Gaist’s eyes narrowed.

Gorm’s limited grasp of language failed him. “‘My hat is empty?’” he hazarded, based on his knowledge of Old Dwarven and Root Elven.

“‘Only my honor remains,’” the bard translated, staring at the weaponsmaster. “It comes from the old tongue of the Imperial people around Arak. It’s the battle cry of Arakian men who have nothing to live for. They call it a way of life, but it seems to me the battle cry of those who’d rather die than live another day.”

Gaist shook his head fiercely and turned away.

Gorm took a step back. He’d stepped into some muck between the bard and the weaponsmaster. If their fight was about Arakian culture, he suspected it cut at an old wound for Gaist. Iheen the Red, the adventurer Gorm had once quested with and that Gaist now emulated, hailed from Arak and wore the red scarf to honor its warriors. This was a line of inquiry that had already cut deep, and applying pressure would only make it worse.

“All right, enough of that,” the Dwarf said, waving a hand between the two. “Heraldin, I’ll not force ye to come, though we could use your help. Is there anything we could say to get ye to join us?”

The bard’s face softened a bit. “My friend, do not take it personally. Questing is not for me.”

“Ye were one of us—one of the Heroes of Destiny.”

“Yes, but not by choice. The first and last person who got me to leave the comforts of the city on an insane errand was Niln, and he did it with a royal writ and the threat of death. Your place is in the heart of battle. Mine is here, on a comfy seat dreaming up rhymes about your brave deeds.”

Gorm nodded. Heraldin was a competent fighter and a decent lockpick, but at his heart, he was still a useless bard. “Aye, fine. Suit yourself. Come on, Gaist. I know who’s probably looking for work.”

“I need a quest.” Kaitha’s words were like sandpaper on skin, rasping, raw, and irritated. “I have been in this gods-forsaken city for days. I need something to… I need to go questing.”

The woman across the table spread her hands wide. “Kaitha, my jewel! The Jade Wind is back on top!” The agent’s raven curls glittered with pearls and gems, and golden chains dangled between the many piercings scattered across her warm umber face. “We’re at the Pinnacle! Breathe it in. Savor it!” She gestured expansively at the crowded tables around Spelljammer’s Cafe.

Andarun’s premier teahouse was packed to bursting, and even its outdoor seating was crowded with patrons. Great iron braziers set around the cafe blazed with enchanted flames, warding off the bitter cold and lighting up Pinnacle Plaza. Similar lights were flaring all over the city, treating Spelljammer’s customers to a spectacular view.

Kaitha took a deep breath. Loribartalebeth of House Araka was a supportive and professional representative, but she oozed a well-oiled optimism that left the ranger feeling greasy. It was a demeanor common among agents; the persistent smile of someone who takes a cut of the loot without risking a cut from blade or claw. “I’m enjoying the success, Lori,” she growled. “I’ve enjoyed it. It has been sufficiently savored. So much so that I’m ready to do it again. There has to be another contract coming up.”

Lori shrugged and changed the subject. “Did you see what happened to the old statue?”

Kaitha looked out the window. Across the square, the Dark Prince gazed down at her from atop his stone pedestal. A ring of bannermen stood around the sculpture, a bulwark against a small crowd. “No. What?”

“Somebody drew all kinds of magic symbols on the cobbles around it,” Lori confided. “All dark and spooky looking. The bannermen don’t know who, but people whisper someone is trying to bring back the Sten.”

“Like an evil cult?” Kaitha leaned forward, interested.

Lori gave her a skeptical look. “We’ll see. It’ll be weeks before they sort anything out and get in paperwork for a quest.”

“Then let’s talk about something else,” said Kaitha. “Preferably something with an available contract.”

“It hasn’t been a week since you got back from dealing with the High Hag of Nuryot Sabbat,” laughed the Sun Elf. “You need rest! Relaxation. Maybe a trip to the hot springs. Take my advice⁠—”

“I don’t need advice. I need a quest.”

“Trust me. It’s my job to keep you happy.”

“It’s your job to get me jobs. I’ll be happy if you do it.”

A shadow flickered over Lori’s face for half a breath, like a wisp of cloud blowing past the noonday sun. Her grin returned as quickly as it faded. “Well, I did line up that one gig for you,” she said, reaching beneath the table.

Kaitha grit her teeth. “Not the gruel.”

“Premium breakfast grains,” Lori corrected as she produced a rolled-up parchment from the satchel beneath her seat. “I just got a proof of the box art.”

“This isn’t what I meant.”

The agent unfurled the scroll and rolled it out on the table. A woodcut showed Kaitha brandishing a bow and arrow behind a bowl of porridge. The printed ranger’s hair whipped dramatically in a wind that didn’t seem to affect the steam rising from the bowl. Her steely gaze was locked on the gruel in a way that suggested she was more likely to shoot the cereal than eat it, a sentiment that the flesh and blood Kaitha shared. Large block letters at the top of the print screamed “HEROATS,” while a smaller font next to the ranger’s face declared “HER OATS ARE HEROATS!”

The agent tapped the paper. “Beautiful, right?”

Kaitha squinted. “Something about it is…”

“Well, it’s not perfect.” Lori waved dismissively. “Maybe too nostalgic. But just imagine how good it could look if you’d pose for the woodcut artist.”

“No.”

“Heroats is an institution. Everybody who’s anybody has done licensed box art for them. And now they want you! This could be big!”

The ranger shook her head. “I’m not posing. I need a quest. A real job.”

“Someone with your profile needs to focus on brand expansion into other verticals. Like premium breakfast grains. Killing monsters and saving people is small time stuff.”

“That’s the job! That’s literally what I do.” Kaitha had to set her tea down lest she spill it or club her agent to death with her cup. “Killing monsters and saving⁠—”

Lori cut her off. “You want to help people, I know. Listen, not everybody has bugbears in their basement. And when they do, the bugbears almost always have papers and pay rent! But everybody needs a nutritious breakfast to start the day.”

The ranger stared at her agent flatly. Her agent grinned back.

“I’m not doing it.”

“This pays twice what the hag quest paid, for one printing. If boxes with you on them sell fast enough, they could be doing another run next week. There isn’t a monster on the upside of Wynspar that could get you anywhere near this payout.”

“This isn’t about the money,” said Kaitha.

That turned out to be the one statement that could darken the Sun Elf’s mood. Lori’s grin melted, then congealed into a determined scowl. “This is what I have for you⁠—”

“I want a quest.”

“You and everyone else,” hissed Lori. “My friend, there’s never been a shortage of professional heroes, but since the Shadowkin reforms, former NPCs are flooding the quest boards. The market for talent is crazy right now. There are Orcs twice your size questing for half your rate.”

Kaitha snorted. “Yeah, but do they have experience?”

“They’re getting it, and fast,” Lori shot back. The Sun Elf shook her head and reconstituted her toadying smile. “Listen, you’re the Jade Wind. You’re more than a commodity; you’re living history and a brand unto yourself. That bit with the liche removed any doubt that you’re the best of the best. But in this market, it takes a while to line up work for someone of your stature. It’s going to be a while before I have another job for you. And in the meantime…” The agent glanced meaningfully at the woodcut on the table.

The ranger grimaced. Her head throbbed.

“Just think about it.” The Sun Elf pushed the woodcut across the table. “Anyway, I hate to do this, but my next appointment just arrived. Grab a scone to go, on me.”