1 / 4
Rain at the threshold
The tavern door opened hard enough to rattle the little brass bell above it.
Kip looked up from her ledger.
Three strangers came in with the evening rain.
The first was a tiefling woman in a green traveling cloak, pink skin bright even beneath the tavern’s amber lamps. Damp dark hair curled around polished horns, and she paused just inside the doorway long enough to shake rain from her sleeves and glance at her reflection in the dark window beside it.
“Oh, that’s tragic,” she murmured, touching her hair.
Behind her came a pale young man whose silver-white hair moved in the still air as though a breeze followed him indoors. He stepped around her with the easy grace of someone accustomed to finding gaps other people missed, smiled at the room, and immediately looked like he belonged there.
The third nearly struck his head on the lintel.
He ducked at the last moment without ever looking up from the book in his hand.
Kip stared.
He was very tall.
He remained very tall after entering.
That seemed excessive.
“Boots,” Kip said.
The silver-haired one looked down.
Kip pointed with the end of her spear toward the wooden sign beside the door.
WIPE YOUR BOOTS.
He read it.
Then he looked at her.
Then farther down.
“There you are.”
Kip narrowed her yellow eyes.
The pink tiefling elbowed him.
“What?” he said. “I was looking at eye level.”
“Your eye level is not the universal standard.”
The tall one stepped neatly onto the boot scraper without interrupting his reading.
Kip approved of him slightly.
The other two wiped their boots.
She moved aside.
“Thank you.”
The pink tiefling smiled at her. “You’re welcome, darling.”
Kip watched her walk away.
She made a small mark in the ledger.
Not a bad mark.
Just a mark.
The three took a table near the hearth. They ordered food before ale, which Kip approved of considerably, and spent most of the next half hour talking quietly over a folded map.
Kip did not listen.
A guard did not listen to private conversations.
A guard did, however, notice things.
The pink tiefling carried a healer’s satchel. The tall human had a spellbook, two scroll cases, and ink stains on three fingers. The pale one had no visible weapons except the knife at his belt.
Which meant he had other knives.
Kip noted the exits.
She always noted the exits.
2 / 4
A proper defender
Eventually the pale one rose and went to the bar.
“We’re looking for somebody,” he told the keeper.
The keeper polished a cup. “You found several dozen.”
“A defender.”
That made Kip’s ears twitch.
“A proper one,” the young man continued. “Someone who can take point. Hold a corridor. Keep unpleasant things occupied while the rest of us do clever things from somewhere safer.”
The keeper looked over his shoulder.
The young man followed his gaze.
Kip was checking the latch.
He looked back at the keeper.
“No, really.”
The keeper smiled.
“I am.”
The young man glanced at Kip again.
She was two feet tall.
Her spear was twice that.
He leaned closer to the bar.
“We were thinking someone… larger.”
A chair scraped nearby.
Harl stood.
The lumberman was built like the trees he cut. Six and a half feet of shoulders, beard, and hands broad enough to cover Kip’s entire torso. He had spent fifteen years hauling oak trunks down from the hills and looked exactly like the sort of person three young adventurers would imagine when they said the word defender.
The silver-haired stranger brightened.
“You.”
Harl pointed at himself.
“Yes.”
“You look sturdy.”
“I carry lumber.”
“Excellent.”
Harl shook his head.
Then he pointed across the room.
“That’s who you want.”
All three strangers looked toward Kip.
Kip had stopped checking the latch.
She was staring back.
The pink tiefling tilted her head.
The silver-haired one looked at Harl, then Kip, then Harl again.
The wizard finally looked up from his book.
Harl folded his arms.
“Six men came through that door last winter carrying steel they hadn’t paid for.”
The room had gone quieter.
“They wanted the keeper’s strongbox.”
Kip’s grip tightened slightly on her spear.
Harl nodded toward her.
“She stood there.”
The silver-haired stranger’s smile faded.
“She stopped six men?”
“No.”
Kip spoke before Harl could.
Everyone looked at her.
“I told them they weren’t coming through my door.”
Harl smiled.
“Then we stood up.”
Someone at the card table raised his mug.
Another regular laughed softly.
The widow by the fire gave Kip a little wave.
Kip’s scales felt warm beneath her collar.
She straightened.
The pink tiefling was watching her differently now.
Not indulgently.
Carefully.
The wizard closed his book around one finger.
“What happened to the six men?”
“Three ran,” Kip said. “Two were restrained. One went through a table.”
“By you?”
“Harl.”
The lumberman lifted one massive hand.
The wizard considered this.
“Efficient.”
The silver-haired young man came closer.
He crouched.
Kip disliked when strangers did that.
“Don’t.”
He immediately stood again.
Kip approved of him slightly more.
“My apologies.”
“What are you doing?”
“Currently?”
“Where are you going?”
He glanced back at the other two.
The tiefling brought the map over. The wizard followed, reading again before he had taken three steps.
3 / 4
The commission
“There’s an old watchtower north of here,” the tiefling said. “Something underneath it has started causing trouble along the road.”
“Animals missing,” said the wizard. “Two travelers injured. One report of unusual lights. Possibly necromantic. Possibly elemental. Possibly neither. The accounts contradict each other.”
“We took the contract,” said the pale one.
Kip looked between them.
“You took a contract without knowing what it is?”
“We know where it is.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“No,” the wizard said. “It isn’t.”
The rogue frowned at him.
“You are supposed to help.”
“I am.”
“You’re agreeing with her.”
“She’s correct.”
Kip looked at the map.
“How many entrances?”
“Two visible,” said the wizard.
“Visible?”
“Yes.”
Kip looked at the rogue.
“Scouting?”
“That would be me.”
“Traps?”
“Also me.”
“At range?”
The wizard raised one hand.
The tiefling raised hers.
Kip looked at all three of them.
Then at their armor.
Then at the healer.
Then the wizard.
Then the rogue, who seemed to realize exactly what she was doing.
“Oh,” he said.
Kip planted the butt of her spear against the floor.
“You don’t have anyone in front.”
“That,” he said, “is the problem we are attempting to solve.”
Seraphine—because she had introduced herself somewhere during this and Kip had filed the name away immediately—rested one hand on her hip.
“We have asked.”
“How many?”
Finn looked uncomfortable.
“Several.”
“Seven,” Aldren said.
Finn closed his eyes.
“Thank you, Aldren.”
“One accepted and changed his mind.”
“Thank you, Aldren.”
“Another laughed.”
“Aldren.”
“He was unpleasant.”
Seraphine sniffed. “Very.”
4 / 4
Who watches the door?
Kip looked toward the keeper.
He was watching her.
Not smiling.
That mattered.
She looked around the tavern.
The door.
The stools.
The ledger.
Her badge caught the firelight when she breathed.
For months, every person who crossed this threshold had become hers for a little while.
She knew which floorboard complained near the hearth. She knew who arrived late on Thursdays. She knew when the widow needed the door held longer because her knees hurt in the cold. She knew which regulars would stand if trouble came again.
The keeper slept well now.
Harl was still standing nearby.
Kip looked at him.
“You can watch the door?”
He stared.
Then his expression changed.
“Yes.”
“You know the regulars.”
“Most.”
“The widow gets extra time.”
“I know.”
“No petting children on the horns if they don’t want it.”
Harl blinked.
“…I know.”
Finn made a suspicious choking sound.
Kip ignored him.
The keeper came around the bar.
“You thinking of going?”
“Just the watchtower.”
Seraphine’s smile appeared slowly.
“Just the watchtower.”
Kip looked up at her.
Very far up.
“You need someone to take point.”
“We do.”
“You need someone watching the exits.”
“Yes.”
“You need somebody between you and whatever is underneath that tower.”
Finn opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Aldren answered.
“Yes.”
Kip adjusted the strap holding her badge.
“When do we leave?”
Finn stared at her.
Seraphine beamed.
Aldren reopened his book.
“Morning would be optimal.”
Finn turned toward him.
“You’re not going to question this?”
Aldren looked up.
“Question what?”
“Our new defender is two feet tall.”
Aldren glanced at Kip.
Then at Harl.
Then around the room full of people who had gone quiet when she spoke.
His brow furrowed as if Finn had presented him with a particularly poor mathematical argument.
“She seems competent.”