Zach slept well that night, his mind undisturbed by dreams or nightmares. He hadn’t much of a chance to think about the meaning of that ominous vision, but it seemed clear enough. There was someone searching for him, and if they found him, everything would be lost. The only confusing part was the faces he didn’t know. Were those supposed to be people he would come to know? People he’d known but forgotten? Past lives? He couldn’t say.

  Another thing that bothered him was the issue of actually being summoned to this world. Why him? He had yet to display any awe-inspiring powers or superior skill in combat, and he had already had a chance. Did someone slip up and summon the wrong person? He needed to find out who had brought him here, but he hadn’t a clue where to even begin looking. Magic was part of this world, so it was natural to assume that there were magi who could perform spells that might have the power to reach into other worlds. Those that had found him had certainly not seemed very shocked at his appearance. They had called the place he had spawned in a Gateway. Perhaps if he went back there, he might be able to return.

  When he awoke, he was forced to squint his eyes, beams of light streaming down on him. He batted the air before realizing his folly, then, grumbling, he stood and stretched, searching for his shoes. It was a strange look, sneakers with medieval commoner wear, but it was better than going barefoot. His socks were still fine, if a little smelly, he just needed to wash them at some point in the future. He went downstairs, yawning, wishing he had a toothbrush and toothpaste. How did people keep their breath clean back in the day? The tavern was mostly empty, Mistress Ithia setting the tables as the other workers moved things around and cleaned. It was a nice atmosphere—the feeling of work being done thick in the air.

  He nodded at everyone, walking out into the street. The town wasn’t the largest, at least compared to modern-day equivalents back home, but the man, Kriese he had called himself, said it was a small trek outside of town. Kriese had been frustratingly vague about what his ‘job’ was, and that of course meant there was certainly going to be some Mr. Miyagi-level shenanigans going on. Mistress Ithia had been his lore NPC, telling him about Kriese’s background information. Apparently, he had fought for the Goldskins decades ago and had come back home to retire. He was a widower with a small plot of land and came into town to drink, but otherwise, he kept to himself.

  If this was a game or movie, it was the typical mentor stereotype. The old man wants to teach the young as a sort of penance, they bond, and the young pupil helps out the old master as much as the opposite was true. That was just fine with him. It had been difficult at first for him to realize that nothing here really mattered. Their lives ultimately meant nothing to him. He just needed to get home, and whatever he had to do to get back, he should do. In that respect, they really were simply more advanced NPCs.

  But there was that persistent thought that nagged at him...did he want to go back? What was really there for him in his old life? Yes, playing video games was fun, and something he really did miss, but his future was bleak. He simply lacked the discipline needed to go through life. He knew that. He understood that. It was why he’d tried to find a way out before, but when he realized he was too much of a coward to even go through with that, then what was he to do? He didn’t know. Instead, he had languished for years. People always told him he was too smart to be doing nothing, that he was wasting his potential. But what potential did he really have? He was good at games, and that was only because he spent all his time playing them. Maybe he wasn’t even good at that, really.

  He made it out of town, walking along a small highway that overlooked one of the many creeks in the area. Trees dotted the path, sometimes obscuring the water below, but otherwise, it was a fine view. He stopped for a bit just to admire the scenery. It felt familiar in a way. Like he had been here before, but he supposed he had. The developers who made large sandbox RPGs had to base their worlds on something, and this was as generic a scene as they come. Still, being there in the moment, it felt different. Better. He couldn’t quite place his finger on why or how he felt that way, but the sounds, the smell in the air, the feeling that pulsed around him...

  It felt nice. It really did.

  Energized, he continued his way towards Kriese’s house, humming as he did so.

  “Take a right just past the bend of the creek on your right, there you’ll see a field and a lone tree.”

  He did. It wasn’t much of a tree, crooked and tilted as it was, but it was undoubtedly the landmark the man spoke of. He saw the man’s house—though it was more of a shack—in the distance, a wooden fence delineating where his property began.

  “I live alone, so don’t think no one’s home just ‘cause nothing’s much going on around. I keep to myself, usually do work in the morning and rest a bit in the afternoon.”

  Now that was where the breakdown began. There was a host of men atop steeds and mounts surrounding the old man’s home. There wasn’t much for him to hide himself in, but he took to the shrubs and bushes before they spotted him. He cursed as loose thorns poked and prodded him, scratching his skin and opening up small wounds, but he would have to bear it. His eyesight wasn’t superb, but they seemed to gleam and sparkle like the sun in the distance. He inched closer along the line of shrubbery, straining to see exactly who they were. It was slow going, but he forged ahead. He’d likely be scratching at himself all night.

  He crouched along, nearing the fence, and he was finally able to get a good look at the assembly gathered outside. They were dressed in heavy plate armor that fully covered them, shining gold in the midday sun. A tabard lay across their chests, bearing an insignia, a flaming sword above a hill. He was no detective, but these had to be the Goldskins he had been warned of. Soldiers of the United Empire, and from the way others spoke of them, they were not a friendly bunch.

  So why were so many of them gathered outside Kriese’s home?

  Was this some kind of test? Was the man challenging his mettle by seeing if he would walk brazenly into a small army of men? Well, he planned on failing this test and failing it hard. He still lacked critical information about his possible enemies in this world. What if they knew what he looked like? He’d simply be walking into a poorly-laid trap, willingly activating it. Even if it was some kind of reverse-psychology gimmick, it was downright moronic to proceed. He sat watching, as it was the only thing he could do. Unfortunately, that meant baking in the sun, thorns still sticking him, and he could distinctly feel insects creeping over his body. It was enough to make a man scream, but he held firm, somehow.

  The men for the most part did not speak amongst each other much, standing still and remaining alert. How they had not seen him on his approach, he did not know, but they had the air of strong discipline. He had expected them to be a band of bullies, their strongest quality being the air of menace they bore, but they seemed to be the real deal. That was decidedly not good for him. After some time, the door to the shack opened and a man walked out, his helmet at his side. He seemed to speak a few words to the men before mounting his own horse, and they left in short order after he donned his equipment, riding off towards him. They slowed as they neared him, and he realized as they approached that they very easily saw him.

  They remained on their mounts, staring at him expectantly, and he exited the bushes hesitantly, raising his arms in surrender as he slowly walked towards them.

  He did not speak, waiting for their word so that he could understand how to navigate the situation. The leader, an officer of some sort he surmised by his aura of command and general mien, spoke first, saying, “Curious to find a visitor so cautious of the Goldskins these days. You’ve not the look of one native to these parts, boy. Where are you from?” His tone was light, casual. He might have been asking how the weather was. It was difficult to judge his intent without being able to see his face, but he knew the man was seeking more than what was on the surface. Time was ticking, however, and he couldn’t stand there thinking all day.

  “Bharinia,” he said, remembering the name of one of the countries Egan had mentioned before. He was a bit on the darker side compared to those that lived in Riverton, and that sounded foreign enough that maybe there were some fellow brown of skins out there in the world. The only issue was that he suspected it was somewhere far away, and his suspicions were soon proven correct.

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  “Bharinia?” the officer said in surprise, “you’re far from home then, traveler. What brings you here? Kriese isn’t famed for his friendliness, nor is he of the inviting sort.”

  “I--” he realized that he had no idea what a Bharinian even sounded like. The man was obviously suspicious of him, and not having the right accent would be a dead giveaway. Bharinian? That sounded close enough to some sort of South Asian, Middle-Eastern type of tongue. He was about to offend some Bharinian’s, but he had to give it a shot. He only hoped it was close enough.

  “I have business with the old man, a service he has offered to render, yes?” He was going to Hell for butchering this accent. He sounded like a mix between a terrible Bollywood movie and the Peddler from Aladdin. “What business is it of yours what I do with my time, Goldskin?”

  “Typical Bharinian. They don’t know when to show respect,” one of the soldiers said, moving his mount towards Zach threateningly. How the fuck did that actually work?

  The officer held up a hand, studying him shrewdly, “Sorry to bother you then, my friend. Take care, and let the sands bear you swiftly,” he intoned.

  A customary greeting endemic to a specific country? That was useful. He felt like an achievement should have popped up telling him he had acquired a certain amount of lore for his in-game journal, but he stowed that feeling away and said, “And you, my friend,’ giving him a half-bow.

  The officer nodded curtly at him and turned his mount away, yelling, “Form! Present. Ride!” and the whole lot of them took off at a gallop, silhouettes fading into the tree line. The whole exchange had been less than a few minutes, but he could feel that bloom of anxiety sprouting deep in his gut. He needed to get it in his head that they were just sentient AI. That’s all. He shouldn’t be scared of talking to them or interacting with them. They weren’t real. Not like he was, anyways. He was a Chosen One. Why should he be nervous? He had plot armor, that conversation had proven that. Still, the shrewd look in the officer’s eyes had unnerved him. It was as if he had seen right through him. Yet, he had let him go. What that could possibly mean, he wasn’t sure of, but for now he needed to focus on his upcoming training. That was the most important thing.

  He walked past the fence, over the trampled grass and fresh hoofprints. He wrinkled his nose as he carefully maneuvered around a pile of horse dung. No one ever mentioned how much the damn animals smelled. There was a single window to the left of the door, and he peered into it after knocking a few times, wondering where the man was. Kriese couldn’t have gone far in the short time he took to walk over here, yet he stood waiting a few minutes, unsure if he should just walk inside or not. He was about to knock again when he noticed movement in his peripheral, the man coming around the house. He was bare-chested and hairy, a scowl and squint on his face.

  “I told you to come around to the back, boy, didn’t I?” he asked.

  Zach frowned in thought. He didn’t really recall that being mentioned, but he did tend to forget things in the short-term, small details like that. “Sorry, I forgot,” he settled on awkwardly. He didn’t really know what else to say. It wasn’t a great second impression.

  “S’alright,” the man grumbled, turning around and waving him to follow. He followed in silence. He really couldn’t remember Kriese telling him anything like that. He told him where he lived, and that if it didn’t look like he was home he still probably was. This was always happening to him. How was he ever supposed to function as an adult if he couldn’t even remember simple directions? Well, that’s what Mom always said, anyways. He had to agree. It was just one of the many, many reasons he-

  “Zachary,” said a voice, and he snapped out of his daydreaming with a slight jump, looking up at the source. The man had a concerned look on his face, though the scowl remained. “You all right, boy?”

  “Yeah,” he replied, still thinking about his mistake. “I’m fine.”

  “I see,” said Kriese slowly, as if he didn’t believe him. “Well, no doubt you were expecting me to be alone, so to see the Army here might have been a bit of a shock. But why in Halgandar’s Hammer did you think that hiding in a bush was a good idea? It’s not a crime to walk outside.”

  “I...” he said, trailing off faintly. Well, he was the main character of whatever the hell was going on in this world, wasn’t he? The protagonist? It made sense that a squad of men working for the antagonist would immediately recognize him and be hostile. If this was a game at least, that’s how it would go. Such an interaction would serve as a nice segue into the combat tutorial, teaching him first how to attack, then block, then dodge and perhaps use a special skill or ultimate ability.

  Instead, he had hid in a bush. Pretty fucking lame, he had to admit.

  “I just—well, Pevarin and the others had mentioned the Goldskins. They never had anything good to say about them.”

  The old man sighed heavily, giving him a sad smile, “I see we’re still viewed favorably by the common people, eh? Yes, I suppose they wouldn’t tell you much about the good the Goldskins do. Well, I can’t say they are wrong to feel the way they do. You know I used to serve the United Empire, don’t you?”

  He thought about lying for a moment, but it didn’t seem worth it. The man was a soldier. He had family that had served in the military back home. Honesty and integrity were huge with them. “Yeah. Mistress Ithia told me.”

  He nodded expectantly. “Good of you to check my background. You should never take someone’s word at face. Plenty of people out there who’ll do a fool wrong quicker than he can turn his head. The only way to avoid that is to not be a fool in the first place. Now, sit,” he said, squatting down in the grass himself, the wind blowing a welcome breeze over the small field they stood in. He took a look at the dirt and squalid patches of grass around him before following the other man’s lead.

  “Now, first, what did they ask you? What did you tell them?” said Kriese.

  “Uh, he—the lead officer—asked me what business I had here, basically. Oh, he asked me where I was from, too.” He remembered that last part with a slight cringe of his shoulders. That accent really had been downright offensive.

  “I take it you weren’t stupid enough to tell him the truth, were you?”

  “No. Well, yeah, sort of. I told him I was here to see you, but otherwise, I told him that I was from Bharinia.”

  “Bharinia?” the man said, brows raising in surprise, “What the hell made you pick that forsaken sand-trap? How do you even know of it?”

  “I heard someone mention it once,” he said, half-embarrassed, half-proud, “And it sounded just foreign enough to fit my look,” he finished, gesturing at his skin.

  “It’s also across the damn Empire, lad,” he said, the man chuckling. “You don’t sound very Bharinian either. Did you factor that into your grand deception?”

  “Yeah, I spoke like this,” he said, laying on the accent thick, and the man nearly keeled over in laughter, and Zach joined him. It was pretty funny when he thought about it. Once the man had recovered, “hoo”-ing under his breath and muttering “Bharinian” in amused bewilderment, he said, “You understand he did not believe you for one second, don’t you?” Zach dropped his smile. He had figured as much.

  “Yeah. I got the feeling he wasn’t buying it.”

  “He’s a shrewd man, Omaric,” said Kriese, nodding his head, eyes closed. “Young for his rank, and he’s seen combat. Real combat,” he finished, the last two words said softly.

  “How bad is that? Am I in trouble?” he asked. If that was the case, he’d had to leave immediately. Getting captured had to be on the decidedly-not-good tier of viable options.

  “No. It’s not as if you’ve committed a crime just for possibly lying about where you’re from. He can’t verify it anyhow. But you’ve definitely aroused his interest, and for you, a young man in the world trying to find your footing, that is not a good thing. Especially so, because you are not from this world, either.” said Kriese.

  He had felt this coming. Kriese made no move, and stayed perfectly still and calm. It wasn’t him cornering Zach, he was just stating an obvious fact. “You could tell?” That was a dumb question. He’d really made no effort to hide it besides with the Goldskins. He hadn’t really thought that he’d need to, but he supposed that was a bit na?ve.

  “Any fool with ears and eyes could tell. Watching you walk around in that big white coat or cloak or whatever it was is proof enough to name you Outlander. And they’re nothing more than a myth in these parts.”

  “But the Goldskins knowing is bad, right?” he said, pushing things back to the United Empire. He needed to know if he was safe. Getting SWAT’ed (or GOLD’ed, he should say) in his tavern room wasn’t something he looked forward to.

  “I hesitate to say that it is bad, but it isn’t good. The Goldskins aren’t what your friends would have you believe, but I admit that we’ve done wrong in the past. It was part of why I left.” he said, disappearing into his memories for a moment before returning, then saying, “But like all things, there is good and bad and everything in between beyond the surface. Pevarin and his ilk would condemn the same men that have saved thousands of lives simply for the wrongs committed by men those boys and men protecting the world have never even met, nor ever will.”

  “But yet you’re telling me not to trust them, right?” said Zach, and the man gave him a look of sufferance.

  “No,” he growled, “I am simply telling you not to be a fool. Trust first yourself, then others when they have given you reason to do so.”

  “Then can I trust you?” he wanted to ask, but riling the bear as things stood seemed a poor option.

  “As I said,” the man said, smiling knowingly at him, “trust no one until they have given you reason to. Have I given you reason to trust me yet?”

  He thought for a moment. “Not really,” he said uncomfortably.

  “Then don’t,” he said, grinning wide, “Now, a man you don’t trust is going to teach you how to at least not cut yourself with a sword. Let’s pray to all the gods that’ll hear us you don’t die.”

  “You can come down now, Egan,” said Selara, looking up at the glass they hid behind. Zach and Egan exchanged glances before going back to the first floor. The cacophony of hooves and yells had already begun to fade, the atmosphere of the tavern mostly restored, if muted somewhat in the wake of the Goldskins visit. Selara was plainly vexed, Pevarin pensive as they joined them at the table. There had been an awful lot of insinuation and implicit subtext in the conversation he had overheard, and he was still trying to extract the true meaning of what had been exchanged in the stalemate. It was clear that, for now, unless Selara wanted the entirety of Riverton put to the sword, or worse, she could go nowhere without sacrificing Zach. Strangely enough, he had full faith that she would not do that under any circumstances.

  She fixed her eyes upon him, surprisingly, when the two men had settled down at the table in the noble’s seat, weighing him critically in her gaze. “You, Pevarin, and Egan will go to Lord Hisen’s manor and force him to provide you his seal. After that, you’ll go join the Final Breath.”

  “Absolutely not.” said Pevarin, his voice firm, “We will find another way.”

  “I see no other way, Herun. Our haste has left us exposed. Regardless, this will still end in a victory for the cause. My life for the Hero is a lopsided trade in our favor.”

  “He will not grant you a kind death, Calinor. You know this.”

  “And have you known me to dream of dying in bed, surrounded by my loved ones? I was born of blood and smoke—I shall return to it gladly.”

  He stared at her, somewhat in awe, he found. It was hard not to admire her resolve. She did not say the words with the bravado of some haphazard fool, but calmly, with purpose and strength. Acceptance. That was it. Not resignation either, but the pragmatic acceptance of one who had seen enough to know that there could be no other way.

  “And you believe that Riverton will be spared when they discover the potential Hero has fled?” asked Pevarin. “You cannot be that na?ve.”

  “Whether it is spared or not is of no real concern. Getting him to safety, training him—that is what matters.”

  Egan bristled at that, “I’ve known you to be cold, Selara, but not like this. You cannot believe that this is the way.”

  She slammed a fist upon the table, flames flying into the air, scorching the wood and the ceiling above. Her eyes blazed with anger, with desperation, “We will lose this war, Egan. We have been losing it. Everyone at this table knows this true. We cannot compensate for our position without sacrifice. I am prepared to make it, and you must be as well.”

  “I will not let you decide for others the greatest of choices,” said Egan evenly. Zach hadn’t seen the man demonstrate any notable skill, but he matched Selara in poise and temperament, and that was quite difficult to do when she was openly displaying her magical strength.

  “I think there is some merit in what Selara has suggested, Egan. But, as usual, she has not thought beyond her first impulse,” said Pevarin, and surprisingly, Selara blushed at his admonishment.

  “We would be fools to expect nothing less than complete obstruction at every exit out of this country. We will need to think well upon what we do next. And do it quickly, at that.”

  Four roads diverged in a yellow wood, eh? Well, really, there was no choice, the way he saw it. They had been well and properly trapped. Zach shifted in place. Well, that wasn’t strictly true.

  “What if we split push?”

  It was a concept from MOBAs, an online genre of game revolving around the siege of a singular fortification. Typically, there were three lanes of attack, with varying degrees of space and interactivity in the area between them, depending on the game. To split push was to force the hand of the defender by attacking multiple lanes at once, instead of barreling down a singular lane. When you were incapable of succeeding through a focused effort, this was the preferred method of play, or if you had a distinct advantage in one lane, it was beneficial to send the singular person holding that advantage, to force a response that was to the disadvantage of the defender.

  They looked at him, obviously confused and surprised by his interjection. He blinked, alarmed that he had even spoken, but he pressed on, “We should attack each point of egress, simultaneously. From what I can tell, Selara is unmatched, in terms of battle strength. I assume you would be quite the force as well, Pevarin. I, myself am…not really that great at fighting, so I’d probably need an escort of some sort. Egan would probably be the best allocation of resources, in that regard.” He was used to playing weakside, anyways. With two strong solo lanes generating pressure, a gap was sure to open. But even if they were able to pull it off, there was still the rather complicated moral dilemma of condemning an entire town to an unknown, but likely grim fate. Truth be told, he had a hard time appreciating the totality of such a decision. And that worried him, a little.

  He was, for all intents and purposes, a modern-day hermit. A recluse, outcast—a scavenger on the fringes. There wasn’t anything wrong with that, in his opinion, but sitting there, imagining the destruction of these people from an entirely different world, he was startled to realize he just did not care. And he knew why. To him, they were little more than NPCs. None of this felt real, after all. He’d sooner believe this was some extended lucid dream rather than reality, or better yet that he had been fully enveloped by early onset dementia. He was sure he wasn’t a psychopath or a sociopath. He felt empathy. A cold thought occurred to him, one he was hesitant to process. He threw it aside. There were more important things for now.

  Selara gave him an appraising look, then, astonishingly, she smiled at him. He glanced away, quickly, feeling his heart skip a little bit at that. Was he so pathetic that just a woman’s smile was enough to rattle him so? “You heard the Hero, Pevarin. Not a bad idea, for now. Worth some thought at least.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, musing, “but we can do better, I think.” He rose, tall and imposing. Elves were always portrayed as beautiful, cold, but this one was different. He was handsome, sure, no debate there, but the righteousness and self-importance he expected to find was gone. There was a degree of apathy, or something like it, about him. Indifference, perhaps. The elf wore a weak half-smile of sorts, looking at Selara, but the light dulled in his eyes otherwise. “I’ve some other paths which might yield fruit should I explore them. Eat, you three. It may be the last chance for a cooked meal around a hearth for some time.”

  He almost expected a gossip bubble to pop up above Pevarin’s head, with dialogue options like, “Are you ready to leave? (This will abandon any quests in this area)” and “There are still things I need to do here.” The elf left in short order, with Selara frowning after him. He could already guess at their type of relationship. The orphaned girl, borne of trauma and death, taught by the outcast mentor far from home, begrudgingly. They warm up to each other, finding that the loneliness is staved off by the love that begins to form. Or something. Probably.

  He wanted to ask her about that relationship, partially out of boredom, partially to understand his circumstances more, and, well, did he really need to admit the last part? Unfortunately, he didn’t get the chance, because a few moments later she left without any word explaining where she was going, or why she was leaving. Egan sighed as the doors closed behind Selara, her cloak flapping in the wind.

  “Probably off to tail him,” said Egan, waving down a waitress as he sat down. Zach had figured

  as much. He’d seen this type of characterization many a time, after all. The waitress approached, giving Zach an odd look, then turning to Egan, said, “Well? What do you want?”

  “Mmmm,” said Egan, thinking, “What do you have today?”

  “The same we always have.”

  “Are you certain? Because, I saw that Selara had-”

  “We’re out of that.”

  Egan paused, craning his neck. “You’re still upset, aren’t you?”

  The waitress stiffened, turning to Zach, giving him an overly sweet widening of the lips. He began to understand. “And you, young master? Would you care for our roast pheasant and sauce?”

  He would have preferred chicken nuggets and fries, perhaps some a fountain soda from the gas station to cap it off, but the hunger that had been muted now roared at him with great vigor. “Um, yeah—yes, please.”

  “And what do I get?” whined Egan.

  “The same thing I got.” she said, scowling before walking away for the kitchen.

  “And-and what would that be?” Egan stammered after her with a silent curse to follow.

  “Disappointment.”

  A few men around the bar who were passively listening chuckled, raising their mugs in mock salute as Egan grumbled to himself. “Women are a strange mix of wonder and strife, Zachary.”

  “Please,” he said, nearly gagging, “Just call me Zach. Only my mom calls me Zachary.”

  “But,” said Egan, confused, “that is your name, is it not?”

  “I mean, it is,” he said, not certain how to explain the cultural distinction between the formal full name and abbreviated form in casual conversation. He gave it a few moments thought, but realized that things might grow too awkward, “It’s just weird.”

  “Alright, Zach,” he said, pronouncing it in an attempt at an American accent. It was about as impressive as Zach trying a British accent.

  “Wow, that was...pretty good,” said Zach, cracking a smile.

  “Really? You know, give me that—what did you call it? Sweater, and I might be able to pass for an Outlander myself.”

  Zach shook his head. “And what can I do to make myself not stand out so much?”

  “You’d need quite a bit of work for that, Zach,” he said, reaching over and poking his arm, “For one, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re a shade too dark for the folk around here.”

  Well, he was used to that. Growing up in white suburbia as a brown kid did glean him the occasional odd look. He wondered if this world was the stereotypical Euro-centric high fantasy setting.

  “Is that so unusual in—what did you call this place? Peratha?”

  “Not in Peratha itself,” said Egan, “Just this part. Go far enough east and you’ll run into Bharinia, and as well as this, there’s smatterings of all types throughout the United Empire. The world has grown smaller in ways, even as the Empire expands. Riverton is just...isolated. You’ll see what I mean once we make our escape. Oh, here’s the food.”

  A rather piping pheasant made its descent onto the table in front of him, the waitress pointedly smiling at him, then scowling at Egan as she delivered a bowl of mystery across from Zach. Two small pewter cups soon followed, and she left without further word. Egan coughed, looking at him pointedly. Neither of them had been given dining utensils.

  Awkwardly, Zach ripped off a chunk of pheasant, then nearly dropped it as the heat began to sear his fingers before he let it plop into Egan’s bowl. The man was non-plussed, however, and tucked in immediately. A few bites and a slurp or two passed before he lowered the bowl and looked at Zach in the eyes, keeping still.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Someone’s been watching us since a little after the Goldskins left. We should have seen this coming.” Egan’s tone was light, casual, just as it had been before. His eyes were what carried the full import of what he was saying.

  “They left a vigil for when we lowered our guard,” he said, understanding. And where there was one spy, there were many. The one watching them could have sent someone to alert the Goldskins.

  Egan laughed, “I’m going to go upstairs for a moment to retrieve something. Wait for me outside by the stables, would you?”

  He had absolutely no idea why Egan would willingly send him into danger, but sometimes it was better to commit to some kind of plan than to run off and do your own thing. At least, in multiplayer games. And hell, wasn’t life just one big multiplayer game? Obviously, that was abstracting away a considerable amount of complexity, but, well, he was quite near to pissing himself. A little coping was to be expected. He nodded, standing up and abandoning his meal. He avoided eye contact with the patrons, some of the tavern staff rotely wishing him well. He was surprised that he could feel so much fear in the clear of day under an open sky, the sun blazing above. He had no idea where the stables were, but he could smell it quite easily, and walked around the right side of the tavern into a tight alleyway. It opened to a wider space behind several other structures, the stable entrance off to his right, with a well in the middle of the circular area.

  If someone was following him, or watching, he couldn’t tell, which, if anything, was worse than being able to see or hear his stalkers. It wasn’t quiet. The sounds of a town in peak operation were quite audible from where he stood. He whirled abruptly, expecting to catch sight of something, anything, but there was nothing there. He continued walking to the stables, wrinkling his nose as the smell of horseshit heightened. Some of the horses glanced his way as he entered, snorting disdainfully at his approach and lack of proffered feed, but he proceeded. If he was forced to make a getaway, he had no idea how to even ride a horse. He knew that doing it bareback was quite difficult for a casual like himself, and that he could injure himself by doing so. Still, it was probably better than-

  Hoofbeats. Then armor. They were coming back.

  Something pulled at him. Not in the literal sense. A feeling, a tingle, a shifting in the air. Whatever it was, he wasn’t alone any longer. He whirled, then grunted as he crashed into one of the stall doors, his sense of awareness light while his head itself weighed upon him. A shadow in the shape of a man stood above him, and he wondered faintly what—or who—it was. The shadow turned just in time to greet another, staggering as it fell to the ground, something sticking out of its side.

  His poor head. Why was he even here? Oh, right. Egan.

  Someone pulled him to his feet, cursing fast under their breath. They led him to a horse, quickly wrapping a saddle around it. He wanted to tell him that it didn’t look all that safe, but he was in such a hurry. The man was saying things like, “Get on!” and “Wake up!”, but he didn’t want to “get on” and he certainly was awake. Where the fuck was Egan, anyway?

  The man cursed, which he seemed to do a lot of, then ran away. Didn’t he remember he had just set up a horse?

  “Man,” said Zach, trying to mount the horse, who neighed sharply in disapproval. “This shit sucks. My head hurts.” His foot caught in the stirrup as he managed to put his belly on the saddle, then fell back to the ground. The horse looked away, likely embarrassed for him.

  “I’ll take the boy,” said a gruff voice. That can’t have been Egan. Wait, what? No...no he had just seen Egan. Egan had put the saddle on the—the fucking horse. Christ. The sounds that had been annoyances just seconds before, he now realized were the clashing of swords and yelling of men. A grizzled older man wearing a leather tunic ran towards him, and he tried to side-step him, like he had seen in anime, but he was too slow. The man held him tightly, easily, as he mounted the horse Zach had so quickly slipped off of. He slid Zach backwards over his shoulder roughly onto the horse’s back and whipped the horse into motion, the creature tossing its head as it started out of the stall.

  “Where the end and beginning meet!” Egan shouted, dashing out of sight. Some of the Goldskins followed, but more started for Zach and the old man. Luckily, it was too cramped for many to follow, and the grizzled man unsheathed a sword as the steed gathered speed, forcing men out of the way as it burst out of the stables. Zach hugged the man tight from behind, feeling as if he might slide off of the horse at any moment. The mount dashed through the streets at dizzying speeds, the nausea from his earlier encounter still overwhelming.

  “Do not let go!” warned the man, and reflexively, Zach squeezed his arms tight at the urgency in his voice. Men shouted after them, but they had gained too great a head-start. The town streaked by, colors registering in his mind although the form of it was too elusive to grasp and shape into real figures. By the time he was done in this world, he would have CTE. He knew a horse ride would not be a smooth affair, but the turbulence from each gallop fought to send him hurtling to the ground. They rode on, the town fading over the horizon as they crested a hill, a river to their right as the steed pounded the dirt. In short order, they arrived at the meeting place Egan had spoken of. It was a crossroads.

  Egan was waiting, calm and expectant. The old man did not stop, leaving the road to cross a field that lay ahead of them, and Zach heard Egan begin to follow.

  “I assume you know a place?” asked Egan, pulling up beside them.

  “Safe enough, for now. But the Empire does not abandon the chase. You will need to get moving, soon. Where is the elf and your lady lord?”

  “Gone. Off to explore some ways out of here.”

  The old man shook his head, “There are no ways out, boy. You were made the minute the girl stepped into town.”

  Egan grimaced, “I had feared as much. But Selara is...not fully considerate of consequences.”

  The old man guffawed, “You mean she’s a Dawn-blighted fool?”

  “Well, I don’t like to speak poorly of my friends.”

  “I don’t mean to interrupt you two,” said Zach, nauseous, “but are we gonna be stopping anytime soon? I think I’m gonna hurl.” A wave of nausea crashed into him then, and he leaned over to expel the contents of his stomach onto the grass. “Never mind,” he said, settling back into his perpetually jostling seat, “I’m good.”