Tag: storytelling

Chronicles of Klept: Chapter XXIX

We stood around the stump in what could loosely be called a circle — if geometry had downed several mugs of mead and been spun around a few times. No one wanted to say it aloud. Maybe we didn’t need to. We all saw it.

Even in the dark — that deep, unnatural, starless dark — the signs were clear.
There’d been more activity since our last visit. A lot more. The ground was flattened, scuffed, churned. Boot prints. Claw marks. Deep indentations in the soil, some small, some… not.

And most of them didn’t lead to the stump. They led out. Something had passed through. Something was waiting. Somewhere. It wasn’t clear what. Or how many. Some, I realized, must have belonged to the group that came through the stump the last time we were here – when Jonath got shoved through and Dominic came back disguised as him. But there seemed to be many more.

Carrie coughed.
It was less fairy delicacy and more headmistress summoning confession. A sharp, pointed sound that sliced through the silence like a ruler on a desk.
She fixed Trunch with a look that could only be described as:
‘Well? Come on, out with it, young man — I haven’t got all day.’

Trunch stood with his head bowed and eyes closed. He might have been mumbling to himself. He might also have been asleep.
Neither would’ve been surprising.

Day attempted to elbow him in the ribs, but the height difference between the elf and the gnome turned the gesture into more of a glancing jab to the temple. Trunch jolted upright immediately, blinking wide.

“Yes, right, you’re all…” he blinked, fumbling through his pouch, “...going to need one of these, I think.”

He pulled out a small cloth-wrapped bundle and carefully unwrapped it. Inside: a pile of Dan’del’ion medallions. The simple kind. The ones they’d collected from the festival attackers, the graveyard skeletons, and most of the group that had chased us the last time we were here.

Wikis took one look and recoiled.
“I’m not putting one of those things around my neck again,” she snapped.

“Yeah,” Din added, eyeing the medallions warily, “that didn’t exactly work out so well last time.”

“You don’t need to wear them,” Trunch assured, handing them out to gingerly accepting hands. “Just hold them. I’m fairly certain this won’t work… but I need to be absolutely sure.”

“Okay,” Yak muttered, not looking up from the medallion in his palm, “now what?”

“Now,” Trunch said calmly, “we all step onto the stump.”

Nobody moved. Not even Trunch.

It was Carrie who stepped forward first.
“Let’s just get it over with. The sooner we do it, the sooner we get to the castle — hopefully,” she sighed.

A few murmured agreements and slow nods later, everyone had a foot on the stump.

“Well? What’s supposed to happen?” Umberto barked.

Because nothing did.

We just stood there, one foot each on the stump, like a group of confused villagers halfway through the world’s most underwhelming maypole dance.

“Wasn’t it something to do with moonlight?” Wikis asked.

Instinctively, we all looked up.
The last of the stars had vanished. The sky glowed faintly, pink and purple, washed in the light from the beam over the mountains, but there was no moon in sight.

“Isn’t this all supposed to trigger some kind of eclipse?” Carrie asked, confused.

“Supposedly,” I replied. “But usually that requires a moon. And a sun. Not necessarily in that order. This feels… different.”

“Not natural,” Wikis hissed.

“Maybe there are some clouds. Really high up or something,” Yak offered.

“Hmm. Not to worry,” Trunch said, matter-of-factly. “I have another idea.”

He pulled out the larger medallion — the one recovered from the undead direwolf rider, with the milky white stone in the centre.

“I’m not sure how this works best,” he murmured, looking around and quietly counting heads. “Maybe… yes. Everyone back on the stump.”

We obeyed, hesitantly. Day had to pull me on.

“Now,” Trunch said, meeting each of our eyes in turn, “place a finger on the medallion.”

There was a sudden, nauseating tug at the centre of my core — like the drop of a cart cresting a hill too fast. Glancing around, I could tell the others felt it too.

Din, Wikis, and Yak immediately yanked their fingers away.

“Interesting,” Trunch mused, pulling out the same pouch he’d clutched during his nap on the cart ride. He gestured for us to try again. “The gem is moonstone,” he explained. “I consulted with Holadamus, as Tufulla suggested.”

“Buddy,” Umberto grunted, “less talky-talky, more fthump.” He made a disappearing motion with his hands and placed his finger back on the stone.

“Yes,… but…It needs a command word. Something to activate the enchantment,” Trunch said. “Then it should emit moonlight.”

“And…?” Din asked, voice tight. “You guys figured out the word, right?”

“We tried dozens of words,” Trunch admitted, suddenly solemn. “In dozens of different languages. We couldn’t activate it.”

There was an audible exhale of relief from several people.

“So why are we doing this, then?” Carrie asked, clearly losing patience.

“Oh, because I think this will work,” Trunch replied, casually pulling a smooth white stone from the pouch. A chorus of voices cut in.
“Wait what are you—”
“Trunch, maybe we should—”
“I don’t think—”

He held the stone aloft, “Luminara.”

The clearing exploded with white light — moonlight, impossibly bright, impossibly pure. There was a sound. Or maybe it was a feeling. Either way, it was a lot like air being sucked through a keyhole at impossible speed. We were yanked. Not by arm or leg, but by something deeper — as if a rope had been tied around the very centre of our balance and pulled hard. The kind of pull that steals your breath and your bearings at once. A violent, invisible hook that tore us upward and forward in a blink.

We moved miles in fractions of a second. Upward. Outward. Through something. It wasn’t flying. It was falling sideways through the world. I don’t know if we screamed. 

I think maybe I did.

We hit the ground hard. Not hit, exactly — more like landed wrong in a place we were never supposed to be. The air was thinner. Sharper. Colder. The light was strange. Everything was too still.

My ears rang. My head spun.

Behind me, Day doubled over and retched — quietly, efficiently, with all the elegance of someone who had never vomited publicly in his life. A thin string of sick landed on his boot.

A second later, Umberto leaned forward, hands on knees, and let loose a guttural roar of a heave that echoed through our surroundings. He groaned, wiping his mouth, “what in all the gods’ groins was that?”

“A moonstone” Trunch wheezed, still lying on his back. “I borrowed it from Holadamus.”

“Yeah, that we got,” Carrie said, dusting herself off. “I think what Umberto is asking is ‘what the fuck just happened?’”

“Teleportation,” Trunch got to his feet. “The moonstone activated the portal. Of course it was improperly buffered, but it was the best I could come up with. Then, instantaneous travel over high altitude and long distance. Not… ideal, but it seems to have worked.” He balanced himself with his hands on his knees.

“No shit,” Yak muttered, blinking furiously. “I think my eyeballs reversed.”

I was still blinking stars when Wikis straightened. Eyes forward. Hand up. Still as stone. Then she moved, fast and low, guiding us with clipped whispers and sharp gestures toward a cluster of nearby stone figures. Statues. Tall, robed, faceless figures carved into jagged poses. But they weren’t decorative. They were meant to intimidate.

More importantly — they were cover.

We ducked behind them just as a pair of shadowy figures emerged on a wall above — patrolling.

No one spoke.

We didn’t need to.

Wikis’ eyes were locked forward, already scanning the terrain. Carrie crouched beside her, wings pulled tight against her back. Trunch leaned against the statue and put the pouch back into his satchel with a satisfied pat, like he was congratulating a pet for a job well done. Din steadied Day. Umberto sniffed the air, scowled, then spat – I assume it was for reasons of balance. 

We’d arrived in a garden — or possibly a courtyard. It was hard to tell. There was very little actual garden to speak of, unless one counts ‘dust,’ ‘moss,’ and ‘deep emotional discomfort’ as flora. The space itself was vast — easily the size of Dawnsheart’s main square, which, I remind, was currently smouldering, having recently been incinerated by an adolescent dragon with a grudge.

A few of the statues were scattered around for ambience — tall, contorted figures frozen mid-howl or lurch, clearly designed by someone who’d never heard the phrase less is more and thought ‘grotesque horror’ would pair nicely with a landscaping feature. We were enclosed on all sides by high walls and grim ramparts, the architectural equivalent of a sneer. 

And the lighting — well, that was new.

Aside from the rather confronting pinkish-purpleish glow that dominated the sky, seven lamp-posts, if you could call them that, loomed across the space like petrified scorpion tails. They twisted up from the ground like gnarled tree roots, curled at the top, and cradled large, glowing orbs that cast an eerie, soft light across the courtyard. Each orb hovered gently, pulsing with the soft, familiar gleam of moonlight. Seven squash sized moonstone orbs.

And at the base of every lamp was the Dan’del’ion sigil, glittering like a spiderweb in a morning frost. 

It took us a few blinks and several whispered profanities to process the implications. Seven lamps. Seven orbs. Seven carved symbols. Seven stumps.

Tufulla and the white ravens hadn’t found them all yet.

I made a mental note: the one behind us, the one we’d come through with our usual grace, was clearly connected to the stump near Nelb. The others? No labels. No directions. No helpful arrows with “You Are Here” maps.

Just the quiet understanding that the Court’s network was larger than we’d hoped. And far more complete.

I didn’t like it.

And neither did my internal organs, which were still trying to re-enter my body one at a time.

Castle Ieyoch loomed at the far end of the courtyard. Tall, jagged, and aggressively symmetrical, like someone had tried to build intimidation using a ruler, a stencil set, and a deep, lingering hatred of curves. Spires jabbed at the sky like accusations. The rooflines were steep and humourless, every tile and balustrade arranged with obsessive precision, like someone had said ‘make it gothic, but meaner.’

It had once been elegant. But that elegance had long since curdled into menace. Whatever charm it might’ve held had been stripped away by time, fire, and neglect. Once the cold, dead heart of an oppressive regime, it had been left to rot — a chapter the valley’s people had convinced themselves was folklore.

And yet, someone was rebuilding it.

Signs of restoration clung to the walls like scaffolding-shaped guilt. Timber frames stretched awkwardly between buttresses. A section of the southern tower wore a crude wooden brace, and patches of stonework were fresher than the rest, gleaming faintly in the purple light like newly healed scars.

The whole place smelled like damp mortar and unresolved trauma.

From the upper floors, a beam of pink-violet light pulsed steadily skyward. It stained the night in eerie, beautiful horror.
Day nodded in its direction.
“So… the crystal thing is up there, right?” he whispered.

A quiet chorus of nods followed.

“And somewhere inside,” Din added, voice low, “is the long-dead vampire lord they’re trying to resurrect?”

Another nod. Less enthusiastic. 

Something felt… off. There were no orders being barked. No marching boots. No ghouls on chains. No waiting undead horde. No robed cultists. Just eerie stillness and quiet – like the world was holding its breath. 

It didn’t feel like a stronghold. It felt like a stage.

Were we too late?
Had they already gone — dispatched across the valley while we fumbled with medallions and moonstones?

Or were we early?
Was everyone inside — cloaked and chanting, eyes closed, hands outstretched — making the final preparations for whatever came next?

“Which do we look for first?” Carrie asked, eyes wide in wonder, or horror at the sight in front of us. “The crystal, or the corpse?”

“I think, we need to get inside first.” Day replied.

“So let’s get moving,” Umberto grunted, already stepping toward the castle doors.

Day grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “We need to be careful. We don’t know what, or how many are inside.”

Umberto huffed.

“We need to make sure we aren’t seen by them.” Trunch pointed to the walls. Four guards paced the ramparts above, their lanterns casting long shadows over half-repaired battlements.

“And we need to figure out how to get past them,” Day added, nodding toward the castle steps.

Two enormous direwolves prowled the base of the stairway. Their riders sat high in blackened armor — not flashy, just quietly confident that you would regret crossing them.
“I don’t know if you remember, but just one of those bastards nearly took us out in the forest” Day muttered.

And that was it. Four guards. Two riders. A space built for hundreds. Something was definitely not right.

I leaned closer. “So… what’s the plan?”

No one answered.

Probably because — like me — they were still deciding what was most alarming: The glowing beam of necromantic energy. The heavily armed patrol on the ramparts above. The armored direwolf cavalry. Or the deeply unsettling fact that the Dan’del’ion Court had managed to organize construction crews.

Possibly because — knowing them — the idea of a well-thought-out, clearly communicated plan is both foreign and personally offensive.

A moment of quiet followed. The kind that fills your lungs with dread and dares you to exhale. I think a tumbleweed rolled past. It might’ve just been a shadow. Either way, it wasn’t exactly reassuring.

“Psst.”
Yak, crouched behind one of the gargoyle-styled statues, waved us over with the urgency of someone who had definitely just seen something we hadn’t.
He pointed.
Tucked against the far wall of the courtyard was a squat, moss-choked structure – glass-walled, iron-framed, and barely holding itself together. An old atrium or greenhouse, by the look of it. The windows were grimy, thick with decades of ash, rain, and architectural neglect. Thick glass, bubbled and warped, gave only vague hints of the overgrown ruin inside. Still, it was shelter.
And from the looks of it, it was unguarded.

We moved.
Fast, low, and quiet. A blur of soot-stained cloaks and hasty glances. No shouts. No arrows. No angry howls. By some miracle, the direwolf riders didn’t see us. The rampart patrols didn’t look down. One by one, we slipped through a twisted iron door and vanished inside.

I didn’t know exactly what I expected when we slipped inside, but it certainly wasn’t this.

The interior had been repurposed with all the grace and finesse of a bandit hideout crossed with a barracks. A dozen narrow cots lined the space. Four suits of Dan’del’ion armor stood propped awkwardly on a rack near the doorway, like mannequins dressed for a funeral no one wanted to attend.

A hearth crackled dimly in the corner, offering just enough warmth to remind you how cold the rest of the place was. Against the far wall, a desk sagged under the weight of chaotic paperwork, while two half-eaten meals sat on a rickety table nearby — one of them still steaming.

It smelled like stale ale, wet socks, and the kind of hygiene that only gets worse with confidence.

Carrie wrinkled her nose. Umberto cursed. Loudly. Din took one look around and muttered, “Oh great. There’s absolutely no chance of anything going wrong in here.”

That’s when we heard it — the unmistakable rhythm of snoring.
And worse — the sound of someone shifting in their cot.

We froze. Din exhaled in way that said: Told you so.

Four cots were occupied. Four rising and falling chests. Four deeply asleep individuals, unaware that a group of soot-covered misfits had just wandered in.

“This could be advantageous,” Trunch whispered, barely audible. He gestured toward the armor. “We could use those. Disguise ourselves. Move past the guards unnoticed.”

Carrie glanced at the rack, then slowly held up four fingers. Then she turned to Trunch and slowly held up four more. “There’s eight of us you turnip. What’s your plan, Trunch? Stack us like four kobolds in a trench coat?”

Wikis, meanwhile, was already at the desk — rifling through the papers with the focused intensity of a raccoon who’d just discovered an unguarded picnic.

“There’s a shift change coming up,” she hissed, slipping back with a folded scrap in hand. “These guys are scheduled to relieve the wall guards.”
She held up the paper like proof of treason.

“Wonderful. So… they’re about to wake up,” Carrie said grimly.

“We could tie them up,” I suggested. Mostly because I hadn’t thought it through at all and felt like I should say something before someone noticed I was just standing there blinking.

“And then what?” Wikis asked, flatly.

“We take their place,” Trunch offered, always the optimist when it came to impersonating cultists.

Din nodded slowly. “Could work. But it can’t be all of us. And what if they wake up while we’re tying them up?”

“Then we take them out,” Umberto said a little too quickly, casting a glance at the cots that could only be described as enthusiastic.

“Yeah — and then the whole courtyard’s on alert,” Day muttered, peeking through the grimy greenhouse glass.

“We don’t let them wake up,” Yak said quietly.

He stepped forward, knelt beside the nearest cot, and for a moment, we all assumed he was about to produce some sort of sleeping draught or knockout dust or whatever mysterious goblin brews he carried in his endless pockets.

“Oh, he’s got a potion or something,” Carrie whispered, hopeful.

“Not exactly,” Yak replied.

The sound was soft. Precise. A clean ‘schtk’ of metal — out, then in again. Silent. Efficient. Lethal.

The body in the cot stilled.

“Any objections?” Yak asked, calmly.

We blinked. In unison.
It wasn’t fear, not exactly. More… the unsettling kind of respect that creeps in when you suddenly remember your friend knows how to make people disappear.

Plans are often born from panic, and this one was no exception.

We couldn’t all sneak into the castle unnoticed — not with guards on the walls, wolves on the steps, and a courtyard lit up like a midsummer festival. But a shift change? That gave us a chance. A window. A strategy.

We thought fast. In hindsight, maybe we could have thought more … thoroughly, but we had the beginnings of a plan at least.

Day, Trunch, Wikis, and Yak would take the place of the sleeping guards and head to the ramparts. The rest of us would stay behind, deal with the next group when they came in. Quietly. Efficiently. Hopefully with less blood than usual.

Yak had already ensured three wouldn’t be waking up for roll call.

He moved like breath — in and out — and by the time you noticed, someone was already dead.

He was just slipping the dagger away from the third cot when Umberto stepped forward.

“That’s cheating,” he said, voice low.

Yak blinked at him. “Sorry?”

“Killing them in their sleep. Too easy. No honour in that.”

Yak tilted his head, genuinely baffled.
“We’re in a cursed greenhouse, quietly murdering cult guards so we can wear their clothes and lie about our identities. I don’t think honour showed up for work today.”

“Cursed?” Wikis hissed, eyes darting around the room like they were trying to escape her skull. “Wait—how do you know it’s cursed? What kind of cursed?”

In front of Yak and Umberto, the sleeping guard shifted slightly.
There was a collective inhale.
Then the snoring resumed.
Then a collective exhale, the kind of synchronized panic-release you only get from a group this profoundly accustomed to near-death.

“I’m doing this one,” Umberto announced, plucking the dagger delicately from Yak’s fingers like they were passing a ceremonial torch.

Yak hesitated. “It’s not as easy as it looks. There’s a method to it,” he said quickly. “You’ve got to angle the blade. Not too deep, not too shallow. You want the larynx and artery, not the shoulder blade—”

“Yeah yeah,” Umberto grunted, raising the dagger.

He plunged it down — and missed. The blade caught shoulder instead of throat, and the guard jerked upright with a howl of pain.

It was the sound of a loosely thought out plan dying. Loudly. And without dignity.

Umberto clamped a hand over the guard’s mouth, forcing him back into the cot as his legs kicked wildly.

“Give me the dagger!” Yak hissed harshly.

Umberto growled, refusing to let go.

A short, frantic struggle followed, the dagger ended up clattering to the floor and Umberto, abandoning all subtlety, resorted to the oldest, loudest method available: fists.

He beat the man with both hands and all his fury, snarling through gritted teeth like this was personal. Which, knowing Umberto, it might’ve been.

Eventually, the guard stopped moving. The room was filled with the sound of heavy breathing and suppressed horror.

“Problem solved,” Umberto said, wiping his bloody hands over his bare stomach.

Yak just stared at him.

“Well,” Day said abruptly, turning from another glance out the door. “That seems to have caught the attention of one of the wolf riders. He’s heading this way.”

He squinted through the glass again. “Slowly,” he added, with a look of confusion.

“Whatever we’re doing, we need to do it now,” Din said.

“Hide the bodies,” Carrie hissed, flitting toward the center of the room.

“Where?” Umberto growled. “It’s not like there’s a cupboard we can throw them in.”

Carrie’s eyes lingered on the hearth for a beat too long before she shook her head and scanned the rest of the room instead.

“We’ve got a couple of minutes at most with the speed he’s ambling over at,” Day said, still watching the rider’s approach.

“Didn’t you say you hid Tufulla in a pocket in the ceiling during the Dominic fight?” I asked. “Could you do something like that again?”

Yak clicked his fingers at me and nodded.

Wikis uncoiled a rope and tossed it into the air. It hung there — connected to absolutely nothing. She scrambled up and disappeared mid-climb like a raccoon vanishing into a treetop. Her head reappeared moments later.

“Toss them up,” she said, as matter-of-factly as if she’d asked for a mug of tea. “And then get up here unless you’re going out on the wall — there’s enough room.”

Umberto scurried up the rope in a fashion that made his loincloth an extremely public garment.
The bodies followed — quickly, if not gracefully. One took several attempts.
Carrie fluttered up and vanished. Wikis slid back down.

I climbed after and extended a hand to Din, who grunted and struggled beneath the weight of his full plate. This was not exactly his area of expertise.

Below us, Day, Trunch, Yak, and Wikis took their positions in the now-vacant cots — ‘asleep’ and as inconspicuous as possible. I saw Day mutter something under his breath and flick his hand. A raven shimmered into existence at his feet — sleek, silent, and already watching.

With a simple gesture, he sent it fluttering up into the rafters. It vanished almost instantly, lost in the crossbeams and shadows.

I’d seen Tufulla use Solstice the same way — remote sight, extra senses — but Day didn’t hesitate, didn’t overthink. Just conjured, directed, and lay down. Blanket pulled over his head, back to the entrance. Watching through the raven’s eyes.

It was quick. Practical. Efficient.

Exactly what we needed.

Din and I reeled in the rope, and the boundary between our space and theirs closed.

The moment the end of the rope was pulled through the portal, Umberto gave a loud grunt and heaved one of the bodies across to the far side of the cramped extra-dimensional space.

“Just rearranging the furniture,” he said.

I froze. “Shh! They’ll hear us!”

Carrie giggled. “No they won’t. Wikis explained it all after the Dominic fight,” she gestured vaguely, “Sound doesn’t travel in or out. We can see them, but they can’t see us. Or hear us.”

I blinked. “That’s… incredible. Why don’t we use this all the time?”

Din shrugged. “Because Wikis forgets she can do it.”

“That… tracks.”

Umberto groaned and dragged another body to the wall, stacking it with more interior design enthusiasm than I was comfortable with.

“We might be here a while,” he muttered. “Might as well be comfortable.”

I shifted uneasily, attempting to find a spot that wasn’t elbow, boot, or shoulder. “How long does this thing last?”

“A few minutes,” Carrie said breezily. “Before we run out of air and it all collapses in on itself, crushing us in the process.”

I gaped at her, eyes wide, before Din helpfully added: “No. Wikis said it lasts about an hour. Then it disappears and drops everything back down.”

“Ah,” I said. “Only mildly better.” I glanced at the bloodied and lifeless guards, and then peered out at the drop to the floor below, “and slightly messier.”

We settled in, watching the silent scene unfold below — the view strange and glassy, like peering through the bottom of a bottle. Moments later a large snout appeared in the doorway. Quickly followed by more of the beast.

The rider ducked low as his wolf entered, padding forward with the unhurried confidence of a creature that had never been prey. Like the undead version we’d encountered in the forest, it was huge — all muscle, shadow, and teeth. It sniffed the air like it already knew what it was about to find. The guard dismounted with lazy grace — casual, almost bored, as if this entire check-in was an inconvenience beneath his station. One hand stayed on the pommel of his sword. The other scratched the wolf’s thick-furred neck. We watched its lips curl in a silent growl. Watched the rider speak to the room — but thanks to the soundless pocket Wikis had conjured, we heard nothing. Just glassy silence.

He waited.

Our friends lay still, feigning sleep, and the rider — with no warning — drew his blade.

Long. Dark. And even from above, unmistakably sharp.

There was a collective swallow.

He moved to the nearest cot and, without pause, stabbed down. The blade punched clean through pillow and straw.

Then the next.

Another spoken command.

Stab.

Then another.

Stab.

He walked slowly, deliberately, working his way down the row — inching closer to where our friends lay.

“To be fair,” Carrie whispered, “Trunch might actually be asleep. He did pass out on the cart. I imagine he finds that cot very comfortable.”

I heard the faint click of Umberto unfastening his axe from his back. Then the creak of leather under a white-knuckled grip.

“If he gets one of them,” he growled, “I’ll finish him and his dog before he gets another.”

The rider reached Trunch’s cot.

Paused.

Every muscle in my body seized. No one flinched — not up here, not down there. It felt like watching a disaster in slow motion, knowing full well you couldn’t scream to stop it.

He raised the blade.

We held our breath.

Umberto’s knuckles went bone white.

Then the rider’s head snapped toward the doorway. The wolf’s did too. Ears pricked. Nose twitching.

It looked at him. Then the door. Then back again.

He froze mid-thrust. Frowned.

Lowered the blade.

Somewhere outside, something had happened. A clang? A voice? A breeze out of place? We couldn’t tell,  couldn’t hear a thing. But both rider and wolf had heard it.

And that was enough.

The rider stepped back, sword still drawn. He muttered something then marched stiffly to his mount and swung himself into the saddle.

One last barked command over his shoulder.

Then he was gone, riding low and slow, like someone whose instincts had finally caught up with his arrogance.

No one breathed for ten full seconds.

Carrie opened the barrier and stuck her head out, whispering down with wide eyes,
“Too close. What happened? Why’d he leave?”

Yak bolted upright, voice low and fast.
“There was a noise outside — shouting, I think.”

Wikis sat up too, peeling the blanket off her face and glancing toward the door.
“He was about to gut us. That wolf knew something was off.”

Day sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes.
“Something’s happening out there.”

Umberto leaned over the edge beside Carrie.
“Then what the hell was the noise?”

“I don’t know,” Yak admitted. “Didn’t sound like a fight. Just… sharp. Sudden.”

“It looked like he said something. What was it?” Carrie asked.

“He called us lazy pricks,” Wikis muttered, “Said if we didn’t get up and man the walls, he’d kill us himself. Then he started stabbing pillows.”

Trunch shook his head.
“These guys are serious. He didn’t even hesitate. He was willing to kill his own men.”

“The shift change. We need to get moving.” Yak was already pulling on one of the armor sets. “Before he comes back.”

Day stood, as a raven swooped down from the rafters and out the door. His eyes glazed over and he cocked his head slightly to one side.

“Oh Shit.” Wikis said reaching for her bow, “Day’s falling under the curse.”

“No, he isn’t,” I said, climbing down the rope. “He’s just temporarily seeing through the raven. I’ve seen Tufulla do it with Solstice.”

Wikis eyed Day. Then me. Then the doorway — as if neither of us had earned her trust and she had zero plans to start now.

“He’s heading back to his post,” Day said. His voice was distant, eyes clouded.
“Two more just arrived. Walking up the stairs.”

“Can you see who?” Din asked.

Day murmured something under his breath, brow furrowed.
“They’re shouting orders. The riders are nodding. It’s Naida. And Erik — the big guy from the Briars.”

“Fuck,” Umberto growled.

“Naida’s asking if they’ve arrived,” Day continued.

“They?” Carrie frowned. “Who’s supposed to arrive?”

“Maybe she means us,” Umberto muttered. “They’re probably expecting us.”

“I don’t think so,” Trunch interjected, giving a final tug on a pair of boots slightly too big for him. “Not yet, anyway. She wouldn’t think we could use the stumps. If she suspects we’re coming, she still thinks we’re hours out.”

“I bet it’s Brenne,” Umberto said, eyes narrowing, “I knew she was hiding something.”

Day’s head tilted. His voice sharpened slightly.
“They’ve gone inside. Naida and Erik. She told the guard to find out what happened to Dominic.”

The group fell quiet.

The armor looked… wrong on all of them. Ill-fitted, mismatched, poorly strapped. Wikis and Trunch were half a foot too short. Day stood a little too tall. Yak’s armor looked like it was trying to escape his body altogether — but his face, at least, matched. He’d shifted into the likeness of one of the guards he’d ‘silenced’ and tossed into the extra-dimensional crawlspace above.

Trunch straightened up next to Day with the posture of someone trying very hard to look official.

“Right,” he said, in his best approximation of confident leadership, “We’ll go and, um, take over on the, ah… wall patrol. You wait in here. When the other guards arrive, you, uh… take care of them.”

“We’ve got it covered on this end,” Din assured him, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Just make sure to let us know when you’re in position.”

“I’ll send my raven back in,” Day said, his voice slipping into a clipped, official tone. “That’ll be your signal. I can also use a spell to speak directly into your minds, if we need to coordinate the next step.”

“I can do that too, you know,” Carrie added with exaggerated drama, as though she’d been waiting for someone to ask.

“Great,” Din replied dryly. “We have multiple ways of keeping in contact. Just, use them only if necessary. I’m getting low on energy. Could really use a rest.”

“We don’t have time to rest,” Trunch replied, pulling on a too-large gauntlet. “We’ll just have to make do. Use magic sparingly. Up close, hand-to-hand—like Yak did—is probably going to draw the least attention.”

“Yeah,” Umberto barked, cracking his knuckles. “I’ve got that covered. Just get them in here.”

A couple of quick handshakes, fistbumps and ‘good lucks’ later and they headed out. We quickly took up positions. Din and Umberto either side of the doorway crouched low. Carrie flew up into the space, pulling the rope up behind her, wand at the ready. Me – I took up residence behind Din, pressed up against the wall – heart pounding. Sweat dripping off my head in the mountain cold. It felt like an eternity.

The first one came alone.

We heard his footsteps before we saw him — the steady, tired clank of someone finishing a shift, expecting warmth and ale and maybe a nap before dawn.

Umberto’s eyes lit up. Genuinely lit up.

He crouched beside the door like a wolf preparing to pounce on a ham sandwich.

Din raised a hand. “Wait until he’s fully inside,” he whispered.

Umberto didn’t respond. He just nodded once, eyes wide, already smiling.

A long shadow appeared at the door.

The guard stepped in.

And that was all it took.

Umberto lunged with a speed and enthusiasm that could only be described as deeply personal. His fist hit the guard square in the side of the head, sending the poor bastard sideways into the wall with a dull thunk. There was a short, muffled grunt — more surprise than pain — and then Umberto dragged the limp form into the center of the  room.

“Didn’t even drop his lantern,” he said proudly, holding up the glowing thing like a prize.

Carrie stuck her head out from nowhere and dropped the rope. “Up.”

Umberto flung the guard’s body over his shoulder with ease and clambered up like a man returning a borrowed cushion.

Through the thick glass window I watched the second guard approach, and heard him moments later.

He was humming.

To himself.

Out of tune.

Din straightened, adjusted his grip on the warhammer strapped across his back, and moved closer to the doorway. No muttering, no magic, just quiet intent.

I leaned closer. “No spell?”

Din didn’t look back. “Don’t need one.”

Another shadow, accompanied by an off key note.

The guard stepped inside, mid-hum, his lantern casting long shadows ahead of him. He barely had time to blink.

Din’s hammer struck squarely in the chest — not a swing, not a smash, just a sudden, perfectly timed thump that landed with surgical brutality.

The sound was quiet. The impact wasn’t.

The guard folded inward like someone had cut his strings.

Din caught him by the collar and eased him to the floor before the lantern could rattle loose.

Carrie’s head appeared in an instant, Umberto appeared beside her. 

“Same place,” she said.

Din didn’t respond. He just hauled the body upward like it weighed nothing. Umberto leaned out and caught it like a trapeze artist and hauled it in. Carrie fluttered down seconds later with Umberto sliding down the rope behind her.

I looked back at the flickering ceiling portal. The magical corpse loft.

“Do we… have a plan for when that spell ends?” I asked.

Carrie blinked at me.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, the pocket. The ceiling hole. The floating meat library. It ends eventually, right?”

“Well, yeah,” she said, “But not for, like, an hour.”

“Yes, but then… what happens? All the bodies just fall back down?”

Carrie tilted her head, thoughtful. “Technically yes.”

I stared at her. She stared back.

“What would you like to happen?” she asked, as if I was the unreasonable one.

“I don’t know! I was hoping for less gravity and more long-term planning!”

She patted my shoulder. “By then, it’ll be someone else’s problem,” she smiled.

Din straightened suddenly.

Not like he’d heard something with his ears — more like something had spoken directly to his bones.

He turned to me and muttered under his breath, “Two more. Coming together.”

I blinked. “From Day?”

Din nodded. “Said they were more suspicious. Yak had to talk them into it. Apparently… they’re still not convinced.”

Carrie dropped back into the room from above, and fluttered over to the window “Two of them. They’re talking outside the door.” She whispered.

We froze.

Pressed low. Hearts hammering.

The voices came muffled through the glass and wood — close, cautious.

“Did he seem a little… off to you?”
“Yeah. Didn’t sound right.”
“And was he shorter?”
“Definitely shorter. I thought that too.”

Then a rasp of steel.

Carrie hissed, “They’ve drawn swords.”

“I think someone’s in there.”
“Then we go in together.”

Footsteps. Slow. Measured.

I didn’t breathe.

The first stepped in, sword raised, eyes scanning the room.

Din moved first. He surged forward and drove the flat of his hammer toward the man’s ribs — but the guard twisted at the last second, grunting as the blow clipped him sideways instead.

That was enough.

The room exploded into motion.

Umberto barrelled into the second guard like a landslide made of elbows, snarling through his teeth as the two crashed into a nearby cot and splintered it like dry kindling. Feathers, dust, and curses flew through the air.

Din’s opponent swung wildly, blade catching a lantern and sending it spinning across the room in a wash of sparks.

Carrie shouted something but I was too busy ducking under a chair someone had weaponized to hear it.

One of the guards went down — Din struck clean this time, dropping him with a single hammer blow that thudded through the floorboards.

The other slipped from Umberto’s grasp, blood trailing down his face from a broken nose. He bolted for the doorway.

And screamed.

“GUARDS! THERE’S —”

“HALT!”
Carrie’s voice rang out — not loud, but sharp. Precise.
A single word, soaked in magic.

The guard froze mid-step. Mid-breath. One foot still raised, sword half-lowered, mouth open. The rest of the sentence died behind his teeth.

Din moved first — hammer to the gut, then shoulder to the wall. Umberto followed with a crunching blow to the jaw that snapped the man’s head sideways and dropped him like a sack of bones. The body slumped just inside the doorway.

Carrie lowered her wand, breathing hard. 

We all stared at the still form on the ground.

Through the grimy glass, just beyond the twisted iron frame of the greenhouse, movement caught my eye. A tall silhouette. Broad shoulders. A glint of metal at the hip. Dark shape beneath.

One of the riders. He was heading our way — faster this time, more deliberate.

I didn’t think he’d seen anything. Not yet.
But the way he moved… Head tilted. Posture alert. Like he’d smelled smoke on the wind and was trying to place it.

I swallowed hard and backed away from the door.

“He’s coming back.”

Din stood, breathing heavily. He wiped a smear of blood from his lip. “Put him with the others,” he said, already stooping to scoop up the fallen guard’s helmet. He tucked it under one arm. “And get ready.” Then he stepped out through the doorway.

The mounted guard approached through the courtyard gloom — tall, and deliberate. The wolf sniffed at the air.

“We have a problem,” Din said confidently, as the rider closed the distance.

“What is it?”

“One of the recruits. The others played a prank. Set him on fire. Accidentally.”

The rider snorted. “Get out of my way.” He pushed past.

The wolf padded into the greenhouse just as we were trying, and failing, to hoist the most recent corpse up the rope.

We froze.

Carrie gave him a bright, theatrical smile and an entirely unconvincing, “Hi.”

The rider’s brow furrowed. His wolf bared its teeth.
“What the fuck?” he growled.

Din stepped in behind him, cutting off the exit.
“As I said,” he muttered, “we have a problem.”

The guard slide from his saddle. Umberto let him. Din didn’t move. The guard drew his sword and a fanged smile crept across his lips. His wolf tensed, fangs bared.

“Bold. Brave. Stupid.” The guard growled. He lunged.

Too late.

Umberto met him mid-lunge with the kind of tackle that doesn’t win awards but ends fights. The two slammed into a rack of armor — helmets and gauntlets crashing like coins on cobblestone.

The wolf leapt.
Din spun with practiced precision — hammer raised — and caught the beast mid-air, driving it sideways into a cot. Feathers exploded in every direction, then caught fire from a tipped lantern. Smoke curled instantly.

“The doorway. Move!” Carrie barked, wings catching a rising current of heat.

I didn’t need telling twice.

Umberto and the rider rolled, punched, bit, and spat across the floor — a whirl of teeth and armor. Din yanked Umberto up by the collar and shoved him backward through the door. Din followed – eyes on the guard and wolf in the center of the room. Carrie fluttered down in front of him at the threshold. Wand up. Eyes blazing.

And unleashed hell.

The fireball detonated in the center of the room with a sound like the world tearing open. We were blown back into the courtyard.
The greenhouse became a furnace. A bloom of heat and light. Shattered glass and flame swallowed the rider and his snarling beast in an instant.

I hit the ground, rolled behind a half-melted statue, and coughed smoke from my lungs.

When I looked up, the greenhouse was gone. Just… gone. Twisted iron jutted from scorched earth. Flames danced across blackened timbers.

Umberto stood, loincloth slightly on fire, and patted himself out with a grin.

Carrie hovered above it all, panting hard, wand still raised, eyes wide.

Din limped over, one gauntlet blackened and steaming.

I looked up at the space where I approximated Wiki’s little trick had been located. “Is it… still up there? Wikis’ cupboard thing — does it stay if the building’s gone?” I asked as Carrie fluttered down. She just shrugged.

We were supposed to be quiet. Instead, we’d just punched a fireball-sized hole in Castle Ieyoch’s courtyard.

A loud shout rang out — the second mounted guard, already wheeling his wolf toward us. The beast bounded forward, snarling.

“Sound the alarm!” the rider bellowed. “Don’t just stand there — engage the enemy!”

From atop the ramparts, a single arrow thudded into the wolf’s flank.

“Not me, you idiot.”

Wikis was already on the move — sprinting along the edge of the wall toward the stairs near her position. Yak vaulted the parapet beside her and descended in a blur of cloak and movement, bouncing between stone and support beams like gravity was a polite suggestion.

Another arrow from Wikis. Sharp. Clean. Center mass.

Realization hit the rider at the same moment as Carrie’s spell.
Her wand snapped forward — a flash of arcane energy, and the direwolf shrank mid-charge, collapsing into the size of a startled house pet. The rider hit the ground awkwardly, legs tangled around the now-miniature beast.

And then he didn’t move at all.

Din stepped forward, beard floating in the air like coiled lightning, his fingers closed into a fist.

The paralysis took hold instantly – the rider frozen mid-swear, arms stiff, muscles locked.

It was over in seconds.

We stood in the center of the courtyard, smoke curling upward from the ruins of the greenhouse. Day began working his way across the wall and down toward us. Trunch, furthest from us — on the wall near the castle proper — waved urgently from atop the ramparts, then broke into a sprint in our direction.

“So much for the element of surprise,” Yak coughed.

“The other person arrived,” Wikis said, pointing to the main doors. “They entered just as you made the greenhouse explode.” She looked at us, curious. “It was you who did that, right?”

“I did!” Carrie chirped.

“Did you get a look at them? Do you know who it was?” Din asked.

“No. Their face was turned. I couldn’t see.”

“Yak?”

“No.” Yak shook his head. “I was occupied watching you talk to the first wolf guard. I was still trying to figure out what you were doing.”

“Improvising,” Din said calmly.

I tugged Wikis on the arm and gestured back at the smouldering greenhouse.

“The pocket space, rope trick thing of yours,” I asked, “Is it gone, or is it still there.”

“Don’t know,” she answered matter-of-factly. “You’re welcome to wait a while and see.”

Day jogged up, breathing hard.
“Well… they should definitely know we’re here by now,” he said, just as the large wooden doors of the castle creaked open.

A single, solitary guard stepped out.

“What was that? What’s—”
He stopped. There was a metallic clang as he dropped his weapon. Then he swore, turned on his heel, and bolted for the doors.

I don’t know why. I only vaguely know how. It was a reaction born of necessity. I raised my hand. Pointed.
He dropped, face-first, as three magic missiles caught him in the back.

The rest of the group stared at me.

Wikis lowered her bow and frowned, “I was just about to drop him.”

Carrie blinked.
“Klept… do you have something you want to tell us?”

I looked around nervously.
“I, uh… I found a couple of scrolls in the archives.”
My notebook was open in one hand — a sigil still glowing faintly on the page.

Umberto clapped a heavy hand on my back, nearly knocking me forward.
“About fucking time you made yourself useful.”

“So,” Yak said nodding in approval, “What now?”

Din started walking toward the stairs. “We storm the castle, that’s what.” He looked around to a sea of nodding faces, “Quietly and carefully of course.”

“Hey guys,” Trunch called out as he got nearer, “Nice shot Klept. Didn’t know you could do that.”

“I wasn’t sure either.” I said vaguely, still in shock at what had just happened.

“So, you want to join us in storming the castle?” Carrie asked Trunch with a smile.

“Sure.” he replied, “Um, were going to do it carefully right?” he asked everyone.

“Of course.” Day replied, “Isn’t that how we operate?”

“Oh, good.” Trunch breathed, “because, I know who the other person is. The one they’re waiting for.”

Umberto cracked his knuckles, followed by his neck and shoulders, “It’s Brenne, isn’t it?” He growled. “Has to be.”

“It’s Barbara.” Trunch said stopping abruptly. “Barbara Dongswallower.”

Umberto didn’t speak.
He just bolted for the door.

It’s easy to forget that Umberto is just over three and a half feet tall.

Raised by orcs, he learned early that the best way to survive was to act twice the size of whatever was trying to kill you. Apparently, the strategy stuck.

When he’s angry, he doesn’t storm. He charges.

In battle, he hurls himself forward with such reckless force it’s hard to tell if he values his own life, or simply values momentum more. His axe, very clearly heavier than he is, cleaves through whatever’s in his way before he even registers what, or who, it was.

Outside of battle, that fury simmers in squared shoulders, a clenched jaw, boots pounding like war drums, and fists clenched tight. Angry punctuation marks, intent on ending a person’s sentence before they’ve even begun speaking.

It wasn’t the first time I’d seen him like this.
Back in Nelb he’d moved the same way on the walk up to Brenne’s house. A short, furious march that demanded the world get out of his way or get broken.
There’s a certain weight to Umberto’s stride when he decides something.
And judging by the look on his face, what he’d decided was violence.

Each step echoed like a countdown.
I considered calling after him, but I’ve quickly learned there are few forces in this world capable of stopping Umberto once he’s at full march.
And I am not one of them.
Naturally, I looked to Din.

Din was already moving.
No shout. No panic. Just movement. Purposeful and fast.

“Umberto!” Din called, voice low and urgent. No response.
Umberto was halfway up the steps now and accelerating.
“UMBERTO!” Still nothing.

So Din did the only thing he could: he ran.
Boots clanked. Armor groaned. And then, just before Umberto reached the landing, Din lunged and grabbed him by the shoulders.

Umberto spun, fists already halfway raised. “Let go.”

“Think,” Din said, voice sharp. “For once. Think before you kick the doors in.”

“She’s in there!” Umberto snarled. “With them.”

The rest of us caught up, panting, forming behind Din in what was admittedly a pointless wall between Umberto and the castle doors. If he wanted through us, there really wasn’t much we could do to stop him without causing physical damage — to ourselves.

“Then we need to be sure,” Din said, holding his ground. “We don’t know why she’s here. Or what they’ve told her. Or if it’s even her.”

Umberto’s eyes burned. “It’s her.”

“Maybe,” Day offered. “But maybe it’s someone wearing her face — like Dominic did with Jonath.”

A flicker passed over Umberto’s features.

“Not her actual face,” Trunch added helpfully, “a disguise. Like Yak does.”

“Maybe it’s a spell. Or a trick,” Carrie added, glancing at me. “Right, Klept — it could be magic stuff?”

Umberto sneered, as if the idea that I might be a voice of reason was a personal insult.
Din’s grip didn’t loosen.

“The point is,” Din said flatly, “you kick down those doors, you don’t get answers. You get arrows.”

“It’s more likely to be swords, actually…”

The voice was dry. Hoarse. It didn’t sound like anyone in the group.

“We don’t know what’s behind those doors,” Trunch added.

“I do…” The unfamiliar voice said from somewhere nearby. Carrie waved a hand toward the source like she was shooing away a fly. 

“Is he going to explode?” Wikis asked, eying Umberto with trepidation. 

“No,” Din replied gently. “He’s thinking.”

“She wouldn’t—” Umberto’s breath caught. “She can’t…”

“I know what’s behind the doors…” The voice again — louder this time. Urgent.

“Maybe Trunch got it wrong. Maybe it’s a trap. Maybe she’s not with them. We don’t know,” Din said, still locked in place, still gripping Umberto’s shoulders. “Just don’t rush in like a wild boar with something to prove.”

Umberto leaned toward the door, glaring at it like he could will it open through sheer fury.

“She can’t…” he growled. “She wouldn’t.”

He trembled — fists tight, shoulders squared, rage barely held in check. But not moving. Not forward, at least. He growled again — low and guttural — then exhaled through gritted teeth.

“Fine,” he muttered. “We make a plan.”

“Good idea,” came the voice — that same voice — sounding exasperated now.

“Umm,” Yak said, between mouthfuls of crumbs. “Guys? There’s a weird dwarf in a cage over here.”

“It’s a gibbet, actually. Common misunderstanding,” came the dry, rasping voice. “Technically, a cage is for containment. A gibbet — like the one you see before you — is for punishment. Humiliation. Public spectacle. That sort of thing.”

We’d been so focused on stopping Umberto from doing something, well, Umberto-like, that we hadn’t noticed the prisoner hanging just a few feet away.

He was — to put it generously — a mess. An unkempt dwarf, emaciated and barely clothed. Hair matted into ropes, tangled with twigs and gods-know-what else. His face was caked with blood, dust, dried vomit, and (judging by the stench) at least one other unfortunate bodily function.

It’s a wonder we hadn’t seen him earlier.

But now that we had — oh gods did we smell him.

Carrie recoiled and wretched. Din relaxed his grip on Umberto. I blinked. Wikis poked him with the end of her bow, an arm outstretched as far as she could.

“Ow,” he muttered, with about as much enthusiasm as someone in his condition could manage without passing out from the effort.

“Oh gods,” Carrie coughed, pinching her nose. “You stink. Have you ever heard of bathing?”

The dwarf smiled weakly. “Funnily enough, I did ask that they put me in the gibbet with the tub, but apparently that one’s reserved for more important prisoners.”

“Well,” Trunch said, nodding seriously, “at least we know they have levels of accommodation. That’s impressively progressive for an oppressive, tyrannical, regime.”

The dwarf stared at him, visibly confused, then added, “At least my quarters aren’t exposed to the elements as much as some of the other, less fortunate souls.”

He lifted a trembling hand and pointed skyward.

We looked up — and there they were. Other gibbets, swaying gently from the upper reaches of the castle walls. Some were occupied. Some weren’t. All were adorned with carrion birds.

Wikis poked him again with the end of her bow. “Who are you?” she asked, eyes narrowed, voice pinched like she could taste the air.

The dwarf shifted in the gibbet with a wince and backed away from Wikis’ accusatory poking stick. “The name’s Bot,” he rasped. “Bot Battlehammer.”

There was a brief pause that was interrupted by Yak biting into something that crunched. Bot looked at him and licked his dry, cracked lips with longing.

I realized Din was still clasping onto Umberto’s shoulders. Umberto himself was clearly still ‘thinking’, as Din had put it. It looked like the current scene hadn’t registered yet.

Bot continued. “Former sergeant of the Underwatch. Sewer rat enthusiast. Last dwarf standing – twice.” He gave a lopsided grin. “And, apparently, cautionary tale.”

“Against what?” Umberto growled, having finally decided to join in.

Wikis was about to poke again before Day gently placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed the bow down. Bot slumped back against the iron bars, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

“Against standing up to them.” He gestured weakly to the castle as a whole.

“How do we know you’re not one of them?” Wikis asked. “How can we be sure you aren’t a spy?”

There was a chorus of nods.

“A spy?” he replied with a rasping chuckle. “A Dan’del’ion spy. Who has chosen to be locked in a gibbet, in this condition, and asked to hang outside his own castle?”

“That’s a fair point you know,” Yak nodded “Not a lot of information gathering to be found in this location for a spy – now if he was locked up in a town square, with all the chatter and daily events, like the attacker from the festival who went all, gooey, then …” If a look could ever be discerned on Yak’s featureless face the current one would have been ‘dawning sudden realization’.

“We get it, Yak.” Carrie cut in, “He’s probably not a spy.” She turned back to Bot, eyes watering. “Clearly no one sane would let themselves get this rancid. How long have you been here?” She barely got the question out before dry heaving and gasping for air.

“At the castle?” Bot asked, “About a year or so, I think. Here in my room, maybe a couple of months.”

“How have you survived this long?” Trunch asked, utterly fascinated. The kind of fascination usually reserved for ancient scrolls or mysterious potions. .

“Well, I’ve had a little help from some special friends.” Bot replied, with a weary shrug.

“I knew he was spy!” Wikis hissed. “Someone’s been feeding him. Or passing him notes. Or both.”

Day shook his head, “I don’t think so. Look at the floor.”

We leaned closer – and immediately regretted it. Upon closer inspection, we discovered yet another delightful note in the ever-evolving perfume that was au de gibbet: rich notes of warm, rotting meat, entwined with an earthy base of desperate gnawing and despair. At Bot’s feet were several half-eaten rat carcasses. Some of the smaller bones had been picked clean; there were clear marks showing an attempt to file them into lockpicks.

“I’m going to be sick.” Carrie wailed.

Bot raised his hands defensively, weakly – but defensively. “Look, I’m not proud of it, but a dwarf’s got to do what a dwarf’s got to do. There’s only so much magical healing one can give themselves before the well kind of runs dry, if you know what I mean.” He touched his chest and a dim light flickered and died. “I’ve got too much fight in me for the birds, but not enough energy to catch one. One of them…” He looked up, eyes narrowing at the carrion birds above, “... would feed me for weeks.” 

“How do you get the rats?” Trunch asked, “You’re hanging in a gibbet.”

“Oh, you noticed did you?” Bot said dryly. “Like I said. Not proud.” Bot shifted and pulled something from somewhere unspeakable – a small set of battered pipes. 
“Got these in a trade years ago.” He lifted them to his cracked lips and blew a soft shaky note.
Carrie dry retched.
A moment later there was a scuttling sound nearby. From the minimal underbrush a rat appeared. It paused, sniffed the air, then scrambled up the wall using crooked stones and ivy knots. It reached the iron arm that held Bot’s cage, tiptoed along the beam like a tightrope walker, and then dropped through the bars into the gibbet.

Wikis clapped with far greater enthusiasm than any of us expected. 

Bot didn’t even look at it. He just sighed. “Used to call them to carry messages. Unlock doors. Fetch keys. That sort of stuff. Now,” he sniffed mournfully, “for dinner.” 

We stood in a kind of impressed and disgusted silence for a beat before Yak stepped forward. He offered an extended hand to Bot.

“It’s not much. Not warm. Kind of squashed actually. But …” it was a small croissant. “I already nibbled the corner off, sorry.”

Bot took it in both hands like it was an ancient relic. He stared at Yak with tears welling in his eyes.
“May the bloom of Elaris nourish your roots.” he whispered reverently.
Then he stuffed the entire thing in his mouth and began hurriedly chewing like a dwarf reborn.

“Thank you,” Bot mumbled through a mouthful of pastry crumbs, his voice already sounding stronger. He swallowed hard. “Right. So … now that we’ve established I’m not a spy, and that you are decidedly very nice people – any chance one of you could get me down from here? I kind of know my way around the place a little. I can help.”

Wikis immediately narrowed her eyes. “We don’t need your help. We have a map.”

Carrie furrowed her brow. “We do?”

Day turned to Wikis slowly. “What map?”

Wikis reached into her pack, dug around with exaggerated effort, and triumphantly produced a  crumpled, stained piece of parchment and handed it to Day.  He unfolded it cautiously. We all leaned in. Bot clung to the bars of his gibbet to get a better look.

To call it a map was an insult to the fine craft of cartography. It looked like someone had tried to draw a floorplan from memory, while concussed. Rough box shapes marked ‘big room’ and ‘stairs’ were connected by crooked lines that looped into each other like drunken intestines. In one corner, a little arrow read ‘possibly a statue, maybe a guard’.

Day stared. “Did … Yak draw this?” He glanced up at Yak, who had one hand on his chin and was nodding like an overly confident art critic admiring a piece only he understood.

“No,” Wikis huffed. “Svaang did. From his memory.”

Day stuffed the map unceremoniously into a pocket. 

“Like I said.” Bot rasped from above. “Unless your map comes with directions like ‘how to not get lost on the magical maze floor’ or ‘this stairwell is full of undead,’ you might want someone with a bit more… experience.”

“He does make a persuasive argument,” Trunch said helpfully.

“He sure does,” Yak added. He was already standing next to the gibbet — one hand holding the door open, the other wielding a stiletto-bladed dagger — as Bot carefully lowered himself down.

Bot dusted himself off and bowed. “At your service,” he rasped. “You said something about making a plan? It’s clear you’re not the kind of reckless assholes who would just storm a castle with no idea what’s inside – kicking down the doors, yelling ‘surprise’, and charging in blindly. So, what’s the plan?”
He looked around expectantly.

There was a beat of silence

“We are wasting time, and we don’t know what they’re doing to her in there,” Umberto growled. He turned toward the door and started stomping forward.

“You’re going in after the woman?” Bot asked.

“We … well, he, thinks she’s been kidnapped and is being held prisoner.” Carrie pointed at Umberto.

“She’s not a prisoner,” Bot rasped, licking a stray flake from his lip.

Umberto turned on his heel and stormed up to Bot, jabbing a stubby finger into his chest.
“You’re lying. Barbara Dongswallower would never work with the Dan’del’ion Court.”

Bot stepped back, eyes and mouth wide, “That’s Barbara Dongswallower?”
There was  a chorus of nods. Umberto sneered
“The author?”
More nods. Umberto’s lip quivered.
“A Tight Fit? In Too Deep?”
“All Choked Up.” Carrie added

“I haven’t read that one yet,” Bot sighed. He looked at the gibbet, “I was kind of occupied when it came out. Is it any good?”

Umberto’s stance softened. “A modern classic,” he said wistfully. “Possibly her best work yet.”

“To think…” Bot whispered, eyes glazed, “’The’ Barbara Dongswallower has walked past my cage several times, and I didn’t even realize. I mean, I would have asked her to sign…” he looked back up at the gibbet “...something.”

There was a pause.

Umberto’s brow twitched “What do you mean — several times?” he growled.

“She comes and goes as she pleases,” Bot said slowly. “She’s been and gone multiple times over the past few weeks. The Dan’del’ions treat her like…” he shrugged, “… like a VIP.”

Umberto let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a broken sob.

“The whole castle has been waiting for her arrival the past couple of days.” Bot continued. “That’s why there aren’t many guards about – usually the place is swarming with them. They’ve pulled everyone inside for the ceremony.”

“Ceremony?” Day pressed, stepping closer. “Is there a crystal involved?”

Bot shivered in the cool mountain air. “Maybe, I don’t know. I heard something about a resurrection, a big one, not one of their little experiments. This one needs something to be activated which… I’m guessing is what that is.” He pointed up at the beam of purple-pink light erupting from the top of the castle into the starless sky. “Apparently, they need a final piece for the ritual – that’s where she comes in.”

“She’s an author,” Trunch mused, scratching his head. “What do they need a romance author for?”

“That, I don’t know.” Bot said defeatedly.

“Maybe,” Yak added “They just need her.”

“What do you mean?” Din asked – he’d been unusually quiet since the discovery of Bot. Just staring, like someone trying to discern if Bot was a long lost cousin. 

“Her blood.” Yak said casually. “They’re bringing an old vampire lord back right? Probably need blood. Maybe hers is special – or extra spicy, you know,  from all the romance stuff.”

Carrie looked at Yak, her head slightly cocked. “Seriously? Extra spicy?”

“What?” Yak looked offended. “Vampires are meant to be sexy and romantic, right? Klept?” He looked at me — as if being a church reader who spent their days reading musty old parchments somehow made me an authority on vampire seduction.

I shrugged.

“It’s actually as good a theory as anything else we have right now.” Trunch pointed out.

“And it still means I can save her.” Umberto bellowed as he turned back toward the door.

“So.. What’s the plan?” Bot called out after him.

“The plan is we kick down the doors and storm the castle.” Umberto said triumphantly as he gave the doors a weighty kick, flinging them open with surprising ease.
“Surprise!”