Valthor: Shipboard Drama

"I saw you talking to Vikke," Kiela said. "I don't need to worry, do I?"

Valthor shook his head. "Not at all," he said simply. "I caught her in a friendly mood, but I'm already with you and she's causing more than enough drama already. She's frustrated, and looking for ways to further advance herself -- personally, politically, I don't think she much cares how. It worries me, because it's likely putting the rest of the crew in an awkward position."

"You don't need to tell me," Kiela said. "We're all happier now that we got some loot from that sloop and that merchantman, so it's harder for her to stir up trouble, but..."

Outside of the small, hidden enclosure in the cargo bay, someone cleared their throat. "Are ye decent?"

Valthor actually looked down to check, but yes -- they were both still clothed. "We're fine," he said. 

"Siman, is that you?" asked Kiela. 

"Aye. Meself and Tamra." 

"Come on back, then," she said. 

Siman was a human, tall, lean, and dark-featured. He came around the boxes, and Tamra followed, holding his hand. She was a sea elf, like the captain, equally comfortable on land or water. She smiled at Kiela, nodded to Valthor. "Gossiping?" she asked. 

"After a fashion," Valthor admitted, nodding back to her and Siman.

"We were talking about Vikke," Kiela said quietly. 

"Stirring things up," Siman said, sounding vaguely disgusted. "Trouble between her and the captain, I reckon."

Valthor shook his head. "She's... impatient. Bored. Frustrated, and causing drama because of it."

Kiela nodded at that, and Tamra shook her head -- in disapproval, not disagreement. "She wouldn't be satisfied if she was Captain herself," the sea elf said. "Fame and fortune all the way. Wants the glory, but not the responsibility. She might get it, too."

Valthor nodded. "I counseled her to patience, but I doubt she'll listen."

"Ye tried, though," said Siman. "Good on ye for it."

"Listen," Kiela said. "I think we're absolutely killing the mood. Why don't we leave you two to find it again? I think Valthor and I have sorted out everything we needed to sort."

Valthor nodded. 

Siman frowned thoughtfully. "If you're sure. We didn't mean tae interrupt ye, either."

"It's fine," Kiela said firmly. "We first met in the baths, you know? Might be time for nice, hot water." 

RoH: Quid Pro Quo

"So," asked the king. "What sort of favor did you have in mind?" They were all four sitting at the table, and the servants -- who, in Remant's experience, always knew more than they should -- had appeared with two additional plates and goblets, the plates containing a spicy noodle dish and the goblets a very good white wine. 

Remant sipped the wine, then swallowed. "I need you to appoint me Viscount Durzen."

"Oh?" asked Dorrin. "I was aware of the Viscount's incomplete demise, and the struggle over his estate and title, but since nobody had brought it to my attention formally I was waiting to see how the family handled it."

"So far as I can tell, they made a few demands and then started hiring mercenaries to go and kill the dead man. That was where I got involved; I was looking for work."

Queen Lorraine frowned. "You know you needn't do that, yes? You could live here, and we would keep you..." 

"I know," Remant said gently. "It keeps me occupied, and my mind off my memories. In any case, I was able to meet with former Viscount -- without being killed -- and I noted several interesting things. First, the servants still worked the estate. Nobody had fled, nobody seemed concerned that their employer was no longer among the living. Second, Dirimant himself seemed primarily interested in being left alone to continue his work, pay his people, and generally go about his business. So instead of killing him, I decided to buy the estate from his daughter -- who, I'm told, wishes to leave the city for more favorable climes -- claim a wing for myself, and leave the rest of it to the former Viscount and his servants"

"Ah," said the king. "At which point you'd... what? Appoint Dirimant as your Steward, and leave him in charge of making decisions, watching the finances, and representing you at Court when you were traveling elsewhere?"

"Pretty much," Remant admitted. "The man clearly knows what he's doing, the servants adore him, and he's both magically adept and extremely knowledgeable. I'd hate to lose a resource like that."

"As would I," remarked Isabelle, studying Remant more closely. 

"...Very well," said King Dorrin, after exchanging a long look with his wife. "I have a few misgivings, but... as it happens, I have a favor I need to ask of you as well."

RoH: An Audience With The King

The dining room was small, meant for private meals, and tucked away well back within the palace. It contained only two occupants, sitting side by side at a table that likely wouldn't have seated more the four people comfortably. The painting on the far wall showed the former queen, Raquel the Just, who had courted scandal and very nearly been deposed for dissolving the high courts and turning even noble disputes over to the commons. 

"Your majesties?" asked Isabelle. "I beg your pardon, but I believe you know this man."

The King rose immediately. "Indeed I do." He came around the table, and the Queen was close behind him. "He was introduced to me as a young squire, and then returned to assist the kingdom with a... small problem, while you were still and apprentice."

Isabelle hesitated as the king came forward and hugged Remant; then the queen came forward and kissed him twice, once on each cheek. 

Remant flushed. The last few years had aged them both -- hair streaked with silver, lines around the eyes and at the corners of their mouths -- but Dorrin still looked to be in fighting trim, and Lorraine was still slender and beautiful. He was out of practice with any sort of intimacy these days, even between old friends. And those are the only kind I have. 

"You haven't aged a bit," the king observed. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by that."

Remant shrugged. "I don't know whether to call it a blessing or a curse." 

Queen Lorraine smiled at that. "Both those things can be true," she said gently. 

Remant found himself smiling -- genuinely smiling -- for the first time in a very long while. 

"Isabelle, it's up to you whether to stay or go. I assume you know who this is?"

"He is Remant, then," she said. "I didn't think he could be much of anyone else."

King Dorrin nodded. "Keep that to yourself, if you would." He turned back to Remant. "And you! What brings you to our table? I assume this isn't a social visit -- you were never much for those, even before you disappeared into the wilderness." 

"It should be," he admitted. "It should have been the first thing I did. But you're correct. I'm here because I need a favor." 

DCC: Show Some Class

Martha scrolled through the selection screen while Jakalak worked with Will on his choices. He'd turned into a dwarf, the kind you saw in all those fantasy movies, The Dungeon had made several suggestions based on her choosing Dragon for her race, and unlike most classes the choice made might affect her form even further. 

It was a relief to be able think clearly, to read through the entries and have them immediately make sense instead of having to puzzle over the words again and again. Was that what it was like for everyone else, all those normal people who weren't born broken? She kept reading, and for the first time in her life she was enjoying it. 

Frost Dragon looked like an interesting class -- plenty of ice-based spells and abilities, good ranged attacks, and still pretty formidable at close range. It wasn't one of the top three that the Dungeon had recommended, though, and she thought that might be because it meant she would grow in size as she leveled up. Easy to see how that could be a problem in a narrow dungeon passageway. 

Mist Dragon was one of the top three, and it had its appeal as well. It was obviously oriented towards stealth and ambush, with solid options for fighting at long distance or very, very close -- but not much in between. It would grow the way most of the other options would. Still, she was hesitant; stealth meant out-thinking opponents, and she still didn't entirely trust herself to do that.

Battle Drake looked more like what she'd initially envisioned: powerful, sleek, dangerous. It included some good resistances and immunities, excellent damage, and while it would make her larger as she advanced in levels it also included a spell to alter its size. It was subtle, or particular versatile; it was a class for ripping things apart, breathing fire on them, and being hard to hurt. It sounded perfect, but Martha made herself read the last of the Dungeon's recommendations.

This one was called Dragonwere, and unlike the other two it took her a moment to figure out what it was meant to do. The dragon traits were a scaled-down version of the Battle Drake -- no size-changing spell, not as strong, a little easier to damage -- but it was supplemented with the ability to assume a human form, which offered greater versatility in both equipment and skills, and effectively restored the size-changing option. 

She giggled to herself. Scaled down.

Jakalak looked over. "You need some help, Martha?"

She shook her head. "No, I've got this." For once in my life, I've got this. Dragonwere might actually be a better choice, but she had always been other, outside, apart. She didn't want to go back to being a human again, ever. She scrolled back up through the selection screen and selected Battle Drake, then settled back as her body changed further.

DCC: Choices atop Choices

Martha lay back on the bed, and listened as Jakalak went over the possible choices for her race. She knew she was broken; her parents had driven that into her awareness for as long as she'd been alive and conscious. She also knew what she wanted now. 

No matter how horrible this place was, no matter how much everything here was designed to kill her, it could turn her into something else. She wanted that chance. She wanted to become something so strong, so smart, so wise, that her parents could never touch her again. "I want to be a dragon," she said. 

Jakalak nodded, slowly. "It's a strong race. Likely you won't be able to reproduce, or even marry, and it'll reduce your choice of classes. But if that's what you want..." 

"That's what I want," Martha said.

Jakalak sent her the selection screen, and she clicked on Dragon.

It wasn't pain, exactly. It wasn't unconsciousness, exactly, either. But when she came back up out of it, she could feel the shape of her new body. 

It had wings. 

It had claws. 

It had teeth. Oh, so many teeth. It stalked around on four legs, and balanced with a tail. And OH, she wasn't broken anymore.

RoH: Inside the Palace

The Watch Leader's name was Elaine Daschelle, and she brought him to the King's Magus -- a very sensible decision, he thought. "May I leave him with you?" she asked. "I have duties I should return to."

The Magus looked up from amulet, distracted. "It's genuine," she said. "Yes, leave him." She was a tall, willowy woman, raven-haired and dark-skinned, dressed in a simple dress of light blue that set off her eyes. It had the look of a favorite piece of clothing, something well and often worn. She had not yet given her name, but that hardly came as a surprise.

The Watch Leader  bowed and departed. 

"The wands are good work," Remant observed. "The ones the Guard are carrying."

"Thank you," she said, and handed the amulet back. Remant tucked it back into his pouch. Her eyes went cloudy as she looked him over. "You are positively layered in magics, and if it weren't for that amulet I wouldn't let you anywhere near the King. Who are you, really?"

Remant sniffed. "This is not to be shared unless the King permits it, but... Remant. Remant Ferrand."

"That... that explains some things," she said quietly. "I am Isabelle Binoche. I was first first among Aeristes' disciples, and the King selected me to carry on his work. I have striven, among other work, to pass as much of his knowledge and practice to the others as I can."

"I was hoping he would still be around." 

She shook her head. "The weight of the war, the weight of the years. He passed in his sleep some four years -- five years -- back."

Remant hesitated, then put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. "I knew him, too. Not so well as you did, but I admired him."

Isa sighed, then swayed with old grief as he drew his hand back. "Let's go see if the King is occupied." 

RoH: An Evening Meeting

The walls around the palace were old and worn, with gates of heavy wooden timbers at the top of the short causeway. The whole thing was set near the old center of the city, and a pair of bored-looking City Guards were standing outside. Gone were the days when the King's Own had held the duty; Alich al'Mera itself had been lucky in avoiding the worst of the war, but a great deal of its territory had been devastated, most of its army annihilated, and its resources were entirely turned towards supporting the survivors and rebuilding a nation for them to live in. 

The guards straightened as Remant approached and dismounted. "You've made a wrong turn, friend."

Remant frowned. "Is this not still the palace?"

"It is," said that same guard, "which is why you need to move along."

Remant sighed, feeling suddenly tired. Tired, and tempted to do something horrible. He bit down hard on the urge, as he always did. "Does Captain Tillard still command the Guard?"

The guard on the left frowned, but this time the guard on the right spoke up. "Did. Retired about two years ago."

Well, so much for that approach... Remant considered alternatives for a long moment, before deciding that he'd rather be admitted properly. "Could you send for your Watch Leader?"

The guard on the left shrugged and pulled on a rope. Overhead, a bell sounded -- muffled behind stone, but audible through the arrow-slits that were once meant to help defend this place.

A half-dozen guards spilled into the courtyard behind the gate, pulling on buff coats or coats of brigandine, juggling halberds as they did. They wore wands at their belts as well; the King's Magus, whoever held the position now, had been busy.  It was nearing dinner-time; likely they'd been eating, or preparing to. The Watch Leader was easy to spot: she was the one with ink on her hands.

"Stranger to speak with you, Lieutenant," said the guard on the left. 

The woman studied Remant just as intently as he studied her. "State your business, stranger," she said after a moment. 

"I seek entry, stabling, and an audience with the King."

She laughed, but it was more surprised than scornful. "Are you mad, or do you have some grounds for this?"

"Arguably both," Remant admitted, then unclipped a pouch on his belt and reached slowly inside, coming out with an amulet he'd been given many years ago. "I'm going to toss this to you," he said. 

She nodded, and he did. 

She caught it easily, studied it, frowned, studied it harder. Then she looked up at him. "Who are you?"

Remant sighed. "It's probably best if you don't know."

RoH: A Simple Purchase

The solicitor's name was Valeria A'Maris, and she regarded Reman't return with some surprise. "I take it our problem is resolved?" 

"After a fashion," Remant told her. "The former Viscount Durzen is still walking around, but we have come to an agreement."

"An agreement?" asked Valeria. "I didn't hire you to make an agreement, I hired you to either kill him or drive him out."

"Be that as it may," said Remant, "this agreement doesn't require me to put down a man who appears beloved of his servants, is doing valuable research, and simply hasn't quite come to terms with the fact that he is dead. It also provides your client with a guaranteed sale, at which point the presence or absence of the undead former Viscount is no longer your concern."

"I see," said Valeria. "Who, exactly, would be purchasing the estate, exactly? Surely not yourself."

Remant sighed. "A reasonable concern, I suppose. As it happens, I would be the one purchasing the estate."

Valeria laughed in disbelief. "You--? You own a horse, a sword, a bow, and some arrows. You do mercenary work..." 

Remant nodded. "Yes. Years ago, I came into some money. Until now, I hadn't seen fit to use it, and it has been sitting in an account with the Church of Rilique -- which has a branch here in Alich al'Mera. I could provide a letter of credit this time tomorrow."

He waited a moment, as the solicitor gaped at him. "I happen to know, because my client mentioned it, that she had discussed the matter with local friends and family, and Sir Dominic Reville had offered to purchase the estate from her for the rather generous sum of five thousand gold... I believe, and I'll thank you not to repeat this, because he wishes to improve his station with the title of Viscount."

"...I can see where that would complicate matters," Remant admitted. "I'd be willing to offer six thousand,  to smooth the waters and give your client an excuse for making a new agreement."

"I will contact her immediately," Valeria said. "If you would have the letter of credit here tomorrow afternoon, we can very likely conclude your deal -- and if my client refuses, well, you can always take it back to the church and disavow it."

Remant nodded. "It will be done, and I will see you tomorrow."

Valthor: a moment of quiet

The hold was comfortably warm, warmer with Kiela pressed against him. A single candle-lamp lit the space, and the half-full bottle of brandy was safely tucked between the bedroll and the wall. Valthor liked being with her, even if the hammocks in the crew quarters didn't allow them to sleep together. As a representative of the Admiral, Valthor could have asked for better accommodations, but he very definitely didn't want that kind of attention -- and whatever this was, he didn't want to draw attention to it and apparently Kiela didn't either. Very likely the crew knew, or at least some of them, but it wasn't something that either of them was talking openly about. 

They'd sparred on deck, of course, she with her cutlass and he with his rapier; but then, Valthor sparred with anyone willing, and on a ship full of pirates there were plenty who wanted practice. Rapier, cutlass, saber, belaying pin, even a loose section of rope; he'd practiced against all of it. 

No, this was a delicate shelter, private moments stolen away from shipboard duties, fragile and probably temporary. They both knew it; perhaps that was part of the reason they treasured it. 

She stirred against him, and he said softly: "If we keep this up..."

She rolled over so that she was facing him, a small but unwelcome separation. "There's a tincture to prevent children," she said. "I haven't been taking it. Do you want me to?"

"Do you want to?" he asked. "I could be gone at any moment."

She shook her head. "I don't think you will, though. And I might like to have your child, if the gods see fit."

He nodded slowly. He had never considered being a parent himself; it was enough difficulty to deal with his own parents. "I might like that," he admitted. 

"Our child, should one come," she said slowly, "would not be the first born at sea, nor among pirates."

Valthor considered that; considered the secrets he was holding, and the things he had and hadn't said.

"When we first met," he offered cautiously, "I told you I wasn't a vampire. That was true, but not complete. My father was a vampire, long ago human, and my mother was an elf."

"What?" She didn't pull back, but the shock on her face struck him like a blow.

He nodded. "Were we to have a child, I suspect it would be only human, with a touch of Elven ancestry. But if we're considering this, well... it's something you should know."

"But how is that even possible?"

"Vampires can be fertile, under certain circumstances. It's most common among the newly-turned, but there are rituals for the elders, a temporary lessening of power in exchange for the chance to bear children -- or father them." 

She considered that, but didn't draw away. "I knew there was something strange about you. You have fangs?"

"I can," he admitted. "Even full vampires don't always have them -- not visibly, not all the time. But that's why I don't really need to breathe, and why I can walk on walls."

Kiela hesitated a moment longer, then rolled him over, stroked him, mounted him. "Come on," she said, quietly fierce. "Put a baby in me." 

Music: Collateral

The Midnight

Book Recommendations

I just finished reading John Wiswell's The Dragon Has Some Complaints which was an absolute delight. I'm not sure how best to describe it without spoilers, because "injured dragon hooks up with dragonriders in order to get food and possibly revenge at which point hijinks and battles ensue" just doesn't seem to cover it. I highly, highly recommend that you read it and see for yourself.

I'm now starting the second of the Shadows Over Ravenkirk books, which a fun, quirky take on cosmic horror in a small town where absolutely nobody is normal except for possibly Samantha, who is a tarantula. I highly recommend the first book, and the second one looks set to match.

Lost Track

You know, for a while there I was actually ahead with blog entries. Had a solid week or more ready to go in advance. Then September hit...

Short version: we're all doing all right, we just have a lot more going on -- constantly -- than we'd prefer, and this is a year where it's critical to make sure certain things don't spin out of control.  

Also, I finished up the current run of Dungeon Crawler Carl books, and they kind of crawled into my head and squatted there. I have actually been writing fan fiction, and let me tell you that has been a few years. 

I keep thinking that things should settle down and we can find some kind workable rhythm, but here in the Year of Our Lord 2026 I'm probably kidding myself. 

Still, on the whole things could always be a whole lot worse.

And it's pretty good fanfic. 

Friday at last!

You know, this was supposed to be the week where things calmed down and started settling into a rhythm. 

It... wasn't that, but in ways both irksome and awesome. We have a big project coming up that's going to shut down our financial software for a day, so I've been doing my best to coordinate a time for that. I think we got that settled, which means we can fix some things that are borderline-overdue. A friend and I got to go have dinner with another friend who was in from out of town. 

Secondborn is studying the American Revolutionary war (among other things) and I have to say, it sure seems  like there are some very obvious lessons there that correspond to our current fecklessness with Iran. And yes, in this comparison Iran is playing the role of the Colonies. 

Not much to add to that, really. The world is a scary place, so remember to be your best terrifying selves, my friends. 

Keeping up...

You know, for a while there I was actually ahead on posting things here. This week, I suspect I'm just going to miss some entries, and I'm fine with that. We're getting Secondborn caught up (slowly), I'm trying to get my sleep schedule under control (which would be easier if I didn't keep needing to do work-related things off-hours), and I'm trying to pitch in more with just generally keeping the house clean so we're not all driven to distraction and having allergy attacks. So I'm not going to worry too much if I miss a day or two here and there. Call it triage. 

So, instead, you get a spot of David Allen Coe. 

Ah, Monday....

I have finally, finally gotten enough sleep -- though I still need to work on regularizing my sleep schedule. So, naturally, we have other things we now need to take care of. Still, I can go into this morning with some confidence that I'm reasonably well-rested and firing on most (maybe even all) cylinders. We're still sorting some things out with Secondborn, who's already managed to get behind in her online school assignments -- though in her defense, she's taking both Geometry and Algebra 2, and she is trying. 

I have a bit of final editing-and-polishing to finish up this week, but I'm waiting until I've got all my brain cells in working order for that. Which, I mean, after this last little bit of getting Firstborn out the door and Secondborn settled into school I'm amazed I had anything left at all. So I'm basically taking the win on this bit. 

Depending on how the schedule shakes out, I may spend a few extra days in the office this week instead of working from home. I've done a lot of working from home the past two weeks, and it's good to show up and be seen, plus I have some things to follow up on that I'd rather just go ask about in person. 

All in all, the goal for this week is just to find a decent balance between Get Things Done and Take It Easy, with a side order of Run All The Laundry. I will also be considerably relieved somewhere around the end of October, when the weather finally drops back down into sensible temperatures, but some things you just can't force.

 

The Emptying of the Vault

We got Firstborn moved into his dorm room. 

Again. 

Left our house. 103F in our area right now. 

Arrived at the college some time later. 104F there. Checked into the hotel, rested up a bit, and then went and got some truly excellent Chinese food for dinner. 

That was when the storm blew through. Big storm. Massive storm. Huge amount of falling water, amazing display of lightning. Just absolutely a blowout. Dropped the temperatures by... I'd say nearly thirty degrees during the night. 

So the next morning we got up, ate the hotel breakfast, and then zipped off to get the key to Firstborn's room. Gave the room a quick check and filled out the preliminary survey on what was already damaged, then headed over to the storage unit and emptied most of it. By now it's gotten thoroughly, painfully sunny -- but the air is still in the mid-eighties.

We get everything unloaded into the room, then go for milkshakes -- or in Secondborn's case, a banana split. 

Went back to the storage unit and emptied the last four items, then got them up to the room and started assembling things. Got the whole thing done was it while still relatively cool, before 2:00 p.m. Secondborn was a huge help with both the lifting and the unboxing, and after that we were able to go back to the hotel room and just collapse for a bit. Firstborn elected to stay behind in his room, I think just settling in and feeling smug about having it all set up. 

Then it rained again. So we got up the following morning and had breakfast while watching the rain and savoring the comparative chill. Secondborn attended a class online from the hotel room, and that gave Firstborn -- who had slept in a bit -- a chance to catch back up with us. So then, before we left, we went to visit a Cat Cafe. I had a nice latte -- something with dark chocolate, cinnamon, and vanilla, and probably also the most concentrated caffeine I've had in the last couple of years, and got to sip and sit while kittens climbed on me and ran around and swatted at things. 

It was healing on an existential level. 

Even more impressive, we managed to leave without any new cats. 

The trip back was overcast, drizzly, and cool for the first half, and then reverted to crazy-hot as we got back into Texas. But it was done, everything is finally settled, and I can return to my ongoing project of learning how to be Normal About Things again.

Writing Projects

I pulled the Monsterville posts because I think I'd like to actually make that into a novel. I've been filling in with Remant, who I mostly write as an episodic adventurer with really bad PTSD. I'm also in the process of proofing something I wrote back in 2003 -- the pulp Wuxia Cyberpunk Fantasy Adventure -- with the goal of at least getting it self-published. It was a fun project, and very much representative of where my mind was at the time. 

I also have the Gravedigger project, which I'll come back to at some point. I need to take a better look at its pacing. 

Finally, I just caught up with the most recent book of the Dungeon Crawler Carl series, which is the first thing in a long time that's actually got me writing fan-fiction. Not sure how far I'll take that, because if I stay true to the timeline of the source material it either becomes tragedy or it comes to an unsatisfying conclusion where the protagonists depart the battlefield before the battle is done. That's the ending I'm leaning towards, but it's... I don't know. Open to change. The teenage students might force it into becoming a tragedy. 

Anyway, I hope all my readers are doing well, and I'll likely pick back up with Remant next. He's a blog-project, not a book-project, so he gets some slack. 

Now We Burn It All Down

Last week was... fraught. Secondborn started school. Our Internet went out on Thursday. Various other issues came up, some work, some personal. Some weeks are just one damned thing after another, and that was one of them.

This week we'll be back to having one kid left in the house. She's doing classes and assignments, some synchronous and some not, online -- which seems to be working better than whatever trainwreck her former school was inflicting. So we're cautiously optimistic, there. Firstborn is back at college, ensconced in his dorm room, and given firm instructions to quit pushing people away. He could have friends, he's just chosen not to, and we're doing our best to steer him back to making connections with people or at least be open to them. A lot of that is just him (he gets it from me, sort of) but I feel like Covid isolation also robbed him of some critical socialization experience. 

Anyway, I've taken some time off from work and I'm generally trying to have a normal sleep schedule and not be crazy, but I swear to all the gods, known and forgotten, that the world is trying me right now. 

Raven Lake University

Raven Lake University is a sprawling, unlikely institute of higher learning set atop a plateau well back into some of the most ancient mountains in the world. Chase Grimwald has no idea what he just stepped into: he applied late, accepted late, and arrived too late for the Orientation sessions. The campus itself is a set of ancient stone buildings, his dorm room is hidden away in a back corner of the uppermost floor of his dorm, and some of the other students are sleeping outside in tents. And who anchors their tent to a slope on the edge of a rocky cliff?

Strange things roam the halls at night -- and at least one of them has already tried to kill him. But was that because he hasn't yet learned the elaborate rituals that the other students use to protect themselves? Or does someone genuinely want him dead? And what about the lamprey-things in certain parts of the stream? Where are they coming from? Why do they drop off these weird, fleshy lumps before swimming back into tiny holes in the rock? And what was that bigger one behind them? 

A sensible young man would have opted right back out, but the students are friendly, the food is plentiful, and the education is top-notch... Oh, and the road is gone. The professors may be a little idiosyncratic, but Chase finds that enjoyable. Then a chance encounter with the Fenwick family who run the University leaves him wondering if he might not have some sort of connection to them, and he begins to realize just how far he's in over his head. He'll have to untangle old enmities and alliances, uncover secrets, and possibly negotiate an unexpected marriage if he expects to survive the school year with his grades intact.

RoH: Dinner in the Darkness

Remant stepped into the palace cautiously, though with Kalla and her family leading the way he didn't think he was in danger. The place was all high walls and stalagmite towers from the outside, dim light spilling out from the open doors. Everything here was stone and metal, or else an unfamiliar sort of cloth or leather. Limestone had been smoothed and shaped, ceilings carved into arches and set. There were no guards in evidence, which could mean any of several things. He hoped the Presbyterium realized that he came peacefully among them this time.

The light came from soft flames, set atop metal cones; similar to and different from the light-crystals the upper world had once produced. He would have loved to stop and examine their magics -- there were thing here that would be invaluable if he could reproduce them -- but this was not the time. Still, if he survived this gathering then he needed to return at some point simply for this. 

The scene inside was chaos struggling to become order: a double-dozen Undergray spreading out to find their seat at the carefully-arranged tables. 

"Honored Elders," Kalla said, her voice filling the space. "I present Remant of the Sunlit Lands, who is heir to our former master Huoron and also our savior from that mastery. We welcome him to Shadowguard, and give thanks for his company."

Remant was fairly certain that he'd never seen a room settle down so quickly. "I'm honored to be here," he said, forcing the words out but making them sound natural. "I regret that we were once enemies, and hope that we can be friends." 

One of the Elders raised his voice and lifted his glass. "Likewise," he said loudly. "We welcome you, and offer you hospitality."

That was binding, and with that reassurance Remant came forward into the room. "It is my honor and pleasure to accept," he said, raising his voice to make sure it carried. That was binding, too. It meant that he would be equally bound by the laws of hospitality. Any violation on either side was likely to be punished by the gods, even down here. Until very recently, Shadowguard had been hidden away from the eyes of the gods, but that was no longer entirely true.

"Then come and dine with us," said another Elder, and Kalla led him forward. 

RoH: Introductions

Remant had never been below the Grand Hall. When he'd come in here with the heroes, he hadn't needed to. Now, with Kalla leading the way, he found himself looking out into a sprawling underground city, scattered around the bottom -- and top -- of a massive underground cavern. A river rushed down the center of it, wide and shallow as it washed over the limestone floor. A few lights flickered here and there, some glowing faintly like distant stars, but mostly it was dark.

The structure she led him to was not far away, and he could see faint light within it -- not as bright as flame, let alone the sun, but some small glow to ease the way. Zara followed along, and as they walked another of the Undergray fell in beside them. "Durken," the man said, and offered a hand. "Kalla's husband, and Zara's father."

Remant nodded and clasped his hand. "I'm glad you're both happy." 

Durken grinned, squeezed firmly, and then released him. "I'm glad I finally get to meet you. I always wondered what sort of man you were."

"At the time? Desperate. I don't know how much your people knew of it, but up on the surface we were losing the war. Huoron's armies had wiped out most of the cities, burned out smaller settlements wherever they passed, and were laying siege to the last real source of organized opposition. The Gray weren't in much better shape, but my people had reached the point where even if we did defeat them, we'd have nothing left. Or if they won, neither would they."

"Ah," said Durken. "So they sent their greatest warriors away from the siege, to come here and slay Huoron himself."

Remant nodded again. "Exactly. Five champions, and the squires they accidentally acquired along the way. Two of the champions made it into Shadowguard; the rest of us were squires, replacements for the other champions: rich in magical blessings, but inexperienced, only partly trained, and utterly terrified."

"And only you lived," observed Kalla, sadly. 

Walking beside her, Zara gave a startled squeak.

Remant huffed. "Even so, I was much changed." He swallowed, then changed the topic. "What can I expect inside?"

Kalla hesitated, then said, "Reactions will be mixed, but not actively violent. Your intervention freed our people, but some of the Presbyterium still lost family -- close family -- to you and your friends." 

RoH: A Dinner Invitation

"I'd hoped to have you join us for a quiet family dinner," Kalla said. "Instead, I need to offer you an apology. As soon as word went out of your return, the entire Prebyterium began lobbying for a chance to host our savior."

"They're probably going to be disappointed," Remant predicted. "Still, I'm grateful for their hospitality -- and yours." 

"You'll do it, then?" She frowned. "You could just turn away. With a little effort, you could travel through this darkness like we do. Nobody would stop you."

"No, I..." he sighed, because to the left he really didn't want to do this, but to the right he was genuinely curious. "I'd like to meet your people."

"Don't sound so enthused," Kalla answered, gently ironic. "But okay, if you're still willing, come with me. They've been preparing for over an hour now."

Remant followed, making an effort to hide his reluctance. Zara followed them, holding on to a corner Remant's cloak.

RoH: Childhood Wisdom, and Wisdom Grown

Zara studied him closely. After a moment she said, "You look funny, not scary. Why is your skin like that?"

"Pale, you mean?" asked Remant. 

The girl nodded.

He shrugged. "Born this way. Among my people, it's pretty normal. Among yours, it may be funny-looking."

"Oh." The child looked thoughtful. 

Kalla knelt down as well. "Go and find your father, Little Curiosity. We need to finish talking about grownup things."

Zara considered that. "I can be quiet."

Kalla looked at Remant. He shrugged, rose. "All right. Walk with us, then."

Kalla said, "Back here," and led him in a wide circle around the altar. It was good to see that it was smashed, but what waited beyond was... wholly unexpected. 

The Undergray had emptied the niches of Huoron's visages, and used them to create shrines to each of the fallen heroes instead. Here lay the bones of the Aesil mage Elendor, surrounded by his robe, staff, and sword. The niche beside it held the last remains of Darik, the Vanil champion, the bones still encased in his gleaming golden armor, mace and shield set to either side. Next was Lisla, the Vanil squire who had taken on Winstala's blessing and equipment in a desperate bid to help win their battle; she was set between her daggers, and still wore her cloak. Her bow and quiver of arrows was set behind her. Last was Shima, who had boldly taken up the blessings and weapons of her Santu, the Mordil champion Gairlos. 

Remant found that he was on his knees. He could feel his eyes prickling.

"It pleases you?" Kalla asked. "None may touch the sacred weapons save the Presbyterium, and none may take them up save yourself. It is... taboo."

Remant swallowed, and forced the grief back. "It... Yes. It pleases me, that you honor them."

RoH: The Temple Revised

"I only came here to retrieve some gold from Huoron's vault," Remant said quietly. 

"I understand," Kalla said. "We haven't touched that. We bargain with the Cobalts by offering late-night help with traders and would-be conquerors, in exchange for the food that helps sustain us more... naturally. So far, it's been enough."

Remant nodded. "If you need it, though..." 

"I'll keep that to myself," Kalla said. "Otherwise, my fellow Elders will find reasons to need it. But while you're here..."

She stepped back through the doorway to the temple, and a voice called, "Mama!" and soft footsteps rushed forward. 

Remant followed her through the doorway and stopped. The Great Hall had changed subtly. The Temple had changed dramatically. It was lit, for one thing, though the flickering light of the flames didn't pass outside the doorway to the hall. The sacrificial altar at the far end was broken, and a slow trickle of blood was seeping out of it. The dagger lay atop the shattered altar. 

Shocked, Remant came to a full stop as a small Undergray threw herself at Kalla's leg. She clung there, looking for a long moment, then looked up at Remant. "You didn't come back here to kill us?"

Remant smiled and knelt. "No. No, I did not. I'm actually glad to see that your people have survived."

"There were some concerns," Kalla admitted. "Mine were not among them, which is why I was the one who went out to meet you."

"Well you did," Remant admitted in return. "I'd have listened and dealt fairly with another, but it helps that I remember how you dealt with me when I was still wounded and far more vulnerable."

"Still dangerous, though," Kalla pointed out. She gestured towards the altar. "And that thing was still on the floor at your feet." 

Remant scowled. "It was. How did you get it onto the altar?"

Kalla's face went flat, then sorrowful. "A dozen sacrifices. They lifted it, moved it, and they died. After the first one, they were throwing it, even knowing what it meant to touch it."

Remant paused. "I'm so sorry. It should have been caged where it was."

Kalla shook her head. "No, the risk there was even worse. Here, with the altar broken, the dagger calls out the blood and lets us feed. Their sacrifice was needed so that we could survive in this." She paused, then motioned to the child at her side. "This is Zara."

Remant nodded. "Your daughter."

"Some time after you departed, I married Lorran -- whom you don't know -- and gave birth to Zara, who is the center of my world."

"I still want a sister," said the girl. "I know you have politics to do, but I haven't forgotten."

"How old?" asked Remant. 

"Four."

Remant rose, came forward, and knelt again. "Hello, Zara. I'm honored to meet you." 

RoH: Old Allies, New Negotiations

The woman nodded. Originally, she had been one of the Gray: the secondborn of the races that the dark god Huoron had created, strong and savage and completely under His control. But she, among others, had been chosen to serve in and help protect Shadowguard, and their time here had changed them. Unlike Remant and his companions, they had already adjust to the deeper darkness and could see perfectly well, their eyes shining like lamps. They had grown slender, even gaunt, skin and hair adjusting to a pale gray that vanished into the stone -- and likewise the darkness. Here, they would be all but invisible -- even to those who could ordinarily see in the dark. 

Unlike the Vanil, the Gray had been created to serve Huoron unquestioningly. Their wills were utterly subservient to his own. But when the god had fallen, they had also been among the first to feel the shock and find themselves freed. Kalla had been the first to approach Remant in the wake of his disastrous victory, when he was still in the process of trying to repair his damaged body and control his strange new powers. She had promised to leave him unmolested, and only asked that he do the same for her kin in return. 

Remant had agreed, out of what his own sense of caution suggested was necessity, and departed. He had no idea what might have occurred down here since then. "You've returned," she said quietly. "Do you mean to lead us?"

"No." Remant shook his head, disgusted with the very idea. "No, if you've managed to survive down here..." He hesitated. "How have you managed to survive down here?"

"Theophagy," she admitted. "We have water, and we trade with the Cobalts and others for surface food, but mainly we survive by draining tiny bits of the blood of the fallen god. It's transforming us, but it's slow and the Presbyterium believes we can keep it under control this way."

Remant cocked his head. "You're a member of this Presbyterium?" he asked.

She smiled. "I'm it's leader." She paused for a moment to let him absorb that, then motioned him forward. "Come, let me show you something, and then come and dine with us -- ordinary food this time, cooked over ordinary fires." 

RoH: The Second Descent

Remant wasn't as familiar with this area as he was with some others, so once he was safely outside the gates he paused to invest a marker. Then he teleported back to... that place. 

The entrance was just as he'd left it, dark and seemingly empty. He entered and began the descent, retracing the way he'd taken just a few years before. He'd been younger then -- centuries younger, it felt like -- and armed and armored very differently. This outer area was composed of simple, natural caves, water-carved, damp, and dripping. He smelled the traces of Cobalts around him, silver-miners who'd retreated here and allowed themselves to be transformed, but they could see in the dark as well as he could. He had to pause briefly while they filled one particular cavern with song; but afterwards they retreated unseen, and he continued unbothered. 

It was beyond those natural caves where he found the opening to the deeper darkness, perpetual and impenetrable, and began his descent into Shadowguard. He'd only come this way once, but the way was burned into his memories. The shadow elementals waited, and when they thought he was unaware one of them attacked. He cut it in half with his blade, then called for a burst of light that sent them cowering back. He could have extended his own darkness, commanded them, but... no. He might have absorbed a portion of the fallen god's power, but he had no desire to use it. Especially not here, where the remainder of that divine power and blood had soaked into the stone below. 

The spirits drew back, and he continued his descent. 

At last he reached the Grand Hall, which was the central nexus of Shadowguard. All thing dark came together here. He remembered having only the vaguest impression of sight, when he and the others had first arrived. Now he could admire the full majesty of the place: the arched ceilings, the ornate columns with their carved masks looking down, the twin openings to the throne room and the temple. Huoron had made sacrifices only to himself, to increase his own power, but he considered that every bit as important as his throne, and at the height of the war the stream of victims who died screaming in the dark had been constant.

He hesitated. Something here had changed. As he watched, a figure emerged from the temple, paused to make sure it was seen, and then approached him carefully, hands raised and palms out. A good spellcaster could still attack from that posture, but Remant wasn't particularly worried. "Kalla," he said quietly. "You yet live." 

Holy Crap, My Dreams Are A Mess

Two part dream, or maybe three: 

Part One featured a very particular co-worker of mine having shown up at my house because I'd taken a mental health/vacation day and apparently we were supposed to be upgrading something and so we both needed to be in the office. Only it wasn't our current house, it was the home where I grew up, so of course my dad was there. The house also badly needed roof repairs and was leaking improbably amounts of water from several unlikely spots. (This had better not prove to be prescient...) Anyway, in addition to the water I was rushing around trying to locate my work shirts, socks, etc. because my Mom had moved things around, and we were already running late.

So the basic scenario for the second half was that we were on a large family trip, and due to head back out in the next day or two, so I was trying to get everything together for that. 

Only there were so many half-constructed Lego sets that I was trying to preserve, and the whole place was hugely crowded, and finally manage to hunt down one of the food cleanup guys. (They have those? Apparently they have those.) He gives me some seal-able gallon bags to put things in, so now it's just a matter of making sure all the little pieces make it into storage, along with the doll house, the little metal cars, the action figures... all of it, presumably, for the younger generation. 

(It didn't feel like mine, if that makes any sense, and I didn't feel like a kid in this dream. Though on the other hand, Beautiful Wife wasn't present neither were our kids; my parents, however, were. So I hypothetically would have been somewhere between eighteen and my early twenties, I guess.)

So having finally gotten all this sealed into bags, sorted into bins,  and piled onto a cart, and stacked on top of a couple of trays that we'd made the big family dinner on, even though we were in some sort of resort hotel, I guess? 

Anyway, after pushing the cart through probably half the hotel, I finally located my Dad. We'd just determined that we had everything here pretty much in order and he asked if I thought I was ready. 

That was when the dream moved into full-on, high-grade nightmare fuel, in the form of body horror. 

'Cause, see, I couldn't leave yet: I suddenly noticed that I had these wide, unwelcome flaps of skin growing out of my upper right arm. They were maybe an inch wide and three inches long, with little white wiggly things coming out of the ends. Which, yes, some kind of carnivorous, parasitic worm. So my Dad figures out how to squeeze them out the end of the tube -- "Thank God I remembered which way to go." -- and onto the stone walkway of the hotel's garden. I have apparently picked them up during the trip somehow. 

And, of course, now that we know what they are (sort of) I can see where they've moved down to my elbow and trying to form another tube there, only they're just under the skin so we have to squeeze them out a lot more carefully. And then there's a line of them down my arm towards my hand, so we have to pull those out, and the opens a gods-awful long slice all the way down my arm, right through the skin, so I'm sitting there looking at it and thinking, I'm going to need to get to a hospital or all this is going to get badly infected.

Fucking subcutaneous worms, man. You can probably even guess which particular book series likely inspired that bit of the dream, at least if you've been reading it too. It happens right at the beginning of book two.  

RoH: The Deal

"I do most of my work in my laboratory in the basement, or else out there in the gazebo," Dirimant Acklin, the former Viscount Durzen said quietly, "and of course we aren't looking to provide housing for our descendants if Lariza plans on moving to Foringelt. I could cede the entire north wing to you, if it would let me hold the manor."

Remant nodded. "I doubt I need more than a single floor," he said. "A bedroom, perhaps a study and a library. I travel a lot, but it would be nice to have a base of operations to come back to."

"Ah," said the dead man. "You fought in the war."

Remant nodded, and patted the sword at his side. "Now that you're dead, you can no longer be the viscount... but it's possible that I could, and simply direct that income to you to dispense as you see fit. Steward isn't as prestigious as Viscount, but as a practical matter it would probably amount to the same thing. And being dead doesn't disallow you from stewardship, so long as the property has a living owner."

Dirimant swallowed. "Why are you doing this?"

Remant shrugged. "I'd like a place to settle, or at least some place I know I could come back to. And I like it here. Your servants seem happy to serve you even now that you're dead, which suggests that you've treated them well, and..." He sighed. "I've already done enough killing to last me a lifetime and more. Probably more."

"Very well. You have yourself a deal. Purchase the house, leave us be, and take the north wing of the house; the servants will acknowledge you as their master, but me as the steward in day-to-day matters. I will see them paid and maintained. I take it you aren't looking to profit from this?"

"Not particularly," answered Remant. "I just want a place to settle."

"Done," said Dirimant Acklin, and put out his hand. "See if you can become the Viscount Dirzen; that would help. But even if you cannot, I believe we can manage." 

RoH: Death Trap Ballet

He was halfway down the path, hands still up, when they rose from the ground around him: a trio of wraiths, misty and half-seen in the midday light. "Call them off!" he shouted, and drew his sword. 

They moved, and he danced through them. Wraiths were hard to kill; ordinarily, they could allow a blade to pass through them without making contact. Remant, on the other hand, had been very specific when he had commissioned his blade: it wasn't all that powerful, but it could damage anything. The first wraith was dispelled before it knew what had happened; the blade sliced through its ghostly presence as if it were ordinary flesh. 

The other two hesitated, and Remant used that pause to cut down a second wraith. The third one tried to come at him from behind, but he spun and thrust. Impaled, it wailed its death-cry and dissolved. 

He sheathed the sword and walked towards the gazebo. He was aware that the figure back there had tried -- and failed -- to attack him with a spell when the wraiths attacked. "Don't do it," he warned. The figure -- the Viscount Forzen -- backed away, but didn't flee. He's planning something else, Remant decided, and stopped at the foot of the steps. "Former Viscount Forzen," he called up. "Will you step forward and speak to me?"

There was a momentary hesitation, and then the Viscount presented himself. Remant counted that as a minor victory, but not yet a winning move. 

In the light of the sun, the former viscount wasn't obviously undead; it was no wonder the servants failed to fear him. The signs were there, to a trained eye: very slightly sagging skin over slowly-thinning flesh, bluish undertones to the skin, dark circles around the eyes. Nothing yet that couldn't be attributed to advanced age, if one were inclined to ignore the signs. 

"You mean to take my home," the former viscount said indignantly. "Explain to me why I shouldn't destroy you here and now."

Remant sighed. "I suppose I could have done this the other way around, but here's my proposition: I buy the house outright from your niece, and basically ignore the fact that you're still here and effectively running the place. The servants seem pretty loyal to you, and you seem to be taking care of them as well. Is that still possible now that you're no longer a viscount?"

The dead man hesitated, then said: "I forget that I am dead. The spell to convert me was triggered by my death, and so for me I felt my chest clench, saw the darkness draw in, and then was... just lying there on the floor, untouched." He sighed. "It seems an unfair way to take my home and position away from me."

Remant chuckled. "I suppose it would," he said, looking up at the older man. "My question remains: without your position, could you still support your staff?"

"I believe so," said the dead viscount. "I am rather an accomplished spellcrafter, and even selling potions and scrolls would bring in good money. It would be demeaning to resort to trade, but I believe I could manage it."

Remant considered that, then nodded. "Your niece, who inherited this place, wishes to sell it and move to Foringelt. As it happens, I have money enough to buy it from her, and I have no objection to leaving it in your keeping -- if I am given a place here, perhaps a wing of the house for my own."

The dead viscount Dirimant Acklin regarded him from the top of the steps for a long, long moment. Then he came down. "Don't set foot up there," he warned. 

"I wasn't planning to," Remant told him.  

RoH: The Rear Garden

The back doors gave way to a long brick walkway, flanked by regular pairs of columns and leading to a massive gazebo. Sculpted trees and flowers were discreetly arranged around gravel paths to either side, but clearly the path forward was the one intended: there was a human -- or humanish -- figure waiting in the shadows under the roof of the gazebo. 

Oh, this is so very definitely a trap, Remant thought. Aloud, he said: "That is the former Viscount?"

"Lord Forzen, Dirimant Acklin," the servant confirmed. 

"Then you've done his will and brought me here," Remant said. "You should go back inside and close the doors."

The man swallowed. "Do you mean to kill him?"

Remant shook his head. "Not if I can help it," he said quietly. "I'd rather work something out."

The manservant touched his sleeve -- cautiously. "Then take care as you approach. The first two the solicitor sent here came armed as you are, and tried to put him down. Our lord was... not kind to them."

Remant sighed. "Legally, he's not a lord anymore. The dead cannot hold office; neither can they lay claim to the properties they held in life."

"He's still our lord," the manservant said, with a stubbornness that Remant couldn't help but admire. "And he's an accomplished spellcrafter."

"I'm walking into an ambush, I think," he told the man. "Don't follow me. Go inside and close the door. You've done your duty. If I die, that's on my head, not yours." 

Remant started forward, holding his hands up as he approached the gazebo.  

RoH: Entry Achieved

It was perhaps twenty minutes later when the door opened again. Remant had spent the time in quiet meditation, reviewing spells and tactics in his mind. Most of the undead he'd fought previously had been relatively minor: skeletons, a few zombies, a chained ghost. During the war, he'd mostly fought living opponents. 

"M'lord?" asked the manservant. 

Remant turned, keeping his movements relaxed. "Yes?"

"His Lordship the Viscount will see you now." The man motioned him inside, and Remant moved forward. 

"He bade me take you to the gardens in the back, if that is acceptable." The foyer was beautifully appointed, and Remant glanced idly around as he followed the servant across it and through the doorway at the back. He hadn't grown up with such luxury, but he'd been introduced to it later in life and knew the basics of navigating in Society. A maid looked up from dusting a bookshelf in the library as they passed, then quickly looked away. 

He could smell something cooking already, and the scent grew stronger as they reached the rear of the manor. Light came from old-style enchanted crystals in sconces; they glowed coldly, and their light could be covered but not extinguished. It was an enchantment that had largely been lost in the war; this place was old and well-preserved. 

The war had only brushed against Verovia. The invasion of the Gray had approached the city, but been turned aside by a gathered army of Vanil, Aesil, and Mordil led by mage-commander Verna Wendilar.  With reinforcements from the city, she might have prevailed; instead, she damaged the invaders so much that they were unable to successfully assault the city. 

Remant turned his attention back to the present. The servants were still employed, still being fed and housed and paid, and if he had some way of approaching them elsewhere he might have been able to learn a lot more about what was going on here. Still, he supposed there was something to be said for the direct approach. 

RoH: The Price of Entry Is Patience

The man who opened the door wore a servant's coat over a respectable shirt and slacks. His hair was gray, but his face was young. He looked Remant over, then asked: "May I help you, Sir?"

"I'd like to speak with the late Viscount Forzen," he said. "My name is Remant."

The manservant's expression changed only for the barest flicker, but he asked politely, "Have you come from that dreadful solicitor?"

Remant held up a hand. "I have, but I've come to talk. If the master of the house would spare me a little of his time, I believe we can resolve this."

The manservant held his ground. "We were given very specific instructions to turn away anyone that woman sent."

Remant paused to consider, but the manservant moved to close the door in his face. With a sigh, he stuck his hand in the opening, then forced it back open. 

"She appears to have the force of law on her side," he said, as the other man gaped at him, "along with enough money to make a compelling argument. I don't wish to see you punished, but I do need to speak to the former Viscount. So..." He thought as quickly as I could. "I will wait out here. You will go and tell him that you turned me away, but that I remain waiting outside to speak to him. Would that be acceptable?"

"I don't have much of a choice, do I?" asked the manservant. "You could smash right through this door if you wanted. I couldn't stop you."

"Yes," answered Remant, "but that would be rude. And this is good mahogany, beautifully crafted. It would be a shame to damage it."

The other man swallowed. "Wait out here, please. I'll tell the Viscount."

RoH: The Mansion

Remant paused on the road up to the mansion, then dismounted and led his horse the rest of the way. There were ruins, artfully built and no older than the house itself, off to one side of the drive; there was a rambling garden off to the other. 

The stable was empty when he reached it, but it still held feed; he led Peregrine inside, found a stall, and set out food and water. Then he approached the main house. 

It stood three stories tall, with wide, two-story wings to either side and marble steps leading up to the dark mahogany doors. He saw no signs of movement through the windows, but then the servants should have been given their final wages and recommendations and dismissed after the death of the Master of the House. At least, that was how things had worked before the war, and Remant assumed that the aristocracy hadn't changed much since then. Having the Master return undead might have complicated the situation in any number of ways. 

He checked the sword at his side and the dagger in his boot, flexed his armored left hand beneath the soft leather glove, and sighed. He'd left the bow and his pack with the horse; he didn't expect this to be that sort of job. Mounting the steps, he lifted the knocker and let it fall, three times.

The sound echoed through the manor, and after a time he heard footsteps approaching. 

RoH: A Haunted Mansion

"He's supposed to be dead," the solicitor explained, "But he won't go to a grave, he won't turn the house over as his own will demands, and now he's summoned things to keep people out. It could be centuries before his descendants manage to claim it."

"So you want me to... enforce the will?" Remant asked. He wasn't bothered by the prospect; he'd dealt with undead before, though not frequently. 

The woman nodded. "My client -- his niece -- needs the house to be habitable, so she can sell it off. She plans to move to Foringelt."

"And she's offering one hundred gold from the sale to whomever makes it possible?"

"Yes. We have it on hand, ready for whomever completes the job."

"Huh." Remant considered that. "I'll right, I'll take it." 

MV3: Discomfort

London Fish turned out to be a good choice for a meeting: a small, quirky seafood place with plenty of windows and a good view of its surroundings, it had been converted from an older house and still looked to have living quarters on the second floor. On a Tuesday night, it was only moderately full, and Amy's family was easy to spot: they'd taken a table towards the back, sitting together and looking over the menus. 

Andy turned towards them, noting that Chante, Sal, and Tab had been seated at a table nearby -- not that there was anything in this restaurant that wasn't nearby. Brickhouse She was watching from a van parked outside, and Andy hoped she was comfortable. 

He approached reluctantly, paused to look at the three humans, and then drew back a chair and settled into it.

Donald Black looked much as always had: dark-haired, pale-skinned, blue-eyed, and well-dressed. He was some sort of supervisor at Lockheed Martin, a former engineer, and he and Andy had never really connected -- though Andy had liked him well enough. Connie Black was black-haired, dark-skinned, and brown-eyed; Amy had taken after her. She used to smile when Andy came around; now she just sighed. Thomas was likely to be the problem here -- he was dark-haired like his father, olive-skinned and blue-eyed, and he glared at Andy like he wanted to commit murder then and there.

Then he really focused, and did a huge double-take.

"Yeah," said Andy. "This is me, now. I didn't live through them either. I just happen to be dead and walking around, instead of cleanly dead."

Thomas had been two years ahead of him in school; he'd already graduated when Andy and Amy first started dating. "You're really him?"

Andy sighed. "When I first started dating her, you warned me I'd better not hurt her. I promised you that if I did, it would only be by accident." He looked at Connie. "You always made the very best cookies, and looked like you just wanted Amy to be happy." 

Donald grunted, and Andy shifted to face him. "I never quite knew how to try to talk to you. I tried to help out with the grilling on the Fourth, but you shooed me away."

Donald grunted again, but nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, maybe that was my fault. My baby girl, you know?"

Andy shook his head. "I felt that way about her, too." There. He didn't know how to be any more clear than that. "And then we were studying in the living room, and these things busted in the door and killed us, and now I'm one of them."

"You better have tried to protect her," Thomas half-growled. 

"How?" asked Andy, then swallowed and held up a hand. "No, I'm sorry. I tried, but they were well above my weight class. Judith only survived because they were busy with us, and she hid. If I'd known they were coming and had a ton of magic bullets, I might have been able to do something. I wish..." He swallowed. "I wish I could have gotten her out." 

"Thomas," said Connie. "He's right." She looked at me, then sighed. "I did some research. You're stronger now, aren't you?"

I nodded, reluctantly.

"A lot stronger. And the ones involved in the attack would have been stronger than that."

I nodded again. "Yeah."

Thomas sat still for a very, very long time. Finally he looked up and asked, "What do you think, Dad?"

Donald shook his head, then met my eyes. "I wish she hadn't gone over to your house," he said. "But my beautiful wife--" He reached over, and squeezed her hand. "--is right. It's like wishing she hadn't gotten hit by that drunk driver."

I sat back, and then realized that a waitress was standing beside us. "Um," she said, and cleared her throat. "Are you ready to order?" 

MV3: Reunions

Charleston by night was still beautiful, the flowers just starting to bloom and the waters, while cold, still welcoming. Andy didn't venture out to fully explore it; Chante wanted him under guard in his room, and he couldn't argue. The handsome man in the fitted suit had turned out to be a demon, Sal A. Czar, and the massive woman said she was one of the nephilim -- Brickhouse She. Tab turned out to be a nature spirit, her coat embroidered with colorful feathers, quiet and watchful. 

The Authority had confirmed that Amy's family was in town. The meeting was scheduled for the Chubby Fish, shortly after dark. 

"I don't like this," Chante said, looking out the window of the hotel. She'd sent Tab out to look the place over while it was still daylight, but she still looked nervous.

Andy stirred from where he was reading on the bed, and said: "I only agreed in order to get them off my family's back. I honestly don't like it either, but I don't want to call it off."

"We'll see it through," she assured him. "I just hope this Titus Anthropicus doesn't manage to show up."

Andy considered the gun under his pillow. "Kill him if he does," he said quietly. "I don't care if he takes me down with him, I want him dead."

Chante turned to look at him. "Yeah, well, our remit is to keep you alive, so I do care. Don't put yourself in the line of fire."

Andy nodded. "All right," he said, and went back to his book. 

MV2: Private Plane

"Andy?" asked the ghost, as he stepped out of the car. She was unfamiliar, and accompanied by a handsome man in a fitted suit, the holster under his arm visible but not glaringly obvious.

Andy nodded, and Mr. Siegel opened the driver's door and stepped out. "This is him."

"Good," the ghost nodded. "Tab's checking over the crew, so once she's done we can be on our way."

A massive figure strolled over from the hangar doors, wearing what must have been a custom suit. She was easily eight feet tall, and heavily enough built to seem even larger. She'd disdained a suit jacket in favor of a trench coat, but still wore a button-down shirt with her slacks. 

"Chante," said the ghost, holding out a hand. 

Andy shook it, ignoring the sudden chill, and nodded. "Andrew McFall -- Andy." He raised his voice slightly, so the other two could hear. "Mr Siegel... thank you." 

The wolf nodded. "I'll let Mr. Carillo know you made it this far safely."

Andy turned back to the ghost. "You're my... security detail?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I don't know who you are, kid, but the Authority sure seems to have taken an interest."

"Genuinely no idea why," Andy told her. "I'm a newly-turned wight, nobody important when I was still alive, and nobody important among us others either."

Chante studied him for a long moment, then shrugged. "No idea," she admitted. "But we have our orders, so off we go."

The massive woman huffed a laugh. "Just like always."

The handsome man in the custom suit smiled. "Once more unto the breach, whatever that turns out to be this time."

Andy nodded. "Glad to have you along." He followed them onto the plane as Mr. Siegel turned the sedan around and headed back for the academy. 

Valthor: A Pirate With A Vision

Valthor hadn't honestly expected to like the admiral, but then he'd been surprised before and at least this one was pleasant. Borith Cove was practically designed to be a pirate city, with a narrow, defensible channel leading into a sheltered cove and plenty of ships and crews to defend it. It had plenty of docks, plus its own shipyards -- and, it turned out, a whole set of farm plots run by widows whose husbands had been lost at sea. It wasn't quite enough to make island self-sufficient, but it looked to be well on its way. 

They'd found the admiral in the inn on one of the pair of islands at the center of the cove, and almost accidentally had confirmed that Captain Razin of the Gloamshine -- the boat they were currently traveling on -- counted himself among the pirates. As far as Valthor was concerned, that was fine; as freebooters went, they didn't seem to be especially evil or destructive. They'd certainly worked hard enough in trying to get the elves and orcs to their negotiations.

So now the four of them -- he, Rrhorask, and Tizrin of the Adventurer's Guild, along with a priest named Sy -- were exploring the town at the admiral's instruction. In person, she had turned out to be a drow elf -- which might have been awkward at sea, but worked well enough since her particular admiralty was over the town of Borith itself. Or, possibly, the whole island, but Valthor didn't think so.

So far, they'd met the captain of the Widows' Farms -- a rather friendly halfling -- and the captain of NewTown, which ironically was no longer especially new. She was a Tortle, already older than anything Valthor expected to live to see, and apparently the center of a network of information-gathering. Now they were on their way to where the admiral was having the old fort atop the hill rebuilt. He was looking forward to seeing it.

 

MV2: Meet With The Mortals

"They're insistent," Mr. Carillo told him, and Andy chuckled, then managed not to sigh. "They want to meet with you in person. Make sure you're not some kind of AI hoax."

"Where?"

"My supervisor is suggesting that we go long and try Charleston. Keep them, and you, well away from here. Plus, if your maker is still looking for you, he's unlikely to look east."

Andy considered that. "Not the worst idea I've ever heard. Any chance we can get the original team to oversee the meet -- Steve, Veronica, and Rodney?"

Mr. Carillo shook his head. "They're busy with something else. There's another crew available, though. Well-rated, reliable."

"Fine." Oh, this is such a bad idea and I so very much do not want to do this. "Let's get it over with."

Mr. Carillo studied him for a long moment. "All right. I'll call it in and get it set up. Anybody you want to take with you?"

This time, Andy sighed loudly. "No. Nobody here I'd want to put at risk."

He sat back and closed his eyes as Mr. Carillo solidified and picked up the phone on his desk. In half an hour it was settled: a meeting, two weeks from now, in London Fish in Charleston, South Carolina. Andy would be taking a private plane, so he wouldn't have to go through airport security or present any sort of identification; the security team would meet him when he boarded. And meanwhile Amy's family would get a free trip to another city, which... he hoped they weren't too far gone to appreciate it. He'd never been to Charleston himself, but it sounded lovely.

MV2: Progress

The early-evening Spades game expanded to include the wolves Jürgen and Sam W, the ghost in the trench coat and fedora who called himself Ace -- "from A.C., as in Air Conditioning" -- and a vampire who was calling herself 2 Claudia as if she were a book in the bible. When Y.T. joined as well, Andy found that he could rotate himself out, or let one of the others do it instead if they didn't feel like playing.

Online classes remained one of the more pleasurable parts of his nights; he hadn't been lying about enjoying school.  He'd raced through the early bits, and caught up to his current studies, then kept going. Mr. Carillo was pleased with his progress; so was Andy. He'd even added a couple of extra courses on the side. 

Self-Defense For Monsters was interesting. The shared curriculum was pretty standard: unarmed combat, a mix of striking and grappling; melee with a variety of weapons, starting with knives, bats, and staves; and finally guns. Trainer Jim would then split them off into more specific things: fangs, for those who might make bite attacks; claws, for those who had them; and making use of incorporeality for Dana Z, the ghost in the class. Maria OG and Tom started showing up as well, and it turned out that Maria could call out very effective claws, while the black-eyed child Tom... 

Tom could reshape flesh, take control of minds, and do other things as well. Physically, he was as frail as the child he resembled, but Andy noted that Trainer Jim was careful not to put him in direct combat. "He says I should keep my distance," Tom explained, as they were heading back to the dormitory near dawn. "I can shoot people, or use powers, but I shouldn't try to hit people or wrestle or anything like that."

"Makes sense," Andy had admitted. "That's some powerful stuff."

Tom had looked proud, and Maria OG had looked grateful.

It turned out the Academy kept a herd of cattle behind the main complex, mostly cows but some sheep as well. It was part of how they funded the place, but it also allowed a lot of the monsters to feed without the need to rotate regular humans in and out the way the Authority had done for him at the hospital. For Andy, that was a profound relief; he could age a cow just a bit, not worry about overdoing it with a human or another monster, and still be reasonably well-fed. 

The wolves, the two nature spirits, and the black-eyed child could all eat regular food and be satisfied with that. The vampires could drain blood from the cattle, and Agrat B could drain their life force without killing them -- much the same as he and Y.T. could.  Maria OG was the odd one out there: as a ghoul, she needed dead flesh, preferably human, to sustain her. The small cemetery at the edge of the property wouldn't have supported her for more than a week -- it was mainly used for wights and similar to speak to the dead, or raise them temporarily. 

Andy had no idea what sort of arrangement the Authority had come up with, but while Maria OG was willing to tell him about her needs, she always ate in private and she always looked... sad, afterwards. Andy wished he had any idea how to comfort her about that, but he didn't. The best he could do was not judge her.

MV2: Amy's Family

"We have an... interesting issue," Mr. Carillo said quietly. They were sitting in his office, a small room in the central building of the compound.

Andy waited. 

"It's your girlfriend's family: they're asking to see you. They want to hear the story from you."

"No."

Mr. Carillo sighed. "We told them it wasn't safe, but they say they don't care. They're not dropping anything until you meet with them."

"I could call them, but meeting in person? They know I'm being hunted, right?"

"Our people did try to explain."

Andy sighed. "Would the Authority even be willing to set that up? I mean, we'd need a safe location, security, I don't even know what else. Some ethical way to keep me fed, I guess. That's money and resources."

"And still a risk," Mr. Carillo added softly. "It might be the only way to get them off your family's back, though."

"Could we set up a video call?"

Mr. Carillo cocked his head at that. "...I'll ask."

Andy nodded. He didn't want to see Amy's family -- didn't want to talk to them at all. Her death was a dull, persistent ache in his chest, and the thought of hashing it out with them just made the pain more acute. But if that was what it took, he'd do it.

MV2: Rebuilding

"You don't actually have to do that," Trainer Jim said, and Andy turned to face him. "I can just order more. They aren't that expensive."

Andy shrugged. "It makes me feel better, especially since I didn't get permission before I broke them." He was in the woodshop, carving and fitting another pair of training dummies to replace the ones he'd broken.  

"Ah," said Trainer Jim. "Then you're not going to want me to help out with them, either."

"Nope." Andy shook his head. "They're... kind of crude, but they should still work."

"They'll be fine."

When Andy looked up a few minutes later, the trainer was gone.  

MV2: Spirits and Spades

Maria OG opted out of the game, claiming to prefer watching a bit more television to playing cards, which surprised Andy a little bit. He was less surprised when Tłʼóoʼdi suddenly appeared and took a seat at the table. She was dressed in a bright green skirt and top, with a cape of feathers thrown over her shoulders, and she studied Andy for a long moment as he cut the cards. He was suddenly very aware that he was dealing with newborn spirits here; it wasn't like the wolves, who'd all had prior life experience and then become monsters."Everybody good with numbers?" he asked quietly. 

"I can count," Tom said quietly, then glanced nervously at the other two. 

They nodded, so Andy asked, "And how a standard deck of cards is counted?"

Tłʼóoʼdi looked puzzled, so Andy launched into an explanation of the suits, the numbers, the face cards... and how all that fit into the rules for Spades. "So the way this works is that four of us are two teams. I'm sitting across from Tłʼóoʼdi, so we're one team. Divvy and Tom, you're the other team. What you need to do now is make your best guess about how many hands you can win with the cards you're holding; that's your bid. There's a rule called 'sandbagging' where you lose points if you win too much more than you predicted, but we're going to ignore that for now."

He dealt the cards, then sat back to let everybody write down their bids. Tom nodded seriously, studying his cards, then turned them towards Andy. "What should I do with this?"

Ahhhhh... Andy shook his head. "I mean, first of all, you're really not supposed to show your cards to anyone else, especially the opposing team. But all right, first time out, we'll just walk through it." He laid his own cards out on the table, face up. "With what I'm holding here, I think I can take three hands. Tłʼóoʼdi, will you show us your cards?"

She laid hers down just as he had, and cocked her head as she studied him. 

"All right," he said. "With what you're holding, I'd say you can probably take four. Tom, if you play it right I think you can do the same. Divvy, do you want to show us, or keep yours hidden?"

"Hidden," said the spirit. "That's what keep the game interesting, right? Not knowing what the other players are holding?"

"It is," Andy acknowledged, "but since this is our first game there's nothing wrong with looking at the strategies openly."

"Even so," said Divvy. "I believe I can take five."

"All right," said Andy, and wrote it down on the notepad he'd grabbed from the shelves. "Let's find out."

He picked his cards back up, and Tłʼóoʼdi and Tom did as well.  

"Trust your partners," he advised. "You don't have to put down the card you think is most likely to win a hand, if you think your partner has one that will do it or if you think what they already put down will take it. If you're sure your team is going to lose a particular hand, you can use it to get rid of low-value cards that you know won't win anything."

He wasn't terribly surprised when Tom and Divvy took the first game. Advantage of surprise, and all that, he thought, smiling. "Well done," he said. "Tłʼóoʼdi, well played. It didn't go our way, but you have the idea now. When we play again, nobody shows their cards -- and maybe we can kick their asses, metaphorically speaking."

The woman in the cape of feathers smiled at him. 

MV2: Spirits of the Land

"Oh, hi," Andy said automatically, stopping to study the dark-skinned man in the hallway. 

He was dressed in a swallow-tailed coat and a top had, with an enormous, garish feather affixed to it. Of the two newborn nature spirits, he was the one most often visible; the other one preferred to remain unseen most of the time. 

The man hesitated. "You're a wight," he said. 

Andy nodded. "Andy." They'd been over this in their early-evening group meetings, but maybe it needed to be reiterated. "And you're Divvy."

The spirit nodded. Like the black-eyed child Tom, he had a solid, physical presence despite his origins; the hand he offered felt like, well, a hand when Andy clasped it. "Where you at on environmental stuff?" he asked. 

Andy chose his words carefully. "Conservationist," he said after a moment. "I mean, leave some room for camping and hiking, but keep the natural beauty in place. Otherwise, why bother with the camping and hiking?"

Divvy nodded and grinned. "Baby steps," he agreed. "Like to see the whole continent returned to its natural state, but that ain't gonna happen."

Andy nodded softly. "Does seem a pity sometimes. You up for a game of cards? Maria OG and Tom are usually up by now, and I've been trying to teach them to play Spades."

Divvy laughed. "Sure, I'm in. All you had to do was ask."

Andy chuckled. "I've been trying to take it slow," he said. "Several reasons."

"No need to explain," answered the spirit. "Come on. If your friends don't want to play, maybe you can show me and Tłʼóoʼdi."

MV2: The Second Call

"Andy?" asked Mr. Carillo. 

Andy frowned. He'd only just gotten out of bed, and it was still daylight outside; early spring, but bright and crisp. "Yes?"

Mr. Carillo held out a cell phone. "Your  family called back."

"Ah." he put them on speaker, then said, "Hello?"

"Can we see you?" asked his mother, immediately. "Even if you're..."

"I looked up some information on wights," Judith put in. "Like, we know how you probably look now."

The sound Andy made was something like, "Ahhhgh--" He looked to Mr. Carillo, who said: "We could probably arrange something, but doing it without endangering you or your family would be... tricky."

"Maybe," Andy said into the speaker. "I don't know if you heard that, but... Like I said, the guy who killed me is still looking for me, and he wouldn't hesitate to use any of you as hostages. Or to murder you outright, if he had half a reason for it. I think the Authority would authorize social media contact -- assuming we can all be very discreet -- but I think it's better to keep my distance for now."

His father said, "That's... definitely better than nothing."

Judith sounded momentarily scared. "I don't ever want to see those things again. I have nightmares about them."

"I don't want them anywhere near you," Andy affirmed quietly. "Or me, really, but I'm the one they were looking for."

"But you're okay, right?" asked his mother. 

"I'm good," he replied. "We're working on feeding -- so far I have pretty good control of it -- and I'm finishing up high school online, and we're looking at self-defense after that, even though we're pretty safe here."

"That's... that's good, Honey. I'm proud of you."

Andy nodded, and managed not to rub at his eyes by an act of will. "If the situation changes, I'll let you know." 

They fell to more day-to-day issues after that -- how Judith was doing in school, how Andy liked his classmates, his dad's frustrations with his job as an engineer, his mother's taking a break from her career as a nurse. It was good to just talk about daily life -- a reminder for Andy that life went on, and maybe a reassurance for his family that he was still doing well even after the tragedy. 

When he finally hung up, it was full dark and time to get back to his studies. 

MV2: Practice Dummies

Trainer Jim -- apparently the werecougar's name was James Trainor -- had set up a a dozen or so wooden training dummies behind the classrooms building. Andy had already demolished three of them, with a combination of barehanded strikes, basic claws, and the longer claws of a wight. He knew there was a woodshop on campus; he'd have to build more to make up for it, but right now he needed to break things. Hitting the punching bag in the gym just hadn't done it for him. 

"Hey," said a soft voice behind him. 

Andy spun around, and found himself looking at Sam W -- Samantha Wolfe, she was calling herself, having apparently been turned in her late forties. He thought there was a joke to it, but he didn't get the reference. She was the werewolf who'd asked about shooting guns, though. 

She held her hands up and he put his claws away.

"Hey," she said again. "It's not really any of my business, and I'll go away if you want, but... are you all right?"

He shook his head. "No. No, I am so very much not all right."

She nodded. "You want to talk about it?"

He sighed, looking at the scattered bits of wood that had been three practice dummies, and the gouges in a fourth one. I should stop now, while there are still enough left for the class to use. Did he feel better? He wasn't sure, but he thought so. "I'm taking classes online to finish high school."

Sam nodded. "You mentioned that while we were waiting for movie night one time."

"Yeah, well... Internet connection. So I opened up social media, and saw... what my family is going through right now. Kind of had a meltdown."

"That's... how bad is it?"

"My family was in mourning. My girlfriend died in the same attack where I was turned, and her family is... turning their grief to anger. At everyone, including my family, the school... and particularly my sister, who survived the attack by hiding in her room and calling for help."

"Oh." Sam paused for a moment, picturing that. "Jesus. That's..."

"Yeah. That's why I've been hiding in my room for the last three days. Mr. Carillo arranged for me to call my family and let them know what's really going on, but I think I'm going to have to talk to Amy's family too. I've asked the Authority to give them more information about what happened, and how little chance any of us had of stopping it." He turned away, then turned back. "I thought I was okay, that I was handling all this, but then it all caught up to me and I'm... not."

"Andy... You're still calling yourself Andy, right? ...it's okay. You're allowed to freak out." Sam hesitated, then said, "God knows I did. If I hadn't been presumed dead, I'd owe the apartment complex a few thousand dollars in damages. At least all you did was hide away for a little while, and break some things that were built to be broken."

Andy sat down on the grass. "Thanks," he said.

Sam moved cautiously closer, and when he didn't object she sat down beside him and put an arm around his shoulders. "I don't know if we're friends, exactly," Sam said carefully, "but I like you, and as far as I know the others do too. We've been lucky; no real assholes in this class, even if we do have our own issues. As far as I can tell, you're doing just fine. Plus, I owe you for getting us started on self-defense training. So if there's anything I can do to help, let me know."

Andy nodded. He didn't like asking for help; he never had. But the offer was genuine, and maybe it was time to consider that mutual support was supposed to go both ways. "Thank you," he said quietly. 

MV2: Family Reunion

"Andy?" asked his mother. "How... Where are you?"

"Colorado, I think. I didn't ask." 

She gave a shaky laugh. "They said you were dead."

"When I was very young, I had a stuffed turtle that went with me everywhere. When Grandpa passed on, I asked if I could leave it in the coffin with him, to keep him company."

"Holy shit," said his father, clearly audible over the phone. "How is this even...?"

Andy sighed. "I wasn't supposed to get in touch with you. I really did die. And then three days later I came back as a wight, because that was what killed me. The Authority has a whole system for dealing with situations like this, and they've been doing their best to teach me how to live as... something like this. Not quite human, not quite alive."

"But you are alive," said Judith. "I mean, you called, you're talking to us."

He nodded, knowing they wouldn't see it. "You wouldn't recognize me, though. I look dead. I don't have a heartbeat. That's why I didn't come back home."

"Son..." His father cleared his throat. "Come home anyway."

Andy hesitated, then shook his head. "I can't. The thing that killed me is still looking for me. I can't risk leading it to you."

"What about Amy?" asked Judith. "Any chance that she...?"

"No. A clean death, I was told. And I think if she'd been reborn the way I was, they'd have kept us together."

Mr. Carillo nodded at that. 

"Oh." Judith sounded sad. "I'm so sorry."

"It wasn't your fault you survived, Sis. You were smart, and lucky. Amy and I were... right in the line of fire. Dumb fucking luck, but there it is."

"Andy," his mother said. Then, a moment later, she continued with, "Never mind. It's not like your little sister has never heard curse words."

"Yeah, I know about those, Mom," said Judith. "I do watch YouTube."

"All right," said his father. "If you can't come home, and you were supposed to be dead, why call us?"

Andy hesitated for a long moment. "Because I thought it would help more than hurt. I might be dead, technically, but you'd still want to know I was all right -- and so far, I am. I can't imagine that this was any harder for me than it was for you, but... Listen, I'm still out here and I still love you guys. I worry about you."

There was a long silence, then his father burst into tears. His mother said, "I think... this was a lot. Can we... can we take a little while to sit with it, and then maybe talk to you again?"

"That might be a really good idea," said Andy, who was feeling more than a little overwhelmed himself. "Just... before I go... Judith?"

"Yeah?"

"You did the right thing. You stayed in your room and called for help, and it kept you alive. I don't really know how you're holding up, but I think you living through that was vital for Mom and Dad. You understand? And for me. You couldn't have changed things, and hiding wasn't cowardice. It... it was survival. Be proud of yourself, Sis, okay? Even if it's hard."

Judith sniffed. "I wish I could have saved you."

"I just told you: I think you did." He ended the call before he could say anything else, and stood for a time just staring down at the phone. His family doubtless had the number now and could have called back, but they didn't. He suspected they needed some time to adjust just as much as he did.  

MV2: Casting Oil On Troubled Waters

It took a few hours to get back on his feet, but when Tom threw his arms around Andy's waist he was glad he'd done it. Mr. Siegel was one of the wolves and one of the teachers, and willing to endanger himself by letting a starved wight feed off of him. Andy was starting to realize how much more life could be gained from other monsters than ordinary humans, and scaled his feeding down to suit. The beast stirred, but didn't rise. 

"You can't just give up," Tom said, looking up at him with those eerie black eyes. "Not when I don't even know where I came from."

Andy nodded. "Yeah. Sorry. I've just been... I think it all caught up to me."

Tom nodded. "Better now?"

"Not yet," Andy admitted. "But I'm willing to consider that it could be."

"All right," said Mr. Carillo. "Your voice shouldn't have changed much, and I've got a call going through to your family."

Andy stepped up, took the phone in a grip that should have broken it, and waited until an unmistakable voice said, "Hello?"

"Judy?" he asked quietly. 

There was a long moment of silence. Then his sister asked, "Am I supposed to believe that you're Andy?"

"Not really," he said, thinking fast. He was suddenly proud of his little sister for being suspicious that this might be a scam. "You remember those stupid banana-shaped earrings that I got you last Christmas?"

"Worst gag gift ever."

"Yeah, but you did wear them to school." 

"The uniform shirts are bright yellow. They matched."

"Okay, look. Put the phone down, go into my room, and look under the far left corner of the bed. I had a box back there."

Judith hesitated, then said: "All right, wait a moment."

When she came back a few minutes later she asked, "Condoms? Why did you want me to know you had condoms. Were you and Amy--?"

"I didn't want you to know. It was just the most secret thing I had -- the best way to prove that I'm me."

There was a long pause. "Andy?" Judith asked. 

"Yeah," he said. "I died. But I was killed by a wight, and I came back as one. I don't look... much of anything like you remember."

"But you're alive." 

"Sort of. And I am so, so grateful that you are really truly no-shit alive." Andy hesitated. "Can you find Mom and Dad? And put this on speaker?"

"No bullshit?" she asked suspiciously. 

"No bullshit."