Walking between Leon and Max feels like walking between a cold night and the sunrise that breaks it. Leon smiles at the villagers and gets them to smile back in return. When kids cut him off in the traffic of bodies, he gives them a wide smile and lets them pass.

  "You there, sir!" An old woman calls to us from her front porch. When Leon approaches her, she eyes his armor-- shiny silver with a stylized tree emblazoned across the chest-- like she's . "Paladin of Narasoth, are you?"

  "Yes, ma'am," Leon replies.

  She nods. "All of His branches," she says.

  "All of His leave," Leon replies.

  It's easy to see why everyone likes him who lays eyes on him; he's a likeable person, friendly and warm. Handsome too, with his chiseled jawline and killer smile.

  Max though…

  Max pads along beside me like he's wading through a river for blood. His natural gait has a lurch to it, every step threatening to throw him off-balance. Kids stop playing and scamper for their parents as he passes. When Max smiles at people, it's more like a leering grin. But that's only twice in the ten-minute walk, since he spends the rest of it staring at me.

  "What is it?"

  "Where did you say you were from?"

  "I didn't."

  "Then where are you from?"

  I don't think I can tell him the truth. I can't tell him I come from Glenbrook. Unless, by some massive, crazy coincidence, the kingdom of Proventia has a really similar town with the exact same name. Somewhere I can bullshit my way into pretending I lived there. At the same time, I don't know enough about the world to tell him that I live anywhere else.

  "A village. A small one. You've probably never heard of it."

  "Let's find out. What's it called?"

  Shit! I didn't think he would press me!

  "Glenbrook…"

  Max gives a soft hum. "You're right. I have never heard of it."

  "It sounds beautiful though," Leon adds. "If our time together brings us there, I look forward to seeing it!"

  Don't hold your breath.

  As we come into view of the giant bee on top of the tavern, Talon and the nerdy mage from all the crowdfunding updates come into view. Cyran adjusts his rimless glasses as he peers over the crowd. When he spots Leon standing a good head taller than the people around us, he taps Talon and gestures to us. We reunite at last with Talon scowling as Cyran extends his hand to me.

  "Miss Evie," he says as he clasps my hand in a warm, soft grip. "A genuine pleasure! I am Cyran Von Burton, second-son of the Von Burton family and Lead Arcanist at the Mage's University in Filliot. Talon tells me you're our healer."

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "Uh, yeah…"

  "We're very lucky to have you then." Cyran's green eyes sparkle behind their clear lenses. "I hope Leon and Maxilius have been good company to you."

  "Max has been on his best behavior."

  "Hard to believe," Talon mumbles.

  Max tilts his head. "Why is that?"

  Talon shuts his mouth and goes into the tavern without another word. Leon follows behind him, head down and shoulders shaking with mirth. Max follows along, smirking and mumbling to himself. Alone with Cyran, he gives me a shy smile and offers his arm to help me over the threshold. It's a sweet, dorky move; the kind of romcom gesture that would have floored me in my own world.

  Of course I take it.

  The tavern is still as lively as when we left. Maybe even more so, since people are coming in to get a room for the night. I sit down at the table the other three claimed, now sandwiched between Talon (freshly equipped with a wine bottle) and Maxilius (giggling into his folded arms.)

  "So…" Leonis lays his hands on the table. "Golobo. The bounty. Who has a plan?"

  With a flourish, Cyran whips out a map and lays it across the table. A cave system pools over the page like trails of spilled milk.

  "The goblin nest as several openings. The most accessible ones are here, here, and here." Cyran marks the entry points with a nub of charcoal as he speaks. "Unlike kobold dens, where everyone just nests together in a big heap, goblins have a rudimentary understanding of strategy. To that end, they have a few distinct camps at each entrance. So we're meeting resistance no matter what."

  "Nothing we've never seen before," says Talon. "What's the bad news?"

  "Well, the bad news is Golobo himself. Aside from the traps, the main obstacle to attacking Golobo in his cave and scattering his encampments for good is that he… Doesn't act like a goblin."

  Talon's brow furrows. "What does that mean?"

  Cyran whips out a small book and starts reading from it. "According to eyewitness accounts from villagers, Golobo is quick, furry, and attacks with claws and a spear." He sets the book back in his pocket. "That's all anyone could tell me."

  "So how do we know it's a goblin at all?" All eyes turn to me. I stammer. "Well, all we have to go on is the fact that he doesn't act like a goblin, but he just leads them, right? Who says that he's a goblin at all?"

  The four process my words with different expressions, ranging from skepticism (Talon) to outright glee (Max.) In truth, the only theory I'm basing it off is that it would be a funny thing for a development team to do.

  "It's not a bad theory," Cyran concedes. "And it would explain why no one can explain what Golobo is."

  "But why would they listen to him if he isn't a goblin?"

  "Goblins sometimes rally under a stronger creature." Cyran huffs as he peers over the map again. He removes his glasses with a flick of his wrist and massages the bridge of his nose. "It makes our job more difficult though. How does one plan for absolutely anything?"

  "A good riddle," Max snickers.

  "Don't make a plan, I guess," I offer.

  "Go in without a plan…? Maybe…" Cyran points at the map, at the very center where all the tunnels converge. "So we think as far ahead as the encampments and then improvise?"

  Talon snorts. "Improvise a plan?"

  "With a new healer," Max adds.

  "What could possibly go wrong then?" Talon laughs as he stands, a yipping high-pitched noise. "Since this could be my last night alive, I'm going drinking. Anyone coming with?"

  No one at the table takes him up on it. Only Cyran gives him any kind of goodbye. "Have fun at the bars, Talon. We'll see you in the morning."

  As Talon leaves, Max stands up. "I have some business in town as well. Good evening, friends and flower." I squint after him. Does flower mean me? Am I the flower?

  With the other two gone, the conversation lulls. "I'm getting some rest," Leon says. "Maybe a bath as well. Erm… Goodnight." Leon scuttles away, leaving me alone with Cyran and his book.