I opened my eyes. The slanted ceiling above me was shrouded in gloom except for a narrow rectangle of moonlight coming through the top of the window. The clock on the wall told me it was just past one. We’d gone to bed thirty minutes ago, after locking everyone in.

“What is it?” Sean asked.

“Caldenia.”

There was a tiny pause as he checked where she was. “How the hell…?”

“Gaston or Tony.”

My money was on Gaston. I had given both of them temporary privileges to open doors to guest quarters, because we needed all of the manpower we could get, and they ended up escorting various groups of guests back and forth. As the first, the longest, and the most special guest of the inn, Caldenia had access to all common areas and could roam freely, but it would have taken either Gaston or Tony to unlock the doors to the otrokar delegation’s quarters and let her in there.

I got up. “She’s been in there for twenty minutes. I’m going to get her.”

“I’ll go.”

“I’ve got it.” I leaned over and kissed him. “Rest. You’ve done plenty. I need to talk to her anyway.”

“We should lock her in,” he grumbled.

“She would be mortally offended.”

I got up, took my robe off the hook, and slipped it on. Nobody needed to know that I was wearing only underwear and a tank top underneath. Finding my sandals seemed too hard, so I stuck my feet into a pair of flowery Crocs Sean kept making fun of, took my broom, and headed to the otrokar section.

I had made the otrokar quarters for the peace summit that freed Sean from being Turan Adin. At the time, it housed the Khanum, who was Dagorkun’s mother, and her delegation. All otrokar tribes had similar requirements: private bedrooms for the leaders and the shaman, communal bedrooms for the warriors, a large common area with a sunken fire pit, and a secondary meeting area with another fire pit, where the leaders could hold private meetings. Tailoring the rooms to the current otrokar delegation took ten minutes. I had adjusted the colors to reflect the Southern sensibilities, added another bedroom, and called it a day.

At this time of night most of the otrokars would be in the common area, probably playing dice or telling stories before going to sleep. The Hope Crushing Horde had robust oral traditions, born at the time when their nomadic tribes traversed their homeworld following the seasonal rains. They would ride their vicious savok mounts all day and then camp, cook their food by the fire, and recount stories of heroes from long-gone ages.