“Auntie, below you!” Nahoa’s spear crackled, lightning scouring its barbs free of blood and gristle as he pulled it from a spined skull. The boat rocked under his feet as the creature spasmed and slid below the waves.

The local apparitions were increasingly inhospitable as Samo and Nahoa made their way to the feet of the mountains and into the sun-blasted wastes that the orcs of Belkzen claimed as their hold. Though her grandmother’s spirit was with her as always, the little spirits she knew best from the north—those of river and wave or those who hid in the shade of the taiga—had stayed behind in the places to which they were accustomed when Samo headed south.

Among piles of stacked books, Marbrook heard the tingle of the front door chimes. The front door whose OPEN sign clearly faced inward. The pair of entrants, a goblin in goggles and a human with a coat and cane, made themselves at home browsing the bookstore’s shelves. Or they were casing the joint to rob. If they were going to rob her later, they would be the second most audacious thieves Marbrook had ever witnessed. The most audacious thieves, meanwhile, were those the two would be if they were to rob her in this very inconvenient moment.

“Fire,” the professor whispered. His hands shook as he traced the runes etched onto the walls.

Thorny points menaced Jirelle from all directions. Her buckler and dagger turned them away for what felt like the hundredth time in half as many steps. Sadly, these were not enemy blades, which she would have preferred by far. Those she could beat, parry, catch, disarm, and finally answer with her own winning thrusts. Not so these hanging, coiling vines and branches. So lazy, yet so stubborn! Where was the energy, the impassioned back-and-forth between skilled players? This wasn’t daring play, but pure drudgery.

When Quinn needed to work, he liked to get out. It was amazing what a walk, a chat with a neighbor, or a fresh environment would do to dislodge stray thoughts or connect fresh insights. Of course, that wasn’t the only reason Quinn found himself at his usual corner at Amberlight, his table covered in ledgers, timetables, and a map of the city. The Merrymead Menace had struck again. There were only a few more days until the festival, and the thief was taking it upon themself to rob a different restaurant or inn every night.