Mir encountered the first beings lured by Evil a week later. He’d just finished killing the boar that had kept getting into Lei’s mushroom patch and was up to his elbows field dressing it when they appeared. Goblins, their blue-grey skin stretched tight across their bony frames in malnourishment. Dressed in armor made from patchwork scavenged leather that had clearly seen better days. A whole gang, moving stealthily through the shrubbery, now froze at the sight of him.

  The real surprise was that he and the lead goblin recognized each other at the same time.

  “Boss?”

  “Oh, hello, Flarb. You’re looking alive.” Mir even managed a smile as he said it. “Oh, you want the offal? I didn’t intend to bring the innards back, we don’t need them right now.” Outside of the kidneys, liver, and heart, he didn’t have use for the other boar organs. It cost him nothing to offer an old employee a meal. Especially when Flarb looked like he needed it.

  Flarb blinked again before suddenly dropping and promptly prostrating himself. The members of the gang behind him quickly followed suit. Most of them didn’t recognize the Ley-Scarred in front of them, but they’d been traveling following the call of Evil for some time now. Most assumed this man was what was at the end of the call. He didn’t look like much in the way of an evil boss, though. No robes. No ponderous spells. No big, scary chair. He looked like a slightly healthier-than-usual commoner.

  Oh, they’d learn.

  “Boss, I can’t believe it’s you! You’re looking well. Very fit. Very fit. Married life suits you. How’s the husband?” Flarb’s rough voice had never lost its Eastern Isles accent. Perfect for a gang boss, a little awkward for compliments.

  “Doing well. I’d ask what brings you all here, but I’m fairly certain I know.” He didn’t mind that his old minions were heeding the call. It did tell Mir that their baby Dark Lord would be quite the issue if he waited till later rather than sooner. He realized he’d written the book on Dark Lords and how to be one, but he didn’t expect that those who rose to power after him would follow it so closely as to pick up his leftovers.

  Flarb nodded, rubbing his nose against the ground. “Times are tough, boss. The dungeon business ain’t so good these days. Without you around to lure them out, nobody’s picking off the Heroes at the top! This new generation, boss they're too damn strong! They’re finally getting good training. Less idealism and idiocy to exploit, so they're harder to kill. Now there's just too many of them around, it's too dangerous to be mobs in a low-level dungeon. So when we felt something a little like the old days, we couldn’t pass up that opportunity.”

  Well, that was thoroughly unpleasant news. “Flarb, you realize you don’t have to call me boss anymore, right? I set you free.”

  The goblin quivered on the ground. “Is that an order, boss?”

  Mir blinked. “A statement of fact.” It had been less setting them free and more forcibly evicting them from the Keep, dumping them in the waste with a small pile of gold and a scroll that would teleport them to an abandoned dungeon. Severance pay. Either way, he didn’t rule these minions anymore.

  “If it’s not an order, then pardon me for not going against a lifetime of indoctrination, boss.” Flarb paused, gathering his thoughts and his courage, then he made the pitch of his little minion life. “Boss. This is going to sound presumptuous, but if you’re still around then... could we come back?”

  Now the plea was something he hadn’t been expecting at all. He’d never treated his minions particularly well. Sure, he had protected them, providing food and shelter in addition as well. In exchange they’d carried out all sorts of menial tasks. From cleaning up after the Hero raids to being living reagents for his experiments. It had been a mutually beneficial but fundamentally unequal relationship. One that had apparently begat a strange loyalty. Almost a friendship. He’d played knucklebones with Flarb plenty of times on the long, boring nights.

  Still, he’d never expected they’d beg him to come back.

  “Flarb, I’m retired. There’s not a thing to do. No minions required.” He gestured to the boar at his feet. “I’m hunting for food these days, not plotting the death of armies.”

  Emboldened, or maybe just desperate, Flarb finally pulled his face from the dirt. “Boss, I know you’ve got the Keep stashed somewhere. We’ll move back into the dungeons. Muck the beast pens. Inventory the dishes. Polish the waste pipes. You won’t even have to pay us, boss.” The stout goblin pushed himself onto his knees, spreading an arm toward the gang behind him. “We just want to go home.”

  When had he ever paid them? Still...

  Mir raised a hand to his face, smearing the tacky boar blood across his pale features as he cupped his chin in thought. “Flarb, you savvy creature. You know I love when people grovel and beg.” And here were all these goblins prostrate or kneeling, offering self-enslavement for the low, low price of regular meals and a safe place to sleep. The dungeon market really must be just abysmal.

  A hopeful light entered Flarb’s eyes, but the goblin remained kneeling. “You know we’re the best gang boss. We know the Keep. I’ll beat the rules into the whelps myself. No touching the books. No eating the reagents. The right mixture of wurm stomach acid and cleaning fluid to really get the stains out of the floor. We’ll take care of everything, boss.”

  “Ah, but didn’t you come to serve a new power?” He arched an eyebrow, looking Flarb in the eye. “Didn’t I teach you loyalty?”

  That got a rough chuckle out of the minion's mouth. “Well, you did. But boss, you taught us to be loyal to you. With you standing right here, the other guy ain’t worth a piss pot. Who’s he to me? Besides, we ain't even met them. No deal’s been made.” He clawed at his leather vest in distress, looking as pitiful as a goblin could. Which, honestly, was pretty pitiful. There was snot and everything.

  “Oh, stop. You’re moving from minion to toady territory, and I don’t need that kind of empty flattery. Standard contract, your entire being belongs to me for the duration of your natural life and any posthumous period I choose to designate. This is not limited to your physical body but also your mind and your eternal soul to do with as I see fit.”

  The more he talked, the bigger the grin on Flarb’s face grew, the goblin rising onto one knee and bowing his head. It was like he was being knighted and not pressed into a contract of unending exploitation. Seeing their leader's excited reverence, the rest of the Shadow Gang realized they'd found their new employer. Many quickly followed suit, assuming the kneeling position with elbows doled out to those who'd fallen asleep waiting.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Using a bit of the boar’s blood, Mir quickly sketched a small rune on a rock and opened a goblin-sized hole in space. “The Keep is in a pocket dimension. You know how to turn the essential functions back on. It’s not connected to the outside, though, so if you need things, you’ll have to use the communication sphere to ask me. Other than that, stay out of my things.” A second neat gesture produced a scroll made from the skin of someone who didn't need it anymore, dangled next to the portal, and awaited the goblins marks.

  Flarb was on his feet in an instant, whistling sharply. “Alright! Shadow Gang, move out!”

  As one, the goblins stood, dipping their hands in the boar's blood, pressing it to the scroll that always seemed to have room for one more print. After making their mark, they rushed past, cramming themselves in the hole until it clogged. Flarb, rolling his eyes, yanked and pushed and tugged until he managed to clear it a bit. For whatever reason, the gang didn't seem to be getting far into the dimension, which was what kept causing the clog. With a huff, Flarb stuck his head in to yell that they needed to move, then pulled it back out and looked at Mir with slight apprehension.

  “Boss, uh, can you turn the air back on?”

  Ah, yes, air. For breathing. The pocket dimension had been a perfect stasis, just a holding realm for the Keep and all the inanimate things in it. Now that minions were roaming the halls and grounds, creature comforts and considerations would be needed again. He snapped clawed fingers, making the adjustments with ease. “Right. Forgot. I just sort of sealed things and forgot about it. Should be good now.”

  Flarb hesitated for a moment, peering in the portal, then gave a thumbs-up. “Good to go, boss.” He didn’t offer a casualty tally out of habit. Then again, judging by the way the fallen goblins were groggily shaking themselves and stumbling away, it didn’t seem like there were any to count. Today really was the Shadow Gang’s lucky day.

  Once the last of the gang was through, Flarb bowed low again. “Give my regards to the husband boss.”

  “Of course. I expect he’ll invite you for dinner. Wear something presentable.” Mir paused. “For his standards.” Which was akin to telling Flarb to break out the goblin formal wear. Otherwise, the goblin would come to dinner in leathers that he’d spit-polished, and goblin spit did not have a pleasant odor. Goblin formal wear was at least made from stolen fabrics and actually washed, the highest honor a goblin could give.

  “Of course, boss! I’ll even put a posy in my hair.” With a third bow, Flarb finally took his leave.

  Mir waited a moment, making sure that there were no sluggard goblins that had somehow missed the memo, then shut the portal tight. The scroll was rolled up with a snap and tucked away. Minions. He had minions again! He found his mood greatly improved, whistling a cheerful tune as he finished his business with the corpse of the boar. Slinging it over his shoulders, he started toward home, ready to share the good news.

  Lei was waiting for him on the cabin doorstep, arms folded across his chest, tapping a foot. “...anything you’d like to confess?”

  “Flarb and the Shadow Gang are back.” He held the boar out toward his husband, smiling. “And I caught the boar that you were after. Shot him clean through the eye, so the hide is perfect.”

  The dragon’s expression instantly softened, a smile creasing the corners of his eyes. That was an acceptable use of his husband's magic. “I always knew they wouldn’t stay gone. You shouldn’t have sent them away in the first place.” He clucked his tongue, reaching out to take hold of the boar and look it over, clearly already portioning out the meat for smoking and salting in his mind.

  Mir rolled his visible eye. “See, this is why I became a Dark Lord, I’m terrible at doing good.” Set his minions free, give them a severance, wish them well... He’d even wasted a scroll to rehome them to a safe dungeon location! A new nest for them to build in. Now he was being told that all his humane efforts were for naught!

  Lei sensed his husband’s change of mood, walking over and placing a kiss on the cheek with the least boar blood. “No, that was an excellent job of doing good. But darling, they’re minions. Generational minions at that. They’re not feral goblins, they’re used to serving a master. Even setting them up in ideal conditions wouldn’t have made them as happy as staying home and polishing the brass endlessly would have.”

  He grumbled lightly but accepted the soothing. He knew he’d done a perfect job of flawlessly imitating being magnanimous. But since magnanimity didn’t come to him naturally, nor did caring about the needs of others, his attempt had been misguided at best. It was the thought that counted. “Well, anyway, they’re back in the Keep now, doing whatever it was they did before. Next, you’ll be telling me to go recollect the rest of the menagerie.” Mir scratched the end of his nose, getting lost in his husband’s orchid eyes.

  The dragon blinked. “You mean you released those too?”

  “...my heart, I told you all of this a decade ago. When I said I emptied the Keep, what did you think I meant?” Then again, perhaps he had mentioned it at a bad time. They’d talked about quite a lot in the days following their marriage, and Mir had to admit, sometimes he’d been distracted with other things while Lei had been talking at him instead of to him.

  Lei opened his mouth, but words didn’t come out, only a long sigh came after a moment. “...well, on the bright side, I’m sure you picked responsible locations for them just like you did with the goblins.”

  “Ah, well, I did my best.” Mir’s smile was anything but reassuring. “If you’ll excuse me, my heart, I’m going to go clean all this boar blood off and change into something more comfortable to wear about the house. Anything you need me to do to help with dinner prep?”

  Those lenses flashed, the gaze behind them narrowing, but ultimately the dragon let his husband go without remark. What was done was done a decade ago. He smiled, shaking his head, and wiggled the boar in his hands. “I’m thinking ham and potato soup tonight, I suppose if you could put the stock pot on, darling, that would be most helpful.”

  “Your will shall be done.” Mir bowed, taking the olive branch for what it was. He headed back into their home, whistling a cheerful tune as he went.