Prince Horace was younger than I would have expected.

  He stood on the far side of the tent, leaning over a broad campaign table littered with maps, wood markers, inkpots, and one chipped and dented mug that looked like it had been through the wars itself. He wore a breastplate with the same red-circle-blue-slash crest as the banner outside, but it was expressed in delicate scrollwork and was much more aesthetically pleasing. His hair was tied back with a simple leather cord, and his sleeves were rolled to the elbow. There were ink stains on his fingers.

  His face was young, he looked barely twenty. His eyes were those of a much older man.

  They tracked across us as we entered, one by one, taking in our wet boots and mismatched appearance and my dog. They paused a heartbeat longer on me, his eyes taking my measure. I was larger than even his guards, then went to Mage’s hand and the glitter of the silver ring there.

  Around him, the tent felt overcrowded even though there were only a handful of people present. The prince took space by sheer tension as much as his authority.

  A sharp-nosed officer in older, slightly better-polished armor stood to the prince’s right, the lines of his mouth pulled down like permanent disapproval. A pair of scribes occupied the far corner, quills hovering over parchment, trying to look invisible. A map stand held a second rolled chart, pinned with bits of colored string.

  “Your Highness,” Halric said, coming to attention. “As requested. The ship’s party.”

  The Prince’s gaze settled on him for a breath, then returned to us. “Thank you, Commander. You and Captain Derral remain. Everyone else, out.”

  I saw exhaustion carved into every line of the faces of the scribes as they fled. A server with a tray of something that might have aspired to be lunch slipped past us and darted through the flap. Only the prince, Halric, Captain Derral, and us remained.

  Dekka stayed quiet in my arms, not wanting to get down. The tent smelled of sweat, leather, smoke, and something metallic that made my tongue taste like old coins. I had gotten used to the smell of death in dungeons. This was the smell of injury, infection, and desperation.

  “Come forward,” the Prince commanded.

  Barry, Rose, Soup, and I moved immediately. Copperbeard had to walk around in front of Soup, Mage, and Ayerelia hung back slightly. We formed a ragged line in front of the table.

  Horace put both hands on the table, braced as if the wood were the only thing keeping him upright.

  “I have been told two of you bear the royal signet,” he said, looking at Mage and then at Rose. “That means you have rendered service to the Crown and are thus valuable allies.”

  Mage inclined his head, calm as ever. “We and our parties.”

  Prince Horace looked around. “Are all your party members here?”

  “No,” Rose said. “Some of them died.”

  Horace’s expression flickered. “That is usually how it goes.”

  “Oh, they will come back,” Rose hastened to assure him.

  The Prince’s eyes opened a little wider. “I have heard that some travellers can do that. It must be a blessing.”

  Captain Derral cleared his throat like the entire conversation offended him. “Your Highness, with respect, we are short on time and long on issues to be solved.”

  “We are also short on options,” Prince Horace said. “Which makes these strangers interesting.”

  He turned his attention back to us. “You have drifted into our disaster. You deserve to know what kind of mire your keel scraped over.”

  “We already heard a little,” Barry said carefully. “From Commander Halric. Invasive Weta. Pinned against the coast. Supplies cut off.”

  “And you need our ship,” I said. “Or you did, before you found out it was more of a decorative ship now.”

  Horace nodded once. “Correct.”

  He exhaled slowly, as if trying to blow out frustration and inhale something like diplomacy.

  “Start at the beginning,” he said. “How did you come by that vessel?” He was looking at me.

  I glanced at my friends, then back at him. “We killed all the crew and stole it.”

  “Liberated,” Copperbeard amended.

  “They kidnapped us and were going to sell us as slaves,” Soup explained.

  “Stole,” Mage repeated, without shame.

  Horace’s mouth twitched. “Do you know who they worked for?”

  “There was some lord,” I said. “I didn’t catch his name. He was fond of monologueing. There might be records on the ship.” I gestured back at the once sleek and dangerous looking craft, now as deadly as a beached whale on the beach.

  “He mentioned some emperor,” said Barry.

  “Oh, and he had some unkind things to say about you and your father.” Soup remembered.

  Prince Horace shook his head and looked like he wanted to ask follow-up questions and also like he already knew the answers wouldn’t be productive.

  “And the crew’s all dead?” he asked.

  We all nodded.

  Horace gave a small nod. “Good. Sounds like you saved us from having to deal with them. I prefer my unexpected guests not to be slavers.”

  Soup frowned. “Who prefers slavers?”

  “Some nobles in my father’s court,” Horace said dryly. “But that is not why we are here.”

  “How many of you vs how many of the privateers?”

  “There were eight of us, nine if you count the dog,” Barry said. “And, um, fifteen crew and the lord?” He looked around at us.

  “Closer to twenty,” Ayerelia corrected cooly.

  The Prince looked at us skeptically, so we had to explain how the fight went down.

  “So you only lost one man in all that.” The Prince tapped his lips. He looked at Mage. “That was a handy trick calming the sea.”

  Mage’s expression stayed flat “The storm was not natural. It was less calming the seas vs countering a spell.”

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  “And then the wind and sea currents delivered you into our little corner of ruin,” Horace said. “Very considerate of them.”

  “Aye, we were sailing blind.” Copperbeard nodded.

  Horace tapped the table once. “You must have been sent here for a reason. The Goddess knows my men have prayed hard for help to arrive. Maybe you are who she sent.”

  Captain Derral leaned in. “Your Highness, with respect, these are just a few civilians.”

  “They are not civilians,” Horace said. His gaze moved across each of us in turn. “They are travellers, players in this world.”

  I still wanted to know who this goddess was. I had seen no sign of religion in the game so far.

  The Prince picked up a small wooden block and placed it on the map where the camp sat, on a strip of coastline between rough charcoal marks that represented cliffs.

  “This is us,” he said. He picked up another handful of blocks, smaller and darker, and scattered them in a crescent around the inland side of the camp.

  “This is the problem.”

  The pieces rolled and bumped against the little carved tents that marked positions. One toppled, then another.

  Dekka watched them with the intensity of a dog evaluating potential chew toys.

  “We arrived here two weeks ago,” Horace said. “What began as field exercises. Practice with terrain, scouting, troop coordination. The sort of thing that keeps officers on their toes and the soldiers sharp. I wanted my men to see dirt under their boots, not just the cobbles of the capital.”

  “Field trip gone wrong.” Soup mused.

  “That is one way to put it,” Horace said. “Our forward scouts reported unusual burrows. Cavities where the ground sagged. Bones of animals protruding from mounds. At first, we thought of it as a curiosity. Maybe a migrating predator. Something manageable.”

  He lifted his eyes to us again. “Then the Weta surfaced.”

  Barry moved his hand across his face. “Excuse me, your highness, could you describe them for us?”

  “You will see them soon enough,” Captain Derral said grimly.

  “I would rather be prepared,” Ayerelia insisted, never looking at the Captain.

  The Prince nodded. “They are massive insects. I had heard tales of them in court. They are native to islands far to the east. We don’t know how they got here.”

  “They have thick, sturdy bodies, long, not round like a beetle. They have powerful saltatorial hind legs that give them great leaping ability. Some of them have large mandibles, large enough to crush a man. And a distressing tendency to appear where you least desire them.”

  “They sound like giant murder crickets,” I said.

  “And they burrow extensively,” the Prince added.

  “When they first emerged,” he continued, “we killed them. That is what armies do best, and I thought it was a fortuitous training experience for my men. The first wave was small and easily routed. Perhaps twenty. We felled them with arrows and blades. I thought that was it.”

  “It was not it,” Barry said.

  “No,” Horace agreed. “It was not. Those must have been the scouts. That night we faced hundreds.”

  He picked up the charcoal stick and drew short, overlapping lines outward from the camp on the inland side.

  “They tunneled under our outer pickets. We lost men before we could even rally. By dawn, we realized the entire subsoil was riddled with their tunnels.”

  “Why not fall back?” Rose asked. “Move away from the worst of the tunnels.”

  “We tried,” Halric said, joining in the conversation. He sounded tired all the way down to his bones. “Every time we attempted to shift position, they surged. They followed vibration like sharks follow blood. We started losing more men to the retreat than we saved by moving. The only stable ground we could find that still allowed for an organized defense was this strip by the coast. We don’t know if the soil is too sandy or is salty from the ocean—but they don’t like it. They can’t or won’t tunnel under this section.”

  “We held them here,” Captain Derral said. “We hold. We do not move. We do not break.”

  “For now,” Halric added quietly, earning him a disapproving look from the other captain.

  Mage studied the lines. “How deep do the tunnels run?”

  “We do not know,” Horace said. “We sent sappers. The ones who came back reported layers. It is more hive than out there now. Beyond the first hills, nothing is safe to stand on for long.”

  “So what have you tried against them?” Ayerelia asked.

  “We set traps. Pits. Spikes. Burning oil. They learn around it. Or they do not care. Enough bodies will fill any pit.” Halric pointed to areas on the map as he spoke.

  “Any attempt to send scouts out is suicide,” Captain Derral said. “The last group we sent tried to skirt the main front. The Weta rose under their feet. Only two returned. One without a leg.”

  “Poor guy,” I said with empathy.

  Rose gave me a hurt look.

  I ignored it.

  “Can they swim?” Soup asked. “Or are we safe by the sea?”

  Horace shook his head. “No, they avoid going near the water at all costs.”

  “So you are pinned between drowning and being eaten,” I said. “Fun.”

  Prince Horace’s smile was brief and bleak. “That is one way to describe it.”

  He set down the charcoal and rubbed his fingers, leaving black smudges across his knuckles. “We have enough food for perhaps another ten days if we reduce rations further. There were more, but small weta, possibly their young, got into a bunch of our supplies. Fresh water we can manage for a while, between the wells and what we condense from the sea with magework. Arrows we can retrieve. Armor we can repair. Men, we cannot replace.”

  “You hoped our ship could run out along the coast and call for reinforcements,” Barry said.

  “Yes,” Horace said. “Even one rider reaching the capital could bring down the rest of my army to push the Weta back into whatever hole they crawled out of or into the sea. I care not, just that they go.” He shook his head. “A hammer from behind to meet our anvil. Instead…” He gestured vaguely toward where the wrecked ship sat, beached and broken.

  “I am sorry,” I said again. It felt inadequate, but I needed to say it. “We didn’t come here to disappoint anyone.”

  “No one would come here on purpose,” Halric said.

  The Prince gave a small laugh. “No one sane, my friend.”

  Horace looked at us.

  “It is getting on to lunchtime. Let us go eat, and we can see if you have any fresh ideas.”

  Dekka gave a sharp bark at the mention of food, causing the NPCs to jump. “She says lunch sounds lovely,” I translated for her.

  The midday meal was a meager affair. A table was set under an awning behind the tent. I think I noticed our sausages, but I said nothing.

  “What about fire?” Soup said suddenly.

  Everyone looked at him.

  He swallowed. “I mean. You have crickets. Crickets that keep coming out of the ground like nightmare popcorn. Can you burn them? Smoke them. Boil them. Something.”

  “We have tried burning the fields,” Captain Derral said. “They burrow under the flame. They surface again later. The tunnels themselves are damp.”

  Mage looked at Horace. “Do you have any maps from before this? Geology charts. Old mining records.”

  Prince Horace’s eyebrows rose. “No, but tell me what you are thinking.”

  “It’s just an idea,” Mage said. “But if they don’t like water and if there are natural choke points to the water flow, say like bedrock flooding some sections might create barriers. Maybe even drown some.”

  Captain Derral snorted. “Drown them. With what? Buckets.”

  Mage gave him a level look. “With the sea.”

  The officer opened his mouth, closed it again, and scowled. “We do not have time to map the structures under the land.”

  “If you do nothing,” Mage said, “you do not have time at all.”

  Horace pinched the bridge of his nose and then let his hand fall. “Enough. For now, I need to know something more basic.”

  Everyone at the table looked to him.

  “I need to know your skills and abilities if I am to add you to our tactics.” He focused on me. “You are a barbarian.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “What is your level?”

  I hesitated. “Fairly high.”

  Soup rolled his eyes. “She is modest. She hits like a cart.”

  “She hits like a falling tower,” Copperbeard said. “Levels are a poor descriptor.”

  Horace’s lips quirked. “Humor me.”

  Level nine

  “And you,” he asked, looking at Barry and the others. They gave their levels and a short summary of what they could do when pushed.

  By the time he was done, the shape of what he was thinking was obvious. It sat in the air between us, heavy and awful.

  “You want to send us out there,” I said. “To face the weta.”

  His eyes did not waver. “I want to send someone who has survived impossible odds more already. You all fought against terrible odds on that ship. I am betting you can do it again.”

  “Flattering,” I said weakly.

  “It is not flattery,” the Prince said. “More like desperation wearing manners.”

  “You are not soldiers under my command,” he said. “I cannot order you to do anything. If you choose to help us, I will be grateful. If you choose to stay within the camp walls and defend what ground we have left, I will not fault you. If you fight beside us, I will have you march with us back to the capital, and I will make sure my father rewards you.”

  This sounded like a quest.

  Barry looked for consensus, and when everyone either nodded or did n’t object, he said, “Your highness we would be honoured to help.”

  I waited for a quest notification to flash up. But nothing happened.

  “Rose,” I whispered, “did you get a quest notification?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “I didn’t either,” Ayerelia stated. “Who got it and who didn’t?”

  Before any of us could answer, the ground shivered.

  At first it was subtle; the table vibrated. The plates rattled, and a tea mug fell over and rolled onto the ground. A faint line of dust fell from one of the tent poles.

  No one spoke. Every soldier I could see went still. Halric’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. Captain Derral closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, as if calculating something terrible.

  The second tremor hit harder.

  The ground shifted under my boots, and I shot to my feet. Dekka lost her balance where she had been sitting on the bench beside me and fell onto the ground. I got the feeling she was about to get big any moment regardless of whether I thought that was a good idea.

  Then, cutting through the camp, high and clear and edged with panic, came the shout.

  “Swarm! It’s the swarm.”

  ?? From Fyffe ??

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