Clay froze. Olivia staggered, and he spun to face the direction the arrow had come from.

He turned just in time to see the Guardian's legs vanish in an explosion of green blood. It fell face forward, its expression one of shock and surprise. As it fell, Clay caught sight of a figure in bulky armor on the other side of it, carrying a massive battleaxe. Beyond them, an archer stood on the walltop, and was already drawing back another arrow. Two others stood with her, one with a staff and the other with a knife and a bulging pouch.

Clay had just enough time to recognize the assassins before the other [Occultist] darted around the Guardian's body and unleashed a flurry of fireballs at him. He dodged to one side, but one of the blasts still clipped him, making him stagger. An arrow struck him in the leg a moment later, denting one of the plates in his armor and keeping him from regaining his feet.

Then the swordsman was there. The [Knave]'s expression was full of bitter malice as he lunged at Clay, his sword glowing with power. Clay blocked the strike and blocked three more in quick succession before he got himself balanced. Then he had to dodge aside as the [Dark Knight]'s axe nearly split him in two. He countered with a wide swing of his spear, forcing them back.

They immediately began to circle, looking for an opening. He saw the [Occultist] on the ground pause long enough to bathe the Guardian in flames before joining the others.

"Thought you were done with us, did you? Not quite so easy, [Commoner]." The swordsman had seen better days. His face was drawn and smeared with dirt. It looked like he hadn't eaten or slept well the past few days, and his armor and cloak had been ripped and torn. "Your little trick was… inconvenient, but the Crows of Merarbor aren't going to die to something like that."

He glanced to the side and smiled. "Now, let's just put that spear down and accept what's coming. Otherwise, it might get ugly for your friend."

Clay looked to the side and saw the [Burglar] behind Olivia. He had a knife pointed at her throat and an arm wrapped around her. Her war scythe was on the ground some distance away, and her face was pale.

She caught his gaze, and her hand flickered. I'll take him. Still alive.

His eyes went back to the Guardian on the ground. It was smoking from the [Occultist]'s spell, and its legs were severed at the knee, but it was still breathing. He took a step back, watching both it and the assassins. For a moment, he let go of the spear with one hand, as if he was going to drop it. Clay tried to make it look like he was flexing his hand. Go ahead. I'll defend.

Out loud, he spoke directly to the swordsman. "How do I know you'll let her go?"

The swordsman shrugged, spreading his arms wide. "You don't! But she has a much better chance of it this way. Trust me."

He glanced at Olivia, whose face was tight with pain and frustration. Her hand moved again. Going ahead.

Clay relaxed. He took another careful step back. "And the Baron? What did you do to him?"

"That fool? He's still back there trying to help that pack of [Commoners]." The swordsman shook his head. "They ran in when they saw us arrive, but I don't know what they were expecting. The monsters will probably eat their fill today."

Then he stepped forward, closing the distance. Clay watched him carefully, still hearing the noise of battle in the distance. Beyond the man, the Guardian twitched. "We know you can't close the Lair here. You need us to help you."

The swordsman paused long enough to glance at the others. Then he laughed. "Closing the Lair? I'm not some Guild flunky." He made a dismissive gesture. "Merarbor wants the Lair here, anyway. To keep watch on the border, I believe he said. Better the beasts than a company of [Guards], apparently."

Mirth fell away from the swordsman's face as if it had never existed. "Still, if you cooperate, maybe we'll finish this one off. That way, it will all go dormant for a year or two, instead of eating all your friends. Or you can keep hold of that spear, and we'll feed your girl to it." He waggled his sword from side to side, as if mocking Clay's options. "Time to choose, hero."

Clay started to lower his spear. He crouched, slowly bringing it closer to the ground.

The swordsman stepped forward again and grinned. The [Dark Knight] to the right smiled and relaxed, while behind him, the [Occultist] on the ground smirked. Their leader called back to the ones on the wall. "If he moves, blind him and put an arrow into him. Brett, stick her if she tries anything. I'll take him myself."

As the others nodded, Clay took in his options. He wanted the enemy fixed in his head for when he moved. If the [Occultist] on the wall blinded him, he might only have time for a single strike. If that was the case, he needed to make it count and take out the toughest opponent he could reach.

He braced himself for the strike.

Then there was a sharp, snapping sound, like a stone thrown through glass. His gaze was pulled straight to the source. The [Occultist] on the wall had been standing upright, ready to cast his [Charm]. Now he was staggering forward, a stunned expression on his face, as a crossbow bolt fell away from the back of his head.

For that moment, all their attention was on the [Occultist], watching as he stumbled off of the wall top. The archer had spun to face the bridge beyond the walls, as had the [Alchemist]. The [Occultist] on the ground, the [Dark Knight] and the [Knave] swordsman leading them had all turned to stare as their companion fell into the open air.

Clay crossed the distance between him and the [Dark Knight] in an instant. He kept his spear low, aiming for where he could see a bend in the man's plate armor. The [Dark Knight] started to turn back, his mouth opening in a terrified shout.

As the man lifted his axe to strike down at him, Clay drove the point of his spear straight through the [Dark Knight]'s kneecap. The armor buckled beneath the strike, and the flesh and bone beneath made a noise unlike anything that Clay could have ever wanted to hear. He knew in an instant that the man would be lucky to walk again, let alone chase after Olivia.

{Might increased by 1!}

Filled with grim satisfaction, Clay jerked his spear back and began to turn towards the swordsman. He'd be the next biggest threat, and taking down the leader would make the others more likely to run.

He pivoted partially before he suddenly realized that the [Dark Knight]'s axe was still coming down. Clay braced himself and got the haft of his spear in the way. For a heartbeat, he hoped it would be enough to block.

It wasn't. The battleaxe smashed through the spear's haft in a shower of splinters. The weapon's sacrifice absorbed enough of a blow that the axe didn't immediately kill him. It did, however, make an utter ruin of what was left of Clay's chest armor, rendering it an unusable mess of shattered plates and wrecked cloth.

Clay was sent hurtling backwards, still holding the fragmented remains of his spear. He got a foot under himself before he landed, but a blast of fire caught him on the shoulder and nearly knocked him over again.

He barely managed to bring what was left of his spear up in front of the swordsman's thrust. The man's bloodshot eyes were filled with rage, and he snarled in Clay's face.

His rage turned to shock and surprise when Clay headbutted him. As the [Knave] staggered backwards, Clay stabbed at him with the broken shards of the bottom half of his spear haft. The [Knave] howled as the splinters ground into the armor along his arm, and Clay shoved him back into the path of the [Occultist] still on the ground, giving himself a moment of cover. He heard the magic-wielding assassin curse, his voice an incredulous shout in contrast to the gibbering of the [Dark Knight] and the snarling of the swordsman.

{Fortitude increased by 1!}

It gave Clay a heartbeat to assess the situation. The [Occultist] on the wall hadn't fallen after all; he had dropped his staff and caught the edge of the wall instead. As he struggled, the [Alchemist] was reaching down to pull them back up. Their archer was still looking at something on the bridge; as she drew back another arrow, a flash of light caught her square in the eyes, and she screamed.

When he looked in Olivia's direction, he expected to see a struggle. Instead, he saw Olivia darting to pick up her war scythe. The [Burglar] was behind her, clutching at his right armpit with an expression of shock and horror. Bright red blood was fountaining down his right side and forming a pool at his feet. He took one more step and then fell.

Olivia had nearly reached the war scythe when an explosion made her shy backwards. She snarled as she retreated, and Clay saw a knife wet with blood in her hand. It was the same knife the Rector had given her back in Pellsglade. A numb, detached part of himself wondered where she had kept it.

She jumped to the side to avoid another burst of fire, and Clay shook himself. He drew his own knife, switching the remainder of his spear to his left hand. The heavy weight of both weapons was less than reassuring.

He turned back just in time to see the archer fall from the wall top, still clawing at her eyes. Her aborted scream cut off when she hit the ground with a crunch. Clay grimaced and checked on the others. The [Alchemist] had nearly helped the [Occultist] back up. Below, the [Dark Knight] was huddled over the remains of his knee, while the [Knave] was turning back towards him and the [Occultist] there was darting around to bring his hands up.

The swordsman turned and saw the fallen [Burglar]. His eyes went wide, and they went to where Olivia had joined Clay. His face became a rictus of anger. "You're going to pay for that one, girl."

Clay settled the weapons a bit more firmly in his hands. He glanced at Olivia, who was still holding the blood-wet knife in hers. "Olivia, get inside. I'll hold them off."

She darted a look at him. "I can help—"

"The one on the wall can cancel your [Chants], and they took your weapon. You're wounded."

"So are you!" Her hands tightened on her knife.

Clay saw the [Occultist] on the wall turning back to him. "Get inside. I'll be right there."

Olivia gave him one last fulminating look before she sprinted towards the tower. The [Knave] lurched after her, but Clay moved between them. A look of sheer hatred crossed the swordsman's face, and then he smirked. "Alan, smoke her."

The [Occultist] on the ground bared his teeth as he lifted his staff. A putrid fireball of brown flame formed over him, gathering like a filthy sun. Clay watched it form and knew he couldn't stop it.

Then the Guardian's hand clamped around the [Occultist]'s torso. The man had time for a single terrified scream before the taskmaster's maw closed around his head.

"No!" The swordsman backed away from the Guardian in horror as it tossed aside the remainder of the corpse. It seemed to gather power as it rose to its feet, its skin healing all the tears and burns that had been inflicted on it. New hooves stomped the ground as it picked up its flail again. Two burning eyes turned to regard the intruders in its domain.

The [Alchemist] hurled something at it, and it grunted as acid spread along its back. Both the swordsman and the [Dark Knight] lunged towards it, and the [Occultist] on the wall struck it with a haze of red that seemed uncomfortably familiar. Clay saw the swordsman bury his blade in its leg, while the [Dark Knight] hacked partway into its side.

In response, the Guardian locked one hand around the [Dark Knight]'s axe. The assassin let go, but his knee didn't permit him to retreat. By the time he'd lumbered a single painful stride, the both spiked balls on the ends of the chain had come up and around in a single brutal strike.

Clay flinched as the [Dark Knight]'s remains crumpled into the resulting crater. He backed away a little further, watching as the [Knave] yanked his sword free and dodged the Guardian's attempt to grab him. The Guardian rose, the haze fading from its eyes. It grabbed for the [Knave] again, who slashed at the hand and screamed a foul oath.

Then a dark gateway opened beneath the Guardian. Clay's eyes jerked to the remaining [Occultist], whose arms were extended towards the taskmaster. It turned to face the man, but tentacles made of shadow rose to wrap around its legs and arms, chaining it in place.

The [Knave] moved like a snake. Before the Guardian could break free, he darted in and cut the thing's feet out from under it. It fell, and this time he began viciously stabbing his way up its back, obviously intending to strike the head.

Clay didn't watch any further. He retreated back into the tower, hoping to find a way to hold off the remaining three assassins, at least until the Baron arrived. Even the Baron might not be enough.

As he moved, Clay felt the effects of the wound on his chest catch up with him. The [Dark Knight] hadn't killed him, but a blow that hard to the chest had obviously done something bad. He kept coughing and having to swipe blood from his mouth. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. Despite the pain and fatigue, Clay forced himself to keep moving. He needed to find Olivia and help her.

The inside of the tower was a warren of tunnels and side rooms. Each darkened alcove echoed with furtive squeals and hungry grunts. Obviously, the next generation of swinefolk was already on its way, but he doubted they'd survive much longer once everything was done.

Clay ignored the side passages and the nesting places. He knew what he was after was still up ahead. It flared and pulsed in his ethereal senses, as if it could sense him coming and was trying to drive him away.

He stumbled into the central chamber a moment later. It was a high, domed space, formed with stones that stood apart from the rest of the tower. They were grey with age, and unknown symbols had been carved into the walls. Clay didn't spend long looking at them.

Instead, he focused on Olivia, who was standing in front of the Curse. The too-bright flicker of broken reality strained and fought, but Olivia wasn't saying anything. She just stood, bloody knife in hand, staring up at it.

"Olivia." His voice was a pained croak, but her head snapped around like he'd screamed. She was at his side a moment later.

"Clay. You have to kill it." The low urgency in her voice was impossible to miss. Her eyes went back to the wound on his chest. "You… you have to."

"Can't." The admission made him feel hollow for a moment, but it was true. He slumped against the closest wall, still clutching the weapons that remained to him. Another cough ran through him, and he pictured something similar happening in the middle of the [Chant]. "Can't risk it."

"But…" She shook her head. "In the Tanglewood…"

Clay shook his head. His chuckle turned into another cough. "Could still breathe… that time." He shuddered to suck in another breath. The struggle seemed horribly familiar. It took an effort to swallow the blood. "Assassins coming. I'll… hold them."

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Panic and desperation filled her eyes. Behind her, the Curse crackled and sparked. At that moment, Clay sensed it. It was starting to retreat. The last Guardian was dead.

Clay reached into the pouch at his side, hoping that he wouldn't get blood on it. "Olivia. Here."

She drew back, just enough to look into his eyes, and he held out a small scroll to her. Confusion flickered through her expression, and Clay coughed again. "Read it carefully. Burn after. Don't… get it wrong…"

Her eyes widened, and Clay grinned. He nodded, and gratitude filled her expression. "Clay, I…"

"Go." Clay slowly forced himself back into a painful crouch. Another cough tore through him. He lurched towards the entrance. "Do it."

Olivia nodded, cradling the scroll like it was the most precious thing in the world. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she unrolled it. As if sensing what she held, the Curse trembled and snapped at her, the tendrils of unreal light falling short. She took up a position on the far side of the room, where she'd have the most time if the assassins broke through.

She took a deep breath. Her eyes were locked on the page, and he could sense her starting to fight. He held his breath.

Then she began, and Clay turned to face the hallway. Olivia spoke the Garden's Peace, and he waited for anyone that would come to stop her.

Figures moved in the dark.

Clay saw them coming through dimmed eyes. Olivia was still fighting her way through the [Chant], forcing each burning syllable into the air with every part of her soul. He hadn't realized how long the thing took to say. Nobody had ever told him, and he'd always assumed it was just his imagination that it lasted an eternity.

His hands tightened on the knife and the broken spear as the figures drew closer. He'd known they would come. It was only a matter of time.

Then he frowned. There were too many of them, it seemed. Hadn't there only been three left? Why—?

His thoughts cut off as they rushed forward, and a familiar voice reached his ears.

"Clay?"

His mother's voice. What was she doing here?

He slumped slightly, and in the next moment he was swarmed by people. His father, looking in all directions for threats. His mother, helping him up against the wall and calling for bandages. Others from Pellsglade, streaming in with weapons in shaking hands and faces drawn by fatigue and horror.

Olivia didn't spare any of them a glance. Her voice continued as if it were made of iron.

Clay coughed again, and then the Baron was there. He seemed almost as unnerved as the villagers, but his sword was still in his hand. "Sir Clay?"

"Lord Pellsglade." Clay smiled faintly, tasting blood on his teeth. "Assassins?"

"Mostly gone or dead. They left one injured behind, but they ran when they saw us coming." His gaze darted to Olivia, and then to the villagers crowding around the room. They all gave the Curse a respectful distance, their expressions stunned and fearful. "Everyone came in after you when they saw the assassins arrive. I don't think they'll be back."

"Good." Clay coughed. "Monsters?"

The Baron grimaced. "We ran into some of them. The assassins killed a lot, and I managed to stop more, but if the Guardians hadn't been killed…" He shook his head.

Then Herbert was there. The [Guard]'s worried face was entirely too familiar. "Still alive, Herb."

The [Guard] grinned. "Just stay with us, and it'll be fine, Clay." He began poking and prodding at the wounds, which made Clay hiss in pain. Black started to nibble at the edges of his vision, but he forced himself to stay awake.

His mother looked at Herb with fearful eyes. "Is he…"

"He'll be fine. He's not dying on my watch." Herb was already probing the wound. Then he snorted. "You have to take it off when it gets… oh, never mind."

The [Guard] placed both hands on the ruined coat of armor and pulled. Clay's tattered armor ripped apart. More tendrils of pain tore through Clay as he gasped for breath, but Herb ignored him and pressed something hard against Clay's chest. Suddenly, Clay sucked in a much deeper breath than before. He grabbed his mother's hand as some of the pain retreated, and Herb leaned in to lift a potion of some kind to his lips. The pain retreated a little further, even when the next cough ripped through him. Herb just set about wrapping a bandage around him, muttering curses under his breath.

Amelia was still watching with fear. Sam was there too, his eyes still probing the shadows of the room. Herb ignored both of them, bandaging the wound with grim efficiency, even as Clay tried to see what was happening beyond him.

He wasn't the only one who'd been wounded. Now that he could breathe, Clay could see others in the crowd who were limping, or holding bandages to still-bleeding wounds. Several were leaning on their friends and neighbors, their faces pale beneath blood and dirt, and others had slumped down to wait their turn for Herb's attention. Most of the [Commoners] from Pellsglade looked like they had been through an entire war, not just a brief skirmish. Clay tried to see if there were any faces missing, but he couldn't…

Olivia reached another section of the [Chant], and the Curse flared as it fought back. She flinched, but the next syllables rang out just the same. Sweat covered her face, but she still stood tall.

"Sir Clay." The Rector's gaze was fixed on Olivia, just as Clay's was. "What is she doing?"

Clay grinned, taking in another deep, beautiful breath. "She's finishing it, Rector. For all of us."

The Rector's eyes went wide, but the Baron's expression went through a far more dramatic change. He looked around at the milling [Commoners] in something close to a panic.

Before he could speak, however, Olivia stumbled to one knee. Her expression was wracked with pain, and Clay's eyes went to the arrow still fixed in her shoulder. Silence fell over the assembled crowd as she struggled to continue, her face showing a painfully familiar desperation.

Then Clay forced himself up. His father lent him a shoulder, and the crowd parted as he limped forward. He could feel the [Chant] starting to fray, saw the Curse pulsing in triumph.

For just a moment, Olivia's gaze flicked away from the scroll. Clay met her eyes and smiled. He felt like a crusher had run him over, but she already knew that.

So instead, he simply nodded. "Go. End it, Olivia. End it!"

His voice was a harsh whisper, but it seemed to fill the room. Determination flooded back into her eyes, and her gaze went back to the scroll. Her next words burned in the air, and the Curse recoiled as if in shock.

Murmurs spread through the crowd, and the Rector stepped forward beside him. He let the butt of his crossbow strike the ground, sending the echoes through the room. The Rector repeated the motion, letting the impact ring out like a heartbeat. Others in the room began to follow suit, the clangs echoing and growing as more and more of the [Commoners] joined in. They began to murmur, standing straighter as the sound matched the rhythm of the [Chant], the rumble of voices swelling until the Curse's raging light seemed insignificant.

Despite it all, Olivia's voice still rang out clear and true. She rose from her knee, standing in front of the Curse again. Her eyes left the page, and she stared up at it with hope and determination stamped on her features.

Clay watched her, a smile on his lips. He watched her sing the end of a Curse that had claimed thousands. He watched her as she sang the vengeance of every man, woman, and child in Zelton. He watched her as the fracture in their world trembled and fought, and imagined he could hear wild laughter and a brutal, victorious hiss among the voices around him.

The Baron grabbed him by the shoulder, helping to steady him. He leaned in close, his eyes as wide as they could go. "Clay, we have to get the people out of here. We can't have them—"

It was an effort to look away from her, standing wreathed in her own power. He'd never seen anyone so beautiful. "You can go, Baron. It ends here."

Baron Pellsglade looked at him, and then at the crowd of war-weary [Commoners]. He nodded, his eyes now locked on Olivia as well, as her words bound and broke the evil in front of her.

It was nearing the finish, now, and Clay felt his heart beat in time with the ringing weapons and the burning words. He lifted his eyes and watched as the [Chant] was made whole. He saw the light swell in futile hatred. Clay watched it fight to break free.

Then it trembled and fell into itself. A moment later, it was gone and everything went still.

It was only a heartbeat later that the notification arrived.

{Curse of the Hidden Valley destroyed! Soul increases by 1000 for all nearby heroes}

He grinned as the announcement arrived. Across the room, he saw Olivia sink back to her knees, tears running down her face as she stared at the empty space where the Curse had been.

His father sank to his knees as well, followed by the Rector. His mother, Herbert, every single [Commoner] in the room abruptly collapsed. Clay looked at them, wavering on his feet for a moment. He saw the wonder and the shock on their faces and realized exactly what had happened. The Baron was staring around at everyone, practically shaking.

Then Clay started to laugh.

The knock at his front door was quite polite, all things considered.

Clay looked up from where he was sitting. He'd been going over his plans for the next few weeks, double checking things to make sure it was all plotted out well. It was one of those times where he thought he'd come up with everything, but it paid to make sure.

He tidied up his notes and walked over to the door. Clay spent a short moment bracing himself and then opened it. "Welcome travelers. I was wondering when you would come by. Come on in."

Sir Frensfeld and Syr Marissa both stood on his doorstep. Frensfeld looked like he wanted to chuckle, but was trying desperately not to. Marissa, for her part, looked mildly outraged to find herself standing on the doorstep of a farm next to the Tanglewood, knocking, and asking for admittance.

All the same, they both managed to hold their peace as he set out chairs for them and took one of his own. His wounds pained him a little as he moved, but Herb had done his work well. The [Guard] had supplied plenty of threats about what would happen if Clay tore the wound open again, and Clay knew enough people had promised to help that he was at real risk of danger, so he moved carefully.

When he had finally eased himself into his chair, Clay sighed and leaned forward, his fingers laced on the table in front of him. "Now, what can I do for you both?"

The question seemed to catch them both wrong-footed again, and they glanced at each other as if trying to weigh how much they should say in front of the other person.

Syr Marissa came to her decision first. She turned to Clay and spoke in her typically brusque manner. "Sir Clay, the Council requires that you return to Crownsguard. They would like a report from you on what happened in Janburg, what events led up to the destruction of the Lair there, and what actions you have taken since then."

She leaned forward, her armor creaking slightly as she stared at him. "They would also like an explanation as to why there are reports of [Chants] being used by [Commoners] from here to Janburg, as well as an explanation of the actions of your supposed apprentice, Olivia Newfeld, after which they will assign you both new duties."

The words hung in the air. Clay let them for a moment longer as he took a long drink from the mug he'd already had on the table. He set it down carefully and looked her straight in the eyes. "No."

Syr Marissa placed both her palms flat on the table. She spoke through clenched teeth. "No?"

"No." Before she could speak again, he went on in what was hopefully a reasonable tone of voice. "With respect to the Council, I'm still recovering from wounds I took during our expedition. I've been told that extended travel would be… unwise for the next few weeks. I would be glad to return to Crownsguard after that, and provide both you and the Council with a written report about what has happened in the meantime."

Syr Marissa's expression turned even less wholesome. "If it would be helpful, I would gladly carry you to—"

"It would not, but thank you." Clay took another sip of the cup and smiled. "As for returning to an assignment from the Guild, I don't think that's going to happen anytime soon, either."

There was an unpleasant silence as Syr Marissa struggled to control her temper. She mostly succeeded. "And why is that, Sir Clay?"

Clay tilted his head and let his expression grow a little baffled. "I'm afraid I have too many responsibilities here. If the Guild has an urgent need, they can tell me here, and I will see if I can respond."

As Syr Marissa struggled to control herself, Lord Frensfeld spoke up. "The Guild wants you to train new adventurers, Sir Clay. It might not be an emergency, but—"

He cut off as Clay broke into a smile. "Well, by all means, feel free to send them out here! I'd be glad to have them join the rest of the recruits. In fact, it would probably be good for all the people involved."

There was another silence, though this one was less outraged and more confused. Frensfeld was the first to ask the obvious question. "The… rest of the recruits, Sir Clay?"

"Yes." Clay nodded graciously. "I've got about a dozen or so right now, but I think the number might grow. At least, as long as we can find some more that can stand fighting the Undead."

He took another drink, mostly just giving them time to absorb the information. By the time he put down the cup, understanding had dawned in Frensfeld's eyes. Syr Marissa appeared to still be having trouble, though. "You're talking about adventurers?"

Clay shook his head. "No. Just [Commoners]." He shrugged. "We always lose more than we hope, just to people not realizing what they signed up for, but the rest are looking promising. Especially my first batch of recruits. They include the ones that were so graciously, ah, cared for by the Guild's team in Janburg, Syr Marissa."

Syr Marissa stared at him as if he'd grown a new head, but Frensfeld smiled. "I trust they are learning well?"

"Mostly, they are just observing. Baron Pellsglade was kind enough to show them a few things while I recover." Clay set the cup aside and studied them. "They're actually rather excited to go to Crownsguard and take the Adventurer's Oath once they are ready. I'll be sending them along once they are."

Syr Marissa was sitting back now, her face slightly pale. "You don't know what you are doing, Clay. The dangers involved…"

"Are worth the gain, Syr Marissa." Clay fixed her with a hard stare. "I'm not going to keep people in ignorance because of what you worry they might do, and any who want to will get the chance to learn how to protect the things they love."

He paused. "As for your concerns about a particular [Chant], I've decided that anyone who wants to learn it will have to swear the Adventurer's Oath first, no matter their level. Aside from one necessary exception, that should limit the danger to what it already was."

She studied him a long moment. "And your Olivia would be this exception?"

"Yes." He studied her. "She's already learned it, I'm afraid. At the moment, she's planning on joining me for a quick expedition to take care of some Undead, and then she'll be happy to swear the Oath. In fact, she's looking forward to visiting the library before she comes back, once she is made a peer."

Marissa gave him a strained smile. "I'm sure we will find a suitable place for her."

"As long as that doesn't involve stuffing her into the Academy to rot for months. She's already killed one adventurer, and I'd hate for her to have to do it again."

Both of them blinked at that announcement. They leaned back in their chairs and glanced at one another. Frensfeld spoke up in a low voice. "She… Sir Clay, if Syr Olivia has murdered…"

Clay waved aside the objection. "Oh, trust me, it was in self-defense. Baron Pellsglade and Baroness Janburg already cleared her of any wrongdoing." Then he tilted his head and stared at Frensfeld. "It turns out that the King of Merarbor had gathered his own group of non-Guild adventurers to act as assassins, and he sent them after me."

He took another sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving the [Noble]. Frensfeld looked back with an increasingly uncomfortable expression.

When he set the cup down, Clay continued. "Most of them are dead now, but it was an interesting idea. We actually did capture one, and if she ever wakes up, I'm going to have quite a few questions to ask her."

Then he paused. "Oh, by the way, remember the criminals I captured for the King? I really, really hope they are doing well. In their cells. Where they should be."

Frensfeld had started to look grey now. He glanced at Syr Marissa, who only raised an eyebrow. "I will… be sure to check on that, Sir Clay."

Clay nodded. "Thank you."

Syr Marissa seemed to finally find her voice now. She shook her head. "Sir Clay, you cannot be serious about this. Do you really expect the Guild to allow you to stay out here and do whatever you want? Even if we don't intervene, the King…"

He held up a hand, and she stopped. "The King knows exactly who I am and what I'm going to do. I'm sure that's why he decided to send someone I like, instead of some pompous duke I don't know." When he looked at Frensfeld, the [Noble] nodded. His expression was a mixture of relief and dismay.

"At the same time, frankly, I have over sixty [Commoners] here of level five or higher." He let that number sit with them for a long moment as the blood drained from both their faces. "Most of them don't want anything to do with combat spells or Lairs. They only came to help me at Janburg because neither the King nor the Guild would—and now both the King and the Guild are going to want to either abuse them for their bravery, or lock them up somewhere out of fear."

Clay looked each of them in the eye. "Neither of those things is going to happen. I'm going to train the ones who want to learn. I'm going to protect the ones who don't. I'm going to build something that will help the Guild destroy every Lair they can reach, and contain the Dungeons they can't. I'll hunt down whoever put the Lairs in Rodcliff, and see if I can find the Eternal Seal while I'm at it. When I can, I'll probably pay a visit to Merarbor, just to make some things clear."

Both of them opened their mouths, and Clay cut them off with a gesture. He leaned forward. "The time of waiting in our homes to die is over. I'm going to end it, one [Commoner] at a time. And then? Once that is done, I'm going to come home and raise beets. Do you have any questions?"

The adventurers stared at him. Numbly, they both shook their heads.

"Good." Clay tilted his head to the side as a familiar voice spoke in his ear. It was Goodman Jeff Calmford, who lived a short way down the road.

Newcomer on his way. Says the Band of Ruffians sent him. Should be about half an hour.

He nodded to himself and stood. "Now, I'm sure you're tired. The Baron already has things ready for you at his manor. He'll be happy to speak with you when he gets back. Is there anything else before you leave?"

An hour after they had left, Clay heard the upper door open. He smiled.

Olivia jumped down from the loft and raised an eyebrow at him. "You told them about the assassins."

"Well, yeah." He shrugged. "Better that they hear it from us than from somebody else."

She folded her arms. "You didn't have to make a joke out of it."

Clay winced. "Sorry."

Her face softened a little. Then she sighed. "I'll forgive you if it means they don't try to trap me in the Academy the way they did to you." She looked at the closed front door. "You think they're going to cause trouble?"

"If they don't, we probably will." Clay smiled and put his arms around her. She snuggled in a little resentfully and sighed. "You're still thinking about it?"

"The tower was empty, Clay. No corpses. No sign of the Poisoned Wish." She shifted against him. "I was planning on getting there ahead of you and learning Garden's Peace that way, but it wasn't there."

He nodded. Olivia continued in a leaden voice. "That means the Lair didn't happen by accident, or because someone made a mistake. It wasn't an adventurer who left that place to kill my family and destroy my home. It was…"

"A [Wizard]." Clay grimaced. He kissed the top of her head. "We'll find them, Olivia. If they are still out there, we'll find them."

She nodded, and he held her for a while. Then she drew back with a smile. "I can't stay too long. The Rector's already making noises about propriety lately."

"Wouldn't want that." Clay had been given a few lectures of his own, recently, but things like that could wait until they weren't wounded, or getting ready to head off to the Academy, or facing down adventurers and kings. A part of him wondered if life would ever actually be calm enough to just enjoy life on their own terms. Given the chaos that surrounded him, he doubted it.

Then again, who knew what the future could hold? It had already surprised him so far.

Clay smiled again and kissed the woman he loved. The world could wait for that long, at least. It would have to.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.