Coradiel swirled a glass flute, watching crisp white wine lap against the sides. Delicate bubbles ran down the glass in a mesmerising pattern, echoing the effervescent dance playing across his tongue.

  “That is most fascinating, Lord Scarnetti,” he said politely to a blonde man. Titus Scarnetti’s slightly wrinkled face and woollen scarf around his neck spoke of a noble who was getting on in age — Coradiel had seen more than his share of nobles waste away into fragile, ever-chilly caricatures of their former selves.

  This noble did not seem like he’d go gently. There was still a gruffness to him despite his outer appearance; a defiance of his impending doom. Sandpoint did not inspire softness in its people, that was for sure.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he watched a serving boy weave through the party. His balance was impeccable, and his demure offerings of appetisers was unlike anything Coradiel had ever seen from him. Arlo’s new hat fit him well, letting him blend perfectly with the Scarnetti’s staff, and the promise of gold had guaranteed the real servants remained quiet about the switch — after promising nothing lethal was intended, of course.

  Listening to Titus Scarnetti start another long-winded explanation of how one of the other nobles had besmirched his good name, Coradiel almost wished he was the one with the Hat of Disguise. He couldn’t beg out, not graciously at any rate. But Coradiel had been through worse. He could grin and bear this for a little longer.

  “Ah, Sheriff Belor.” The aiuvarin’s eyes brightened at the sight of the Shaonti. “Lord Scarnetti, I believe you know the sheriff,” Coradiel introduced smoothly as Sheriff Belor stopped beside them.

  “Of course,” Titus said, offering the man a dismissive bow.

  “What can we do for you, Sheriff?” Coradiel asked genially, ignoring the scathing glare from his partner.

  Nearby, he saw Arlo pause in his rounds, an ear angled toward them as the amurrun tried to listen in.

  “If you’ll please pardon my intrusion, I was searching for your companion, Arlo,” Sheriff Belor said. “There is a druid asking for him at the town gates; the man you left for Foxglove Manor with, I believe.”

  “I believe both Arlo and I informed Master Deer that our business together was concluded,” Coradiel said, his neutral expression slipping just slightly. “Regardless, I do not know the whereabouts of my companion. He asked that I make apologies for him, but the past few days have been most taxing upon him.” Schooling his appearance, the aiuvarin turned to Titus with an apologetic smile. “If I might be so bold, perhaps we may extend an invitation to Master Deer? After all, he was instrumental in bringing an end to the menace facing Sandpoint.”

  “Oh?” Titus raised a well trimmed eyebrow. “I would be delighted to hear his retelling of your victories over the goblins.”

  “Alas, Master Deer was not among the party when we defeated the goblins; however, he did help us find and end the murderer who had taken advantage of the chaos sown by the goblins,” Coradiel said carefully.

  “I am a gracious host,” Titus said with a smile that told Coradiel he would pay for this request. “Sheriff, please extend an invitation to this druid friend of Lord Arthien’s. We will await him in the dining hall.”

  The clink of silverware on plate was driving Arlo insane. It was almost as bad as the deafening murmurs of the entire table as everyone talked over each other.

  Candelabras hung above their heads, shining a soft flickering light throughout the room. In the corner of the room, a string quartet provided vibrant music that competed with the nobles trying to talk. In Arlo’s humble opinion, the entire thing was a mess. But everyone else seemed to be enjoying themselves.

  He wondered if the world had any aspirin. The amurrun could already feel the headache growing as he stepped forward to pour wine into a half-full glass. Probably not, he decided. Why create medicine when magic existed as a cure-all?

  And what was with this music anyway? It wasn’t mediaeval — if anything, he’d put it in the Baroque era. Not to mention-

  “Hss!”

  A serving boy waved at him. Glancing around, Arlo hurried to fill another glass that had gotten dangerously close to not being full. Across the table, Coradiel’s eyes met his, and Arlo forced his face into the slightest smile. This was where he belonged, silently scouting for information while serving filthy rich assholes.

  It startled him to realise he was now one of those assholes. Arlo was filthy rich by Golarion standards — the Hat of Disguise on his head alone would fetch him nearly a thousand gold. Enough for four months’ rent for his house. And that wasn’t even considering his enchanted musket.

  And what had he done with the money he had? Used it on himself. To keep him and Coradiel alive, sure, but he still had nearly two thousand gold left over, just rotting in a chest in his house.

  Blinking hard, the amurrun bit back a sigh. He’d have to change that when he could. Find a charity or something and donate at least half of that. Maybe Coradiel could help him find a place.

  Someone cleared their throat. Arlo rushed forward.

  CRASH!

  The room stuttered to a halt. Heads turned toward Arlo, nobles gasped as fur appeared and skin faded. Scrabbling frantically for his cap, Arlo shoved it back on… but the damage was done.

  “Sorry,” he muttered to the other server. “I didn’t see you. [Prestidigitation].”

  The spilled food and wine vanished with a wave of his hand. The man shied away at the magic, but Arlo just waved his hand again, washing away the stains on his outfit. Helping the man to his feet, Arlo hurried from the room.

  Fuck! Why hadn’t he watched where he was going?! Now everyone knew who he was, where he-

  He froze. Amidst a kitchen scurrying with frenzied activity, Arlo’s ears twitched. Was that…?

  Someone was screaming outside.

  Racing through the kitchen, Arlo grabbed his musket from the servants’ entrance to the manor.

  “Arlo, what happened?” Coradiel’s voice rose from the bangle on his wrist, one of a matching pair.

  “Make your excuses and meet me out at the fountain. Something’s happening in town.”

  He still didn’t know where the bangle was from. Arlo had found it in Misgivings, and when he put it on — after making sure it wasn’t cursed — he could hear Coradiel’s voice. Coradiel said something about a gift from Arshea, but Arlo had his doubts.

  Still, it was immensely useful for times like this. Times when he could hear screams from the town below them. A light flashed — magic was being cast by the gates!

  He swung his musket down. Loading it hurriedly, the amurrun peered down at the town. Specifically toward the north gate, where firelight seemed to be spreading. Shadows passed over the walls, and Arlo squinted, trying to see what-

  “Arlo?”

  He yelped. Turning on Coradiel, Arlo scowled at the paladin.

  “Stop sneaking up on me!” Before Coradiel could protest, the amurrun pointed toward the gate. “Can you see what’s going on over there?”

  “No, but we’re about to find out,” Coradiel said.

  “Your sword’s at my house, and I need to grab my potions,” Arlo said, clapping Coradiel’s arm. “[Fly]!”

  He screamed as Coradiel scooped him into his arms. The paladin leapt into the air, speeding toward the town below. They were at Arlo’s house a minute later, scrambling to collect their gear. Another minute passed, and the two touched down at the northern gate.

  Arlo dropped from Coradiel’s arms, eyes wide. Through the portcullis, he could see nearly thirty ghouls trying to break the iron bars.

  “Arlo! Coradiel! There are ghouls crawling out of the Turandarok!” Sheriff Belor yelled as they landed.

  Arlo paled at his words. That was clear across the town! And there was no gate over there to contain them! But if they left these ghouls alone, who knew how long the gate would last?

  A ring of light flooded out from the middle of the ghouls. Arlo saw several of them stagger, turning their attention toward-

  “Ushara,” he growled.

  “Arlo! Go to Turandarok!” the Deer called, standing on the wall above the gate. A short creature stood beside him, plinking away with a bow — was that a kobold?!

  He didn’t have time to question the Deer’s choice in companion. Grabbing hold of Coradiel, the amurrun urged the paladin into the air again.

  “Schooner Gulch Road!” he called. “And… when this is over, we split town tonight!”

  “Got it!” Coradiel called as they sped over roofs toward the nobles’ houses.

  Arlo picked out a group of ten ghouls clambering across the Boggy Creek bridge. He dropped from Coradiel’s arms, rolling with a loud oof as he landed in the dirt. Picking himself up, the amurrun levelled his musket at the group of ghouls.

  “[Burning Arc]!”

  Fire erupted from his weapon. A bolt of pure flame shot into the lead ghoul before deflecting to the creature behind it. Both dropped to the ground.

  “You!” A ghoul bullied his way to the front of the pack, teeth gnashing and claws gleaming in the dim moonlight. “You brought us here! You assaulted our homes, killed our brethren. Did you think we’d let that go unpunished?”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “I didn’t know you could think at all,” Arlo said as Coradiel stepped up beside him.

  “How do you know this beast?” the paladin demanded, unsheathing his estoc.

  “He tried to kill me the night Ushara paralyzed me and abandoned me to die.” Arlo shrugged, levelling his musket. “So… ready to see what my weapon can do?”

  Snarling, Jediah Kheln charged forward.

  CRACK!

  The ghoul stumbled, a hole blasted through his heart. He pushed onward, snarling in pained rage as his companions followed.

  “[Disrupt Undead]!”

  Another ghoul shrieked as it was cut down by Arlo’s spell. The amurrun reloaded frantically. He threw out a hand, aiming just before Coradiel.

  “[Grease]!”

  Instantly, six of the ghouls slipped and crashed into the ground. Coradiel began stabbing into them, his blade steadily growing black with the blood of undeath. Arlo turned his attention to the ghouls still standing.

  “[Burning Arc]!”

  Another blast of fire struck Jediah squarely in the chest as he leapt for Coradiel. The ghoul fell back from the force of the blow, collapsing atop his allies. He did not move from where he fell.

  The other ghoul was luckier. He stumbled, but kept going until he crashed into Coradiel. Teeth gnashed, and the aiuvarin cried out as a chunk of flesh ripped from his shoulder.

  CRACK!

  The ghoul flew back, skull caved in by Arlo’s bullet. The creatures slipping through the grease, only to be destroyed piecemeal by Coradiel’s estoc plunging through their heads.

  “So…” Coradiel leaned on his blade, panting quietly. “You want to leave Sandpoint?”

  “Ushara tried to kill me. She’s back in town,” Arlo started. “The Deer is an accomplice to my murder. He’s back in town and has a kobold in tow who may or may not be Kaesi. I say we head out to Foxglove Manor for the night, then make our way to Magnimar tomorrow morning. We still have Xanesha to track down.”

  Coradiel frowned, but nodded slowly.

  “Alright. Get out of town. I’ll help the others finish off the ghouls, grab Jack and Diane and come find you.”

  Arlo reached out, running a finger over Coradiel’s freshly healed arm. Coradiel didn’t seem worried about the bite — maybe he knew something Arlo didn’t about ghoul fever.

  “Will you be okay?” There was still a lot of fighting and screaming. If he could stay and fight, Arlo wouldn’t hesitate. But the moment the ghouls were gone, the Pharasmin hit team would be trying to kill him next.

  He’d take that risk if it meant Coradiel was safe.

  “I’ll be fine. I’ve got Ushara watching my back at least,” Coradiel reassured him.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Arlo muttered. “I’ll meet you at Misgivings. I’ll be just inside the entrance hall.” Turning away, the amurrun cast his spell, and leapt into the air.

  Coradiel was gone from sight within seconds.

  Misgivings was dark, quiet. It maintained the same gloomy atmosphere that had greeted Arlo on his first visit.

  This time, however, there was no spirit whispering that he was better off dead.

  Not that dealing with that voice was hard. He’d lived with it his entire life… at least one of them. Sure, maybe he’d succumbed once. Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe his memories were all placed there by the lich to fuck with him. Arlo couldn’t know.

  He was here now, in a world of magic, with a man who loved him and a life he’d always dreamed of. Of course, his dreams had glossed over the tiny details, like the mortal terror of almost being eaten alive by undead. He’d have to be more specific with his dreams in the future. Maybe they’d send him to a nice tropical beach where he could relax and not have to worry about a thing.

  Forcing the front door closed behind him, the amurrun ducked into a dark corner of the entrance hall. He was spoiled for choice in his selection. As long as it wasn’t near one of the gruesome trophies lining the wall, Arlo was happy.

  Fatigue weighed him down. Eyes blinked heavily as the adrenaline of the night faded. Arlo took a deep breath, and reached for the tattoo on his back.

  “[Keep Watch].”

  The exhaustion fled in the face of magic, and Arlo sighed as he sat in a spot devoid of mould. Most of the hall seemed cleaner somehow, as though Vorel’s malignant spirit had kept the house in disrepair. Without the spirit to ruin everything, the house could be sorted out easily enough, albeit with a lot of work.

  Arlo was almost glad he wasn’t the one responsible for it all. Though having a manor like this — one that wasn’t haunted, of course — would be nice.

  As he waited for Coradiel, Arlo worked on his musket. Magic would interrupt his vigil, leaving him exhausted, so the amurrun was forced to make do with good old fashioned elbow grease. He scrubbed out the barrel, removing any residue from the lead balls he used. Maybe it would be better to switch to the cold-iron ammunition he reserved for creatures like the quasit he and Coradiel had fought. But those were much more expensive to cast. Besides, half the time, cleanup was as easy as casting a [Prestidigitation] down the barrel. He’d stick to lead for now.

  As he cleaned, his mind turned to Coradiel. More specifically, to the ghouls the paladin now fought without him. Arlo had awakened the ghouls’ rage the night Ushara had tried to kill him. Shouldn’t he be there fighting the creatures off with Coradiel? But the aiuvarin had let him go freely. Was it a sign of cowardice to flee the battle early?

  Probably.

  Arlo sighed quietly. Sitting alone with his thoughts had never done him any good before. Why should it start now?

  He replaced the rag he used to oil the barrel, and stood up. Slinging the musket over his shoulder, the amurrun walked deeper into the house. It didn’t take long to reach the library, and Arlo spent the next few minutes craning his neck to find a likely tome. Varisian history… Magnimar politics — that could be important, but Arlo didn’t want to deal with politics right now. Something lighter was in order — like the entire known history of ancient Thassilon.

  He pulled the tome off the shelf with a grunt. Setting it on the floor, Arlo grabbed a wax stump that might once have been a candle.

  “[Light].”

  Instant fatigue washed into his bones as the stump glowed. Arlo groaned, switching to his own spellbook. It took only a moment to find the spell he needed, and the mage brushed a hand across his torso. “[Keep Watch].”

  It was a waste of a spell slot… but at least now he knew that even the simplest spell could disrupt the magic that kept him from needing sleep. Turning back to the Thassilonian tome, Arlo blew a layer of dust away and opened the thick book.

  All he found were lists of accolades. Dozens of researchers listed their names throughout the book, and half of their entries were just them applauding themselves for having found the proofs they were looking for. Arlo found only one person who seemed more interested in actually listing the proofs he’d found. One Brodert Quink, who was soundly debunked by nearly every person to follow him, at least when they weren’t busy praising their foresight to cast a light spell.

  One note Arlo did find was the Runelords. Wrath was Alaznist, like he’d thought. Lust was Sorshen, Envy was Belimarius, Sloth was Krune, Gluttony was Zutha…

  “Come on. Where’s Greed?” Arlo muttered, flipping a page. “Brodert, you ass, where is Greed?”

  Karzoug. That was it. That was all Quink had written about the subject. He seemed more interested in Sorshen, going so far as to sketch (poorly) pictures from a statue he claimed was hers. Others decried the statue as merely a statue of Shelyn, though one person pointed toward Calistria.

  But he had a name now. Something to research.

  “Arlo?”

  The amurrun closed the tome, coughing quietly in the sudden dust cloud. He returned it to the shelf, feeling… somewhat accomplished.

  Grabbing the candle, he stepped from the room, forcing himself to stay to a slow walk. Arlo held the candle high, looking around the hall until he found Coradiel hurrying toward him.

  “You said you’d be in the entrance hall,” the paladin accused.

  “The voices in my head needed quieting.” Arlo shrugged.

  “Voices? The Deer promised this place was empty.” Coradiel glanced around suspiciously.

  Arlo shook his head quickly. “No, just… depression and stuff,” he brushed off vaguely. “There’s nothing here. Of course, I haven’t touched the basement. I wanted to read some books while I waited.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “Is the town safe?” Arlo asked, looking Coradiel over again.

  The paladin seemed to be in one piece. Arlo couldn’t see any cuts or scrapes on him, and his noble garb was whole — wait, hadn’t Coradiel picked up a Living Garment that fixed and cleaned itself? Arlo sighed. No more seeing the paladin half-naked after a fight.

  “You know, you’ve come a long way in a short time,” Coradiel said. He reached forward, a hand cupping Arlo’s cheek. “Before, it was furtive glances. Now you look at me openly with lust. You can just ask for what you want.”

  “The town…” Arlo cleared his throat, blinking away the image of Coradiel’s warm topaz eyes. “Is it safe?”

  “Yes. By the time I reached the North Gate, the main force of ghouls had been dispatched. The Pharasmins are currently burying the deceased, and a cleric of Sarenrae is casting removal spells on anyone bitten by a ghoul. I grabbed our horses and hurried out here before anyone could follow.”

  Coradiel let his hand fall. Instantly Arlo missed his warmth, but it was for the best. He certainly didn’t want to have a romantic liaison in this decrepit place.

  “A team of inquisitors infiltrated the Paupers’ Graves while the rest defended Sandpoint. Leaving town was definitely for the best.” Coradiel hesitated for a moment, glancing down. “Ushara… told me what happened. I never should have let you go with her.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have. And I should have refused,” Arlo pointed out. “But we’re okay now. We’ll get to Magnimar, find out who Xanesha’s master is and why they’re trying to emulate Karzoug-”

  “Who?”

  “The Runelord of Wrath. Maybe sacrificing greedy souls is necessary to become a Runelord?” Arlo frowned. He could guess all night long and it wouldn’t help them. They needed concrete information, and the only way to do that was to head to Foxglove’s townhouse. “I just hope that we have a chance to take a nice long break after this whole mess is dealt with,” he finished.

  “Yeah… about that….” Arlo’s heart stopped at those words. Those were never good words. “I’m probably going to sell my house,” Coradiel said. “The Pharasmins can find it easily, and it wouldn’t take long to track us down there. We might need to move far to escape their wrath.”

  “Wait…” Arlo’s head spun. What was Coradiel talking about? He couldn’t be homeless! “You-”

  “Arlo, I’d do anything to keep you safe,” Coradiel interrupted. “Losing you… I lost part of myself. I never want to go through that pain again. If that means I live the life of a vagabond, on the run, so long as it’s with you, I will be happy.”

  Tears prickled Arlo’s eyes. Swiping them away, the amurrun laughed.

  “You sappy fucker….”

  “Wha-”

  His body crashed against Coradiel. Arlo wrapped his arms around the paladin tightly. A sniffle echoed through the entrance hall, but Arlo didn’t care. He just pressed his face into Coradiel’s chest. Warmth caressed them both in the draughty hall. With the mage-light enveloping them, Arlo could almost imagine an angel pushing them both together.

  He pulled away reluctantly. Sniffling, wiping his eyes, the amurrun pointed toward the library.

  “It’s pretty clean in there now. You should get some sleep. I’ll stand watch, make sure no one followed you here.”

  “No one followed me,” Coradiel promised. “We can both-”

  “No. Not until we’re in the city,” Arlo interrupted. “It’s better to be safe.”

  Reaching into his bag of holding, Arlo pulled out a bedroll and a blanket.

  “Now, do you need me to tuck you into bed?” he teased.

  “What would you do if I said yes?” Coradiel challenged.

  Snorting, Arlo rolled the bed out. He pushed Coradiel toward the bed, pressing until Coradiel lay down. The amurrun threw the blanket over him. Through it all, the paladin just grinned up at him.

  “There. Now get to sleep. I’ll adjust the candle for you.”

  Grabbing a bunch of books, Arlo built a small wall and set his light behind it, so the brightness was kept out of Coradiel’s eyes.

  “I knew you cared about me,” Coradiel said, watching him work.

  “Bite me.”

  “Gladly. But you’ll have to come over here for me to do it.”

  Arlo rolled his eyes. He collected another book and lay on the floor to read. Minutes later, he heard the soft breathing of Coradiel asleep.