“Well, he already has one goblin pet,” Kelvin joked, “so someone as cute as me can only be adopted by the Dark Wizard, right?”

  The two other men on the hind deck of the barge chuckled as Kelvin picked his teeth with his dagger.

  Each man had a roasted piglet, while the sow went to the crew.

  Kelvin stared downriver to the north shore—the unlucky fuckers who hadn’t had the coin to buy passage, and were now rushing to build rafts to come across. They haven’t got the message yet.

  Kelvin glanced at his brothers. He was the middle one, a bastard of orc and goblin blood. Boris, the eldest, was the only one with pure blood. Severin, the youngest, was a human–orc mutt. Kelvin shook his head.

  “What good business we done. Hawkin’, lootin’, tradin’… but trust me, boys, the winds are changin’. And after Northguard…” He shook his head again.

  Boris grunted. “Greens’re fucked now. The shorties—dwarves—took Saint Barik, and now there’s strange magic comin’ outta Portguard.”

  Severin tore a chunk of meat off his piglet and squeezed it in his fingers. “Old fortress, tight as a turn of chains.” Juice ran down his hand; he licked it clean.

  “Stranglin’ us now the Prophet’s dead, yeah. Neither his brother nor that crazy High Shaman Kathrack could save it. Could always join the Toxic Gobblers down south—fight mad elves, or them weird Southerners… them Boldies. Nah, trust me, lads—it’s the Dark Mages we gotta go for.”

  Severin snorted. “It’s old fuckin’ Portguard we gotta go for. Though I reckon it’ll be funny once they figure out what happened to the Holy City.”

  Silence. None of the brothers were in a joking mood after that. They had all heard it, after all.

  Kelvin cleared his throat with a swig of beer. “Well… anyway, I heard the Order’s pragmatic. Not as—”

  Boris cut in. “Outright fuckin’ racist as some other lot here.”

  Severin made a broad gesture. “Spoken with an eloquence I’ll never match.”

  “Fuck ye’,” growled Boris, taking a greasy bite of piglet.

  Boris slapped a fatty hand on Kelvin’s shoulder, staining his already filthy tunic worse. “Any last wishes, brother, in case the little gambit fails?”

  Kelvin whistled, sharp, cutting over the cheering crews. Theirs was a proud river fleet—three brothers as admirals, eleven ships cutting trade deals by night along the Great River and across the lake.

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  “Well,” Kelvin said, surveying his little empire, “raise a cool one to me when you think of me. And split me stuff the way Mum’d approve.”

  Boris grinned. “Meanin’ I take it all.”

  “Fuck off,” Severin said.

  “So,” Kelvin breathed, “what news you got for me? Severin—you came down from the north. How’s it look?”

  “Well… the crusade turned to shit, that’s how. In Northguard, even while they were winnin’, factions were fightin’—mostly the Church against the less-agreeable allies. Don’t think they’ll push south come summer. They’ll be consolidatin’. I heard the Olivists set a beachhead right in front of the big Church settlement north of the Verdra River.”

  Kelvin chuckled, biting piglet again, savorin’ the salt, the night river sounds, the raunchy partying of his raiders and traders—the Green River Ghosts. End of an era, he thought. All eras end.

  “I mean what happened at Saint Barik,” he went on. “Shorties’re out for blood. On the East coast—Northmarch, Marholdians an’ the Broken Peaks still holdin’ their homeland. Ain’t a single one o’ the Disinherited who actually wants Saint Barik, an’ it’s just a consolidation prize anyhow.”

  Boris and Kelvin grunted in agreement at what their brother had shared. Kelvin patted his belly.

  “Well, any of ya takin’ bets on what’s gonna happen?”

  He was met only with chuckles. Then Boris spoke up.

  “Well, for me part, I neatly dodged outta that shitshow with the goblins. Their fuckin’ High Shaman’s concluded it’s payback time. Too many of the little fuckers—” He looked at Kelvin. “No offense, brother.”

  Kelvin waved him off, motioning for him to go on.

  “—out for blood. Few decades’ worth o’ resentment to work out. Reckon they got a few years’ worth o’ resentment to work out. Rather not show my face there, to be honest. Would like to make it over to the East,” Severin interrupted, his mouth full with pork and a chuckle, “but don’t go too far north. You might actually get civilized.”

  His brother gave him the finger. Kelvin opened the bag with the small crystals, trying to get his brothers back on their meandering track.

  “Remember—every thirty days it’s got a charge. We’ll see what the Archmagister’s willin’ to pay for some good intel from the other side o’ the wire.”

  Boris shook his head and gestured to Kelvin to hold that thought. A loud splash, wild cheering and garbled cursing interrupted the brothers’ talk. Severin smirked. “One of the boys went over while pissin’ in the river. Not that ye lot need to fall down to wet yourselves.”

  Nobly, he dodged a thrown bone and chuckled, before Boris continued. “Nah, I’m goin’ south again. One last time. Think I got a lead on a saint’s skull. The Dark Wizard might be interested in it. And if he fucks ye, I might find a shaman to sabotage the artifact. Get me a bit o’ payback.”

  Severin waved his greasy hand. “Tellin’ ye ain’t no good idea, fuckin’ about with magic. And for sure ain’t if the other party doin’ the fuckin’ might be an Archmagister.”

  Kelvin nodded after his brother had again sunk into their customary silence. “So—plan’s set. We’ll plop down in the old river fortress, see what’s what, and pray to the Deceiver they won’t blow us to the realm o’ the ancestors.”

  Boris pulled out a flask and three tin cups. “Let’s have a drink on that.”

  Severin chortled. “Or maybe a few more than one.”

  Kelvin steepled his fingers. “Now that’s a plan I can get behind, eh?”

  Swig by swig, hour by hour, the lights dimmed and the night claimed the crews. Kelvin lingered awake with the river guards, listening to the huffing and heaving of the oars as his three cutters pulled downriver—toward Portguard, toward his new fate.

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