Newly Broke Heroine! [Book One Complete, Cozy Fantasy Adventure]

Fiona stared at the sight before her. Billions of coins worth of gold had come from here, and yet, she felt grossly underwhelmed. This lacked scale to match the numbers.

"Are you kidding me? This looks like a mine out of the wild west." She shook her head, hands on her hips. "Vick, tell me this is a joke. This is it?"

One of the greatest gold mines of Fiefdala wasn't a huge, industrial spectacle with a strip mine the size of the Grand Canyon. Instead, it looked like an inconspicuous small bunker entrance into the side of a hill, and although there were still a few hints of autumn on the trees, the land was coated in a thin layer of snow. The snow was glaringly bright, and she shielded her eyes.

The knight took that as his cue and advanced. "Yes. This is the glorious Illustrim Mining Corps, Site 106. I assure you, this is where the greatest deposits of gold have come for generations. Quite discreetly, I might add–"

A chattering sound filled the air. Fiona felt her brow twitch at this audible reminder that, unlike her, not all her companions were northern girls who could tough out a chilly day. "Really, could you control that sound? You're buried under two layers of winter gear, and this is at best, a brisk day!" She turned and said in a teasing voice.

That chattering was the product of the shivering kobold next to her, who held his wings and arms tight to his body. "I hate the cold, Fiona. So, so much."

She still didn't buy that. "Doug, be real with me, you were always a kobold, and that scepter was your ticket to being large and in charge. Because dragons never get cold." She felt slightly sympathetic because his frigid state wasn't acting.

Wisps of steam emerged from Doug's nostrils, and he stopped chattering and glared at her. "Swiftheart, I told you, not all dragons like the cold! Unlike my tundra-bound cousins, who love making snow forts. It's quite a spectacle, watching a dragon make a snow fortress during winter in the mountains."

Fiona couldn't hide a laugh when she pictured that. "I will pay good coin to see that. No, really, why did you need that scepter anyway?"

"I didn't," he grumbled. "Polymorphism into things you want to become rarely ends in the way you want. I'd never chance using it on myself, and I ponder if it doesn't curse someone into an itty bitty lizard when they try it out. That one was used in the downfall of Francis the Second, in the Arkankine dwarven rebellion, four hundred years ago. Pretty sure when he used it, it backfired. It's not in inventory."

"I took it and locked it in a safe. That thing was so sus," she muttered, then turned to the others. "Greg, Bonnie, Jake! Are we set for this?"

"One ill-advised trek into an abandoned mine, no backup, and a shop sitting idle today." Bonnie wrapped her scarf tightly around her neck. "I'm with the miniature dragon, I'm freezing out here. It feels like an unnatural cold. Doug, for the record, any hugs you get are merely to steal your body warmth. Oh, and you too, Greg," she added with a toothy smirk.

"I find these terms acceptable. But why are we doing this?" Greg pushed back gently.

"Because I'm the best at finding lost treasure?" Fiona pointed out. "Also, I need my dose of murkvine, Bonnie, gimmie. This was not a fun climb. What happened to the road?"

Vick ran his fingers through his light brown hair, closely cropped. "Could have been one of the autumn storms. They're a little bit more intense by the mountains. You've seen them on the northern side of the lake, yeah?"

"I have. Did they cause that? Or, did someone demolish the road to a defunct mine?" She queried and pointed to what looked like humanoid footprints in the snow, congregated around the steel shutter double doors. It looked like someone had walked around for a bit and then flicked a spent cigarette. "Also, someone took a smoke break here."

"But no tracks leading away." Greg leaned in and traced a distinct footprint into his notebook, mimicking the shape perfectly. "Either from the snow last night, or they never left."

"It could be vagrants?" Vick was not very hopeful. "I'd better call it in. His Highness will have my head if I lose sight of that golden brick."

"That jackass owes a whole lot more than one gold ingot for the mess he's landed this kingdom in." Doug didn't hesitate to land some shade on the king. He approached the door, inspecting the lock. "Huh, new design, I don't recognize it. And I smell magic on it."

The kitsune nodded in concurrence. "I agree. If it were vagrants, they would have broken the locks. These are untampered." She leaned in, tapping on the keylock. "And, magically warded. Why would you ward an empty mine?"

"To keep nosy kids from making it a hangout, or a place to do lewd things?" Jake proposed. Even he was layered in heavy winter gear and an armored vest. "I think there's enough to check the place out. But Fiona, maybe hang back a bit? You're a merchant, not a warrior anymore. How, exactly, are you not in a hospital bed?"

"Because if this kingdom goes under, my shop and my employees will either be paying taxes to a greedy dragon in need of a beating, or under the thumb of the slavers next door," she growled, and pulled out her hammer to smash the lock. Doug took a few steps back out of the preservation of his health when she did so. "I'm purely in this for my selfish reason of keeping my shop intact and not having my friends and coworkers suffer from either scenario."

"So, you care about the kingdom, like usual," Jake concluded.

"Well, there's that. But, I think that nutter Karlin is trying to gobble up all the Aurelium in the world to make himself a dragon god. Seeing as how I was killed by one of those already, it's my transmigrational duty to stop that shit before it starts here." She was mostly functional, but the fading injury on her side still emitted a sharp ache. Varrick's blade must have been enchanted to leave such a stubborn injury.

Jake gave her an uneasy look. "Bonnie, how much murkvine did you give her?"

"Not enough to fix this mood," she sighed. "Only one thing fixes this girl when she gets in a mood like this: hammer time, or bakery treats. Guess which one we don't have right now?"

Jake tapped his muzzle and reached for his relay. "You know what, I should get Nick and Cita and a small team on backup. One sec."

Fiona didn't like the idea of more people taking a risk, but she would have to play this more carefully this time. "I still need to check this out myself. Bonnie, alchemical goodies, gimmie."

"You can't get another dose of murkvine for three hours," her vulpine friend countered, and examined her state with concern by tapping on a bruise on her forehead. Fiona winced in response. "Next time, don't fight some maniac with dark plasma attacks and inhuman strength by yourself, in the middle of a melting down foundry."

She relented on the chase for another dose of pain relief. "Okay, just gimmie a dex potion, and one of those that tastes like burnt ginger." She was glad to have her old Aurelium plate armor equipped. The gold seemingly glowed, despite the sun hiding behind a growing layer of clouds.

Bonnie handed her the two potions, and Fiona gulped them down. "Everyone else, gear up. Bonnie, Greg, Doug, stay behind me. Vick…well, buddy, just enjoy the show. Jake, you in on this?"

Jake threw on a pair of bracers that lit up with a violet energy, and his claws sharpened with a trace of the energy arcing to his claw tips. "Like I'd come all this way to push papers and handle diplomatic stuff? I miss this part of the job too much not to have a little fun with a crawl through a suspect mine." He punched his hand into his palm while grinning. "Besides, I had to give Anastasia something to do for a change. Now she gets to do the diplomat work for a bit. Bonnie, let's get that lock opened and take a tour."

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Fiona swept her goldshine ability to illuminate the area as they progressed into the cavern. They were only a few minutes into their exploration, and she noticed something, and frowned. "Carts have been moved. No dust on them," she pointed to them. "Vick, when was this place called depleted?"

"Five years," he answered, his armor clinking in the echoing tunnels of the mine. Bits of dust drifted as they walked along the path, deeper into the tunnels. "I worked with Rikkard for a bit before I was delegated to the king-in-waiting. He was concerned the mine had dried out too fast. It was almost as if the gold grew legs and vanished. And the miners were puzzled too. I read the reports before we left."

"So this place has been mothballed for five years. The footprints look new, too." Jake lowered himself to the ground, sniffing at the tracks, before rising and dusting himself off. "I can smell clove in the cigarettes. I know that brand, it's Relzig. Not common in Fiefdala. But the Bar'dathi seem to favor it."

Everyone looked warily at Fiona. "Not all elves come from there, you know! Also, yuck, I hate clove cigarettes. It reminds me of my dad. I hated those stupid things." Her ears flattened at that awful scent.

"Really? I kinda like the scent," Doug commented. She gave him the elven glare of doom, which had zero effect…until he sighed. "I mean, clove, in general. I do like seasoned meat with it added."

"Eh, I guess in that context, not so terrible on the psyche." She panned her goldshine to look at discarded tools. An attempt to throw an arcane breaker resulted in the annoying fact that power was completely dead, so the elven-powered flashlight would have to suffice. Even Wingding seemingly glowed a little bit when she activated her power.

She'd never noticed that before. Or how her skin almost had the faintest…

She turned around, and everyone looked a little surprised. "Guys, reality check, am I glowing?" while everyone looked at her, then at each other.

"It might be a trick of the light, but…I think there's a super faint glow around you," Bonnie said, before walking up to her. "Yeah, that's weird. How'd I not notice it?"

"This is Fiona we're talking about. Weird stuff happens to her or around her on a daily basis," Doug said crossly. Fiona continued to give him a death glare. "Long-ears, don't bother with the glare of doom. It doesn't work on me anymore. It may still work on small forest animals," he added with a grin aimed at Bonnie.

"Bite me, tiny," she shot back, her muzzle clenched tightly.

"Sure. Let's keep bantering where our voice carries," Greg cautioned, which caused everyone to revert to silence. At the moment, all Fiona could hear was a low wind echoing through the mine, and an occasional drip of water. "I still think it's an aftereffect of your battle with Varith."

"So, why am I glowing now?" she asked.

"Greg isn't far off. It could be a lingering effect of manipulating all that magically charged gold? Sometimes when you burn through that much magical energy in one go, like you did, it can have some aftereffects," Bonnie proposed.

She somehow doubted it. "Let me know if I start shining brighter. Damn it. Gonna be hard to pilfer sweets if I glow in the dark now."

"Thus ended the reign of terror against the sweet roll populace of Fiefdala," Jake said smugly. She didn't need to look back to know he was grinning from one side of his muzzle to the other.

"So, Doug," Fiona continued a short time later, keeping her voice low, "why is there so much controversy over Feo'thari's death? The weirder things get as time goes on, the more I think it's tied to her."

"I think the affairs of the gods aren't supposed to be known to the rest of the Folk kind. But mistakes happen, and their endeavors are visible at times." At least he wasn't chattering anymore, since the cave was warmer than outside. "Why?"

"What did your mother say about her? What are your theories?"

Doug let out a sound of surprise. "You want my opinion?"

"I think you'd be the most qualified to answer. You really think Karlin may buy into the story that–"

"My mother told us that story, barely out of the egg." Doug's soft tone made it clear that this was important. "Remember, she was a cleric. She said that even dead gods can whisper from the grave. Dead or forgotten. The line blurs a little, and I'm no theologian–but, yes. She believed a successor to the goddess of fortune would come one day. Or someone who carried her will in spirit."

Fiona found this very strange that gods would plan for their prodigy on a geological time scale. "So what happened to Feo'thari? Is she dead? Or just mostly dead? Or, she decided to go chill somewhere else, and drop her godly ties?" She suspected her discussion with the woman in the white could have been playing coy, for this exact reason: to avoid attention.

Fiona directed them down another corridor; she felt a trickle of energy, or a nudge in that direction, only slightly over the equally bland-looking corridor running in the opposite direction. She thought she heard a faint whisper–but was it just the gold in her armor making that noise? Or was it Aurelium nearby? She heard nothing but the low movement of air through the tunnel now, and the sound of footsteps of their gathered party.

Doug spoke like he was a curator in a museum. "Officially, Vanael killed her. Unofficially…I don't buy it. All the writings indicated they were in love. I also don't buy the idea that she willingly let herself die to shake up the pantheon of gods and get them to stop fighting. There were better solutions to get worshippers of opposing gods to see reason and not fight needlessly. Little subtle acts of mercy, thawing of relations at the suggestion of the gods to their speakers. Things like that."

"So, no good theory?"

"Given current events? No. I'd need to find something strongly aligned with that goddess to get a trace of history, given the age since her passing. And even then, it might not give us an answer." Doug, sounding less confident, was…unusual.

"Gods having pissing contests is above my pay grade," Bonnie muttered. "I say this with the more formulaic magic that mages have. Cause and effect. Known quantities and predictable outcomes."

"Even your mark is similar to Lunade, goddess of the arcane arts," Doug pointed out. "It's still an extension of their will. They just made it easier to understand instructions."

"Half the mages in Cepalune have a similar mark. The witch hat is popular. I even had a little pen-drawn one when I was a kid, because I thought it was cool." Bonnie smiled faintly at that, even as she glanced at her wrist. "Or, misguided, lost weekend decisions."

Fiona stifled a laugh. "Tell me you don't have a tramp stamp."

"Oh, me? No, never," Bonnie chuckled. "It's harder to do tattoos with fur anyway, though it doesn't cover everywhere." Greg coughed softly at that. "Sometimes we'll dye our fur, and it's less permanent. Anyway, I did know a few classmates who made regrettable weekend decisions, because it was fun and edgy."

Bonnie grinned and nudged Fiona. "What about you, snack thief? I mean, from before."

Fiona shook her head confidently. "Nope. I never had an interest in a tattoo for myself. My girlfriend did have some. She…she designed them herself, the patterns." For the first time, she felt like she could talk about this, and she noted the awaiting silence of her friends. She felt like this might be something to open up about. "They were pretty. Bluebirds and grass wreaths. A Gaelic knot. A winged serpent with feathers–that was her favorite. She had a talent for all her art. She had her challenges, but her expressivity…wasn't one of them."

"Did she have one that…represented you?" Doug asked.

"No. You don't always wear your marks on your skin, Doug. Or scales, in your case." She glanced at him in curiosity. "She said that a fitting one for me matched my name. She said it would be a–"

She came to a dead stop. A winged heart.

The idea latched onto her mind. Could Bianca have had something to do with her mark? Or was it a bizarre coincidence? And, why hadn't she even thought about it until just now? It lent unsettling credence to Doug's proposal that Varith was an isekaied Bianca. And if she was…why the hatred against herself, now?

"Something wrong?" Doug canted his head at an angle, eyes focused on her. Fiona shook her head more forcefully than she needed to, as if physically casting the idea aside. "Are you thinking that–"

"No. Let's keep moving."

Deeper into the tunnels, they found more signs of activity. Rocks that had been dumped out of the mine carts, and what appeared to be a lunchbox with a not-exactly fossilized sandwich. Jake held his muzzle as he examined it. "This is…a few weeks old. Not a few years old. I think you were right, Fiona."

"And there's a bunkhouse over here. Looks like recently dug tunnels, and the linens are fresh." Greg pointed down a short tunnel where a dim arcane light lit up. "Strange that there's no other power here."

"Maybe they abandoned it when they started up, dug deeper down?" Fiona suggested. "If you had to gather all the aurelium in one place, you'd want to make shorter trips to lug that much gold. How'd they get in though?"

"Could be a teleport pad," Jake proposed. "Bonnie, could they set up one this far down?"

"If they can set up teleports in Underlune, where Darla came from, they can set up one in a mine. It just seems like they went out of their way to make this clandestine." Bonnie pulled out a device from her satchel. "If there's a teleport active, I think I could locate it. We're not that far from Fiefdala center, so I could use that teleport signal, our location, and then use the approximate strength of any teleport to roughly approximate–"

A distant thud got all of their attention.

"Uh, what was that?" Vick asked nervously. Fiona stepped in his direction and pointed to his satchel.

"Give me the gold bar. Let's see if we can use this thing to find its sister ore. And hope that someone isn't running demolition on the chance they know they're compromised."