‘I’m walking, walking, walking, I’m walking down the road,’ Reginald sung to himself as he trudged along the merchant’s road, headed west. What a lovely day it was; most of the people around here found this time of year to be bitterly cold, but Reginald didn’t find it too bad. He had thick skin. ‘I’m stepping, stepping, stepping, and the melody doth flow. I’m strolling, strolling, strolling, and I don’t hardly know, all the joy I’ve been bestowed.’

  Yes, there were some chilly winds here and there, but the sun was shining, and a shining sun was good enough reason for Reginald to be happy. Not to mention all the progress he’d made of late; over the past week or so he’d scratched over twenty names from his list. Soon enough there would be nobody left on the list, nobody left with whom to make amends. And to think—one of those names he’d so recently scratched off was none other than Equivalence Vignor.

  Not only had this woman suffered the last of Reginald’s crimes, but her influence had somehow sent him on a path of redemption. Reginald had wrestled with his wrongdoings for the first time when he’d crossed paths with her, and he owed her so much. He still, to this day, did not know the form of her influence, only that it seemed to quell those dark, almost animalistic urges he’d had for as long as he remembered. All that death. All that blood.

  Reginald burst into another verse. ‘I’m searching, searching, searching, I’m searching for my truth. I’m looking, looking, looking, I am a fledgling sleuth…’ He trailed off to wave at two merchants approaching him on the road. ‘Hello there, sirs! Fine day, is it not?’

  The two men came to an abrupt halt, and one of them shrieked. One, then the other, abandoned their hand cart to flee into the forest. Reginald was sure he heard the sound of someone screaming, ‘Bear! Bear!’

  It was unfortunate that such an insult was so popular these days. Reginald’s hide was thick, yes, and lush with hair, but that was no reason to be so rude. And for them to run screaming into the forest was a cruel jest, pretending that they had come across a wild animal rather than a human man. A human man armed only with a smile and a lute, no less! Reginald had to hand it to these two, however; leaving their loaded cart behind to flee into the trees was commitment to the joke indeed.

  The human man shook his head to himself and forced his anger away. There was no use getting so worked up over the words of strangers. There was no use in letting his wrath control him once more—it would only end up with more names added to the list. On he went down the traveller’s road, singing as he went, doing his best to ignore all those screaming as they came across him. And there really were a lot. Just where were they all going?

  * * *

  ‘Good morning to you, Perup!’ Reginald said as he burst into a familiar inn.

  Perup, the half-tiefling barkeep, barely looked up as the human man with a lute entered. ‘You alright, Reggie?’

  ‘Reginald, if you don’t mind, Perup,’ the bard said. He reminded Perup of this every time, and yet the man never seemed to remember.

  ‘Reginald, right. You alright?’

  ‘I am, as a matter of fact! My quest for redemption has gathered speed. The hero of this tale—me, you understand—finds joy in coming across so many to whom he owes apologies. But let us not forget that the rising action of the second act so often ends in the protagonist losing nearly everything. And that, my friend, is a fate that I am keen to avoid.’

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Perup threw a tea towel over his shoulder. ‘You want the usual then, eh?’

  Reginald took his usual seat at the bar, and nodded. ‘Four fish stews please.’

  ‘Right you are.’ The barkeep turned away, giving Reginald a moment to look around the tavern.

  Only one of the fireplaces was lit, Reginald noticed, the other devoid of either firewood or charcoal, having not been used for some time. And it was cold in here, Reginald noticed. Not for him, of course, but colder than other human people were usually comfortable with. The bard wrenched his head around to look at the other patrons and confirm, but he soon realised that there really weren’t many other people here—just one old man in the corner who had drunk himself either to sleep or to death, his upper body slouched over the table.

  ‘Slow day today, is it, Perup?’

  Perup reappeared from the kitchen just as the bard finished his question. ‘This is about as good as it gets these days, pal.’

  The aroma of simmering stew filled Reginald’s nostrils, and he took in a deep breath. The fish wasn’t as fresh as normal—not that it was ever entirely fresh—and it gave the human bard the impression that Perup had been selling the same batch all day. Times really were slow. ‘Where is everyone then, my dear friend?’

  ‘Gone,’ Perup replied, and he said it with such dramatic flourish that for a moment, Reginald thought he was talking to a fellow bard.

  ‘Gone? Gone where? Surely your usual customers—’

  ‘No, Reg’—Reginald resisted the urge to growl; this nickname was even worse than Reggie—‘they’ve gone too. All of them have. Fleeing that business in Tradum. I’d go too, but all my money is in this place. If I left, I’d be leaving my life’s work behind. Still, maybe that’s better than…’

  Reginald didn’t hear the end of that sentence, because Perup went back into the kitchen to retrieve the first two bowls of four of the fish stews. ‘May I ask, Perup, what’s in Tradum? What is there that people flee in such numbers?’

  Perup held Reginald’s gaze, and the human man saw fear in the barkeep’s eyes. Was it fear? Or was it shock? Reginald was never good with reading other human’s emotions. ‘You don’t know? You’ve been away too long.’

  ‘My excursion to the west has been not two months long. What could—’

  ‘Oh, that’s all it takes, my friend. Happened overnight, it did. Jak—one of the regulars here, he is. Or, was—he saw them come in. Hundreds of wagons. Or dozens. A lot, either way, all of them protected by a golden legion, and all of them bearing Queen Amira’s mark.’

  ‘She’s an Empress now, I hear.’

  ‘Right you are, Empress Amira’s mark, it was. And Jak, he says there was something in those wagons. Something dark. Something powerful. I don’t know what, not with any certainty, so don’t bother asking. All I know is, these wagons pull in to Tradum, and the next day, all word in and out of the city stops. Complete silence, just like that.’ The innkeep snapped his fingers.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I dunno, Reginald.’

  ‘It’s—’ the bard interrupted to correct the innkeep, then realised Perup had actually got his name right. ‘Carry on.’

  ‘All I know is, half of the residents are gone. Nobody knows where, at least nobody that came through here. And the other half, they’ve either fled for their lives, or they’re holding up in their homes, eating rotten food, never lighting a candle, not letting the soldiers know anyone is there. Because if they make a nuisance of themselves, they might get taken too.

  ‘I got a few theories on what’s happened, based on what…’

  But Reginald did not hear the rest of Perup’s information. His eyes had glazed over, and his mind was elsewhere… dreaming of future glory. Reginald could continue as he had already, apologising to those he’d wronged on a case by case basis, penning beautiful poetry all the while.

  Or, he could accept this call to adventure, and he could become the hero he’d always knew he was, deep down. Really deep down. Reginald would go to Tradum, and he would free its people.

  All of Alterra would know his name.