The duo exited the path of quests, restarting their journey. Basic was sluggish, dragging his feet through the dust. “Helping people is stressful,” he muttered. “No wonder I don’t do it often.“

  Alistair adjusted his coat, eyes on the horizon. “Help is a fickle concept. People rarely know what’s in their best interest. A writer once debated that premise in the Memoirs of Internal Suffering—“

  “Alistair,” Basic interrupted, “do me a favor… stop talking. I can’t walk and kick myself.“

  Alistair paused, remembering that he didn’t have a debate partner, but the antithesis of good company. “I need you in high spirits, Basic. You’re a nuisance as it is, but to be a nihilist on top of that— I’m starting to rethink your hero aspirations.“

  He spoke with a rare mischievous smirk, knowing it would ignite his na?ve friend’s ego.

  Basic, still sluggish from the road, said, “If I understood what you just said, I might be offended. I’m tired. We’ve been walking for days. I can’t eat what I want, I can’t sleep in, and thanks to this heat, my scalp looks like the inside of a watermelon.“

  Alistair was genuinely amused. “My ripe friend, you’ve served the realm nobly so far.” He placed a hand on Basic’s shoulder. “How about a song for the road?“

  Basic blinked, surprised by the suggestion. It wasn’t often Alistair encouraged him to be himself. “Okay…” he said, clearing his throat.

  He began humming a melody.

  “Ohhhh, Alistair, the whiskered fool,

  he punched a squirrel, and killed it too,

  he talks a lot and cries the most,

  he celebrates by cheesing ghosts.“

  Alistair had been expecting something closer to The Road to Vernice. His expression darkened.

  “I saved your life and this is the praise I get—To be mocked in rhythm?“

  Basic continued without missing a beat.

  “Ohhhh, he’s unworthy of song, he’s unworthy of praise,

  O’ Alistair, the squirrel’s in his graveeee.“

  Alistair adjusted his collar, his patience thinning. “Very good. Truly inspired.“

  He then tried to sing himself, straightening his posture.

  “Alistair, I saved the day,

  I gave this fool his life unpaid,

  and what does he do, he mocks me in tune,

  but I’m the one who buys his food.“

  He finished, oddly proud.

  Basic stared at him blankly, as if Alistair had just drained all inspiration from the world in a single sentence.

  “That reminds me,” Basic said unimpressed. “I want my share of the gold.“

  Alistair’s satisfaction collapsed. “You want what?“

  “We share the journey, we should share the gold,” said Basic, holding out a hand.

  “Absolutely not… The gold would go to nonsense, and you’d be halfway to Berbatev by morning.“

  “You’re a cheapskate,” Basic said. “You buy me chicklets to eat as if I couldn’t down the entire flock.“

  “Everything I do has purpose,” Alistair said calmly. “It’s not for you to understand. When all is said and done, you shall receive the glory, and I’ll be known as your nameless companion.“

  Basic smirked. “Just say your pockets are light, friend.“

  Alistair turned his head. “Excuse me?“

  “If half of your gold is only two tokens, then I get why you’re so greedy. I mistook you for a man of wealth. For that, I apologize.“

  Alistair’s brow twitched. “I assure you I have enough to fund this expedition in the smallest pocket of my person.“

  Basic’s grin widened. He reached for the smallest pocket on Alistair’s coat. The two wrestled briefly before Alistair jerked away, pulling free the bag of gold and holding it high out of reach.

  Basic stopped trying and watched as Alistair opened the pouch. Inside glimmered no fewer than fifty shining tokens.

  “See?” Alistair said, his tone sharp. “If you wish to eat a beetle, let alone a chicklet, you’ll stand down. So far I’ve been nothing but accommodating.“

  Basic chuckled, backing off. “I apologize, friend. Messing with you has rekindled my spirits.“

  Alistair closed the pouch, tucked it away, and straightened his coat with renewed dignity. “Thank you.“

  They resumed walking.

  The forest ahead was calm and the worst seemingly behind them. Then a sudden crash came from the trees.

  Both froze as a man fell from the branches above, landing hard in the dirt. His clothes were torn, his eyes wide.

  Dusted with leaves and dirt from the fall, the man stood, cupped his hands to his mouth, and let out a series of bird calls as he quietly disappeared into the trees.

  Basic turned to Alistair. “What was that?“

  Alistair stared after the man. “A sign that peace never lasts.“

  Alistair looked around as the once-lovely forest path began to feel like a grave. The man’s fall no longer seemed an accident. It was too sudden, too placed. The treetops loomed overhead, thick enough to hide a dozen more like him. As the man vanished, whistling bird calls into the woods, others began to echo back. Each chirp and trill made Alistair’s eyes dart upward, unsure if they came from nature or from men waiting to drop.

  Basic, however, seemed to be operating in a completely different world. Strolling ahead without a care in the world, he hummed to himself, his voice carrying the jaunty tune of their supposed “secret” quest and the bag of gold that now filled his every thought.

  “Onward to glory, treasure, and fame!” Basic sang, his voice full of confidence, blissfully unaware of the potential threat.

  Alistair’s hand shot out, grabbing Basic by the shoulder, pulling him to a halt. “Quiet,” he hissed, his eyes darting to the shadows, every muscle tense with caution.

  Despite Alistair’s warnings, Basic couldn’t resist adding another line to his impromptu song. “Silence, for we have glory and gold!” he sang, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. Alistair, his patience finally stretched to its breaking point, felt his composure snap.

  Without thinking, he lunged at Basic, tackling him mid-song. The two tumbled down the side of a hill, rolling through the underbrush in a chaotic blur of limbs and dust. Alistair’s only goal was to stop the relentless noise that threatened to draw even more unwanted attention.

  As they crashed to a stop at the base of the hill, Basic wheezed, completely taken by surprise. “Must you continue dragging me through thorn and razor? It hurts, you know.” he sputtered, his pride and dignity bruised along with the rest of him.

  Before Alistair could respond, the sound of rustling from above intensified. A gang of bandits, their faces painted with confusion and frustration, emerged from the trees, peering down the hill where Alistair and Basic had vanished.

  “Where’d they go?” one of the bandits muttered, his grip tightening on the sword in his hand.

  The bandits scanned the area, their eyes narrowing in search of movement, but they had lost the element of surprise. Alistair, hidden in the brush at the bottom of the hill, held a finger to his lips, glaring at Basic, who finally seemed to understand the gravity of the situation.

  They crouched still as the men searched, boots thudding close enough to stir the soil.

  Their speech was muddled now, broken by whispers of splitting the search party. Alistair and Basic shared a hopeful silence as the sounds of their would-be captors slowly faded into the woods.

  Alistair breathed, “Now!“

  They darted through the brush, branches lashing their faces. Basic was rash, violently pawing at every branch and piece of foliage that dared make contact with him.

  They reached an open path in the woods, temporarily finding their breath—until the ground gave a sharp crack beneath them. In an instant, the world turned upside down: legs flailing, dirt raining from their boots as they were yanked into the air by a rope trap, swinging helplessly from a creaking branch while the forest below fell to a dreadful quiet.

  Alistair dangled from the rope, turning to see Basic swinging beside him, wide-eyed with awe at the trap. Alistair, meanwhile, knew whoever had placed it would show them no kindness.

  “It’s been an honor, venturing with you.” he said in a hollow tone.

  Basic, enjoying the motion, grinned. “This is only the beginning, remember?“

  Alistair found a strange calmness he hadn’t felt since they’d left Huble. “I must say, you are much more different than I imagined.“

  Basic brightened. “As they say—I’m more than the eyes meet.“

  Alistair released his muscles and sighed. “I was expecting a deranged, homicidal young man,” Alistair continued, “yet you combine childlike innocence and purposeful malice in a way I could not have predicted…“

  Basic, starting to feel the blood rush to his head, nodded. “When you’re right, you’re right.“

  “Fister… Gilgamar… Forgive me.“

  The deliberate crunch of leaves cut through their exchange. A bandit stepped into view, scanning the trees with practiced care.

  “Oh, I see,” Basic purred. “We’ve been captured.“

  Alistair looked defeated, as if already resigned to their fate.

  The bandit cupped his hands to his mouth and made a bird call. Moments later, men poured in from every direction.

  “What an odd nest for a pair of lovebirds,” said the man who appeared to be their leader. Laughter followed—a blend of cackles and uncanny birdlike squeaks.

  The leader approached Alistair, rubbing his beard.

  “Flashing gold and singing songs of glory… and on our road? It wasn't your best decision.” His men chuckled again.

  “We’re the Flock,” the man said proudly. “I believe you’ve met my friend, Squawk.“

  From behind him, the man who had fallen from the tree stepped forward, grinning wide. “Squawk!” he shrieked like a bird.

  Bill folded his arms, looking pleased with himself. “This here is Blue Jay,” he said, gesturing to a lanky man who responded by flapping his hands and making a fluttering sound like the bird itself. “And without further ado, my name is Bill.“

  Basic, swaying lightly, perked up. “Like a duck.“

  Bill blinked. “No, like Bill—my name.“

  He leaned into their personal space. “Between me and you,” he said quietly, “I’m not a fan of this bird nonsense myself.“

  Bill stepped back and spoke openly. “I’m the Bird Keeper and leader of the Flock. And I’m afraid you’ve been caught in our migration south. Now…” He tilted his head, unsheathing his blade, “About the gold you speak of.“

  Sensing a chance to talk their way out, Alistair spoke quickly. “Wait, Bill… You seem like a well endowed individual.“

  Bill appeared flustered by the comment. Waving off the looks of his curious flock members.

  Alistair continued, “Surely you know what wealth looks like… Take a look at my friend here.“

  Bill’s eyes moved to Basic, who was grinning as though this were a social call.

  “What glory could we possibly have?” Alistair continued. “He’s nothing but a fool, and I’ve never seen a battlefield.“

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  Bill studied them both, his brow creasing in mild doubt.

  “As for gold,” Alistair went on, “if I had any, I’d be in the nearest brothel, not trudging these forsaken roads.“

  “Squawk!” screeched the man from the tree, pointing accusingly.

  “Squawk saw what he saw,” Bill said flatly.

  Alistair’s patience thinned. “He saw birdseed. For messenger pigeons. That’s what I do—I write. Check my person if you don’t believe me. Your friend saw but a quick meal.“

  Bill turned to Squawk, glaring. “What’d I say about eating birdseed? You’re a man, not a bird!” He smacked Squawk on the back of the head.

  Sighing, Bill turned back to Alistair. “I sit in trees all day. I catch these idiots eating worms—can you believe it? But you know what they’ve taught me?” He leaned in close, eyes narrowing. “They’ve taught me to smell prey.“

  He thrust a hand into Alistair’s upper pocket. A jingle of coins broke the silence as the bag of gold fell to the dirt.

  Bill grinned. “And I smell a liar.“

  Bill crouched, scooping up the bag and letting the coins spill through his fingers, gleaming in the dappled light. “There’s nothing worse than a caged canary,” he said evenly, counting as he spoke. “But since you mistook me for a fool, something tells me to keep you boys hanging. Buzzard here, would love to peck out your insides.“

  Alistair’s attention settled on a frail, bald man with a long neck and oversized nose—every inch a buzzard. He licked his lips, hunger plain in his eyes.

  Bill cinched the bag shut and smiled up at them. “Yet, now that I’m retired, I have a new outlook on life…“

  He embraced each member of the Flock, lingering on Squawk.

  “…Baby’s got to leave the nest sometime.” and drove his blade straight into Squawk’s chest.

  “Squawk!” the man gasped weakly, the word escaping in a hollow, almost questioning tone as he toppled into the dirt.

  The rest of the Flock scattered in a frenzy, their cries a mix of shrieks and fluttering chaos as Bill wiped his blade clean.

  He glanced up at Alistair and Basic, still swinging helplessly. “Now then,” he said with a grin, “where were we?“

  “Oh yeah,” he said, dangling the bag of gold in front of Alistair’s face. “I’ll be in Rogue if you ever wish to write to me.“

  He gave the pouch a playful shake, the coins clinking mockingly. “If by some miracle you get out of my trap, I invite you to the local pub.” He leaned in close, his breath sour with ale. “Drinks are on you, ahaha.“

  With that, Bill slung the gold over his shoulder, whistled a tune that sounded suspiciously like a birdcall, and sauntered down the path. The forest fell quiet again, save for the creak of rope and the slow spin of two helpless fools twisting in the wind.

  Every now and then, the quiet was broken by a faint squawk from Squawk, who lay bleeding in the dirt below.

  Alistair hung silently, deep in thought, wondering how his life had led him to this moment.

  Basic stirred, licking his lips as he awoke from a nap. “What happened?” he muttered groggily.

  Alistair turned to him, incredulous. “You—Our lives were on the line and you fall asleep?“

  Basic blinked the sleep from his eyes. “It appears the line was well balanced.“

  Then his gaze drifted downward. “No! Squawk?“

  Alistair stumbled over his words. “He—Bill—at what point did you fall asleep?“

  Basic ignored the question. “Bill the duck did this?” His voice grew solemn. “Alistair… do you know what this means?“

  Seeing an uncharacteristic seriousness on Basic’s face, Alistair shook his head.

  “Your display of greed cost this man his life!“

  Alistair’s face twisted in offense. “I did no such thing! You were the fool singing of wealth and grabbing at my person! To suggest that I killed this man is a disgrace to my name!“

  Basic waved the accusation off. “Oh, but I am just a fool. My songs were of no significance, remember?“

  Alistair froze, realizing that Basic had been awake long enough to hear him downplay his intelligence to the Flock. His face turned red. “You bastard! Come here, you—“

  The two began thrashing midair, spinning and tangling in the rope as they shouted and clawed at each other, their argument echoing through the forest while Squawk gave one last pitiful squawk below.

  As the two fought above, the sound of hooves began to clatter along the road. Through their shouting, they didn’t hear it. The rhythm crept closer and closer until the noise stopped right beneath them.

  The scrape of iron against iron snapped Alistair out of his fury. Basic’s head was red from the blows. A gauntlet pulled back the foliage, and a beam of sunlight broke into their tangled domain.

  “What is the meaning of this?” a strong voice called out.

  Stepping into view was a large man-at-arms, his body encased in heavy iron armor. Dents and patches of rust covered it like rot on fruit—an image of neglect that startled Basic.

  “Ah! Another bandit!” he yelped.

  The soldier knelt beside Squawk’s lifeless body, inspecting it. His gauntlet tightened as he drew his blade. “Explain yourselves,” he commanded.

  Basic took it literally. “Well, I’m a sensitive man who enjoys—“

  Alistair elbowed him in the ribs. “Please, our valuables have already been taken. We were threatened by this man and… and—“

  The soldier cut him off. “And what was that dispute I heard? Something tells me you’re the one behind all this.” He pointed his sword toward Alistair.

  “No… I, uh—tell him, Basic!“

  Basic, still committed to his bit, said, “Listen, all I’m going to say is that if we didn’t come this way, that guy would still be alive.“

  The soldier’s eyes narrowed. He raised his blade high.

  “No!” Alistair shouted—just as the sword came down.

  The rope above them split with a sharp snap, and the two crashed to the ground in a heap.

  Alistair groaned, checking himself for wounds before realizing the truth. “He cut the rope…“

  “Thank you,” Alistair said.

  The knight sheathed his sword. “It’s a knight’s duty to protect those in need. Since I do not have all the information, I shall treat you as innocent… though I still suspect you of guilt.“

  Alistair, just happy to be alive, forced a smile. “Commendable. So, you say you’re a knight—may I know your name?“

  The soldier shifted uneasily, as if the question had made him uncomfortable. “Sir,” he whispered.

  “Excuse me, I didn’t hear you,” said Alistair.

  “Sir,” the soldier repeated, louder.

  “Sir what?” Alistair pressed.

  “That’s my name. Sir. And I’m afraid I’m not a knight. Not yet, anyway.“

  Alistair eyed the rusted dents and rotting seams of his armor and couldn’t help but laugh. “A knightly man named Sir, who’s not a knight? Well, Sir, you’ve shown the required enthusiasm.“

  Basic, still catching up, asked, “So… are you a knight or not?“

  Sir looked sheepish. “Until I take an oath to a lord, no… but it’s my dream to become one.“

  Basic clapped his hands. “Alistair, this is perfect! We can pay him to retrieve our gold.“

  Alistair motioned for Basic to relax.

  Sir looked offended. “I am not a sword for hire. I am an upholder of justice… Justice for what I’ve seen.“

  Basic stretched out his arms dramatically. “That’s what we need! I refuse to go back to eating chiclets! Please sir, you have to help us.“

  Alistair sighed, trying to calm him. “Basic, the man says no. He has important business to tend to.” He turned and smiled politely at Sir—who was dragging Squawk’s limp body toward the road.

  Alistair leaned back toward Basic and whispered, “Are you mad? This man’s insane. He’s no knight—and how would he come across armor in such a state unless he stole it? Probably a graverobber for all we know.“

  Basic, unmoved, followed Sir to the roadside. “Sir, my friend here doesn’t think you’ve seen combat. What use would you be if your services were needed?“

  Before Sir could reply, a loud “Yeehee!” echoed nearby—the call of a… horse?

  As Alistair stepped out from the foliage, the sunlight revealed the creature standing in the road. It wasn’t quite a horse—more a curious blend of horse and donkey. Small, old, and drooping, it looked perpetually exhausted, its mouth curling into a dopey smile and its eyes half-lidded as if it lived in a constant dream.

  Alistair snickered, but Basic’s eyes lit up. “A noble steed!” he declared, petting the creature’s wiry mane.

  “Noble indeed,” Alistair said between laughs. “Noble in spirit.“

  Sir returned from the road, beaming with pride. “Ah, I see you’ve met Steed.“

  Alistair tried not to laugh. “Steed? Steed and Sir—the fairytale duo.“

  Sir patted the animal affectionately. “Yes. Steed’s been in my family a long time. A hard worker and a loyal friend.” Then he turned serious. “Any questions about my combat training will have to wait until we bury this poor soul.“

  Basic and Alistair turned to see Squawk laid out by the road.

  “We?” Basic asked, hoping to avoid the task.

  Sir tossed them his helmet and a gauntlet. “I’ll take my shield,” he said, towering over them in a way that left little room for argument.

  The trio spent what felt like an hour digging a grave deep enough for Squawk. Alistair and Basic weren’t used to hard work, so Sir carried most of the burden. Still, all three were drenched in sweat and gasping by the end.

  “This shall do,” said Sir, retrieving his armor and strapping it back onto Steed.

  “Thank the Gods,” declared Basic, collapsing to his knees.

  Alistair seized the moment. “We appreciate your help, Sir—truly. And Gods’ graces to this poor fellow, but we really must be going.“

  Sir turned toward him like an ominous statue brought to life. “You’re not going anywhere until we say his last words.“

  He cleared his throat, straightened, and began with a deep ceremony. “We are here today to celebrate the life of…“

  “Squawk,” replied Alistair.

  “… of Squawk. A poor soul who has moved to the great beyond, where pain has no place. Where Squawks of all kinds may eternally rest.“

  Then he looked at Alistair and Basic. “You knew the man. Speak.“

  Basic stepped forward nervously. “Uh… Squawk was a good man. He knew how to withstand a twelve-foot drop on his head. It was… most impressive. He loved birds, and worms, and… molting, I assume.“

  Sir bowed his head in solemn agreement, and Basic followed.

  Alistair stepped forward next. “I’d like to remember Squawk for his precious calls. He had an uncanny ability to spot items from a distance. In another life, he would have made a fine scout in the Royal Army. May he eat birdseed for all his afterlife.“

  Sir gave Alistair a look—a silent reminder.

  Alistair sighed and bowed his head.

  The trio stood in silence, then spoke together: “To Squawk.“

  Alistair grabbed Basic by the shoulder and tried to sneak away from the ceremony. Sir, once again, turned to hover over them.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he said in a dull tone, placing a hand on Alistair’s shoulder.

  Alistair had a look of despair, as if they’d never regain their freedom. He turned back sheepishly. “I’m sorry! I thought the ceremony was over,” he said with a nervous laugh.

  Sir stood tall. “It is.“

  “We shall now have supper.“

  Basic came alive. “Supper? Yes, we shall.“

  Alistair finally stood his ground. “Listen, Sir, I appreciate your help, and you have truly shown a chivalrous demeanor, but I’m afraid that we’re on a tight schedule.“

  Sir was unpacking utensils from Steed, who neighed in delight. He turned back and said, “Your gold—how much was stolen?“

  Basic shot back, “My friend isn’t rich… Maybe 50 or so pieces if that helps… Ooo and I know the man who’s got it—and where he’s at.“

  Basic was giddy, as if he were already planning to cut Alistair out of any supposed deal.

  Alistair motioned for peace. “No, no, no. We are not risking our lives in some bandit-infested mudhole. We’ll have to go back to my compound and resupply. Should take us about…“

  Alistair imagined the terror he’d have to endure through two weeks of additional time with Basic.

  “You know what, Maybe we should take our chances in Rogue.“

  Sir contemplated it all. “And where is this man?“

  “At the local pub,” replied Basic.

  Sir began to light a fire off the beaten path. “Ah, well you are in luck. I am headed there myself.“

  Alistair motioned to Basic and whispered, “I told you this man is dangerous. What business would he have in that place?“

  Basic, his stomach growling, announced, “We accept, Sir. Welcome to the party.” He took his place by the fire.

  “I commend your courage,” said Sir. “Yet, after your gold is retrieved, I require a third of it. From that point, we shall part ways.“

  Alistair, realizing he had lost control, tried to find confidence in their new arrangement. “And you guarantee our gold's return? What knowledge do you have of Rogue?“

  Sir had the fire going and began to dangle some small game he’d captured over it. “Rogue is what it is now known by. It was once called Loften. Small, quiet—had the unfortunate luck to be on popular roads. Bandits have overtaken it. Darkness that the crown allows to grow. A darkness that has drawn even myself there—much worse than common thievery.“

  Basic was listening intently as he never had before. He was enamored by the manly knight before him.

  “If you don’t mind,” said Alistair, “could you share what that is?“

  “I do mind,” Sir said flatly, continuing to cook their meal.

  Alistair’s face flushed. He had lost all control.

  “Golly Sir, I sure as heck would love to help,” said Basic, in an uncharacteristically earnest tone.

  “You would help me? Ahaha!” Sir was tickled. “Very well, brave warrior. I am looking for a man named Serpentine.“

  The name instantly startled Alistair, who looked on in despair.

  “You don’t know of him, do you? Ah, to live an ignorant life once again,” said Sir to the clueless Basic.

  “You mean you wish to meet with him?” asked the astounded Alistair.

  “I’m sure you’re wondering why a warrior of my stature wears broken armor,” said Sir.

  Basic chimed in, “Alistair said you probably robbed a grave.“

  Sir turned to Alistair with a looming gloom, removing a piece of meat from his side of the fire. “Your friend isn’t wrong, though his charm is beginning to fade.“

  Alistair was embarrassed.

  Sir continued. “This was my father’s armor. Grew up to be a farmer—and not a very good one at that. What little we did grow, we gave up in taxes. One day, the baron of our town came to taste our beets. Free of charge, of course. He was a terrible man, more there to mock us than to enjoy our harvest.

  “He ended up choking on a bite, and there, in front of us all, the baron died on the very land that fed him. When his brother was appointed the new barron, he was so thankful, he promoted my father to his private guard. My father who had grown the beet that beat the baron.“

  Basic, listening intently, repeated, “The best beet that baron beated.“

  Sir appreciated his attempt to glorify his father.

  “The town flourished for a while under the new baron, until the crown closed its gates, letting evil consume our world. Folks started disappearing out of their homes—vanishing without a trace. What started at the heart of the town spread to the farmlands. One morning, my father never rose from bed. He himself had disappeared.

  “For weeks, it rained. I stood at the window waiting for my father to come back—hoping maybe he’d been called for service. I was terrified that if I stepped outside, I too would disappear. The storms went on, and our crops drowned. I had no food, no warmth. And so, one day, I walked through the storm with my belly grumbling and my mouth dry.

  “And there, about two miles from our home, I found his armor laid out—as if he had vanished while wearing it. His armor, now rusted, the last memory of my father. I could barely stand with it all on, and yet years later, it feels to me the same as the threads you gown.“

  Alistair, feeling the weight of questioning Sir's motives, said, “And you believe that this Serpentine is behind it?“

  Sir reflected before replying. “From what I’ve gathered, it’s the only explanation. A sorcerer who has the power to control men—make them do as they normally wouldn’t. I shall drive my blade into his throat, and ask if I should then say his prayers.“

  Basic, excited that Sir’s sad story ended with something so masculine, cheered him on from the background.

  “I was wrong to judge you, Sir. Yet you should know that we are no ordinary travelers. We are set to confront the capital head on.“

  Sir looked at the nobleman and the bald-headed fool—two unworthy-looking souls—and laughed.

  Basic and Alistair looked at one another.

  “I should know that looks don’t matter,” said Sir in between laughs, “but to rid the realm of all evil, you’ll both be dead before that happens.“

  Alistair looked serious. “True. The likelihood that both of us survive is practically zero.“

  Sir appreciated the notion and added some food back to Alistair’s portion of the fire. Basic was already eating plenty.

  “Eat, and then sleep,” said Sir. “We shall rise in the morning and take Rogue by siege if need be.“

  Alistair was uneasy, weighing the likely outcomes, while Basic slept without a care in the world—a smile on his face.