Veyra let out a low whistle as Grim finished telling his tale of the dungeon. A dragon at level two? That was… beyond rare. Sure, it had been a wingless beast, but even the fact that it was part of a quest wouldn’t have normally explained its presence in an abandoned mineshaft. She had to wonder what the dungeon was thinking, making that creature for such low-level delvers to fight. They usually only had one skill to their name by then, so contending with ranged attacks was already challenging, not to mention fire…

  ? “So,” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “What skill does the scroll have on it?”

  ? At that, Grim gave her a rueful grin. “I’m not sure. I was so tired after dealing with the Greater Goblin that I just wanted to leave.”

  ? She nodded in understanding, able to remember her own time at that level. Grim fished around in his pack until he produced the small furled scroll. A true skill scroll from a dungeon. That skill wouldn’t be modified in any way. Some would consider it a handicap, but she firmly believed that pure skills were the best. A delver should modify it based on their own experience, after all.

  ? Grim hummed thoughtfully for a second, then shook his head sadly. “I can’t make out the text. No clue what skill it is.”

  ? At her outstretched hand, he offered the scroll. While she couldn’t identify the text herself, she had the Identify skill. After a minute, the skill told her everything she needed to know.

  ? “Fire Barrier,” she reported, tossing the scroll back. He nearly dropped it in surprise. “Level four skill.”

  ? The corners of his mouth turned down, and his shoulders hunched slightly. She let out a laugh at that reaction. “You can use a level four skill, you know. It’ll just be a little more expensive.”

  ? “I know that,” he said, almost sounding pouty. “It’s just… I have no need for a Fire Barrier.”

  ? “So trade it when we get to Ironmarsh. What kinds of skills are you looking for?”

  ? “Mostly dash skills. An elemental strike skill–melee, mind you–would be nice, but another dash would be my best option.”

  ? When he caught sight of her raised eyebrow, he explained what he’d experienced when he first started using the bow. Finally understanding, she gave a solemn nod. “Boons do that. They always have a passive and an active skill. What’s its active?”

  ? “I don’t know,” he said slowly, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “I didn’t know it had one.”

  ? “All boons do,” she said with a snort. “That’s what sets them apart from normal gear. Even below level five, they can have a skill enchanted into them. Hold the bow like you’re going to fire it, but instead of drawing back, think about using a skill.”

  ? His frown deepened for a moment as he did just that, even going so far as to close his eyes. She had to resist the urge to laugh at his scrunched face, but held herself in quite well. Even Bolton, riding on Grim’s other side, leaned towards them with obvious interest. After a minute or two, Grim finally let out a sigh. Yet again, he looked disappointed. “I should have known. It’s Concussive Shot.”

  ? “That’s a pretty good skill for your level,” Veyra commented, impressed. “It’s a decent knockback on anything your size or smaller. Not that many things will be your size, of course.”

  ? She added the last line with a faint smirk, commenting on his small stature. He didn’t appear to hear the barb, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon toward Ironmarsh. She watched him intently, not disturbing his deep thoughts but taking careful note. She was no fool. There was more to his story that he hadn’t shared. For one, he’d made no mention of what he’d dreamed about in that dungeon. She wasn’t entirely surprised, but the curiosity did eat away at her. She’d have to know what secrets he was keeping eventually.

  ? “You know, I’d almost swear that bow looks familiar,” Bolton said. “I feel as if I’d seen it somewhere.”

  ? Grim only shrugged. They weren’t even sure if he’d heard what Bolton had said. Veyra, smiling patiently, addressed the comment. “Maybe Grim wasn’t the first to have it. Boons can change hands, you know. Sometimes they even skip generations. Thorne’s sword is like that.”

  ? Bolton nodded his acceptance of that point. “True. It was previously held by one of the Beinns, if I recall correctly. The rumors say that Frederic was actually the one who found it, though. She just inherited it after his death.”

  ? “Well, that’s not confirmed,” she said quickly. She shared this belief and had always wondered if the truth could be discovered. “Apparently, he got it in the very dungeon that killed him. I’m not sure I like the idea of a dungeon that gives someone a boon, then kills them in the exact same run.”

  ? Bolton could only shrug at that. “I don’t think we’ll ever know, to be honest. The way Thorne never speaks of him, it’s as if he’d never existed.”

  ? “True,” she agreed, her face twisting in discomfort. “Doesn’t help that Maven looks so much like him. That has to make the wound even deeper.”

  ? “They seem to have a good relationship in spite of that, if the stories are to be believed.”

  ? “You mean how she tried to move heaven and earth to stop her daughter from becoming a delver?”

  ? “Exactly. And then nearly threatened to demolish our guild headquarters when she joined our ranks.”

  ? “Nearly? Ha! She would do it right now if Ravel weren’t keeping her on such a tight delving schedule!”

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  ? Grim jerked out of his thoughtful fugue. At first, she thought her laugh had startled him, but as he stood in his saddle a moment later and shaded his eyes, she realized what he was looking at. Another smirk touched her face. Oh boy. Her favorite part of dragging any baby delver to Ironmarsh. She hoped Rengor was around. He was always good for a nice scare upon meeting fresh meat.

  —

  ? At first sight, Ironmarsh looked like nothing more than a dark hole in the side of the mountain range, a hole that produced an almost constant stream of smoke. It was only once they got closer that he could make out the shapes of individual buildings. Several were visible even over the walls, four to five-story affairs that struck out into the sky with a silently intimidating aura.

  ? Rumors about Ironmarsh and the people that called the city home were as varied as the stars in the sky, but one thing was agreed upon by most Beastwick residents. They were savages. Living in such close proximity to regular dungeon floods had turned them into near-monsters, caring only about battling and gaining strength. Grim had heard it all. Ironmarsh was just a dungeon that had grown out of the mountain and trapped people inside, turning them into monsters. It was a city on the brink of collapse, as no laws were enforced, and the only value people placed on a life was how strong they were.

  ? The walls, looming more than thirty feet into the air and topped with wicked stone spikes, were intimidating enough. The gates, while open, were heavy things, also made of stones, and lined with large, glowing runes. He had to crane his neck to view them properly as they drew closer. “Why are the spikes pointed inward to the city? Shouldn’t they point to the outside?”

  ? Veyra laughed. “To keep the monsters in, obviously. We can’t have ‘em slipping out and feasting on those fat fops in Beastwick. The noblings would upset their stomachs.”

  ? Even Bolton laughed at that, which surprised Grim. The taciturn man had shown no signs of humor since their first meeting, good or bad. Was that some kind of inside joke for Ironmarshians? He thought it might be, but glancing at the stoic expression on his mentors’ faces, he wasn’t so sure they weren’t utterly serious.

  ? “Welcome to Ironmarsh,” one of the guards said, coming to a stiff attention for a moment before peering at Veyra, one hand shading his eyes from the sun. “Oh, it’s you lot. Hang on, you only left with two. Who’s the kid?”

  ? “New recruit,” Bolton replied crisply, and Veyra nodded in confirmation. Grim couldn’t suppress a flood of pride that entered him at the words. He’d actually gotten in. “Picked him up in Beastwick.”

  ? At the mention of the capital city, the guard sneered, his eyes nearly reduced to slits. “A Beastwick delver? You sure he’s any good? I can practically smell his mother’s milk on him. The monsters will make a feast–well, a snack– out of him.”

  ? Veyra moved closer and, leaning down from her horse, gave the guard a good-natured smack across the back of his head. The man’s eyes slid out of focus for a moment at the clang, then he shook his head, grinning. “You keep thinking like that, and you’re gonna get passed up, Torri. The boy’s got talent. You really think we’d bring some baby nob back?”

  ? The guard smiled ruefully at that. “Right you are, Captain Tull. Well, I’ll wait and see how he turns out. Is he what took you so long? We received word from Orren that you lot should have been back three days ago.”

  ? “Yep,” Veyra said. “I gave him his initiation in Evandross. Figured it would save us some time.”

  ? “Ah, Evandross,” the guard’s eyes misted over as if with a fond memory. “Easiest essence of my life, being stationed on those walls.”

  ? “I’m surprised to learn you’ve had a shift or two, Darren,” Bolton joined in. “What brought you to Beastwick?”

  ? “Going for my B-Rank certification, of course.”

  ? Veyra let out a snort. “As if. You could have gotten that with the Council here. You went to flirt with some city barmaids.”

  ? The guard looked wounded, but only for a moment. Deciding not to reply to the comment, he waved into the city. “Well, get a move on. I expect Orren is chomping at the bit to scold you.”

  ? ?”As long as he chomps before he scolds me,” Veyra said, her eyes flashing to match her grin. “I couldn’t find a single cute boy to ravish in Beastwick. It’s been too long.”

  ? They urged their horses forward and under the massive stone archway, Veyra and Bolton at the lead. Grim let his horse follow, his head swiveling in all directions to take in the city. Despite the different uniforms and a general dusty, worn appeal, it looked similar to Beastwick. It was a city like any other, with one glaring difference–the people. On all sides, people shouted at each other. Laughed with each other. Insulted each other. And nowhere could he see any indicator in clothing that split them apart.

  ? “Are there no nobles in this city?” He asked, leaning forward to make sure the others could hear him. “Everyone here seems… equal.”

  ? “Well, there are some social ranks implied,” Bolton said, as Veyra showed no sign of answering. “But that’s linked to your delving record. If you get strong and earn some merit, you gain more respect. But outside of that… yes. Ironmarsh is very egalitarian. Nobody cares what your name is here, or if you’re linked to some noble house.”

  ? Grim grinned. “I could get used to that.”

  ? “It’ll be the easiest thing for you to adjust to here.”

  ? Bolton pulled back on his horse’s reins a bit, drawing level with Grim and beginning to explain the basic facts about the city. Much of it was rote information that barely interested him, save for a few mental notes he recorded for future reference. No nobles, though there were plenty here with famous family names. And most interesting of all was the layout of the city.

  ? Ironmarsh wasn’t just built into the mountain range, but *through* it. The same narrow pass that had unleashed the monster floods onto the planes and toward Beastwick was not blocked by a heavily guarded gate, and served as the city’s midpoint. The city was almost perfectly split in half by the mountain ranges, with the eastern half, where they were now, being safe and much like any other city, and the western half being less… organized.

  ? Grim actually made out the gate as they approached it and saw the huge statue carved out above it. A very familiar figure, sculpted in the act of diving, one arm extended and holding an arrow.

  ? “Relvan the Hero,” Bolton said, a tinge of pride in his voice. “Nobody here has lived long enough to remember him, of course. But the legends all agree; he’s the reason this city even exists.”

  ? Grim knew that, of course, but the story was of little note. “What’s so dangerous about the west side of the city?”

  ? “Well, that’s the side where all the monsters live,” Veyra said, her tone teasing but filled with dry humor. “All the ruffians and bandits of the city call the western half home, you know. No laws there, and you can hide away from the eyes of the Council. And every once in a while, you get a nice, nasty surprise appearance from some monster.”

  ? Regarding the nasty, eager grin on her face, with some concern, he glanced back at the gate. They were definitely moving *closer*. “Right… Why are we going through the gate, then?”

  ? “Why else?” Veyra said, her grin widening further, reminding him yet again of some predator that was just toying with him before the final kill. “That’s where your new home is.”