Just peachy, Arnzos thought. The life of a hired sword was treacherous enough. Not respected by colleagues, risking neck and limb for countries that care about you less than insects. And now, from powers out of his control, Arnzos found himself embroiled in the hardheaded sight of Warden Da’haz. All from that black cloud of smoke. What was that smoke?

  Da’haz pierced Arnzos’ soul with his voracious eyes. “Blue-scale! Spying on me, ‘re you?”

  And now, Da’haz made it word against word. The in-group viciously accusing the out-group. A few lackeys of the Warden stood by to reinforce his social circle, while Arnzos shrunk in his corner. No heads to back him up. Something, pick anything to say. Being silent was the worst path to go down. Arnzos threw out something quick.

  “Had to take a crap.” There was nothing Arnzos wanted more than to crumple up into a ball and be taken by the wind. “Needed some privacy. Obviously.”

  Da’haz’s goons got closer. Eerily nigh to their blades. A little war for the boys, as they were already starving for something new. And they could work to justify killing a mercenary. Arnzos could smell their hot, beery breath even from a way’s down.

  “Sure, lad. That’s the story you’re going with?” Da’haz said.

  “If you gut me, my corpse is going to lay logs.” Arnzos pointed to a random dreg. “Then, you’ll have to clean it up.” He directed his claw at another. “Or maybe you. It’s not a dignified job for a countryman.”

  The goons backed up. Confused and repulsed. Considering how Da’haz looked at his three dregs, he truly did believe that they would kill Arnzos and clean him up. But no. Perhaps for the Ultin. Anything for the Ultin, but not a chance for a lowly Warden. That angered Da’haz.

  As if he could muster any other emotion. His boys looked to him, like lost puppies.

  “What?!” the Warden growled. “He’s bluffing! He’ll say anything.”

  Still, they only stared. Unconvinced. If it was a bluff, it was too disgusting to play out. Da’haz muttered like an ape. Launching his sword from its sheath. Resolute and bloodthirsty. His boys watched, as Arnzos stood magnificently still. Everyone, mean-mugging each other.

  The Warden wanted to prove his superiority over his timid men, but even he tripped over the possibility of that… sight. And smell. Arnzos nearly began to laugh, seeing his mental trick swindle so unexpectedly. Ultimately, he did not. As Da’haz ultimately did not approach.

  Da’haz put away his sword. “I know you’re an ear-lover, merc. Ever since you left those elves alive. There’s something bigger than you, using you like a puppet. And I’ll find out what it is.”

  “I didn’t kill them because they didn’t have legs or arms to fight back with, you fucking moron.” Arnzos clipped.

  “Commotion!” A lighter voice announced. Aj-Malik, in a robe. Circled twice over by the most ironclad Ul-Baqshans Arnzos had ever seen. “Commotion, at a time which should be restful. I’m disappointed.”

  And back into the lap of wealth, fell Da’haz. Eager to lick boot. “I apologize profusely, your excellence!” Da’haz’s own dogs knelt in the mud too.

  “Yeah, I don’t care, dirtbeard. But you…” the Ultin graced Arnzos with acknowledgment. To his dismay, unfortunately. He was not exactly craving attention. “You seem like a special type of mortal, drah-a’ki. Although I am having trouble discerning why that is.”

  “I wielded Sunslash in battle yesterday, your highness.”

  “Ah! Indeed!” Aj-Malik beamed brighter than a noon sun. “You are quite… naked without it.”

  In a physical truth, Arnzos was quite naked. He had been out in this chilly mudland in nothing more than a cloth to shield his bits and bottom. Like a more human’s undergarment. All this had occurred with Arnzos a breeze away from involuntarily popping out his Arnzos Jr.

  However, Aj-Malik was also correct in the metaphorical sense. Arnzos always did well to keep his equipment close. For it had been months since he was caught by an antagonistic party unprepared. His ternamail armor, harvested from the shield-like appendage on a wild ternamo, gave him chances to slip up in combat. Without it, he’d better pray his enemy was underskilled. Dracokin scales seem like natural armor, but they rarely protected Arnzos from most piercing weapons.

  “You would be correct, sir Ultin.” Arnzos said.

  “I am always correct.” The unit of Aj-Malik’s bodyguards nodded in unison. “And I would like to continue sleeping. So, as a messenger of our beautiful Summit, I order you all to cease your infighting and return to your quarters. Anyone who dares to disturb my rest again will be flogged!”

  With no dispute, Da’haz fell into line. So did his followers. Since no promise of blood spillage was guaranteed, there was no reason to stay. They returned to their individual spaces. Tents ready to accept them. The metal strongmen guarding the Ultin clinked and clanked as they escorted him back to bed. Da’haz gave Arnzos a final look. As in, watch your back. Usual fare.

  But Arnzos still had a mystery revolving in his brain. The case of the green mist-woven woman. Either the pain of war was melting his perceptions or a more supernatural explanation would befit her. Oh well, thought the draco-kin. That was a problem for tomorrow’s self. Joining the rest of the troop in slumber, the camp fell quiet once more.

  In time, the blistering sun endowed its rays upon their settlement. Numerous puddles reflected its golden glory, as the soaked black dirt reached a lighter brown. Drawing the moisture from its glands. Thick, mossy vines and gargantuan trees danced to a light breeze. Whistling to usher in a new day. Of what? That would be for time to reveal.

  Out the earliest were the hunters. Assigned by their betters to collect meat and vegetables for their camp. Luckily for them, they settled next a trove of culinary fortune. To an untrained eye, the herbs and mushrooms housed in the muck looked sickening, but an artist in the field could ascertain what would make a decent meal. Contrary to the stereotypes Ontullia would have one believe, those from the Razsinate had an excellent taste in delicacy. Their appetite and palette was just a bit more… peculiar.

  Once the morning bounty concluded, hunters returned with flocks of defeathered meat. Raw, dripping thighs and drumsticks from various fowl aligning the treetops. Shot down by furious arrows. They gathered their game in a majestic mound. Ready for the chefs to chop, chop, chop. As the cooks deboned and butchered and simmered their birds, Arnzos lobbed himself in with the other sellswords.

  Forming a line beside Da’haz’s tent, it was his duty as a Warden to distribute the shinies amongst the herd. Faithful soldiers of Ul-Baqsha would have their coin upon their voyage home, but the sellswords? Underpromise on payment and you’d have a full regiment of deserters. Or even worse. Well-paid enemies with a grudge.

  Da’haz finished his transaction with a bulky minidrake man. Quickly snatching his bag of loot. And next! Next… was Arnzos. For both of them, confrontation was reaching an exhaustion point. Especially Arnzos, as he never got the fervor for fighting Da’haz in the first place. While the Warden thought up a million ways to humiliate the blue dracokin, he chose silence instead. Giving him his golden due. For whatever humiliation he selected would find some way to backfire on him. As he had observed from the last few instances.

  Now with golden due in hand, Arnzos aimed to exercise. Warm up his body for the day. He was stopped four steps away from the line, by a dwarf in the finest gear available. Black painted steel with orange accentuates. A giant spear protruding from his back. This was one of Aj-Malik’s personal Saf’yar. The royal guard. He pounded his chest, before holding out his fist to Arnzos.

  “The Ultin requests you.” The Saf’yar put down his arm. Locking it in place like a machine.

  “Is it possible to deny his request?” Arnzos asked.

  “No.”

  Arnzos wished for a battle to sweep the camp. Then he could evade all these dullards and their never-ending questions. “Lead the way.”

  Through a stiff formation, the Saf’yar marched along the wet nothing. With Arnzos in tow. They soon pushed aside the Ultin’s tent flaps, entering his little cloth kingdom. Around a dozen other Saf’yar stood impossibly still, stalking Arnzos like predators. They circled the inner border. Making attacks from any side unimaginable. Arnzos felt his nerves twinge. Someone plucking at them like a fiddle.

  While Arnzos pictured the Ultin’s war hut to be a lavish exhibition of his spoils, it was not that. At all. Few treasures and trinkets made a showcase, besides the gem-infused goblets, plates, and cutlery used on a daily basis. Instead, it gave off the impression of a… brothel? Candles everywhere, their scent invading nostrils. Pleasant, sure, but unexpected all the more. A tub of soapy water with crinkled sponges on a rug beside it. And one can’t forget the bed, fresh sheets pulled over the mattress. Pillows and huggables aplenty. Arnzos couldn’t lie, it looked very comfortable.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  However, the idea that all these candles and rugs and soapy baths were present while Arnzos was invited made him nervous. No harm done, he just didn’t fancy Aj-Malik in that way.

  Speaking of the Ultin, he appeared from behind the bed. A red fruit in his hand. Unpeeled. Currently losing its peel, as Aj-Malik scripped away its exterior. He grabbed a ripe slice, tossing it in his mouth like candy.

  “Good morning!” Aj-Malik chewed. “I never actually asked for your…”

  “It’s Arnzos Loftclaw, sir Ultin.”

  “A strong name. Your parents honored you well.”

  “Thank you, highness.” Arnzos said. “But, with all due respect, I’m confused as to why you summoned me here. I have nothing to offer you. Respectfully…”

  Aj-Malik overexaggerated his frown. Whining like a child. Ironically, Arnzos would hope. “You think so little of yourself, Arnzos. There are many deals we could make.”

  The Ultin’s wording was not making Arnzos feel any more relaxed. “Your majesty, if the deal involves me on the bed or in the bath or with candle wax on my—”

  “Huh?” The Ultin blinked rapidly. “What? Oh! You thought… that we would… and I… HA-HA! No, no, no. All this is for me. A clean body precedes a focused mind. A future Razsin like myself should not compromise any aspect of himself, even during a war.”

  He was an unusual sight, in Arnzos’ perspective. He presented like no ruffian, with only a thick bushy mustache to tie him to dwarven roots. Aj-Malik enjoyed wearing bracelets and headbands. Piercings in his earlobes. Long flowing articles of cloth wrapped tightly around his body; They likely cost more than half of his troop’s weekly budget. It was also likely his soldiers held a resentment against him, either for his wealth, his apparel, or rumors of his fancied guests. Aj-Malik blocked most of that out. He trained his whole life to do it.

  Arnzos had no strong opinions on the matter of who Aj-Malik fancied.

  “And I’m always looking for enhancements.” the Ultin kept on. “That’s where you arrive, drah-a’ki. Isn’t your kind of work tiring? Unfulfilling?”

  Arnzos could already sense where this conversation was heading. Every dwarf west of Fort Blavim had a fascination for Sunslash. That being said, Arnzos could entertain the prospect of the Ultin buying it. Chiefly because of his monetary difference compared to Da’haz. The proposition Arnzos gave to Da’haz might be feasible here instead.

  “All right, pleasantries are nice, but what’s your starting price for the sword?” Arnzos said.

  “Woof. You have not a playful bone in you, Arnzos. Very well. I would offer you five glintons for your weapon alone. I can accrue the money in around three days and have it transported to this camp.”

  That much wealth? For a simple artifact like a Sorcerum Construct’s arm? Five glintons… that would be five thousand shinies. A horde of coin like that could sustain the Loftclaw family for over a year. They spent frugally all their lives. It was etched into their core from childhood. Arnzos calculated costs in his mind. Medicine, meals, needs of all types. The essentials. It would be easier on their pockets if Arnzos’ sister didn’t live in a city, but that is simply where life took them. If a life of farming or fishing met them instead, the shinies wouldn’t be so quickly drained, but no matter. It didn’t benefit to think about the past like that.

  He had the proposition of a lifetime. And his loud, burning nerves were washed away like blood under rain. For once in many moons, he could afford to think of himself. Sweet, impending calm. It was so thrilling that Arnzos forgot to speak to close the deal.

  “To state the obvious, you will also be released from contract if you agree. Though I doubt you would complain about that.” The Ultin smiled warmly at Arnzos.

  He had not an iota of complaint in him. “I gladly accept, majesty.” Arnzos held out his blade. Hilt pointed towards the Ultin. “If you will. This weapon is no longer mine, after all.”

  Graciously accepted. Aj-Malik caressed the handle, slowly lifting Sunslash above his shoulder. He massaged the ridges and jags with his eager eyes, indulging in a new weapon won. Surely he was daydreaming of all the ways to decapitate elves. Or any daring beasts who believed they were superior to him. Perhaps just anyone who he didn’t particularly like. And Arnzos had no care in the world.

  It was like he dropped a boulder from his back. His muscles became lighter. More flexible. Like he could breathe fresh air, beyond the muck clogging his nose. It was all in his head, yet it felt so real. Soon, a mountain of shinies would arrive, letting all of Arnzos’ worries melt away…

  Then, he heard a crackle. A sound similar to meat being singed over a campfire. “Ow! Damn it!” Aj-Malik yelled, dropping Sunslash with a thunk.

  His entire Saf’yar circle sprang into action. Descending on Arnzos like starving hawks. Their spears practically flourished themselves. As Arnzos was forced to squeeze himself into the center of the tent. Steel at every angle. A single step forward, back or left and right would see him stabbed. He was trapped. No chance for a rescue or escape. He was still clueless as to what happened. Should he say something? Maybe he should talk. Try to explain what—

  The Saf’yar straight ahead of Arnzos took five steps back. Although one path was now free, it was still impossible to run through. Too many sharp heads to prick himself on. Though, why was the guard stepping back in the first place?

  And the Saf’yar propelled himself forward! The might of the Razsin powering him. Forth went the spear. Closing in ever so. Arnzos had no time to form a thought. He was about to die. Impaled on dwarven metal. So, he closed his eyes. And…

  “Wait!” the Ultin ordered.

  A mere inch away from Arnzos’ throat, the spear stopped. Arnzos shook. Thoughts returned to him. Knowing he was spared from death. He held his breath, not by choice but by habit. He opened his eyes and carefully… exhaled. Contemplating. Unsure of why the Ultin was harmed. Sunslash may have burned him, but it never burned Arnzos. In the entire two years its been his. Did it really bond with him?

  “I don’t understand.” Aj-Malik held his palm against his robe. “I’ve seen you in combat. Throwing this around without a burn on your scales. Could you enlighten me, then, as to why I can’t carry this for more than ten seconds?”

  “Maybe it got used to me.”

  Aj-Malik shot out a single heh. Then a few more. Heh heh heh. And then… full, uproarious laughter. Arnzos traded glances with a few of the Saf’yar. “Got used to you? You actually believe that?”

  “Truly, your majesty, I don’t know. It could be that. It could be that my scales absorb heat better than skin. It could be that the pyromancer that created the construct made it docile against dracokin.” Arnzos tapped his chin, still stuck in the circle of near death. “Could you wear… gloves? To stop the heat.”

  “I’m not charging into battle against the long-ears wearing mittens. It either submits to me now or the deal is void.”

  His Saf’yar guardians finally let up. Backing away. Their spears gladly pointed somewhere else. Arnzos gave them subtle nods. Respect, thank you, but also never do that ever again. They likely wouldn’t, as their master announced his will. Either Aj-Malik burned and the fault laid on Sunslash or he succeeded and this was all a small hiccup in a somewhat nerve wracking exchange. Then again, that was only Arnzos’ guess. Fate was fond of playing with him by jumbling expectations.

  The dwarven prince wasted not a moment taming Sunslash. Grasping it between his determined fingers. Unsurprisingly, the blade did not accept him. And with another spark of disobedience, Sunslash left its will on Aj-Malik’s palm. A deep burn. Accompanied by a yelp. It crashed into the dirt once again. Arnzos saw the horde of coin, laying in his mental palace, get stolen away. But he had to try to win it back.

  Arnzos rubbed his neck. “Just to be clear, there’s no way I can convince you to still honor the—”

  “Get this merc and his fucking sword out of my tent!”

  The royal guard followed his order. Arnzos stowed his sword, before he was pushed out of the tent by thirteen dwarves. Landing his ass in the dirt. His pants were caked in damp mud, making him grunt in disgust. Even as he tried to wipe it away, it remained on his fingers, turning his blue scales into a deep brown. Nearly black. All this just made him angrier.

  He might have to die in this useless war. Lose an arm or a leg or an eye just for payment. Just to give his sister anything. He was so close. There was so much coin. His lungs felt dense, making it hard to breathe. Like it filled up with bricks. His head felt hot. Almost a fever. Gnawing away. A headache was forming. In his peripheral vision, someone was coming up to him. A younger dwarf. Barely what one could consider an adult. If he didn’t leave right now, Arnzos was going to break his nose.

  “Excuse me? Are you Arnza?” he said.

  Arnzos couldn’t even look at him. “Kid, go bother someone else. I’m not in the mood.”

  “I just have some—”

  Red. Arnzos, blinded by red. It was boiling and bubbling until he grabbed the younger dwarf by the throat. Clenching his neck. He didn’t want to kill him, but he didn’t want him to keep talking either. Just… peace and quiet. If he could only have silence for one damn minute. Away from the yapping and drinking and singing and pretentious wealthy pieces of shit that dangle shinies over the needy, just to burst out in hysterics as they swipe it away. All Arnzos needed was some FUCKING—

  “It’s only mail.” the young dwarf croaked between gasps. “A letter. For you.”

  Mail. Arnzos hadn’t looked at what he was carrying. Properly giving the dwarf a second chance, he glanced at his hand. It was true. He carried a thin stack of letters. Increasingly crumpled as Arnzos still had his neck in a vice grip. Arnzos let go. He took a deep breath, coughing out all the strain pulped in his vocal chords. The dwarf anxiously handed over a letter. Arnzos took it, feeling some guilt wash over.

  “Sorry, kid. It’s not even noon yet and this day is testing me.” Arnzos said.

  The dwarf was too scared to speak. Arnzos understood, as he shrugged to ease the tension. But the messenger ran away before any tension could relieve. A smart play, honestly. Arnzos had no need to ponder about who sent the letter. He received many like this one. Every time they came, he hesitated to rip them open.

  For the news inside may crush him. And even if it was only good news, that would not guarantee it would stay that way. Nonetheless, the letter had to be read. He had no other way of knowing how his family was.

  With a draconic talon, he cut it open. And pulled out the paper…