The next morning, I gather Nerk and Morrigan for a strategy session before we head to Riverton. The goblin cave buzzes with activity as the tribe prepares supplies for our journey.

  "Need to talk about priorities," I tell them, spreading out a crude map one of the scouts drew. "Getting more followers is crucial, but it's not as simple as just collecting bodies."

  Nerk crosses his muscular arms, considering. "How master want use current tribe? What direction we grow?"

  I look at the goblins scurrying around the cave. They're stronger than before, but still relatively weak individually. Their value would come from specialization and numbers.

  "I want to specialize the goblins," I decide. "Transform them into stealth units and ranged combatants. Scouts, spies, and archers."

  Nerk's eyes light up with understanding. "Good plan! Goblins naturally sneaky, good eyes, small targets. Make better archers than front-line fighters."

  "Exactly," I nod. "We'll reserve my next direct bond slot for something specialized in melee combat. Something that can tank damage and dish it out while the goblins support from range."

  Morrigan clicks her beak thoughtfully. "Ogres to north. Trolls in eastern swamps. Many potential candidates for strong melee bond."

  "For now, our priority is finding more goblins to join us, or enemies to kill so I can harvest their essence," I say, the words coming naturally though I still don't fully understand how I know these things. "Both will help unlock my next slot."

  Nerk slams his fist against his palm. "Nerk scouts report rival goblin tribe in hills three days north. Small tribe, maybe fifteen warriors. Could raid, force submission."

  I shake my head. "Forced submission creates weaker bonds. We need willing followers."

  "Then we show strength," Morrigan suggests. "Challenge rival chief. Win, offer choice: join or die. Those who choose life become willing followers after seeing power."

  "That could work," I admit. "But let's check out Riverton first. I want to understand more about this world before we start tribal wars."

  ---

  Two days later, we approach Riverton from a forested hillside, staying hidden as we observe the settlement below. It's larger than I expected—not just a village but a proper town built where two rivers meet. Wooden buildings cluster around a central marketplace, surrounded by fields and orchards. A sturdy palisade protects the settlement, with guard towers at regular intervals.

  "Bigger than Morrigan described," Nerk mutters, his enhanced eyes narrowing as he studies the defenses.

  "Many seasons since last visit," Morrigan admits. "Humans multiply quickly."

  I've brought only a small contingent with us—Nerk, Morrigan, and six of the most improved goblins, now dressed in leather armor and armed with short bows Nerk insisted they learn to use. They look almost professional, if you can overlook their green skin and pointed ears.

  "We can't just walk in there," I muse, watching the guards at the gate inspecting merchants' wagons. "Pretty sure hobgoblins and hagravens aren't welcome."

  Morrigan's feathers ruffle with amusement. "Morrigan can help." She reaches into a pouch at her belt, withdrawing a handful of glittering powder. "Glamour dust. Make us appear... different. Not perfect, but enough to fool casual observers."

  She blows the dust over Nerk first. His appearance shimmers, then settles into something new—still large and muscular, but now appearing as a burly human mercenary with ruddy skin and a thick beard. His armor remains the same, but his greenish hide and horns are concealed by the illusion.

  "Holy shit," I mutter as she repeats the process with each goblin, transforming them into what appear to be human children or very short adults in similar leather gear.

  "Temporary," she warns. "Last one day, perhaps two. Close inspection reveal truth. No touching humans—feel glamour not real."

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  "And you?" I ask.

  Morrigan cackles softly. "Easier for Morrigan." She hunches further, drawing a ragged cloak around herself. With her hood up and her wings pressed tight against her back, she now resembles an elderly, hunchbacked woman. The fetishes around her neck look like ordinary trinkets and charms.

  "Just old wise-woman now," she croaks, perfectly mimicking the voice of a human crone. "Harmless grandmother selling herbs and fortunes."

  "Impressive," I admit. "So what's our cover story?"

  "Simple truth, twisted slightly," Nerk suggests, his voice deeper and smoother under the glamour. "Mercenary band seeking work. Master leads. I am lieutenant. Small ones are scouts. Old woman is healer."

  "It could work," I nod. "Let's find an inn, get a feel for the place, and see what kind of problems they might pay to solve."

  ---

  The guards at Riverton's gate eye us suspiciously but let us pass after I pay a small entrance fee using coins Nerk's tribe had collected over the years. Inside, the town bustles with activity—merchants hawking wares, farmers selling produce, townspeople going about their business.

  We attract attention—any armed group would—but not outright hostility. I lead our bizarre little company toward what appears to be the largest inn, a two-story building with a sign depicting a grinning fish holding a mug.

  "The Drunken Trout," I read aloud. "Looks promising."

  Inside, the common room is half-full despite the early hour. Travelers, merchants, and what appear to be local mercenaries enjoy drinks and food while a bored-looking bard plucks listlessly at a stringed instrument in the corner.

  Conversation dips slightly as we enter, then resumes. I approach the bar, where a heavyset man with impressive mustaches polishes tankards.

  "Looking for rooms," I tell him. "And information about work in the area."

  The barkeep eyes our group—particularly the disguised goblins—with suspicion. "What kind of work?"

  "Protection. Pest control. Problem-solving," I say vaguely. "We're adaptable."

  "Hmph." He sets down his cloth. "Rooms are a silver piece per night each. Information's free with a purchase."

  I count out coins from our limited supply. "Two rooms, two nights. And ale for my men."

  As the barkeep fills tankards, I sense someone watching us. Turning slightly, I notice a well-dressed man in the corner, studying our group with obvious interest. When our eyes meet, he raises his glass in a small salute.

  "Who's that?" I ask the barkeep quietly.

  "Master Dolan," he replies, voice lowering. "Works for Lord Keenan, who owns most of this town. If you're looking for work, he's the one to talk to."

  I nod my thanks, collect our drinks, and lead the group to a table near the wall, positioning myself so I can watch both the door and this Master Dolan character.

  "Potential employer watches us," Nerk murmurs, his enhanced senses missing nothing despite the glamour.

  "Good," I reply. "Let him come to us."

  We don't wait long. After a few minutes, Dolan stands and makes his way to our table, moving with the confident stride of someone used to authority. He's middle-aged, with a neatly trimmed beard and expensive but practical clothing.

  "Greetings, travelers," he says, inclining his head slightly. "May I join you?"

  I gesture to an empty chair. "Be my guest."

  He sits, eyes scanning our unusual group with undisguised curiosity. "I don't believe I've seen your company before, and I make it my business to know all the mercenary bands that pass through Riverton."

  "We're new," I reply simply. "Just starting out."

  "Indeed." His gaze lingers on Morrigan, who maintains her crone disguise perfectly, and then on the glamoured goblins. "An... interesting composition to your band."

  "We have specialized skills," I say, not elaborating.

  Dolan smiles thinly. "I'm sure. And as it happens, Lord Keenan has recently found himself in need of specialized skills." He leans forward slightly. "There's been trouble at one of his mines. Workers disappearing. Strange noises at night. Production has stopped entirely."

  "Sounds like our kind of problem," I reply, trying not to sound too eager. "What's the pay?"

  "Twenty gold pieces if you can get the mine operating again. Plus whatever you find inside that isn't ore." He sips his drink. "Interested?"

  I glance at Nerk and Morrigan, who both give subtle nods. "Very. When can we start?"

  "Tomorrow morning. The mine is half a day's journey north." Dolan stands. "I'll send someone to escort you there at dawn."

  After he leaves, Morrigan leans in, her disguised form still maintaining the appearance of a frail old woman though her voice returns to its normal raspy tone when she whispers.

  "Perfect opportunity," she hisses quietly. "Mines often connect to deeper tunnels. Could be goblin warren below. Or kobold nest. Many potential recruits if handled correctly."

  Nerk nods in agreement. "Or many enemies to kill if not. Either way, master's power grows."

  I take a long drink of ale, considering our options. A mine full of potential followers or enemies to harvest—either would help unlock my next bond slot. And the gold wouldn't hurt either.

  "We'll need to prepare tonight," I tell them. "Morrigan, what kind of creatures might we expect in a mine?"

  As she begins listing possibilities—each more bizarre than the last—I can't help but feel a growing excitement. This mercenary approach might work out better than I thought.