"Ah, our leader. Get held up, did you? No matter, it happens to the least of us. Shall we away?"

Sly wasn't there, his regular 'busy guys sorry' message arriving in his place. Mist smiled weakly at Nala as they walked away from the infirmary and towards battle quarter.

"Thank you for coming again," she said. "I do really appreciate it, every time! And, um, sorry for being so useless—"

"Now now, if we all began apologising for our lack of competence we'd be here all night," Praetorian said. He glanced at Amanda. "Although even whining would be better than sullen silence."

"Subtle, Darkcede."

"She's just going through the rebellion phase," Praetorian explained loudly, for the benefit of anyone interested (ie no one). "It's very common among the recently-raised, depression, anger, insurrection and insolence directed towards their masters—"

"For the last time, you are NOT my master."

"Impersonate a teapot, would you kindly?"

Amanda put her right hand up and her left on her hip as she shuffled along, then scowled and forced her arms down.

"Don't do that," she muttered, before glancing around at the others. "You guys could SAY something, you know!"

"Um," Mist said. "Um, I don't think it's so nice, to, um, to make her do that kind of thing—"

"Believe me, forcing a servant to be a teapot is far from the worst indignity I could inflict upon her. Far from the worst. She should count herself lucky that I am a gentleman."

Mist stared back at Praetorian as they walked, wide-eyed, then looked ahead again. "Just, could you try to be, um, nicer?"

"Ah, yes, 'niceness', that's what our little group is lacking, if we were all just a tad more pleasant then all our troubles would be solved! Bright Battle Academy is, of course, famous for rewarding civilised behaviour—"

"Gods, do you have an off switch?" Amanda muttered. "Just shut up."

"Do you see?" Praetorian said. "Many would not tolerate such backtalk. I, however, take it with good grace in the spirit of a smoother master-servant relationship—"

"Would you PLEASE stop using those words?"

"If you have a superior alternative I'd be open to your contribution."

Amanda shook her head jerkily and glared to the side as they all walked on, through the wide streets of the gourmet quarter. Paper lanterns hung beside wide entrances, the scents in the air complex and enticing, the people around happy and excited.

Through this festival atmosphere Nala's black cloud of a party walked.

"Must we take this route?" Praetorian asked, after several minutes of gloomy silence. "Surrounded by the culinary delights of varied cultures but with nothing more than BrownRice and GreenSoup awaiting me, ah ... it's like an exquisite torture."

"It is safe," Nala said. "Nobody here is thinking about fighting."

"M-maybe we could eat out one time?" Mist suggested, her hungry gaze upon a row of Nimbian restaurants, the fronts decorated with ribbons braided into complex patterns. "I don't have many merits, but ... it could be nice..."

This suggestion was met with a distinct lack of support from the others, the kind of unenthusiasm that can only be generated by those who would like nothing more than to agree, if only things were different.

Perhaps fortunately they left the gourmet quarter soon after, coming out to an odd, quiet part of the academy, wide and flat and old grey stone, the straight paths dipping down into long trenches, the reason for this not immediately apparent. Perhaps long ago the empty spaces between the trenches had held buildings, perhaps the entire area had once been some manner of fortress, the trenches serving as shortcuts, perhaps it had been the site of some ancient battle, stoneshapers forming the trenches as magical blasts exploded all around. In the end the area's history wasn't particularly relevant; all that mattered was that it was dull and thus unpopular and thus safe.

"Now, of course, we come to this rather strange little place," Praetorian commented. "This academy is such an oddity, isn't it? Ruins upon ruins upon ruins, repurposed buildings being re-repurposed, areas of dense activity with shops and houses pressed tight up against one another besides great open spaces just begging for populace ... I feel no shame in admitting that I have little understanding of Bright Battle."

"I don't really get it either," Mist said, as they walked down a gentle slope, the walls on either side rising higher than even Praetorian's head. "Like all this merit stuff ... they make it so hard..."

"Mm. I must say, the lifestyle I enjoy here is not what I imagined. I work every sunlight hour for a handful of merits, at this rate I will be here for months before I can purchase even a basic stave and years before achieving even a basic graduation condition—if indeed I can continue to avoid demerits. Worse yet, I am not in a position to meet any eligible girls, elven or otherwise. Those around Everglim, those I've seen in the workshops ... no, they won't do. Nala, I don't suppose you have any kind of a plan? Any fresh discoveries?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"Well, for better or worse you are our leader—"

"Stop."

"Aha, regretting taking up the mantle of leadership now, are you?"

"Stop."

Praetorian began to say something further, then shut his mouth.

"Ah."

They were almost through the trench, the old stone path beginning to slope upwards. Their exit, however, was blocked.

"Hey hey," said the young man standing before them, just a few dozen metres away. "Couple of familiar faces, huh? Heh."

Nala recognised his equipment more than his face; two axes that glowed with a dark aura, carved bone breastplate, wolf-head helmet, plate-and-chain leggings—he was the axeman who had killed her on her first day. Standing on the walls above and to the left of Nala's party was the lancer who had taken the merits for Tzugakk's death, and on the other side was the bucket-helmeted archer who had used Amanda for target practice until her hit points had finally run out. They had picked up a new companion, too; beside the axeman stood a portly young man, his pale face, sharp eyes and ridiculously dramatic cloak marking him as a vampire. He had one hand held up before his left eye, looking through the O he was forming with his fingers.

"So," said the axeman, with a glance at the vampire. "What've we got here, huh? GlumGirl. Rogue. 'StenchMerchant', whatever the hell that is. Valkyrie, heh. Necromancer without a stave ... because I took it off ya, hello again."

"...hello."

"Thanks for that, by the way, got a decent bunch of merits for the ratty old thing."

"Perhaps they gave a bonus for sentimental value."

"Heh, yeah, good one. Never introduced myself last time, the name's Raid. Raid Fearson. I'm a bandit, know what that means? Better crits, bigger damage, baaaaad news for anyone gets on the wrong end of my girls here." He flourished his axes, spinning them in his hands before gripping them tight and smirking. "You guys make me laugh, you know that? Walking around together, feeling all saaaafe, 'cept you didn't reckon on smart guys like me using a cliquemancer—" he nudged the vampire beside him "—to figure out that you ain't got nothing. Know what I see, when I look at you guys? Bunch of free merits on legs."

"Aha," said Praetorian. "Can we perhaps talk about this?"

"Sure, we're talking, ain't we? You got something to say?"

"I don't suppose simply leaving us alone would be within your hearts? Tzugakk here is nearing his last demerit—"

"Yeah? Even better, get a bonus for a knock-out."

"Ah. I was not aware of that."

"You gotta get with it, neccy! Gotta learn the rules, that's how you get ahead in this place. Nothing else to say? Nuh? Okay then. How you wanna do this, just line up and we take you out one by one? That'd make it better for us, if you're all running around screaming it makes divvying up those last hit bonuses a real hassle."

"Ah, well," Praetorian said, his voice growing tighter, "certainly we'd all appreciate doing this the easy way but I wonder if perhaps there are outcomes to this particular situation that we've not yet explored..."

Behind the others, Tzugakk close at her side, Nala's mind was racing—no one behind but the lancer could jump down while the archer attacks—

"Nala."

Nala glanced back, saw the small clay pot Tzugakk held—a MistVeil jar, little more than a distraction—

"It would hide you for an instant. It would allow you to stealth and to run."

Nala stared at Tzugakk, then looked around as Raid began to walk forward, as the archer pulled back the string of his bow, as the lancer crouched ready to leap.

Once more, she looked at Tzugakk, at his odd, serious face.

"Where would I run to?"