“Come on,” Eryn said, tugging at my arm and pulling me away from the street where I'd been pacing back and forth for the last hour or so. “Wearing a path in the dust won't make time pass any faster.”

  She was right, but the waiting gnawed at me to the point I even started biting my own nails. I followed her to the wooden bench outside the guild hall where Johan sat, nursing a mug of something that smelled like a blend of coffee and cinnamon. The innkeeper's usual energy had dimmed to nervous fidgeting, and he slicked back his hair for the fifth time in as many minutes.

  At least I wasn't the only one having a hard time trusting in the guilds. Whenever money and power was involved, things tended to have weird outcomes.

  “What in the rift is going on in there?” I said. We'd all arrived early, not wanting to risk being late. Now we had nothing to do but wait.

  Johan shook his head.

  “Not a clue. Though there's been plenty of talk at the Timberline about what they might do to him, but…yeah, that’s all it is.”

  “And?” Eryn prompted.

  “Word is they're looking at a decade-long ban from going Riftside,” Johan took a long pull from his mug. “Plus fifty gold to Marcus' family. It's a slap on the wrist if you ask me.”

  I nodded softly to myself. While it was a fortune to a lot of people, Marcus' life had been worth far more than gold. Besides, if he got lucky with his runs Riftside, he could have made that in a months or a year, but now? His family would have to make do with that for a lifetime.

  “Sounds harsh,” Eryn said, “But fair in a way. Ten years is a long time to think about his mistakes. Maybe he'll learn something.”

  “If he doesn't get worse,” I muttered. The memory of Benedict's face when he'd abandoned us still burned freshly in my mind. “He’d be getting off easy if you ask me. Any idea what's the worst they could do? Cut off his tattoo?”

  Johan's laugh held no humor.

  “Worse, actually. Heard some old-timers talking last night. Worst punishment the adventuring guild’s got is stripping someone naked, throwing them Riftside, and banning them from returning via the same rift.”

  “That's—” Eryn's face went pale. “Wait, that’s a death sentence.”

  I nodded grimly.

  “Benedict would have to find another portal. And with no gear, no supplies.” I shook my head. “I don't know, not at his level, not alone. Sure, he's strong, but stumbling around randomly? With how new the Branchway is, who’d even know the direction he’d have to walk in to find one of the other rifts.”

  “They wouldn't actually do that though, would they?” Eryn asked as she wrapped her hand around mine and squeezed. “I mean, he was negligent and a coward, got someone killed, but murder for murder?”

  “He didn't techincally kill anyone himself,” I finished. “No, they probably won't go that far. But whatever they decide,” I said, squeezing her hand gently, “He earned this. And even more if you ask me.”

  The guild hall's heavy door creaked open and Isaac, Edwin’s archer, stepped out. The archer's weathered face was grim as he approached us.

  “They're ready for you,” he said. Then his expression softened slightly. “Don't worry too much. Just tell the truth, exactly what happened, nothing more or less. Edwin's already laid out the facts. You're just here to confirm them.”

  “Thanks,” I said, standing to my feet and helping Eryn up, too. “How's he seem? Benedict, I mean.”

  Isaac's lips tightened.

  “Calm. Too calm if you ask me. Like he still doesn't understand what he did wrong.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Go on now. Don't keep them waiting.”

  “Or too calm because he knows he's getting off,” I muttered as we made our way inside.

  I'd only been in the guild hall's main room once before, when getting my scavenger license. Then it had been a chaos of adventurers haggling over bounties and comparing trophies. Now there was a solemn quiet. Ten senior adventurers sat around a massive table, including Knut. I knew Alex and Rowan from Edwin's party, and Shay, who had led one of the other adventuring parties during the Twisted Titan dungeon run, and Dr. Ridley. The combined levels of the people at this table were probably higher than everyone else in Dawnwatch put together, which made it quite an impressive sight. Even more so because I considered a few of those people friends.

  Harold sat at the head of the table, his arm resting on the polished wood. To his right sat Edwin, straight-backed and stern in his commander's cape. Benedict occupied the opposite side, and Isaac had been right. His face was a mask of composure, though his fingers drummed restlessly against his leg.

  Three empty chairs waited along one side of the table, next to Knut. Harold gestured to them with his good arm and Knut pulled out a chair and waved me over.

  “Please, sit,” Harold said, his voice carrying easily in the hushed room. “We would like to ask a few questions regarding the... incident.”

  Harold's piercing gaze swept over us as we settled into our chairs. His missing arm somehow made him even more imposing, not less.

  “Let's begin with Johan. Please tell us what happened, in your own words.”

  Johan cleared his throat, his voice now subdued.

  “Well, sir, it started when Benedict approached me about joining a hunt.”

  Benedict's sudden laugh cut through the room.

  “Oh, this should be good. The unclassed innkeeper who couldn't even—”

  “You will remain silent,” Harold's voice cracked like a whip, “Until asked to speak.”

  Benedict's mouth snapped shut, but he smiled at the innkeeper.

  Johan continued, describing how Benedict had recruited him with promises of easy coin and guaranteed safety. How the frost mage had assured him that Scuttlers were simple prey, perfect for beginners.

  “And then when the swarm came—” Johan's hands trembled slightly on the table. “He just left us. Didn't even try to help. If it weren't for Ash, Eryn, and Knut staying behind and covering our retreat...”

  “An unfortunate situation,” Benedict interrupted again, “But hardly my—”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “One more word out of turn,” Harold said quietly, “And you'll be removed. We will continue without you just fine, Benedict.”

  Benedict's jaw worked silently, but he slumped back into his chair as if all of this was just a comedy to him.

  Harold turned to Eryn next.

  “Your account, please.”

  She sat straight-backed, her voice clear and steady as she described the hunt. How Benedict had ignored standard safety protocols around party makeup, not even bringing a full set of scavengers, and how he'd shown no sign of recognizing the mounting danger before the Scuttlers swarmed.

  “You're quite knowledgeable about protocols for a mere scavenger,” Benedict sneered.

  “I said. Be. Quiet.” Harold's good hand clenched into a fist.

  My blood began to simmer as Benedict's smirk grew. He thought this was funny. A man was dead, and three more could have died, too, and he thought it was funny.

  When my turn came, I kept my voice level, though it took effort. I explained how the situation had deteriorated, how Benedict had refused to listen to warnings about the increasing Scuttler activity.

  “Of course,” Benedict drawled, apparently unable to help himself, “This would be the same Ash Aldrich who caused the swarm in the first place by refusing to follow orders?”

  “That's a lie!” The words burst from me before I could stop them, and I hammered my fist on the table. “And you know it very well. Pushing the blame onto someone else because of your own incompetence doesn't suit a man of your stature.”

  “Is it?” Benedict hissed, leaning forward. His eyes were alight with malicious glee. “Who was it that bribed Knut to abandon the party? Who led half of the party away and into the forest? And wasn't it right after you fled that poor Marcus met his end?”

  “Quiet,” Harold said, but it had less heat behind it this time, and couldn’t help but notice he didn’t make good on his threat to remove the ice mage.

  “You piece of—” I started to rise, but Eryn's hand on my arm kept me in my seat. She was right, I needed to stay calm or this could backfire in ways I couldn't imagine.

  But then, to my surprise, she snapped at him. “Marcus died because you left him, Benedict! You ran, easily outpacing him. You left a scavenger to be devoured by the scuttlers, alone. You, who was supposed to protect the party as its leader, ran the fastest of all! What should a group of scavengers have done? Fought them off alone so you could escape? Well, we did that just fine!”

  “Such passionate defense,” Benedict said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “But then, you would support your... friend's... version of events, wouldn't you?”

  “Liar,” Knut growled. “Heartless mage spewing horsecrap. I was there. I saw events. You cannot twist words on me.”

  “Yes,” Benedict's smile widened. “After being paid to protect them instead of the group. How much did he give you, Knut? Was it worth Marcus' life?”

  The heat in my blood was reaching boiling point.

  “You're going to sit there and lie about a dead man?” I said. “After you abandoned him? After you ran away and left him to die while you saved your own worthless—”

  “Ash.” Edwin's quiet voice cut through my rising anger. “We know the truth of what happened. That's why he's here.”

  “Though unfortunately,” Harold sighed, “Raven, Wade, and Tormund seem to have left Dawnwatch immediately upon returning. We've been unable to contact them for this tribunal, which is why we had to delay until now.”

  “How convenient,” Benedict murmured.

  “Convenient indeed,” Harold snapped, his eyes hardening. “That your entire crew disappeared without a trace. Almost as if someone told them to leave for a while.”

  Benedict spread his hands.

  “I can hardly be held responsible for the comings and goings of independent adventurers.”

  “No,” Harold agreed. “But you can be held responsible for your own actions.” He turned back to us. “Thank you for your testimony. You may go.”

  “But—” I started to protest. There was so much more to say. So many more of Benedict's lies to refute.

  “Thank you,” Harold repeated firmly. “We have what we need.”

  Grudgingly, we stood. As we headed for the door, Knut called after us.

  “I'll meet you at the Timberline!”

  I managed a nod, but the words felt stuck in my throat. The taste of bile filled my mouth as we stepped out into the sunlight. Benedict's smug face was burned into my eyes, and in that moment all I wished to see was his naked back as they pushed him out of Sentinel Station.

  * * *

  The Scuttler mounted above Johan's bar still bore the marks from our desperate fight. Johan had done his best to make it look presentable, but you couldn't pretty up something that was born that ugly. Or meant to kill people.

  In a way, it was kind of like Benedict.

  “Stop brooding,” Eryn said, throwing a peanut at me across the table. “You're going to wear a hole in that mug if you keep glaring at it.”

  I managed a weak smile and sipped my ale. The Timberline bustled around us, though it felt subdued compared to its usual energy. Word of the tribunal had spread quickly, and everyone seemed to be waiting for news. Even the people who didn't know Benedict, but the word of his cowardice had spread quickly. Or rather, not his cowardice, but his cowardly act. He could fight very well when he wanted to.

  “I just can't shake the feeling we made it worse somehow,” I admitted. “Like maybe if we'd said something different, or if I hadn't lost my temper.”

  “You said exactly what you needed to say.” Eryn's thumb traced circles on my palm. “Benedict did this to himself. Whatever happens now, that's on him.”

  Johan darted past, somehow managing to balance six mugs of ale without spilling a drop. He'd come a long way in such a short time from the terrified scavenger we'd saved. The Timberline suited him. It gave him purpose, kept him busy. More than that, it kept him safe.

  “Another round?” he called over his shoulder.

  I shook my head.

  “Best to keep a clear head until we know what—”

  The door slammed open hard enough to rattle the mounted scuttler. Knut's massive frame filled the doorway, his face thunderous.

  “Beer!” he roared. “All the gemless, class cursed, monster mucking beer!”

  “Oh no,” Eryn whispered.

  Knut stomped toward the bar, a string of northern curses flowing from his lips. A guard, distracted by something at another table, stepped backward directly into Knut's path.

  The mercenary's growl could have curdled milk and the guard jerked aside so quickly he nearly fell over.

  Eryn's hand tightened on mine. We exchanged a look that said everything. This definitely wasn't going to be a 'that bastard's going out naked' kind of day. “Doesn't seem like it went well after we left,” I said quietly as Knut's heavy footsteps approached our table.

  Johan appeared as if by magic, setting down an abnormally large tankard in front of Knut as the mercenary dropped into a chair. The innkeeper pulled up a seat of his own, another ale already in hand.

  “Tell us,” Johan said simply.

  Knut took a long pull from his tankard, then slammed it down hard enough to make the table jump.

  “Ten days,” he spat. “Ten rift rotted days! That's all bastard get!”

  “What?” The word burst from all three of us at once.

  “Harold ban him from Riftside for ten blighted days!” Knut's accent thickened with rage. “And not allowed to lead parties. Is a joke. Ten commendations from higher-ranked leaders to lift it.” He gnashed his teeth before spitting out the last part. “Must pay Marcus' family five gold a month for twenty months.”

  “That's—” Eryn's voice failed her.

  “That's nothing!” I finished. “He'll be back hunting in less than two weeks! All it cost him was some gold?”

  “How?” Johan demanded. “How could they do that? After what he did to Marcus? To all of us?”

  “Pioneer's plight if I know!” Knut nearly drained the rest of his tankard in one go. “Edwin look ready to throw mage through rift himself. Alex and Rowan too. But Harold—” He shook his head. “Something not right. Benedict too calm. You saw. Too smug, too sure. Kept provoking.”

  A chill ran down my spine.

  “You think he had something on Harold?”

  “Or bought him off,” Eryn suggested. “Though that would take a fortune. Wouldn’t it?”

  “Don't matter now,” Knut growled. “It is done. But watch backs. Benedict don’t forget.”

  “If he tries anything—” I started.

  “Call me,” Knut interrupted. “Day and night, no matter. I stand with you. As friend.”

  “Thank you,” Eryn said softly. “That means a lot.”

  Johan sighed heavily.

  “I thought the frontier would be different, you know? Thought there'd be real justice out here.” He stood, clutching his empty mug. “At least I'm still alive to be disappointed, thanks to you three.” With a weak smile, he headed back to the bar.

  “Not only you disappointed,” Knut muttered. “Two parties tell me no after hearing I go with Benedict. Don't care I help save Johan. Bastard’s stench on me now. But him? Frost mage? Always spot for wizard, even if evil.” He turned and spat on the floor. “In ten days, parties fight for him.”

  I caught Eryn's eye. A whole conversation passed between us in that look. She gave a tiny nod.

  “Say, Knut,” I said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “What would it cost to hire you for a mission or two? And to buy your guaranteed silence about it?”

  The mercenary's dejected expression vanished. A grin spread across his face like sunrise breaking through storm clouds.

  “Now that,” he said, “Is talk I like! Tell more, friends!”

  “Keep your voice down,” Eryn hissed, but there was a glint in her eye. “We're only doing this because we trust you. See, you could have bolted, but no, you stuck to your word, even if it would have killed you. That's why we are willing to trust you on something important.”

  Knut's eyes danced between us.

  “You got plan? Something interesting?”

  “Maybe,” I hedged. “But first, what's your price?”