One boat ride across the lake later, the team and Ruby’s new tiger climbed out onto the shore. 

“Great,” Malakos said, hitching up his rucksack. “Now let’s go to the–”

“Let’s stock up on supplies,” Deruque said. 

“What? No, we need to–” 

“Yeah, I need a new lute string. I used up my spare fixing the damage you caused when you pushed me out that window,” Bardy glared at Malakos. 

“But we have to–” 

“I’m low on rations, too,” Ruby said. “I need some help gathering things. Hey Bardy–”

Bardy had already disappeared. 

“Hey Deruque–”

“Oh, woah, hey, I’d uh love to help you with your…errands…but I have to, uh, hold a funeral service for Ms. Fish. She’s…” he sniffled. “She’s no longer with us.”

“Have you been carrying her this entire time?!” Malakos asked.

“What, the smell didn’t tip you off?” Ruby asked.

“No more than his normal smell does.” 

“Leave me to my mourning,” he handed Malakos his bag of bones and quickly scampered out of Ruby’s eyesight. 

Ruby turned to Malakos. 

“No, Ruby, I need to do something–maybe take Lorenzo with you?” Malakos looked for the poet, but he was passed out against a stucco house where Kiki appeared to have cornered him. Before he could say anything else, Malakos found himself gripped in a bear hug. 

"Ruby, please! Not now!" He struggled and thrashed for several long minutes, but she didn't budge an inch. Finally, he hung limp from her arms. "What's it going to cost me to make you let go?"

"Come help me with my errands," she said. 

"Fine. Let's make this quick."

Bardy had had a successful shopping trip. With some new spare lute strings, he felt confident and ready to take on the world.

Well…maybe not the world. Even just that skincrawler had been pretty intimidating. Thankfully, he hadn't been targeted, but if he had… he only wore some basic armor. He thought back to the battle. Malakos had taken a big hit from that thing, but had gotten back on his feet in a flash. Having that big old shield of his seemed pretty handy. Bardy wouldn't mind having one of his own. Using his teammates as a shield was all fine and good, but it couldn't hurt to invest in something that didn't yell at him when he hid behind it. Or bleed. He wondered where a charming bard like himself might find such a nice new addition to his armory. 

He walked through town until he happened upon a paladin carrying a shield.

“Excuse me, good sir!” He called out. “I couldn’t help but notice what a magnificent shield you carry. Might I ask where you got it?”

“It was a graduation gift,” the paladin said, in a pleasant voice. “When I was accepted into the order and took my oaths.”

“Ah, I see. And, pray tell, what would you guess one would have to pay for one of similar make?” 

The paladin mused for a moment, turning the shield over in his hands. “Oh, I would say about 500 gold.” 

Bardy balked. “Ah…uh…eheh, and, um, what would you guess for one of similar make, but on a more halfling-sized scale?”

The paladin laughed good-naturedly. “For a halfling…? Perhaps… half that?”

Bardy chuckled awkwardly and excused himself. A shield for 250 gold? He supposed he would have to make do with using his teammates for a little longer. 

Disappointed, he wandered to a low wall and seated himself on it, pulling his lute from its place on his back almost instinctively. Playing music always lifted his spirits, no matter where he was, or what he was doing. His fingers gently slid over the polished wooden neck of his instrument, finding their way to the strings and began to strum in B-major. 

As soon as the sound rippled through the air to his ears, he felt himself calm, his muscles relaxing. 

He was home. Music was his home. 

He had nothing against the village he had grown up in, nor the people who had raised him. They were family, to be sure, and had given him all of the love and attention that anyone could ask for. When they’d found him in a dumping-bin, so many years ago, he’d had nothing–no family, no name, no memories, only a lute–and they, all of them, took him in and gave him all that he lacked. They gave him a family. They gave him a name. And they gave him memories. 

Nobody could look at his childhood and think it a sad one. 

And yet…

Bardy did sometimes feel like a stray. He had a bed in many of the village homes, a place at the dinner table wherever he wanted one. But it was always a guest bed. A guest setting. He was family, but in a second-cousin kind of way, not a brother or son kind of way. 

When he played his lute, however, even the strangest of places became his home. So long as the music played, he was loved. He was happy. He was safe. 

He finished his tune and hopped off the wall. It had only been maybe two minutes, but he felt rejuvenated–ready to face life with his trademark Bardy energy. 

Malakos was in need of a little rejuvenation himself, at the moment. Ruby had taken them through fifteen different stores, and was showing no sign of slowing down. He glanced nervously at the sun as she pulled him into another shop. 

“The sun’s starting to go down, Ruby, please!” 

“Sounds like someone needs another bear hug,” Ruby said mildly, moving to the counter of the bakery and ordering six cheese breads. 

“NO! Ruby, I did what you asked me to do! Why won’t–”

“And anything for the young man?” The bakerwoman asked in a friendly voice. 

“Uh, no, I–actually, do you take commissions?”

“Oh yeah, my husband loves to try new things.” She turned to the back and shouted, “Hank! Get over here! What did you have in mind?” She turned back to the customers. 

“A red loaf, divided into three long strands and wound together like a pile of rope.” 

“Ooh, creative. Yup, we’ll get that and the cheese breads for you. Will that be all, dears?” 

“Yes, that’s all,” Ruby answered. 

“Right, now back to you–” he turned to Ruby as they moved to a table by a window to wait for their order. “Why won’t you let me go? I need to–”

“Because I let you go twelve years ago, and you never came back! Don’t–” she held up a hand as he began to protest. “Don’t you dare. I’ve been trying to get you alone since I saw you enter that tavern last week, and you’ve been dodging me at every turn. Don’t–”

“I don’t know what you’re–”

“Don’t you lie to me, Malakos.”

“I think you’ve got the wrong–” 

“YOU’RE NOT EVEN USING A DIFFERENT NAME!”

“‘Malakos’ is very common among tieflings–it’s like ‘James’ for humans–”

“Mal, stop.” Ruby’s eyes shimmered with angry tears. “Please.” 

The two were quiet for a little while as a clock ticked on the wall. 

“When I saw you again, I couldn’t believe it. Mom and Dad said you’d died. But there you were, walking through the streets, not a care in the world. I wanted to believe it was you. But part of me wanted to believe it couldn’t be you. I didn’t want to believe you were the sort of person who could just…disappear on his family and leave them to mourn his death.”

“And…” Malakos said in a hoarse whisper. “You’d be happier believing I’m the sort of person who could do it twice?” 

“What?” Ruby looked up at him. 

“What were you told concerning the circumstances of my death?” 

“You’d died in the Blood Wars when you were seventeen, two years after you were drafted. Stabbed to death.” 

“Right–that more or less happened.” He touched one shoulder and then the next. “Here and here. Can’t use my arms much for fighting anymore–not even wrestling my way out of a bear hug.”

He smiled, but Ruby didn’t smile back. Malakos cleared his throat. 

“I uh–I turned my back on an enemy. He’d begged me to spare him, and I did. At the first opportunity, he repaid my compassion with twin daggers in the shoulders. I managed to get away, but that was only the beginning. You see, when–wait, how much do you know about devil politics?” Ruby gave him a blank stare. “Really? Dad gave sermons about it all the–Okay, right–well, basically, there are nine circles or territories, let’s say. There are a bunch more, but they’re chaotic and just–anyway, the nine territories are each ruled by an Archduke. These same Archdukes interact with people on the material plane and broker deals for their souls.”

“Like the ones that created tieflings,” Ruby nodded.

“Exactly so. So the Archduke who brokered a deal with, uh, with my ancestor is named Mephistopheles. And he’s…he’s pretty powerful. He’s second only to Asmodeus, so he’s envied and not well-liked by the other Archdukes. So when word got out that one of his tieflings had been stupid enough to offer mercy to an opponent, the other Archdukes used the rumor to try and undermine his authority–said his bloodline was weak, his powers were dwindling, blah, blah, blah… so then, he decided to–to deal with me personally.” 

“...Oh.”

“He had me pulled from the front lines and hauled to his court. I thought I was going to be eaten on the spot–”

“Devils eat–”

“Yes. But he had other plans for me. See, for the last hundred years or so, he’s been really focused on a new development–hellfire. A perfect and horrifying blend of absolute cold and absolute heat. He believes that once he perfects it, the living will flock to him for the power it offers–giving him an edge over all the other Archdukes. Problem is, while he’s working on his little pet project night and day, the other Archdukes are raking in the souls, increasing their power above his own. So he had been assigning some of his underlings to run interference, stem the tides of death a little, since dying people are most open to deals with a devil; but…they weren’t very good at it. They liked seeing people die–sometimes helped cause it just for fun. So Mephistopheles decided an underling with ethics might be just what he needed up on the material plane.”

Malakos rolled up his sleeve a little bit, where an inky black script that Ruby couldn’t read, but she recognized as Infernal, ribboned across his wrist. 

“He contracted me to come up here and slow the work of death so that the other Archdukes couldn’t claim the souls of the dying first.”

“That…doesn’t sound too bad,” Ruby offered. “Although, it does explain a little why you freak out whenever we have to get violent.” 

“Yes, it’s not a bad deal–pretty close to what I wanted to do in the first place. The issue is that I am contracted to do Mephistopheles’s bidding. As soon as that changes from protecting the innocent to–to reaping them…well, I won’t have much choice.”

Ruby thought for a moment. “But you were a minor! A contract with a minor is null and void–”

Malakos waved dismissively. “That’s the law of the material plane, not the hells. As a minor, I could be signed away by my legal guardian. And in Cana, as with most of the nine realms, blood is law. No one from my bloodline stepped forward to claim me…except for Mephistopheles.” 

“Oh.” 

“So, next thing I knew, I’d been sent back to the material plane. I figured I’d stick with what I knew–the School of Life. I tried to become an acolyte to Ilmater, but, being contracted by a demonic Archduke, I was ineligible to pledge myself to him, or any other Ascended One. That’s why I’m still only a petitioner, despite having served officially for about ten years.” He rubbed the Infernal script around his wrist. 

“But what did you mean about making us mourn your death twice?”

“It's like I said–so long as Mephistopheles is occupied, I can live happily as a healer. But once his focus returns to reaping souls, I will be expected to assist him. To refuse is death, but I cannot comply.” 

“I’m gonna punch an Archduke in the face,” Ruby said. 

Malakos laughed. “Thanks for the sentiment, Ruby-duby, but I’d rather you just keep yourself as far away from him and his ilk as you can. I’ll be fine, in the end. He may have command over my blood, but my soul will never belong to him. Someday, I’ll rest in the eternal House of Life, and–Oh! Our order’s done!” He popped up happily, dashing to the counter as though he had not just been discussing his own mortality. 

“Okay, Ruby, I really have to go, now,” Malakos said, handing her a bag of cheese bread. 

“Fine, I guess you’ve earned it,” the ranger said, taking one loaf out of the bag and eating it. “I should go find some lodging with animal accommodations.”

Malakos briefly remembered her tiger. “...Good luck with that.”