The Homunculus Knight

Side Story: The Captain, the Merchant and the Warg (Part 2)

“I remember the night they came for my father. They broke down our hovel’s door; it wasn’t locked and could barely keep out the cold, but they still smashed it apart. At first I thought them werewolves come to eat us, but then I realized they wore masks, dreadful snarling masks of fur and fang. My father picked up his old bardiche from above the fireplace but was too slow. The four masked men set upon him with clubs, breaking his bones and my mother’s arm when she tried to help. They dragged my father out into the snow then and ordered us to go as well. We did, and followed them to the village square. They set my father onto a chair, tying him to it and then…. then they came for us. My mother was first, then my sisters, and eventually me. Right in front of my father and our village, the monsters broke us; making everyone watch our humiliation and degradation. Then, once the last of them finished, they mounted horses black as their robes and left without a further word. By then I wished they’d been werewolves, those monsters just kill you.” - Captain Ivoni Kvetsky, officer in the Krakusmund Hussars and Orphan.

Eyes shut, slumped in his chair, Ironteeth said. “I want to check at the courier house and see what exact documents were stolen. For all we know, the thief didn’t even take anything related to your resistance movement. Once that’s ascertained, we can move on from there.”

Boris let out a relieved breath and pulled a folded note out of a pocket and set it on Ironteeth’s desk. Tapping the newest addition to the desk’s mess, Boris said. “This is list of courier services used by Orphanage.”

Plucking the paper up, Ironteeth unfolded and read it. Names, dates, coin amounts, it was all recorded in tight script. Nodding, he stood up and said. “I’ll take care of this right now. You stay here until I get back.”

Shaking his head frantically, Boris said. “No, no, no! I can’t let paper leave my presence. Talking is already a grave risk. Your history is only reason I trust you with this matter.”

Teeth scraping against each other, the Captain growled. “You aren’t in a position to make demands like that. I’m willing to spend my time chasing this ridiculousness; but will not bring you to an active crime scene.”

A pained look went across the Merchant’s face. “I am literal about paper, not leaving my presence. It is hexed, will crumble away if it goes too far from me.”

Dropping the note as if it was poisonous, Ironteeth eyed Boris with newfound suspicion. Goblins were bad enough, a goblin who knew spellcraft was another matter. Considering his options, Ironteeth wondered if he could just copy the note. That would probably be the easiest option aside from just ignoring all of this as a foreigner’s mad ravings; but old ghosts whispered at the edges of Ironteeth’s mind. He remembered the Battle of Milda and the carnage that led up to it. Boris’s words about the vindictiveness of his motherland struck a cord Ironteeth would much prefer had stayed silent.

Grunting, Ironteeth buckled his axe-hammer on and started for the door. “Fine then, come with me.”

Smiling, showing the slightly too-pointed teeth of his kind, Boris said. “I have carriage waiting outside; it will save time.”

That bothered Ironteeth, he didn’t like the idea of using civilian transport, especially one owned by a goblin. But as he considered it, refusing seemed more and more ridiculous. Time might be of the essence if Boris was right, and wasting the hours it would take to walk all the way towards the Sun Gate was foolish. Besides that, Ironteeth figured a private carriage ride would be a good chance to gain more information from the Merchant.

So soon enough, he and Boris were entering a plain but well kept coach that had been waiting near the guard tower. Sitting opposite the goblin, Ironteeth found himself wondering why exactly he’d agreed to this? Simply copying the note or sending a request for more information about the robbery would be easier. Letting a civilian get enmeshed like this went against procedure and was only done in extreme situations. But try as the Captain might, he just couldn’t convince himself to ignore the hunch that this current course was the correct one. Boris’s words had opened up old wounds and Ironteeth wanted to either prove the goblin wrong or not let him out of his sight if he was right.

For his part, Boris merely sat and fidgeted with his rings, a compulsive behavior that made Ironteeth wonder how long it would take the Goblin to rub his fingers raw. Sucking in a breath, the Captain decided he should stop thinking about what he was thinking, and get some answer. “These spies, why are they called the Warg’s Head?”

That got Boris to stop his fidgeting. “You know about Kozaks? How they bond with wargs?”

Shrugging, Ironteeth replied. “Not much, just that they somehow manage to tame and ride the monsters.”

Boris shook his head. “Not tame, raise. Warg pups are given to strongest youths of a Kozak clan. They train their warg as they are trained in the arts of war. A bond is formed, deeper than any other; warg and Kozak become brothers-in-war, utterly inseparable. If rider dies, the warg will starve itself, if the warg dies the rider goes mad.”

Clasping his hands together, Boris shook them in a sign of unity. “You understand? This is sacred link, loyalty deep as the world’s bones and is just as strong.”

Slowly nodding, Ironteeth thought of the vicious monsters he’d seen, and tried to square that image with the almost noble one Boris presented. Letting his hands fall away, Boris’s voice became quieter. “Now, thinking on this, listen to my words. To join the Varganiki a Kozak must sacrifice his warg. They cut their beast-brother’s heart from his very chest and offer it to an icon of the Tzar. Then, before the blood even dries, they take the warg’s pelt and craft a mask. The Varganiki, murder their greatest friend to prove loyalty to the Tzar and then become his hunting hounds; wearing their own warg’s head while they bring terror and death to any who oppose him.”

Silence filled the coach as Ironteeth digested this barbarism. Slowly, teeth scraping against each other, he spat. “And your people do this willingly?!”

Boris shrugged. “Not truly. Few people in my motherland do anything willingly. They do what is expected, what is required and what is ordered. But, don’t misunderstand me, Varganiki aren’t common, it takes a certain type of… creature to commit such a betrayal in the name of fanaticism. The Warg’s Head are monsters in goblin-form, one’s collected and cultivated by the empire’s will for their needs. I’m sure you have encountered their ilk in your work, people who, despite no curse or bewitchment act with cruelty, that rivals vampires.”

Ironteeth got what Boris meant. There was a certain breed of individual who lacked any semblance of empathy and acted more like a predator than a person. Folklore said these heartless folk had drops of demonic blood in them; being throwbacks to some infernal coupling from generations ago. The truth of those legends wasn’t something Ironteeth cared to consider; that was for the priests, and his people had little time for them. What he did know was that for all its flaws, the Holy League usually locked up or killed people like that, not swear them in as secret police.

For a time they rode in silence, Ironteeth chewing on this information and its implications. Eventually he asked. “Sending someone like that all the way to Vindabon seems like a lot of effort. Surely it would be easier to just hire local criminals to do the Tzar’s work? Stone knows we have enough that would take his silver to do terrible things.”

That elicited a nervous laugh from Boris. “It matter of principle. When I said I was an ‘orphan’ I didn’t mean my parents died or abandoned me as whelp. In Gobavi we worship the Three Queens as the holy mothers of our people, with the Tzar, our spiritual father. As an Orphan of Gobavi I renounce and reject my former pantheon. That isn’t the kind of slight the motherland takes lightly, especially considering I’ve not just escaped them, but actively plotted against Gobavi with some success. By having a Varganiki kill me and all those connected to my network, a message is sent to any who dream of rebellion within and without Gobavi.”

Tapping his fingers against the hilt of his axe-hammer, Ironteeth muttered. “Your gods sound more like racketeers than deities. I always found the human gods strange, but they at least don’t try to string up former worshippers.”

Looking at one of his rings, Boris muttered. “I don’t disagree. But I do wonder how much of this is the Goddesses' will and how much is the clergy’s. The Three Queens don’t coddle my people with constant aid and advice like the human pantheon. They demand we be strong, but seem content to let us sort out exactly how to be so. Perhaps the apparatus surrounding their chosen monarch is…. oh, forget it. Fear makes an apologist out of me.”

Shoulders hunched, Boris made a noise like a chuckle’s sick cousin. “I thought I was long past my crisis of faith, but fear brings out the believer in all of us. Perhaps that’s why they send the Varganiki? To make us Orphans seek repentance and restitution in the Triple Goddess’s sight?”

As those words hung in the air, the pair sat in silence. Ironteeth pulled apart all Boris had shared and added the strands to his tapestry of goblin culture. Stroking his beard, he thought about his own people’s complicated relationship with divinity. Losing their pantheon had cut a bone-deep wound in the Dwergaz soul and the very notion of gods left a bitter taste in Ironteeth’s mouth. That being said, he had to admit having the dwarf gods disappear like smoke in the wind was better than being stuck with whatever slag the goblins had.

Eventually, the silence between them ended as the coach’s driver knocked on the side and shouted. “Almost at the courier house, boss!”

Leaning out the coach window, Boris exchanged words with his employee and then ducked back inside. “There is a small crowd out front, why?”

A bleak snort escaped Ironteeth. “I’d guess you aren’t the only person worried about this robbery. Courier houses are supposed to be secure, even if this theft isn’t part of a slagging goblin conspiracy, it’s still a major problem.”

As the coach came to a stop, Ironteeth asked. “Any ideas how your ‘Varganiki’ managed this?”

Opening the door and slowly stepping out after a few nervous glances around him, Boris replied. “The stories say a coven of witches work with them, supplying spells and potions.”

That got Ironteeth to clench his jaw. He had bad memories of goblin magic and didn’t like the idea of encountering more of the wretched stuff inside his city. Making a note of the possible danger, he eyed the small mob and said. “Don’t say anything unless I tell you to, and don’t get separated from me.”

Leaving the coach behind, Ironteeth stomped forward, pushing into the crowd like a boulder through a forest. Bureaucrats, couriers, merchants, and that ever miserable category of ‘concerned citizens,’ found themselves parted through a mix of shoves, shouts and unsubtle threats. Reaching the front doors to the courier house, Boris trailing right behind him, Ironteeth held up his badge to the frazzled looking guards tasked with keeping the building locked down. “Captain Ironteeth of the thirteenth, I need to speak with whoever is in charge.”

After the barest moment of hesitation, the senior of the guards grunted and opened the door. “Find City-Warden Arnulf, he’s who you want.”

Before the guard shut the door behind Ironteeth and Boris he added. “And tell him we need more jagging men! These idiots can’t seem to get that this place is closed!”

The inside of the courier house was thankfully safe from the raucous activity outside. Silent except for the murmur of the crowd and the crinkle of shifting paper; the building was kin to both a road hostel and bank. Its interior designed to give exhausted couriers a place to safely deposit their cargo and then take a much needed rest. Aside from Ironteeth and Boris a single weary looking clerk was in the lobby.

Seeing Ironteeth’s uniform the clerk gestured behind her and to the left. “The other guards are back there, in the records room.”

Thanking the woman, Ironteeth followed her directions, quickly finding an open door with a busted lock. Beyond the damaged entrance was a large room filled floor to ceiling with shelves, each containing stacks of record books and loosely bound paper. Glancing about the chamber, Ironteeth noted not all the documents were so neatly stored. One corner of the room was an utter mess, with parchment and paper scattered about near overturned shelves. Two guards and two clerks sifted through the scattered records while a bored-looking man with bad facial hair watched from nearby.

Hearing them approach, the man looked towards Ironteeth and grunted. “You're the captain of the thirteenth district, right? What are you doing here?”

Nodding, Ironteeth offered his grip. “You must be City-Warden Arnulf, then?”

Eyeing the dwarf’s hand for perhaps a moment too long, the man made a noise of confirmation and then shook it. Arnulf’s deep-set eyes flicked back and forth from Ironteeth and Boris, questions, assessments and more bubbling within him. Deciding to head off any awkwardness, Ironteeth said. “I got some information that might be useful to you. Is there a list of what’s been stolen yet?”

Still eyeing Boris, Arnulf shrugged with one shoulder. “Part of one. What’s this about, Captain?”

Scratching his black beard, the dwarf replied. “Hopefully nothing, but if your list matches mine, then things might get tricky.”

A number of emotions passed through Arnulf’s face, he clearly didn’t like being interrupted and pressed upon this early in an investigation. But as his eyes flicked down to Ironteeth’s badge and the rank it implied, he repeated his half-shrug. “Fine then, let me take a look at whatever you’ve got.”

Ironteeth glanced at the goblin and then asked. “Were some of the records related to the Cloudhoof Courier’s Krakusmund route? Particularly in the first week of Newflame?”

That got a twitch from both Boris and one of the clerks who’d been gathering papers. It seemed the goblin merchant had forgotten about dwarven memory. Even if Ironteeth wasn’t eidetic like some of his kind, seeing Boris’s list was still enough for him to remember the first few entries. Standing up quickly, the clerk, a sandy-haired man with centimeter-thick glasses, exclaimed. “How did you know that?”

Letting out a curse, Ironteeth gestured to Boris who tentatively handed him the scrap of enchanted paper. Taking the document with a little hesitance, Ironteeth kept reading off it. “Vronti Company, Krakusmund again, Sixteenth of Scorchset?”

Exchanging a look with Arnulf the clerk adjusted his spectacles. “That is two of the stolen entries, yes! Most of what was taken was from Krakusmund and a few other Lechian towns.”

Letting out a bone-deep sigh, Ironteeth stroked his beard. That matched much of Boris’s messages heading east. It seemed more and more likely the goblin’s fears weren’t so foolish. Staring down at the list in hand, the dwarf kept reading off more and more, comparing them to the clerk’s inventory of missing documents. Nearly all of what the courier house thought was missing was on the list, making up nearly a third of its content. There was no getting around it now, Boris might have been paranoid, but someone was certainly out to get him.

Looking at the merchant in question, Ironteeth was surprised to see a look of almost relief on his face. Before confusion could properly set in, Ironteeth felt his brain finish the chain of thought that Boris clearly had. If the stolen records were only what the merchant had been sending east, then the network wasn’t fully uncovered. The papers taken would be enough to identify Boris as the Orphanage’s contact in Vindabon but not who else he was working with further west.

Shutting his eyes, Ironteeth tried to imagine the system Boris had described and its implications. Money and information flowed from goblin expatriates across the Holy League towards Boris who used his mercantile connections to send what he collected to a number of contacts in the lands bordering the Tzardom. Some of those contacts had gone dark, possibly killed by this Varganiki, but not before giving up information about how they were getting support; particularly what courier service was used and when.

That information when combined with what was stolen from the courier house would be enough to identify Boris as he’d feared, but not enough to find his other contacts. Sure, the Varganiki could steal every paper with Boris’s name on it and work from there, but he was a successful merchant, and finding the important scraps of information among all his messages and deliveries would be near-impossible. It would be far easier to just grab Boris and pull the important information from him. The Orphanage wasn’t ruined, but the steel would certainly be aimed between the goblin merchant’s ribs now.

Arms crossed, face in a scowl, Arnulf brought Ironteeth’s attention back to the moment. “Alright, you’ve proved you know something. So what is this about?”

Folding up the list and handing it back to Boris, the Guard Captain replied. “Ugly goblin business that’s wriggled its way into our city. Do you know how the thief broke in?”

Again, Arnulf glanced at the badge pinned to Ironteeth’s uniform, seemingly needing the reminder of who was in charge here. Clenching and unclenching his jaw the City-Warden replied. “The security around the records room was nothing special. Two good locks are pretty much all that kept this stuff safe. The thief picked one and broke the other, probably when they were trying to leave. It looks like something spooked the bastard and he bolted once he got what he came for, breaking open the door he previously snuck through.”

Raising an eyebrow, Ironteeth asked. “No guards?”

Arnulf shook his head. “The lockboxes and vault have them, but not the jagging records room. There wasn’t even a detection spell or hallway patrols. I’d wager anyone who looked like they belonged could slip back here, grab what they needed and then get out.”

Glancing back at the busted lock, Ironteeth muttered. “Then why didn’t they? If the thief could pick the lock, then why break it while escaping? What spooked him?”

Giving the pair of clerks working nearby a strange look, Arnulf replied. “That’s the thing, no one even knew anything was stolen till this morning. We don’t even have a good idea of when the robbery happened. Only that it was sometime between midnight and sixth bell.”

A deep grumbling groan escaped the Dwarf Captain, not having a clear timeline would be tricky. Scratching at his beard, he went over to the broken door and decided to see if he could gather anything from it. Reaching out, he prodded the splintered wood and warped metal mechanism. Even with the right tools breaking down a door like that would be tricky; and loud, very loud. Glancing back at the City-Warden he asked. “How many people were staying here last night?”

Arnulf gestured at one of the guards assisting the clerks, who pulled out his notepad and read off. “Twenty three couriers, all resting between routes.”

Fingers in his beard, Ironteeth frowned. “And no one heard anything?”

The guard bobbed his head. “I asked about that. Apparently, after riding hard for kilometers and making deliveries, most couriers sleep like the dead once they reach a good bed. Besides, the dormitory part of the building is a floor above and a hallway apart.”

That was a reasonable explanation, but Ironteeth didn’t know if he accepted it. Soldiers were the same, falling asleep fast and hard when the time came. Still, much like soldiers, couriers had to stay alert. Not all of the Holy League’s roads were safe for lone travelers. It seemed strange not a single one out of the nearly two-dozen couriers woke up when someone was battering a lock open. Ironteeth had kicked down his share of doors and knew how much of a racket it made.

That thought sent another rolling and Ironteeth refocused on the damaged wood and realized something he’d missed. Judging by the marks and splintering on the door, whoever busted it open was short, close to his own height. This fact joined the Captain’s growing ledger of reasons to think Boris was correct. The thief was dwarf or goblin-sized, and strong enough to smash the mechanism. Most dwarves could manage something like that, but on average, goblins were wiry; being more dexterous and flexible than strong. Still, outliers exist and more importantly, so does magic. The Varganiki were originally Kozak warriors and good warriors could become Paragons. So unless Ironteeth was massively misjudging things, odds had it a vicious foreign Paragon was running about his city, looking to torture and kill one of Vindabon’s citizens.

Turning from the door, Ironteeth said. “City-Warden Arnulf, you’ve been a great help. I’ll let your captain know of your cooperation and aid next time I see him.”

Instead of acknowledging the praise, Arnulf snapped. “You're taking this case from me then?”

Heading towards the door, gesturing for Boris to follow behind him, Ironteeth replied. “I am, and that’s probably best for everyone. Also send some more men up front to deal with the crowd.”

The Captain and Merchant were quiet as they left the building, pushing past the slightly smaller crowd outside and returning to the waiting coach. Inside the well kept carriage, Ironteeth cracked his neck and said. “Well, so far, all the evidence is saying you’re correct. This Varganiki is loose in Vindabon and hunting you. Let’s get you back to the station and I’ll spread the word to the city government and temples.”

Staring at his rings, Boris said slowly. “Must that happen?”

A little surprised, Ironteeth replied. “If we want to catch the rat-fucker quickly, then yes.”

Taking a breath the Merchant picked his words. “What do you think will happen when word spreads of violent goblin foreigner lurking in the city? That some unknown child of Gobavi is actually dangerous spy and needs to be hunted down?”

Ironteeth clenched his jaw. “Don’t be like that. This is Vindabon, not some back-country village where a foreigner is a-”

Boris raised an eyebrow and interrupted Ironteeth. “That Warden back there despised both our presence. I could feel his disgust at being ordered about by you. Captain Ironteeth, I did my research and know you gained your station by merit and service. You’re a war-hero and a capable leader; but you still face discrimination. Can you imagine what the scared slum-dwelling goblins who barely speak Western might be subjected to during a spy-hunt?”

As much as Ironteeth didn’t like to be interrupted, the truth in Boris’s words struck him hard and left him brooding for a moment. “Then what would you have me do?”

A bitter expression passed over the Merchant’s face. “What any hunter does when faced with a canny monster; bait it into a trap.”

With those words, Boris gestured at himself. “The Varganiki is no doubt after me; use it’s own goal against it.”

Shaking his head, Ironteeth snapped. “I’m not about to put a civilian into harm's way like that! You’re going back to the tower and under guard until this matter is settled.”

Boris spat out. “And what? spend weeks or months as your guest while the city flails about, brutalizing my countrymen and missing the actual warg among the sheep?”

Becoming more annoyed, the Captain answered. “Vindabon isn’t incompetent, it can root out a spy in ways more subtle than the goat shit Gobavi uses. Besides, why in the world’s bones do you want to endanger yourself like this? When you came into my office you were wringing your hands and sniveling, not desperate to jump into the fray!”

Sharp teeth bared, Boris hissed. “I feared the entire network was compromised! My life has less value than the organization I’ve helped build. If I die, then others will take up the work, and besides, sacrificing myself to stop this beast is a small price for my people’s eventual freedom.”

Ironteeth looked into Boris’s eyes and saw the goblin’s zeal. Felt the fanatic commitment behind the merchant’s words and it was disgusting. “This is why I jagging hate your kind, always eager to martyr yourself at a pebble’s drop! All someone has to do is wave a ‘glorious purpose’ in front of a goblin and they’ll fall over themselves to die or kill for it!”

Standing up, eyes blazing, the Dwarf Captain’s voice grew louder. “I was at Milda, I know what goblin heroism looks like, and I’m not letting you bring that filth into my city! I’ll put you in a cell if I have to, to stop even a hint of this vicious idiocy!”

If the Captain’s words had cut Boris he didn’t acknowledge them. Instead he kept his black-eyed gaze on Ironteeth and hissed. “I was as well.”

That struck Ironteeth like a blow. “You were there? At Milda?”

Boris shrugged. “I wasn’t part of the battle, or… or the fire. My master’s lands were east of the town and many of my brothers were conscripted for the defense. I was sick at the time, having caught something while on the road peddling, and escaped the druzhinas rounding up of peasants. Still, I saw what happened that night.”

Memories swam in the air between the pair, both clearly remembering the siege of Milda and the atrocity that followed. Pulling himself from his ugly memories, Boris let out a sad chuckle. “It’s what got me to leave home. I saw what the Boyar ordered and the aftermath. Your army’s retreat helped me escape Gobavi. Following after the survivors and picking over the battlefields got me into Lechia with enough coin to start a new life.”

‘What the Boyar ordered.’ A simple sentence that didn’t capture the full horror of Milda. Under General Louon’s command the Vindabonian Army fought all the way to the town’s walls, catching and breaking the enemy before they could retreat into the settlement; or at least that’s what the officers had thought. Upon reaching the town, the army accepted its aldermen’s surrender and occupied Milda. For two days and one night the walls were garrisoned by the Vindabon force while its leaders sought some prize hidden in the town’s keep. The locals offered little resistance, merely keeping their heads down and being thankful their home hadn’t been sacked. For that scant bit of time, Ironteeth and his comrades had thought they’d been successful, and this whole bloody march into enemy territory would end with an impressive victory.

Then the second night came and with it the fire. All across the town, flames were let loose, allowed to slither free and start consuming everything around them. No bells rang, no warnings were shouted, the blaze grew and grew until by the time the soldiers realized what was happening, the town was burning. At first the invading army tried to douse the flames, forming bucket chains and screaming at the locals for aid. Many of the goblins simply cowered and prayed, others drew sharp knives. They set upon those trying to save their town with cold steel and religious mania. It was only then when Ironteeth noticed something about the townsfolk, they were mostly elders and those in ill-health. He’d at first thought the children were merely being hidden and the young folk had died in the battle, but as the fire burned and the war-songs came from outside the walls the truth became clear. Milda wasn’t a town anymore, it was a trap.

The Gobavi host hadn’t broken but simply fought a delaying action so the town’s ‘valuable’ people could evacuate; leaving the old, weak and useless to burn their home down with the enemy inside it. Now as the Milda caught flame and formed a signal flare, the enemy army returned, encircling the town. Only through the efforts of the leaguer battlemages was the fire held at bay long enough for the Vindabon army to regroup and prepare for battle. Caught between the kozaks beyond the walls and the growing blaze around them, the soldiers fought tooth-and-nail to escape, breaking through the encirclement at a heavy cost; leaving Milda to burn.

In a desperate flight that danced between retreat and rout, the Vindabon army pushed west, facing constant attacks by vicious warg-riders. It was during this mad flight that Ironteeth nearly died. Slower and sturdier than their human comrades, the dwarves naturally found themselves the rearguard, paying a dear price to ensure an escape. With only the glow of Milda to illuminate the battlefield, he and his kin fought off screaming Boi-Kholopi with wild desperation. It was one of those elite slave soldiers that caught Ironteeth in the mouth with his shield, shattering his teeth and cracking his jaw before driving an axe right into the dwarf’s chest. Only the presence of a human war-priest and General Louon’s final charge saved Ironteeth’s life. Keeping him alive enough to be slung over a donkey’s back and carried with the retreat while the mad noble had the grace to die spectacularly keeping the goblins occupied.

Pulling himself from those wretched memories, Ironteeth growled. “And you think this fact will jagging convince me of your idiotic plan? All I see is a stupid goblin ready to endanger themselves and my guards for the chance at martyrdom.”

Ironteeth knew the venom in his words was out of line, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was bad enough to be around a goblin, but one who was literally part of his wretched past, even tangentially, pushed him too far. He’d buried memories of that battle alongside the friends he’d lost, and now this sidhe-shit merchant was eagerly digging them up. When Boris had laid out his plan, his eyes shone with the mania Ironteeth saw back at Milda and in the battles before it. It was the look of a creature not just willing to die for a cause, but eager to do so.

Instead of matching Ironteeth’s rage, Boris simply stared at him, spinning his rings in a constant nervous dance. “I don’t want to die, but I’ll gladly risk myself to catch the Varganiki and-”

Jabbing a finger forward, Ironteeth spat. “There, right there, that’s the problem. No one should want to gladly risk themselves. That sort of rat-shit talk is for fools, zealots and stupid youths who don’t know any better. Facing danger is to be avoided and done only when truly necessary. See, your plan to lure out this warg-headed arsehole isn’t actually bad, but your eagerness to do it is wrong.”

Back stiffening, Boris bared his sharp teeth. “Then what? You’d prefer me to cringe and whine rather than do what is necessary to protect my people? Baiting out the Varganiki is the best way to catch him, and I’m your only bait! Better to take this risk then let the city’s flailing strike my innocent countrymen!”

Ironteeth ground his jaw, making his name-sakes scrape against each other. “I have other options, before going to the city government or putting your ass on my fishing hook. The city guard isn’t as clumsy or cruel as you’d think.”

Slouching backward, the Merchant replied. “I’d pray you are right, but I don’t have anyone to answer me anymore.”

An involuntary snort of laughter escaped Ironteeth. “At least we have that in common.”

Some of the tension bled away then, and the pair sat in silence as the carriage rolled on. Ironteeth had never thought he’d end up arguing with a slagging goblin like this, especially about keeping the fool alive. The whole thing had a surreal quality to it, and not for the first time the Captain wondered if he was making a mistake. Letting this civilian get enmeshed into all this was bad enough, but now he was squabbling with Boris like two elders debating city elections. While always taciturn, Ironteeth was rarely this argumentative and just damn rude. But being around a goblin, especially one who was at Milda, just brought it out in him. He wasn’t acting like the respected city watch officer he was and more like the hot-headed youth who’d joined a human army to escape a shameful family that he’d been.

Taking deep breaths and trying to push down the memories and bad habits, Ironteeth let out a sigh as the guard tower came into sight. “Let’s lay this all out with some of my best subordinates. Your knowledge about this Warg’s Head and other goblin rat-shit will be useful, so I’m letting you join us. But don’t push me.”

Boris nodded slowly, and Ironteeth kicked the carriage’s door open and hopped out. Goblin in tow, he headed into the guard tower and up towards his office and the workrooms. Before he got too far, City-Warden Cat-eyes ambushed him, a strange look on her face. “Hey boss, I’ve got more information on the wagon from last night and-”

Cutting her off, Ironteeth said. “That can wait. We’ve got a slagging mess falling right into our laps.”

Shifting uncomfortably, Cat-eyes said. “Well, I don’t know sir, I think this might be important.”

Taking a deep breath, Ironteeth tried to change his mental mine-cart onto another track. Cat-eyes wouldn't push if whatever happened wasn’t important. “What?”

Glancing at Boris and then back at her officer, the City-Warden said. “The horse is invisible and still loose in the district.”

Before Ironteeth could let out a curse and start ranting about idiotic apprentice magi and their pranks, Boris spoke. “How invisible?”

Alia shrugged at the strange question. “I can’t fucking find it, so pretty damn invisible?”

Slowly, Boris nodded and said. “I think I know how the Varganiki broke into the courier house.”