Cryppe smashed through another defensive line. His armor lay in ruins. He had to wrench it off his body. His ribs ached and vision blurred as he dashed past the streets. Above on either side assassins dashed rooftop to rooftop, aiming to surround him at the front. Behind, crossbowmen fired a volley of bolts.

  Cryppe dove to the side, but a bolt struck his shoulder. He tucked into a roll, ripped out the bolt, and sped down an alley. Ahead, several spearmen stood to defend. Above, those same assassins began crawling down.

  Trapped!

  Not for long. Channeling Green, he slammed his sheath into the brick wall beside him. It shattered and he bolted through. Crossbow shots zipped behind him, thunking into the poor spearmen.

  The residents of the room tackled Cryppe. He didn’t know who they were, but without thinking, he shrugged them off. Green still surged in his body and their bodies slammed into the walls, smearing the surface red.

  “Oh, fates,” he gasped. Around him, more sellswords pooled in.

  A furious melee exploded. His sword couldn’t swing too wide indoors, but half handing it allowed him to batter his foes around him. Two slashes still struck his back. He grunted, wishing he still had his armor. Those wounds could lead to death if he didn’t find a place to heal himself.

  He crashed into the weakest cluster of sellswords. Even they nicked his scalp with their daggers. His helm clattered away. His vision flashed. Suddenly he toppled out the window and into the alley over.

  There, sellswords had already pooled around him. Jabs pierced Cryppe’s legs. He roared in pain and instinctively channeled Green to start the healing process. Pain enraged his mind and he lifted himself off the ground, only to feel a hammer clip his head. Another hammer clipped his elbow.

  He slashed out with his sword, now unsheathed. Legs flew and bodies fell. Cryppe rolled through that opening and took off again. Green coursed through him, allowing him to sprint faster than he should be able to.

  He was losing blood fast. With all these enhancements using his Soul Source, he may not have enough for healing.

  Suddenly, before him, he noticed a horse rider galloping through the city. Beside him, he led another horse, riderless. He wondered if it was Kasar.

  No, it was Dunarik.

  “Get on now!” he cried.

  “Thank you!” Cryppe yelled, relief flooding him.

  “Let’s be off!”

  They took off as the sellswords dashed after.

  “Where to?”

  “Horses don’t do well in such a city. Most of the estates are burned. We will go there and unite with the warband.”

  Cryppe almost laughed. “Dunarik, you’re a damn hero.”

  “Oh, shut it. I’m using you to get safe passage through the warband’s territory.”

  “Fair enough.” Cryppe still smiled through the pain of his wounds. Friends were just ahead.

  ****

  Rhea sat around her flames, her warband camped in the jungles. Patrols marched about, keeping their eyes out for Asheevi or Shaenik’s sellswords. Apparently, Shaenik still was in this bloody game, much to everyone’s surprise. However, he was not powerful enough to be a threat. Only an annoyance, but in a fight such as this, lives could be lost even by minor set backs. Too many lives, too quickly.

  The warband had grown close knit and functioned like a military family. Unlike the unity of gold, they had the unity of freedom and respect. Rhea stood tall amongst these people, whereas before when Cryppe first met her, she was a cripple who shivered from fever.

  She’d also grown thirsty for violence. All of them had.

  “Death begets death begets death,” said Cryppe to Dunarik.

  “Eh?” he asked. He didn’t care. They only let him in because he’d helped Cryppe. Dunarik probably would steal something and be on his way. Cryppe ensured he kept his eye on the old sailor.

  “Do you not want to join?”

  “Maybe as a sellsword.”

  Rhea scoffed. She was close enough to hear.

  “What?” asked Dunarik, creases forming on his scarred face. “Find it funny I work for gold?”

  “Yes,” she said, staring him in the eyes. They did not waver.

  “Why?”

  “Gold enslaves you all.”

  “Says the slave.”

  “Says the free woman,” corrected Rhea.

  “Says a free bitch for all I care. I want my money. Honest pay for honest work.”

  “There’s nothing honest about you.”

  “What I just said was quite honest, actually.”

  “Enough of this. We are not recruiting scumbags. We’re recruiting freedom fighters.”

  “So slaves.”

  “Yes. And you have seen how fast we’ve turned the tides.”

  “It’s your friend Grim that did it.”

  “And we honor him for that. We named our horde after him for a reason.” Cryppe recognized the genuine gratitude and pride in what Kasar had done. She didn’t see him when he slew those sellswords. He relished it, and Cryppe realized how evil a thing it was to cage a human. Cages were for beasts, and humans were worse than beasts. To bring out that darkness… That is what he’d witnessed with Kasar. That’s what he kept seeing with The Grim’s Horde.

  “It’s evil what Shaenik did. What Asheevi is doing,” said Cryppe. “I’ve seen what that evil can do to good men and women.”

  Rhea and Dunarik listened.

  He was grateful, but he didn’t feel worthy of their attention. He went on. “But what it does is a lingering evil. They still have a hold on your actions. This violence… It needs to-”

  “No,” snapped Rhea. “We do this so we can free those in chains. For once, death welcomes us for we fight for a cause.”

  “Such zeal!” cooed Dunarik. “Aye, this is a story of the ages. Slave rebellions genocide their slavers and the slavers over and the slavers under. All you combined will lead to the deaths of millions.”

  Rhea’s composure wavered only for a second at the mention of such a large number. Even Cryppe struggled to contemplate it.

  “What do you mean?” asked Rhea. “We don’t plan to massacre the city and all its people. Just the ones that keep humans chained. That’s not millions.”

  “But millions will try and stop you. You’re blocking their business. What you do decreases productivity, and trade suffers for it. Don’t I know this? I am… Was a captain. I shipped these products and got so much money for it, you can’t even dream that big. If you try to stop that, it’ll be elite assassins after your head. Professional armies. Warlords and merchants will band to squash your stupid army.”

  “Then we’ll fight them all,” said Rhea, but her voice didn’t convince any of them. Least of all her. Her soldiers around her exchanged glances. “You’re just escalating the issue. You don't know what will happen.”

  “Don’t I? You know when I was a younger man, well before the Triscourge, even, I received many naval missions to slaughter freedom fighters like yourself. They would hole up on islands, and raid the raiders, free the slaves, and rise in numbers. Do you know who hired me?”

  Rhea did not inquire. Cryppe was terrified of the name he would hear.

  “The King of Mahar. He said it would benefit the trade routes if these pirates–that is what he called your predecessors–were eradicated.”

  Rhea gulped at the sound of that. To fight crime lords and Gilded armies of the isles was one thing. To fight a nation so powerful as Mahar… Rhea’s people would crumble.

  “We’ll get there when we get there,” she said, steeling herself.

  “Oh you will get there, with the path you’re taking.” Dunarik sneered, satisfied with his words.

  “Why do you say these things?” asked Cryppe.

  “It’s the truth. You all wanted honesty, no?” Dunarik laughed.

  Cryppe fought the urge to slap the man. “Even if these armies show up… You will be prepared.”

  “You want us to fight now?” asked Rhea.

  “Your goal is understandable. One I want to help in, but…”

  “But what?”

  Cryppe’s eyes flitted to Dunarik who enjoyed some roast meat off the fire.

  Rhea understood his discretion. “Ah. Well if you’re with us eventually, it would be a great help.”

  “If these nations make an open declaration of war against your people, then it’s taking down a rebellion. If you declare yourself a nation of the Gilded Isles…”

  “You want us to unify into a sovereign state?”

  “Well, yes. You have the numbers for a hamlet’s guard, but not a nation. Soon, with enough slaves freed, and enough production garnered, you will have the strength to do so. With what Dunarik says, the nations will notice when they start seeing their profits decrease in trade. The Isles will no longer support such large orders they’re accustomed to. You declare then. And replace their trade lost with your own trade. Good trade. Clean trade.”

  Dunarik stopped chewing and gulped out of tension. He coughed from the large swallow. “You what?” he asked.

  Both Rhea and Cryppe shot Dunarik with a wicked smile.

  “You may have just sparked a new country’s birth, my friend,” said Cryppe with a hearty laugh. His wounds still hurt, but he relished the laugh beside Rhea nonetheless.

  “Don’t tie my name into this!” he cried, taking his meal elsewhere. “Besides, we don’t know what will happen.”

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  Their laughter rose. Even the nearby listeners joined in.

  “We’ll have a statue made for you!” cried Rhea as Dunarik disappeared around the corner.

  ***

  Cryppe spent time recovering for the next few days as he decided where to go next. He knew by staying here, he drew Asheevi’s ire to these people. Once he’d told Rhea, she began drafting a plan to help Sigvali free his countrymen from capture.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Cryppe said. “Sigvali has it covered, and I just have to stay alive and keep that stone away from them.”

  “Why not just throw it?”

  “Because right now, I seem like a conman who wants it for money. Right now, I am some thief that used the sword against its intended purpose. If I throw it away, I hint at Sigvali’s deception. Right now, I keep it and ensure they know I have it. If I sell it for profit, they will track down whom I sold it to and steal it back, forcing Sigvali to work again.”

  Rhea pondered for a moment. “What if you fake your death? What if you say we killed you, and now we have it. That gives us bargaining power with Asheevi she doesn’t realize she doesn’t have.”

  Cryppe realized that could mean he’d actually see Kasar again. He could head west once this was over. He survived due to Dunarik, out of sheer luck, but now he had the chance to use a warband to end this fight once and for all.

  “That could work. She’d see through the lies, though.”

  “She didn’t see through yours.”

  “She may have. We still don’t know. It was a shot in the dark to begin with.”

  “If you could storm out of her place like you did, you could storm in. This time you’d have a warband backing you up. You could rest between fights.”

  “You’re talking about a bloody siege.”

  “What else have we been doing?” she laughed.

  “But this… The estates were more of an urban battlefield. Asheevi has walls already in the works upon the ones that already exist. She’s preparing for battle. She knows you’re here.”

  “Then let’s spring the trap. You smash your way in and save the Vrodians.”

  “She’ll just kill them. And also I got lucky, remember? I had the element of surprise. Not to mention, I only made it halfway.”

  “So what else then?”

  “Too many variables. And the loss condition is her issuing an order. All those people die.”

  “We could use some angry Vrodians, Cryppe. For our band.”

  “Then Sigvali is put to risk.”

  “If he is what you say about him, he’d gladly die.”

  “You can’t be serious. I can’t make that decision.”

  Rhea faltered. “You’re right. I’m… thinking like a general.”

  “He’s my friend.”

  “And I want to win.” It was not a retort. It was a revelation to herself. “I need to rest. Think about it with my friends. Hopefully with enough ideas, we’ll have something.”

  Cryppe agreed and they began discussing.

  ***

  When the bard strode in, bandages wrapped around his face like a mummified corpse, Sigvali almost gulped. Asheevi was watching him like a hawk the entire time.

  “Let’s be quick and clear,” said Asheevi. “Bard. I think Sigvali is lying to me. I hear you can use Blue to detect lies. Do that now.”

  Dumai sat before him, his eyes bloodshot and blackened through the slits of his head wraps. They already shone a deep red. He needed to change them so often, he’d heard. He felt Dumai’s Blue ribbons cast into his mind to detect his will.

  Dumai grunted. Ask away. His thoughts said to both Sigvali and Asheevi.

  “Good. Sigvali. Is the stone really needed for blood forging?”

  Dumai glared at Sigvali. Sigvali glared back.

  “It is needed for my tasks at hand,” he said.

  “Don’t play fucking games with me,” snapped Asheevi. “Yes or no. Is the stone important to the task I gave to you.”

  “Yes,” said Sigvali.

  Dumai spoke in their heads. He is telling the truth. Sigvali didn’t gasp or cheer. Instead he felt a cold slithering sensation as Dumai continued to speak only to Asheevi through telepathic communication about how his spells worked and were accurate. That Sigvali wasn’t lying. He even vouched for Sigvali, explaining how Cryppe had always been a crook, and had been eyeing Sigvali’s abilities since he received the quest to find him. There was much worth to be found in the blood stone. Meanwhile, the tendrils of Blue began snatching Sigvali’s thoughts from his mind.

  Suddenly harsh words formed in Sigvali’s head. Only for him. I am going to find Cryppe and cut his tongue. I am going to let Kasar travel meanwhile. Later, I will spear his head on a pike. I will let Vorza settle down up north. I will burn his home, slaughter any he calls family around him, and then show him the head of Grim, and the tongue of a traitor who carries a hopeless sword. And you, Sigvali, I will let go with your ruse. If only to draw Cryppe to his death. Enjoy your lies. Suffer them.

  Finally he let Sigvali go. The words he’d heard made the Vrodian gasp. The hate sank deep into his bones.

  As I said. Dumai’s thoughts entered both of their heads. Side effects. Let him rest. He is telling the truth.

  Asheevi looked disappointed. “I see. I am sorry I doubted you, old friend. You understand the measures I take in my work.”

  “I understand,” rasped Sigvali. He had taken Sigvali’s memories. The conversations he’d had with Kasar, Vorza, and Cryppe. Their plans. He knew where Kasar would go. He knew what kind of man he was. Worst of all, Vorza and Sigvali discussed where he would go to retire. He wanted to rip that bard to shreds, but he didn't have the strength to do so.

  They both left Sigvali to work on what little forging he could prepare before he got back the stone.

  ****

  Cryppe and Rhea continued to draft ideas when suddenly, Dunarik strode in with some of Rhea’s fighters by escorting him.

  “Yes?” asked Rhea.

  “He has an idea,” said one of the fighters.

  Rhea and Cryppe exchanged shocked looks. “Go on then.”

  Dunarik cleared his throat. “I know where the Vrodians are located, and I will tell you for a price.”

  Rhea’s eyes narrowed, and Cryppe knew she was thinking the same thing as he. This was a trap.

  “Name your price,” said Rhea.

  “A ship and a crew once this is all done. I wish to sail the seas again. Get away from this whole war.”

  Dunarik sounded earnest. Cryppe knew better. He’d address his concerns once he was gone.

  “That's all?” she asked.

  “Aye.”

  “Deal. Where are they?”

  Dunarik blinked as if he didn’t think he’d get this far. Whatever he gave was either a trap or true. They would send scouts to verify either way.

  “Go on, Dunarik,” said Rhea, her tone challenging.

  “How do I know you will uphold my end of the deal? What if you lose?”

  This was a strange angle, but a hopeful one. This line of questioning meant he was being honest for once. They could only grant him a ship and a crew if The Grim Horde won.

  “We’ll give you something of equal value before we advance on Asheevi. So if we all die, you will have been compensated.”

  Dunarik gulped and Cryppe could see the storm in his eyes full of possibilities for rewards.

  Cryppe decided to solve two problems in one, though it was quite the gamble. He revealed the blood stone.

  His eyes widened and even Rhea betrayed shock.

  “You would give me that?” asked Dunarik.

  “It’s yours if the information is true.”

  “It is true!”

  “We will send scouts to ensure that,” said Rhea. She leaned into Cryppe to whisper to him. “Are you sure?”

  He whispered back. “It’s worthless if we win this. It’s not like he’s going to give it back to her.”

  “What if he does?”

  “Why would he?”

  “They are looking for it.”

  “We hold him here until the battle is over. Regardless of who wins, he’ll be let free by those that remain here.”

  “I will order my soldiers as such.”

  “Deal,” said Cryppe. And he explained the terms.

  Dunarik would sit idle while the battle occurred. After it was over, regardless of who won, they would let him free with the stone to do what he will. If they won, he would get a ship and a crew along with the stone for his support. Afterall, he had saved Cryppe’s life and through his spiteful ramble that night, he’d given the warband a strategy to make the Isles safer for them and their own.

  ****

  Rhea and Cryppe sat together around the fire, a few of her soldiers roasting the fish they’d caught. Firelight danced in their eyes as they got lost in the warmth.

  “Why do you do this?” asked Rhea eventually.

  “Do what?” asked Cryppe.

  “Fight to help us. Why do you and Grim both throw yourselves into danger.”

  “Why do sellswords?”

  “For money,” scoffed Rhea.

  “Is it too hard to believe we do this because our cause is in ideals worth more to us than gold?”

  A smile widened on Rhea’s face. “When you put it like that it does sound better.”

  “But still naive,” offered Cryppe.

  “Very much so.”

  “Kasar told me ‘every copper counts.’”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I think he means he will always do what is in accordance with his Path no matter how many others have abandoned it. That as long as he still stands, he has done his duty to himself and his Path. Because if everyone thought otherwise, no one would uphold anything but the raw ideas they have in the moment.”

  “And what do you think it means?”

  “Even if I die, I will have freed people. Saved them. A very small number of people actually compared to how many are out there suffering. But it would have been enough.”

  “Every copper counts.”

  “Every life saved, every life standing strong for an ideal. It all matters, or nothing does. An absolute I can get behind. Some days at least.” He chuckled.

  “How come you two are so wise?” she asked, brow raised. It was mildly sarcastic, but Cryppe did see genuine curiosity in her eyes for their thoughts and ideals. “From what I’ve heard of him, he can’t even read. He spent his days in one wasteland here, a battlefield there, or this hellscape.”

  “His parents taught him these things. And we discussed them on the voyage here.”

  “How long have you known each other?”

  “A month, if even.”

  “You speak as if you’re childhood friends.”

  “No, but we fought beside each other and for each other enough to be brothers in arms. Between those we took the time to talk and discuss. I wish I could be by his side now as he sails west away from this. I know he is angry that I sent him off. It’s just that he would die here. He was too wounded.”

  “What if he sails back?”

  “Unlikely. Not to mention this whole thing would have ended one way or the other by then. He’d still have to purchase yet another voyage back.”

  Rhea and Cryppe watched the flames for some time.

  “Why not just find a home, and live in peace?” asked Rhea. “It’s something I wish I could still do. Before they killed my own and took me away.”

  “With whom should I live with in this home in peace? I have no partner. Kasar was a friend I could have, but he is a drifter through and through. I suppose I would be too.”

  “I suppose I don’t have much of a home either. No family as well. Save for this rabble.” She smiled as she said it.

  “They call it the Path for a reason. I didn’t know it, but now I think I do. Devils always roamed. They were nomadic with occasional sanctuaries and groves built for education. Only the old and withered stayed there to teach what they knew to roaming bands of Devils. The road defines a journey and they keep moving because there’s always more to see and learn.”

  “You make it sound so mystical. Just sounds like a bunch of homeless people running around teaching each other how to fight blind and listen to spells in the air.” Rhea and Cryppe shared a laugh.

  “I suppose I’m getting ahead of myself. It is abstract in nature. But still… Maybe they were killed because those in power didn’t like an ideology built around breaking chains.”

  “You should have started with the chain breaking thing first. I would have been more invested.”

  “I suppose I should have,” said Cryppe. “That’s what you’re doing. You’d make a fine Devil.”

  “Is that why they call children little devils?”

  “Naturally rebellious? Curious to the point of harm? Constant arguments with those in authority? Yeah, pretty much.”

  “So you’re calling Grim a man child then?” she snickered.

  “I suppose I am. He can be childishly stubborn in his own way.”