Riley froze in place, staring wide-eyed at the figure. He had expected another human, not someone who only came a little past his elbow.

  “You’re... Hammer?”

  He nodded like an excited dog. “Yes! Hammer make weapon! Humans give Hammer tool, Hammer WHACK WHACK WHACK steel into sharp bits!”

  “And... what are you, exactly?”

  Hammer stared at him with a vacant look. “Hammer is Hammer.”

  “You’re not a... human.”

  “Halfling!” Hammer said, his grin somehow broadening.

  Riley continued to stare at the creature. When he thought of halflings, he thought of hairy-footed little people, lacking the beards and pickaxes of dwarves, gleefully smoking pipes in their flower-filled groves. He did not think of grey-skinned shark people.

  Hammer scurried around, pulling a red hot blade from his forge. His hammer whacked viciously into it, molding it into a sharper, flatter shape. He dunked it into a nearby bucket of water, kicking up a great froth of bubbles. The hissing sound echoed through the cavern.

  Well, whatever the blond was, Riley noted he was astute at his chosen task. The weapons hanging near his forge certainly looked imposing.

  “Can you make anything with bolstering stones?” he asked.

  Excitement lit up Hammer’s face. The creature scurried over, clutching his namesake tight in his hand. “Rare metal! Yes, good! Give!”

  Riley nodded, fishing the stone from his Inventory. That made Hammer almost salivate. He grasped it, clutching the marbled metal in his hands. He nibbled on the edge of it, nearly slobbering across the jagged surface.

  “It’s real,” he whispered, awestruck.

  “I want to make my equipment stronger. If you use that on my staff, will that make my spells more potent?”

  Hammer nodded. “Bolstering stone makes the magic hum stronger. Spells have extra kick to them! Hammer has seen, many times. Let me help. Love to work with metal.”

  “I... gathered that.”

  Riley handed over his staff and let the creature work away. As he did so, Arubis materialised just beside him. “Halflings are something of a rare breed of people. They dwell either in isolation in the forests, or in the mountains. They’re... odd, I suppose you could say. Usually driven and singleminded on whatever they are passionate about. Hammer, for instance, seems to have a deep love for blacksmithing.”

  “So the Strays put him to work here? Doesn’t look like he’s a slave or anything.” No shackles, nobody overseeing him. It was likely he would simply keep working here, provided he still had coal and metal to feed into his forge. And judging by the small pile of meat-stripped beast bones in one corner of the room, it seemed he was well fed too.

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  Hammer returned some minutes later, beaming and brandishing Riley’s staff. The tip smoked, and there seemed to be a newfound gleam in the noxium. He didn’t have anyone to test it upon, unwilling to harm Hammer, but he felt magic thrumming through the wood of the staff with newfound potency. It was stronger, he had no doubt about that. But he would have to wait to find out how much stronger it was.

  “Thanks, Hammer. I appreciate it.”

  “Hammer help anytime. Bring more bolster stones, Hammer make weapons stronger still. Only...” His grin faltered. “Hammer is good smith. But not the best. Can only improve weapons so much, even with bolster stones. You want strongest weapons in Kerberos? Need to find the best smith.”

  “And who might that be?”

  Hammer hummed. “Don’t know him personally. Hear he lives near Prospera. Gildeneye is what they call him. Supposed to be god of forges.”

  Gildeneye... Riley committed the name to memory as he put his staff away. “I’ll keep that in mind, if I’m ever in dire need.” But if bolstering stones were rare, it would likely be a long time before it would come to that.

  He left Hammer to his own devices and spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the grounds. He found another Lodestone in the Courtyard of the gaol, embedded in the trunk of a gnarled old tree, and activated it. A handy teleportation point to use if he needed more upgrades from Hammer.

  Come the evening, with the sun sinking into the horizon, the Strays called for dinner in the feast hall of the gaol. A roasted boar, charred a deep brown hue, served with a thick soup made from vegetables grown in the gaol’s vegetable garden. And, to Riley’s shock, trays of french fries from locally grown potatoes. It was a reminder that the people who surrounded him were once humans from good old Earth.

  Kim and Stark joined them, the latter looking more troubled than before. Two other Wardens made their way to the table, joining Kenji and Beth. Carver, a sullen-faced black man in crimson wizard robes, and Layla, a young woman adorned in the hood and leathers of a ranger. Even Hammer ate at a table, tearing at his pork with his bare hands.

  Another Warden, Boris, had taken his dinner earlier and was currently walking the battlements, just in case any threats approached the gaol.

  “It’s an unfortunate situation to be in, Riley, I know,” Stark said, quaffing from a horn of ale. “None of us want to be here, fighting monsters and putting our necks on the line. Frankly, only a headcase would want a life like this. But I hope that this shows you it doesn’t have to be all bad out here.”

  “This is pretty nice. But I was warned that there are Wardens out there who are... dangerous.”

  Kenji and Beth exchanged an uncomfortable glance. “Yeah. There are some folks who’re more dangerous than a cornered rattlesnake, and more cunning than a hungry cat.” Beth shook her head. “Some of them at least have the decency to be upfront about it. But those who act friendly and than shank ya? A special breed of scum.”

  “You’ve... all had this happen to you?” Riley asked, aghast.

  “Beth and myself have been betrayed, and Kenji had some unfortunate experiences early on. You’ve been around for as long as I have, you’ll have experienced just about everything.”

  Riley grimaced and raised his horn to his lips. “Not looking forward to experiencing that.” He had never been much of a drinker in his old life. But as he put the chilled frothy ale to his lips and took a deep gulp, he began to understand how people used alcohol as a coping mechanism. Sip by sip, as it settled in his liver, he felt his anxiety hissing away.

  “I can’t promise to always be there to help you, Riley. And I don’t want you to get complacent into relying entirely on our help either. But... we’ll do what we can for ya, where possible,” said Stark.

  “I appreciate whatever I can get.”

  “Of course. We do have a common enemy, same with all Wardens.”

  Riley hesitated, holding a half-empty horn to his mouth. “Except the ones who join Chaos, you mean?” The people who got all twisted up inside by Chaos, broken down and then reforged into monsters in human skin.

  Stark smiled without mirth, but Riley could see a flicker of pain in his eyes. “So, Kim told you about those? Our ‘brothers’ who have been swayed? We... call them the Fallen.”

  “Fitting name.”

  Kim scoffed. “Pricks like that don’t deserve any fancy titles.”

  “The main difference between a crooked Warden, and a Fallen?” Layla said, leaning forward. Her hood cast a deep shadow over her eyes. “The Fallen can’t hide their true nature anywhere near as well.”

  Riley swallowed hard. “Noted.”

  He wanted to know more, wanted to ask about the telltale signs of the Fallen, only for the room to grow silent as a horn echoed from somewhere outside. Low and mournful, echoing off into the rapidly darkening night.

  “Boris,” Stark grimly said. “Something dangerous is heading our way.”