With a sandy crunch, the boat landed on the beach and Adarin jumped out first. Viola and Marquardt were already present and in conflict.

  Adarin surveyed the scene—the still-burning forest, the twitching corpses of the spriggans and shrads being hacked apart, Marquardt's knights corralling the remaining orcs in an uneasy standoff on the sandy beach.

  He walked forward, his manipulators sinking a good ten centimeters into the loose soil. Smoke blew over him and the bastion loomed at the end of the island. He squinted. It felt oddly attractive to him. There was still a hum in the air, as if thousands of invisible insects surrounded them. Points of light flickered in and out of the dryad and shrad husks.

  Count Marquardt noticed their arrival and, with what was no doubt a cutting comment, left Duchess Viola talking to a creature too muscular for a goblin but too small for a half-blood. Adarin remembered a discussion he’d had with Johan on the march. There were complicated rules for which races could have children and whether they were sterile. But still—no clue what race that guy is.

  Count Marquardt gave Adarin a nod. “That was good thinking, burning down the forest. We got two dozen uninjured greenskins and about five dozen injured ones.”

  Liora was about to take off, but the count made a gesture. “Battle could have easily gone another way. My men won’t be talking, and the sailors will keep quiet with proper encouragement. We can still… correct the results, if you want.”

  Adarin rolled his eyes. This guy is persistent in all the wrong ways. “No, Count. We shall have the Duchess have her fun. Your men already got their exercise—and sustained losses.”

  The count wrinkled his nose but fell in next to Adarin as they advanced on the cordon of orcs. Adarin kept observing him, noting how he stopped to check in on soldiers. At least he seems concerned about the welfare of his men.

  Liora had taken the lead, new enthusiasm burning in her eyes as she tended the wounded.

  “The leader’s name is Kelvin Greenpike,” Duchess Viola called. “Says he wants to join the Order. Claims to have intel, knows the land, the people, and who to talk to.”

  Suddenly Adarin recalled Rüdiger’s pointed refusal to elaborate on who he was considering for the role of the final Consul of Land—and how he had represented every other faction except the greenskins. How much of this has really been planned? How does he know these things? He ground his teeth. More to confront him over. I haven’t forgotten what he did in Northguard. And the White Pearl. There is something strange afoot.

  Adarin studied Kelvin—functional reinforced leather armor, a bandage slick with fresh blood over one eye. A dryad claw had carved out half his face; it was a bloody mess.

  Liora took a step forward and bowed. “Greetings.”

  The half-goblin smiled. “Kelvin Greenpike, to your service, lady. Wish we’d met under better circumstances.” He looked at Adarin. “And there’s the mythical man in charge, I presume?”

  Adarin snorted. “You presume rightly.”

  Liora hesitated, then froze. Adarin prodded her over the noospheric link. ‘Go ahead. It’s safe.’ She smiled at him.

  “Kelvin, let me help you with your eye. I can’t restore a full organ, but I can at least stop the bleeding and save your face.”

  Kelvin snorted. “Anyone but me mom believed my face needed saving, so I might as well let you try.”

  Count Marquardt murmured something vicious that was too low to hear, but two of his nearby men chuckled darkly.

  Countess Viola cleared her throat and tried to get the conversation back on track. “You mentioned family before—two brothers, right?”

  “Indeed I did. Boris and Severin. Our little business on the great river and lake’s where our feet are stretched quite wide.”

  “And that’s what you’re offering the Order?” Viola inquired, as if restating a point.

  “That was the intention. Take this little safe fortress, wait out what offers we get, and if it doesn’t work out—fuck off under the cover of night.” He made a wide gesture and grinned toothily.

  Liora stepped forward and pressed her green-glowing hand to his face. He let out a shuddering breath as the scales ran over his body and the wounds mended.

  “Thanks, lady.”

  “I’m Liora, Priestess of Mother Isna,” she responded. “May I take care of your other men as well? They don’t look so good.”

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  “Greenskins rarely do,” Count Marquardt murmured. Only a few men chuckled, while Liora and the Duchess tensed.

  The leader of the greenskins offered a too-toothy grin. “As I see it, neither do your men.” His eyes met the count’s. “Might be a matter of your relative attractiveness, good Sir Knight.”

  The count bristled, then smiled and inclined his head as if acknowledging a point. Duchess Viola glared at him, then continued.

  Adarin kept only half his focus on the conversation, watching the island. There was movement in the fortress still—and the pull was growing stronger, like a heartbeat outside his body. There was something waiting for him. He knew it.

  “Sir Adarin?” Duchess Viola addressed him, shaking him out of his reverie.

  I need to focus on this. Adarin shook himself. “So in summary, what do you have to offer, Mr. Greenpike?”

  “As I said—a substantial network. I have up-to-date intelligence on what happened with the Crusade, the greenskins. Which way the loyalties of certain leaders in the last lie. I know where the fracture line lies.” He smiled broadly. “For example, everyone was surprised by the number of warlords who threw in with the High Shaman. The Prophet’s brother is furious.”

  He went on, smile cocky. “We also have access to trade networks. You have Portguard—it used to be the center of trade. A lot of us greens have needs that more civilized worlds can provide. Chief among them, the little pistols adorning Count Marquardt’s armor. Black powder. The ancestral ways of the archers ain’t what they used to be.”

  “That is an intriguing offer,” Duchess Viola said. “So what would you ask in return?”

  Count Marquardt sneered. “He’s a spy and a smuggler. First we should consider if that’s the kind of people the Order should associate with.”

  Kelvin stared daggers at the count. “Count Marquardt von Hohenfels—you out of all people should be aware…” He paused, then spoke the word with special emphasis. “Headless operations in those lands can cost you, yes?”

  The count’s eyes widened fractionally before he shook himself. “True.” He swallowed hard. “Proper intelligence always bears thinking about, Sir Adarin. Forget I said anything.”

  Adarin narrowed his eyes. What was that about? Well—a matter for later. But this Kelvin clearly knows more about us than he should. I guess that’s the point of a competent spy—he’s well informed about whomever he wants to work for. Everything else would be a bad résumé for the job.

  An awkward silence followed. Only Devin and Gavin, holding down a still-twitching spriggan and cutting it open with a hatchet, broke the tense atmosphere—in all the wrong ways.

  Then Duchess Viola picked up the thread again, much to Adarin’s relief. Better just keep my mouth shut. My track record…

  He looked at Liora, hustling from fallen greenskin to human soldier to fallen greenskin, tending the wounded and giving last rites to those for whom healing was too late.

  “And what would you have in turn?” the duchess asked with a friendly smile.

  Kelvin inclined his head, then stared straight at each of them in turn. “Everyone who works for me, mind ye—not any dirty greenskin mutt—we get treated like full members of the Order. All the privileges involved. No treatment as second-class subhumans.”

  “Reasonable.” Countess Viola smiled broadly, wiping a strand of hair from her face.

  Count Marquardt snorted. “Wouldn’t it be more fitting to treat you like your kind treated humans under occupation? After all, what goes around comes around—”

  Adarin made a sharp gesture, cutting him off. “Count, I believe you were sent here for security, not for the negotiations.”

  The count swallowed and glared daggers at Adarin, which failed spectacularly as he couldn’t even find the right spot to focus his glare.

  Then Adarin’s focus wavered as he felt a spike in his heart, the pressure from the fortress intensifying. This feels… familiar.

  Kelvin leaned forward. “If all of that ain’t enough for you, I have a special contact—one of the goblin warlord’s head wives. She’s working on a man to defect. Earn my trust, and I’ll tell you. That’ll give you a chink in the enemy armor.”

  Adarin whistled, and even Count Marquardt’s brows rose appreciatively. A potential traitor in the enemy ranks. But Adarin was barely listening; the pressure in his heart was growing.

  “Very well.” He took a long breath. “I shall take you to Rüdiger. That must suffice for now.”

  He noticed Count Marquardt studying the goblin like a predator, calculating how hard its next meal would be. Can’t leave them alone with each other. The count might start something.

  “Kelvin, you come with me. We shall see what is in this fortress.”

  The half-goblin’s eyes widened. “I can tell ye what’s in that fuckin’ fortress—more of them tree creatures.”

  Adarin smiled. “Maybe. But would you rather I leave you with the Count’s men?”

  Kelvin’s eyes bounced between the Duchess, the count, his greenskins, and the humans. “We then need to repair the boats,” he said, studying the one chewed up by a barrage. “The two of them can be saved.”

  But Duchess Viola, giving Adarin a strange look, came to his aid. “I shall accompany you and Sir Adarin. We can leave the boats here and send a repair crew from the harbor, if there are other things that Sir Adarin must do. And I have some inquiries about your knowledge of this land, Mr. Greenpike.”

  The half-goblin smiled broadly. “Well, if such a beautiful lady is asking for my presence, how can I deny her?”

  Without even realizing it, Adarin had begun walking toward the fortress. The pull had grown painful. Liora, Gavin, Devin, Duchess Viola, and Kelvin fell in behind him. He barely listened to their conversations—the kobolds and goblins excitedly babbling over spriggan parts, the polite exchange between the half-goblin and the Duchess.

  Only Liora walked up to Adarin, trying to put her hand on his core, but he shrugged her off, walking forward as if in a trance.

  Distantly, he noticed the system notification:

  You have defeated 41 Spriggans and 7 Shrads.

  Average normalized strength difference: 173%.

  You have gained 4 levels.

  Then the text smeared, and for a split second something else was written there:

  We await.

  We await.

  We await.

  Adarin blinked, distracted, but then his world narrowed into the pull again and he marched forward, his retinue in tow.

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