Interlude

  The Districts of New Calvessan were not alike. They weren't just vast stretches of land filled with mountain cities, forest cities, plains and trade hubs. No, some were small, some were large. Some had large armies while others had none at all.

  Some had walls, others didn’t, and those were only the cities he had travelled to.

  The man opened the next page, or he would have, but the last few pages in the book had been torn out. So he closed the book and he flipped it over. He opened it again from the beginning and he started reading it again

  It was a book about the founding of the city of Cities.

  “Stupid. They will buy us time. Come, let’s go,” he ordered, and his eyes turned, looking for Penny. he wasn't going to wait here for those corrupted to catch them.

  “We need to help them,” Elora started, but Grimjaw whirled around on her.

  “No,” the hobgoblin growled in her face.

  Damian saw madness in the goblin’s eyes and hesitated even as his hand was on his sword. Grimjaw looked at him, and he narrowed his eyes.

  “You can stay. We are going,” he said.

  But it was too late.

  “They are coming,” Darrow said, and the group looked up at the end of the tunnel. Then they saw it. A group of corrupted saw them, then rushed toward them. They prepared to meet them. They knew they would die if they didn’t fight.

  However, a figure turned the corner just behind the corrupted.

  A corrupt half-giant noticed the hooded figure and turned to crush them. The others noticed the cloaked figure as well, and they rushed him. They would deal with the hooded stranger, then continue their chase.

  The corrupted men and women, goblins and humans, half giants and dwarves, rushed the cloaked figure. They went to tear apart the figure, but that didn't happen. Damian watched them falter in their assault. Their claws reached for the figure, their fingers sliced through the air and grasped at nothing.

  The figure had already moved. There was a glint of light, no, a sword movement, and a corrupted goblin fell in two.

  The cloaked person's feet made the sound again, and Darrow noticed them use a [flash step] right before they cut another corrupted man’s head clean off.

  A corrupted goblin tried to get the jump on him, but the figure dodged out of the way. Then there was a flash, and the sword caught, and another corrupted was cut down like paper.

  The figure didn’t run. They walked, but they were so impossibly fast. The only way Darrow was noticing anything was because he was using [Altered Awareness], and Damian was noticing the movement because he was using the skill as well by copying it.

  Each swing was silent and efficient, and the goblins who saw the figure trembled.

  “Dark one,” one of the goblins whispered.

  Whatever level this person was, they had no chance of escape now. The goblins knew it, and Grimjaw the hob knew it as well.

  The figure finished off the last of the corrupted, then turned to them. The goblins seemed to shrivel under the gaze of his cloak, and Grimjaw’s face seemed to drain of all colour, yet he didn’t back down or turn and run. He stood like a man waiting for a choice to be made. The dark one could kill them all, or they could just be passing through.

  “Do not offend,” Grimjaw muttered, and he made sure each word was understood.

  The last corrupted, a dwarf woman in a vendor apron, collapsed to the ground, and the figure just kept walking. The tunnel fell silent, and even the normally shifty goblins stayed as quiet as could be.

  Damian stepped forward cautiously. He put himself ahead of everyone.

  “Who—” he started to ask, his hand raising his sword.

  The skill [Shared Fear] screamed at him, and he froze. The hooded figure turned its head slowly toward him, and Damian lowered his sword instantly. He was out of his depth with this one.

  “Thank you, dark one,” Grimjaw said and bowed. The goblins, seeing their leader bowing, did the same as well, muttering the words.

  The figure nodded. She put her hands on her hips, and she looked down at the bodies. The only way Darrow could tell that this figure was not a man was thanks to his [Minor Spy Intuition]. And as a rogue, she had to have some sort of obfuscation skill.

  She turned away and looked up at them, and the goblins shrank back. She used [Inspect] on them.

  Grimjaw frowned, but he didn’t move. Damian and Darrow did the same as the figure studied them. She could see the hob was a [Swamp Lord], a common class among the hob goblins who rule the tunnels. That and others like [Tunnel Lord]s. She wondered what a hobgoblin was doing in the tunnels. Hobs never left the camps. She shrugged internally.

  The figure turned to them, and Darrow saw the dark purple skin of her chin and lower jaw. After the first time [Shared Fear] had warned him, he wasn’t willing to do anything again. He wasn’t willing to do anything that would get them killed.

  They both froze. Something deep down told them that she was looking at them.

  “What do you think she wants?” Darrow asked in a whisper, and if the woman heard, she didn’t answer.

  Damian made sure not to do anything threatening. He just grunted. If they knew what she was thinking, they would have known not to draw any more attention to themselves.

  She had a rare Inspect skill, but her intuition told her that there was something more about the level seven [Dualist] and level seven [Initiate Spy].

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  The figure tried to use the Inspect skill again and saw a level seven [Initiate Spy] and a level seven [Dualist]. Her gaze lingered on them, but after a while she moved on. Her gaze took in Elora next, [Magical Scribe]. For all the others, she saw nothing that important.

  Then the dark one turned to leave. Without making a sound, she walked. She took one step after another until she turned down another tunnel. In her hand, she spoke into a speaking stone.

  Only then did they breathe. The goblins, more so than the trio.

  Elora stared after the figure.

  “What was that?” she asked.

  Grimjaw exhaled, and Damian put away his sword.

  “A dark one. They take care of any portals in sewers,” he said.

  “That’s it?” Damian asked, but the goblins seemed fine with that and started to head back. Damian didn’t know whether to believe or not believe the hobgoblin. There was clearly more to these dark ones. If all the goblins treated them this way, then there was something Grimjaw wasn’t telling them.

  “I want to go home,” Elora said and hugged herself.

  —

  The walk back to the goblin camp was silent, and only the echoes of their footsteps could be heard as they walked through the tunnels. Even the goblins didn’t speak. It had been one of their darker days, seeing members of the tribe turned into magically corrupted creatures.

  Darrow kept glancing behind them, but there was nothing there.

  “I still can’t hear her,” he muttered.

  “Good. She’s not following us, then,” Damian said, but that was not the point.

  Darrow took pride in his perception skill, and to see it so easily bypassed. The whole thing made him feel uncomfortable.

  Elora walked close between them. She was still pale and trembling. Her thoughts were far away as she thought of her father.

  “He was there,” she said, and the brothers turned to look at her. She looked at them.

  “My father,” she said.

  Damian said nothing.

  “We’ll find him,” he added.

  “What if we’re too late and they change him into one of the corrupt?” Darrow whispered to his brother.

  “We won’t let that happen,” Damian said, and he looked at Darrow. “Found him once, and now we know who has him.” Darrow nodded.

  “But what if we can’t?” she said.

  Damian looked at the half-elf, then back to the front. He said nothing.

  “Don’t worry. Now that we know who has him, we can just sneak in and help him escape,” Darrow said as he tried to reassure her.

  She looked up at him, and Darrow had a thin smile on his face. Damian just nodded.

  “If that lord had my kin as slaves…” Grimjaw started.

  “Then we’ll burn his house down together,” Darrow finished. It may have sounded like a joke, but Darrow was known to make jokes seem about as funny as promises.

  Elora did smile as they reached the stone gate embedded in the tunnel leading to the camp. The small goblin guards opened, and they were tunnel scouts, and the trio made their way inside.

  The fire burned low, and the entire camp had fallen silent. For the first time since coming down here, Damian wondered if they had spent the whole day looking. Or did the people—the goblins and the shady characters have odd hours of going to bed?

  The camp felt much smaller, quieter even, and Grimjaw stopped at his tent as the hobgoblins he had left to defend his camp stood much straighter. He turned, then bent down to listen to one of the goblin scouts. He looked around, and he seemed to realise how much had been lost.

  Elora sat near one of the fire stoves and stared blankly. She was so worried, and even worse, she couldn’t do anything about it.

  —

  A few hours later.

  The small tent was quiet. Everything around was quiet except for the sound of a soft scratching of a knife against wood. Darrow was crouched over a simple block of wood and was busy carving into it with all the concentration he could master.

  Elora sat cross-legged before him. She watched him carve the enchantment and used her hand to correct him whenever he went off course.

  “Not like that,” she said and corrected his hand posture slightly.

  Darrow grumbled. He stuck out his tongue not to be funny but in absolute concentration because the lines he needed to make were too small. He narrowed his eyes and drew the piece of wood as close to his face as he could.

  “The enchantment must flow,” she said, and Darrow had to pick apart whatever that meant.

  Darrow moved slowly, then, out of nowhere, made a crooked line in the piece of wood. Elora sighed.

  “Again,” she said.

  “This is the fifth time already.”

  “Well, you’re carving like you’re gutting morning market fish,” she said, and Darrow gasped, offended.

  Away to the side, in the corner of some crates, Damian snorted.

  “That’s all he’s basically good for,” he said, and Darrow glared at him.

  It was all in good fun because a moment later, Darrow went back to carving.

  Leaning forward, Elora traced the enchantment in the air as Darrow carved it into the wood.

  “Now add magic into it gently,” she said when he had done a good enough job.

  “Gently,” Darrow repeated. He didn’t mean to do it. Hell, he wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but he focused, his hand trembling, then the carving in the wood glowed.

  Elora gasped.

  “It’s working,” she said, and Damian leaned closer.

  “Wait—it’s working?” he asked, more out of surprise.

  The rune pulsed, then sparked. There was a faint glow of a wisp of magic that flowed around Darrow’s hand. Damian and Darrow exchanged a look. It was their second class. That had to be the only explanation why Darrow could do magic.

  The wood cracked, and the enchantment burst into flames.

  Elora yelped. She grabbed a cup and splashed water onto the flaming enchantment. There was a big puff of smoke that filled the air.

  “Well, that almost worked,” Darrow said, coughing.

  “Use less mana next time.”

  “He doesn’t know how to,” Damian said.

  Elora looked at him funny.

  “Then doesn’t he have a magical class?” she asked, and the brothers averted their eyes.

  “Well, at least the fifth one did something,” Damian said.

  “Seventh,” Elora corrected.

  As they walked away from the tent, they didn’t want it catching fire after all, they heard footsteps. They heard a sniff and more footsteps. A goblin’s shadow loomed behind the crate.

  “Who’s there?” Damian asked, looking over at the shadow.

  The goblin froze in surprise, then it looked to the side and saw its shadow. Then they saw it hang its head after seemingly noticing the shadow that had given its position away.

  The goblin stood in the open and sniffed around their setup. He pretended to inspect the floor, but on occasion, he looked up and to the side. He lifted some crates, and those he couldn’t lift, he pushed aside.

  “Smells funny here,” the goblin finally said.

  “What are you looking for? Trying to steal, are we?” Darrow asked, narrowing his eyes at the goblin.

  “Nothing,” the goblin said, then his eyes darted at all three of them before his hand went to stroking his chin again.

  They looked puzzled. Darrow narrowed his eyes, and Damian just looked confused. Elora was more focused on the burnt enchantment, only looking up to acknowledge the goblin’s unexpected presence.

  In a rather poor attempt at acting, the goblin moved about their camping area, picking up dirt and other scraps. The goblin tiptoed toward their gear and the tent, and all of a sudden, all their eyes were fixed on him. They watched him like hawks, but he pretended not to notice. He put on his master class of acting—cleaning up here and there—until he reached next to the tent.

  Damian narrowed his eyes at the goblin. They all did.

  It didn’t take long for the goblin to go for what he was looking for. The goblin jumped for Darrow’s satchel. The rogue suddenly appeared from nearby shadows and grabbed another strap of the satchel.

  The goblin tugged.

  “How did you do that?” he asked.

  “It’s a skill,” Darrow said after appearing out of the darkness with his [Shadow Meld] skill. He pulled the satchel toward him.

  “Hey, goblin, let go. That’s not yours,” Damian said as he watched the two nearly pull the bag apart.

  “Just a look,” the goblin named Bo said.

  “No,” both brothers said.

  This prompted the goblin to struggle even more for the small bag.

  “My [Sense Treasure] skill is going off. Just a peek, I won’t tell anyone,” Bo cried and leaned back, pulling at the satchel.

  “You’re imagining things. Let go,” Darrow said and tugged harder.

  The satchel ripped open. It burst, and the items fell to the ground. There were rations for the brothers, a map, and a torn bootlace that most definitely replaced one of Damian’s boots. But out of all of that, the most interesting thing that fell out was a rolled page.