Pale morning light slanted through the tall windows of Lazz’s private chamber, illuminating walls lined with ledgers and exotic trophies. He traced his finger across a polished obsidian desk. The parchments lay in perfect order, each a tally of favors bought, and debts collected, or still owed. The smell of fresh bread being made at the market drifted through his window, making his large belly rumble. A brass bell chimed softly from the corridor; another report had arrived.

  Lazz folded back the parchment he had been reading with deliberate calm. The thought of the foolish Grant riding out with a bunch of idiots brought a smile to his face. Just a few more for the slave markets. Today would be an excellent day.

  He stood and walked to the balcony overlooking the cobbled plaza. Smoke spiraled from bakeries and blacksmiths' forges, but he saw only opportunity.

  Every situation birthed profit or power, sometimes both. The Merchant King’s fingers brushed the pendant at his throat, a subtle enchantment that let him know the key was still in place. His system task is almost complete.

  Lazz leaned forward, voice low enough for only the wind to hear. “What a glorious life to be surrounded by fools,” he laughed. They all think so small, not understanding negotiation or contracts, or how true wealth is power.

  The world just worked differently for him than for them. With enough credits, mercenaries could be bought and made into an army, helping his contracts to be enforced to the letter.

  The magistrate’s favor was procured with a few baubles and trinkets here and there. This was simply how the world worked. He looked out over the town. His town. He would take everything from these peasants. He would own it all. Then he would expand to the next city and own it too. This world was his for the taking.

  Lazz flexed his fingers, a frown tugging at his lips. He felt like today was going to be a grand day, yet the pendant at his throat thrummed faintly, a whisper of unease he didn’t care to admit aloud, but he shook the feeling off quickly. After all what trouble could possibly threaten him?

  Dawn crept between the wagon wheels as I stepped from my makeshift shelter. The fires burned low, casting smoke-gray spirals into the chill air. I paused at the edge of the wagon circle, eyes sweeping over sleeping women and children bundled in blankets and furs.

  I found Grant sharpening the blade of his short sword; the metal shining faintly under the early light. Grant handed me a drink that smelled suspiciously like coffee, and I sat down beside him. “When we leave,” I said, voice steady. “I’m taking only you back to town.”

  Grant looked up, surprise flickering in his eyes. “We’re not all going back to town?”

  I continued to sip the hot drink. “Yes." He looked as if he were about to protest, but I held up my hand to stop it. Based on what you have told me and what I have seen of his men. This Lazz has no scruples about hurting women and children.

  "Those types try to hit you at your weakest point first. These innocents can’t be in harm’s way; no one knows yet what we did here last night, but if we show up with them all, they definitely will. There is no reason to endanger them.”

  Grant nodded, “I understand.” He sheathed his sword and ran a hand through his dark hair. “There’s something else you need to know before we go in.”

  I looked over at him sipping what was definitely this world’s version of coffee. I kept his voice low. “What’s up, man?”

  “I am truly grateful for what you have done for us. But it is for that very reason that I would not feel right if you didn’t know the full picture. Lazz doesn’t just have a few mercenaries. He has a lot of them.

  They function as the town guard now. He calls himself a king, and for all intents and purposes, he is in our town. I really don’t think we can beat him. Even with your crazy strength, there are so many.

  None of the townspeople, no matter how much they want to, will take up arms against him. They're too scared."

  I waited for him to continue, but he seemed to be running out of steam. I went ahead and drained my drink and reflected on what he told me. “For the most part, I don’t commit to a course of action without some type of plan. Admittedly, I have more of an idea than a plan currently. But all you must do is show me the way, and me and Balt will take it from there.”

  “So, you’re not giving up despite the odds?”

  “Adapt and overcome, my new friend. I mean, worst-case scenario; I just die and haunt you forever.” Grant’s face started to pale, and his eyes began to widen considerably.

  I just started laughing. “I couldn’t help it. Just kidding, man. You cut the head off a snake, the body follows, just wait and see.”

  “If you say so, said Grant, looking at me wearily now.

  I watched Balt step out from behind the nearest wagon, using his staff like a walking stick. “Let’s get this crazy shit started,” he said as he approached. “Garrison full of guards, Grant says, and all I hear from you is…”

  He sucked in his gut and, in what I could only assume was a poor imitation of my voice, continued, “Adapt and overcome; that’s the way. Oh, my name’s Riven, and I can’t ever plan a raid on a nice cozy inn or an establishment with… pleasurable company. No, no... only death-defying missions for my buddy Balt and me. Ranger up and all that.”

  “I do not sound like that," I said a little more defensively than I meant to. Balt looked over at Grant, and the traitor was smiling from ear to ear. “You do kind of sound like that.” I looked back at Balt. "I am telling Miranda that you wanted to visit another establishment." Balt stopped laughing then. “You wouldn’t.”

  In my best wolfish grin, I said, “Wouldn’t I?”

  “Well, we’d better get this party started. People to save and all that,” the Pathfinder said, striding away from the conversation.

  I watched Balt move toward a pair of restless horses hitched nearby, their breath puffing white in the cold morning air. The tension had eased from me; I realized that even Grant was smiling now.

  I fell in beside Grant as we followed Balt and saddled our horses. My fingers moved with practiced ease, each buckle and strap a small ritual I had done growing up. The horses shifted under us, stamping lightly, eager for the open road. I felt the familiar hum of anticipation, the promise of a fight to come.

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  Grant hugged his wife and children, and then swung into the saddle first and offered me a nod. I followed, settling into the saddle as if greeting an old friend. The wagon circle slipped from sight behind us, the women and children disappearing slowly. I promised them and myself; I would bring this tyrant to his knees.

  We fell into a loose formation, Grant to my right, Balt just behind. The road unfurled before us, cobbles and gravel glinting with frost and dirt. Each step of the horses echoed like a heartbeat in the quiet morning. Wind bit at my cheeks, but I barely felt it; my mind was on the fight to come.

  A voice, clear and familiar, rippled through my mind. Lawson. He hadn’t spoken since the previous day. Now he asked almost gently, “Are you sure about this course of action?”

  I clenched my jaw. My mind is already made up. I nodded. I didn’t hear from him after that.

  Together, we rode toward the town gates, three figures bound by one purpose. Judgment was coming to this “King."

  We rode in silence, the leather of the saddles creaking under us and the horses’ breath steaming in the cold air. I activated Limit Break a few times to make sure I knew what happened after the cooldown hit. It was tiring to be sure, but manageable. The road rolled on, pocked with ruts and wheel grooves, throwing up road dust. Forest gave way to fields, and the slope of the land rose just enough that the world ahead opened up.

  At first, it was just a darker line against the sky, a blur of stone and shadow. Then the blur resolved into towers, crenellations, and the broad, squat shoulders of a large town wall. I was amazed at how much my sight and other senses were improving. We were still miles away, and I could make out most of the large town. The closer we got, the more details stitched into place: arrow slits on the towers like wary eyes, banners in red and gold snapping from high poles, and a gatehouse that looked like it had seen twice as many winters as any man should be allowed.

  The walls were a patchwork of stone, repaired with sections showing lighter rock. Smoke curled from chimneys just within.

  Grant nudged his horse forward and pointed. “There,” he said, voice tight with a mix of something like pride and something else, worry, maybe regret. “That’s my town. Verge.” He let the name hang there as if it owed him an explanation.

  “North gates open this morning cause of trade. Lazz keeps it that way when the markets are full, less fuss for his wagons to go in and out.

  “You see, the, he squinted toward the gatehouse, those men on the wall? They all answer to him now. He’s bought favor with credits and contracts. He owns the healers and the magistrate. He’s got his mercenaries in his colors posted where the town watch used to be. The men who were loyal to us citizens were killed long ago."

  We dismounted into a patch of trees for cover. I wanted to observe the comings and goings for a time. My mind was coming close to putting a plan together; I just needed a little more time.

  Through the open gate, I caught a wash of activity: carts rattling over cobblestones, market stalls huddled beneath patched awnings, a pair of mercenaries bickering with a stable hand. At first glance, it all seemed ordinary enough to a newcomer like me. But if you watched closely, the quick glances toward the gatehouse, the burly man in a red merchant’s coat gesturing a little too smoothly to a passing patrol who promptly waved him ahead of the waiting line, you could tell exactly what kind of people ran this town.

  The merchant king’s reach was there in the angles between men’s shoulders, in the reluctance of a shopkeeper to meet a soldier's or other wandering merchant’s eye.

  Grant gave a half-laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. Looking at the open gate. “They’ll know me. Do you have a plan?”

  “I have one, but you’re not going to like it.”

  After another hour of reconnaissance, we slipped behind the trees, just out of sight. I crouched by my horse, glancing through the gate entrance where mercenaries paced beneath Lazz’s banners of a gold and red hand.

  Grant's nervous words pulled me away. “Tell me again why you need to knock me out?”

  “Simple, fewer questions and with the guards only talking to me, easier to keep the story straight.” Grant, looking resigned, sat on the ground. “I’m ready,” he said quietly.

  Balt knelt beside Grant, force magic glowing at his fingertips. “It’ll be gentle,” he murmured, resting a hand on his shoulder. Grant closed his eyes, tilting his head back.

  Balt’s hand pulsed with a soft golden light. A wave of kinetic energy hit Grant in the head. His body went slack, a single, quiet sigh escaping his lips before he slipped into unconsciousness. His head lolled to the side, and Balt caught it, lowering him to the ground gently.

  I worked quickly, putting Grant belly-down on the saddle and tying his wrists and ankles in a way that I could cut them quickly if I needed to. I unequipped my armor for just a plain shirt I had taken off the wagon last night. Balt stood and brushed a pine needle from his cloak, eyes bright with focus. “He’ll wake soon. We need to move,” Balt said, voice tight.

  “I know this is my plan, but he has a family. Stay close to him. If anything happens, protect him before you help me. Try to keep him safe.”

  Balt just nodded his understanding, and we both mounted up. I dismissed my anchor, and Balt did the same.

  We led the trio of horses toward Verge’s iron gates. Two guards in red and gold surcoats and polished breastplates blocked our path, spears resting on their shoulders. I nudged my horse to a stop twenty paces out and raised a hand in greeting.

  “Morning, I’m Riven, and this is my companion, Balt.” I dismounted, and Balt followed my lead. “We ran into Merchant Prince Jordan’s caravan last night. They paid us extra to bring this fellow straight to the King when they learned we were heading this way. We’ve got some fine items for trade as well, if you’ll allow us to pass.”

  I used Identify on the guards; their names popped up.

  There were other uniformed guards along the walls everywhere. Every one of them is an enemy. Hershal was immediately wary, narrowing his eyes at Grant’s slumped form. Tylor, his partner, was eyeing us suspiciously as well.

  “Inspection fee,” the guard said, tapping the side of his helmet twice, as if it were an official gesture. The other mirrored it. “Fee,” he echoed. I plucked six gold credits from my pouch, letting them clink into their outstretched palms. "For your inspection,” I said smoothly.

  Hershal weighed the coins in his palm, taking a beat longer than I hoped for, then slipped the coins into his pocket. “Your goods passed with flying colors, young master,” smiled Hershal. He nodded at Tylor, the man now smiling with yellow teeth. “All right. Go to the guardhouse straight ahead, ask for Captain Rick. He’ll sort the rest.”

  Tylor spat on the cobbles and waved us through. “Keep him quiet until you see the captain,” he added. “This one ran out of here last night like he had a hope of doing anything. Fucking townies.

  They both laughed as he waved them on. Are the rest of his buddies dead?”

  “Oh yes, all of them,” I replied.

  “Good. That’s how it should be,” Tylor muttered.

  I bowed, my blood getting hot. “Thank you, my good guardsman.”

  Balt and I swung back into our saddles. Grant’s horse shuffled forward, carrying its burden toward the heart of Verge. As we passed through the gates, I drew a steady breath.

  Balt saddled up next to me. I looked at him and Grant's unconscious body as we rode forward. “Well, we’re in,” Balt whispered. I looked around, seeing gold and red uniforms everywhere. We're in all right. If this goes sideways, like it probably will, we’re surrounded on all sides.