I’m not one to complain, but the Old Man getting himself caught a third time in one tour seems like cause for alarm. Perhaps his mental was slipping, like the rumors claim. Of course, I was the one who had been spreading said rumors, so we’ve got to weigh that little conflict of interest when making our assumptions.

  “Alright, West, let’s see what all that training was for,” I reassured myself before dunking into the river with eight empty jugs swinging from my staff. The water hit like a slap from the gods; cold, merciless, probably full of fish, judging my plans.

  When I resurfaced, the jugs were all overfilled, bobbing like drunk geese. I hoisted the whole contraption over my shoulders, careful not to repeat the Great Jug Disaster of two nights ago. My teeth were clenched so tight I could’ve bitten through chain links. Each step out of the river was an act of divine suffering. But, credit where it’s due, the training was paying off.

  I finally reached the bank and looked up toward the Fort where Lord Omni was being kept. For a brief, foolish second, I thought it didn’t look that far. Then I actually looked at it; all stone, shadow, and spikes, and nearly dropped the whole lot of jugs back into the river.

  “Yeah…there’s no way I’m going to be able to carry this all the way down there.”

  Priorities, right? I set the jugs down and reached for the small bag of berries I’d gathered earlier. Lucky for me, the Moon was out in full glamour tonight; big, bright, and nosy enough to give me some light. I crushed the berries between my fingers, their juice bleeding through the cotton cloth I used to strain them. The result? A concentrated, crimson brew that went into the jugs until each one had that sweet and tangy flavor we all love.

  Now, to anyone else, this might look like the ravings of a desperate man making punch at the riverbank, but to me, it was art.

  “And now, the secret ingredient.” I pulled out the small glass vial of Moon Shade Oil, a bluish liquid that shimmered like bottled night. A few spoonfuls of this stuff could drop a three-hundred-pound giant into a three-day nap. “Just a few drops in each jug. Just enough to have a good time.”

  Each jug got its share, a little drizzle of dreams. I gave them all a good shake for consistency; proper craftsmanship matters, even in sabotage. “Ready.”

  Then I looked down the hill toward the fort and felt my soul leave my body. The trek back down looked ten times longer than it had on the way up. “Oh, brilliant,” I muttered, “West, you’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

  Somehow, by divine comedy or sheer spite, I managed to get all eight jugs down the hill, arms trembling, back screaming, dignity barely intact. When I finally set them in front of the gate, I was greeted by a pack of Evokian guards; all muscle, meat, and mustache. The kind of men who looked like they’d been carved out of boulders and fed exclusively on intimidation and stew.

  They all burst out laughing the moment they saw me. None of them offered to help, of course. Why would they? An Evokian’s first instinct is to strike, not help.

  “A wine merchant? In these abandoned lands?” one of them stepped forward, his beard still greasy from whatever animal they’d been devouring for dinner. His teeth glinted in the torchlight like dull coins.

  “Yes, sir. My brothers and I ran into some kind Evokian soldiers who advised us you men might be thirsty,” I said, giving him my best imitation of a polite bow.

  He barked a laugh and looked back at the others. “And you thought it’d be a good idea for you to come here? To a labor camp?” His words dripped with amusement, and the rest of them joined in; a chorus of thunderous, wheezing laughter.

  Smiling back, I said, “I gotta earn my coin, sir. We all have to eat.”

  The laughter died down just enough for a few of them to exchange looks, somewhere between impressed and suspicious. The kind of look wolves give when the rabbit walks up to the den with a business proposal.

  The man puckered his lips, the motion so exaggerated it looked like his beard might leap off his face. “And if I should order my men to confiscate your product and put you to work inside the camp?” he asked, grinning like a wolf with perfect confidence in his teeth.

  I met his grin with one of my own. “I suppose you and your men will be in good spirits tonight; this is very good wine,” I said, trying not to shiver from the weight of eight jugs' worth of exhaustion. “But what about tomorrow? Surely you’ll want more? How many other merchants are going to brave the journey here?”

  That got a few of them to exchange glances; the kind that said, well, the kid’s got a point.

  Another guard, younger and slightly less boulder-shaped than the rest, stepped up beside the bearded brute.

  “Elijah, there’s word that General Dresdi will be arriving for a tour soon. A tribute of wine would be a good way for Bens to impress the Generalísimo,” he said.

  Elijah stroked his beard as if trying to coax wisdom out of it, lips puckering again in deep thought. After a moment, he nodded. “Bring me two cups,” he commanded, and the man scrambled off to fetch them.

  When he returned, Elijah thrust the two wooden cups into my hands. “Pour us a cup, merchant.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, careful to sound humble; not too humble, just enough to sell the act. I filled both cups, the liquid glugging thick and dark like ink under moonlight. I handed Elijah one, then turned to offer the other to his companion.

  Elijah stopped me with a raised hand. “You drink it first, for safety purposes.” His eyes met mine; sharp, probing, the kind of look that could peel lies straight off your face.

  I forced a grin. “To Evokia,” I said, raising the cup like a toast.

  “She will deliver,” the soldiers replied in practiced unison, voices rough and respectful.

  I took a sip; a big, confident one, praying that the diluted Moon Shade oil wouldn’t hit me too hard. It tasted sweet and earthy, the berry juice masking the bitterness of sleep. “Delicious,” I said, smacking my lips. “Some of my best work.”

  Elijah’s grin widened as he extended his untouched cup toward me.

  “Another one?” I asked, blinking.

  “It’s on me,” Elijah said, pushing the cup closer, his teeth gleaming in the torchlight like the edge of a sharp knife.

  And that, of course, was the exact moment I realized: I might have just outsmarted myself into an early grave.

  I took the cup knowing full well it was a bad idea, the kind of bad idea that builds character... or ends it. My hand was steady enough, but my gut had already started writing its will.

  “To Evokia,” I said, raising the cup.

  “She will deliver!” the soldiers blasted, delighted that I was proving to be such a good sport. Their cheers rattled the iron gates and my common sense.

  I drank the second cup in one brave, stupid gulp. The wine burned sweet on the way down, the Moon Shade oil simmering beneath it like a secret. “Who’s next?” I asked, tossing the challenge to the younger soldiers.

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  They roared in approval, stamping their boots and calling for more.

  “Drink another one,” Elijah said suddenly, his voice cutting through the laughter. The air shifted, the fun drained out of it like spilled ale. His expression was flat, serious, predatory.

  This was not part of the plan.

  Before I could laugh it off or fake a faint, another cup was shoved into my hand.

  “Take the cup, young merchant,” Elijah said, and the circle of soldiers leaned in, their faces lit by torchlight, all watching to see what the boy-wine-seller would do next.

  Deep breath. Smile. Pretend this isn’t how your obituary starts.

  “To Evokia,” I said again, raising the cup before a belch escaped me.

  “She will deliver!” they echoed, voices booming in rhythm.

  I drank the third cup, forcing it down, the thick sweetness turning sour halfway through. My stomach twisted in open protest, and the world began to tilt ever so slightly to the left.

  The soldiers cheered like I’d just won a war.

  “Pour us some more!” I shouted, riding the moment, trying to stay upright and in control. My head felt light, my hands heavy, and somewhere between the two, my plan was starting to unravel.

  Elijah curled up his lips again; that same mocking gesture, before the seriousness in his eyes softened into a grin.

  “Alright, alright,” he said, raising a hand to silence his rowdy men. “How much for the eight jugs?”

  He gestured for them to pick them up, and I felt a flicker of triumph through the dizziness. The hook was set; all I had to do now was stay awake long enough to reel it in.

  “Three pounds of gold or seven of silver, and a plate of food as a courtesy for the delivery,” I said, slapping Elijah on the back like we were old drinking partners. My palm hit a hard muscle; the kind of meathead bulk you only get from years of lifting swords and not thoughts.

  “Someone grab me a plate of the beans!” Elijah demanded, his hand already digging through a leather bag heavy with coins. “We will pay you, merchant.”

  He handed me the coins; heavy, warm from his touch, and I bowed slightly, trying not to sway.

  “Thank you, sir. I hope you all enjoy.”

  A guard returned with a tin plate of beans, steaming and slick with oil. I started shoveling them into my mouth like a starving mule, praying the salt and starch would sober me before everything started to spin entirely off its axis.

  Elijah raised his own cup. “A toast to you, merchant. You’ve managed to make my men happy. A good night, I would say, for your arrival.”

  He smiled, that same smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  I tried to wave him off with the spoon still hanging from my mouth. “I don’t know about a fourth one, sir. I should be getting back to my family,” I said, chewing furiously, pretending the beans were giving me courage.

  “You can leave in the morning,” Elijah said softly. His tone changed, the kind of softness that hides a blade. “Tonight you will stay here with us.”

  His hand rested on my knee.

  The men behind him laughed, a chorus of forced amusement, their eyes pretending not to see. The laughter had weight now; heavy, expectant.

  “Well, sir, with all due respect..” I began, trying to twist away with some polite excuse, but Elijah’s hand slid up, firm, silencing me.

  He brought his cup to my lips, his voice sharp enough to cut the air. “Drink it.”

  My pulse pounded in my ears. The guards’ gazes pressed in like a noose tightening.

  “Well… alright, I suppose one more won’t hurt,” I said with a weak chuckle, and drank the wine from his cup. The sweetness coated my tongue. The taste of victory, maybe, if it weren’t turning so bitter.

  What else was I supposed to do, with half a dozen armed men watching?

  The liquid hit my gut like a thrown stone, and I felt it. The wine, the oil, the exhaustion, surging through me in waves. My mind started to slip sideways, words blurring at the edges.

  Too strong. Too much.

  I tried to breathe, to remember the plan, but the laughter around me warped, echoing, turning into something else.

  At this point, I knew things were bad. The wine had hit my brain like a wild river. I should have already been inside the walls of the fort by now. Instead, the night felt alive, whispering, spinning, and dragging me somewhere I really didn’t want to go.

  I made sure to finish my beans. Every last one. Anything to keep my hands busy, my head clear, my eyes off Elijah’s.

  He kept his gaze fixed on me the whole time. That heavy, hungry stare. He wanted me. Whether for play or for prey, I didn’t really know, and I wasn’t going to stick around to find out.

  “I’ll have to excuse myself, sir,” I said, forcing a laugh that didn’t sound like me. “Those four cups are running right through me.”

  I stumbled to my feet, nearly knocking over the plate. The laughter behind me roared up again, too loud, too eager. Elijah glared, the corner of his mouth twitching, irritation or amusement, I couldn’t tell.

  He said nothing, but as I walked toward the edge of the camp, toward the stretch of darkness where the torchlight gave out, I saw him lift his hand in a small signal.

  The men by the fire burst into laughter.

  Elijah began following me into the dark.

  The air out there was cooler, wet with the smell of pine and damp earth. My boots sank slightly in the mud. I could hear him behind me. Slow steps, steady, and deliberate.

  My heart was beating so loud it drowned out the night.

  When the shadows swallowed me, I ducked low, breath held, forcing my drunken body to obey. He passed just close enough for me to smell the wine on his breath.

  One shot. That’s all I’d get.

  I swung with everything I had.

  The sound was dull and wet; a thud against flesh and bone.

  Elijah dropped without a word.

  One hit knockout.

  For a moment, I just stood there, chest heaving, the world tilting back and forth like a ship at sea. The laughter from the fire carried on; no one was the wiser. They knew exactly what Elijah had intended when he followed me.

  And they didn’t care.

  The wine kept pouring, the songs rising again. The flames threw red light across their faces as they cheered some filthy joke I couldn’t hear.

  I had to move fast, or at least as fast as someone with four cups of moon shade spirit swimming through his veins.

  I stumbled past Elijah’s limp body and into the deeper dark, each step heavier than the last. The fort ahead was calling, and if I could make it just past the ridge, maybe, just maybe, I’d live long enough to curse myself for this night.

  I quickly scaled the walls of the fort, only losing my footing twice before dragging myself over the top and tumbling down onto the other side. My arms burned, my head spun, but I was in. Somehow.

  The air inside the fort felt different. Quieter. But… Meaner.

  Finding Lord Omni was going to be a challenge, but I didn’t have the luxury of a plan. My eyes caught a door guarded by two Evokian soldiers; big ones, the kind of muscle that guards something or someone special. Their armor strained against their shoulders as they stood half-boared, half-alert, spears glinting in the moonlight.

  That’s got to be him, I thought.

  I crept forward, sticking to the shadows, keeping as low as possible. The moonshade in my veins made the ground tilt every few steps. My stomach turned again, and I ducked behind a barrel and threw up the beans and wine I’d worked so hard to keep down.

  Classy.

  Wiping my mouth on my sleeve, I looked back at the guarded door. Still shut. Still two of them. I waited, fighting the pull of sleep, trying not to let the drug win. My eyelids felt like heavy stone.

  “Two guards,” I muttered under my breath. “And both look like they wrestle bears for breakfast.”

  I needed a plan.   What I got instead was luck.

  A blaring horn broke the quiet.   The sound cut through the night like a blade, echoing across the camp.

  “Southern wall!” someone shouted.

  The courtyard erupted, boots pounding, orders barked, torches flaring to life. The two guards by the door hesitated, glancing at each other before joining the chaos.

  The path was open.

  Every nerve in my body screamed at once; run, move, now.

  I staggered towards the door, clutching the wall for balance. The horn blared again, closer this time. Maybe Elijah had woken up. Maybe he was crawling his way toward the horn with a lump the size of my fist on his neck.

  Didn’t matter.

  All that mattered was the door.

  I pressed my hand against the cold wood, every breath shallow, every heartbeat counting down.

  “Alright, West,” I whispered to myself, voice trembling with exhaustion and the edge of a grin, “time to find out if this was all worth dying for.”

  And then, I pushed the door open.