Chapter 63

I watched the riders from the watchtower as they wound their way up the mountain path toward Northwatch Keep.

Eleven figures on horseback, moving carefully along the narrow trail. Ten wore armor and carried weapons. The last was swaddled in layers against the cold, more burdened by cloth than steel. Their tabards were unmistakable - a purple field bearing a yellow gryphon clutching a flaming sword - the coat of arms of the Grand Kingdom of Arvell.

Mirri had already taken the children inside. Ashlara waited higher up the slope, hidden among rock and tree, positioned to strike from the flank if things turned ugly. Serah stood beside me on the tower, the height giving her room to unfurl into something far more dangerous if needed.

I leaned in, kissed her once, then turned and headed down.

The stairs echoed softly beneath my boots as I descended, crossed the bailey, and pushed open the heavy wooden gates. Outside, the cold was present but not biting. The wind whispered through the trees, and the forest felt calm. Almost deceptively so.

As they drew closer, the riders spread out, forming a loose arc. The unarmored man rode forward alone, dismounted, and approached on foot. It was hard to get a clear read on him beneath all the layers. He was about my height - six feet or so - and lean, judging by the way the coats hung on him. A short, dark beard peeked out as he tugged his scarf down.

“Greetings,” he said, voice crisp despite the cold. “I am Mathewe Whitmore, pursuivant of the Grand Kingdom of Arvell, messenger of Her Royal Highness, Queen Abigayle Alderbrook of Haleford.”

I nodded once. “Seth Grimm,” I replied. “No fancy title.” I suppressed a smirk.

“By order of Her Royal Majesty, I am here to deliver a writ of ejectment.” He reached into his coats, produced a sealed letter, and held it out.

I took it, broke the seal, and read. They wanted us gone - unsurprising, considering we’d turned a forgotten ruin into a functioning stronghold. I read the flowery legal script twice, slow and careful. I wasn’t a lawyer, but a little history had rubbed off on me during my time with Elise.

“This cites the Treaty of Briarcreek,” I said at last. “That treaty expired during the War of Blood and Ash. These lands were ceded to the goblins at the war’s conclusion.”

Surprise flickered across his face. He’d clearly expected an illiterate bumpkin. He hesitated before responding. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. The treaty was renewed with Dumrath Kol-Varn.”

“So Arvellia claims everything south of the mountains,” I said evenly, “and you and the dwarves decided this without consulting the goblins?”

“The goblins are vermin,” he replied, without hesitation. “They possess no nation, no rightful claim. They infest Arvellian lands despite repeated efforts to eradicate them.”

I nodded slowly, fury coiling tight in my chest.

“I see,” I said. “Then please deliver my response to your queen with my deepest sincerity.”

I stuffed the writ into my pants, wiped my ass with it, crumpled it, and tossed it back at him.

“If the queen wishes to parley, I’ll meet with her,” I continued calmly. “Otherwise, she can take that notice and shove it up her ass. This land belongs to the goblins. It has for centuries. Any attempt by Arvellia to seize it will be treated as an act of war. We will not relinquish their ancestral lands.”

Hands went to hilts.

Serah’s roar split the air - two tones layered together, ancient and terrible - as she dropped onto the wall above us. Her massive serpentine head dipped low, eyes burning as she fixed the messenger with a predator’s stare. Horses panicked and reared. A few bolting down the path as their riders fought for control.

“Thank you for coming,” I said, turning away. “I’m sure you can find your way home.”

I walked back into the keep without looking back.

Serah watched their retreat from the wall before rejoining me in the bailey, once more standing on two long, graceful legs. Her fiery red hair spilled down her back, her bare skin still faintly radiating heat.

“Let’s get you dressed,” I said, exhaling slowly, “and then let everyone know what just happened.”

* * *

“Are you sure it was a good idea to threaten them like that?” Mirri asked.

“Actually? Yeah,” I said. “I think it was the best move we had.” I leaned back, letting the tension bleed out of my shoulders. “We didn’t attack. We made it clear we were willing to talk. And we gave a token show of ****.”

I met her eyes. “They probably expected a handful of bandits squatting in a ruin. You don’t send ten riders to start a war.”

“They’re not going to come back with an army,” I went on. “Raising one takes time. It’s winter. And it would be massive overkill. Sieges drag on, and we’ve got food, water, and shelter. My guess? They’ll go back, talk about it, and send someone to negotiate come spring.”

“If you say so,” she replied. I couldn’t tell if she was convinced or just choosing to trust me.

“Hey.” I stepped closer. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. To any of you.” My voice stayed steady, even if the promise carried weight. “If we get in over our heads, we leave. We go to my demesne. But I’ll be damned if I let them take our home now that we’ve built it.”

I softened then. “And I’m not letting them threaten Reedwatch. Or Pinefall. Or Twinfurrow. Or any of the other villages nearby.”

She nodded, slow and thoughtful.

I kissed the top of her head and pulled her into a hug.

* * *

I sat with Elise in her master’s great library, poring over every scrap she had on the Treaty of Briarcreek. The more we dug, the uglier it became. Arvellia and the dwarves had indeed renewed the treaty some seventy-three years ago - but the goblins were never consulted. Not even informed. They’d been granted those lands a century before that, in payment for brokering peace between Arvellia and Dumrath Kol-Varn.

It was blatant. Two kingdoms deciding to give away land that wasn’t theirs to give.

The more I learned, the angrier I got. Elise shared the frustration, though she was insulated from it - she’d never met a goblin, had no personal stake in the fallout - but the injustice was too naked to ignore. Together, we began assembling a legal case to reassert goblin sovereignty. It would require careful argument and a great deal of precedent, but it wasn’t impossible. Not yet.

We were deep in the weeds when the feeling crept up my spine.

I’d grown accustomed to Elise’s ever-present unease - so much so that I didn’t even notice it anymore. This was different. This started as a pinprick buried deep in my gut. It swelled as seconds passed, blooming into a slow, nauseating dread, like an abscess forming under the skin.

The ornate double doors of the library slammed open.

A man strode inside, calm and focused. He looked to be in his early thirties, brown hair hanging in a greasy mop around his face. Dark leather armor clung to him, swallowing the light, the shadows bending unnaturally around its edges. Two daggers rested in his hands, their blades forged of the same dark metal as Ashlara’s axe - hungry, hateful things.

Elise squeaked, startled, then stiffened. “You do not belong here,” she said, her voice steady despite the fear beneath it. “My master will be most displeased to find you trespassing. Leave. Now.”

He didn’t even glance at her. His dark eyes were locked on me.

I stepped in front of Elise, Adhaneth snapping into my hand. “Elise, go hide,” I said without looking back. Then, to the man, “Brand, I assume.”

He smiled and kept coming.

Fire leapt from one of his daggers in a sudden flare. Adhaneth warped into a shield in my grip, the flames bouncing off its surface.

“EXTINGUISH.”

Elise’s command wasn’t a sound so much as an absence of one - a pressure that swallowed noise itself. The fire vanished instantly, as if it had never existed.

Brand’s gaze finally shifted to her. “Void-mage,” he said flatly.

Elise’s eyes hardened. “God-killer.”

Adhaneth flowed back into a staff as I lunged. Brand parried with casual precision and slashed with his offhand. I twisted away just in time, the blade hissing through the air and leaving smoke and ash in its wake.

I slipped past him, but he turned the exchange in a heartbeat, driving me backward. His attacks were fast, clean, relentless. Every parry brought him closer to landing a killing blow.

We burst from the library into a grand hallway, my foot catching on polished stone. I stumbled, barely regaining my balance as pain tore through my arm. The dagger bit deep, flesh sizzling where it cut - and worse than that, something inside me shuddered. A deeper wound. A strike to my Faith.

Cold certainty flooded me.

That weapon could kill me. Truly kill me. No return.

I broke left, sprinting for space as he pursued. I tried to step - to flee - and instead tripped, my faith unable to find purchase. His blade scored my back. He chuckled softly behind me.

Windows yawned open to my right, empty of glass. I hurled myself through one.

The fall was thirty feet. I tucked and rolled, slamming into the ground hard. Brand landed where I had been an instant later, his boots cracking stone. I scrambled up, barely managing to deflect another strike.

My first clear glimpse of Morentis came in flashes - a vast lake stretching into the distance, its shoreline dotted with strange stone columns like towering tufa spires. Bright green grass and dark scrub rippled in the wind beneath a deep blue sky, clouds hanging low and lazy.

The tower loomed behind us, set back from the shore - massive, square, soaring three hundred feet high. Green and blue tiles wrapped around it in wide geometric bands. A broad staircase led up to polished brass doors carved in intricate, almost Moroccan patterns. It was a work of art that contrasted, yet complemented the odd nature around it.

Unfortunately, the sharp blades that threatened to end my life prevented me from properly appreciating it. I put distance between us, Adhaneth leveled at his face as I sucked in a breath.

“I have to ask,” I said, voice tight. “Why Ashlara? Mirri? Serah? I know you’re here to kill me - but why target them? And why do it so sloppily?”