I studied Fabulosa to see if she was serious. Abandon Hawkhurst? Was she crazy? I beckoned her to walk from earshot of the onlooking citizens and lowered my voice. “What are you talking about? When we get a temple, we’ll have Holy Smoke—that’s an instant redo. It’s like returning to a save point, but we can only invoke it inside the settlement borders. And it’s a blessing, which means it can’t be Counterspelled.”

  I didn’t care how upset I sounded. Darkstep wasn’t a reason to panic. He might have eyeballs in every city on the continent. Besides, being the paranoid one was my role in the relationship, not Fabulosa. Where was the intrepid, trash-talking show-off who whipped my butt a week ago?

  Fabulosa took time responding as if she carefully chose her words. “Patch, do you think you might be too close to the game?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not sure you realize we’re surrounded by NPCs. We’re just playing a game. The whole point of Hawkhurst is to improve our standing in the battle royale. We could leave this place tonight, and none of the NPCs would be any worse off.”

  I gaped in disbelief, but she waved away my outrage.

  “The Book of Dungeons is immersive. As C-belle would say, ‘That’s a given.’ Going native is only natural when surrounded by so much realism.” She rapped her knuckles against a post in the motte and bailey. It sounded resonant, like thick wood. “But I’m getting vibes that you’re not playing the contest anymore. There are players out there trying to kill us.”

  “Exactly—which is why running a town is so advantageous.”

  Fabulosa pointed to my nameplate. While I couldn’t see my own, I could see hers read—Fabulosa, Level 30, Lieutenant Governor of Hawkhurst. “Really? Walking around advertising our location to enemy players is a smart play? If anything, your base-building is putting you and everyone else here in danger.”

  Her argument had merit. Scry allowed players to observe one another, requiring only rank 21 in light magic. It allowed a few seconds to see what another player saw. It didn’t reveal map locations, but the distinct mountain ranges gave hints at our location.

  Miros had few lakes the size of Otter Lake, so anyone with a global atlas could easily pin us down. The Improved Eye in Malibar synergized with Scry. Anyone seeing my face with Improved Eye could see through my eyes without me knowing.

  I turned away, too upset to look at my partner. She’s been shacking up with the weapons trainer and strutting about with vines in her hair. And she had the nerve to accuse me of going native.

  I couldn’t deny her logic, but the timing seemed a little too convenient. “So now that you’ve learned how to use your sword and built yourself a high-level cape, you’re done with the place?”

  Fabulosa softened her voice to extend an olive branch. “We wouldn’t be leaving behind blinking warning lights. The town is prosperous, and things are looking up. Hoofing it into the Bluepeaks is going to stir up the crisis—you know that. It’s no coincidence you’re holding off on hitting the goblins until the barbican is operational. Mark my words—it’ll lead the goblins to Hawkhurst. I reckon we’ll be the final two in the contest, but maybe not here. We can remain citizens and keep Aggression’s double damage bonus while abroad. But serving as governors in the one city in Miros that doesn’t give us a damage bonus doesn’t make a lick of sense.”

  I deflated, took a deep breath, and studied the Eastern horizon. Nassi, the patron moon of nature magic, peeked over the Doublespine Mountains, adding a mint-green crescent to the sky. The wind rustled the meadow grass, and it seemed so peaceful.

  Fabulosa turned toward the horizon. “But it’s not just about advantages and the contest. You’re all gloom and doom these days, and it weighs me down. Maybe I’m speaking out of turn, but you never live in the moment. You’re at your best gallivanting off to a dungeon. How does the saying go? Angels can fly because they take themselves lightly. But you’re not like that around here. You seem to be at your worst in Hawkhurst. Somehow, responsibility clips your wings.”

  My chest burned at her words, and I said nothing.

  “I’m not saying that’s the wrong way to play the game—but it’s not me, not anymore. We’re not exactly popping wheelies out here. Managing a city is boring. I can see you’re fixed on staying, but I gotta cut the cord, partner. I’m an outdoors cat.”

  “I’ll admit, I like it here.”

  “That’s just it, Patch. I don’t think you do. You never seem to enjoy yourself. It’s like you’re trying to prove something. Our best adventures have always been outside of Hawkhurst. Base-building is like potato salad. I’ll eat if there’s nothing else, but I never look forward to it.”

  “Maybe I take the responsibility a bit too much.”

  “I don’t think that’s it. You complain whenever Ida brings work to you. You’re not confident making decisions or being proactive, and I don’t see where all of this is going.”

  Fabulosa’s words struck me in the gut like a truth-dagger. Aside from the fact that it felt wrong to leave, I had no reply.

  Fabulosa grunted, and her eyes fell. “Regardless of your decision, I’ll let you play your game. If you don’t want to leave, I don’t want you tagging along. The last thing I need is another ally dying on my account.”

  I grunted. This discussion headed toward emotional waters that I wanted to avoid. Players leaving The Book of Dungeons felt like death, and Fabulosa’s connection to RIP, PinkFox, and ArtGirl lingered.

  Fabulosa interrupted my thoughts. “I must admit, I’m a little tired of being here.”

  “In Hawkhurst?”

  “No—in Miros. It’s a great vacation, but I miss the stupidest things about home.”

  “Like what?”

  Fabulosa unfocused her eyes in a faraway expression. “It’s beyond missing family and friends. I miss my morning routine—coffee grounds and eggshells.” She smiled and shrugged off my questioning looks. “Every morning on the way to school, I took the trash out. When I opened the trashcan, coffee grounds and eggshells always topped off the garbage. It’s weird, but I miss everyday details. I miss reading the cereal box for the hundredth time at breakfast and listening to my brothers arguing. I’m ready to finish up the contest. Anyway, I’ve said my piece.”

  I certainly didn’t miss mornings at my aunt’s house, but she gave me enough to think about. We stood next to each other for the longest time, processing the recent events and things said. Fabulosa left me with a lot to think about.

  Reaching for an excuse for time alone, I changed the subject. “Now that Darkstep is at it again, I’m going to sweep the town for eyeballs.”

  “Okay. Let’s continue this later.”

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  Beaker followed Fabulosa to Hawkhurst Rock. Both darted glances back to see if I objected.

  I didn’t.

  I swept the settlement for more Improved Eyes before I could relax. Three more occupied the settlement—all positioned outdoors and secreted against buildings. How had they gotten here? Strangers became more common with caravans, but when I asked around, only LabRat31 matched the description of good looks and heroic physique—dead giveaways of a player avatar.

  Searching for bugs allowed me to tour the town and admire how much the settlement had grown. I even explored the tiny farmsteads along the river. After visiting every building, I noticed more personalized effects and artifacts lying around. I spoke with citizens who hadn’t crossed my path before, hardening my conviction to stay.

  I disagreed with Fabulosa’s logic. Overpowered relics upended Fort Krek and Graytooth kobolds. Three more surrounding Hawkhurst meant plenty of danger, especially if an NPC became governor. I knew enough from settlement management that long absences would destroy morale and leave the town rudderless.

  I found Fabulosa and Beaker on Hawkhurst Rock, picking through LabRat31’s equipment bundle.

  Beaker nestled into a nearby rocky protrusion. The sun had warmed the stone, providing a comfortable seat, and I sat next to her, cross-legged, facing the lake. A long silence passed as we listened to the wind.

  “So, when did all this happen? When did you decide you wanted to leave? It can’t all be Darkstep and LabRat’s doing.”

  “A year is enough for me. I’d lost interest in patrols a while ago. The trog hunt and this cape were my only unfinished business. Base-building isn’t my thing, and it’s not as if the dungeons are advertising themselves.”

  I opened my mouth, but she held up her hand. “And I don’t want to see another goblin dungeon. You said it yourself. One relic sits in a lake—and your trident can only give one of us water-breathing. Being grabbed by that overgrown crawdad in the Underworks was enough underwater combat for me. And the relic in orc country? Even you aren’t crazy enough to go after that.”

  I grinned. Fabulosa had done her homework. No one at our level could survive an incursion into the Doublespine Mountains. And the leveling curve slowed in the upper twenties. Hoping to make significant gains seemed folly. Orcs weren’t kobolds or goblins—each counted as a serious opponent. The ones we fought on our way to Krek had spells and melee abilities, making them almost as bad as players.

  Fabulosa waved at the town. “There’s not much else for me to do around here. I don’t want to sound ungrateful. We’ve toured the three biggest cities and a lot of fun, but there’s so much more of the world to see.”

  “So, if you could go anywhere. Where would you go? Back to Malibar to look for Uproar?”

  “Oh, forget him. He wouldn’t be worth the trip.” Fabulosa studied a metallic crescent she pulled from LabRat’s belongings. Its attached chains rattled when she turned it over. It looked like a giant’s necklace or a miniature chest plate, but the item’s description only called it a gorget.

  I didn’t know what a gorget was, but it possessed no magical properties. After she handed it to me, I turned it over in my hand.

  Fabulosa pointed to the faint markings. “There’s a map on the back. It looks like a dot on a river next to the coast. The dot might be a city or dungeon location. I’m going to check it out. You uncovered dungeons chasing down clues—this might be one.”

  “This narrows it down. There aren’t many cities on the coast.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking. That’s not Arlington, is it?”

  I turned the oversized neckpiece upside down. “Not unless this is upside down. By holding it from the chains, the crescent’s weight oriented the map to depict a northern coast or a lakeshore.”

  “Could that be the south side of Otter Lake? Maybe it’s a relic location.”

  “Doubtful. The southern relic is under Otter Lake, not on a river.” I flipped the gorget to the other side and spotted little marks. “There are three little hash marks on the front—that might mean something.”

  Fabulosa shook her head. “No. That’s just a forging stamp—it’s like the signature of whoever made it.”

  I cast Mineral Communion and scanned through images of banquet halls. Elves wearing armor lined up in rows. The one wearing this mixed with humans and spent much of its time in a drawer lined with green cloth. It seemed to have ceremonial or ritualistic value as it stayed indoors and saw no battles.

  Fabulosa patiently waited until I shook my head and explained what I saw.

  I handed the gorget back to her and stood up. “C’mon. Let’s take this to the orrery. We can match this up to the table map.”

  We sat on Hawkhurst Rock, so the orrery wasn’t far away. The orrery’s onion dome no longer stood as the only silhouette on Hawkhurst’s skyline. The barbican and its scaffolding heralded the beginnings of Hawkhurst castle, whose walls and towers would ultimately block the view of the orrery’s bulbous green shape from the townspeople.

  Fabulosa followed me inside while I scanned the northern continent for rivers. I aligned the crescent with the map after resizing its scale until the crescent’s markings matched the northeastern coast of Miros. “It’s the river east of Blyeheath.”

  “Is that a good thing?”

  I shrugged. “Mr. Fergus says it overflows from tidal activity. It’s salt marshes for hundreds of miles. Layers of fog make travel dangerous—although I’m not sure why. The whole place floods every few years or so, making it unpredictable to anyone without an orrery at their disposal. There are lots of ruins up there, supposedly. But this location looks further east, above Arweald in the Ragged Hills.”

  “Will it be safe to travel?”

  I zoomed to the north coast and canned through the months ahead, looking for conjunctions—celestial events that caused floods. “No, I think you’re okay. No tidal flooding for at least two years.”

  “It looks like I’m going to see some elves.”

  The words deflated me. “Are you really going there?”

  Fabulosa tapped the crescent with her nails. “I’m not one for ignoring providence. When the universe tells you something, you best listen.”

  Zooming in on the river didn’t quite match the line on the gorget, but this hunk of metal looked so old the river’s course may have changed. I rubbed it with a corner of my robe to clean it and spotted some faded words. Using a combination of spit and more rubbing, I cleaned out the area and pronounced the words—Ul Itor.”

  “What is Ul Itor?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know, but that’s what it says, Ul Itor.”

  “Good eyes. I can’t tell the difference between the letter L and the capital letter I.”

  “These are ancient words, I suspect, like Odum.”

  “Don’t remind me. Hearing him drone on throughout our fight drove me nuts.”

  I handed her the crescent. “I won’t have to if that’s where you’re going. Chances are, you’ll fight another boss, just as annoying as Odum.”

  Fabulosa flapped her hand. “He wasn’t as bad as the goblin mine. What I can’t believe is you going into goblin territory. You had it hard enough against kobolds.”

  “There’s a mountain I’m going to check out called Iremont. At least, that’s the human name for it. It’s the closest summit in the Bluepeaks, the brown, flat-topped one by the river. In Belden, I uncovered breadcrumbs leading to an old general—they called him the Pentarch. He’s a famous trainer who stayed behind in the goblin wars. I’ll drop in to see if he has secrets for keeping goblins at bay.”

  Fabulosa clapped, laughing. “I love it. Mountaintop wisdom!”

  “You know it, baby.”

  “Are you going to see if he’ll train you? You are, aren’t you? Boy, you sure do love your schooling.”

  Fabulosa’s comment resonated. I’d never confessed that my motive for playing the Great RPG Contest rested on tuition fees.

  “If I go to college, I’ll have to get used to learning at normal speeds. I’ll miss having Applied Knowledge.”

  Fabulosa patted me on the back before leaving the orrery. “Oh, you poor baby. I’m going to ask Yula and the dwarves if anyone knows about Ul Itor.”

  Beaker and I caught up again with Fabulosa in the town hall later that evening. While I coaxed my griffon onto his perch and away from the rafters, I followed her throughout the room. She spoke to Yula, Ally, and Maggie, but they only shook their heads and shrugged.

  Fabulosa came over to me. “No luck.”

  With Beaker finally settled, I addressed the issue. “Let’s ask Thaxter. He must know the Eastern continent pretty well.”

  But the commander only shrugged at the mention of Ul Itor. “I’ve never heard of the place, governor, but I’m from Glenngarde. You want to ask Corporal Lazaar. She’s from Jarva and knows about the elves. Moreso than most.”

  We found the corporal engrossed in a dice-based drinking game with the dwarves. I’ve seen them play it occasionally, and something about their recent die rolls resulted in gales of laughter.

  “Corporal, can I ask you a question?” I shouted over the noise, and thankfully, she’d left the game.

  “Of course, Governor, L.T., how can I help?” Lazaar’s left hand rested on the hilt of her sheathed short sword. From footing and scabbard, I could tell she fought as a southpaw.

  Fabulosa answered. “We want to ask you about a city in the northeast. Have you ever heard of a place called Ul Itor? Is that a word that makes sense to you?”

  Lazaar laughed. “Ul Itor is an old place supposedly ruled by a vampire. Folks in the Ragged Hills gossip about it when they come up the river to sell their salt. Why do you ask?”

  Fabulosa showed Lazaar her trophy from LabRat31, the metal crescent attached to a chain. She pointed out the small dot by the river. “Someone carved a map into this neckpiece. Do you know its history?”

  Lazaar shrugged. “It’s an old castle that lost its supply line after humans abandoned the north shore. It stands on high ground, so the fog and oceans never ruined it.”

  “Is there anyone who might know more?”

  “My grandfather in Jarva told me about it, but he’s passed now.” The corporal shifted her attention to the drinking game, oblivious to Fabulosa’s curiosity about gothic castles and vampires.

  Fabulosa’s determined gaze told me that Hawkhurst had lost its lieutenant governor. I saw no grace in guilting my partner into staying back and helping me destroy the relics. If she respected how I played The Book of Dungeons, I had to do the same.