Zaynne, daughter of glades and man, ferocious warrior blessed by the stormworn menhirs, who slew Urghal the Ghoul King, cradled a skull made out of rainbow petrified wood in her hands. The skull was carved from the heart of a world tree that had held up a long-forgotten cosmology. This heart was taken by the archmage Yipath, who then carved the skull and shaped the enchantments for his lover, carried in death into the Tomb of the Stone Pharaoh. It contained enough raw power to make any wizard worth his staff drool.
Zaynne knew it would be the perfect paperweight for Tikka, her ever-patient wife. She imagined it sitting proudly on the endless stacks of papers, drawing the jealousy of every other accountant in the office. Maybe even the jealousy of the lawyers and magistrates.
The years weighed lightly on Zaynne’s shoulders, and she was still able to recount how she met Tikka with the same freshness that most people could remember yesterday. Actually, Zaynne couldn’t remember yesterday that well. What with the multi-day bender from a drinking contest with giants, a concussion from a cave-in, and with the mummified guardian’s mind-warping magic, the whole past week was pretty much shot.
Zaynne and Tikka’s auspicious beginning had started with Zaynne’s first dragon. Or more specifically, her first dragon hoard. Zaynne drove her wagon into town, the severed dragon head riding shotgun, and a mound of gold nearly falling out with each bump on the poorly paved road.... Among the cheering villagers and the awestruck children, there was Tikka. Standing calmly, quill pen swishing in her ledger, the only sign of excitement her fingers pushing her pince-nez up.
Looking at Tikka’s carefully pressed purple robes and conical hat, Zaynne thought she was like the other officials: soft, easily startled, and unwilling to be late for lunch. When Tikka made her declaration of the Seven Queens’ Windfall Tax—which could be paid in standard coin, equivalently appraised treasure, or through service to the clockwork crowns—Zaynne tried boasting, arguing, and even a few threats. Tikka did not waver, her face impassive as she patiently tapped her feather quill against her ledger until Zaynne ran out of steam. Only then did she speak up, simply stating that Zaynne should step away from the wagon until she finished her counting. Never had Zaynne—who had faced down the dragon Zathargyaxs the Wrathful Flame and the Cult of the Spiraled Squid—been so utterly defeated.
That was how Zaynne—with her armor all shined and furs all brushed—came to stand in front of Tikka’s desk as her coworkers gaped. Which led to Zaynne carrying Tikka—clad in white and bright summer flowers—over a broom to a clapping and singing crowd. Still, this wasn’t the time for reminiscing, Zaynne reminded herself as she picked up her feet.
This was the time for washing up and changing into her rarely used formal gown for an evening at the finest restaurant in the city of the Clay-Armed God. (Restaurants, Zaynne was led to believe, were just like taverns, meadhalls, and food stalls, but fancier because a restaurant was Elvish. Zaynne didn’t really worry as long as there was wine.) More important than wine, for the first time in their five years of marriage, Zaynne would be on time. She was going to celebrate her anniversary right.
Zaynne began her ablutions by climbing the steep hill to the Tenebrae family’s ancestral home, only a temperamental pegasus ride from the City of the Clay-Armed God or the Great City of the Sleeping Tortoise. It was a home she shared with Tikka’s brother Tallin, Tikka’s parents, and a whole host of children. (Nobody was sure where the children had come from, but everybody agreed that they belonged.) Not to forget the army of servants and field hands who made sure that rumors from the farthest farm made it to the Tenebrae House and that old covenants were upheld.
The sprawling stone and wood manor overlooked fields of waving grain, pegasusi pens, and shadow groves, and Zaynne felt short-lived relief to have returned. (Among other emotions. Zaynne still found it weird to call a house with four walls and a roof “home.” Before marrying Tikka, the closest thing Zaynne had to a house was a mammoth-skin yurt. However, the Tenebrae Manor didn’t smell when it rained, and the lawn was big enough that she could set up her yurt when she felt too confined—nights that Tikka would join her, light-footed and giggling like a girl escaping from her parents’ watchful gaze.) Her relief was short-lived due to the smoke rising from the lawn of the Tenebrae House. The smoke was too voluminous to be a mere trash fire; its blackness was stained by bright sparks and it stank of magic.
No longer joy but fear and anger brought Zaynne to the porch of the Tenebrae House. Under the awnings, Tallin worked at his outside desk while Rosie practiced her chang harp. Tallin looked up from the thick stack of papers with a relieved smile and ink-stained face. “Thank the gods, big and small, that you arrived before I sent my letter off to the Adventurers’ Guild. I still need to send off these letters to the Mage Guild and the Royal Guard. Really, the sort of things they let happen to non-adventurers these days...”
Zaynne got on with Tallin, who was something called a “gentleman scholar,” boasting that his work had been published in both the Royal Journal of Discovery and Mage Quarterly. She appreciated that he didn’t talk down to her and occasionally sent her on quests to help find something called a “thesis,” but she did think that he should leave the family library more often.
He gave a deep sigh. “We haven’t even been able to put the fire out. With the Druidic Garden Competition only a few weeks away, Mother has already begun composing her laments. Father is off trying to calm the pegasusi.”
“What happened?”
Rosie broke her pained concentration and jumped up eagerly from the chang harp. With her clear voice, light fingers, and strong running legs, Rosie was considered a future Candidate for the Royal Bardic College. “It was a wizard. An actual wizard.” She raised her hands, fingers open wide to show the extent of her excitement.
“I suspect he was actually a sorcerer, since he didn’t have a staff.” Tallin bent over, his quill scratching away.
“He appeared in a puff of blue smoke and set the lawn on fire! Then he stood there, in his dark cloak.” Rosie drew her arms across her face, hiding herself behind an imaginary cloak. “And then... he called for Tikka!” She twisted her face into an imitation of Tikka’s sternest expression. “So, Tikka came marching down, ready to do battle. And they argued. And argued, and their argument was actually really boring despite him being a wizard. But then, he wrapped his cloak around her and flew off like a giant bat—”
“Bats don’t fly like that, they flap more. It was more like a flying manta ray.”
This critique did little to abate Rosie’s enthusiastic flapping before she pointed to the west, into the seawind. “He flew off that way!”
Zaynne already knew who it had been, glancing down at the still-burning mark—a three-eyed cobra. “Severus Severyn the Serpetine.” Only one mage used the mark—mages take intellectual property theft very seriously.
“Wasn’t he responsible for that zombie army earlier this year?” Tallin asked.
“Didn’t he create the imp plague?” Rosie asked. “They were cute.”
“Yes, and more! That snake in human skin has been a thorn in my side ever since I started adventuring. This must be his way of getting revenge for all the times I have upset his plans, wrecked his lair, and stolen his fine silverware. He’s too much of a coward to face me directly!”
“Do you know where he might be?” Tallin asked.
“His lair is on the cursed Isle of Aha’Hal in the Fang Archipelago.” With that, Zaynne tossed the anniversary skull onto Tallin’s desk.
“Wait!” he called out before Zaynne could finish storming off. “The pegasusi are still too startled to be flown. Take the boat instead.”
The Octopus Bride was a retired fishing boat, snuggled against the docks. The only voyages she had been on for years were nominal fishing trips with overstuffed sandwiches, flagons of ale, and the occasional caught fish. She woke with surprise when Zaynne jumped in and struck the tow rope, not even unfurling the sail or setting the rudder. The Octopus Bride was still blinking sleep away when Zaynne unshipped the oars and started rowing with all her might.
(It’s a well-known fact that the greatest single source of non-magical energy is the rage of a barbarian. The Seven Queens and their clockwork crowns once tried to harness this energy for the good of the kingdom, not just for the despair of monsters and evil overlords. However, the queens and their crowns quickly learned that the vast quantities of ale needed, and the frequency of quarrels when barbarians gathered together, made the project impractical.)
The Octopus Bride was finally fully awake as she sailed at speeds undreamed of in her saltwater dreams. She sped past fishing boats that had been tall cedars back when the Octopus Bride was a working ship, their fisherman gasping, unsure if they saw an illusion or an actual boat. For the first time in her life, the Octopus Bride left behind her secluded blue bay for the greater sea’s rollicking gray waters.
Zaynne brushed off the Octopus Bride’s wide-eyed worry as they crossed into the whale’s road, where even the seagulls refuse to fly and beg for food. Zaynne was oblivious to the sea-serpent coils that rolled under them, the hooves of the hippocampus, and even the steady, silent stare of a giant black umibōzu. Zaynne only had scorn as they rowed directly into the ocean-boiling showdown between Leviathan and Kraken, even as the Octopus Bride desperately tried to steer away. Zaynne paid no heed to the tentacles and tail crashing down.
The Octopus Bride despaired, closing her eyes, foreseeing a new life as driftwood. Instead of hearing the rending of wood and canvas, there were the two sharp thuds of Zaynne’s oars hitting flesh, and the whiffing of air. The Octopus Bride hesitantly cracked open her eyes, only seeing the suddenly empty sea where Leviathan and Kraken had disappeared over the horizon. Zaynne, still rowing, didn’t notice.
Zaynne was too busy ranting about Severus Severyn the Serpentine.
“That weaselly sack of bones! Any respectable sorcerer would’ve kidnapped me. Kidnapping my wife is an underhanded scheme befitting the lowest of the lowest of the rat empires, not even the most cruel lich would break the adventurers’ code—”
Zaynne took no notice of the heralding rocky reef that encircled the cursed Isle of Aha’Hal. Three sirens—woman-headed and bird-bodied—stirred on their rocky perches, chirping as they warmed up their vocal cords while the Octopus Bride came closer.
“Come to us and listen,” the black-haired oldest sang. “Come and learn the language of the birds, and the writing in the stars. Come to us and listen!”
“Come to us and listen,” the brown-haired middle one sang. “Come and learn of where the gods hid diamonds before time, and where the gold flows like water. Come to us and listen!”
“Come to us and listen,” the blonde-haired youngest sang. “Come, for we have men whose pecs are the size of your head and women who are even bigger. Come and listen to us!”
The eldest and the middle exchanged side glances while the youngest fluffed her feathers, filled with pride at her new lyrics.
Zaynne’s boat came closer, and the sirens grew excited before the boat sailed on by, splashing them as Zaynne’s words clouded the air. “When I get my hands on him, I will feed him his own pancreas tied with his own appendix—” Zaynne had a remarkable grasp of anatomy from years of killing—and being eaten by—monsters.
“Some people have no appreciation for our hard work,” the eldest sniffed as she shook off the salt-water spray.
“My mermaid penpal talks about pirate ships and merchant vessels that pass by Shark Reef. We should move down there,” said the youngest, with all the authority of years she did not have.
“We have sung at these rocks for generations—we will not give them up for some tropical fad,” the oldest spoke, ruffling her feathers.
“Maybe we could move down there for the winter,” the middle one suggested as they nestled into a familiar argument.
Hours later, Zaynne’s boat beached itself upon the cursed Isle of Aha’Hal. The Octopus Bride warily watched the hooting swamp as Zaynne threw down the anchor. Zaynne gave no hesitation as she left the sandy beach behind, marching right into the dark depths of the swamp, her footsteps sploshing.
Giant crocodiles swam toward her, mosquito-spites sharpened their proboscis, and fanged birds of paradise swooped down, all eager for adventurer flesh. Even a napping basilisk awoke, watching the scene through its third eyelids.
Zaynne jumped on the convenient crocodiles, hopscotching from nose to nose so their surprised jaws snapped only on damp air. She swatted carelessly at mosquito-spites and fanged birds of paradise who dove too close, sending them careening into each other. And the whole time she continued her rant.
“He’s the son of a toad and a she-dog. And not even a nice dog. A dog that has mange, rabies, and leprosy. So did the toad! And his grandfather wasn’t just a leprous lamprey—”
The basilisk decided that this was a very nice patch of sunlight and there was no reason to leave it to deal with Zaynne over there.
As the wildlife scattered, monsters fled, and even the plants shrank back, Zaynne made her way to uplifted land: the Black Fortress that was the lair of Severus Severyn the Serpentine. A fortress surrounded by sheer walls of black volcanic glass, with only one gate. A gate with seven locks, which could only be unlocked by the seven keys of Grossd’mn, the Blasphemous Plaguewalker. Were that not formidable enough, the wall was guarded by an army of skeleton warriors, all shapes and sizes, from the diminutive dwarves to the hulking carapace of a kappa titan.
As Zaynne marched out of the swamp, the skeletons stopped lollygagging and straightened into intimidating force. A smaller—human-sized—one stepped forward, their prized helm shining in the weak sunlight. They held up one hand in the air. “Halt, trespasser!”
Zaynne stopped, both in foot and mouth, as concentration creased her forehead.
“These are the lands of the great and magnificent Severus Severyn the Serpentine. As you see, we are many and you are only one. Turn back—”
Zaynne charged. The skeleton herald drew their sword, ready to meet hers, but she jumped and landed on his head. The skeleton herald dropped their sword, flailing for a skull now stuck in their ribcage, as Zaynne flew through the air to catch the arm of an ogre skeleton. As it raised its limb to squish her with its other hand, she swung from the arm bone, landing on the upper thigh of the kappa titan. She quickly climbed over a massive hip, ducking safely inside the carapace. A look of discomfort—somehow—passed over its bony face. Giant hands dropped a house-sized battle fan, and slapped around the carapace, trying to dislodge the climbing barbarian. Zaynne steadily held on as the carapace shook, nimbly jumping from spine vertebrae to rib between earthquake strikes, before diving off the cervical bones to the other side of the wall.
The skeletons watched her, then gave a collective shrug. It was just their job to guard the wall, not what lay inside the wall. She wasn’t their problem anymore. “She just jumped on Thorin,” a skeletal warrior decked in rusted green laminar armor remarked. “Just jumped on him like he was a mushroom.”
“My spine feels a bit funny,” the kappa titan—Aku—complained, his hands soothing his mishandled carapace.
“Adventurers,” the ogre skeleton snarled. Thorin mumbled something deep within his ribcage.
Zaynne swept crushed vegetative matter from her armor. Thankfully, a roll through the garden of belladonna, foxglove, larkspur, oleander, wolf’s bane, and amanita mushrooms had broken her fall.
In front of her stood a twisting tower, its black spire piercing the heavens. Standing at the single metal door, a gargoyle made up of spiny skin, horned heads, and clawed feet tucked away a small paperback with a lurid cover. He reared to his full height as Zaynne marched forward, then boomed, “Those who wish to disturb the studies of the great and magnificent Severus Severyn the Serpentine must prove their strength in mind as well as brawn. In order to pass, you must answer all my riddles and find a riddle I cannot answer.”
“Fine,” Zaynne growled. “What’s metal, two feet long, and hurts more going in than going out?”
The gargoyle nervously eyed the sword at Zaynne’s side before giving a long sigh. “Look—me, Arthaxas the many-eyed, Lytle the squid, and Bob the lurker-in-the-darkness, we meet up for cards every week, and I got this thing going on with Cubie the Gelatinous Rhombus... We don’t need to make things difficult for any of the others, which would happen if we don’t have a fourth for euchre, or Cubie decides to go full digestive on whoever is left. Why don’t you do us all a favor and take the back stairs up to the big guy?” With a single wave of his claw, a smaller door appeared on the side of the tower, expertly disguised with signs advertising that it was not a door.
Zaynne gave him a stern nod before climbing the stairs.
Climbing the stairs, even the back stairs, of a magic tower is an incredible experience. Magic energy sparked over Zaynne’s head; the stairs rumbled and shook. Books, scrolls, and eldritch abominations flew up and down, carried by the wails of apprentices. Vistas to other worlds opened, showing desolate landscapes and luscious courts. At some landings reality grew weak, abstract, squamous, cubist, or sometimes just fuzzy. Zaynne marched through all of this—also past ancient libraries, abominable laboratories, and abundant store rooms—with nary a glance. She only stopped long enough to kick open the door at the top, the one marked “private—do not enter.”
Severus Severyn the Serpentine’s inner sanctum was a vast room, covered in layers of plush carpets, walls hosting elaborate tapestries, and carefully placed sculptured lamps meant to serve as conversation pieces—all of it dominated by Severus Severyn the Serpentine, now transformed into a giant snake with Tikka in his coils. (Turning into a giant snake never helps, but Severus Severyn the Serpentine was a traditionalist.)
“You—a mere mortal—think that you can command me, a powerful immortal sssorcerer?” Severus Severyn the Serpentine ominously hissed down at Tikka.
Tikka’s expression was that of implacable patience, but Zaynne could tell she was irritated. Her pince-nez had slid down from its normal spot.
“You get your hands-limbs-tail off my wife!” Zaynne interrupted.
Severus Severyn the Serpentine jerked his head to look at the intruder. “What foolish sssimpleton intrudesss upon usss?”
Zaynne raised a fist in the air and squared her shoulders while shouting, “I’m Zaynne the Barbarian, who defeated your army summoned from Mitra’s meteor, who stopped your Grand Ritual of the Two Moons—”
“Oh, one of you,” he hissed dismissively. “I will deal with your inconsequential grievancesss in turn.”
“She is also my wife,” Tikka added, “since you weren’t listening the first time.”
“Wife? People ssstill do sssuch thingsss?” He glanced at the sword at Zaynne’s side.
“Wait, if you didn’t kidnap Tikka to get revenge on me, then why did you kidnap her?” Confusion broke through her anger.
“For possessing the temerity to audit my taxesss!” he roared.
“We wouldn’t have audited them if you had done them correctly,” Tikka primly remarked.
“According to you ssssluggard gnashnabsss, how did I mishandle my taxesss?” He lifted Tikka closer to his giant mouth.
“First of all, you claimed your minions as dependents when they should be listed as employees—”
“Balderdash! I don’t pay them. I give them ssshelter, sssubstance, and sssalutory ssservice, I well-nigh rear them!” His hood flared up, fangs dripping.
“All that can be listed as pay using the Employment Law tome—”
“Sssilence! You diminutive zounderkitesss should be jubilant that I bothered to sssend you wherewithal at all! Your infuriating and labyrinthine sssystem ssserves a kingdom I owe naught!”
“Actually, you used the kingdom’s highways during your zombie invasion, you use the services of the kingdom’s coast guard to keep this island safe from pirates and marauders, and the kingdom’s mail service comes out every week—which you used to send in your faulty tax filing.” Tikka freed an arm from the coils to push up her pince-nez.
“Enough!” he spat.
“I would suggest listening to the accountant,” Zaynne threatened.
Severus Severyn the Serpentine’s head drooped. His hood folded and fangs retracted. “You ponderousss cumberworldsss impetrate too much—how is any vainglorousss sssorcerer expected to persist in this eon?”
“My firm helps clients with filing taxes, and specializes in saving them money on their tax returns.” Tikka’s hand twitched, trying to hold a quill that wasn’t there.
“Your firm could assist me?” He unraveled his tail from around Tikka.
“Yes. I have several suggestions for you.” Tikka didn’t pause her spiel as she regained her footing. “How long have you been a wizard?”
“I was begat before your mewling ancestors even mastered the sssparks of magic.” He rose to the height of the roof, scales turning from black to vibrant purple.
“So, more than one hundred years?” From under her robe, Tikka pulled a few thin sheets of parchment and her back-up quill, then used Severus Severyn the Serpentine’s scaly body as a writing surface.
“Thousandsss!” he hissed, posing for all to admire his grandeur.
“That means you are old enough to file for the heritage tax credit for places, objects, or people of significant cultural value.” Tikka’s quill swished as she continued to talk. “Are you planning on building any more structures on this island?
“I fail to fathom, ssspindly flibbertigibbet.” His scales dulled, and he tried unsuccessfully to pull his tail away from Tikka, finding nowhere to escape.
“I see that this island is part of the Fang Archipelago. Would I be correct in assuming that it contains basilisks?”
“Most assuredly it’s ssswarming with those lepidote lususss naturaesss,” he boasted. Zaynne wondered if some of those squawks in the swamp were her stepping on one.
“If you aren’t planning to expand your fortress, you could turn the rest of the island into an environmental haven for basilisks, and thus receive a refund on your property taxes.”
“I remember when Sssaint Ulric championed hisss crusade against the Basilisk Kingsss,” he hissed wistfully, eyes staring off into the distance.
“I suspect those annual celebrations of his victory are the reason they are now endangered,” Tikka said dryly, dragging Severus Severyn the Serpentine back to reality. “That woman who scryed on your crystal ball earlier—Enchantress of Amar?”
“Why do you inquire, you insensate gobermouch?”
“If your relationship with her is long-term, you may want to consider marriage to get the family tax credit.”
“Our amalgamation is rife with treachery, carnality, and acrimony. No cleric would enslave our ssstygian hearts in pietistic matrimony.” He flared his hood again, scales bright red.
“You don’t need a cleric ceremony—just a civil one for the tax credits. As long as you are both of age and willing, the state will marry you.”
“What? The world has transfigured immeasurably...” His hood folded again, and his scales faded to a light pink.
“Of course, these are only my initial suggestions.” For the first time, Tikka broke eye contact. She rummaged around in her pockets and produced a small parchment card. “For a full consultation, please contact the address below to schedule. Note that we will be billing at our standard rate.”
“Ssstandard rate! You presumptuousss—”
There was a shwink as Zaynne drew her sword.
Severus Severyn the Serpentine looked at her nervously. “Ssstandard rate accepted. Our adjudication is sssatisfactory.” With that, he turned his scaly back, letting Zaynne and Tikka know that the meeting was over.
They were halfway down the stairs before Zaynne’s fuming started to idle, and Tikka was able to relax her face enough to form normal expressions.
“Thanks for coming for me,” Tikka softly said, taking Zaynne’s arm while stepping over a family of yellow tarantulas. “I may have been stuck listening to him for days before he calmed down enough to see reason.”
“I will always come for you,” Zaynne reassured, squeezing Tikka’s arm. “I’m just sad that you won’t be getting to go to the restaurant tonight.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” Tikka said dismissively, waving with her free hand. “The reservation is for two days from now.”
“What? But you told me it was today.” Zaynne searched her holey memory, felt at least somewhat sure that what she said was true.
“Yes, because you’ve never been on time for our anniversary, dearest. Last year, you got carried away by the wind demons, and the year before that, you were recruited by the Seven Queens and their clockwork crowns to fight against the Northern giants. The year before that—”
“Hey! I made it on time our first year.”
“You were literally dropped on our roof by a roc.” Tikka gave her a gentle smile, easing Zaynne’s wounded pride. “After all these years, I’m still learning how to accommodate your occupation. I do it because I love you.” Tikka gave a contented sigh.
Zaynne looked forward to the evening: berating a gargoyle into giving them a ride to the boat, Tikka soothing the boat as Zaynne pulled up the anchor, and watching the stars as the Octopus Bride took them home. Not that bad of an anniversary, all things considered.