“We’ll need a mage and tank,” Lucan remarked, turning this way and that. “You know anyone?”

  ? It didn’t help that Grim’s first thought of a mage around their level wasn’t here, as she was support staff. “Not really. I’ve been training nonstop since I got to Ironmarsh. What about you?”

  ? “Not so much training as delving,” his friend said, smirking slightly in pride. “My combat skills are already good for a level four, or so my instructors told me. Oh, but I do know a mage. And he’s good.”

  ? Grim turned to see Lucan’s slight grimace. “What?”

  ? “Well… he is a good mage. But he’s a stickler for standard formation. Even our trainers are always getting on him about it. He can’t really adapt.”

  ? That did sound annoying. Still, Grim gave his agreement. “Get him. We’ll be acting pretty textbook for this anyway. I’m sure higher levels will be nearby, making sure we’re safe.”

  ? Lucan let out a low breath, appearing to struggle with something. Then he capitulated. “Fine. You find us a tank. I’ve spent too much time as a duelist to be useful for that now.”

  ? They went in opposite directions, Lucan deeper into the ranks of his own guild members, and Grim towards the smallest remaining group besides the Cartographers. He didn’t quite have a reason to choose Marshguard, but some instinct told him he’d have a better chance of finding a decent tank there. The solemn, rigid lines of the guild and the peremptory tone of command in their Captain’s voice only reaffirmed his decision.

  ? “Cartographer. How can I help you?” Of course, the Captain had spotted him before he could get close enough to speak to anyone. “You're filling a party?”

  ? At least he got right to business, Grim thought with a wave of relief. He didn’t want to be late in setting out just because he’d been caught up in chatter. “Level four or five. We need a tank.”

  ? The Captain nodded curtly, then pointed toward a bulky, red-haired figure in the front row. “Warren, that’s you. I expect a positive report on your conduct when you return.”

  ? The young man signified as Warren came to stiff attention and saluted his Captain, then stepped smartly out of line. He smiled warmly enough as he approached Grim, offering his hand in greeting. “Brandel Warren. Mid-Level four.”

  ? “Grim,” he replied, choosing not to offer his second name. For all he knew, Brandel was filled with the same militaristic vigor as his guild and would only address him as such. “You ready to set out right away?”

  ? Brandel indicated positively, unstrapping a medium kite shield from his back and slipping his left arm snugly into its straps. “Lead the way.”

  ? Lucan was waiting for them with a short, blue-haired man when they returned to the meeting spot. Like Lucan, he wore the heraldry of Ironwatch, though his outfit was perhaps a touch more grand than his peer’s. His black cape had elegant gold stitching along its edge, and his tunic was made of some high-quality fabric. He seemed like a snob, the type that he’d grown all too used to in Beastwick.

  ? “This is Rod,” Lucan said, jerking a thumb at the blue-haired man. “Who’ve you got there?”

  ? Rather than offer introductions, Grim let Brandel do it and glanced over in the direction of his guild as the other three became acquainted, focusing back in just long enough to mutter his name to Rod. The other delver seemed wholly indifferent to him, as if he was worth no more than a passing glance. Yeah, they’d definitely only be teaming up this once. But at least it was better than the direct scorn he’d received from Beastwick noblings.

  ? “Good evening, my young delvers!” A bellowing voice sounded from the wall above the gate, and Grim turned with his team to see a broad-shouldered man standing there, dressed in a deep blue tunic and gleaming silver armor. A blood-red cape fluttered in the breeze, highlighted dramatically by the setting sun behind him. “I trust by now that you’ve all gotten into teams. If you haven’t, report to the Cartographers Captain, and you’ll be sorted.”

  ? A certain degree of noise came from the small crowd that filed toward Fendel, whom Grim hadn’t even noticed appearing. He quickly and efficiently formed parties of three to five, and directed them to stand far enough apart that they could be distinguished, yet close enough as not to be lost. Within five minutes, it was done, and the figure on the wall spoke again.

  ? “Right. I’m only in charge of mustering and reinforcing parties, but as the head of the Council of Guilds, I’ll say a quick word before you set out. After this, the Cartographers are in charge of this expedition. This pertains to both party, platoon, and overall matters. Anyone found to be flaunting commands will be brought up before the Council. You may be the cleanup crew, but this is a dangerous mission, and I’ll not hear of lost lives due to foolishness!”

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  ? A murmur of agreement from the more veteran members still remaining, but the youngest of the delvers, Brandel, Rod, and Lucan included, cheered and applauded at the man’s words. Feeling he was a bit behind the curve, Grim leaned over to Lucan. “Uhh, who is that?”

  ? “That’s Commander Revel,” Lucan hissed back, surprised by his ignorance. “He’s the Guildmaster of Marshguard and leader of the Council of Guilds. He’s fucking famous. How do you not know who he is?”

  ? Grim could only shrug. Veyra had taught him what she considered important for his introduction to Ironmarsh. If she hadn’t included Revel’s identity, he felt it wasn’t important enough for him to worry about either. Then again, perhaps this was some kind of practical joke on her end. Just to be safe, he filed the information away, determined to remember it should he meet the man face to face.

  ? Commander Revel had stepped down, and Orren took his place. He stared down at the crowd of younger faces for a long moment, making sure that his eyes caught every person he saw. His gaze even lingered on Grim for a moment, and he thought he saw the hint of a smirk creeping onto his guildmaster’s face.

  ? “The Commander pretty much said it all already,” Orren told the crowd. “This is dangerous work we’re about to do. But it is necessary, and I’ll hear no complaints until it is done! We are not Beastwick, who sits comfortably atop a few tamed dungeons. We fight against the wilds! We mark our place, as Relvan did. We strike, as Relvan did! We strike the enemy!”?

  ? More roars of agreement, and this came from all throats. Even Grim wasn’t immune to the swell of fierce determination, and he added his voice to the noise. Orren yelled over the hubbub, his voice strangely still perfectly clear even amidst the shouting. “Make us proud, delvers! Get out there and put down these dungeon floods!”

  ? One by one, the assembled parties began trotting toward the gates. Grim started forward at once and was pleased to see that his team followed without question. Lucan fell into step beside him as Brandel moved behind, and Rod took up the rear. They were quick, and only three or four other teams had time to get out before they could. Grim let out a long breath as he stepped under the massive gate, glancing up at the heavy metal grate that could slam down to protect the city.

  ? His first breath of the air outside the wall. His practical side knew it was no different from a few feet away within the gate, but his spirit rebuffed the thought. This was the next step in his career as a delver, he thought. He’d conquer these misty swamplands and prove himself superior. It was only a matter of time.

  ? To his surprise, a rather large group of people had remained outside the gate rather than charge out to confront the higher-level dungeons. The large crowd had split in half, forming a corridor of bloodied uniforms and grinning faces. Grim was just wondering what the purpose in their position was when the first call rang out.

  ? “Get a move on, slackers! You’re burning daylight!”

  ? Then another, but encouraging. “This is your big day! Show ‘em what you got!”

  ? He recognized the pattern immediately. Those on the left-hand side called out jeers and light insults in a cheerful tone. On the right, they delivered encouragement and cheered in the most aggressive tone they could muster. It was a supremely odd experience, but both sides succeeded in what they were trying to do. The parties of lower-level delvers picked up the pace, going from a brisk walk to a steady jog, and then a flat-out run.

  ? “The Iron Call,” Lucan remarked, glancing to the left and right as they began to set into a run. “I thought it was a myth.”

  ? Brandel let out a deep laugh, showing no sign of displeasure despite the increased pace. His clanking armor nearly drowned out his words. “Oh, it’s hardly a myth. It’s a tradition. Almost a law!”

  ? “What, exactly, is The Iron Call?” Grim asked.

  ? “It’s a tradition in Ironmarsh,” Brandel explained, his breathing a little heavy. “Each time delvers are sent outside the wall for the first time, the veterans line up to yell at them. You get to pick insults or encouragement.”

  ? “That’s… very Ironmarsh.” It was the only thing Grim could think to reply with. Brandel laughed again.

  ? “You’re right about that. It’s just the vulgar yet strong thing our city is known for. We are savages, after all.”

  ? Grim looked away hurriedly. Did Brandel know he’d come from Beastwick when he made that comment? Or was it just a general sneer at the idea of the capital city? Either was likely. There was plenty of anti-Beastwick banter at the guild hall during calm hours, after all.

  ? “Break a leg!”

  ? “You think you got what it takes? Why not go back until you’re grown up a bit more?”

  ? “Keep that silver head down! You’ll attract a monster!”

  ? Grim nearly faltered in his stride. That sounded specifically aimed at him. Before he could look for the yeller, he heard another. “Shine bright, golden goose!”

  ? Grim’s head snapped around, and he immediately spotted Miranda, her hands cupped over her mouth. At his glare, she merely grinned, raising two hands and flipping him off. He was of half a mind to stomp over and whack her for that comment. He’d done so well at avoiding the ‘Golden Goose’ title the past few weeks. Why’d she have to ruin that? Then he spotted Garf standing beside her, with an equally broad grin. He got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. Sure enough, he saw his friend draw in a deep breath.

  ? “Stay back, ladies! That silver-haired boy is spoken for! His eggs are ours!”

  ? “Friends of yours?” Lucan asked, though the smirk plastered over his face made it clear he knew the answer.

  ? “Nope,” Grim said shortly. “Never met ‘em before.”

  ? “She looks hot,” Lucan pointed out. “Been busy in Ironmarsh, have you?”

  ? Oh, what Grim would have given to trip Lucan right there. Let the fool get a face full of mud for that remark. But… there were too many eyes on them now. He locked the memory away for later. Lucan had no idea how bad a return prank he’d just signed himself up for. That particular revenge to look forward to, he set his gaze forward, resolving to ignore the rest of the calling. Just move forward, he thought. forward into his future. Into the swamp.