“Your fortress is fragile. Its bones creak like dying game.”
“It’s ahouse,Kursk.”
“I have seen sturdier cloth tents in the Veldthorn Pass.”
“Not everyone’s expecting a siege, okay?”
I grunt.
Behind her, two creatures enter.
Smaller humans, I think. Male. Lanky, loud, foul-smelling. One wears a shirt depicting a bleeding skull strapped to what Ibelieve is a lute. The other has hair the color of mold and wears pants that hang too low to be battle-ready.
They stop. Stare. One whispers, “Dude, is that…?”
“He’s real.”
They look at Olivia.
She sighs. “This is Kursk. He’s a… musician.”
“What now?” I bark.
“From Gwar,” she says quickly.
The room goes silent.
I freeze. “What did you call me?”
“Gwar. You’re in Gwar. That’s your cover.”
My hands curl into fists. “Gwar is a cursed word.”
The shorter boy, Booger I think she called him, snorts. “Dude. That’sawesome.Youarein Gwar. Youlooklike Gwar.”
I hiss. “In my tongue, ‘Gwar’ refers to a weapon made from sacrilegious entrails—used to defile the sacred groves of Ar-Droth. Younamed meafter that which my peopleloathe.”
The one called Burnout leans closer. “Can I touch your abs?”
“No.”
“What kind of music do you play?” Booger asks.
I pause. “Battle songs.”
“Like metal?”
“Made of iron, usually.”
They both gasp like I’ve just confessed to murdering a unicorn.
“I told you,” Olivia says, rolling her eyes, “he’s not from around here.”
“No kidding,” Burnout breathes. “You dating him?”
Olivia chokes on air. “WHAT?!”
“I mean, you’re bringing him home to your cabin in the woods. Classic cryptid-courtship scenario.”
