Before Nick opened the door, any remaining traces of his spiritual mana were smoothed out and integrated into the background hum until they became indistinguishable from the usual buzz of pain and exhaustion.
The sticky sensation of the curse still lingered in his mind, but the room itself was clean. There was nothing anyone could study to trace his steps, only people sleeping off the exhaustion of having their souls messed with.
He rolled his shoulders and pulled the latch.
The corridor outside was crowded despite Blunderbuss’ orders. Soldiers leaned against the walls or huddled in loose groups, too exhausted to stand at proper attention and too jittery to walk away. Risa and Joren were the closest to the door, their backs straight, fingers twitching as if ready to break through.
All eyes snapped to Nick as he stepped out.
For a moment, nobody moved. Then Blunderbuss’ gaze fixed on his face, noting it was pale, with shadows like bruises under his eyes, but there was no sign of urgency or blood on his hands, and the man’s shoulders sagged.
“Well?” he asked, voice rough.
Nick leaned against the doorframe. “They’ll live,” he said simply.
Risa didn’t hesitate for long. She pushed past him with a speed that belied her fatigue, Joren right behind her. The door slammed against the wall and then swung half-closed again, muffling their footsteps.
A moment of silence passed.
“What in the—”
“The fever’s gone!”
“This one’s clean!”
“By the gods!”
Shouts of disbelief echoed through the corridor, Risa’s voice cutting through the noise with a strained curse that would’ve made a sailor proud. A few soldiers watching chuckled, and some rubbed their faces as exhaustion caught up.
Nick could feel the questions building in the captain’s mind, about exactly what he had done, about what this meant for the town, the curse, the dungeon. But any patience for explaining metaphysics had long since left him.
He pushed off the doorframe and straightened. “You should start planning for a summons from the castle,” he said instead.
Blunderbuss’ brows drew together. “From Rohm?”
“Sure, him too,” Nick said, his tone clearly indicating that things would be different. “I’d recommend being on your best."
The captain looked at him for a moment, then nodded sharply. “I’ll be expecting that explanation you keep avoiding, mageling,” he said gruffly.
“Get in line,” Nick muttered, but he flashed him a tired half-smile to take the sting out of it. “On that note,” he added, tightening his grip on the Shard, “I’m calling my work here done.”
He moved away from the door, raised the staff, and let it lift him up. The Shard hummed in response, and he took off.
Its power carried him easily over the inner wall, the barracks, and the streets still full of exhausted people. Long Reach stretched out beneath him, with red brick buildings, tents, and the river's gleam. Somewhere below Tholm was busy extracting everything he could from what many considered to be the highest authority in the land.
How easy it is to fall.
Nick angled down, dropping the last few feet to land quietly in the narrow side alley, then ducked inside the inn before anyone noticed him.
The common room was quieter than it had any right to be, given the hour, but then again, most of the patrons had either just stumbled to bed or been called to man the walls, as they were adventurers. Only a few lingered over late breakfasts or early ale, speaking in hushed tones.
Yvonne spotted him first.
She was seated at a corner table, boots resting on a chair, arms crossed, hair hurriedly braided back. Malik sat across from her, fingers tapping on the table, a slight crease between his brows that eased when he saw Nick. Monte and Terence were also there.
All four sets of eyes fixed on him as he approached.
Nick felt his shoulders stiffen with anticipation and fought the urge to groan. He really didn’t have the mental space for a debriefing that would inevitably turn into a long explanation about the nature of lycanthropy and curses in general.
They examined his face closely and, to their credit, swallowed their questions.
“You look like someone wrung you out,” Yvonne grunted.
“How charming,” Nick muttered back.
Malik snorted. “You’re swaying on your feet, boss.”
“Go to bed,” Yvonne ordered, jerking her chin up toward the stairs.
“I don’t need to—”
“You need a nap,” she interrupted, tone brooking no argument. “The explanations can wait. I’d rather hear them from someone who’s not about to fall asleep.”
Stolen story; please report.
“I’m fine,” Nick protested, even as the idea of a soft pillow threatened to make him groan.
“No, you aren’t,” an aged voice said mildly from the shadows.
Tholm stepped into view, relaxed. Only the slight gleam in his eyes and the way the air subtly bent around him revealed he hadn’t been there a moment before.
“You are going to sleep, Nicholas. That is not a suggestion,” he said mildly. “I will brief you once you are well enough to stand without relying on your staff.”
Nick opened his mouth, then closed it again, and scowled. “Traitors,” he muttered under his breath, but complied nonetheless.
When he woke, the warm, slanting light filtering through the shutter slats carried the lazy warmth of the afternoon. His head felt clearer, which alone was enough to tell him he’d really pushed himself.
He lay there for a moment, staring at the wooden ceiling, and let the simple fact of not being bone-deep tired seep in.
His stomach rumbled in pointed complaint.
“Alright, alright,” he muttered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His muscles protested, but in a normal, pleasantly sore way, not the shaky tremor from before.
A quick wash with conjured water and a minor cleaning spell removed most of the grime. He changed into a fresh shirt and trousers from his spatial ring and headed downstairs.
The common room was busier now, though still subdued, and the conversation was less a frantic attempt to piece together what had happened and more commentary on the events.
The innkeeper’s wife stopped him halfway across the room with a smile and a nod toward a side door. “Your friends are in the back,” she said. “They said to send you their way when you woke.”
“Thank you,” Nick said, and slipped into the room.
It was a small, private dining area, probably used for adventurers' meetings or large family gatherings. A single sturdy table dominated the center, with Monte and Terence sitting on one side.
They were halfway through a late lunch of bread, cheeses, a platter of cold cuts, and a bowl of pickled vegetables. Monte had a mug of something steaming, while Terence sipped watered-down wine, his expression oddly distant.
Both looked up when Nick entered.
“Alive, I see,” Monte said, grinning. “I was starting to wonder if we’d ever see you again.”
“Very funny,” Nick grumbled, but he felt his lips twitch.
Terence gave him a more measured once-over, then nodded, seemingly satisfied. The hollows under his eyes remained, but his shoulders were less hunched than the last time Nick saw him. “You look better,” he said.
“I feel better,” Nick admitted. His stomach growled again, louder. “And hungry.”
Monte pushed the platter toward him with a flourish. “By all means, help yourself.”
Nick didn’t need to be asked twice. He grabbed a piece of dark bread, sliced it open, and started piling on cheese and cured meat. A smear of mustard from a small jar finished the masterpiece.
Terence and Monte watched him work with amused expressions, but neither complained about his table manners.
He’d gotten about three-quarters of the way through the sandwich when the door opened again.
Tholm stepped in, looked at Nick, and nodded, appearing satisfied. “If you give us the room for a little while?”
Monte pushed his chair back without complaint, grabbing one last slice of cheese on his way up. “Come on, Terry. Let’s go see if the good captain has stopped pacing holes into the courtyard yet.”
Terence hesitated before rising, giving Nick a quick, awkward nod. “Thank you. For everything,” he said.
They slipped out. Tholm waited until the door closed, then flicked his fingers. The air in the room thickened for a moment as a soft shimmer moved along the walls and floor, settling into place like an invisible curtain.
Nick felt the muffling from the containment ward and relaxed. “Is anyone trying to listen in?” he asked.
“No, but that doesn’t mean we should be sloppy,” Tholm said. “Now. Let’s discuss our current situation.”
Nick took another bite of his sandwich, more to keep his hands busy, and nodded.
“As you suspected,” Tholm started. “Samuel was an agent of House Hone. A very high-ranking one. Internally, they seem to view him as one of their top assets.”
“It figures. A Prestige stealth class doesn’t grow on trees,” Nick said. “Has he been here long?”
“Only for a few months,” Tholm corrected. “He was seconded to Rohm about half a year ago, and took over for the actual steward, using his skills to convince them all he always looked like that. His mandate was to tighten the House’s control over Long Reach without making their connection obvious. The dungeon’s emergence accelerated his timetable.”
Nick frowned. “So he was the one pushing for the unrest?”
“Almost everything questionable that has happened here lately,” Tholm confirmed. “It was Samuel who suggested they take in refugees beyond the town’s means to properly support. On paper, it sounded charitable and loyal, but in practice, it strained resources, eroded trust in Blunderbuss’ ability to keep order, and gave Samuel a great deal of leverage over who got what.”
Nick chewed slowly, thoughts racing. “And when things inevitably went wrong, Blunderbuss would be the one blamed for failing to keep the peace.”
“Exactly,” Tholm agreed. “Once the captain’s reputation was sufficiently damaged, Rohm could petition the Marquis to have him replaced for incompetence. With a new, more obedient officer in charge, House Rohm’s hold on Long Reach would tighten significantly. Samuel’s masters would be very pleased with that outcome.”
Nick wrinkled his nose, still confused at the messy plan. “In Floria, my father would have just ordered a troublesome captain exiled, and that would have been that. Why all the convoluted scheming?”
“Blunderbuss is distantly related to the Marquis of Dathor," Tholm revealed. “Not enough to matter in inheritance, but enough that any attempt to remove him without a clear, documentable cause would raise eyebrows. A quiet little campaign of ‘concern for the town’s safety’ is much more palatable.”
“Huh,” Nick said, wiping his hands with a cloth and leaning back. “So they needed a scapegoat. And a crisis big enough that no one questioned a reshuffle afterward.”
“Yes,” Tholm said. “The refugees were meant to be that crisis. High tensions, a few unfortunate incidents, perhaps a riot at the right moment.”
Nick thought of what that had led to and cracked a smile. “They got a lot more than they bargained for.”
Tholm inclined his head. “The werewolf outbreak was not Samuel’s doing. He was genuinely surprised when I pressed him on it. But it suited his purposes well enough that he was prepared to adjust. A horde at the gates, the lord fortifying the castle instead of aiding the militia… If you had not intervened, Long Reach would have fallen, and the Hones would have swooped in to take what was left.”
Nick rubbed his face with one hand, annoyed at how callous the calculus was, and how effective it would have been. “And now?”
“Now Samuel is in my custody,” Tholm said calmly. “Rohm is reconsidering some of his recent alliances. And I have made the sudden but necessary decision to relocate our operations here.”
Nick’s hand stilled.
“Our camp is already being dismantled,” Tholm said. “The other apprentices are relocating to Rohm Manor as we speak. Long Reach will serve as our forward base for the foreseeable future.”
Nick let that sink in. “You’re moving more boldly,” he said slowly. It wasn’t going public, but it was close.
Tholm’s mouth curved slightly, not quite a smile. “House Hone has seen fit to deploy some of their best assets,” he said. “They are no longer just playing at the edges. If I kept operating entirely from the shadows, we would be reacting on their timetable. I have little interest in that.”
“So instead, you’ll take over House Rohm, rule the town in their place, and establish a base that’s much closer to their actual area of operations and the dungeon," Nick summarized.
“More or less,” Tholm said. “They will still technically rule Long Reach. I have no desire to handle his taxes or stop his tavern brawls.”
“Everyone’s going to find out,” he said. “At least, everyone who matters.”
“Eventually,” Tholm said. “For now, we’ll keep the details quiet. Rumors will spread, of course. But sometimes, they’re more useful than official statements."
Nick exhaled. “And in the meantime?”
“In the meantime,” Tholm said, “you have a day of rest.”
Nick blinked. “I… what?”
Tholm gave him a look. “You will take a day to prepare and make sure you are at your best. The day after tomorrow, we will start our first probes into the dungeon itself. If the curse of lycanthropy is growing inside the dungeon, and if whatever is giving it power has a foothold there, it must be found and dealt with. Before every full moon turns the Sunlands into a feeding ground.”
Nick couldn’t really argue. He’d already plunged his spiritual hands into the curse’s guts, so he knew how to handle it. If anyone in Tholm’s little team was qualified to explore its origin, it was he.
“Fine,” Nick said, hesitating before adding, “But there’s one more thing.”
Tholm arched a brow. “Yes?”
“At the Gilded Mirror,” Nick said, “I discovered a ledger mostly filled with coded instructions. However, the final entry stood out. It referenced a ‘gentleman’ visiting the red study the day after the full moon, and that he represents ‘those whose instructions they obey.'"
Tholm’s eyes narrowed slightly. “A handler.”
“An important one,” Nick nodded. “He’s supposed to arrive sometime between tonight and tomorrow.”
“Ah,” Tholm said softly.
Nick shuffled in his chair. “I was going to go back and improvise something to intercept, or eavesdrop, depending on how things looked.”
“You want me to let you out tomorrow despite ordering you to rest,” Tholm said dryly.
“I’d appreciate it,” Nick inclined his head. Come on, old man. Let me have some of the fun.
45+ chapters:
