want to do the same to you, Qamara,” Brin said when her breathing had approached normal again.

“I would enjoy that. Garfield, will you let me use my mouth on you?”

I let loose an explosive breath. “I would love that, Qamara.”

We rearranged, with me lying on my back on the bed, Qamara on all fours on the bed with her head between my legs, and Brin kneeling on the floor to access Qamara’s firm ass and glistening slit. Brin slid Qamara’s panties—soaking wet by the darker color—off the woman and dropped them on the floor. By the time they settled, her mouth was there, already starting on the prophetess.

“Ah-ah-ah. Yes, Brinawynn. Yes. Cresanto pedale emi.” Qamara dipped down and took my cock in her mouth, surrounding the head with warm, wet flesh.

My eyes crossed and my mouth opened with a long moan. Between her interaction with Brin and the sudden engulfment of my shaft, I was instantly in a cocoon of euphoria.

“Oh, damn, Qamara. That feels so good.”

She hummed around my dick, sending the most delicious vibrations along the length of it. I felt her body thrash in response to Brin’s activities. It was a shame I couldn’t see exactly what she was doing, but my mind kindly created images from my imagination. All of which doubled my excitement.

My hips jerked and pushed without my direction or permission. When Qamara did something with her fingers, wrapping the base of my cock in a way that increased the feeling of everything else she was doing, I started panting like a dog lying under a fourth of July barbecue.

But I wasn’t alone. I wrenched my neck to catch glimpses of Brin, her head moving as the soft slushing noises came from out of sight, behind Qamara. A blue hand moved between the moonwisp’s legs, though, rubbing vigorously at her own slit as she licked and sucked the prophetess.

What started as humming increased to growls and then screams around my dick as Qamara’s body thrashed and the rhythm of what she was doing to me broke to pieces. It still felt fantastic, but half of that might have been experiencing the frantic motions of the woman as she neared her own climax.

The prophetess clenched down on my shaft with her hand. It didn’t quite reach the level of pain, but it was damn close. That made it feel that much better. Then Qamara’s head stilled as her body went into overdrive.

The muscles in her back tightened in spasms, the skin glistening with perspiration showing the striations etched along her form. The rounded edges of her ass shifted, tightening then relaxing, moving as she thrust backward into Brin’s waiting mouth.

Brin was moaning now, too. Not quite like she was going to climax, but it was obvious she was enjoying what she was doing to Qamara, as well as what she was doing to herself.

I forced my eyes to keep from going blurry. After all, I still had a delicate, soft, skilled hand on my dick, and half of it was still within Qamara’s mouth. For the moment.

What I expected soon came, and I mean that in all the implications. Qamara pulled back from my hard member, keeping her lips tight so the head of my cock made a popping sound as it left its warm home. Once it was clear, she moaned loudly.

“Ooooooh. Forisen. Forisen. Tusara ritu emanse. Brinawynn, your tongue is from the goddess. Lick my pussy, lick meeeeeeeeee.”

The prophetess’s body jerked and she let out a long, whimpering moan as both of Brin’s hands dug into the flesh at the other woman’s hips and pulled her hard into her flicking tongue.

Qamara’s twitching body sent vibrations through my own. A pulsing sensation, like it was an effort of her entire being to pump liquid from her body. The change in tone of Brin’s licking confirmed that she was probably doing just that.

“Oh, oh. Brinawynn, that was sublime. I must elicit from you such an orgasm. You deserve that much, at least.”

Brin’s face popped up so I could finally see her. Some of her red hair was plastered on her forehead and her emerald eyes danced with energy. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand and smiled at me. Then she patted Qamara softly on her ass, pinched her, and crawled slowly toward me.

When her mouth locked onto mine, the taste of red wine with a tiny touch of sourness exploded onto my tongue. I kissed her, my hands scrabbling to caress her full breasts while Qamara resumed giving her attention to my sadly neglected dick.

“Qamara, you taste delicious on Brin’s mouth.”

She hummed her acknowledgment as she got back into the rhythm she had left earlier.

I moaned into Brin’s mouth as my body gyrated under her. I wanted more, though. With my hands under her arms, I pulled and guided her until she was straddling my face. It was one of my favorite views, looking up past her slit to her tits above me and her face as it moved in and out of my vision as she leaned forward and settled back.

My tongue glided over her lips, still wet from her own stimulation a few minutes before. She sucked on the fingers she had used, so we shared the organic, plant-like taste of her juices. They still gave me that fruity, sweet, and slightly salty impression of a cool evening breeze over the plains. She bucked, shifting her torso as I licked her and took her lips into my mouth, providing me with plenty to look at while I did my best to make her feel extreme pleasure.

Qamara focused on me now, swirling her tongue around, coordinating with her hand. I moved my mouth long enough to give her a request.

“Qamara, I want to be inside you. The other opening.”

The sucking, licking, and stroking stopped. The mattress shifted and a warmer and tighter environment surrounded the head of my dick. She lowered herself and settled down slowly, letting every inch slide along the walls of her pussy.

“Oh God.” That was all I could say before I ravenously attacked Brin’s slit again, as if by transferring some pleasure to her, I could keep myself from coming.

Qamara’s body moved in such perfect motions with mine, it was almost like I didn’t need to do anything at all. Like she sucked me into her and pulled and pushed me at the right speed. Meanwhile, Brin’s thrusts became more urgent.

The moans from the two women increased. Brin whispered something into her hand as she bit it, though I couldn’t understand what she’d said. Qamara sounded like she was muttering in the Alari tongue again.

The three of us got into a rhythm where all of our bodies moved as one. The feeling got too good. So pleasurable and so painful. The end was imminent.

Then Qamara shifted a little and Brin jerked forward, her tits smacking into the pillow as her flat tummy contacted my forehead. I could barely see Qamara’s hand doing something. It looked like she was playing with Brin’s ass.

“Huh-huh-huh-huh. Qamara! Oh-oh-oh. Yes-yes-yes.” The moonwisp suddenly went quiet, her thighs clenching on either side of my head, squeezing me. With my tongue inside her as far as it could reach, I could feel the walls twitching, tremoring a hundred times a minute, then a slow release of warm liquid that tasted even more like Brin than before washed over my mouth.

A few seconds later, as I was still trying to breathe in the hot, cramped space, Qamara’s body went through a similar change, her muscles tightening on my shaft with the feel of a silk-padded guillotine. She pumped, dragging her skin across mine and causing such perfect friction, it sent me over the edge.

“Garfield!” was all she said as she pounded down on me, getting every little bit of my cock inside her. She held it there, swirling her hips around as I ejected all of my seed.

When the climax had run its course, we bundled up together, me in the middle between the two amazing women. I wasn’t sure about them, but that’s the last thing I remembered before sleep took me.

Chapter

Forty-Two

In the morning, I found myself in bed with two of the hottest women I’d ever known, both of them still as naked as the day they were born. As was I. My mouth formed into a huge smile as my eyes roamed over their bodies. I hadn’t pulled the blankets over me during the night and it seemed that they, too, had been suitably relaxed enough to sleep through the night without moving.

I kissed Brin’s nose, then Qamara’s cheek, and wormed my way out from between them and off the bed. I slinked into the next room and pulled open the drapes.

Soft morning sunlight spilled onto me as I poured a glass of water and drank it in gulps. It was early yet, but not that early. My watch was still in the bedroom. I tried to calculate how much time I had until we needed to be at breakfast and found that we probably didn’t have enough for any real morning sex. Maybe a quickie…?

I shook my head. No, I’d better not. Tyra was already in a tenuous state of mind, and I didn’t want to have to face Tip’s sad-sack face. As it was, there was zero chance he wouldn’t know what I’d done last night. Better not to rub it in by showing up late because I wanted some more tastes of the phenomenal women that were, even at the moment, in my bed.

Fuck. Now I was seriously thinking I should go wake them with a hard implement.

“Gar?”

Brin padded into the room, her magnificent naked body on full display. God damn I wanted her, and right now.

“Good morning,” I said, putting a hand out to her. She took it with a smile, and leaned in to kiss me. “I was just…”

“You were just trying to decide if you would pleasure us again before breakfast.”

“Uh, yeah.” My dick had been soft before she called my name, but it had been steadily moving toward hard as we interacted. It wasn’t quite there, yet, but it was pretty obvious what was on my mind.

“I would gladly spend all day in bed with you and Qamara. Goddess, Qamara.” She shook her head. “Ahem. I would, but it would be unseemly to do so when Tiporian and Tyra are waiting for us.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“May I take a marker for a future opportunity?”

I laughed. “Definitely. Even if you don’t need more magic, I am definitely in agreement that we have to continue this.”

“Continue what?” Qamara said, slinking into the room, just as naked as Brin and I were.

“We were talking about how we’d love to continue from last night, but we should probably not keep the others waiting.”

“I agree. However, I would like to discuss something briefly, if I may.”

I traded looks with Brin. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

“I would know your opinions. For me, I thoroughly enjoyed our activities last night. You know that when you do such things to me, Garfield, that you deposit some amount of magical energy in me.”

“As with me,” Brin said.

“Just so. While I do not use my magic as rapidly as Brinawynn, due to its nature, it is nice to receive more occasionally, more swiftly than would naturally occur. I would appreciate the opportunity to do so again. But…”

How did I know there was a “but” coming?

“Even were it not for the energy transfer,” she continued, “I would enjoy doing such things again. And again. With both, or either of you. I have never had such pleasure and if I may convince you to join me again, I would be very appreciative.”

I looked at Brin, who had just told me essentially the same thing. “Are you okay with that, Brin? I mean, as a long-term thing.”

“I…of course. It was a night to remember. I am not ashamed to say that you both made me feel things that…well, I will make my answer short. Yes, I would be very interested in such a thing. Regularly. Often.”

“Okay, then. Umm, Qamara, one more thing. Brin and I have talked about this, but if we’re going to do”—I waved my hands around—“this thing, I want your feelings about it. Tyra has been propositioning me since we met. She’s very sexy, but I haven’t told her yes yet. Strangely, after last night, I don’t think it’s a question anymore. I feel closer to her and before too long, I’m going to have sex with her. It’ll be entirely for pleasure, since her magic doesn’t work in a way that she’d benefit from me recharging her or whatever. Brin said she’s fine with it. In fact, she suggests I do it. How do you feel about it?”

Qamara glanced at Brin, her eyebrow raised. “Are you asking me if I would be willing to engage in sexual activity with Tyra Tyswix?”

“What? No. I was just—”

“Because I, too, find her extremely attractive. I would be willing to do so. More than willing.”

“Okay. Well, that’s good, I guess. What I meant, though, was I didn’t want you to feel awkward if I had sex with her.”

“Of course not. With me or without me, it is entirely your choice to do so. I do not need you on a leash, nor do I expect to have all your attention. To be truthful, I never had a great appetite for pleasures of the flesh like these, but you have awakened something in me. Brin is resplendent and fabulous, but I feel as if my enhanced appetite is primarily in conjunction with you. Not that I don’t look forward to being with her alone, but I don’t foresee me ever needing…ah, stimulation aside from what you and your companions provide. If that is not too crass a thing to say.”

I laughed and pulled the prophetess into a hug. “It is not. The four of us can be a little family, at least as far as physical intimacy goes.”

“I am not averse to a little emotional attachment as well,” the prophetess said. “Since I met you, I find that when we are apart, I think often of you and feel…incomplete.”

“I haven’t been too far from Gar since we met,” Brin said, “but even being in the room next to this one, I find I yearn to be with him as well. I am also feeling a little sad looking to the future when you will say goodbye for a time, Qamara.”

The sweet smile the prophetess gave Brin had just a touch of mischief in it. “That is very kind of you. There are tasks I must accomplish, but I had already decided to ask Garfield if he would allow me to stay around for a time. I will leave to do what I must, but I plan on coming back and spending more time with both of you in the future.”

“That sounds great,” I said. “Like I said before, like a little family. Speaking of family, we should probably get dressed and ready for breakfast with our other two friends. We’ll definitely be talking about this again, though.”

We picked up our discarded clothing from the floor around the room and the two women went back into Brin’s room to get dressed. I’d no sooner gotten my clothes on than they returned to me, dressed in the outfits I was accustomed to seeing them in. I almost questioned their apparent plan to leave with me from my door into the hall, but I didn’t.

I opened my door to see Tip standing there with his arms crossed. Shit.

“Hey, uh, Tip. Good morning.”

He shook his head at me, his posture and expression clearly communicating frustration.

“Oh,” Tyra said as she closed her door and joined us. If she thought it was strange that the two women and I were both coming out of my room, she didn’t show it. “Good morning. Ready for breakfast?”

Brin slipped her hand into mine as the five of us walked to the dining room in silence. I was guessing we’d have to have some conversations about some things later on, but I was happy Tyra and Tip didn’t pepper me with questions now.

Once we settled in to the meal, I shared what I’d been thinking about.

“The new information Tyra gave us last night, it changes things. First, we need to go back to our suspects list and look for those who might have a reason to steal the tomes Terago wrote. That means either smiths who could learn from them, or someone who thinks they could sell them to a smith or get something else out of giving them to a smith.

“There’s also the matter of those thugs who attacked us. I’m not sure if Rory would have sent them to stop us from investigating the murder, but I’m betting that if we find who did, it’ll either be the murderer or someone who can lead us to the killer.”

Tyra glanced at the others, nervously tapping her finger on the table next to her plate. When no one else spoke, she swallowed the bite she’d taken of her ham and cleared her throat.

“What should we do, then?”

I took a quick drink before answering. “You said you know that rat guy, Rory’s cousin?”

“Tolon. Tolon Bodeen. Yes, I know who he is. We’re not friends or anything.”

“Would you be able to find him, or find out who he’s working for?”

“I might be able to do both. By myself, I could probably find out where he’s hanging out now. With the help of some people I can talk to, I might be able to find out who his boss is at the moment. There’s no telling if he’s doing jobs for two or more different criminals, though.”

“Okay, fine,” I said. “Let’s go with finding out where he is. We do that, then we can get out of him who sent him to try to kill us. Does that sound like it’ll work?”

Tyra took her lip in her teeth, thinking about it. Or something else.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s what I noticed when we got attacked the other day. I’m still trying to figure out if it means anything.”

“The thing about them not attacking you?”

“Yeah. At least two of those thugs had opportunities to attack me but didn’t. The archer had her arrow trained on me, but then seemed like she recognized me and turned it on you. Then there was the one of the male goblins who started toward me and had the same reaction. Once he took a really good look at me, recognized me, he changed direction to go after Tip.”

“So, what’s strange about that? It could be they thought you were too strong for them, or maybe they thought you were too beautiful to harm. It could have been anything.”

Tyra shrugged. “I know, but it’s been on my mind a lot. It’s not either of those two things, I’m sure. But what was it?” She shook her head. “Anyway, I guess it doesn’t matter. Let me think and I’ll come up with a list of some places to check for Tolon. I’m sure we can track him down today. For a lawbreaker, he’s very bad at keeping a low profile.”

“Great. We can start our search after breakfast. Maybe we’ll get lucky and not only find him, but find a connection to one of the people on our list. Then all we have to do is find solid proof and we can hand it over to the constable.”

Tyra groaned.

“Or we can see what things we might do on our own. I’m not above a little threatening and knocking someone around to get to the bottom of things.”

The goblin woman put her hands together in front of her like she was praying. “Now you’re talking.”

Chapter

Forty-Three

Tyra came through for us. About an hour after breakfast, after I’d skimmed over the suspects list and made some notes next to some of the names, she announced that she would lead us to three different places.

“We might not find that rat in the first one, but I’d say chances are really good that he’ll be in one of the three. I know someone in one of the areas who could probably point us in the right direction, if we need it. I’d rather not owe him a favor, though, so I suggest we try to find him on our own.”

“You’re the one that knows the place, Tyra,” I told her. “You lead and we’ll follow.”

For some reason, the goblin woman blushed, her cheeks going a darker green than normal. It looked good on her.

“What of you, Qamara?” Brin asked. “Will you accompany us on our errand, or must you depart?”

“I would like to seek visions. I find myself energized and think I perhaps might perceive something useful. I will go and find a place in the city where I can place my tent.”

Tyra’s mouth dropped briefly, then her face smoothed. “If you want to stay here, that’s fine. You can either put up your tent on the grounds or you can stay in the room next to Gar, if you want.”

“Brinawynn is in the room next to Garfield.”

“Yeah. I mean the one on the other side.”

“Oh. If it would not be too much of an inconvenience, I would truly appreciate it. I could seek my visions there.”

“Nah, it’s not a problem. Go ahead and make yourself at home. Feel free to ask Klaard if you need anything while we’re gone.”

Tip could hardly contain himself as the two women talked. Once there was a moment’s silence, he spat out words like they were poisoning him.

“I know it’s none of my business and that I’ll probably be sorry I asked, but is that room on the other side connected by a door like Brin’s and Gar’s rooms are?”

“Yes, it is,” Tyra said. “A good friend of the family used to stay here a lot. He had four wives and, well, you can put it all together.”

The satyr kicked at the floor with his hoof. “Fucking wonderful.”

I gave him a sympathetic shrug, but couldn’t help that a chuckle bubbled out of me. I felt doubly bad when he glared at me, but I found it damn funny. Of course, that might have had something to do with having two rooms with doors directly into mine with a hot woman in each. Brin, holding my hand, squeezed it. I took it to mean she and I were on the same page.

“All right,” I said. “Enough messing around. How about we go find that little rat bastard. Maybe let Tip beat his ass?” That brought a smile to my furry-legged companion’s face. “The sooner we squeeze him for information, the sooner we can figure this whole thing out.”

Since we were going from the Garden District, where Tyra lived, to the rougher areas of the Forge District and Dross, Brin asked if we could stop briefly at a shop in Stalls. Tyra wore a smirk as she agreed it wouldn’t be out of the way.

We ended up in a store where Brin had apparently commissioned something. She was evasive when I asked about it, just saying, “You’ll see.”

When the shop owner, a leatherworker, gave it to her, she turned and presented it to me.

“Gar, I had this made for you. I hope you like it.”

I stared at her blankly when she pushed it into my hands. It was a semi-rigid roughly cylindrical item with adjustable straps. One end was open and cut with a large empty space. It clicked then, why she had told me to bring my three-sectional staff with us when we went out that day, even though it was inconvenient to carry.

“You had a case made for my weapon?” I asked.

“Yes,” she answered. “Case, holster, sheath, whatever name, it is meant to keep your weapon close but your hands free. The cutout will allow you to grasp one of the sticks and pull, allowing the weapon to unfold upon drawing. I believe with a little practice, you will be able to pull it out and strike almost simultaneously.”

“Yes. I can see how that would work. But…”

“I have watched you practice. I know there are varied ways of striking with it, but when you utilize it as a flexible weapon, whipping it around to strike, that is what gave me the idea.”

“Thank you. It’s amazing. Just like you.”

I put it on and adjusted the straps so it rested on my back in a similar fashion to a quiver for arrows. As she had described, it held the weapon securely, but allowed me to draw it out surprisingly quickly and smoothly. My smile didn’t dim for at least six blocks as we went to find the man we’d come out to look for.

We did not find Tolon Bodeen in the first area. It wasn’t at the top of Tyra’s list, but was the closest to her home, near the edge of the Forge District. The goblin crafter hadn’t held up a lot of hope he’d be there, but the second location was a different story.

“I’m almost willing to bet good money we’ll find him there. It’s a run-down lowlife kind of place, just the type of area where that shithead would be. It’s only a few blocks and—”

A ruckus coming from ahead of us and around a corner to the left interrupted what Tyra was saying. Several voices, sounding young, were trying to shout over each other. In the middle of it, the clear cry of a girl reached my ears. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I was going to find out. I sped up to a fast walk and made the turn.

Five boys, ranging from early teens to one that looked to be maybe fifteen or sixteen, stood in a circle around two smaller kids, a goblin girl and boy that couldn’t have even been ten years old. One of the older boys, a human, held a doll in his hand and he was doing the typical bully teasing bullshit where he held it close to the girl, then pulled it away when she grabbed at it.

It probably comes as no surprise that I despise any act of bullying. I’d faced it my entire life, or at least until I got strong and skilled enough to put a stop to it myself. I clenched my fist watching the older boys laugh. When another of them, this one a goblin himself, took a second doll from the smaller boy, time seemed to skip and I found myself in front of him and his companions.

“Give them back,” I said in as cruel and vicious voice I could manage. “Right. Now.”

The older boys weren’t facing me and they immediately scoffed. Three of them were goblins, one human, and the last was a dwarf, with barely the start of facial hair on his wide face.

“Who do you think…” the dwarf said, turning to look at me. His eyes, at the same height as my navel, swung up toward my face, then did the circuit, scanning my whole body.

By now, I’d seen plenty of the statues of Kael the Blur that looked like me, with my current build. I was nowhere near as impressive as the ones that depicted him later in his career, when he was, I’m guessing, forty or fifty pounds of solid muscle heavier, but I was no slouch. To a teenage boy, I might as well have been Kael Serus.

“I will not tell you again,” I said, my eyes drilling into the human teen with the girl’s doll in his hand. “Don’t make me have to kill you.”

Like they were holding glowing coals, both boys dropped the dolls. They turned and ran.

“If I find you being mean to smaller kids again, you will regret it,” I growled. “For the rest of your short lives.”

If anything, the boys sped up, two of them nearly tripping over each other in their haste to get out of there. I turned to find the smaller kids watching me, their eyes huge and shimmering. I picked up their dolls and gave them both a smile.

“Don’t worry about all that. I was just acting. I’m not mean. Well, except for people who try to take what belongs to others. These are yours, I’m guessing?”

I held out the obviously female doll to the girl. It was a white-haired warrior with armor sewn onto her body and a sword attached to her hand. The other doll was male, bigger than the woman and with dark brown hair containing streaks of purple. It had similar armor and a little sword that was curved more than the woman’s.

The children—both with dark green hair and faces similar enough that they had to be twins—stared at me, unmoving. Shit. I think I’d scared them.

“What are your names? I’m—”

“Kael,” the boy blurted out. “You’re Kael the Blur, the great hero. I saw your statue.”

I laughed. “No, I’m not. I’m just lucky that I look like him. He’s kind of handsome, huh?”

The boy shrugged. “Dunno. His face is all melted from being so old.”

“Ah. Yeah, some of the statues I’ve seen are like that.” I shook the dolls at the kids, hoping it would prompt them to take them back. “What are your names?”

They still didn’t take the dolls. The boy did answer me, though, at least.

“I’m Dalti. This is my sister Tilda.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you both. My name is Gar.”

“Like the fish?” the little girl said.

“Exactly like the fish. You’re pretty smart, huh?”

“Mommy always tells me I’m the smart one.”

“Then it must be true. These are my friends. Brin, Tyra, Tip, and that scaly one there is named Rex.”

“He’s a furcan,” Tilda told me.

“He is.”

“Tip has furry legs and horns,” Dalti added.

“Also true. He’s a satyr, a taranji. Who are these little companions?” I shook the dolls again, finally prompting the kids to reach out and take them. Interestingly, the boy took the white-haired female doll and the girl took the man.

“You don’t know?” the little girl asked. “Really?” It seemed she had gotten over her fear of me. “They are great sword masters of the Brotherhood of the Gilded Sword.”

“Uh…” I said.

“This is the great sword master Galen Starshadow,” she told me, holding up the doll with purple-streaked brown hair. “And that is his student Sariel Snowblossom. They’re the best sword masters in the entire world.”

The boy held his doll up so I could see her and nodded.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not from around here. I didn’t know. That’s very impressive. Are you two going to grow up to be sword masters, too?”

The boy giggled but the girl presented me with a flat look. “They don’t just let anyone into the Brotherhood. We don’t even live in the Aesturith Kingdom.”

I looked at my companions for help. I was far too ignorant about this world to be in this discussion. Thankfully, Brin came to my rescue.

“While that’s true, there are some who have come from afar and been allowed into the Brotherhood. In fact, I have heard that Galen Starshadow lived in Olliaran until he decided to move to the Aesturith Kingdom, where he became a swordmaster. Feordrick Elessum’s father, also a swordmaster like Feordrick, was not born in the Kingdom, either. What the Brotherhood values more than anything is dedication to the sword. If you train hard and develop the proper mindset, you might be able to become members one day as well. Remember, though, that there are sword masters and weapon masters of great skill who are not of the Brotherhood. You can be whatever you want if you work hard enough.”

The little girl’s expression softened and by the end of what Brin said, she nodded along. “You’re beautiful. I wish I had blue skin like you.”

“I thank you, but your green skin is very lovely, too. Like my friend Tyra there.” She pointed to the crafter. “Isn’t she gorgeous?”

Once on the subject of beautiful goblins, Brin chatted with the little girl for a moment while Dalti showed Tip and me the doll he held—playfighting with Rex with it—telling us of Sariel’s adventures and skill.

The kids were recovered from their scare with the older boys, so that job was done. Our other one, however, was not. I had to get us back on track.

“It was very nice to meet you two. You make sure to let me know if those boys bother you again. I hope to see you again when you are both swordmasters.”

“Thank you, Mister The Blur,” the boy said.

The girl slapped him on the head. “His name is Mister Gar, Dalti. Don’t you ever listen?”

“I listen just fine. If he wants to go by another name, that’s all well and good, but look at him. He’s the great hero. You can’t tell me he’s not.”

I smiled at them, knowing he’d made his mind up. “Maybe we’ll see you again, when you have statues in the city commemorating all your heroic deeds. Have fun, be careful and, uh, do what your mom tells you. All the best heroes do.”

Tyra led us to our next stop.

“Do what your mom tells you?” Tip repeated in a mocking voice a block later, laughter bubbling up as he said it.

“Oh, shut up. That’s what heroes are supposed to tell kids, right? If they think I’m a hero, then I’ll use it to try to teach them something. You’re not giving Brin shit about telling them they can be anything they want to be.”

Tip swung his head toward the blue woman. She met his gaze without emotion. “Sure. She can say whatever she wants. Look how hot she is. She’s got a free pass.”

“You’re an asshole, Tip. You know that?”

“Yeah, I kind of do. It’s fun to be an asshole, though. Sometimes.”

The laugh I’d been holding finally broke through and I put a fist up. The satyr bumped it with his own as the women shook their heads at us.

Chapter

Forty-Four

We found our first real clue to where Tolon the rat beastkin was near what the locals called Dross. Dross was a poorer section of the city, though still more geared toward smithing than residential. It was where Tyra had lived—in a small room next to a forge she scraped up enough money to pay for each month—before she’d moved back to her father’s estate.

“This isn’t considered part of Dross, though it’s not quite the Forge District, either. It’s mostly homes, one of the poorest and most dangerous parts of the city. The place we got the tip about is just up here.”

The neighborhood brought back memories. Poor neighborhoods where crime was prevalent all seemed to have the same feeling. Danger, desperation, fear, hatred. There were good people in bad areas; without them, who would all the criminals prey on? Still, the stink of the place was a sharp reminder of where I’d grown up and how I’d finally escaped.

As we walked, all the furtive looks, as well as the hard, challenging ones, found us and bounced off as quickly as they’d arrived. I watched half a dozen men stare at Brin before they noticed me and the unyielding expression I gave them. A predator knows strength, and none of them met my eyes.

Interestingly, though I noted a few stolen glimpses at Tyra and her vast amounts of toned, muscular body on display, the gazers couldn’t keep eye contact with her, either. She looked like the powerhouse she was and her threat was more overt than that of the moonwisp. Boy, would they be surprised if it came down to violence.

Twice, goblin men took a step toward Tip before they saw me or Rex. They apparently decided it wasn’t worth starting trouble with him, knowing that if they survived the aggression, it would be with injury.

“What a shithole,” I said under my breath. I immediately felt bad about it because I’d judged the entire area by the scum who were most readily visible. Had I become such a snob since I’d left the neighborhood that had developed me into the scrapper I was?

Tyra led us to a rundown two-story building, its door warped and cracking. Light seeped around the misshapen edges. The goblin woman gestured to the place.

I stepped up to the door, then to the side of it, and reached over to knock. After half a minute, I didn’t hear anything and I knocked again. This world didn’t have peepholes in doors, and no windows were close enough for someone inside to see me. I hoped that meant Tolon would have to open the door to find out who was knocking. If he was home and answered at all.

I knocked again. This time, I heard the sound of shoes scraping across wooden floorboards.

“Yeah, yeah, what the hells do you—”

The door only opened a couple of inches, but the narrow face and beady eyes that looked out were the same I’d seen in that alley. The eyes went wide and the door began to close. I kicked it before it could shut all the way.

The little rat bastard flew back, thumping across the floor. I took a quick look around us to see if we’d caused a spectacle before rushing into the house. The few people visible outside studiously avoided looking at us.

I picked Tolon Bodeen up by his tunic and slammed him against the wall of the dingy living room we were in. The others filed in behind me and Brin closed the door.

“Hey there, Tolon,” I said. “Long time no see. How are you? Try to kill anyone in alleys lately, or did the last time teach you something?”

“It’s not like that,” the man squeaked. “We weren’t trying to rob you or anything. They just hired us to rough you up, that’s all. No offense. Just a job, you know.” He spotted Tyra and his eyes got even larger for some reason.

“Let’s start with this lesson. First, I will not accept any bullshit from you. I don’t have the time and am definitely not in the mood for it. I’ll let that one pass. We know you were there to kill us, not rob us and not ‘rough us up.’ Let’s start again, now that the pleasantries have been exchanged. We’ve already killed almost all your other friends, so don’t think one more death will matter to us. Who hired you to come after us?”

“I don’t know. Honest. I’m just hired muscle. I wasn’t leading the group.”

“You want me to believe that you didn’t even know who was paying you? Tell me everything. I want every single detail you have.”

“I don’t know nothing. I didn’t even try to hurt any of you.”

My eyes drilled into the man. “Okay, fine. Rex?”

Tip gestured toward the rat man. “Rexy, arm.”

The furcan leaped forward, his mouth opening wide and showing an impressive set of teeth.

He didn’t even get close before the rat man screamed. “Okay, okay. Keep him away from me. I’ll tell you everything. Everything.”

I winked at Tip. Tolon couldn’t see my face and the satyr kept his calm, serious expression. The rat had seen what Rex did to the archer, knew what those teeth were capable of.

“Start talking,” I told him.

“Like I said, I wasn’t the leader. Yurgen was. The big human. I’m not exactly sure who did hire us.”

“Rex…”

“No, no. Don’t do that. I’m just saying, that’s all. I don’t know who it was, but I do know some things. After the job, we were supposed to go and get the rest of our pay. I’ll tell you where it is. It’s just on the other side of Dross, near where it meets Tink. We went there to get part of the payment up front. Yurgen went inside while the rest of us waited, but I’ll tell you exactly where it is.”

Tyra stepped up to the rat. “Tolon, you know what my friends and I have done. It was Gar that took apart your cousin’s men, even before we killed most of the group you were in. If we go and find out that you’re trying to set us up, there’s nowhere you can hide that’ll be safe from us. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. I do. It’s all I know. You can’t expect someone low like me to know what the money does. I’m just trying to make a living here.”

I patted the little fucker on the face. I may have done it a little too hard, as his head snapped to the side. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to say, Tolon?”

“It’s all I know. Honest.”

“Fine. You better hope you never see us again. Think about how almost all your other friends in that group are dead. You might want to try a new line of work.”

As we left, Rex moved up, right in front of Tolon, showed his teeth, and growled. A dark splotch spread on the front of the man’s threadbare pants, and liquid dripped down his pant leg and onto the floor.

“Come on, Rex,” Tip said. “Don’t worry, we’ll let you tear someone apart soon.”

Outside the door, the satyr patted the lizard and handed him a snack. “Good boy, Rexy. Just like we practiced.”

I laughed and patted the furcan’s head. “That was pretty convincing.”

“He’s a good boy. I’ve been working with him, teaching him tricks. I figured acting threatening would be helpful in some situations.”

“It definitely was. Good job. Now let’s go to where Tolon pointed us. Then we can see if we can find any connection to our other suspects.”

We headed toward the southwest through Dross, angling toward the edge of the city closest to the volcano. I looked up at the massive form of Mount Thetsay. It was several miles away from the city, but it still made me a little nervous. What would happen if the damn thing erupted?

“So, you lived near here?” I asked Tyra. She’d told us about the forge she rented, but we hadn’t been to the specific area it was in during all our wanderings.

“Yeah. Not too far from here. Maybe five or six blocks that way.” She pointed due west. “If you’re interested, I can show it to you sometime when we’re not in the middle of something.”

“I’d like that. I bet it was nicer than some of the places I lived when I was growing up.”

“I may take that bet.”

We ended up in a neighborhood better than the one we found Tolon in, but not by much. The difference was that though it looked worn and weathered, I picked out that some spots looked to have been artificially aged. The construction was solid and the building sound, but only if you looked closely. From a distance of more than twenty or thirty feet, the rough plank siding appeared ready to fall apart.

“This is the place,” Tyra said.

We stood in something halfway between a courtyard and a cul-de-sac, a single door in front of us. It was set into a building with no windows visible, at least from the front side. The doors on either side were four or five paces away. I couldn’t tell if they were to the same building or different ones. I assumed the latter. There were windows near those doors.

I jerked my chin toward the building. “That doesn’t look ominous at all.”

Tyra stepped up to the building, chuckling. She knocked and the door creaked open. The goblin crafter looked at me. I shrugged back at her.

“Hello?” she called into the darkened interior. After a moment of silence, she pulled her weapons out. Brin and Tip followed suit.

I moved up beside Tyra and peered inside. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s pretty obvious it’s a trap,” Tip said. “There might as well be a sign on the door saying, ‘Come on in and get murdered.’”

“You think?”

“I do think. Often. And this time, that’s exactly what I think. But I also think that you think we need to go in there. Am I thinking clearly?”

“I think so.” I winked at him. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.” I glanced around the courtyard, which was bounded by the walls of several other buildings. Like an alley, but bigger. As my eyes scanned, I thought I caught a shift in the shadows up high, near where two roofs met. I snapped my head back and narrowed my eyes, but couldn’t see anything amiss. Umbrenix? Maybe I was literally jumping at shadows. We hadn’t seen any of the shadow creatures since we’d been in Forgehaven.

I stepped into the building.

Brin entered, right on my heels. One of her little globes of light flickered in her upraised palm to shed its light across the room.

“Thanks.” I gave her a smile and her mouth turned up as she scanned the plank floor within the limits of the globe of illumination. Tyra, then Tip, and finally Rex came in behind us.

The moonwisp increased the illumination so we could see more of the room. It was about as plain as a chamber could get, with no furniture, nothing on the walls, not even any objects lying on the floor. What it did have was two doorways with doors ajar.

“Left or right?” I asked. They were both set on the opposite wall from where we’d come in, about ten feet apart. The room was only around fifteen feet on that side and about ten feet deep. I couldn’t see anything through the sliver the doors were open.

“Right,” Tip said. “Though we’ll probably be murdered no matter which one we choose. Fucking Jason is probably hiding behind one or both of those doors.”

The satyr was in rare form. The women looked at him in confusion. I would have explained the reference but it would serve no purpose. Instead, I headed for the door on the right.

I still hadn’t taken out my weapon. I didn’t see a need. Most of the time, I preferred to go at it empty-handed until I got a feel for whether or not my siangham or my knife would be more appropriate. With the case Brin had contracted for me, I could now carry my three-sectional staff without having to occupy my hands, increasing my options.

The next chamber was larger than the first. Twenty by twenty, maybe. Again, it was empty. This time there were no other doors. I went to the center, intending to check the walls for hidden doors, and my friends bunched up behind me. That probably saved some lives.

Without so much as a click, the floor split and dropped out from underneath us and we were in freefall. Before we landed, flame burst out from the side of the hole we fell into, doing its damnedest to make sure that before we reached bottom we were cooked well done.

Chapter

Forty-Five

Brinawynn followed Gar into the room beyond the right-hand door, her ball of light revealing empty walls surrounding an empty room. She wondered if the entire building was vacant and devoid of any furniture or appurtenances.

Gar scrutinized the far wall as he stepped into the middle of the chamber. She—and the others—followed him without thought. When the floor moved beneath them, she realized they had not taken as much care as they should have.

The floor split down the middle, pitching the four people and one furcan into the abyss.

The moonwisp had not had an easy, comfortable existence in her adult life, especially of late. Danger abounded and facing it constantly affected a person. Changed them. Molded them. Some of the effects were good and others not so good. One of the beneficial effects was the bone-deep paranoia that developed, a heightened sense of the possibility of immediate danger, with the results being that Brinawynn Tolsen was almost always calm in extraordinary circumstances and that her reactions had been honed nearly to the speed of reflexes.

No sooner than she had started dropping, Brinawynn threw the globe of light down while increasing its brightness. She was relieved to see that the bottom of the pit they had been dumped into was not lined with stakes or monsters.

On the other hand, it was a long way down. There was also an unfortunate amount of ash and severe smoke stains on the wall to her left. Her mind jumped quickly to the reason for that. But the fall was the thing she needed to address first. A descent of twenty feet to a stone floor might not kill them, but it would definitely break bones.

When she had been in her full power, she might have debated about what to do for the current situation, choosing the best option. With her magic severely limited in number of spells and effects, she didn’t need to waste time trying to decide. She began casting immediately, preparing her mind to do exactly what was needed.

It had been some time since the moonwisp mage had used her spell in the way she was about to, but it should work. In theory. She glanced at her friends, noting where they were positioned, then she reached both hands out and utilized her magical reservoir.

An unseen, unheard wall of force came into being. It was not the usual way she used her Push spell, but something she had developed mostly to show herself it could be done. Instead of throwing the force outward, she instead adjusted where it originated. It didn’t come from her hands but started at the floor and rushed out toward her and her friends.

Her timing was only a little off, striking their bodies a bit harder than she would have liked. Compared to slamming into the floor from the height they started, though, she’d take it. It felt like they’d fallen into a giant’s palm as it was moving slowly upward. It buffeted them, then retreated to deposit all five figures onto the floor like they’d been pushed over. Grunts came from them all, but they were safe.

For the moment.

Another sound, the one Brin hoped she wouldn’t hear, came less than two seconds after their rough landing. A soft click, a hiss, and a whoosh.

“Down,” she yelled, then threw every bit of magic she had left into one of her items.

The Wave Ring, which she’d taken from the corpse of Arinthalas, was like many magical items in that it allowed her to cast a spell that she currently didn’t have the power to cast unaided. It did so primarily by reducing the mana needed to utilize the spell. But magical items, as life itself, did not give these things freely. The power, even magnified, had to come from somewhere, and that somewhere was Brinawynn herself.

As her magical reservoir emptied out, a huge wave of water materialized from where the moonwisp’s hands were stretched out, palms forward and the tips of her thumbs touching. On the other side of the massive wall of water was a brightness that some would not recognize, distorted as it was through the water. The wash of heat would allow even someone of limited intelligence to solve the mystery, however.

The wave smashed into a huge jet of flame almost as big as the surface of the water. Steam hissed and roiled up from the point of contact.

For a time, the two forces battled, the wave seeming to stand still, somehow regenerating itself as it turned to steam and fled. The wall of fire, dampened by the contact with the water, flickered and pulsed as if straining to pass and bite the figures on the floor on the other side of the water.

Brinawynn’s head swam. Between the heat, the humid, steam-laden air, and wrenching every tiny piece of magical power from her body, she couldn’t even keep her eyes open. If the flame didn’t die soon, she and her friends would.

As the last bit of energy sputtered out of her outstretched hands, the last of the fire disappeared and what was left of the wave crashed into the opposite wall.

“Plug…the…jet…” Brin said as she felt herself falling toward the floor.

Things were fuzzy for a moment as she lost her sight. Something had prevented her from landing on her face on the stone floor. Sounds around her from her companions rushing around doing something didn’t help her when the entire chamber was so filled with clouds of mist. Thankfully, the amount of water was enough to keep from simply creating steam, which might have cooked them, instead creating a cooler fog.

“Brin,” Gar’s voice said from next to her. As he spoke, the arms holding her shifted. “Brin. Are you okay?”

A hand swept sodden hair from her face and she blinked until the blurry figure before her resolved itself into Gar’s handsome face.

“Ugh.”

Gar laughed, pulling her closer and pressing his lips to hers. She was so disoriented that, at first, she tensed, unable to breathe. Then she recognized the feeling and let herself sink into it. Her arms went around him of their own volition and she settled into the feel of his lips. She also felt that sweet, sweet magical power slowly infusing her body.

A blissful eternity later, Gar spoke again.

“What?”

Was he talking to her? She noticed that it was easier to see in the room now, that the mist had settled or fled upward. Had they kissed for that long? Gar wasn’t facing her, but their companions.

“She used a lot of magic,” he said. “All of it, if I’m right. I need to refill as much as I can. Count yourselves lucky I don’t have sex with her right now in front of you.”

Tip laughed. Tyra simply nodded.

Gar turned his face back to Brin. What he said next was in a whisper so that only she could hear it. “It’s also a thanks for saving our asses. That was fast thinking.” A smile twitched onto his face. “And I just love kissing you. So it was all of that. How are you feeling?”

“Did you plug the jet? I don’t know if it can trigger again or not.”

“I dismantled the mechanism,” Tyra said, holding up a few pieces of metal Brin couldn’t make out from the other side of the room. “It’s not going to try to burn us again.”

Gar, keeping an arm around Brin, glanced around the room as the air became clearer. She wasn’t sure if he did it to keep her from falling down in her weakened state or if he was maximizing contact to allow her to gain more magic or if it was a sign of affection. Regardless, she leaned on him, nestling into his embrace.

“I should be fine shortly,” she told him. “Rarely have I reached the bottom of my reservoir like that. Thank you for your aid.”

He laughed, though it sounded as much a release of tension as humor. “Thank you. We wouldn’t have survived without you. First helping us to fall more softly and then mitigating that fire. All that with your magic weakened. You’re amazing.”

Her face heated more than when her wave had been fighting the wall of flame. No adequate response came to mind, so she snuggled in closer to him and hoped he understood.

Tyra held up the few mechanical pieces she’d taken so she could examine them, then inspected the wall more closely. Fortunately, the light ball Brin had made took so little magical energy, it still burned and provided adequate light to see.

Tip eyed what the goblin was doing warily. “Are you sure that flamethrower isn’t going to going to start up again and try to barbecue us?” Tyra’s brow was scrunched up as she glared at the jet mechanism in the wall and she didn’t respond. “Tyra?”

“Huh?” The goblin woman blinked several times. “What?”

“Are you sure we’re safe? We won’t be burned to a crisp?”

“Yeah, yeah. It won’t work anymore. I’ve disabled it.”

“Okay,” Gar said. “What’s wrong, Tyra?”

“I’m trying to figure this stuff out.”

“It’s mechanical, not magical?”

“Not magic,” she said. “I don’t think so, anyway. It’s not that complex. The trigger is tied into the floor dropping, which was itself most likely activated by a simple mechanical device. The flame had a slight delay and then it used a striker and some pressurized oil to cause the fire. A lot of pressurized oil, atomized into a mist, but still a pretty simple system. Besides me taking apart the striker and trigger mechanism, I doubt there’s enough fuel left to do much of anything.”

“It blew its wad,” Tip offered helpfully.

“Yeah.”

Gar squeezed Brinawynn, almost like he was asserting that he would protect her. “Out with it, Tyra. If there’s no problem with it activating again, what’s bothering you? Or puzzling you?”

The goblin woman put the pieces she’d taken into her belt pouch. “I think I might recognize the way those components were made. I’ll have to get them back to my workshop and check them over thoroughly. It could mean…something.”

“A clue,” Gar said. “Not dying and finding a clue. Not bad. Now we need to get out of—”

Brin pointed toward the wall next to the one where the flame jet was. “Over there. I just belatedly used Lunar Light, the spell my Lunar Light Bracelet allows me to use. I’m sorry I didn’t think to use it when we were in the room up there. I might have seen the trigger for that trap, allowing us to avoid it completely.”

“Lunar Light? Is that the one you explained to me that lets you see things in the dark?”

“In the dark, hidden, or camouflaged. Even some things that are magically hidden. I apologize for not activating it earlier. My mistake nearly cost us all our lives.”

Gar kissed her cheek. “You saved us all. That’s what’s important.”

With her sight and a little tinkering from Tyra, they got the secret door open and soon were upstairs in the entryway. A quick check of the other room—finding nothing, even with Brin’s Lunar Light sight—and it was clear the sole purpose of the building was the trap designed to kill them.

“I’m going to have to think about this,” Gar said. “Did Tolon know it was a trap, or did whoever was responsible change it around after they failed to kill us before so they’d have another shot if we ended up following the clues here? Come on, let’s go home. We need to work some of this stuff out.”

Brinawynn was feeling stronger already, the contact with Gar helping her magic stabilize. There was a physical toll to using so much magic, but it faded quickly. Instead of holding her, Gar had taken her hand and still held onto it as they exited the building.

One step into the courtyard and Gar jerked Brinawynn to the side as something flew past them and embedded itself in the wood siding of the building. She stared at the dagger embedded two inches into the wood and the others exploded into motion.

Chapter

Forty-Six

Ihadn’t been in the world of Valorae for very long, and the amount of time was even less that I’d had companions, but some things I’d learned were incontrovertible truths. One of the biggest was that Brinawynn Tolsen was a fucking badass. Beyond doubt.

The moonwisp had lost the majority of her magic through whatever was going on with her goddess. She only had a meager handful of spells, none of which were incredibly powerful. She’d recovered a few of her previous magical items, though most were still missing. Yet, in the split-second that could have meant the difference between life and death for me and the rest of my friends, she came through like the world’s greatest hero.

Honestly, I had no idea why Kael the Blur Serus had so many damn statues. The blue woman who was my most cherished friend in this world should have been immortalized in sculpture, painting, poetry, and song. Hell, I know I’d rather look at her than Kael.

In the middle of falling to our deaths, she utilized a spell that I didn’t know could be used like that. Then, she poured all the magical energy in her body into her enchanted ring and saved us from being toasted like marshmallows. If that wasn’t enough, she’d used yet another bit of magic to find a way out of the pit we’d fallen into. All while she maintained her light spell so we could see.

Damn, I was so glad I came across Brin in that cage in the middle of the slaver camp.

On our way out of the house that had apparently been nothing more than one big trap, I held onto Brin’s hand, as had become our custom. I’d no sooner taken a step out of the doorway with her beside me than I sensed we were in some serious shit.

Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t have magic like everyone else in this world did. There was no special ability or tingling magical sensation like spidey sense that warned me of danger. I couldn’t even do the simplest thing like making a light ball, having prophetic visions, seeing into the very nature of materials, or knowing things from many worlds just by absorbing the knowledge from the air. What I did have was a profound sense of paranoia and a constant heightened alertness.

I’d talked with vets, especially the old Vietnam vets who had to deal with jungle warfare and had quickly learned to be suspicious of everyone and everything. It’s surprising how many homeless people out there were these once-proud soldiers. I’d listened to their stories, how things were when they were young in one branch of the service or another.

They’d told me how little things would tip them off. Sounds, smells, bits of motion in the edges of their vision. Any one of a thousand things could trigger the fight response in them and throw them instantly into action. Warriors who had been in the shit developed a sixth sense that saved their lives over and over again.

I was no veteran of large-scale combat, but I understood what they were talking about. Living on dangerous streets, it did something similar, refining one’s senses. So many times, I’d avoided being ganked or jumped by dudes lying in wait to kick my ass or worse. I’d developed a sense similar to the one those soldiers told me about.

As we left the building, that feeling of something wrong, of danger, struck me hard. It was only a slight blur of movement in the corner of my vision, but it was enough. I all but tackled Brin, swinging her to the side and covering her body with mine. The thunk of a blade lodging itself in the wooden siding of the building at the same time a stinging sensation jolted me on my right shoulder told me I wasn’t imagining things.

The holster nestled against my back allowed me to draw the three-sectional staff quickly, but not nearly quickly enough for my purposes in that moment. My hand went down to my thigh and snatched up the siangham instead while I turned to zero in on a patch of shadow that wasn’t staying in place.

The dull glint of another thrown blade coming at me spiked my adrenaline even more than the first one and I swung just in time to smack the blade with my weapon. The clang and tings as I batted the blade out of the air and it bounced away gave me a second to breathe. But only a second. I absently noted the line of red across the edge of my palm where the blade had made contact with more than just the thin profile of my weapon. It was something to deal with later.

For now, I had an attacker that was more important.

I sprinted toward the dark figure that peeled away from the shadow at the junction of two buildings. It lifted an arm up to throw something else at me and then aborted as an arrow shattered near its head.

The hood of the dark clothing the attacker wore fell halfway off and revealed animal ears on top of the person’s head, covered in dark fur. In the light of one of Brin’s globes of light as it sailed over me, luminous yellow-green eyes locked onto me as the pupils shrank.

The face those eyes were set into were a woman’s and she did not look happy. With a smooth, lightning-fast movement, she drew two short blades from somewhere. Then she charged me.

I found myself impressed at the balls on the woman. Surrounded by my friends, one of whom obviously had magic and another with a bow, she came right at me. I hoped to hell Tip wouldn’t try to get her with an arrow while we fought. I’d rather not be punctured by friendly fire.

The woman in front of me, clad in dark clothing that left only her shoulders and a fair amount of her upper chest bare, with at least a few other blades strapped in different places on her body, was my whole focus now. Whatever my friends did, it was none of my concern for the moment.

She lunged in, swinging her arms in exaggerated motions. I wasn’t sure what she was doing at first, until something extended from her hand and sliced my left forearm. It was only a small cut, barely touching me, but it should have been beyond the reach of her short weapons. What the fuck was going on?

I evaded several other slashes and finally understood what she was doing. The blades she wielded were ring daggers. Knives—well, daggers, technically, with their double edges—with a ring on the hilt instead of a solid pommel. She used them with her finger inside the ring, allowing her to whip the blade to increase the momentum and even the range of the weapon.

Once I realized that, I could react accordingly, but it was still a tenuous thing. The whipping motions made it difficult to judge at what length her weapons would reach. I had to be cautious. She was good with the daggers. Very good. That extra velocity on the end of the blade made judging timing and location difficult.

“Who do you work for?” I asked. The cat woman’s mouth maintained a steady line with her lips pressed together as she breathed in and out of her nose. She didn’t deign to answer me, only continued to attack savagely. She didn’t seem to be a fan of the “thousand cuts” school of combat. Every attack was meant to ruin a tendon, slash my throat, take an eye, or stab into my heart. I could respect that.

This woman wasn’t there for information or to make a point. She had one goal. To make me a corpse in the least amount of time possible.

Somehow, she whirled the daggers around with both hands, creating a nearly impenetrable wall of sharp steel in front of her. I was fast and had an uncanny knack for staying calm in the heat of battle, but there was no way I’d get my siangham behind her guard without serious injury. I was going to have to be sneaky.

The name of the game for me was evasion. I feinted occasionally, but she was too experienced to fall for my ploys. She knew as well as I did that I didn’t have the reach with my short weapon.

I threw two fast kicks at her legs, one after the other. On the second one, she almost got me with an extended swing of her dagger. My foot hadn’t even landed on the ground before I threw my siangham at her face.

Those brilliant eyes, more green than yellow now, flared and she whipped both daggers up to deflect it, while moving her head to the side just in case. It gave me the second or two I needed.

I reached over my shoulder, grabbed the slightly raised stick that was the end of my three-sectional staff, and drew it out as I’d practiced since Brin had given the case to me earlier, with all the strength and speed I had. The thump-clack sound of the weapon straightening was music to my ears, as was the little squeak the catgirl made.

Though I utilized every muscle in my arm, shoulder, and back, there’s only so much force you can generate with a drawing movement. So when the flexible weapon swung downward at my opponent, then over her guard for the other end stick to smack her on her upper back, it didn’t have bone-crushing force. I was impressed that she’d crossed her blades in an X and then hunched and leaned her head forward to keep from being conked on the skull.

Still, the strike to her back had to have hurt like hell. The grunt and the cursing were a pretty good confirmation.

The woman spun like a trooper, though, somehow snatching something off a belt she wore and throwing it down.

A flash of light, followed by smoke, caught me by surprise. I spun, kneeling down and pulling on my triple stick, catching the opposite end like I’d been practicing, then rose to my feet with the weapon at a guard position, with me holding the opposite ends, one in each hand, with the center section hanging between them.

I wasn’t sure if the woman had tried to attack me in the smoke after I’d been distracted, but I didn’t feel any new injuries. I waited for a few seconds and when the smoke had cleared, the woman was gone.

“Fuck me raw,” I said, whistling. That cat had been every ninja I’d ever seen in any movie, cartoon, or dream all wrapped up in one. I felt lucky to have gotten away with only a couple of relatively small cuts.

“Are you well?” Brin was standing next to me, scanning the area. No doubt using her Lunar Light spell to search for hidden things.

“Yeah, I’m good.” I walked over to where my siangham had landed. It was funny. I didn’t even need to look for it. I sensed exactly where it was, probably from the work I’d been doing with communing with the weapon. Inspecting it quickly—and finding not a nick on it—I put it back in the long pocket on my thigh.

“If anyone was ever an assassin,” Tyra said, “it would be that woman. Gods, she was fast. I couldn’t see half the things she did.”

“Yeah,” I said absently. “Try doing it up close. She’s gone now. Let’s get back home. We have a lot of stuff to think about.”

With one more look around, half-expecting that she was going to pop out of the shadows again, we headed home. Brin cast her healing spell on me to close up the cuts on my shoulder and forearm, but I barely noticed. All I could think about was that ninja cat woman. What she looked like, how she fought, and probably more importantly, the glimpse I got of the tattoo on her shoulder. A stylized dagger dripping with green poison.

Chapter

Forty-Seven

The air in front of us rippled, like heat shimmers on a desert road.

“What the hell is that?” I asked.

We were not even quite halfway home, all of us tired and looking worn. Conversation had been kept to a minimum. Not because there weren’t things to discuss, but simply because we were too fatigued to put forth the effort.

This thing with the air undulated in front of us, though, and that was enough to spark some words. It looked like there was a huge sheet of transparent cloth in front of us and someone was pulling on the end, snapping it and causing it to billow out. Looking directly at it for more than a few seconds made my stomach lurch. I didn’t get motion sickness, but it felt a lot like I’d heard it described.

“I can sense magical emanations,” Brin said. “But I do not recognize what they are or what causes them.”

Tyra took half a step toward the weird phenomenon and I grabbed her shoulder, holding her back.

“It’s happening at a microscopic level,” the goblin said. “The particles of the air are changing. I don’t understand how or why, but they—”

A group of four birds zipped past us, just doing the things that birds did. Three of them banked sharply, the way I’d seen them do many times to avoid my car when I was driving in my world.

One didn’t swerve in time.

That bird went right through the middle of the distortion. It never came out of the other side.

“Gods damn,” Tyra spat. “It…unraveled. I watched closely as it struck whatever the hells that thing is and it changed. It started to, anyway. Before it could finish whatever it was doing, it disappeared. Just ceased to exist, like it had gone through a window into a dark room and I lost sight of it. I don’t know if it survived and is somewhere else or if the particles it was made up of fell apart.”

I pulled the goblin back farther from the trembling air. If what she saw was true, we didn’t want to go anywhere near that thing.

“Brin?” I asked.

“I don’t know, Gar. I have never seen, or sensed, anything like it. I would strongly suggest we leave the area.”

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. It doesn’t seem to be moving. So that’s—what the fuck?”

The shimmering, undulating air suddenly snapped back into place. I narrowed my eyes but couldn’t detect so much as a tiny glimmer. I pulled Tyra all the way to me so I was basically hugging her from behind, holding her to me. I took a few steps to the side like that, trying to find any trace of what we’d seen.

Brin crossed the few feet to me and Tyra. “I do not feel the magical emanations any longer. I believe whatever it was is now gone.”

I looked around, checking to see if any other people were around, but I found only Tip and Rex, both standing still where they were. That was a much better response than Tyra’s, in my opinion.

We tentatively stepped up to where the thing had been. Tyra swiped her hand through where its center had been. She didn’t unravel, though she did get close to me smacking her on the ass.

“What is wrong with you?” I asked.

“I was able to see it before. It’s gone. There’s no danger.”

“You can really see things at the atomic or subatomic level?” She’d explained her magic to me, but I hadn’t thought about it applying to the air itself.

“Subatomic?”

“Uh, yeah. Atoms are what scientists in my world call the tiny particles everything is made up of, so small you have to use sophisticated equipment to even detect them.”

“Atoms. I like it. Is that what I’m seeing? I can see intricate shapes, like gems or crystals, and I can even go smaller than that. I don’t really ‘see’ the smaller ones. It’s more like I can sense them. They move or vibrate strangely, interacting with each other. I used to ‘watch’ them when I was a child, trying to figure out what they were doing.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I could see the ones the air was made up of and they did things I’ve never seen before. It has to be magic, not natural.”

“Great. Another mystery. Keep your eyes open. And your magical senses. If you detect one of those things again, let us know. I don’t want to end up like that poor bird. Who knows if we’ll even be able to see one of those things if it’s dark outside. Do you think it’s a new weapon Aeyr has come up with, Brin?”

“I’m sorry,” the moonwisp said. “I don’t know. I have never experienced anything like it.”

When we got back to Tyra’s house, we fell into the couches and chairs of our familiar sitting room. Qamara had gone into the city, according to Klaard, so we decided to postpone dinner for a time. We weren’t sure if she was gone for good or coming back, but we had things to talk about anyway.

“I’m heading to my shop,” Tyra said. “I want to check out those components I found a little closer. It shouldn’t take too long.”

While the goblin was gone, Qamara came back and found us lounging on the comfortable furniture. Her face was even paler than it normally was and had a frantic cast. Looking her in her tan eyes gave me an uneasy feeling. The fear there was palpable.

“Qamara?”

The prophetess dashed across the room, sat so close to me on the couch I was on that she almost sat on my lap, and put her arms around me. When she squeezed me, she trembled. I hadn’t seen the alari so out of sorts before. She always seemed so calm and in control.

I put my arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “Qamara? What’s wrong. Are you okay?”

“I had a vision. A powerful one. One which I was within. It was unsettling.”

“Unsettling? Your whole body is shaking. What can I do?”

“Hold me. Share your warmth and your stability with me, maybe a bit of energy.”

“You’ve got it.”

I met Brin’s eyes over Qamara’s head and found compassion there. Also tension and anticipation. I held the black-haired woman for several minutes before she spoke again.

“The air. The very air. It became an enemy. It hunted, it killed. In the end, it caught me. I felt myself dying, ceasing to be.”

“What? The air?”

“To start, yes. It was a long vision. At times it was like looking into a disturbed pond, though vertical. At other times, there were swirling currents, like a transparent whirlpool. Once, I saw a dark portal. They all did similar things, though. Drew things into them, making them disappear. Objects, plants, animals, people, if they contacted one of the vortices, they were gone in an instant.”

Oh shit.

“Qamara, I have to tell you about what we saw earlier.” I quickly explained the distortion we’d seen. It didn’t take much thought to realize it was exactly the thing the prophetess had seen in her vision.

“Then it has already started,” she said. “One further thing I must tell you. I sensed that Aeyr is still alive and is active. I had only rumor and supposition before, but though he was shadowed so I could not see details of his form, I did see a shape that I knew was him. He is stealing energy still, but has started doing so in new ways. The darkness of his power and his influence is growing. He is extracting energy from mighty entities now, adding to what the shadow people are collecting.”

“The umbrenix? We haven’t seen any of them for a while. Are they still at work?”

“They are, but I have seen no evidence of them in Forgehaven. I know not why.”

Tyra walked in, her face going right to what I’m sure looked like me and Qamara snuggling on the couch. A single eyebrow raised.

“We’ve got some more not-so-good news,” I said.

“Yeah, me too,” the goblin said. “Well, it might be good. I guess it depends on your viewpoint. I’m pretty sure I figured out who’s responsible for killing my father.”

“Tyra, that’s…great?” Her mouth turned downward in the middle of what I was saying, causing me to hedge my words. “Um, isn’t it?”

“I’ll explain it. You first. What’s your bad news?”

I extracted an arm from where it held Qamara and scratched my head. “Qamara had a vision. It’s shaken her up a bit. It was about holes in the air.”

I ran through a quick explanation of what the prophetess said. Brin sat still with perfect posture during the whole thing while Tip fidgeted, his discomfort with the subject clear. Tyra’s large eyes locked onto my mouth as I explained. She responded tersely and appropriately.

“Fuck.”

“Exactly,” I said. “So what we saw earlier may be something we’ll be seeing again. One more thing to be worried about. Qamara, does having the part in there about Aeyr mean the different parts of the vision were connected and he’s the cause of the distortions?”

“Not necessarily, though I feel that they are connected. I do not know exactly how.”

“It just keeps getting better and better.” I held the woman closer, not really thinking about it until she shifted and increased the strength of her embrace as well.

“Just wait,” Tyra told me. She walked over to the table with the pitchers of drinks, poured herself a full cup of wine, and downed it all in one go. Then she filled it again and chugged the second cupful. With her size, I was surprised she was still standing.

The goblin woman sighed, then came over and sat next to me, on the other side from Qamara, and leaned into me. Again, I glanced at Brin, who was still across the room. She nodded at me. I peeled one of my arms from around Qamara and put it around Tyra. She sighed again and wriggled to nestle into my side.

“You okay, Tyra?”

“Let me explain what I found, then maybe you can tell me. I checked those pieces of the flame wall trap mechanism. It confirmed what I suspected when I inspected them where we found them. Between my ability to look into the grain and crystal structure of the metal and my experience in crafting, I know where they came from.”

“Really? That’s impressive. There are forensic sciences in my world where they can do things like that, but it takes sophisticated equipment and a lot of really specific knowledge.”

She shrugged, shifting both me and Qamara, since we were all in one big lump. Damn, but the woman was strong. Her solid body felt good against mine.

“Anyway, I have a lot of experience in inspecting the effects of different ways of crafting things, especially when it comes to working metal. My family is full of smiths and I had a lot of practice growing up. I didn’t even consciously do it at first, sort of seeing things without thinking about them. Once I started to purposely work on it, I developed the talent.

“Certain temperatures, the way something is annealed or quenched, the techniques used in working the metal, they all leave clues in the finished product. Even items that are cast rather than forged have these signs. The pieces I found, they’re the results of a very familiar and specific work process. One I know well because it is the standard method for my family, one I use myself.”

I sat up, causing Qamara to squawk quietly. I think she’d started falling asleep. “Wait. You know how the pieces were made because it’s how you would have made them? Does that mean your father made them himself? He trained you, right?”

She shook her head. “No. The process was undoubtedly the one my family uses, but he didn’t make them. Nor did I. They were made by my uncle. Dargen.”

“Okay. So your uncle can probably tell us who he made them for and we can find the murderer that way, right?”

“No. Making such contraptions is illegal in Forgehaven. It’s possible he made them for some criminal, but then someone would have had to build the trap. If someone with that kind of knowledge worked on it, I doubt they would have hired out making the parts to some random smith.

“The only logical explanation is that my uncle made that trap. The trap set for us, at a location Tolon told us about, the one where the person who hired him to kill us was when they made their agreement. My uncle, Dargen Tyswix, killed my father to take his tomes and steal the secrets of my father’s success.”

Chapter

Forty-Eight

“Well, shit.” I couldn’t even begin to understand how it must have felt for Tyra at the moment. I expected her to cry, but I suspected that her family frowned on things like that. Surprisingly, Qamara relinquished my arm that was around her and she stood up from the couch. I put it around Tyra, holding her close as she pressed her face into my chest.

Brin sat down next to Tyra and stroked the goblin’s green and orange hair. “Oh, sweetie. I’m so sorry.”

Qamara squeezed in next to Brin and patted Tyra’s shoulder. “It is a difficult thing to deal with betrayal, whether pointed at oneself or at another loved one.”

Tyra didn’t respond to either woman, pulling herself closer into me, her breathing shallow and controlled. We sat like that, in a huddle, for several minutes. I glanced at Tip. He sat in a chair patting Rex’s head. When he saw me looking, the look on his face increased the lump in my throat. A sad, sympathetic smile accompanied a casual thumbs up and then he averted his shimmering eyes as if he was embarrassed.

“What can I do, Tyra?”

“What can we do?” Brin corrected.

The goblin came up for air and kissed my cheek. “It’s pretty obvious. We need to go find my uncle.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. At the very least, I need to go and talk to him. Make sure I know all the facts.”

“Right,” I said. “It could be a misunderstanding. There might be extenuating circumstances.”

“Thank you, Gar, but I don’t think so. It all makes sense, now. I’ll ask him, see what he says, and then when I’m sure, I’ll give him justice.”

I almost asked what justice looked like to her. Bring Dargen in to the constable, beat him to within an inch of his life, or execute him, it was whatever Tyra decided. It was her choice. Mine was only to be by her side and help her with whatever she needed.

“We should eat dinner,” she said. “Then we can talk about what we’re going to do. Tomorrow morning, we’ll go to his house. He better be there this time. If not, if I have to hunt him down, it’ll go worse for him.”

Dinner was a somber affair. Even Klaard, who had apparently heard what Tyra said about her uncle, was more reserved than normal. I hadn’t known that was even possible. We ate, discussed where we’d go the next day, and traded looks, all of us gauging how the others were affected by the two pieces of horrible news.

“He lives in the area called Anvil Sink. It’s southwest of Tink. Technically, it’s not even within the city limits, but is an outlying area close to the volcano. There are a lot of medium- to large-sized forges there. My uncle has a property about half the size of this one, though it’s mostly untended. I’ve tried to stop by to talk to him since the wake, but he hasn’t been home. If he’s not tomorrow, we’ll need to find him somehow. I’m not sure what he’s up to, but he’s always made trips to other places to deliver items he’s made or to do custom work at someone’s home.

“Actually, now that I think about it, if he’s not home, I think I’ll break into his house. If he’s got the tomes, maybe I can find them and take them. Then he’ll have to come to me.”

“Tyra,” I said. “Do you really think he would have killed his own brother?”

“Yeah. Those two have always been at odds. I used to wonder why he didn’t say more about how he was cheated by my father. I guess he was playing the long game.”

“What do you mean?”

“My father was given this estate when his family moved to another area. They also had the property in Anvil Sink, which my grandfather gave to my uncle. I know it always bothered him, that he was forced to be in the less prestigious area while my father was here, ‘enjoying the good life.’ It wasn’t about riches or luxury, though. It was always about the forge and the workshops. That and the prestige of living where the top crafters live, up here in the Garden District. He’d grumble about it occasionally, but not as often as I thought I would have. I felt sorry for him, back then.”

“They never got along well, always competing against each other in everything. I think the thing that always bothered Dargen the most was that he knew that my father was the better smith. It’s the whole reason my grandfather gave this estate to him. I told you before, everything in my family is about smithing. There was no playing favorites based on personality or anything like that. My father was more skilled, so he got all the benefits.

“I knew how my uncle felt. I was not the favored one, either. The only difference is that with them, it was between the two of them. With me, there was no one else to compete with. My father rejected me as a crafter without even being decent enough to choose anyone else over me. It was never that he didn’t choose me. He flat out rejected me.”

Not for the first time, rage built up in me that, if Terago had been alive and in front of me, would have required me to kick his ass.

“I always thought my uncle was the best. He was by far my favorite relative. To betray me like this…”

“No,” I said. “Not you. This isn’t about you. He betrayed your father. In fact, if he ends up being the one who was behind it all along, he actually went out of his way to protect you.”

Tyra scoffed. “Protect me?”

“Yes. Remember how you were confused when those thugs wouldn’t attack you, even though they were sent to kill us? It’s obvious now. He ordered them not to harm you. I don’t think this was about you at all. It was about your father and those valuable tomes he wrote. If your uncle knew about them, they probably looked like retribution to him. A way to prove he could be just as good a smith as your father, though the logic falls apart when you think about how he would use the tomes to elevate himself, since your father wrote them to begin with.”

Tyra set her fork down on her half-eaten meal. “You’re right. It doesn’t make me feel any better, though. It kind of makes me feel worse. If he cared so much, why would he take the books that rightfully belong to me? As part of my father’s estate, they’re mine. Was he going to share the information with me?”

We lapsed into silence and finished our dinner. Tyra got up.

“I think I’ll go ahead and get to bed early. Sorry, but I’m not really in the mood for sitting around chatting. After breakfast, we’ll find my uncle and finish this thing. Thank you all for being my friends, even though I’ve brought you nothing but trouble. I appreciate every one of you.”

She trudged out of the room, dragging her feet as if they were too heavy for her to lift. Brin caught my eye and jerked her head toward Tyra’s retreating back. I was on my feet even before thinking about it. I don’t know if it was some kind of powerful magical suggestion thing or if I’d wanted to do it and Brin’s permission set me loose, but I hurried to catch up to the goblin girl.

“Tyra,” I said, walking quickly to catch her in the hall. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine. Just another crack in the iron, that’s all. Nothing a lot of extreme heat and beating with a hammer won’t fix.” She chuckled, but it was a dry, raspy sound with no humor in it.

“Do you want to talk? Or I can just hang out with you silently.”

“Why, Gar?”

“Because it seems like a poor time to be alone.”

“No, I mean why are you trying to make me feel better? After keeping secrets and putting you all at risk, wasting all your time by not telling you about the thing that caused the murder to begin with.”

“People make mistakes, Tyra. If I thought you did it maliciously, we wouldn’t still be here. We all care about you and this is quite a blow, especially after having to deal with your father’s death. Sometimes it’s nice to have someone around. Someone to bounce thoughts off of, to just sit silently with, or to hold you if the world feels like it’s crashing down around you.”

“Are you that person?”

“I can be, if you want.”

She opened her mouth and I had a feeling it was to spout some innuendo or to proposition me as she so often did. She closed it and stared into my eyes for a moment, looking deep.

“I would like that. Thank you.”

I put my hand out and she took it, watching as her fingers and mine interlaced. The closest thing to a smile I’d seen on her beautiful face for hours flashed onto her lips. We walked up the stairs to the end of the hall and went into her room.

To be honest, I wasn’t sure what to expect. From either of us. She’d made it clear she wanted to have sex with me since the moment we’d met. I felt the same way. She was gorgeous and sexy and I was completely smitten with her.

But I didn’t want it to happen now, not like this. I guess I was an old-fashioned kind of guy. The little devil on my shoulder shouted in my ear that I should go for it, that it would feel great and that it would probably even make her feel better about everything. The little angel cautioned me that it was not the best way to start a relationship.

I wasn’t sure if we could have a relationship, to be honest. As soon as we finished helping her, we needed to move on, to find more of Aeyr’s minions and destroy them, using them to get closer and closer to the asshole ultimately responsible for Lucas’s death. I wasn’t above having a little one-off sex, but the way I felt about the goblin girl had already soured me on that idea. At least until I was sure I wasn’t taking advantage of her situation.

None of that mattered at the moment, though. I promised to talk with her, to hold her, to sit silently and listen to her, whatever she needed, and that’s what I was going to do. We entered her room and shut the door.

It was huge, at least four times the size of the rooms I was staying in. Just the entry chamber—or the sitting room, whatever it was called—was the size of an expensive hotel room, and from what I could see of the bedroom through the open door, it was at least triple the space as my bedroom.

It made sense, though. This had been Terago’s room, the master of the estate. Even if it was as had been built originally, I expected anyone who owned this kind of mansion to have such a room. There were three other doors attached to the bedroom that I could see, besides the one to the entry.

Tyra was fidgety, wringing her hand like she didn’t know what to do with it. Even the one I held twitched.

“Am I making you nervous?” I asked.

“No. Yes. A little.”

“Relax. You want to sit down, lie down on the bed, stand?”

Her gaze swung to the large bed in the next room and her hand involuntarily crushed mine. “We can sit.”

We plopped down on one of the couches. I leaned back, shaking my hand loose from hers so I could put it around her, then picking it back up with my other hand. Her body, tense and hard, relaxed in stages until, a few minutes later, she softened and molded to me, letting out a long breath.

I waited for her to speak, but she didn’t. Her head turned and she looked at me, then away, then at me again. I smiled at her and leaned down to press my lips softly against hers. I did like to kiss her. I’d found that much out during the makeout session we’d had a few days before.

She kissed me back, softly, slowly. It was unhurried and though it sent all kinds of delicious sensations through my body, it wasn’t one of those hungry, passionate kisses. It had fire and emotion behind it, yes, but it wasn’t urgent. Blissful, beautiful, and intimate, it made me feel like the goblin girl was part of my own body, like she belonged to me and I to her.

I don’t know how long we continued like that, exploring each other’s lips and tongues, shifting our bodies until I couldn’t tell where hers ended and mine began. She felt good—no, fantastic—and I decided I never wanted to let her go. Eventually, she fell asleep in my arms, mid-kiss. I chuckled softly at that. Poor Tyra. So worn out from all the excitement and heartache of the day.

I picked her up easily, moving slowly so I didn’t wake her, and carried her to her bed. Setting her down with her head on the pillow, I set about taking her boots—and my own—off. Then I climbed up beside her. I kissed her face, whispered a “goodnight,” and held her to me until I fell asleep.

Chapter

Forty-Nine

Iwoke when something wriggled next to my body. My mind raced, trying to remember where I was and what I was doing. It all came back to me and my eyes snapped open to find the most beautiful green face I could imagine a few inches from me.

“Hi,” Tyra said, a sly smile lighting up the image before me.

“Good morning? Is it morning?”

She pointed toward the window and the light leaking around the edges of the heavy draperies.

“How’d you sleep?” I asked, flexing my arm to get the circulation back in it. She giggled as the motion made her body rise and fall. I couldn’t ever remember her giggling. I liked it. Especially compared with how sad she’d been the night before.

“I can’t remember, which means I slept well, I think.” She put a finger up to my lips and pressed lightly. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being here for me. For being so kind and sweet and thoughtful.”

“Meh. What kind of guy would I be if I wasn’t up for cuddling with a super sexy and incredibly gorgeous woman like you?”

“Are you going to fuck me now?” she asked. “I’d really like for you to fuck me now.”

I laughed and pulled her into a hug strong enough that she huffed all the air out of her lungs.

“I see you’re feeling more like yourself.” I released her and booped the tip of her nose with my finger. “I would actually very much enjoy that, Tyra Tyswix, but not right now. I think we need to get to breakfast, and I would hate to rush what I want to take a good, long time doing. Is that okay?”

“Psht. Yeah, fine. All your bullshit about how sexy and gor—”

I shut her up by kissing her. “None of that. You know how much I want you. When we’re finished with all this, we’ll set aside a few hours and do it right. Sound fair?”

“Sure, sure. Good thing I’ve got toys and some extremely talented fingers. Promise me?”

“I do. I can’t wait.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Focus. We have important stuff to do.”

“I want you to do me.”

I pushed her to roll her over and slapped her perfect ass. “I will. I totally will.”

As I’d thought, we had overslept. So even hurrying, the others were all waiting for us when we made it down to the dining room. When we walked in, my other three friends stopped their conversations and fixed their eyes on us. Even Rex looked at me expectantly.

“Good morning,” I said in a subdued voice. “Umm, overslept a little. Sorry.”

“Quite a coincidence,” Tip pointed out. “That both of you overslept and got up at the same time.”

“Okay, okay. Yes, I was with Tyra all night. No, we didn’t have sex. There, can we move on?”

Despite the surprised expressions—even Rex’s scaled face looked a little startled—the pressure in the room decreased and we took our seats.

Little more than an hour later, all of us except Qamara were on our way to Anvil Sink.

“I feel like such an idiot and a failure,” Tyra said as we walked up in front of the others. Brin was kind enough to forgo holding my hand even though she probably needed a refill on some of her magic. The moonwisp had been very sympathetic and comforting to the goblin. I’d tell her—and show her—just how much I appreciated it when I got a chance.

“You’re not an idiot and you’re not a failure, Tyra.”

“No? Maybe I’m a tool used by others to get what they want. Did my uncle ever love me at all, or was I just something he manipulated to use against my father? Did my father ever care? He made it clear from the beginning how I was only worth what results he could get out of me.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” I told her, wincing inwardly at her use of the word tool. I’d been thinking along those lines myself, about me and coming to this world. “The stories you told about when you were younger, it sounded like you two got along well.”

“Sure, when I did everything he said. Once I started thinking for myself, trying to express myself, he drew away from me.”

I stopped and took both of her shoulders, turning her to face me. “Tyra, none of this is your fault. Your father was an asshole and it seems that your uncle is, too. A greedy and hateful one at that. I still think he cares for you, but killing his brother for some books, even if they do tell secrets he could profit from? That’s not the type of person whose opinion you should probably care about. You’re your own person. A pretty great one, as far as I’m concerned, and you did it all yourself. You don’t owe anything to anyone. We can find evidence proving what we think and we can hand it over to the constable, if you want. If it would be easier.”

“We’ll see. Mostly, right now, I want to ask my uncle face-to-face if he did it and to explain it all to me. We can make a decision at that point.”

“That sounds reasonable. There’s still a chance we’re missing something. Let’s keep an open mind.”

“Sure.”

We arrived at a large home in the area called Anvil Sink. It was a more rural place than I’d seen near the city so far, like a pleasant suburb where only the first phase of building homes had started in my world. Trees and other vegetation abounded, but not the type around Tyra’s house, which was all manicured. This was wild, unkempt except immediately around the different homes. A building next to the house with large barn doors must have been the forge.

I didn’t hear any evidence of work being done.

Tyra pounded loudly on the door. I assumed that was the normal way of doing things, since if her uncle had been in the forge, working or not, he might not hear timid knocking.

I almost couldn’t believe it when the door opened and a rugged goblin man stood there in front of us. His head was bald as an egg, exaggerating his large ears. They were huge compared to Tyra’s, making me glad she hadn’t taken after the man. Or her father, for that matter. I’d seen paintings of him in the manor and he looked uncannily like this goblin.

His rough, leatherlike face wrinkled even further than it already was when his dark eyes found Tyra. I couldn’t help but notice the large teeth, almost tusks, that protruded from his jaw, resting against the skin of his upper lip. I also noticed how ripped the guy was, shown off to good effect by the sleeveless leather vest thing he wore. It was obvious that the muscularity ran in the family. I could see muscle fibers as well in his form as I could in Tyra’s.

“Tyra, what a pleasant…” He trailed off when he noticed the rest of us. “Uh, who are your friends? Are these the ones I hear rumors of, the ones who are running around the city and asking questions of everyone who knew your father?” His voice was gravelly, like he shouted a lot and was hoarse.

“Hi, Uncle. I’ve tried to stop by several times since I saw you last but could never catch you at home. Yes, these are my friends. Gar, Brin, Tip, and the furcan is named Rex.”

“I’ve been traveling a lot. Got some new clients, so I’ve been busy. I…come on inside. Let’s chat. It’s a pleasure to meet all of you. I’m Dargen, Tyra’s uncle, as I’m sure you know.”

We all filed inside. The house had an open floor plan and the entryway was also the living room. It was huge, something like thirty feet to a side. He gestured to a group of couches and chairs and offered us drinks or snacks. We declined.

“Tyra, what’s going on? I’m happy to meet your friends, but this feels like this is an interview like I’ve heard you were carrying out.”

“Uncle Dargen, where were you when my father was killed?”

The older goblin’s eyes flared. “You’re questioning me like I might be involved? It was my brother, my only family here in Forgehaven besides you.”

“I know. Where were you that afternoon and evening?”

He frowned, but in his eyes was unmistakably pain. “I was here, working in my forge. You could probably ask Alstro Bendig, my closest neighbor. I’m sure he saw me with the doors open, or at least heard me hammering.”

“We will ask him. I ran into Tolon Bodeen. Or should I say he ran into me. This part of me.” She held up a fist. “He had some interesting things to say. Including a place we could go to find some answers, or at least a trap.”

Dargen’s eyes shifted from her to me, to Brin, and to Tip. “Tyra, you’re not making any sense. What are you talking about?”

“It was a nice touch, the falling floor, the flame jet. Dangerous stuff.”

“Tyra?”

“Why would you have built such a thing, if not to kill us specifically?”

“I don’t…”

Tyra threw the components of the trap she’d studied onto the table in front of her. “You know about my vision. You know I can recognize work done by our family. By you. Uncle, did you kill my father?”

“Oh, Tyra.” Dargen put his head in his hands. “Why? Why did you have to go looking for things? With everything else going on, I’d been able to keep you protected.”

I jumped from the couch as several figures emerged from another room. They weren’t servants, and they weren’t small. They also all carried weapons.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to kill your friends. We’ll work out something after that’s done. I’ll explain everything to you.”

The men closed in on us.

Chapter

Fifty

Isurveyed our enemies quickly as Dargen reached under a table and pulled out a large hammer. The damn thing looked like a heavy sledge he might have used for tandem forging. His muscles twitched as he easily brought it up to his shoulder.

Six men rushed toward us from across the room. I had to do a double-take of the tall human. I thought it was the dude I’d killed in that alley, the leader of the thugs who attacked us. They had to be related, with the same build, same yellow mop of hair, and the same ugly, squashed face. He had a long sword in his hand. Not really a weapon I’d choose for fighting inside, but whatever.

With him was a bulky cat beastkin with orange coloring on his ears, hair, and tail. He was the first cat I’d seen that wasn’t slender, besides Scar, who had been thick. He looked solid. Maybe a lion or tiger beastkin? He had a sword, too, but it looked like a gladius. Heavy, wide, double-edged, with a strong point perfect for plunging into someone and doing all kinds of damage when swung powerfully.

A chocolate-colored dog beastkin with a big block head and the ears of a pit bull with a club was next. Beside him was a bruiser of wolf beastkin, no weapon visible but sunken knuckles that indicated he didn’t usually use one. Bringing up the rear were two hefty guys with bull horns that looked so much alike, they had to be twins. One carried a whip and the other—of all things—a halberd with a huge blade. Apparently he didn’t get the memo that they were going to be attacking us inside of a house.

Tip was closest and the cat and dog beastkin peeled off to go after him. He had just enough time to release an arrow, sticking it in the dog beastkin’s upper arm. The man growled and changed his club to the other hand, barely breaking stride. My satyr friend dropped his bow and drew his sword.

I had the distinction of being stalked by the human—I decided I’d call him Blondie—and the bull with the halberd. I waited patiently for them as I checked out what the others were doing.

The other bull, along with the wolf, made a beeline for Brin. Dargen watched for a few seconds before coming toward me as well. No one bothered with Tyra.

“Oh, fuck no,” the goblin girl said, drew her steel batons, and went toward Brin to back up the moonwisp.

Blondie’s awkward, ugly face twisted in rage as he charged at me, sword already starting its arc to cut me in two.

“You killed my brother. Now I get vengeance.”

Yep. Brothers, like I thought. Well, I was going for the twofer. Stupid bastard.

The distance between him and the bull beastkin was at least two paces, the horned dude not rushing so quickly to get to me. I had a couple of seconds.

I sidestepped the blow easily since the moron had telegraphed it from the other side of the damn room. As the sword came down, gashing the floor where I’d just been standing, I caught Blondie’s wrist with my right hand, rotating it sharply so his arm snapped straight. A twist of my hips and a powerful elbow strike to the backside of his elbow, and the loud snap competed with the man’s scream as his arm bent backward in a way it was never meant to do.

Releasing his ruined arm, I drew my siangham in one smooth motion and punched its point into homeboy’s throat. I twisted my body, tearing the siangham out of the side of his torn neck and neatly putting Blondie’s almost-corpse between me and the halberd wielded by the bull beastkin. The oversized blade on the overlong weapon sank into the blond man’s body.

A shuffle step brought me back around to Bully as he tried to get his polearm under control. The siangham slashed across his face, tearing up at least one eye. I changed direction and delivered a back-handed stab to the bull’s armpit, causing his arm to lose strength and release the halberd. At least with that hand.

Bending my knees, I brought myself lower to stab out three times rapidly with my slender weapon to the man’s inner thigh, until blood started spurting. The weapon must have caught on the femur because it resisted being pulled out. So I left it there, spinning once again to put my newest victim between me and my remaining opponent.

Dargen cursed, unable to reach me with his hammer due to two of his goons stationary and bleeding in his way. He managed to keep from hitting his own man, but it didn’t matter. The bull was as good as dead already. No way he’d live with the femoral artery slashed like that.

I maneuvered around the bull, pulling my three-sectional staff out of the carrier on my back as I did. By the time I was clear enough for Dargen to attack me, I held the weapon in the common ready position, an end stick in each hand with the center stick dangling between them.

The goblin didn’t seem to have any mode of attack other than to smash straight down, like I was a piece of fucking steel or something. I lazily tapped the hammer and despite its mass, its trajectory changed, forcing it to pass by me harmlessly. I stepped forward as the momentum of Dargen’s attack threw his balance too far forward and he stumbled past.

Three times I struck him with the weapon, as if I was holding two unattached fighting sticks. Left cheek, right cheek, then a powerful backhand blow on his right temple sent the little fucker rocketing toward the floor, where he face-planted, bounced once, and came to rest. The hammer skidded off a few feet away.

Barely any time had passed since my attackers tried—unsuccessfully—to take me down. I caught the end of Brin’s water spikes slamming into the other bull before he could even get his whip in motion. He fumbled with it as he groaned in pain at the damage from the spell as Brin performed a beautiful lunge to run him through with her sword.

The wolf had almost reached the moonwisp when Tyra intercepted him. The man put his dukes up, like he was in some kind of bare knuckles boxing ring. I knew how fast Tyra was, so I was suitably impressed that when she sent a flurry of strikes at the man, he blocked most of them. Of course, being hit by solid steel rods at that speed and power wasn’t an easy task and he grunted as she pummeled his forearms. He shook them out, already bloodied, then pounded his chest like an idiot.

Tyra tilted her head at the wolf, feinted with a couple of outside strikes, then slammed one of her sticks into his lead knee. He shifted, taking the weight off the injured leg, and Tyra flipped the stick upward to nail him right in the nuts. The other stick followed before the pain could even set in.

But then it did. I guess I couldn’t fault the guy for performing the reflexive motion of bringing his hands down to his groin and to his lower belly while making strangling noises that every man in any world could feel in their very soul.

Unfortunately for him, Tyra had no sympathy and didn’t pause. Two fast strikes of her sticks to the wolf’s face broke all kinds of facial bones, but the last one made the others moot. She drilled him in the throat with such precision, I could hear as well as see his trachea being crushed. The wheezing noises emanating from the wolf man didn’t last long, though, as Tyra battered his head with four lightning-fast strikes on his crown, sending him down. When she stilled the weapons to look for her next enemy, the top third of each was bloody.

Only two of our attackers remained. The big cat beastkin, who Tip was fighting, and the pit bull beastkin. Two against one was not fair to the satyr, who though he’d made improvements in his ability to use his sword, wasn’t up to the task of handling both. I decided to help out.

Using the flexible nature of my weapon, I held onto one of the end sticks, maneuvered the weapon around, and spun to gather a little inertia on the other end. My aim was on and the stick, whooshing through the air, slammed into the dog’s head with such crushing force, I wasn’t sure if the weapon would stay in one piece. Of course, it had been made by Tyra, and of magical materials, so it was pretty damn tough.

Apparently so was the dog’s head.

The strike threw him to the side, knocking him onto the ground with the most sickening crack, but the fucker got back up. How the hell anything could withstand that much force was beyond me, but I’d always felt like pit bulls’ heads seemed like they were made of concrete. Great dogs, but they were truly blockheads.

As I wrestled the triple stick under control, catching the other end that had battered my opponent, the beastkin got to his feet and came at me, swinging the club dazedly. I battered it to my right while turning in that direction, rotating to the perfect position to slam the stick in my right hand into the side of his tree-trunk neck. The left stick thrust forward, the end slamming into his Adam’s apple. He made an urk sound, but still wasn’t going down. Sonofabitch!

I shifted my hand to the center stick and flipped the weapon out to send the end stick around the beastkin’s head, catching it as it came around. I pulled the weapon to tighten the chain around his neck, torqued my hips, and used all my strength and leverage to perform a modified shoulder throw. The heavy bastard flew over me as a loud crack came from his neck. He landed on the floor and didn’t move again.

When I turned my attention back to Tip, Brin and Tyra stood nearby, neither jumping in, though Brin’s hands were fidgeting like she was fighting the urge to do so. Rex danced nearby, darting forward for half a step before ducking backward. It was obvious the lizard wanted to help, but was smart enough not to get in the way.

The gladius that cat wielded, along with his bulky, muscular frame, made it very predictable what he’d try to do. Those weapons were great for stabbing, but they weren’t made for cutting. Instead, the edges—which weren’t typically razor sharp—were swung with maximum force so that the heft of the blade could do some cutting damage, but would also break bones with their strikes. Seeing the difference in size between the two, I hoped to hell the cat didn’t land a blow. I wasn’t sure how good Brin’s healing spell was for broken bones.

Tip evaded and even parried the cat’s relatively slow strikes, but once, he made a mistake and the angle between the blades was too sharp, making it a hard block. A very hard block. The contact threw the satyr back and nearly took the sword from his hand. I found myself a step closer before I’d even realized I had moved.

For several more swings, Tip used his angles appropriately, shifting to the sides to evade the weapon completely. I kept mentally urging him to stop defending and to attack, but held my tongue.

Then the cat tried a horizontal cut, with as much power as if he were swinging a baseball bat. Tip ducked, slid his foot to get inside the cat’s guard, and slashed his sword across the man’s belly. The man grunted as Tip pivoted wide to get some space. I would work with him on combinations and multiple attacks when I got the chance, but he’d done well. The cat was hurt.

The beastkin’s ear twitched and he looked down at his torso. Then he growled and came in with a hard overhand strike a blind man could have seen coming. Tip weaved to the side, then back to the other as the cat tried to readjust the weapon in midflight. Tip’s upward slash was nearly perfect, leaving the cat staring at the stump of the hand that had just left his wrist, sword and all. Blood spurted from it. The look on the beastkin’s face was classic: surprise, pain, a bit of anger, and confusion.

He slumped to the ground as the slash to his belly opened wide, exposing his innards.

I gave Tip a thumbs-up when he looked over at me and he mirrored the motion, smiling hugely.

We surveyed the room and saw no more hazards.

“Is he…?” Tyra started to ask.

“No. I cracked him on the head pretty hard, but I think he’s alive. Brin can probably heal him, if you want. He’s got more he needs to tell us.”

She nodded. “We should probably check the house, see if we can find the books. Then we can take him back to my home. I have just the place for him.”

Chapter

Fifty-One

After almost an hour of fruitless searching for the tomes, I picked up the bound goblin, wrapped him in a large cloak, and threw him over my shoulder. It would be awkward carrying him across the city, but not nearly as awkward as being found in a room with six corpses if someone else showed up.

I carried Dargen to one of the storerooms Tyra led me to. The goblin was short, but damn was he solid. After toting him through half the city, I just wanted to set him down somewhere. Brin had checked him a few times along the way and she said she didn’t think he was seriously hurt, but I had her hold off using healing magic on him until we had him back on Tyra’s estate.

“What the hell is that?” I asked her as she pulled a large tarp off a big rectangular object. It looked like a damn jail cell. I wasn’t sure I wanted to ask why it was there.

“Funny story,” she said. “When I was a kid, my father got the opportunity to get a young monster called an Osgothterror.” Brin and Tip gasped, pulling a smile onto Tyra’s face. “Yeah. He custom-built this cage and was all ready to welcome the monster into our home. Until my mother put a stop to it. I still remember their argument, or screaming match, to be more accurate. It ended when she threatened to leave him and take the children with her. He relented. When I visited him a few months ago, he was still grumbling about it, after all those years. Saying that he should have gotten the monster because she ended up leaving him anyway.

“His loss is our gain, though. There’s no way Dargen is getting out of this. The lock is top notch and even if he had tools, he’d never get through those bars. Go ahead and put him in there.”

I did as she asked. Once the cell was closed and locked, Brin reached in through the bars and used her healing spell on the goblin. I still wasn’t clear on exactly how powerful the spell was. It was good for closing up wounds, but if I’d broken something in Dargen’s head, I wasn’t sure if she could make it right.

After a minute or so, she straightened and stepped away from the cage. “I have healed any injury he sustained. He’s sleeping normally now and will probably wake soon. Shall we wait for that to happen?”

“Nope,” Tyra said. “Let him stew in there for a while. I’m hungry. How about a late lunch?”

I eyed the goblin, not sure what to think of her casual dismissal of her uncle being there in a cage. I grabbed her arm before she turned to leave and pulled her into a hug, kissing the top of the orange part of her multi-colored hair.

“You all right?”

She sighed and melted into my embrace. “No, but I can deal with it. Right now, my anger is carrying me through. I’m sure my feelings will be all jumbled later on when we talk to him, but at the moment, I kinda just want to eat something and rest. You know?”

“Yeah, I do. You let me know if I can help in any way.”

She put her arms around me and squeezed me hard. “I will.”

When we got back inside the house, Qamara was with Tip and Rex in the sitting room where we usually met. We collected them and moved to the dining room. Tyra explained the situation to Klaard while lunch was being prepared. The stoic butler shook his head sadly.

“I am sorry you are experiencing this, Miss Tyra. It is a regrettable turn of events. Are you certain Master Dargen performed the nefarious deed?”

“I don’t know. He just tried to kill us a few hours ago. I’d say that’s a pretty good indication that he’s not innocent.”

Thankfully, we moved on to other subjects as we ate. Eventually, I drew Qamara into the conversation. She rarely initiated a conversation. I don’t know if she felt uncomfortable about it, but I didn’t like how it made me feel. Like she was an outsider. She seemed separated from everyone and everything, no doubt because of the nature of her magic. It had to be hard to know things others didn’t, especially if it was about those others.

“Qamara, have you had any other visions, or have you found anything else out about Aeyr?”

Those gorgeous tan eyes settled on me. “I have not. I must admit that I am wary of trying to direct my gifts to delve into his affairs too much. I do not know what he is capable of and I fear drawing too much attention. If he believes I can get information about him at will, there are many minions he could send to destroy me. It is one of the reasons I move around so much lately. The reason I must leave you soon. My presence might bring even more attention to you and I would not want you to suffer on my account.”

“That’s nice of you, but on the other hand, I don’t want you to be alone and running all the time. I’d rather you be with us so we can stand against anything he throws at you together. You must get lonely always being by yourself and on the run.”

“You are very kind, Garfield. I will stay with you for a time and when I leave, I will endeavor to return to you as soon as I am able. It is not only the danger that sets my path, but there are things yet I must do, some of a personal nature. I would not drag you into those tasks.”

“Well, the offer is always there for you to join us, wherever we are and whatever we’re doing. You’re my friend, a member of our little makeshift family.”

“He is correct,” Brin said. “I enjoy you being with us and miss your presence when you are gone.”

“It warms my heart to hear that. Maybe eventually we can spend more time together. For now, there are so many things yet to be done. I am interested in your situation with Tyra’s uncle. I sense there is more involved than what we already know. Not a vision, simply a premonition.”

I nodded at the prophetess. “I feel the same way. I’m not sure where he’s hidden the tomes, but that’s the least of it. This feels bigger, though I can’t really explain my suspicions yet.”

WE ALL CROWDED around Dargen’s cage after dinner. Even Rex stood off to the side, sniffing in the goblin’s direction.

“Okay,” Tyra said. “Now that we’re all comfortable, it’s time for you to spill your guts. Or I may just have one of my fine friends spill your guts.” Brin brandished her sword. I wondered if the two had worked that out in advance.

“Tyra. Why do you have me in a cage?”

“Because you fucking tried to kill us! How can you even ask me that?”

“I specifically ordered all my people not to harm you in any way. Did any of them get within striking range of you?”

“I got within striking range of them. So I could kill them. You attack my friends, you attack me. But none of that matters since all the minions you sent at us are dead. I’ll ask you again, did you kill my father?”

He deflated. “Yes, I did. But I didn’t go and attack him out of the blue.”

“No?” Tyra said. “You stabbed him multiple times in his back. Are you going to tell me it was self-defense?”

“Not exactly. He’d threatened me. I went to confront him and it got out of hand.”

“He turned his back on you to do work in the forge and you rammed a knife into him several times. I would say that’s out of hand. Why? Why did you do it? Is it just because of the hard feelings all these years? How did he threaten you?”

“He was blackmailing me. Trying to ruin my business.”

Tyra nodded at Brin and she drew her sword again and stepped toward the cage.

Dargen put his hands up. “No. Don’t. I…okay, we argued and I flew into a rage. He turned his back. You know how he used to do, disregarding you, ignoring you? I saw red and couldn’t think straight. I attacked him. Before I knew it, he was on the ground, nearly dead. I panicked and fled.”

“He still had his coin purse, there were valuable items around. Why didn’t you take some of them to make it look like a robbery?”

“I…I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’m sorry, Tyra. I know I should have come clean, but the constable would have executed me, even though I wasn’t in my right mind. You understand, don’t you?”

Tyra stepped closer to the bars. “Let me get this straight. The two of you argued, you flew into a rage and killed him ‘by accident.’ Then you were too flustered to make it look like someone else did it and hid it, all this time, your conscience never prompting you to tell me you killed my father. Then, you were so distraught, you tried to kill my friends in an alley when we began to investigate the murder. Then you tried to kill us again—me included—by dropping us two dozen feet and trying to burn us to a crisp. Then, finally, you stood there in front of me and ordered your thugs to kill my friends again, with you trying to get to Gar yourself. Does that sum it up?”

“Tyra? I know it sounds bad, but—”

“Where are the tomes?”

Dargen blinked at her, his mouth dropping open. He hadn’t been ready for that. “The what?”

“You’re not as smooth as you think you are. Your reaction just now, it proves beyond any doubt that you stole them. I’m not sure how you knew about them, but what I think is that you went there that day to take them. It was a small matter to you that you had to kill your brother to get them. Now, you will tell me where they are or we will begin removing parts of your body a little at a time and once you do tell us, regardless of how much is left of you at that point, I will put all your pieces into a wagon and dump you at the constable’s office. Where he will most likely finish the job. Start talking.”

The goblin man made a show of sighing loudly. I didn’t buy it, but this was Tyra’s show and I wasn’t going to interrupt. She had things well under control.

“I can’t just tell you. I’ll have to show you. There are traps, more mechanisms like the flame wash and worse. I’ll need to bring you through or you’ll never get to where I have them. They’re safe.”

Tyra’s eyes drilled into her uncle’s and he looked away first. “Fine. In the morning, we’ll go. You’ll lead us to where they are. Any little tricks and games and you die. The only question is how long we’ll let you linger in pain before we allow you to finally expire.”

“I really didn’t want you involved, Tyra. I didn’t want you hurt.”

“You should have thought about that before KILLING MY FATHER!”

She turned to go, the rest of us following her.

“Can I have some water,” Dargen called out. “Maybe some food?”

Tyra stopped but didn’t bother turning to look at him. “No. No food, no water, no blankets. I’ll leave the door open to the storage room. I hope it’s cold tonight.”

She resumed walking toward the house.

We silently followed Tyra. When she passed through the back door into the main manor house, the goblin didn’t stop walking, only swiveled her head to speak over her shoulder.

“I’m going to bed. Tomorrow, we’ll finish this. Goodnight.”

I rushed after her, catching her as she made the turn toward the central staircase.

“Tyra? Are you okay?”

“No,” she huffed.

“Yeah. That was probably a stupid question. What I meant was is there anything I can do? Do you want me to spend the night with you?”

She finally turned to look at me. In her eyes, little flashes of something danced there. I fully expected an overt invitation to fuck her until she forgot about this day and everything we learned during it. They faded, but her frown didn’t.

“No. Thanks, Gar, but you should take care of Brin.”

My mouth dropped open at that. “Uh, Brin?”

“Sure. I have a feeling it’s not going to be as easy as my uncle leading us to his hiding place. He’s probably got other henchmen around and we’ll probably have to fight. She used her magic today, so she’s probably in need of a recharge. So, charge her up.”

“Charge her up.”

“It sounds crude, but you know what I mean. Give her the old magical injection. Fill her up. Top her off. Make her tingle.” A twitch that I thought might have been an attempt at a smile rippled her mouth, but that was it. “Seriously, though, go and spend some time with her. I need to think about things.”

“I wasn’t necessarily offering to do anything physical, Tyra. I’m fine with being with you, even sitting on the other side of the room. Just being around in case you want to talk or vent or something.”

“Let me reserve that offer for another time? I think some alone time to go over everything in my head is what I need most right now. I do appreciate your concern, though.”

I snatched her into a hug, then a soft kiss. “If you’re sure, then fine. Anything I can do to help, though, I’ll gladly do it. It was one piece of bullshit after another today and it must be horrible for you right now. Promise me that you’ll let me know, no matter what time of night it is, if there’s anything I can do for you, okay?”

She patted me on the cheek. “Okay. I’ll be fine. Some thinking, some sleep, then getting those tomes back, and I’ll be good as high-quality steel.”

I looked deep into her eyes and saw nothing that would indicate she was trying to pull one over on me. “Fine. You’ll know where I’m at.”

“Probably fucking Brin, if you have half the brain I think you do.” This time she managed a soft chuckle.

“Just because you told me to.”

“Go. Get her ready in case we get attacked on the way to wherever Dargen hid my father’s books. Try to get some sleep, okay? We have a big day tomorrow.”

“You, too.” I kissed her one more time, taking it slow and making it last. The way her body melted in my arms and with the little sounds she made, I thought she might change her mind. Instead, she gave me a little wave and headed up the stairs.

I took Tyra’s advice and helped Brin to the best of my ability that night. The goblin woman was correct. Whatever happened, things would be better with Brin’s mana as full as we could make it.

Chapter

Fifty-Two

“Get up!”

Tyra smashed a piece of scrap metal against the bars. Her uncle jerked and banged his head on the bars. He muttered a few colorful phrases, including combinations of swear words I hadn’t heard before.

“Come on,” the goblin woman said. “You’re going to show me where you hid the tomes you killed my father for.”

Dargen rubbed his scalp. A tiny trickle blood dribbled down the side of his face. “Tyra, why are you doing this?”

“Why am I doing this? Why am I treating you like the scum you are? You killed my father, for no other reason than you wanted to steal his secrets. Enough talking, get moving. I want this done and over with.”

Brin stepped up to the cage. The little wound was bleeding harder now, making a mess. She reached in and cast her Soothe spell, closing up the little cut. It didn’t get rid of the blood that had already leaked out, but at least we wouldn’t be trailing red fluid as we made our way across town.

I glanced at the moonwisp.

“That spell doesn’t take much mana,” she told me. “Especially for so minor a wound.”

I nodded.

“Thank you,” Dargen said, but only got a glare from Tyra and a flat look from Brin in return.

The prisoner’s niece opened the cage, pulled her uncle’s arms behind him, and bound his hands tightly with thick rope. Then she threw an oversized cloak over him and pulled the hood down so his face couldn’t be seen.

“If you speak, other than to answer a direct question from us, we’ll stop and gag you. You try to escape or get someone to help you, I will personally slit your throat and let Rex eat you. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” she said. “Now, where are we going? I know what you said, that we’ll need you for the specifics. All I want out of you is what area we’re heading toward.”

“The northern edge of Anvil Sink, the last of the buffer zone before the volcano.”

Tyra narrowed her eyes at him for a moment. “Okay, start walking. We’ve got a distance to go.”

We made an awkward procession. A goblin woman, a taranji, a human, a moonwisp, a furcan, and a mysterious cloaked figure. We were about as conspicuous as could be, though I think our recent rounds of interviews and other tasks in investigating the murder made us a regular feature in the city. Thankfully, no one approached us or gave us any trouble.

I kept my eyes open for anyone suspicious. In our discussion the night before, we all agreed that Dargen would probably have thugs somewhere who would try to get him free during our trip. There was almost no chance we wouldn’t have to mix it up. I wanted to see it coming as soon as possible.

I’d gotten up early and done a little training, as well as working on manipulating my weapons. I was mentally patting myself on the back for my progress when Qamara showed up and sat on the bench at the training field I was using. She explained that she had chosen to stay in Tyra’s house. Adventure and combat were not really her thing, which I could respect. It made me feel better anyway. I’d rather not have to worry about protecting her if we got attacked by a large group of people. And that was likely because we’d fought enough in Forgehaven to give a clear warning: if they were going to come after us, they better have a lot of fighters with them.

We passed within a quarter-mile of Dargen’s house. I wondered if the bodies we left in it had been found yet. I didn’t see any guards or the constable around, so if they did, they were keeping it quiet. The head in the hood shifted to look toward the house. It made me wonder what Dargen was thinking about. Probably how he was going to get out of this predicament and when his lackeys were going to show up.

Maybe I was being too paranoid. After all, he hadn’t had the time to contact anyone, so how would they know he was our prisoner? Only a few people were about in the suburb area of Anvil Sink, so it wasn’t like anyone would notice him under the cloak and hood. We neared the edge of the area, the undeveloped land near the foot of the volcano within sight now. Maybe we’d luck out and not have to fight for our lives. Again.

Dargen led us to a rocky hill and took us around it to the northern side. A heavy wooden door was set within the opening of a tunnel there. It looked like an old mine tunnel. It was bound with chains that ran through several steel loops hammered into the stone and met at a large padlock.

“Key,” Tyra said.

“Over to the left, under that flat stone, there’s a key, but not to this lock. It goes to a box hidden around to the right in the roots of a tree. In that box is the key to this lock.”

“Why would you make it so difficult?”

“It’s the spare key. I usually bring mine with me.”

Tyra grunted and lifted up the rock to find a key wrapped in oiled cloth. We all walked to where Dargen showed us the tree and Tyra pulled the box out, fitted the key she found in it, and opened it to find the other key. She dropped the box and the first key on the ground and left them there. She looked inside the hood as she passed.

“You’re not going to need those anymore.”

Tyra opened the lock and pulled the chains aside, then swung the door open.

“Light?”

Dargen answered. “Lamps in the entry, braziers and fixed lamps are in most of the chambers.”

“Chambers, huh? How big is this secret hideout of yours?”

“Bigger than my house. Bigger than Terago’s—I mean, your—house.”

“Traps?”

“Yes. I can talk you through them as we go.”

“Or you can lead us through them,” she said.

“May I speak without having violence done to me?”

“Sure. Don’t get carried away. This is not a nice stroll and conversation. We’re here for the books. I don’t care about anything else.”

“Can I take the cloak off?” Dargen asked. “Or at least the hood. Lamplight is bad enough without the shadows from this thing on my head and the risk of me tripping on the hem dragging the ground.”

Tyra stared at him for a moment, like she was searching for something on his face that would give away his secret plan to escape. Finally, she shrugged. “Fine.”

“Can you…help me? With my hands bound like this, I will have a rough time—”

“Goru’s left nut! Fine.” She tore the cloak off him, wadded it up, and tossed it at the darkness.

After lighting several lamps, and Brin creating a ball of light that illuminated a greater area than the flames, we headed down the rough tunnel behind Dargen. It was a mine tunnel, barely high enough for me to walk without hunching. Tool marks marred every surface, making it clear this was excavated through sweat and labor, not natural water flow or any kind of magical digging. I wasn’t sure they had such a thing, but I didn’t care enough to ask. The mood Tyra set had us all following her and her uncle silently. Like her, I just wanted to get this over with and be done with the whole ordeal.

“I’m sorry it turned out like this, Tyra,” Dargen said. I half expected the goblin girl to smack him in the head with one of her batons. “I never meant for any of it to hurt you.”

“Focus on leading us,” she told him. Her voice sounded resigned. I didn’t doubt she was thinking about what was going to happen once we got the books. What had she decided to do with her uncle?

He continued. “You know, most people don’t have a lot of control over their own lives. We’re all tools for someone else. Parents, bosses, people who hire us, nobles and government officials, they’re the ones calling out the commands. All we can do is to try to please those who are more powerful and maybe snatch a bit of independence occasionally where we can.”

“Shut up. The time of you lecturing me and telling me how the world is has passed. Do your task and maybe you’ll survive this for more than the next hour or two.”

We reached the first large chamber we’d seen so far. It was simple, a hollowed-out area where crates of supplies were stacked. Three other tunnels spread out from it, all nothing more than dark holes.

“The center one,” he said, walking toward it.

Brin increased the brightness of her light while Tip lit some of the lamps on the walls along our path. Tyra kept close to her uncle, watching him closely.

“Your friend there,” Dargen said, “the human. He’s a tool, too, playing right into his hands. He doesn’t mind losing a minion or two if it means a feast at the end of things.”

“What the hells are you talking about?” Tyra demanded in a voice that clearly indicated she was at the end of her patience.

“Stumbling around. It serves a purpose. Distraction. Your friend’s actions are a shiny object, twirling in front of some of the master’s more ambitious minions, and others who want to foil his plans. But he has contingencies upon contingencies. Live or die, your friends will serve a purpose.”

Tyra lunged at him. “All right, that’s it. You’re done talking. You are—”

Dargen whirled, his arms suddenly free. He caught Tyra’s hands and jerked on them, pulling her off her feet to skid across the cave floor. At the same time, two blobs of shadow peeled off from the darkness around him and charged at us.

“Shit!” I shouted. “Umbrenix.”

I surged forward to meet them and found myself twisting to evade a sword coming straight for my face. I managed to get out of the way but couldn’t help my eyes from popping out. An umbrenix with a sword?

“They have weapons,” I said, not sure if my friends could see the shadows well enough from behind me. I had trouble keeping track of them myself in the dim light, and they were only a couple feet away from me.

I drew my siangham, figuring I didn’t have time to properly take out and prepare my three-sectional staff. Dargen darted into the left tunnel, somehow moving at a full sprint even though the tunnel was pitch black.

“I think you’ll like these shadows,” he shouted as he ran. “I outfitted them myself. The master was pleased when I made them weapons and arranged for their training. We needed to prepare them better for you.

“I’m sorry it had to be this way, Tyra, but you should never have tried to take down Dargen the Hammer. Once the umbrenix kill your friends, they will drain you. As it should be. He will get your life force and I will continue studying the tomes and become the smith that even Terago couldn’t be.

“Goodbye, Tyra. I hope you can understand. Some things are more important than anything, even family. Say hello to your father for me.”

Chapter

Fifty-Three

“Motherfucker!”

I dipped under the slash of the umbrenix’s sword and tore at its face with my siangham. Dargen was getting away and there were at least two of the shadows—now armed—attacking us. If he evaded us for more than about half a minute, we’d never find his green, lumpy ass.

My foe may have had a sword instead of just its claws, but using a sword was not the same thing as slashing with your own hands. Changing direction in an instant was hard to achieve, especially without significant training and practice. It couldn’t bring the weapon back around fast enough. I stepped in, pushed the arm wielding the blade, and punched my siangham into where its eye would be if I could see any detail.

I did the sewing machine thing and rammed it into the dark mass several times, moving it side to side rapidly to scramble anything that might be locked within the shadow head. I’d found that losing their heads—literally, I mean—was not conducive to them staying alive. If they were alive at all. My treatment of the monster had a satisfactory result. Its body twitched and it dropped to the ground.

I turned to go after the other one and found Tip cutting into its body with his sword. The shadow didn’t make any sound, but the way it tremored, my little satyr friend had hit something vital. He didn’t let up, though, just like I’d trained him. The blade came around for another slash and I could tell by the way his body moved that he’d put everything into it. Pieces of shadow stuff fell off the main body and the thing joined its friend on the ground.

“Fuck yeah, Tip!”

“I love this sword,” he said, smiling at me. Just before he scanned the area for more dangers.

The sound of stomping feet, then a strange whomping noise in the darkened hallway where Dargen had run pulled the smile off my face and I sprinted toward the area, even though it was black as the bowels of the earth. A thump and what could only be the clang of a steel bar—or baton—hitting the stone floor came next. Even that didn’t make my heart rejoice. But the next thing I heard did.

“Take that you fucker!” Tyra, bless her gorgeous ass, had run after her uncle and apparently thrown her weapon at him.

As fast as I was, Brin was faster. She threw a light ball into the tunnel so by the time I got to Tyra, I could see the goblin girl.

What I did not see was Dargen.

“He’s limping,” she said, “but he kept going. We can catch him.” She took off running, with me right behind her and Brin and Tip close on my heels. Rex put on a burst of speed and passed me, catching up to Tyra.

After a sharp right turn, I caught up to Tyra, who had stopped to look at where we’d ended up. Dargen stood in the large cavern, lit by a number of braziers. I had no idea how he’d lit them so quickly, but that wasn’t important. What was important was that he hefted a hammer that, if it wasn’t the same one he’d had when he’d attacked us in his home, was identical.

There were also multiple bunches of moving darkness in the room, slowly taking shape into humanoid creatures with swords. I counted five so far, but it looked like more were forming.

“Really, Uncle?” Tyra said. “You’re going to make a stand with your fellow peons of Aeyr?”

“I am Dargen the Hammer, of the upper tier of those who serve Master Aeyr. He is pleased with me, both because I have armed his playthings and because I will be able to do so much more for him once I have completely assimilated the techniques in my brother’s books. He rewards his servants well.”

“Dargen,” I said. “We haven’t killed you yet out of respect for our friend Tyra, but talk like that is going to be the end of you. Your precious Aeyr killed my friend. Technically, it wasn’t him directly, but I’m pretty sure we’ve already killed the umbrenix that did it and I know for a fact we killed another of Aeyr’s top-tier minions. Arinthalas? Name ring a bell?”

“He was a fool. If it’s true you really killed him, then he deserved it for being weak.”

His words were big, but his hand fidgeted on the haft of his hammer, his eyes glancing around at the umbrenix.

An arrow zipped past me, going right for Dargen’s face. At the last minute, one of the umbrenix battered it away with its sword.

“Damn,” echoed out from behind me. It was a good shot. Too bad we couldn’t have ended it that quickly.

“Well, no reason to stretch this out,” I said. I pulled out my three-sectional staff and rushed Dargen.

The goblin’s eyes went wide and he stepped back, motioning for the umbrenix to take the brunt of my attack. That was fine with me. All those shadowy fuckers were going to die, too. I had no problem with Dargen living for another minute or two.

As I ran, I implemented what I’d been practicing and fused two of the sticks on my weapon together. I didn’t have time to make the whole thing one solid piece, but using it like a grain-threshing pole would work under the circumstances. I held it near the end of the double section and swung it around so the smaller part would rotate on its chain. The whomp-whomp-whomp of the hardened magical wood cutting through the air was the only sound in the chamber.

Until that end of the weapon struck the sword an umbrenix put up in front of me. A loud clang accompanied the weapon being bashed from the shadow’s hand. I’d never found the monsters to be all that strong. Just wickedly fast and agile.

The next rotation of the stick made a sound like hitting a feather pillow with a club. The contact vibrated all the way up my arms, a lot more solid than the wound would indicate.

The shadow had it worse.

Blunt force was not my first choice to attack the umbrenix, but a stick slamming into its head like that was not a good look. Its body swayed and lurched as it tried to regain its balance. I stepped a little closer, brought the longer part of the weapon around my head to build some momentum, and bashed it in the head—or what was left of its head—again.

This time it went down and stayed down. So much for shadows with swords.

Motion to my side made my reflexes kick in just in time to fall out of the way of another sword. It wasn’t a dodge or a smoothly executed move. It was literally me falling to the side like I was a tree that had been cut down. I landed hard, though I tried to roll to mitigate the force. I ended up scrambling up to my feet as a few of Brin’s water spikes nailed the shadow that had tried to cut me in two.

Lesson learned. Getting cocky was a good way to be killed.

Brin moved in, throwing a light globe in the monster’s face. I took a second to look around. Tip was clashing blades with another umbrenix, one that didn’t seem to match the satyr’s skill, thankfully. Tyra battered the sword from another one coming toward her. It sent all kinds of thoughts zooming through my head about whether the monsters could make their weapons insubstantial like they did with their own bodies. Rex was trying to harry the umbrenix fighting Tip, but the poor lizard’s fangs and claws couldn’t even touch it. The best he could do was to stay out of the way of that sword.

I spotted Dargen, easing his way back toward another tunnel. He was going to run for it again.

“Nope,” I said to no one in particular. “Not gonna happen.”

Darting toward the goblin, I shifted my triple-stick—now a double-stick—to my left hand, drew my siangham with my right, sighted, and threw the short weapon. As it left my hand, I mentally lengthened it slightly. Instead of throwing it end over end, I also made parts at the back end of it rise into ridges. They weren’t fletching or flights, exactly, but I was happy to see they kept the shaft of the weapon steady as it zipped across the chamber.

Just as the point punched into the back of Dargen’s knee, another shadow appeared in front of me, its sword thrusting at my chest to skewer me. I slammed the shaft of my weapon across my chest awkwardly, but well enough to parry the blow. I was still in motion, so I lifted up my right leg, pointed my knee straight forward, and drove it into the shadow’s belly.

I might never get used to the feel of striking the umbrenix. It was kind of soft, and also kind of solid. My knee sank into its mass, but I got the sense that it was a pretty hard blow. The shadow monster reacted as I would expect from a creature that had never been able to be touched with anything but an enchanted weapon.

It dropped its sword and bent nearly in half.

I left it there to suffer until I or someone else finished it off. Only Tip’s sword or Brin’s spells could do that, other than me, but I was more concerned about our little ugly green rabbit. Who was, at the moment, limping as fast as he could toward wherever it was he planned on escaping to.

I’d had enough. When I got within ten feet, I unfused the pieces of my weapon, turning it back into a fully flexible three-sectional staff. Holding it on one end with both hands, I swung it over my head in a horizontal circle, then let it fly.

It crashed into Dargen’s back like a giant bolo. His hammer flew from his grip as he faceplanted and tumbled on the cave floor, scattering gravel and kicking up a cloud of dust. I slid to a stop above him and reached down.

The dude was a scrapper, I have to give him that. He yanked my siangham from the back of his leg and thrust it at me.

I caught his arm, using his own significant force against him by redirecting it to the side. His wrist did not like the place I was asking it to bend. A loud crunch and snap and the bald goblin opened his mouth to scream in pain.

With his own hand and arm—which were understandably limp at the moment—still gripping the siangham, I rammed it into the roof of Dargen’s mouth, at the correct angle to reach my target.

It took all my strength, speed, and power generation from everything from my legs and hips through my shoulders, but I managed to drive the length of my weapon, longer than it normally was, straight up through his palate into his sinuses, and eventually into his brain. Unsure which part of the brain I hit, I hammered the end of it further in after its motion had been arrested. It took two tries to get it to go through the top of his skull. Thank Valorae for magical materials that could stay strong and sharp through such torture.

I left the goblin where he was and picked up my triple stick. There were still more shadows to fight. I picked out the closest one—the one Tyra was fighting—and went into motion.

Chapter

Fifty-Four

Itook out two of the remaining umbrenix while Tyra and Tip cooperated into manipulating the third so the satyr could run it through with his sword.

“I need to get these batons enchanted,” Tyra grumbled. She didn’t say anything further as her eyes found her uncle’s body. I’d kind of made a mess of him.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“No. Don’t be. He made his choice. Several times, in fact. Not only killing my father, but attaching himself to that Aeyr character, trying to kill all of you, and even choosing to sacrifice me in the end. There was nothing left of the uncle I knew in that carcass over there.”

“Understood. Still, I’m sorry all this happened.”

“That’s the way life is, right? Anyone who tells you it’s fair is full of shit.” She swung her head around, scanning the chamber. “I don’t see any books. They’re probably hidden here, like he said, but who knows where?”

“We’ll search the place,” I said. “Finding out what happened with your father was only one part of it. We won’t stop until you get those books in your hands.”

“Thank you. I do believe one thing he said, though. I bet this place is full of all kinds of nasty traps. Maybe even more of those shadow bastards, too.”

“We shall take it slowly,” Brin said. “With my Lunar Light sight, I will be able to spot many of the traps and even the umbrenix. I may need to rest after a time, however. I have extended myself with my casting and though Lunar Light is cast through my bracelet, it still uses some of my mana, though not a truly significant amount.”

I nodded. She had been using quite a bit of magic, since she didn’t have an enchanted weapon yet, so her spells were the only way for her to hurt the shadows. “I can hold your hand as we search. It’ll help give you some magic back.”

With our new plan, we started. After Brin healed some minor wounds Tip and Tyra got in tussling with the umbrenix. Then I spent a few minutes holding her and kissing her to infuse more power into her at a faster rate. Tyra looked longingly at me as I held the moonwisp. I winked at her. I’d give her some proper attention once we weren’t in the middle of a dangerous secret hideout.

We searched Dargen’s underground hideout for hours, Brin and Tyra helping each other to pass through it all safely. The moonwisp found a number of traps and, once located, Tyra used her crafting expertise to disable them. Tip and I were relegated to support, killing the few umbrenix left in the place that came after us.

“I know there have to be more than that,” I said at one point. “Dargen kept them from going into the city because he wanted you to be safe, Tyra. At least, that’s what he said. I’m sure he had more of them under his command, especially if he was building up a force of them that could use weapons he made. I wonder where they all went.”

“Back to their daddy,” Tip offered. “What else are they going to do? Their job is to kill people and drain them for their life energy, right?”

“Yeah, if they are the right type of people. From what Qamara and Brin told me, the people in this world don’t have enough of that to make it worthwhile. At least, not enough they can access after whatever it was the shadowstalkers did to counteract the practice.”

“Unless they are extremely powerful,” Brin said.

“What? How does that work? I thought the reason they came to my world to snatch people was that since we don’t have magic, we have all this unused energy floating around in us and because the big spell made it impossible for the umbrenix to drain people of this world.”

“That is correct. However, for those who have become powerful magically, their bodies begin to store energy in another way. Very large pools of mana can be drained. At least, that was the theory from when Aeyr was last active. He never made a strong practice of doing so—it seems there are risks or trade-offs, though I do not know what they are—but he may be doing so now. We have heard of powerful mages disappearing already. I know not if Dargen’s words were true and the umbrenix can drain life energy from people of this world again. My understanding is that they can’t, other than the powerful ones I just spoke of.”

Thinking about it made my brain hurt. “Well, shit. Anyway, to your point, Tip, you’re probably right. The shadows probably ran back to Aeyr, or to another of his minions. It’s too bad we couldn’t catch one or follow it. We weren’t able to get any information out of Dargen. Other than what he freely gave us in his villain monologue.

“I think we did learn, or at least confirm, that Aeyr gives them some of the umbrenix to do with as they like. Arinthalas had some and Dargen had some. He decided to play dress-up with them and to give them toys. Brin, is there anyone who is an expert on the umbrenix?”

The moonwisp watched Tyra disassembling a trap she’d just found. “I imagine there might be one or two, though I know not of any personally. Why?”

“I figure that if we could do something to track them—I don’t know, attach some kind of magical beacon or something to them—we’d be able to find where Aeyr is. Or at least we’d be able to find more of his minions. Finding them one at a time and destroying them will eventually lead us to their boss, I think. Maybe it’ll even make him want to come out of hiding to try to take us down himself.”

“You wish to entice him into coming after us?”

“Do you know a better way to find him?”

“I do not at the moment.”

“Me either.”

“I do know of an explorer,” she said. “She specializes in specific items of historical value, but she has been all over the world and might have learned something that could be useful in finding the Hungerer.”

“That sounds like about the best lead we’ve got right now. Where is she?”

“I do not know. As I said, she is an explorer. She travels extensively.”

I stared at the blue woman. “So you just thought you’d mention it so you could tease me and pull the prize away from me just as I reach for it?”

“Prize? I mentioned no prize.”

I shook my head. “For fuck’s sake.”

Eventually, we made it to an area that looked more like a series of underground workshops than the mine-like tunnels we’d been traveling in. The working of the stone was straighter, there was less gravel and dirt scattered on the floor, and a few chambers even had doors. There were also fewer traps.

When Tyra opened a door, after Brin scanned it with her Lunar Light sight, I knew immediately it was what we’d been looking for. A forge sat along one wall, its chimney curving to go through the stone. Three different anvils were set up as well, with quenching barrels, vises, grinding wheels, and scores of tools all hanging or lying on walls, racks, or tables.

On one work bench, a stool sitting in front of it, were three large, leatherbound books. Tyra’s sudden inrush of air told me they were the ones she’d seen.

The goblin woman looked over to Brin, who studied the room. After a moment, she nodded at Tyra and the crafter ran to the table, throwing open the cover of one of the books.

“Gods,” she said. “It’s them. The books I saw. This is my father’s writing. I was starting to doubt myself. Doubt everything. But they’re here. My uncle did kill my father for these, and he planned on using the information in them to not only make himself rich and famous, but to help out that asshole who is trying to subjugate the whole world. How did I ever get caught up in this shit?”

I stepped up next to her and put my hand on her shoulder, looking over her head to see what the books looked like. “Because you’re the daughter of the best smith in the world. You’re his heir. With those books, you’ll know the stuff he learned over his lifetime of smithing. I have no doubt you would have worked it out yourself, but now you can have a head start. Imagine what you can do with that knowledge and your own abilities. You’ll reach heights even your arrogant father couldn’t have dreamed of.”

Tyra turned and put her arms around me, hugging me tight.

“Thank you for that.”

I hugged her back. “For what?”

“For not saying that these books are the things that will make me a good crafter.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you crazy? You would have outdone your father eventually, even without access to those books. And you wouldn’t just be smithing, but crafting in other media as well. I think he was such an asshole to you because he realized you were going to outshine him. Now, with or without his help, you definitely will. I won’t let you get away with thinking you’re not amazing.”

She seemed comfortable holding me, so we continued for a few more minutes. Once she released me, she picked up the books. I knew she was strong, but she was also small, and the books were large. Tip tapped on my arm and held out a backpack he’d gotten from somewhere.

“It was over there. Her uncle probably used it to bring the books here.”

“Good find. Thanks, Tip.” I handed the backpack to Tyra and she managed to get all three books in there. I wanted to offer to carry them, simply because a backpack with huge books in it would be easier for me to carry with my size, but I didn’t offer. Tyra’s eyes shimmered and I didn’t think she’d be letting go of the tomes for the foreseeable future.

A few turns down the main passage and we found ourselves at a door with a mechanism attached to it. It only took Tyra a moment to intuit what it did.

“It’s the opening and closing mechanism. This door, unlike the other one, could be opened from inside or outside without a conventional key. Just positioning this lever like this and…yep.”

The door swung open and sunlight poured through, blinding us momentarily. We had Brin’s light and a few lamps, but we’d gotten accustomed to the dimmer illumination while in the caves. After several minutes, we acclimated and exited Dargen’s hideout.

“I know where we are,” Tyra said. “Come on. We’re not all that far from the door we came in through. We’ll head through Anvil Sink and across the city and we’ll be home in an hour or so.”

“Should we stop and tell the constable about Dargen?” I asked.

Tyra stopped, looked back toward the open door to Dargen’s underground lair, and shrugged. “He didn’t care about solving the murder before. He can fuck himself. We know what happened and we took care of it. The murderer got justice, I got my father’s books back, and we killed some of those shadows while we were at it. I think I’m good with how things stand. As far as I’m concerned, the matter is closed.”

I laughed. “Sounds good to me. Let the constable waste his time on figuring out what happened here when someone stumbles onto those doors and explores. That’ll be plenty to keep him busy.”

Chapter

Fifty-Five

By the time we got back to Tyra’s home, it was nearly dinnertime. The goblin girl immediately went to the forge and locked up the tomes in a heavy-duty cabinet while the rest of us availed ourselves of the baths down the hall from our rooms. Clean and hungry, we headed for the sitting room that had become such a familiar place over the course of our investigation.

Halfway down the hall, I stopped.

“I forgot. I have some clothes that need to go in the laundry with the ones I just changed out of. I’ll be back in a minute. I need to go and toss them in the dirty clothes basket in the bathroom.”

“Take your time,” Tip said. “We’ll meet you in the dining room. Dinner should be just about ready.”

I laughed. “There’s a man with his priorities straight. Okay, see you in a minute.”

I made it to my door before the one at the end of the hall opened. Tyra stepped out, her hair still damp from her bath.

“Gods that felt good,” she said when she saw me. “What are you doing?”

“I need to toss some dirty clothes in with the others so they’ll be cleaned. Tip and Brin just went down to the dining room.”

The goblin girl worried her bottom lip in her teeth. “Quite a day, huh?”

“Yeah. I feel like we’re lucky we didn’t get injured more. Brin is a godsend—goddess-send?—with her healing.”

“She’s great.” Tyra started to rock back and forth on her heels.

“You okay?” I asked.

“I…yeah. Umm, can you come over here for a second? I want to show you something.”

“You do, huh?” Electricity zapped through my body, making the whole thing tingle. I tried to play it cool, forcing myself to walk slowly. The result was a jerky kind of gait that I’m sure looked anything but.

Tyra opened her door and motioned for me to go through first. I dipped my head in thanks and entered her room.

No sooner had my feet crossed the threshold than Tyra darted in after me, closing and locking her door. I was still in the process of turning toward her when she slammed into me, pulling my head down by my hair so she could kiss me.

I didn’t fight her on it.

Her hands went to my shirt, pulling it up while she kissed me desperately. We’d kissed before, even made out with what I thought was fairly intense passion. It was nothing compared to the hunger with which her tongue sought out mine. I sank into her soft lips, my own hands running up the naked flesh of her back between her tiny tank top thing and her tinier shorts. Her body wriggled, her muscles twitching and jumping under my hand as she did her best to lift my shirt off my body.

“Mmmmm.” I kissed her hard, pulling her body to mine so forcefully, she whoompfed. I pulled away from her. “Hurry, take the shirt off so I can kiss you some more.”

“Rrrrrrrrr.” She had to reach while I bent over slightly to pull it over my head, but in seconds, my shirt was on the floor and her mouth was back on mine.

“Mmmnnn. Dnnnyuuuu.”

She eased up for a second. “What?”

“Are you sure about this? That you—”

She didn’t let me finish, pressing her lips to me and ramming her tongue into my mouth. I would take that to mean yes, she was indeed sure about this. I grabbed her perfect ass and kissed her hard.

Tyra’s hands roamed all over my chest and back, so eagerly that I could have sworn there were at least a couple other hands involved. As she explored me, she thrust her hips and ground on my leg, humming as she breathed overtime through her nose.

Her actions were not without effect. I was getting hard by the second, something she had not missed. Even as she ground on my leg, one of her hands snaked its way to my crotch and started rubbing the rapidly growing lump she found there.

“Goddamn,” I said, trying—but failing—to keep my hips from jerking toward her. I picked her up, spun her around, and slammed her back into the wall of her room. Possibly a little too hard, since a gust of air hissed out of her mouth. “Sorry, but you’re so fucking sexy.”

“Then you better get some of these clothes off and fuck me, Gar. Right now. I’ve been waiting too long.”

“I agree.”

I tore at her top. It was mostly leather, but there was other material in there, something that made it stretchier. It was like a heavy leather sports bra. I ripped it off her, pulling it so fast over her head, she squawked from me scraping her ears. I thought I heard some of the seams in the clothing tear. Fuck it, I’d buy her a new one.

Her tits bounced free and—my God—they were glorious. I mean, she showed a lot of them with that top anyway, but they were so perfect. Round and firm and with dark green nipples peeking out to say hello. I dove in and took one in my mouth and sucked hard.

“Oh-oh-oh.”

I had to curb my energy a little because I almost bit down hard on the perfect stiff nub in my mouth. The urge to chew into her and eat her perfect breast was almost overpowering.

I did clamp down on it. A little.

“Oh-huh.” The combination of her exclamation and the rapid inhalation forced pre-cum to dribble out of the tip of my dick. I didn’t regret getting fluids on my newly changed clothes, but I did want my member to be free to hunt the hot green woman’s parts.

Switching to the other breast, I set both my hands to work on unclasping her skintight shorts. Tyra had regained her self-control and was at the same time working on my pants.

“Oh-huh, oh-huh, oh-oh-oh. Gods, Gar. Bite it. Nibble on me. I love how you play with my tits.”

Fuck. My hips thrust forward, pinning her against the wall, smashing her hands between us.

“Auuuuugh. Why the fuck aren’t your pants off? Why aren’t my shorts off?”

I had the same questions, but seeing as I had just loosened her shorts enough to pull them down, I didn’t bother answering. I pushed them down her smooth, silky thighs and onto the ground, tearing my own clothing out of her hands.

“Awwwww. No. I need to—ooooooh. Gods!”

Since I was already on my knees, I decided to take advantage of my position. I licked up her right leg, starting at the knee and working my way inward. I’d gotten mid-thigh before her entire body jerked and she’d made her exclamation.

I had looked at Tyra’s legs a lot and I’d never seen any evidence she even grew hair on them. As I ran my tongue over her skin, I was amazed at how fucking smooth they were. But that wasn’t all. I’d tasted her mouth and her neck, knew she had the scent and the faint taste of metal. A tang that was at the same time strange and pleasant.

It was stronger now, where I was.

I recognized the aroma. Metal warmed by the sun, with a hint of salt from the perspiration of hard work. A little touch of something bitter filled out both the scent and the taste and made it mouth-watering.

Her moans and her hands in my hair pulling my face toward her were even greater bonuses.

“Gods damn it, Gar. Your tongue feels so good down there. Kiss my skin. Lick it. Suck it. Bite it.”

I did all those things, being careful to only leave marks where they wouldn’t show outside her tiny, tiny shorts. It was frustrating work, in more ways than one. My hard-on raged on my half-loosened pants and I wanted so badly to suck hard on her inner thigh and make a mark to remember our activities by.

I compromised.

I roughly turned her halfway to facing the wall and I sunk my teeth into the perfect, soft skin of her tight ass cheek.

“Oh! Yes. Oh-oh-oh-oh. Mmmmmm.”

The urges building within me weren’t quite satisfied yet. I slid over to the other cheek and put my wide mouth on her skin and sucked as hard as I could, holding it for nearly half a minute.

“Oh-huh, oh-huh,” she whimpered, one of her hands going to her chest and tweaking one of her own nipples hard.

When I released her skin, there was a dark green and red mark on her. I stopped and filed away the image of her fantastic ass with the hickey on one cheek and faint teeth marks on the other. Then I dove in again and rammed my tongue straight into her hole.

“Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh.”

I rubbed my tongue along the tight skin of her asshole while moving my hands up to meet hers on her tits, caressing her breast and pulling on her nipple. Tyra slammed her ass into my face, her hard muscle firm against my cheeks and lips.

“Gods, Gar. That feels so-so-so-unghn!”

The goblin girl’s body vibrated and her abs clenched as she hunched over. The whimpering, moaning sounds coming from her sent fire through my entire body. When she tore one of my hands from her chest and thrust it down to her pussy, I reveled in the warm, wet sensation of her lips as she guided me to glide over her engorged folds.

She didn’t stop there, though. Once I started moving my fingers on my own, she returned her hand to her nipple and started thrusting her hips rhythmically. She hadn’t even finished her first orgasm and she was building higher to another one. Her thrusting, breathing, and moaning got faster and faster until I pressed my tongue harder into her tight little hole and she clenched her ass so tightly, I feared for being able to pull my tongue out again. A dozen seconds later, her whole body jerked and then relaxed.

She turned toward me, pulling my hand from her crotch and sucking on my fingers.

“Get over there on the bed so I don’t have to try to do what I’m going to do to you while standing up.”

I wasn’t going to argue. I picked her up, threw her onto the bed, and joined her before she could say anything else.

She had my pants off like she had cast a magic spell to do it and then her hot, wet pussy pressed on my face, her legs on either side of my head. I hadn’t tasted her juices before and I was definitely not disappointed now. They tasted as the rest of her had, but magnified. Something about her creamy nectar made me thirsty for more. I lapped up every bit as she moaned and dragged her folds across my mouth.

She bent over, allowing me a view of her round ass cheeks and the beautiful work of art that was her crack in between. I didn’t have time to enjoy it, though, because the feel of a tongue cleaning pre-cum off the head of my dick made my eyes go blurry.

Then she set to work.

I had no expectations of the gorgeous goblin girl, but even if I had, she would have exceeded them all. I guess there’s no other way to say it. The woman could suck cock.

She flicked her tongue, teasing me just enough that my dick twitched in her hands, which were wrapped around my shaft. Her fine control of the pressure she applied with those hands was worthy of the best surgeon and her tongue—oh my God, her tongue—I had no doubt she could tie knots in ropes with that thing. And probably untie them.

Her smooth, wet tongue and lips glided and dragged over parts of my member in a way that couldn’t have been more perfect. In her mouth or out, she worked me up until I was moaning and muttering incoherently. I was NOT whimpering. But damn, even if I was, fuck you. Don’t judge me.

I realized I’d stopped licking her, so caught up in my own pleasure, so despite the tight reach, I got back to it. That only made her do things that felt even better. If that was possible.

I lost track of time, space, and my own existence. All there was was her hot slit on my mouth and her hot mouth on my dick. I found that I was rocking, thrusting in time with her bobbing to bury my cock in her mouth. I didn’t even remember starting to move. The pressure built and everything below my waist got tight. I knew I was one small step from exploding.

Then she dragged her teeth gently across me exactly at the right spot.

“Aaauuuuggghhhh.”

I don’t know what she did, how she did it, or even how she knew to try it, but whatever it was, it set me off like a bomb. My ass tightened and lifted all the way up to the middle of my back off the bed, almost throwing Tyra off me. I kept my hands clenched on her ass, tongue lolling in her slit out of my sense of duty, but damn, I couldn’t control anything lower than my navel.

Cum rocketed out of me and I was afraid it was going to punch a hole in the goblin girl’s throat, but she gulped it down and even put some suction on my shaft, only making the entire orgasm that much more powerful.

She sucked and sucked, and sucked, clenching her own thighs and filling my mouth with her own cum. Finally, when I didn’t think there was an ounce of fluid left in my body, she let my softening dick slip from her mouth.

“Oh,” she sighed. “I wanted that for so long.”

“Me, too,” I said. “Thanks for being patient.”

She chuckled. “It made it that much better, huh?”

“Yeah it did.”

We snuggled there naked on her bed for a few minutes, but it couldn’t last long.

“We’re late for dinner,” I told her.

“No problem. Let’s get dressed and go eat. Maybe we can have dessert later?”

“I would say that’s a distinct possibility.”

Chapter

Fifty-Six

After we got dressed, Tyra moved toward the door, but I grabbed her and pressed her back up against the wall. Like earlier, but without as much force or urgency. I leaned down and kissed her.

“That was fun,” I said. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Okay? I feel fantastic.”

“No, I mean in general, with the whole thing with your uncle and all that.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Of course, I’m still riding the euphoria from what we just did. Check back with me later. I don’t think it has all hit me yet. “

“Fair enough. You will talk to me about this. Expect me to pester you.”

“Mmmm. Thank you. Now come on. Let’s eat dinner. We have things to celebrate, after all. We solved the mystery, I got my father’s books, and…other things.” She eyed me and gave me a smirk.

When we neared the dining room, I saw a familiar figure emerge, heading for the front door.

“Master Ilias?” Tyra said. “I didn’t know you were here.”

The man, so cool in almost every situation I’d seen him in, fidgeted. His eyes darted around like he was planning an escape. “Good evening, Tyra. I was here to speak with Sivelle. I asked her to go to the theater next week.”

“That’s wonderful. But where are you going?”

“Home. I was just leaving.”

“Oh, no, no, no. Stay for dinner. We’ve had a momentous day. We’ll explain all about it. Come on. We’ll see if Sivelle wants to come out from the kitchen and eat with us.”

As soon as we entered the dining room, Brin looked from me to Tyra and back again, then nodded with a smile. The words she’d said to me came back, how it would probably do both me and Tyra good if I got together with the goblin girl. It seemed they were not just words. I matched her smile with my own.

I felt sorry for the master. He was obviously uncomfortable, but he was too polite to decline the invitation. Tyra took him by the arm and walked with him into the dining room, where our friends were waiting. I sat down in the same seat I normally did, Brin snatching up my hand from the chair next to me. Tip was across from me, with Rex snuffling around under the table near him, and Qamara was on my other side. Tyra took a seat next to Tip, after she went into the kitchen to see if the otter woman wanted to join us, and Master Ilias sat next to the goblin woman, Sivelle on the other side. The cook bounced with nervous excitement and threw smiles at Ilias, thrilled to be included.

“Since we’re going to explain everything that happened and Master Ilias and Sivelle are already here,” I said, “maybe Klaard should join us, too? What do you think, Tyra?”

“I think that’s a great idea. Klaard, will you please join us? Some of what we have to say involves you as well. I would like you to be part of this.”

The sneaky goblin butler stepped into the room from a shadowed doorway. “Of course, Miss Tyra. Thank you.”

Once Tyra had Sivelle bring out all the food at once—something she and Klaard seemed appalled about—and we were all settled, we went over everything we’d done to search for Terago’s killer. It was mostly Tyra and me speaking, but Brin, Qamara, and even Tip added a thought or two. When we stopped talking, the three specially invited guests stared at us in disbelief.

“Master Dargen,” Klaard said. It wasn’t a question. I wasn’t sure what it was. Regret? Something he expected? He’d known what we knew when we left that morning, but with the further information about being a minion of Aeyr and all the rest that we’d just told him, I was surprised the butler took it so calmly.

Sivelle dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. Master Ilias watched her carefully. I thought he was too shy about expressing his emotions in public to put his arm around her and console her, but the torment on his face clearly showed he wanted to. When we went into a little further detail about what we’d done earlier in the day, his head snapped over to look at me with his mouth open.

“What did you just say, Gar?”

“Besides the traps and the thugs in his house, he also had some umbrenix. Turns out, he had been working as a minion of Aeyr, though he didn’t let the shadows run free like some of Aeyr’s minions do.”

“The shadows were here, in Forgehaven?”

“Yes, we killed nearly a dozen of them,” I said. “From what I can tell, Aeyr gives groups of them to his minions to do what they want with them. Arinthalas sent them out to do things, but basically let them do what they wanted otherwise. Dargen made them weapons and started teaching them how to use them. He also kept them from rampaging in the city. I’m sure we’ll find other of Aeyr’s lackeys doing other things with them. Aeyr seems to have an organization of sorts.”

The master steepled his fingers as he did sometimes when he was thinking. “I have heard rumors of the shadows causing problems in the Aesturith Kingdom recently.”

I looked to Brin. “Aesturith Kingdom?”

The moonwisp answered me. “It is the kingdom bordering the Thetsay Region—this region—to the east. It is large, stretching far north as well as east from here.”

“You heard there was umbrenix activity there?” I asked Master Ilias.

“I believe so. Not specifically umbrenix, but shadowy creatures. Monsters. There are whisperings of some minor tyrant gaining power from somewhere around there as well, but I find it difficult to believe that. The kingdom is well-equipped to stamp out such things. Still, if you search for the shadows, maybe…?”

I clenched a fist. “I think we should consider that being our next stop.” I turned to Tyra. “It seems to me that things are wrapped up here pretty well. We solved the mystery of your father’s death, regained his tomes, and even eliminated another of Aeyr’s henchmen. I am still looking for justice for my friend, and Brin and Tip have their own quests I’ll be helping them with.

“We appreciate you letting us stay here, Tyra, and I hate to leave so soon after just getting to know you, but—”

“I’ll go with you.”

I blinked at the goblin girl. “Wait, what?”

“If you’ll let me. You helped me, it’s only fair that I help you in turn. Plus, if my uncle tried to further Aeyr’s plans to take over the world, I feel a little bit like I should do something about it. He turned out to be as much of an asshole as my father, but he was family and I can’t help but to feel a bit responsible.”

I met eyes with Brin, who smiled and nodded, then with Tip, who grinned and gave me a big thumbs-up.

“But your crafting, the books. You were going to study them.”

“I still am.” She shrugged. “I can study as we travel. I’m not sure how much time I’ll be able to spend at an anvil, but just reading the tomes and ingesting all that information will take a while.”

“Okay. You’re welcome to join us. It might get a little dangerous at times, though.”

“Pshaw. I think I’ve proven I can handle a little danger.”

I gave her a smile. “You have. Welcome to the group. It’ll be great to have you around.”

Qamara had been sitting back, watching our interactions without speaking. She spoke up now.

“Garfield, I would like to stay with you for a time, as we discussed. I will need to leave to tend to other matters, but I can travel with you for a short time, if that is acceptable.”

“You’re always welcome, Qamara. I’d just as soon you stay with us for good, but we’ve talked about it and I understand why you think you might need to leave to do your own things. Please let us help you when we can, though. That’s what friends do.”

“I will endeavor to secure your aid whenever it seems possible.”

I clapped my hands together. “I guess we have our plans, then. Sorry to take Tyra away from you just when you got her back,” I said to Klaard and Sivelle.

The butler nodded to me. “We will mind the house, as ever, and it will be here when Miss Tyra is ready for a rest. I thank you for helping her and for what you did to solve the master’s murder. It is a tale of unfortunate events, but now he—and the mystery—may rest.”

I enjoyed chatting with my dinner companions for another two hours, after which Master Ilias pressed me to agree to one final training session the next day before we headed off to the Aesturith Kingdom.

The pang of loss over Lucas was still keen, but it had settled into a dull pain instead of something that dominated my thoughts and triggered my baser emotions. My little group was growing and I committed myself to not only find a way to repay Aeyr himself, but to help my friends to fulfill their own goals.

The Hungerer and his pet thugs wanted to use me as a tool, or as a source of power. Well, the demigod could fuck himself. I was no one’s battery, no one’s pawn. We didn’t know exactly what to do yet, but as long as we had one more lead to cling to, that was good enough for me. I’d train hard the next day, increase my skills to prepare myself for what the future held, and then we’d hunt down the next minion that needed killing.

Looking around the dining room, I dared to feel hope for the first time since I’d landed in this world. Lucas, buddy, I’m working on it. I think you’d like my new friends. I hope you’re somewhere nice. I don’t know how it works, but maybe, just maybe, I can send that bastard Aeyr to you. Do me a favor and fuck him up there, too.

Thank you for reading Weaponsmaster 2!

I hope you enjoyed the book. Book 3 is already written and will be out soon, if it’s not already out by the time you read this.

Want to know how you can support my writing so I can keep putting out more books? It’s simple: let others know you like my stories, especially through leaving a review or posting about them.

I also have a Patreon that you can join if you want to get early access to chapters for new books, see what’s going on with cover art and upcoming series, want to take part in helping me to decide which way a story goes, or you just want to buy me a cup of coffee (which is the fuel that runs the entire process!). You can check it out here: patreon.com/PhilAerix

Also, if you want to get a similar standalone story for free, I’ve written Elf Queen just for you. You can pick it up by going to my website (https://philaerix.com/) and clicking on the button next to the cover.

Fan of Harem Stories?

If you want to find more harem stories, or just hang out with those who appreciate them, check out the Dukes of Harem, Harem Gamelit Monster Girl Fiction , Harem Lit Readers, and Harem Lit groups on Facebook!

Book 3 is with my editor as I write this. I don’t have a cover yet, but it will in the next few days, at which point I’ll update this page to show it, along with the link for the book when it becomes available. I’ve included the link for the Amazon series page, where the book will appear as soon as it launches.

Weaponsmaster series page:

Weaponsmaster Series

Also by Phil Aerix

Elf Queen

Aycrishi Sodality Series:

AS1 - Priestess (also on audio)

AS2 - Warrior (also on audio)

AS3 - Vagabond (also on audio)

AS4 - Princess (also on audio)

AS5 - Rebel (also on audio)

AS6 - Paragon (audio coming soon)

Weaponsmaster Saga:

Weaponsmaster 1

Weaponsmaster 2 (this book)

About the Author

I’m Phil Aerix and I write fantastical stories with some heat.

I like tales about regular guys who through some twist of fate meet beautiful, sexy women of all kinds who may need some help, a little attention, or someone to go into battle beside. Elves, faeries, beastkin, monster girls, I love them all, and I love writing about them.

You can catch up with me via e-mail at Phil@philaerix.com or on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/PhilAerixAuthor). I love getting questions or just chatting about the genre. I hope to see you around the block. Or in some harem-centric world, whichever is easiest and the most fun.

https://philaerix.com/

Phil@philaerix.com

Contents

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For More Information…

Qamara’s Foretelling for Gar

What Has Come Before…

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Thank you for reading Weaponsmaster 2!

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Also by Phil Aerix

About the Author