Paul’s POV

  The inside of Paul’s hut was just as cramped as he remembered it. The inside of the keep would be much larger and comfortable for things like this. The vampire reminded himself to check on the keep when this was done to see if he could move in. It would be nice to get out of the tiny hut.

  Looking at the two spirits Paul formed hundreds of questions in his mind. He didn’t think he recognized any of them, but you never knew. One, an older man outside the walls during the attack, looked Anglian, but the others didn’t look like they were from Paul’s old home. The adventurers who killed Alaric were Anglian, he was sure of it, he couldn’t tell if this was the same group, or a related one.

  Paul motioned for Thaulia to come forward, “Name, order, and master.” He commanded simply.

  For a moment she looked reluctant before answering, “Thaulia Wispbrand Morren, the Ravenmoth Guild, and I apprenticed under Thrace Joivian.”

  He had never heard of any of them.

  “Where are you from?”

  “Port Viiriin.”

  “Where is that?” Paul asked.

  “To the west of the Deepwood.” Thaulia responded.

  West? Paul wondered. Why would people from the west attack him?

  “Why were you here?”

  “We were escorting and archeologist to investigate some ruins in the western portion of the Deepwood when Brother Athemar,” she nodded towards the other spirit, “noticed some undead activity so we came to investigate and kill the necromancer before he could establish himself and destabilize the woods.”

  “Is anyone going to follow you?” Paul asked.

  “No, we were not expected on either end.” She said. “We came to Anglia escorting an emissary who wanted to winter in Anglia, and we decided to return and take this side job on the way back.”

  Typical opportunistic adventurers.

  Paul folded his arms. “And what exactly did you hope to accomplish here?”

  Thaulia’s expression tightened, a flicker of humiliation crossing her face. “Containment. Undead spread like rot. If we stopped you now, the Deepwood would not become another western battlefield.”

  “Bold of you,” Paul said, “given how decisively you failed.”

  Thaulia didn’t answer.

  Paul gestured. “Show me your magic. All of it. You wield lightning… yet your attack tore metal from every direction. Explain.”

  A ripple of pride crossed her ethereal features. “Lightning is the base. Plasma is refinement. Magnetism is mastery.”

  Paul’s brow rose. “Plasma?”

  “It is lightning heated until matter breaks,” she said. “Few in the West reach it. Fewer survive learning it.”

  “And the metal I saw gathering at your feet?”

  “A magnetic invocation. Your goblin’s armband reacted first.”

  Paul absorbed that silently. Plasma. Magnetism. He had never even heard of such paths. Anglia never taught me anything like this.

  He pointed to the other spirit. “Brother Athemar.”

  The cleric stepped forward, stiff-backed even in death. “Ask.”

  “You serve?”

  “Tuaros, Lord of Depth and Tides,” Athemar answered without hesitation. “All undead are pollution of the natural cycle. All necromancers are desecrations. You should not exist.”

  Paul gave him a cold, blank look. “And you thought you could kill me.”

  “At first, yes, but we thought the necromancer a rouge apprentice.”

  “And now?”

  “You are beyond anything we expected.”

  Paul could almost respect the honesty.

  “What of the ruins you sought?” he asked. “Why here?”

  “The archeologist believed they were remnants of a great lizard-warrior empire,” Athemar said. “Ancient. Millennia old. Pre-Anglian.”

  “Lizardfolk,” Paul repeated. He had never seen one.

  “A myth, perhaps,” Thaulia admitted. “But the runes were older than any script we know. That alone made the detour worthwhile.”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Paul tapped a finger against his arm. Older than Anglia. Older than the Deepwood. He would have to find these ruins later.

  “Is anyone expecting you in Port Viiriin?” he asked.

  “No,” Thaulia said. “Our guild does not track returning routes. We were… freelancers, for this.”

  Paul leaned back. Good. That meant they would vanish from the world without a ripple.

  “Enough,” he said, voice firm. “You have given me what I need. Be silent until I call again.”

  The spirits bowed their heads and stood silently in the corner of the hut.

  Plasma magic. Magnetism. Radiant purification. West-city guilds. Ocean gods. Lizard empires.

  A web of new threats, and opportunities.

  Stepping out of his hut, Paul made his way to the living prisoners.

  The undead were already rebuilding the section of the palisade that had been broken through. Zombies and skeletons carried supplies back and forth and were patrolling the streets of Gravewell again. A few goblins seemed genuinely glad to see the valgul return and put an end to the destructive adventures.

  Paul entered the longhouse prison with Liora by his side. Vael stood in the room with Seren as they made their way around the building in continuous circles, keeping an eye on the bound prisoners.

  “Who is the archeologist?” Paul asked looking at the small group of four.

  The dwarf whose leg he snapped in half moaned as sweat built up on his forehead. The woof-elf woman looked around ready to cry, leaving two human men. One was the illusionist Magus Seris Valdor and the unknown prisoner from outside the city. Not waiting for anyone to answer his question he stepped in front of the last man.

  The man was thin and old looking with grey hair cut in a bowl around his head. Paul could tell the man’s hair used to be red. His eyes, though, were still a bright green and despite the fear in them, Paul could tell the man was ready to die at his hands.

  “What is your name, Archeologist?” Paul asked slowly, tilting his head as he examined the man.

  “Venni.” He said quietly, his meek demeaner reflected in his blue academic’s robes. The man looked like a teacher.

  “Why are you here, Venni.” Paul took one step closer, hovering directly over Venni.

  The archeologist had to crane his neck to look up at Paul, “I just wanted to study the ruins of the lizardfolk empire. They were an ancient people in the west of the Deepwood.” He swallowed hard.

  “And what did we hope to find?” Paul looked around the room at the other survivors, before looking back down at Venni.

  Venni’s bravado broke for a moment, and he looked ready to cry, “Just ruins, maybe some writings on stone walls, pottery, maybe.”

  “Why are you here?” Paul simply asked eyeing the man.

  “The ruins…” Venni stuttered questioningly.

  “No Venni.” Paul asked quietly, “Why are you attacking Gravewell?”

  “I didn’t want to.” Venni said, lightly crying now. “I just wanted to go to the ruins in peace, but…” He looked down.

  “I know, I know. You had nothing to do with this.” Paul said reassuringly.

  “So, I can go?” Venni asked looking up quickly.

  “No, Venni, you can’t.” Paul squatted. “You have seen me and mine and will tell others.”

  “I won’t. I swear.” Venni begged.

  “You know I can’t take that chance.” Paul knelt and brought a hand under Venni’s chip and gently had the man look at him. “But you are a man of education. Look around you Venni. My people could use your help… and who knows, if one day my lands stretch into the lizard-warrior lands, ruins could be explored.”

  Venni looked around at the others who were watching the two of them speak. “What about them?”

  “That will be up to them, as you are up to you.” Paul gently pulled his face back. “Will you stay and help me educate my goblins Venni?”

  The archeologist looked at Vael for a moment then nodded, “Yes, my lord.”

  “Good, good.” Paul said as he stood the man up.

  Together they walked to the end of the longhouse. A goblin was walking by.

  “What are you doing?” Paul asked it.

  The goblin jumped in its skin for a moment before looking back up at Paul, “Master, I was going to rest.” It looked down.

  “This is Venni. Take him to Krelgr to help with educating the young.” Paul said. He looked at two skeletons, “Follow Venni, if he tries to leave the village, break his legs and bring him back.”

  The undead walked off following the archaeologist and goblin. Walking back into the longhouse, this time he stopped in front of Magus Seris.

  “You are a more of a gentleman than I would have thought.” Magus Seris said.

  “Why, I am no goblin? I was raised and lived in Anglia my whole life.” Paul said as he examined the mage.

  “I have a mind tether and can be very useful as well.” Magus Seris said. “I can help educate goblins and teach magic.”

  “Why should I trust someone so quick to turn on his fellows and country?” Paul smirked.

  “Who have I turned on?” Magus Seris asked. “I was captured and don’t want to die. Just like in the Deepwood and Anglia, we have slaves in Port Viiriin. I was a slave once. I am more useful now and, treated well, can help you, Master, is it?”

  “And how do I know you won’t try to escape?” The vampire lord asked.

  “Escape where, with who?” Magus Seris asked.

  “You may not be a Magus anymore.” Paul informed the other mage. “I don’t have a lot of magic users.”

  “I am ambitious, my lord. I will build you what you need to require a Magus.” The older illusionist smiled widely.

  “Prove your worth and you will have all you need and more.” Paul bent down and untied the Magus.

  Magus Seris stood and bowed deeply.

  “Seren, watch him.” Paul commanded.

  “Yes, master.” The wraith responded.

  “A guard and first student.” Paul said as the two walked from the longhouse.

  The last two in the longhouse were a little more difficult to deal with. A dwarf, dwarves hated goblins. Unsure if the stout little creature would help defend his racial enemy, Paul moved on to the elf.

  “I am Lethira Shadowstep Varell.” Paul could smell her fear. “I’m a scout, and a good one.”

  “Didn’t see us coming.” Paul responded.

  “Wasn’t looking for you.” She snapped before looking down in shock of her own response.

  “What kind of scout isn’t looking for enemy armies in enemy territory?” He asked.

  Useless. An amateur elf scout who sided with a party of newbies. These weren’t adventurers on the same level as those that had killed Alaric. Snorting Paul left the longhouse.

  “Go find Eryndral.” Paul told a goblin guard.

  He bowed and left running. The small creature didn’t hesitate or look confused about where to go. It made Paul wonder if she had asked to be notified when he was done interrogating the prisoners.

  It didn’t take long for Eryndral to show up. Her long silver hair, no longer in its traditional ponytail but long and loose. Her glowing purple eyes locked onto him the moment she came into view.

  “Did you learn anything useful?” Eryndral asked.

  “There is an elf captive.” Paul said.

  “I noticed.” Eryndral looked inside doorway of the longhouse. “Is she local?”

  “From the west. Port Viiriin. Most likely used to be a slave before an adventurer.” Paul stepped close to her. “But I have a gift for you.”

  Eryndral raised an eyebrow while looking at him.

  “Don’t turn her, don’t kill her, and she can be a nice treat for you between goblins.”

  A wide smile crossed Eryndral’s face. “Thank you, my lord.” With that, she walked into the longhouse.

  “Liora,” Paul looked over at the wraith, “Have one of your wraithlings go get Grag. We will have a pen built to keep the dwarf in for now.”

  “You’re not going to heal him and investigate why they are here?” she asked.

  “I know why he’s here.” Paul said. “What I need now is for him to heal his leg and have nowhere to go and no way to get there.” Looking towards the keep, the vampire smiled. “Looks done.”