Maricall showed on the horizon as a flat line that grew taller with every mile.

  First we saw the wide fields. Ambergrain rippled on either side of the road, slow gold waves under the wind. Narrow irrigation ditches cut straight as spear shafts between them, their banks tamped hard. Here and there I saw the marks of earth?magic where the soil had been raised or sunk in clean, unnatural lines.

  Behind the fields stood the walls.

  The outer wall was not high by the standards of a coastal fortress, but it ran long and solid, a stone ring with watchtowers at steady distances. Smoke rose behind it in thin threads, and I caught glimpses of rooftops and drying yards beyond the parapets.

  The inner wall rose farther back, shorter in length but thicker, wrapped tight around a central knot of stone that had to be the keep. From a distance, the whole looked like someone had set a heavy, two?ringed bracelet down in the middle of the plain.

  It was nothing like Solstara. This was just earth, stone, accompanied by a flat reach in every direction. A place made to grow food and stop armies.

  "We're home," Elayne said softly from her saddle.

  Ragna leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Your walls look sturdy enough, but you could use watchtowers on those far fields too. Anyone could hide in that grain."

  Since when did she become a strategist? I looked at her in bewilderment.

  "They'd be seen long before they reached us," Dolan answered with a smile, but there was a thoughtful note in his voice. "Though I've said the same to the captain before."

  He was right about one thing. As we came closer, the outer gatehouse grew from a smudge to a heavy block of stone.

  The gate itself was open, but iron portcullises hung ready above, teeth dark with old oil. Marcellis colors, green and a goldish white, hung from the towers, moving lazy in the morning breeze.

  Guards at the gate straightened when they saw Elayne's banner. Some of them looked surprised and confused at the sight of Ragna and me riding with the convoy, but discipline held. They saluted and pulled the road clear.

  We passed under the shadow of the wall and into the city.

  Streets spread away from the gate in a rough fan. The outer district smelled of dust, animals, and baking bread. Two?storey houses of brick and timber leaned together over narrow alleys. We rolled past smithies, grain warehouses, yard after yard where ambergrain from the plain lay in covered stacks waiting for millstones.

  People stared. That never stopped being a thing. Children gaped at Ragna's club and my axe. Traders looked us over with quick, measuring eyes. A few older veterans watched the Marcellis knights with a look that said they were counting heads and armor dents.

  The inner wall blocked the view ahead, thicker and cleaner?cut than the outer. Its gate was smaller and heavier guarded. We waited there while Elayne rode ahead with a messenger. A runner vanished through a postern. For a moment, all we had was the clatter of hooves and the weight of old stone around us.

  I used the time to think.

  From what I've gathered while gossiping with these knights around the campfire, House Marcellis had old walls, old duties, and a shrinking share of the harvest that once kept them important. Some people saw that as an opportunity, while others saw it as weakness. The System saw it as a quest hook and had tied Ragna directly to their heir.

  Ambergrain, walls, and a girl we haven't met yet. I still had to reach Fenixia, but we were stuck here for a month because of Ragna’s quest. That wasn't a bad thing, I wasn't in any rush since this was a search mission, not exactly reaching from A to B points. I also had a world?class quest on my head that made all of this look like small politics. Yet small politics were always what killed you first.

  The portcullis creaked. The inner gate swung open.

  We rode into a tighter, colder space after that. The buildings here straightened up. I noticed whitewashed stone couples with tiled roofs and proper drains.

  The Count’s palace rose at the center, not as impressive as Isolde’s castle, but not a small thing regardless. It was thick, and its corners rounded in that Ethenian style that conveyed that they'd been here long enough to learn how siege engines worked.

  My eyes flashed to courtyards, barracks, and a training yard where a few spears were already glinting in the sun. Even from horseback I felt the layout. If invaders broke the outer city, this core could still hold for a long, bloody time.

  This is a fortress city, being so close to the Erebian borders and all. I realized. While grain seemed to be their main source of income, they had other responsibilities as well.

  We halted in a wide, flagstoned yard before the palace’s main doors.

  Elayne dismounted and passed her reins to a waiting groom. She looked serious.

  "I'll announce you," she said to me. "Please wait here."

  She went up the steps and vanished through the oaken doors with Dolan at her side. Tomas stayed with the wagons, trying to look like he wasn't watching Ragna.

  Ragna rolled her shoulders and looked up at the palace. "Their defenses make sense. Outer wall keeps rabble out, inner wall gives them a fallback. And that stone…" She tapped her club against the flagstones. "Good for stopping siege engines, terrible for climbing. Smart builders."

  "We've got ourselves a war genius," I was impressed she was noticing all this. Well, she always did. Her improved vocabulary just made it that she spoke of them more. "Thinking of settling down in a nice stone house someday?"

  She grinned. "Maybe. But it would need at least one wall of skulls to feel like home. Valtherian tradition."

  "You're making that up."

  "Am I?" She winked. "Can't have the neighbors thinking we've gone soft."

  We waited.

  Servants moved in and out of smaller side doors, carrying ledgers and trays, skirting around us with the practiced invisibility of people used to keeping out of knight business. A pair of older men in simple but well?cut clothes walked across the yard talking in low voices. One of them spared us a look that weighed and measured. No hostility. But some wariness.

  It was the kind of look you give to a sharp tool someone else brought into your house.

  Eventually, the main doors opened again.

  A steward in blue and white beckoned.

  "The Count will receive you now," he said.

  We left the horses with a groom, I gave mine a kiss on the forehead for carrying me for the last few days despite how difficult it must have been, and followed him inside.

  The great hall of Maricall was long and not particularly high, but it had weight. Thick beams, the stone pillars painted with old scenes of battles on plains and men in armor standing knee?deep in waterlogged trenches.

  A simple stone chair sat on a shallow dais at the far end. It had no dust at all.

  On that chair sat a man who could only be Count Severus Marcellis.

  [7th Ascension].

  His beard was trimmed short and had gone more grey than black. His hands rested on the chair's arms, and they had the look of a man who still touched real work now and then. I guessed from the calloused knuckles, faint scars, and ink on the side of his thumb.

  He looks strong. The man wore no crown, only a plain iron circlet worked to look like joined stones. And yet, the fact that he was stronger than King Asharion said a lot about Ethenia.

  A simple count, and he was 7th Ascension. Wasn't that crazy?

  Another man stood just behind his right shoulder, dressed a little finer, with rings on his fingers and a ready smile.

  [6th Ascension].

  Another woman sat a little lower on the other side, in richer fabrics. She must be the current Countess, from the look of her eyes and how a young man hovered near her. The boy had Severus's jaw and his mother's nervous hands. Lady Ilyra’s stepfamily.

  [5th Ascension].

  [6th Ascension].

  The son had surpassed his mother in power. Impressive.

  If I recall correctly, the woman’s name was Mirelle, and the son was called Paxten. I gathered all these from gossip. The 6th Ascension man standing beside the count has to be Cassian, the minister.

  So many people here. Were they having a meeting already? I wondered. Somehow, the eldest daughter, Lady Ilyra, was missing.

  Elayne stood to one side, helm under her arm, cleaned and straight but still bearing signs of the fight. She met my eyes once, then looked ahead.

  The steward stopped us a polite distance from the dais.

  "This is Thorvyn and Ragna Valteria of the Volcanic Islands," he said. "Honored guests of House Marcellis."

  Elayne didn't know about the events in Thalassaria, but I wondered if the count knew. He might, being a noble and all.

  Severus studied us quietly for a few heartbeats. When he spoke, his voice was low and even.

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  "This is a surprise. I’ve heard news about what your fellow Valtherian tribesmen have accomplished in neighbouring countries,” he said.

  That… meant he knew about the situation in Thalassaria. The two barbarian heroes. But the way he said it suggested he didn't know their names, and therefore thought Ragna and I were simply from the same tribe. It made sense since Maricall was far from Solstara. Without knowing about the teleportation circles, it'd be difficult to assume that we were the same group.

  “We're on a pilgrimage,” I said, deciding to stay low-key. “A lot of us are traveling the world, making a name for ourselves.”

  He nodded, “You are doing a good job at that. Sir Elayne tells me you broke Garrun of the Ridge and his entire company," he said shortly. "A man who's troubled our borders for three seasons, gone in a single morning."

  "He put up a good fight, Count," I replied, not addressing as a lord simply to test what he'd say. "Better than most mountain trash calling themselves bandits. Nearly took my ribs as payment."

  The corner of his mouth moved, just enough to count.

  "House Marcellis thanks you for your service, young warriors. The Red Ridge has been a thorn in our side for too long. You've given us some measure of justice."

  The minister stepped forward a fraction. "Your timing couldn't have been more fortunate. Without your intervention, we might have lost far more than a few wagons. Knights, provisions... certain irreplaceable goods." His glance went toward the side of the hall where a covered chest sat, half?hidden behind a tapestry. "Such debts aren't forgotten by our House."

  I caught the way Severus's gaze flicked toward Cassian on those "irreplaceable goods" and back. He had not missed the emphasis, and it annoyed him that a minister would speak so openly. He missed very little, I suspected.

  "Come closer," Severus said.

  Ragna and I exchanged glances and did.

  He reached to the side and picked up a small wooden coffer. He opened it, counted something quickly by touch, then closed it again and set it on the edge of the dais for me to take.

  "This gold should cover more than what you risked,” he said simply.

  The countess scowled. “Are you certain? We can't spare that much without stealing from my own fields before harvest. Our contracts aren't what they once were."

  The count shot her a look. It wasn't a good image for the countess to speak against the count's decision openly in front of guests. The woman fell quiet.

  I was surprised to hear that. So much crops outside, and somehow they weren't getting sales? How? Ambergrain wasn’t some niche product people struggled to move, it was a staple, it was grain cities lived on. Hardy, high-yield, easy to store, and even easier to mill.

  Dolan had been proud to explain what it was since ambergrain was the leading financial point of Maricall. Ambergrain was basically a better variant of rice, one could say.

  The endless plains around Maricall could feed armies for years. Which meant the problem wasn’t production, right? Unless Erebia’s drought reached this far, and just wasn't visible from above?

  I wondered what the secret was, but I wasn't particularly interested.

  I picked up the pouch of gold. It was heavier than it looked. Not the nation saving reward Isolde gave me, but still generous for a count whose ambergrain contracts were shrinking.

  "Thank you. We came for the job, and I appreciate a full payment."

  "A wise approach. I'd question a man who risks his neck for nothing but glory," Severus replied. "Those who know their strength's worth are usually worth knowing."

  The countess shifted slightly in her chair. Paxten watched us as if trying to memorize how you were supposed to stand when facing a barbarian.

  Severus folded his hands again. "Now that pleasantries are done, I must ask your intentions. You stood with my people when you could have walked away. That earns my gratitude, but also my interest. Do you plan to linger in Maricall, or are you simply passing through?"

  That was the question that mattered. Are you a threat, or a storm that will move on.

  "We'll stay for a time. On the way I saw that your city has a Mercenary Guild, and we need to improve our standing there. We're C?rank from Seagard, but B?rank would open more doors where we're headed."

  "And where might that be?" The minister asked, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.

  "The Fenixia Duchy, eventually,” I chose to be honest. “I'm searching for someone, which means I need reputation, coin, and connections that let a foreigner ask uncomfortable questions."

  It was more information than I usually gave to strangers, but sometimes a simple statement served better than a clever lie.

  Severus nodded slowly. "The Guild will welcome your swords. Maricall has work that isn't suitable for sworn soldiers. Keep your blades clean of innocent blood, and you'll find no obstacles from us."

  He did not offer rooms in the palace, like some other lord might have. That was alright. We were new, loud, and had already demonstrated how much collateral damage we carried. Letting us sleep inside his walls at all was already trust.

  "We appreciate your hospitality."

  He inclined his head. "Sir Elayne, see our guests to the gate and ensure the Guild knows they have my approval. Warn them about the property damage," he added, with what might have been the ghost of a smile.

  We backed away the proper distance before turning. Old habits from courts in another country slipped back easily. Backs straight, weapons at rest, and eyes on exits.

  The minister watched us go with that polite, almost warm smile that never touched his eyes. Paxten stared like he wanted to ask a question and didn't dare. The countess gaze slid past Ragna as if she hoped we were a passing storm.

  Outside, the courtyard was brighter.

  Elayne walked with us to the gate. "I'm happy you chose to stay. We are facing some monster problems lately, that should present a good opportunity for you guys."

  "That's good," I nodded toward Ragna. "We tend to involve ourselves in such things."

  “Better be strong monsters,” Ragna hoped.

  Elayne smiled at that. "May the Guild keep your blades busy and your purses full."

  We left the inner ward and passed back through the heavy gate into the outer city.

  As we stepped into the street, I glanced back once.

  An open window high on the palace's face caught my eye. A girl stood there, framed by stone and sky. Her hair was a pale green, braided back, and catching the light in a way that made it look like new leaves. She wore a simple, well?cut tunic, no jewels, but everything about the way she held herself said used to command.

  Our gazes met for half a heartbeat.

  Her chin lifted a fraction. Expression proud, curious, and not particularly impressed.

  Then she stepped away from the window and was gone.

  "Someone watching us again?" Ragna asked, following my gaze.

  "Just some noble with nothing better to do than stare at strangers," I replied.

  Ragna shrugged, nudging my side. "Come on. Let's find the Guild before you start collecting noble admirers in every window."

  We turned toward the lower streets and the part of the city where mercenaries and coin met.

  ****

  The Mercenary Guild in Maricall was not as loud as Seagard's, but it had the same bones.

  It sat three streets off the main road, a squat stone building with wider doors than it needed and a wooden sign carved with crossed swords and a shield. Inside, the air smelled of sweat, leather, ink, and old ale.

  A long counter ran along the back wall where clerks sat with ledgers and stamps. To the left there were benches and tables where mercs talked, argued, and lied. To the right, the quest boards rested. One for low ranks, one for mid, one for things that came with hazard pay and death notices.

  We pushed through the doorway and got the standard reception.

  Our sizes earned a quick glance from everyone inside, a longer look at our weapons and scars, and then a slow return to their own business when they realized we weren't the type they could pick on.

  There was no need for registration. Our Seagard plates still held value since this wasn't a separate guild but just a different branch. A clerk took them, checked the stamps, flipped through a seasoning of papers from other cities, and then his eyes went wide.

  “O-oh…” he blinked, reading a report on our record. It was the completion of the Princess Escort mission.

  He quickly cleared his throat, unwilling to garner attention.

  "C?rank, recognized," he reported. "You have an impressive record. First job and already such immense success, haha."

  Seeing his awkward laugh, Ragna leaned on the counter, smiling. "Trouble just kept finding us again and again, what could we have done other than giving it a beat down?"

  He looked like he couldn't tell if she was threatening him or warning him.

  I put a hand on her shoulder and dragged her toward the boards.

  Most of the lower-rank notices were what you'd expect, fields needing guards against beasts, small caravan escorts, a shepherd paying for help retrieving a lost flock from some nearby grove, or pest control in the granaries.

  My eyes skimmed over them. Pest control pays little but is quick. Field defense pays longer but bores you to death. Caravan escort means more chances to get pulled into family politics. I'd had enough of the last for a few weeks.

  One notice was pinned a bit crooked near the bottom of the mid?tier board.

  ===

  [C?Rank – Urban]

  Title: Infested Cellars

  Client: Guild of Bakers, South Quarter

  Details: Unusual rat activity reported in linked cellar network under three bakehouses. Previous attempts failed; beasts show resistance to common poisons.

  Reward: Per head, plus bonus if nests are destroyed.

  Notes: Expect tight spaces, poor air, and a lot of vermin.

  ===

  Ragna jabbed a finger at the notice. "This one! I hate rats. Sneaky little bastards that steal food and carry disease. In Valtheria, we burn their nests and salt the ground."

  "Really! I thought you'd want something with more of a challenge," I was surprised. "These are just rats, not even dire rats."

  She crossed her arms. "A rat bit me when I was little. Woke up with it on my face. I've had a score to settle ever since."

  I burst out laughing. "That explains so much about you."

  She shot me a glare. My gaze drifted to the higher board as I ignored her stare.

  The notices with impressive pay weren't blocked to anyone below B?rank, but the Guild wasn't ever shy about leaving them visible. Motivation, or intimidation, depending how you looked at it.

  One in particular sat near the top, printed on thicker parchment and edged in red.

  ===

  [S?Rank – Special]

  Title: The Hollow House

  Client: Private (through Guild Master)

  Location: Old manor two leagues north of Maricall

  Details: Long?abandoned estate shows signs of spectral occupation. There have been multiple attempts at purification by priests and mages but they've all failed. Nighttime manifestations often spread to nearby roads and several disappearances have been reported.

  Reward: 800 gold, plus rights to any recovered non?cursed artifacts.

  Requirements: S?rank party or combined A?rank squad. Guild approval mandatory.

  ===

  Haunted manor. Classic.

  I felt Ragna's presence at my shoulder before she spoke.

  "Spirits?" She stared at the notice with a strange expression. "Um…”

  “Huh? Are you scared??” I was stunned. “You, Ragna, scared of ghosts?”

  She grumbled. “No! Why will I be scared of ghosts? Ghosts don't exist. Mother used to say spectral creatures are just echoes of strong emotions, trapped in places where terrible things happened. They're not really alive, which makes them frustrating to fight. Can't hurt what has no real flesh."

  "But you just said ghosts don't exist?"

  "Shut up!”

  I dodged a punch and then we went back down to the mid board and pulled the rat notice.

  The clerk behind the counter took it, stamped our plates, and slid the paper into a ledger.

  "Report back here when you're done," he said. "Try not to knock down any walls. The bakers get angry when their ovens shift."

  "If their walls are already infested with rats, we might be doing them a favor by rebuilding." Ragna's tone was half-serious. "You ever seen what rats do to foundations over time?"

  He decided not to argue with the massive barbarian woman who could punch his head in. We stepped back out into the street.

  Ragna tucked the rat notice into her belt pouch and turned her head, nose already lifted to catch the smells around us.

  “Mmh… We should eat before we hunt," she announced. "I'm thinking roast meat with maybe some of that amber beer the knights kept talking about. Best to face the rats with a full stomach and clear head."

  "You just want to delay going into dark cellars. It's alright Ragna, I'll protect you from ghosts.”

  “You bastard, I told you I'm not scared!”

  I ran from her when she swung her club, and we followed the scent of roasting meat and fresh bread down a side street toward whatever passed for a good tavern in Maricall.

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