“So this is the place? I feel like I might get knifed if I look in the wrong direction too hard.”

  That was Fiona’s sum-up of Knobbler’s Retreat, a town that looked like it was duct-taped together from just about every scrap of material imaginable–recycled wood, dried mushroom planks forming buildings that looked like a stand-in for old wild west buildings, and shacks cobbled together from hastily mortared stone.

  The larger, more intact structures were in the center of the sprawl of the cavern, with the outlying buildings of less refined quality. A smattering of automatons and eyeless oxen-like creatures with albino pale scales rather than fur transported goods to and from various large carved passages. None of the passages looked paved or well-maintained, and only set in stone that this place was in the middle of nowhere. Which was hard to beat when they were already underground.

  Varith nodded beside her, wearing a thin smile. “I’ve seen worse. You didn’t see the worst of Vale, Fiona. I did. This is…about two-star accommodations.”

  “Hey, that reminds me.” Doug tapped his claws on his forearm, giving the former leader a sidelong glance. “Why did we all get snubbed at the Merchant’s Guild? It was a roach motel, and that’s probably an insult to the roaches I found in the place. It was a bad way to start negotiations.”

  “Harrier arranged that one,” Varith said, his fingers digging into his thigh. “Someone who didn’t want change. But he was willing to play ball when I was paying attention, since he saw what I did to the prior king.”

  “What happened to that guy?”

  “Long-term vacation. I thrashed him in a duel to an inch of his life. His men saw him wiped across the floor, and decided their loyalties were with the stronger guy. Then he grabbed what few men were left loyal to him, and they sailed to Aegortin. I explained this when I was being…observed.”

  The implied statement to Fiona, was when he was under arrest for a couple of weeks. “So, you didn’t kill him?” she asked boldly.

  “I did one better. I humiliated him. Which is a power structure of its own in Vale. The slaver houses engage in it, and then the other slaver houses place bets like it’s a sporting match,” he added with a growl. “If this place is somehow worse than Salipol, I’d be impressed.”

  “Strangely, this tracks historically. Public humiliations have a power all their own in Vale’s upper social hierarchy,” Doug affirmed.

  Fiona summed it up in her head as Varith face-slapping the hell out of an arrogant young master. It caused a rather ill-timed giggle. “Yes, Fiona, had you had the misfortune of landing there, you’d have been queen in a week.”

  She rolled her eyes at that idea. “I couldn't manage a store, let alone a nation of vipers. Varith, is that how you came up with the labor contracts?”

  “No. That was their ace in the hole. Magical contracts that you can’t get rid of easily,” he added with a frown. “It used to be that the contracts were taken out before their sports humiliation games against each other. Primarily, so there’d be no sore losers and an endless cycle of retaliation.”

  “That’s niche. You learned that?” Doug asked, surprised.

  “Extremes, Doug. When I was high energy, I was high energy and kept track of everything,” Varith said with a smirk, before it receded into well-worn frown lines. “But for every high there’s a crash. And they tend to mirror each other in scale. Something Bianca–I–realized I needed to address.”

  “So are you good for now?” Fiona did not want to see the opposite side of the manic high anytime soon.

  “For now. So, where do we find several tons of high-explosive magical gel?”

  “Sniff it out.” Bonnie snapped open one of her dimensional packs and pulled out an arcane device that looked like an old perfume spray bottle, and she filled it with a pinkish fluid from one of her vials. “Those crates had anti-scrying enchantments. Much harder to track, unless you have a specialized tracker type class, like a hunter or ranger. Lani, too, maybe.”

  She sprayed the air a few times, and Fiona noted a slight glow around the particles that drifted through the air. “Wait. Why's it doing that?”

  “Pyrogel degrades over time. If their storage wasn’t sealed properly…” the kitsune watched the particles drift toward the town, disappearing among the sprawl of the run-down buildings on the outer perimeter. “It’s somewhere in there.”

  “Bonnie? How much damage could they do with that much pyrogel?”

  She sucked in her breath, muzzle trembling slightly. “You could level half of the city of Fiefdala with it, Fi. Nick and I know how to neutralize it alchemically and render it inert. But the scale to get rid of that stuff…tons of it? Maybe it’s better if it blows up down here.”

  Fiona heard the darkling gnashing her teeth. “Oh, no, red. That is a terrible idea. We have powers, let’s think of something better.”

  “What if we teleported it someplace?”

  All eyes widened, and they all shakily turned to look at Fiona, stark-faced. “You want to bring about ten tons of pyrogel…into our shop?!” Bonnie’s words practically dripped acid. “Okay, now tell me this is the part where you’re joking.”

  “I mean, we could–”

  Even Doug looked fearful at that, and put one hand around her wrist. “If I’m thinking what you’re thinking, don’t. For obvious reasons.”

  Okay, he’s got a point there. If I show up in the aether with a ton of volatile explosives, I might not get a third lease on life, and Feo’thari might be just a little upset. She abandoned the idea and shrugged. “Just an idea. A shame I can't set both ends of my teleport.”

  “Yeah, you can. Anyplace you call your heart and home!” Strangely, it was Bonnie who proposed it, with a snap of her fingers. “Could you set it up anywhere?”

  “I…have no idea. We never tested it this way.” She furrowed her brow. “I think it has some limits. It has to be something that I believe is a home. Or a place to store my heart? Some of these mark powers are more figurative than literal.”

  “Do we want to test this out?” Jake asked after a few seconds of hesitation. “Transportation of explosives to the middle of nowhere might not be a bad fallback option.”

  “Except for one issue,” Doug reminded them. “If she is limited to one anchor point, we’ll lose access to the shop until she resets it. It'll make the trip home longer.”

  If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  “That’s a rather inconvenient point. Greg agreed to be on standby, and guild members are now camped out overnight. They were starting to move some stuff for the gala, which is…one of many problems that seem tiny by comparison now,” she added with an anxious laugh.

  [Breathe in, count to four, breathe out, count to four.]

  She eyeballed Wingding with puzzlement. When did you become a therapist?

  [You used to do this all the time.]

  Oh. Right. It's been a while. She rolled her shoulders to further relieve tension. “Okay, let's gather information first before we try anything. Worst case, this doesn’t work, and the relay point stays in the shop. Best case? I basically have a pseudo-useful teleport.”

  Doug glanced around, looking averse to the idea. “And where would you dare to put your heart out here? This place is a dump. Then again, a quick purchase of real estate might be as simple as evicting the local murkvine fiends.”

  Fiona peered at a two-story tavern better maintained than the surrounding buildings. Bawdy songs were emanating from within; that music brought a smug smile to her face, and she cracked her knuckles. “I’m just gonna do this the old-fashioned way: asking random NPCs until I find an opportunity.”

  “It’s Fiona’s world, and we’re just living in it,” Bonnie sighed, even as she laughed softly. “Just uh…stand in front of me at all times. Your armor is more stab-proof than mine.”

  “Lovely vote of confidence, Bon-bon.”

  A few minutes later, her regret came in multiple assaults on her senses.

  It wasn’t the smell of possibly raw sewage coming from a poorly kept drain. It wasn’t the fact that people gave them all dirty looks. Or the fact that a fight broke out in front of the broad door of the tavern, and people just looked on with a lack of interest.

  It was the miserable looks on everyone’s faces, like they’d resigned themselves to living in this squalor for a long time. Fiona edged away from a dead rat in the street and nearly collided with a pair of teens dashing through the streets in ratty clothes, hollering behind them. A woman in less shabby wear sprinted past Fiona and her friends, shouting about missing lingerie from her washroom.

  This still wasn't as bad as Springfield, at least. “Let me burn it,” Doug muttered beside her. “Destruction can only increase the land value from here.”

  “Shush, my favorite dragon plushie!” She squeezed his cheek with animated enthusiasm, while he scowled and protested loudly. “Do we really want to burn down the place when there could be enough explosives hidden somewhere with enough blast potential to isekai me back to Earth?”

  “Assuming it’s not wreckage? I don’t think I could pay them to take you back,” Doug retorted. He peered up at the tavern’s second floor, as if he spotted someone, then quickly shrugged and motioned the gathered team inside.

  Fiona had to hold her breath. Stale beer, tobacco smoke, and unwashed denizens of the deep all overpowered her sense of smell. She wandered forward, looking for faces that didn’t fit, and made her way to a bar stool that had served as stabbing practice. The counter likely had served as a face masher, based on the dents, gouges, and lack of veneer left on the battered wood. She tried not to touch it, or the ominous fluid from a spilled drink that seemed to be eating away at the wood. And the plate next to it. Doug wisely took the next seat over.

  Everyone was on the lookout. Jake and Darla made their way to a booth, where there was marginally more room to sit down, and flagged down a darkling woman with tall boots, a dirtied apron, and a tail filed to a sharp enough point she could stab people with it. Nick and Bonnie took up a spot by one of the game tables, watching out with interest.

  Varith bravely sat next to Doug, with him acting as the impromptu barrier between Fiona and the former adversary. The bawdy music originated from a band that looked marginally cleaner by the front stage, and they sang well enough. The kobold with green scales sang a rather humorous tune about a blonde king unbefitting of his namesake…

  …Wait a minute. Barry is being mocked in Underlune? Man, word gets out fast. Fiona couldn’t help but wear an impish smirk as she watched a tall, darkling man with long hair tied back and dusty green skin accompanying the singing kobold. The crowd cheered wildly, and silver coins started clinking into a collection jar.

  “Oh, you like this place, don’t you?” Varith said, practically leaning all the way over the kobold to give a leering smile to Fiona. Doug’s forceful push couldn’t nudge him a single inch. “You liked the pulse of the music and the thriving heartbeat of the people.”

  “Eh. It’s decent. But don’t drink the liquor here. I’m pretty sure downing a bottle of drain cleaner would be less hazardous than what they have on tap.” Fiona spun the stool one-eighty and turned to the bartender, a large, rocky-textured golemoid with green gems for eyes. “Oh, hey, I’ll have…uh…what do you have for wine? she asked casually.

  “Red. And black,” it answered stiffly. Which already sounded ominous when white wine was off the menu

  “And, what’s the black wine?” she asked in an edged smile.

  “Not red.”

  She didn’t feel like getting her stomach pumped or dosed with an alchemical antitoxin from Bonnie. “Yeah, three reds. I’ll cover these fellas,” she added, bringing Doug and Varith in with an arm around each of their shoulders.

  “I knew it. We’re just a collection for her,” Doug groaned. The golem bartender disappeared into the kitchen, where Fiona swore the food might be on fire. Plus the chef. Or, maybe it was just a fire elemental having fun.

  “Get used to it, mini-dragon,” Varith replied, clapping his hands together. “Fiona does like to be a little aggressive–”

  The reformed villain got the finger-to-lip shushing from both her and Doug, with Fiona smiling so hard, her teeth might crack. “Remember my rule? The one rule?”

  Varith pouted softly. “I don’t recall that ever being a problem. Wow, you have changed. I take it back.” He leaned in to whisper to her and Doug. “Four guys, back booth, near the window. Their clothes are far cleaner. And they’re paying for their drinks with Fiefdalian gold coinage.”

  Doug glanced over Fiona’s shoulder briefly while playing along with the embrace. “Yep. Dressed similar to the dock workers. Belts and suspenders, guys, same gloves, too. And armed. Gnomish bolt casters. Could be well-paid mercs. Could be Karlin’s men.”

  “Put them on a ‘maybe’ list.” Fiona turned to lay down a small stack of silver for the wine, sighing contentedly, until she saw the contents of the glass. She felt her ears twitch in irritation. “Uh…it’s gooey. Wine tends to be more…fluid?” she posed to the bartender.

  “It is red. And made of fermented berries aged to delicate perfection,” it replied dryly. “Enjoy.”

  Fiona stared at the glass, and both Doug and Varith eyed their own warily. “I’ll do it if you two go at the same time as me.”

  While she was speculating on whether drinking this counted as a dare or a death wish, she slowly spun her chair to examine the room, the music still going strong. Another group of men had walked in, wearing four matching dark uniforms, with decently crafted duster jackets with armor inserts. She spun to tap Doug’s horns, then she whispered low. “Think we’ve garnered interest. Matching suits, front.”

  “Or they could be here for something different.” Doug took a sip of the not-wine and blinked. He then tipped the glass a little further back. “Okay, it’s weird, but this is strangely good.”

  Fiona tipped it back and noted the flavor agreed with her, too. “Like a wine-based jello shot. I can’t complain, this is pretty good actually.”

  Fiona noted the four men walked into a locked door by the back, sealed with an arcane lock they disarmed with a small wardstone on one of their belts. She only got a brief look, but the room appeared to contain a lift elevator.

  And she caught a whiff of something. Cinders. And not from Doug, either. “Suppose for a second your brother was ballsy enough to camp in this dump of a town, handle the pyrogel on his own. Or use it on whatever he’s using it for. He can't just use the gel right in the package, right?”

  “He wouldn’t,” he answered back, as he sipped the gooey wine. “I’ll have to bring a bottle of this curious beverage with us.“

  “Alright, follow along. Karlin’s still executing his loony plan to bring back Feo’thari. How does he accomplish that, exactly? Where would he get enough Aurelium? Maybe he only needs a certain amount?”

  Doug glanced at her, and Varith leaned in, looking puzzled. “That dragon is madder than the mad hatter, Fiona,” he spat. “He’ll keep a con going to make a sucker out of you, then keep running. You probably missed your one shot at dealing him some pain.”

  “No, I think Fi’s onto something. What’s your angle?” Doug redirected.

  Fiona peered at Varith. “During our little…kerfuffle in Karlin’s forge, the Aurelium got pretty loud. I think the more of it is concentrated in one area, the more of her essence starts to…gel together, in some weird metaphysical sense. and I can sense it."

  Varith let out a grunt. “Okay. What brings this up?”

  “I smelled cinders coming from the back room. And something like…” she frowned. “Something like cloves.”

  This got Doug’s attention. “Smoking is bad for even a dragon, Fiona. Yet, I know my brother enjoyed those stupid cigar wraps. Why?”

  “Well, either it’s a coincidence, or Karlin’s nearby. I need to find a way into that backroom.”

  Varith cracked his knuckles. “You know the best way to do that? A distraction. And I’m sure you could incite one quickly here.”

  |