The next three days were drudgery, and sorrow. We had to stay to help them rebuild, and bury the dead. Cal, the least injured, borrowed the Belt of Giant’s Strength first, but we all took turns with it, clearing out the debris for those that remained.

  Several families took their belongings, what remained of them, and left. Others slept in tents provided by the general store.

  The orcs left quickly, taking the bodies of their dead, and of course Crulga. Bernadette heard from the retreating orcs, that he had a brother who would be the one to receive the corpse for burial. Apparently, they feared his response.

  Helena was at first too injured to leave, and then she stayed so that I could try to fix the damage to her shoulder. I, luckily, had a lot of experience with that kind of wound, and the surgery went well.

  Helena had lost her teleportation scroll in the fighting. I messaged her father, Hector, so that he could pick her up.

  The Kill Crew, alongside Braelyn, some of the scouts, and Helena all drank together. It had been a long day's work, and we’d earned some Rest and Relaxation.

  The scouts gave Helena a wide berth, but Bernadette and Rachel seemed to be willing to get to know her better. I was interested too, but I didn’t want to crowd her.

  Bernie challenged her to darts. While I thought my partner was a shoe in for the top dart champion, Helena was no slouch. She had grown up here after all. I imagine she’d played a lot of darts in her day.

  Rachel also played, but was the first to be eliminated. Then Helena went for a risky bullseye. Bernadette stuck to the fundamentals. So in the end Bernadette won, but only just barely. The scouts cheered, and Helena sulkily sat back down with her ale.

  “So what’s the deal with you and the elf chick?” Helena asked Rachel once they’d settled back in their spots on the bench.

  Rachel’s eyes cut to Braelyn, who was across the room, typing something important into her slate. She bit her lip, and answered, “nothing really. Why do you want to know?”

  “I just want a clear understanding of my competition, and how hard I need to work.”

  “How are you still into me?” Rachel asked. “I stabbed you in the shoulder.”

  “Because you didn’t stab me in the heart,” Helena said, earnesty shining in her eyes.

  “You're crazy.”

  “Hey,” Helena said, hurt creeping into her voice. “I’m not crazy. I’m driven,” here she took Rachel’s hand. “I know what I want.”

  At that moment the doors to the tavern opened, and in walked Hector.

  Helena’s eyes lit up. She stood.

  Hector was not a tall man, but the tavern hushed when he walked in, and not just because he was a stranger. The man’s flinty dark brown eyes swept across people as he walked, lingering for just long enough for you to feel like he’d just torn every secret you had out of you with that glance, before he moved on, and you had time to think that maybe you were wrong. Maybe he was just a guy.

  He wasn’t just a guy.

  His chainmail shone darkly, each black link in the chain etched with gold writing in what I could only assume was elven. His tabard was beautiful white silk, with three black and gold butterflies flying in a circle stylized on it. A thick steel shield hung on his back, and a mace dangled from his belt pouch.

  His face briefly broke into a smile when he saw his daughter. Then it soured.

  She approached. The rest of the tavern pretended to go back to its conversation. I watched from my perch leaning against the post.

  “Papa, I’m sorry I —”

  “I’m just glad you’re safe. You are unharmed?”

  Helena worked her shoulder absentmindedly.

  “Well the traitors stabbed me in the shoulder,” she said, very pointedly not mentioning which of the ‘traitors’ had stabbed her, and also underselling the severity of the damage. Rachel had got her good. “But they fixed me up.”

  “Mírame,” Hector said, cupping her face and looking her over, “oh your cheek.”

  The cut on her cheek had nearly healed perfectly. The scar was faint.

  “It’s fine,” she said, but letting him baby her.

  “We do these things together. If I was here —”

  “You refused to come.”

  He dropped his hands to his side.

  “We talked about this. These people are a distraction.”

  “Are they? Or is your obsession with the Tyrant the distraction?”

  “Miha, everything in its turn. Come. Let's return.”

  “In a bit. Don’t you want to meet them?”

  Hector’s eyes cut over to me, then back to his daughter.

  “I admit to some curiosity.”

  They walked to the long table the Kill Crew had taken as their own, speaking amicably in Spanish as they did. I approached the table to greet them.

  “Hector,” I said, offering my hand.

  Hector’s eyes bored into me, and they darted around my face as if searching for secrets. Then his smile broke wide and he took my hand, and shook it.

  “The Traitor Zachary,” he said.

  His handshake was strong, the kind of rough masculine shake that I wasn’t used to.

  “Well,” I said, shaking my hand out a little, before I became too self conscious about it, “that’s a matter of perspective, yeah? But you can just call me Zach.”

  “Sure, Zach,” he said, sitting on the bench next to his daughter. “You’re a terrible chess player.”

  “I like to play fast and loose,” I said. “And besides, a real army needs to adapt to the changing environment. In a real battle, a fluid approach would be more beneficial than simple chess strategy memorization.”

  “Interesting theory,” he said, taking a carafe of wine, and pouring himself a drink. “But I find winning to be the best indication of sound strategy.”

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  I sat down on the other side of him, and poured a drink for myself. It was only my second of the night.

  I put my monocle in. His stats were the same as last time.

  Hector, level 17, and 152hp.

  That meant that he hadn’t done a whole lot of leveling up since last we met. Not outside of the ordinary. Judging by his chess playstyle, he liked to take his time considering his next move.

  Maybe I could get him to make a mistake.

  Bernie sat opposite us. I introduced her as my partner. She had a brief conversation with Hector in Spanish, then he turned to me and said, “I like her.”

  “Thanks!” I said. “She’s the love of my life.”

  Hector smiled in a way that made me think he knew something I didn’t, or that I’d missed something.

  “She’s lovely. And who’s this?” He asked, gesturing to Rachel.

  “My friend from beyond the blue door. Rachel.”

  “Heyo,” Rachel said. “Your daughter is quite the fighter. Clocked me real good with the haft of her axe.”

  “Hah! That sounds like her.” This next part he said in a lower voice, directed at Helena, “?Por qué no simplemente matarla?”

  “Papa! I tried.”

  “Okay,” he replied, holding his hands up in defeat.

  After some more conversation, the barman brought another carafe. He also brought a kind of four person checkers called Elven Succession. Rachel and I took one side. Helena and Hector took the other.

  As the barman left, I wondered about his ethnicity. He had features I’d describe as East Asian, like Captain Wen, but didn’t have a monolid. His dress was also a little different, more colorful, but maybe that was more attributed to his wealth as a business owner.

  I’d spent so much time paying attention to all of the Fantasy Races in this world, that I hadn’t spent much time thinking about the ethnic, and cultural differences among the humans. I briefly considered just going up and asking him a bunch of questions, but decided against it. Dude was just doing his job. Maybe I could ask Rachel later, since she’d been here longer.

  I briefly considered my own biases, and point of view. I’d been trained to see race my whole life, and for good reason. In college, I’d learned all about the idea that race was a constructed concept, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t important. Race informed culture, informed opportunity in the United States. Neither of those things are trivial.

  Here, nobody talked about the fact that my friend Caleb had black skin, or the shape of the bartender’s eyes. They talked about elves and orcs and humans. I wondered if maybe race here was just as constructed. Elves were lithe, Orcs were strong, but were they really so different? Were there not dextrous elves? Wasn’t it true that elves raided the south of Caleb’s kingdom because they lacked resources, just like how orcs raided the north?

  After that last battle, I’d killed plenty of both.

  I tried to focus on the moment.

  So, we played Elven Succession. Rachel and I made a good team. The rules weren’t exactly like checkers, but it was close enough. Each of the two teams had special moves they could do. Our team had the ability to ‘mark’ pieces with a coin to make them immune to being jumped. Luckily, this game was relatively new to all of us.

  I was the clear weak link. I didn’t have the head for game logic. Hector and Helena didn’t like to coordinate strategies even though they were both very good, so it all came out to us all being fairly well matched in the end.

  In the game of Traitors vs Queensmen, the Traitors won 5-to-4. Laughter rang out as Rachel executed the final move, and Hector stood to talk to the barman about food. Helena seemed in a good mood, and moved to sit next to Rachel.

  Across the hall, Braelyn stood by the fire.

  She’d put up her slate, and stared out the window into the night, her green eyes almost glowing catlike in the gloom. She wore her heavy fur cloak open in the stuffy tavern. The firelight shone in her golden hair, and lit off the silk in her low cut gown.

  She looked beautiful tonight, and I wondered again what the hell Rachel was thinking that it was even a debate about what woman was more worthy of her time. But I wasn’t Rachel, so maybe things were different from her point of view.

  On a second glance, she also looked so alone, so separate from us. Why was that? Did we make it hard on her, or did she remove herself?

  I glanced back at Rachel and Helena, facing each other on the bench, laughing at some dumb joke one or the other had made. Helena’s dark eyes were creased in mirth, and her wide, powerful frame turned in toward Rachel’s, like a flower chasing the sun. Rachel had a hand on her thigh, ostensibly to keep from falling over in laughter. But, I knew better.

  I tried to see what Rachel saw in her. Helena was short, but powerfully athletic. She had this energy that was thrilling to be around. She wore makeup, lipstick and foundation, that looked nice on her. Her figure was feminine enough.

  Her blonde hair was not the golden blonde of an elf. It came from a bottle, and looked like it.

  Then I realized that I was looking at her like a man would. That I’d been looking at both of them like a man would. And anyway, what did any of this have to do with me?

  Well, I didn’t want Rachel to date someone that wanted to kill us. That was something to consider. Past that, I didn’t want her to date someone that would break her heart.

  It’s not like I was Machiavellian enough to influence her either way, though.

  Helena noticed me, and gave me a curious look. Rachel noticed me too. I sat down next to them.

  I’d been doing a lot of thinking today around my point of view, and how limited it was. I’d been in my head all night. If I was gonna get Helena on my side, I needed to loosen up a bit, and treat her as she probably wanted to be treated, a respected warrior and potential ally.

  “Sorry for staring," I said. “But I’m trying to figure you out.”

  “No problem,” Helena said, in a way that implied that there could have been a problem, if she had been in the mood for it. “Not a lot of girls like me here. I get it. But you’re a Texas boy, yeah? I bet you've seen a latina.”

  “Sure! They didn’t have arms like you, though.”

  “Course not,” she said, putting a hand behind her head casually, and flexing her glorious bicep. “Easy to get gains here. Especially when the Queen is feeding you.”

  I grabbed what I hoped was my cup, and leaned an arm on the table.

  “So, what’s your pre-workout?” I said before taking a sip.

  “You jest,” Helena said with a laugh, “but I actually did devise my own pre-workout. Basically a savory polenta with soupstock, sausage — maybe I’ll text you the list. It’s pretty fuckin’ good.”

  “No shit? I’ve just been eating cheese, and bread.”

  “No wonder you got no gains, baby boi!”

  “Hey, my body’s changed a lot since I got here. I’ve gained like ten pounds in five months.”

  “Oh,” Helena’s face softened. “I forgot about that. You really are just a baby.”

  A shadow descended on us.

  “Helena,” Braelyn said.

  “Hmm,” Helena replied, crossing her legs, and leaning back on the table behind her with nonchalance.

  “My name is Braelyn.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Helena replied. “I think you’re one of Caleb’s guys.”

  I noticed she didn’t say ‘the King,’ or even ‘the Tyrant.’

  “We’ve met. You hit me with an axe handle.”

  “I was attempting to hit you with the other end. Lucky break, huh?”

  “Quite. May I talk to Rachel in private?”

  “I’m sure she can do what she wants.”

  Rachel stood.

  “I’ll be back soon,” Rachel said. “Then you can be on your way.”

  “Take your time,” Helena said, eyes cool.

  Braelyn took Rachel close to the fire. Their conversation was too quiet to overhear, but I could tell by their posture that it was fraught.

  Hector came back with bread, a roast duck, and another carafe, balancing the tray in a way that told me he may have been in food service at one time. I’d always stuck to retail as a kid because I knew how thankless those jobs were, and I wasn’t confident in my ability to bring in tips.

  I sought out my partner. She wore her combat silksteel, and it hugged her figure well, looked dressy enough. Her brown eyes shone with a secret learned, and her lips spread into a smile at seeing me.

  “Heya,” I said, sitting next to her. “What have you learned?”

  She kissed me on the lips. I kissed her back. I tasted wine, and honey.

  “Where’d you get the honey?” I asked.

  She laughed.

  “The only reason Helena hasn't joined us,” she whispered in my ear, “is because she hasn’t been able to convince her dad.”

  “Really?”

  “She’s smitten. Absolutely head over heels.”

  “I got that much. Rachel stabbed her, and that seemed to have just made her fall harder.”

  “Rachel’s at a crossroads. Braelyn is our best connection to Caleb, and if we have any hope of winning him back, it’s with her help. On the other hand…”

  “If we get Helena, we also get her dad.”

  “Bingo.”

  “I hope she’ll make up her mind.”

  “Sure. Maybe we can help her?”

  I’d forgotten something in all my introspection tonight. I may not be much of a schemer, but Bernadette was another story altogether.