Himnib the Bear-Shepherd was about to leave the city of Amor, when the gate fell shut and everyone was held back. His hundred sheep bleated nervously as a panting messenger delivered some parchment.

A message from the king.

The gatekeeper, a wolf, quickly read it and frowned. “All soldiers are commanded to leave the gate immediately and come to the palace. Leave behind one of you to … shoot anyone within a hundred steps of the wall.”

He dropped the parchment in disbelief. The messenger pointed at a forgotten sentence near the bottom.

“Oh, and all creatures with red fur must be attacked and spit on.”

A long row of animals crowded the gate with the intent to enter or exit Amor. Upon hearing the king’s commands, they cautiously stepped back, away from the wall. The quadrupeds among them didn’t even know what a hundred steps was supposed to mean, so they ran away as far as possible.

The handful of animals with a red fur decided to hide behind barrels.

The soldiers sighed and locked everything down.

Himnib rattled the gate. “I can’t stay here! My sheep have no space to—”

Two of his sheep had already started feasting on someone’s frontyard. A third sheep called Behdiël climbed on a roof to sing, loudly. If he’d hoped this would attract female sheep, he’d be wrong. Barina, one of his oldest and most loyal, was the only one to stay by his side.

“Listen to me! I am a Companion!”

Some wolves raised their head at this statement, but nobody offered help or opened the gate for him. Instead, a bull pushed him aside.

“Keep your animals under control, barbarian.”

Barbarian? Did the bull mistake him for someone else?

A female Prima, temporarily on two legs, threw a bucket of ice cold water over the sheep who were redecorating her frontyard.

“My world, my world,” she mumbled. “Such rude scum. Doesn’t belong.”

Himnib pressed his walking cane into the stone floor with enough force to create purple sparks. His sheep instantly formed a neat row and followed him back into the city.

He passed two Giant Wolves. They wore white robes, loosely draped around their muscular body, and a crown of interwoven flowers. Both of them carried a bag around their neck, like an oversized necklace, to regularly sip from the wine inside. They had an accent he usually only heard inside the Council of Kame, when somebody really wanted others to believe they were smart.

“I’d love to, Rodrik,” said one. “Last week, however, the king commanded each day start by praying for an hour … to him! I barely have any time left for other matters!”

“Had it coming,” Rodrik said as his disgusted gaze slid over Himnib’s herd. “Remember that street artist? Who graced our plaza each day for ten years? Arrested and sentenced to death by the king, no reason given. They say the king woke from a nightmare at midnight and the artist was dead two hours later.”

“How do you always know such matters?” the other said, sounding jealous. “I never hear any fun gossip!”

Fun gossip? An innocent artist’s death? Himnib wanted to leave Amor now more than ever.

Rodrik smiled, adjusted his clunky white robe, and sipped some more wine. The look in his eyes betrayed he was drunk already. “You don’t go to the Tattlerat, no, no. The Tattlerat comes to you—if you’re worthy.”

Himnib shook his head at the absurdity—and tripped over a hamster he didn’t see because of it.

“Stop right there!” the hamster squeaked. He was far smaller than Himnib, a bear, but still an adult. “That’s a breach of regulation 4.1.7, barbarian. Come with me!”

That word again. Barbarian. Were they even talking to him?

He ignored it and walked on, but the hamster blocked his path, at the risk of his own life.

“Evade arrest. An infringement of regulation 5.2.3, that will be a fierce punishment. Yes, yes, nothing escapes Ginsea—the royal lawyer!”

The hamster whistled to two wolf soldiers nearby. Himnib had underestimated Ginsea’s power, for the soldiers listened and had him in metal pawcuffs only heartbeats later.

“What is this? I did nothing wrong. I have—”

Ginsea coughed. “Your sheep have repeatedly walked on the terrain of others and eaten the food of others. You are in possession of magical objects, which is forbidden in Amor. Must I continue, barbarian?”

“Well, my apologies. I won’t happen—”

One of the wolves chuckled.

“You were right,” he said to the other soldier with a grin. “Their accent really does sound like they’re saying bar bar bar bar all the time.”

They pulled him through the streets. But he’d done nothing wrong! He didn’t know those silly laws existed! It didn’t stop several Amori from throwing rotten fruit at his head. They yelled to his face about how uncivilized and dirty he was. How he didn’t belong amongst the neat Amori and their fair laws.

He’d see how fair those laws were right now.

Ginsea pushed him into a dark room made of marble. A wolf judge, with a hammer between their teeth, stood proudly behind a raised wooden desk.

Himnib had traveled much of the world with his herd. He’d come across his fair share of animals who had too little to do and decided to annoy him, and so he whispered in Ginsea’s ear.

“Is this necessary? Such a small offense? What is the penalty? Say sorry twice?”

“Something like that,” he whispered back. “But if we don’t punish the small things, animals will start breaking more laws, and more, until we stop punishing the big things too. It would be barbarian! Chaos! A bit like … well, like you. And so I’ve spoken.”

Himnib stood before the judge, the cuffs around his front paws locked to a pole. Sunlight entered through tiny holes in the ceiling. The raised stands around him were empty, but held not even a crumb of dust.

Ginsea told about the seven tiny regulations that Himnib had technically broken. He even turned the bad singing of Behdiël into a “disruption of public order”. Fine. As long as they didn’t touch his sheep.

“Ginsea,” the judge said with frustration, “go and waste the time of someone else. I deem Himnib completely innocent and—”

The small hamster made himself tall, which still wasn’t intimidating in any way. “Dumbfounded! I am dumbfounded! A judge is supposed to—”

The king walked into the room. The Giant Wolf with a giant crown babbled and gibbered about witches, ghosts and a flying chicken. He briefly looked at the judge, whispered in his ear, and walked away through the other exit without looking at Himnib once.

“Unbelievable!” the judge suddenly proclaimed. “And we allow this in our beautiful city? Such barbarians? This demands the worst punishment! And so it is.”

Ginsea frowned. “That, erm, is also not in accordance with law 4.1.2.”

The judge slammed his hammer into the wood. Himnibs cane was ripped from his paws.

“Judge Wolfar condemns the Bear-Shepherd Himnib to the Flame.”

“The what?”

Ginsea turned white and trembling. “The Flame? That is insane!”

“This is the final judgment of Wolfar. And so it shall be. Soldiers, bring him to the dungeons.”

“What’s the Flame?” Himnib yelled, as panic grabbed his heart and nearly stopped it.

“That … that,” Ginsea mumbled, unable to look Himnib in the eye.

The soldiers pushed him out of the room. He wanted to comfort his sheep and tell them it would be alright, but he was separated from his herd. Him in one cold, gray prison cell—his sheep, all hundred of them, in a different cell that was far too small.

“That’s almost worse than death,” Ginsea whispered. “Who experiences the Flame, forgets and is forgotten.”

“Forgotten?”

Ginsea searched judge Wolfar, who had already walked away to a table filled with food and wine.

“This is an outrage!” he yelled. “This is not the intent of our laws!”

Wolfar turned around, a slab of meat hanging partially out of his mouth. “Himnib is not an Amori, is he? He’s from the Bearchitects. He’s a foreigner.”

“Yes, but—”

“Our laws only dictate how Amori should be treated, fairly. Everyone else? I do what I want. Thus have I decided.”

Ginsea scratched his temple. He grabbed a book from the pouch on his back and rapidly scanned through it.

“He can’t be right, can he?” Himnib said hopefully. The hamster who was an annoying creature before had suddenly turned into his only shield.

“I fear …”

But then Ginsea’s ears perked up. He made himself tall again, eyes gleaming.

“Here! Law 2.4.8!” He held up the book, as if Wolfar could read it from distance. “For a proper separation of powers, to keep the law and the ruler separate, it’s FORBIDDEN for the king to influence any court case at all.”

Wolfar roared with laughter, as his claws blindly searched for more meat and more wine. “Are you really—”

“I sue the king!”

The piece of meat fell on the floor, which now also had a growing puddle of wine. Himnib grew tense. You couldn’t just sue the king, right? Could you even say it without being killed?

The soldiers already moved to arrest Ginsea too, but Wolfar raised a paw. “We have laws for a reason and we will respect them. Sue the king if you want. But you will regret it.”

Himnib’s head swam as they forced him into his cell.

Ginsea made apologetic gestures. Then he dove into his lawbook, searching for every single rule he could use to sue the king.

In the dead of night, two strangers entered the barbarian camp to ask Bar-Bar to do the impossible. Now, as the barbarians had no clearly defined borders or walls, strangers weren’t that strange. Animals regularly appeared, traveled with them for a while, then disappeared.

These ones, however, were strange. They snuck to the largest tent under cover of dark. The only place where a light still burned, around which the leaders of different tribes sung their drunken songs.

Two pigs playing in the dirt jumped aside at their approach. They complained about ruining their mud bath. Especially because they didn’t need it—these strangers were frighteningly clean.

“Shouldn’t we, like, raise an alarm?” one pig whispered to the others.

“Nah. It will be fine,” the other responded.

They giggled. The strangers could put on a mask and wear a black cape, but it hid nothing at all. Only filthy rich animals would wear a cape of the most expensive velvet. Only members of the royal family would wear a mask inlaid with gold.

The pigs were tempted to throw some dirt their way. It would help them—now they stuck out among the Grapi Tribes like a sour claw.

“This is a bad idea, Wolfar,” said one of them. “These are idiots. Barbarians. They’ll never keep a promise.”

The other wolf returned a stern gaze. “Must I remind you of the Hens, little Wodrik? This is exactly what those smelly barbarians were made for.”

Wodrik kicked away some stones. “And they can’t even sing,” he mumbled.

When the wolves entered the tent, the singing immediately ceased. The pigs slipped in after them, which startled Wolfar, who reacted by almost hitting them.

Instead he kept his composure and grunted. “Keep your children under control. And please, put on some clothes.”

“They’re our children,” Bar-Bar said, a large sheep commanding the biggest herd of animals out of all the tribes. “Not our slaves.”

Wolfar nodded to his younger brother Wodrik. He took a bag of gold coins in his mouth and threw it towards the campfire. “Send your children away or we walk away.”

“Alright-o! Goodbye-o!” said the leader of a neighboring tribe. He’d never been very resistant to alcohol.

“If you think you can command us and we’re all the same filth,” Bar-Bar said calmly, “then we have nothing to discuss anyway. The only reason we have to live closer and closer to Amor, is because the Hens attack us. And yet you call them barbarians too!”

Wolfar and Wodrik exchanged glances.

“Then you might like to know,” Wodrik said, “that the king has just issued a new insane command. All barbarians have to be exterminated immediately. He’s gathering soldiers as we speak.”

All jaws dropped. It was true: they had slowly given up their traveling ways, living closer to Amor than ever, hoping it would be a safe haven against the Hens. But if the king wanted …

“The Cuckoo King,” Bar-Bar mumbled. “The Mindless Monarch. That’s what they call him. Everyone knows it, but you let it happen.”

“What were we supposed to do?” Wolfar yelled. “He is the rightful king. Chosen by the people when his mind still worked. There is no … lawful away to get rid of our father. It is as I’ve spoken.”

“And thus we come here,” Wodrik said, more bored than nervous. “We agree that the king’s mad leadership can only destroy the beautiful Amori now.”

Bar-Bar danced around the fire, to music only he could hear. A few children smiled and joined him, although his next words scared them.

“Stick a knife in the king’s back while he’s sleeping. Problem solved.”

The two princes dropped their masks. Wolfar beat his chest; Wodrik looked away in disgust.

“The Amori have the heart and the wisdom of the Gods who once roamed our Somnia. Murder is unthinkable to us,” Wolfar said proudly. “That is my statement.”

“And forbidden by law,” Wodrik added, raising his paw as if he had a question.

“If the godchildren still roamed these lands,” Bar-Bar spoke sadly, “they would have laughed themselves silly at that statement. You killed them. You drove them—”

“Which of us has the biggest city? The best technology? The most comfortable lives? The fairest—no, wait, you don’t have laws or a justice system. And then—”

At that moment, another pig stumbled through the opening and splashed dirt onto Wodrik. Several chickens ran after him, which caused a gust of wind that extinguished the fire. The first to touch the pig yelled: “You’re it!” And they ran away again.

“I want to leave,” Wodrik said in a whiny voice.

Amidst the chaos of the chicken chase, however, another creature had entered the tent. A rat. He had clearly eavesdropped from outside the tent, as he joined the conversation as if he’d always been there.

“Where is your third?” he asked. “Don’t you have another younger brother?”

“He is too dumb and weak for any important matters,” Wolfar said, clenching his teeth. The rat wrote down his exact words using his tail and a piece of parchment. When Wolfar realized who he was talking to, he kicked the parchment away from him. When the next herd of bunnies ran into the tent, almost ripping the fabric, Wolfar roared and scared them away.

“The offer is a mission. You know what mission. Do it silently, be arrested, we don’t care. But I suppose you … solve this issue before our father kills all barbarians.”

“That’s all?” Bar-Bar said, confused. “No help? No here is a map of the palace? No—”

“Predictable,” Wodrik said. “Have to explain everything to these idiots.”

“Don’t worry, should be easy,” the rat said, pointing at Bar-Bar. “He’s a demigod. He will work his magic and—”

“Never,” Bar-Bar said resolutely. “Never again.”

“Predictable,” Wolfar said. “Barbarians even refuse to do the thing they can do.”

They put on their “disguises” once more and slipped into the dark night. Wolfar turned around one last time to address the rat. “Oh, Tattlerat, one word about this to anyone and I will find a hundred laws to sentence you to death.”

The rat slumped. This meeting would have been the best gossip he ever spread.

“Ah well,” he said, finding new parchment to write down what happened. “I will just modify the story a bit. You all saw four strangers, right? Who asked you to kill Wolfar?”

More and more members of the Grapi tribes streamed into the tent, asking for explanation.

Bar-Bar looked pained. “Outrageous. Also the best chance we have.”

Food was passed around. A few strong pigs walked back into the night to retrieve fresh water from the tip of the Tibber. All felt this would be a long night.

“It’s a trap, right?” a small giraffe said. “They wait until we did the mission and then arrest us immediately?”

“Not sure, not sure,” multiple voices said. “Tough decision.”

“Tough decision? What is wrong with you?” the Tattlerat said, interrupting a pig who wanted to tell him more gossip. “The soul of Asha still lives inside us. And it is clear. We kill nobody. We don’t live in a big city, we keep moving around in small tribes, and … and in a month we’ll be on a different continent!”

“Oh? And how do we get there?” Bar-Bar said, looking for something to drink. “Amor squashes us on one side, the Hens on the other.”

“Even the Amori fear the Hens,” Tattlerat said. “We should use this as a first step towards cooperation.”

This drew laughter. The start of cooperation with a folk by killing their king?

“They would never,” Bar-Bar said with a cold certainty. “They don’t see us as equals. They think us barbarians equal only to a pile of poo.”

“Then use your magic!” Tattlerat yelled, shaking his head. “You could control the king without anybody dying.”

“And you could kill the king with some well-placed rumors,” he answered. “But you won’t, because you’re too selfish to actually risk yourself for anything.”

Bar-Bar looked around the silenced tent. “Whom amongst you wants to end in the Amor dungeons as thanks for saving their pitiful existence?”

The silence remained.

Tattlerat left the tent in a huff. Probably to spread some fake rumors back in Amor about what had happened here.

The discussion continued until morning. Children rolled over the fields again, and some tribes walked away from Amor, as if to say “we don’t want to be involved with any of this”.

What do you do, dear reader, if the right action is not the right action? If everyone sees the injustices pile up because a king has gone insane, but there is no neat law to dispose of that king?

As the sun rose, Bar-Bar left the tent to give commands. A few sheep, goats and pigs were to travel to Amor to gather information about the king and possible ways to remove him. They’d do as he asked, he was certain of it. His magic allowed him to gather multiple large tribes under his command.

He was sick of giving commands and other animals listening without question. He captured them, quite literally, and had no way to set them free.

No. Tattlerat was wrong. He would not use the magic again. He would find a different way.

Ginsea visited the neighborhood in Amor he’d usually avoid at all costs. Himnib was scheduled to experience the Flame in a week. The Bear-Shepherd was a criminal—he’d broken all those laws with his chaotic sheep!—but such a high punishment was absured. Unlawful. He’d have to win his case against the king quickly.

And so the hamster explored the outer neighborhoods. The place where animals did not have a bag of gold to spend every day. The place soldiers only visited to arrest, not to protect. The place which the king had probably long forgotten existed and was part of his rule.

Wolves trudged past, their skeleton visible below their thin, hungry skin. The public square was covered in garbage and broken objects, making it hard for Ginsea to find a path to the center. The well there had such a low water level that he doubted it had ever contained any water.

He planned to yell at all the bystanders from the center. It wasn’t necessary: his reputation preceded him.

“You’re writing your own obituary,” a Giant Wolf grunted, as he lay on a low wall, warming to the sunlight. “A case against the king? Hamsters are insane.”

“Why not? The law exists for justice. And how could it be just for one animal to get away with a lot more than other animals?”

Three sheep walked past. Sometimes, members of Bar-Bar’s tribe entered the city, despite closing the gate. Ginsea had never been able to catch them breaking a regulation, however hard he tried or secretly spied on them.

“If you think the case is so impossible,” he said loudly, “then help me gather as much evidence as possible!”

The hamster was smaller than all other animals on the square. His high, squeaky voice barely rose above some chattering chickens and the whines of hungry children.

“Evidence?” a chicken said. “Look around you!”

Ginsea rolled his eyes. “That is no hard evidence for a court case. I need proof that the king has broken many laws. Enough to lock him up—and the law does clearly state that criminals can’t be king.”

Nobody helped. They shrugged and trudged onwards. Stay a little longer, and he felt as if his eyes would only be able to see a brown, dirty blur.

He’d expected the rich inhabitants to ignore him. But these ones? Who suffered the mad king every day? Who had nothing to lose? They had to be able to help him.

“Everything helps. A suspicious break in? Someone arrested without reason? A conversation you overheard?”

But of course. They said nothing, because rule 8.9 clearly said any criticism aimed at the king was also punishable. “I promise you full protection, whatever you tell me. So spoken, so done.”

Oh? Really? Like how he’d “protected” Himnib?

He tried to radiate confidence as he studied the crowd. The wolves seemed one wrong word away from eating him alive.

It had to be hard for them. Hamsters were tasty food to them, to be captured without effort. But that’s exactly why they needed the laws! It allowed a prosperous city full of different animals!

A bear walked towards him. Finally! But then he stepped aside at the last possible moment.

“Oh, well, Ginsea,” the bear whispered as he passed by. “I suggest you … take a look underneath the aquaduct.”

Ginsea didn’t react. He waited some thirty heartbeats, then pretended to be disappointed and ran for the aquaduct.

A masterful creation, like a bridge through the seven hills of Amor, which was supposed to bring clean drinking water to everyone. Strangely enough, the water often stuck around near the palace district.

Yes! The bear had given him a first approach.

A quick search later he discovered a broken segment of the aquaduct. The branch that should’ve delivered water to this neighborhood … was gone. Instead, stone and clay had been thrown into the hole to stop any drop of water being spilled.

Ginsea was small and agile enough to climb into the aquaduct through some tiny holes. “Overdue maintenance of public services,” he mumbled. “Barely a fine, but it’s a start.”

Then he discovered the real reason for coming here.

Below him, a wolf cut into the stones. In his mouth he held a pickaxe, designed for quadrupeds, and could crack stones by moving his entire head and body in a forward motion.

He was destroying someone’s home.

Ginsea wanted to yell the exact rules this would broke, when he saw who it was.

“Wolzam?” He climbed down, curious. What was the youngest prince doing here?

“Oh, good morning Ginsea,” he said joyfully. His face only showed exhaustion.

“What … what are you doing, oh my royal prince?”

Wolzam laughed at the nickname. “Oh, this is something called the Test of Princes. Every prince has to do this to earn their place in the palace.”

Ginsea checked his memory. No, he’d never heard or seen this test before. “And the test requires punishing poor Amori?”

“No, no, no,” Wolzam said. Panting, his long tongue drooping, he dropped the pickaxe. The side wall of the house crumbled entirely, causing the roof to follow quickly. Three bunnies ran from their home before they were squashed.

“This family hasn’t paid taxes for months,” he said. “So this—”

“I know the regulations,” Ginsea said gruffly.

“What will we do now?” a young bunny girl cried. “Where is our new home?”

“It might … it might be a while before we get a new home, dear,” her mother said.

The father of the family ran at Wolzam at full angry, but calmed himself down when he noticed Ginsea. “And how are we supposed to pay taxes, ay? If the king refuses to pay us for the grain we deliver him, ay? You are the thieves!”

The family walked away with downcast faces.

To his surprise, Wolzam also started to clean up the mess he made. Surely these weren’t tasks for a prince?

“What, exactly, is the Test of Princes?”

“Oh, you know.” Wolzams joyful young voice drooped of exhaustion. “I once had to rebuild part of the aquaduct. I slept a month in the forest outside of Amor, without food or drink. On the king’s most recent birthday, I had the honor of being stuck inside a flower pot all day to play a flower for the guests. And then you have the fire I was commanded to start and—”

“With me. Now.”

Of course, Wolfar had appointed himself as the judge in the court case. But he had kept his word: he respected the law and would do this lawfully. Wolfar had not endlessly delayed the case or spread false rumors—nasty tricks to escape justice eternally. He’d even invited the entire Council of Amor and waited until they could attend.

One might nearly believe Wolfar agreed with Ginsea that the king could be a criminal.

So when Ginsea entered that marble room the next day, the entire council surrounded him with their ears and eyes sharp. This tiny room was obviously no match for the Council of Kame, the beautiful world wonder that contained hundreds of companions. But when you stood at the center of the room, Ginsea still grew nervous.

He walked circles and met the eyes of every, single, council member. Among them, he found a rat that looked out of place, writing down every single word on some crumbled parchment.

“I have placed my ear to the stories and experiences of Amor inhabitants. And what I heard was shocking. The king has put his unlawful tentacles into every aspect of life! And so it is!”

This statement sent a shockwave through the council. He’d do well to remember that the current laws still punished any criticism aimed at the king.

“But today, I only want to focus on one piece of hard evidence that I’ve collected in this short time.”

He looked Wolfar in the eyes.

“The criminal treatment of his own son, Wolzam. Thus I have spoken!”

Council members screamed to anyone who’d listen. Wolfar stomped and yelled for order.

Wolzam shuffled to the center of the room, encouraged by Ginsea. There, he told his story. The entire list with things the royal family—his father and brothers—had made him do under the guise of the “Test of Princes”.

The anger of Wolfar grew with every item. Until the judge stood before his younger brother, teeth bare, nose against nose, causing Wolzam to swallow the other half of the list.

“You did the right thing,” Ginsea whispered. “I will protect you to the full extent of the law.”

The hamster pointed for Wolfar to return to the judge area.

“What did you hear? I heard seventeen offenses. Child labor. Denying animal rights, such as food and water. Refusing to pay. Raising taxes just to let entire neighborhoods go to waste. Retreating all soldiers for a sudden attack on all Barbarians, opening us up to an attack from the Hens like a helpless baby. Must I continue?”

“Oh, well, my my,” Wolfar said. “The word of a little kid with a fantasy and a mad hamster. Against the word of everyone else.”

“Let the king explain himself. Give me more time and I’ll bring more hard evidence.”

“That will be unnecessary. The king retains the right to give whatever commands he wants. How families treat their children is not our problem, and how we use taxes is up to my brother Wodrik. Nice try, Ginsea, but when it comes to the law—you have no hamster leg to stand on. And so I end my speech.”

The entire council, clothed in those impractical white robes, were locked in fierce discussion. They examined the evidence, mostly worrying about the likelihood that Wolzam was not just a kid with a fantasy, but that he spoke the truth.

“But,” Wolfar said to the council, “I am just one humble judge. We are Amori, we are clean, and civilized, and lawful. And so I place my ear to the judgment of the wise council! What do you vote?”

Ginsea paused the room by raising his paws in alarm. “We can’t vote without considering consequences. If the king is removed, we have a vacuum of power. Somebody needs to become the new king.”

He turned to the council. “I propose to hold completely free elections to find his successor. Anyone can participate and win.”

“Pardon?” screamed Wolfar at Ginsea. “You are insane. I return to my original statement: you have no case. Disappear before I eat you!”

Ginsea stepped away. As he grabbed Wolzam, however, the wolf was already dragged to the other exit by his big brother.

He saw it now. He wouldn’t win anything and he couldn’t protect anyone. No matter how well he used the rules and regulations. Wolfar wasn’t against removing the king, but only if the current rules of succession were being followed: the oldest son automatically became the new king.

It was time to apply the laws more radically.

Bar-Bar placed a ladder against the outer walls of Amor. The walls reminded him of the time he abused his magic and encircled an entire grass plain. He could only laugh at the fact Amori had voluntarily locked themselves into a cage and called it civilization.

Normally, the Grapi used these ladders to get past natural obstacles when they traveled, such as wide rivers or fallen trees. It was one of the few items they always kept around, while everything else was left behind or broken down. Tonight, however, its purpose was less benign.

They were not the human ladders you think of, dear reader, but ones for animals. More a thick plank with uneven holes to stick your paws into. In the same way, they didn’t carry human weapons, but helmets with thorns or horns, and maybe a two-sided spear they could carry between their teeth.

The Tattlerat ran over the ladder and landed on the other side, joined by Bar-Bar and two of his strongest pigs, who were a few years away from becoming adults. Entering Amor had become easy ever since the king had gathered all his soldiers near the palace. Easy for barbarians; equally easy for the deadly Hens.

“Remember, my little spies,” Bar-Bar said, “we are merely here to investigate. This mission smells like a big mistake—and smelly Amori, of course. I’m mostly looking for a strong reason not to do it.”

They kept to the shadows. The ladders allowed them to climb over the hidden rooftops instead of the visible streets. There, animals already walked around or constructed their market stalls for when morning came, and some of them looked up at the noise.

“Some Amori will have seen us climb the walls,” said the Tattlerat. “It’s better if I spread some false rumor about it, than if they start drawing their own conclusions.”

“You really think animals will leave their warm bed, at midnight, to report this to—”

More and more wolf guards filled the streets, looking specifically at the rooftops. The barbarians pressed themselves flat against the stone.

The Tattlerat smirked. “Yes. Those good, upstanding, lawful Amori certainly will.”

Bar-Bar wasn’t afraid they’d catch him. They wouldn’t, not while tripping over those silly white robes of theirs! He continued at the same pace, until they reached one of the outer towers of the palace. He climbed on the chimney for a better view; the Tattlerat shuffled close to listen.

The room only held one candle. The light regularly dimmed, temporarily, when someone walked past it.

“… that will teach you,” Wolfar said with a roar. “Opening that big mouth of yours. Testifying against your own father!”

A hit. Someone cried in pain. Tattlerat drew closer, but Bar-Bar pulled him back before he fell off the roof.

“You bring us all into a horrible situation. From now on, shut up.”

Another hit. Another cry, followed by sobs.

“Yes … yes,” said Wolzam’s creaky voice.

A third wolf entered the room: Wodrik. “Our spies report several Barbarians left for Amor. Maybe … tonight is the night.”

“Barbarians?” Wolzam asked.

“What did I tell you about shutting up?” Wolfar kicked him once more. Then he suddenly walked to the window to look at the night sky.

Bar-Bar rapidly duck behind the chimney, taking the two pigs with him. Wolfar looked over their heads, unknowing.

“That’s where you belong,” he told his younger brother. “With the Barbarians. They’ll eat you alive! They’re cannibals! They have no rules, no boss, no clean homes. They don’t even wear clothes or drink wine. It’s exactly the pile of dirt from which you must have come. And so I’ve spoken.”

Wodrik and Wolfar gulped down an entire glass of wine in tandem. Wolzam refused to drink wine at all, causing further headshakes from his brothers.

“Too much mud in his brain,” Wodrik said. “That must be where it went wrong.”

Now both of them stared out of the window. Bar-Bar’s pure strength held everyone together behind the chimney, but now his paws were shaking.

“We should give him the Flame,” Wodrik mumbled. “Get rid of the entire nonsense.”

Wolfar tapped the back of his brother’s head. “Remember the entire city has no clue about Wolzam’s situation. We must appear to the outside world as a loving family, especially now.”

Wodrik looked to the side. The golden jewelry over his entire body reflected moonlight straight into Bar-Bar’s eyes, who stifled a cry. “How so?”

Wolfar grinned. “I have found my bride. Wisira. Beautiful. Sweet. The perfect queen.”

His brother looked dejected. “I … I’ve also found my bride. More beautifuller than yours! Sweeter of sweetest. A better queen.”

“What a shame she will never be one,” said Wolfar. “Wisira is already my wife, I’ve filled in all the right lawful paperwork. I only have to tell her still.”

“What if she says no to your ugly face?” his brother said, only half joking.

“We …”

Wolfar suddenly grew embarrassed, gesturing something to his brother, unable to speak a simple word. We mated. Not even: We shared a bed. When his brother understood, he nodded and looked away awkwardly, and like good Amori they decided to speak no more of the uncivilized matter of reproduction.

“We’ll get a child soon. The royal family will continue through me, the only one around here who has a functioning brain. Thus I have concluded my statement.”

They both looked over their shoulder.

“But you will never get a child to support the royal family, right brother?” he said to Wolzam, who still lay on the floor, squirming from the pain. “I do get your concern, Wodrik. I’m not sure we could ever beat the devil out of him. It’s unthinkable rumors would ever spread that he feels love for … Unthinkable!”

“Still feel,” Wolzam said through ragged breaths.

His brothers turned around to hit him again. The Tattlerat let go of the others to write down this gossip immediately. This surprised Bar-Bar and upset the balance, causing the pigs to roll down the roof like heavy tree trunks, until they only felt empty air below them.

Bar-Bar speeded down the wall, but came too late.

Fortunately, the pigs landed straight in a cart filled with grain, like a soft pillow to—

Until the owner of the cart pulled it away and let the pigs hit the cobblestones.

“Ew! Go away, filthy barbarians!”

“Why did you do that!?” Bar-Bar yelled at the grain farmer.

“Don’t be stupid. No Amori will ever buy grain touched by a pig! Or dirt!”

“Grain grows in the dirt!”

The owner quickly pushed the cart to the next street. The wolves, who were already looking for them, hastened to reach this street and encircle the barbarians.

The pigs lived, but they still hadn’t opened their eyes or moved. Bar-Bar could only lift one, but was surprised when the other was lifted by a bear.

A female bear with shining fur and sweet eyes. Bar-Bar felt the special aura around her that he associated with magic. So, must be a demigod, child of the original gods.

“I am Solong, Bear-Shepherd and Companion. Does one of you know where Himnib is? I was supposed to meet him days ago just outside of Amor.”

Bar-Bar didn’t know, but he could guess.

A rabbit jumped from the shadows to help as well. “Fear the worst,” he told the bear. “Animals have been vanishing for years now, since the king went mad. They never return.”

The rabbits turned out to be a family who’d lost their home. “Himnib? The companion?” the mother said. “Yes, he was arrested and sentenced to the Flame.”

“What? Why? You can’t punish a Companion like that,” Solong said. “Himnib is the sweetest animal, and so are his hundred sheep.”

“Why? No reason, of course.”

The wolf guards had finally reached their corner of Amor. Bar-Bar looked around, but saw no escape. Not while carrying two heavy pigs.

The magic burned within him. Just a short burst of energy, a quick run of magic, and the entire situation would be solved.

But no! He’d never turn another animal into his slave again.

“And vanish is what they’ll do to us Barbarians,” Bar-Bar said, “if we don’t leave now.”

He was used to animals stepping away at the sound of that word. Most could identify a Grapi animal from a distance and had become quite good at pretending to throw up.

So why were these animals still here and helping?

“You are under arrest!” the wolves yelled. “Put away your weapons, put up your paws—”

“For what?” Bar-Bar tried in a neutral voice, as a last attempt.

“You broke laws 4.3.2, 6.7, 9.1.2, and of course—”

“Which says? We did nothing wrong, just walking around and helping injured animals.”

“You’re not allowed to walk around without clothes. Children are not allowed out of the home during the night. You have no power here, barbarian.”

“Most importantly,” a bigger wolf said. “The king has commanded all pigs to be killed on sight. We’re just following commands, surely you can understand.”

The wolves moved rapidly to seize the pigs, who could not defend themselves now. Before anyone could utter a protest, they were brutally killed with a single bite.

Bar-Bar’s muscles tensed, but then he sighed deeply and let go. The Asha, from so long ago, were still right. Living in large groups and large cities with a common ruler—it only caused trouble and injustice.

This battle was lost. But he’d win the war.

As he fled, however, the rabbits and bear went with him. Their eyes were questioning, almost pleading, for the chance to walk with Bar-Bar to their camp in the wilderness.

They searched for a bit of Amori civilization among the Barbarians, dear reader, for they could not stand the barbaric treatment of the Amori any longer.

Standing back on the walls, he’d lost a few of his best pigs, and gained a few new strangers. The Tattlerat joined them all, out of breath.

“I have schematics of the most important parts,” he said. “Traded them for some gossip about the royal family in Traferia. And I discovered the library is always accessible and open, though mostly empty at night.”

The rat casually waved at the other animals, then whispered to Bar-Bar. “You must make a decision. The king is leaving soon, and will be away for six months to visit Traferia.”

Looking out over Amor, Bar-Bar only saw wolves arresting poor animals for daring to breathe. Turning around and looking the other way, he saw the first Hen soldiers appear on the horizon, closing in on them.

“I’ve made my decision,” Bar-Bar said, his expression dark. “Let’s kill a king.”

The Tattlerat and Bar-Bar took a while to let go of their embrace. The time had come. The mission was now or never, and they hadn’t found more barbarians willing to put their life on the line for it. Only Solong was eager to join.

They walked through the busy camp, subconsciously delaying the inevitable for a little longer.

“I know I can’t force you to stay safe,” Bar-Bar said. “I also don’t know how I’d live on if something happened to you on this mission.”

Tattlerat pointed at two goats, who jumped on each other and made love, creating a symphony of bar bar bar bar. They did not feel embarrassed and they did not hide. Not so far away, two rabbits did the same thing out in the open, as others walked past carrying logs or fresh water for tonight.

You must realize, dear reader, that you also come from a specific culture. Probably a culture that believes sex should be secret or hidden, behind closed doors, only for adults. But that’s just a rule somebody invented long ago, like the Amori with all their rules about what is and isn’t upstanding behavior.

Tattlerat smiled: “By getting some more children, duh. More than enough sheep walking around here, am I right?”

Bar-Bar could not laugh. Tattlerat was one of the few animals in his life who was there by choice, not because his magic forced him to. The first time the rat left for Amor, Bar-Bar almost forbade it. It took his entire herd to calm him down and allow the rat his freedom, as was the barbarian way. Somehow, over time, the Tattlerat had found the perfect balance between enjoying the city and being a traveling Grapi.

Their relationship worked. Did they really have to put it on the line?

“There are no godchildren anymore to put us in our place,” said Tattlerat. “No Ardex, or Odin, to tell us we should not forget the soul of Asha. To tell us what’s right and what’s wrong. I don’t know, Bar-Bar, but at least we’re trying to do good. A quick, painless death for a mad king who has done much worse.”

Tattlerat had practiced his posh Amori accent. He also wore a white robe now, appearing rich and wine-loving, with golden rings around his tail and a crown of flowers. It made you wonder why the rat kept returning to the Grapi, if selling gossip had made him this rich.

They met Solong at the final tent, who still outshone Tattlerat. The three of them started their journey to Amor, with nothing more than poison in a pouch and a heavy heart.

The library was deserted, night had fallen, and Ginsea had not noticed any of that. His whiskers were stuck in the yellow parchment of a dozen books littered across the marble floor.

“There must be a law,” he mumbled to himself. “One that does not make an exception for the king. One that allows removing the king cleanly and lawfully.”

“Silence!” a giraffe hissed. She ran the library and was the only other animal present.

His paws moved around paper after paper, his eyes sliding over the many rules, but it was useless.

“Only the testimony of an ADULT member of the ROYAL FAMILY counts as hard evidence in all cases.”

As if those wolf brothers would testify against themselves or their father.

“Adultery—mating with a different animal than your own partner—is punishable by death. Only if there is sufficient reason for innocence, or one waits too long with the accusation, it can be reduced to jail time or public shaming.”

So, so many laws. Ginsea knew almost all of them by heart, and none were helping right now. And the lawbook only grew each year: more laws added, none ever removed.

In uncertainty, as usual, he turned to the book of Ardex. During his long life, he’d written down endless wisdom and principles. Unfortunately, since the demise of the gods, all his work had been banned. Ginsea had convinced himself that he never actually read the book of Ardex, so he wasn’t breaking any rules. He merely accidentally dropped the book and glanced at a page, once in a while.

But even the wise God of Death had no words for this case. So yes, he’d done the right thing by urging the Wise Owl to come here. He only hoped she’d arrive in time for Himnib, and all the others.

Frustrated, he threw a book against the wall.

“SILENCE!” the giraffe shrieked.

“There is nobody—” He stopped himself. The giraffe was right. The rule was that you had to be silent in the library, even if it was not really needed. Rules were rules. He’d said so more often than any other creature.

But everyone interpreted the laws differently. People in power received exceptions, but if you sued them … they’d hide behind different laws!

Ginsea ground his teeth and wiggled his nose. A weird draught moved through the cold book shelves.

The law only worked if it was always, completely, fairly applied. Yes, that was the truth.

He had to persevere. Keep repeating all the rules the king broke, until everyone with a working brain saw the king had to leave. But he didn’t want to depend on that. There should have been a law that said: “If the king does this and this, they lose the throne.”

But … while the king is the boss, such a law is obviously never created.

His mind turned in circles, circles, circles, the letters on the pages swimming before his eyes.

Just like three fluid shadows on the wall.

He immediately focused on them. The shadows continued in silence, traversing the upper floor of the library, straight to—the heart of the palace!

Ginsea jumped off of the book shelf. He used every book—long, thin, fragile—to climb to the ceiling, dropping half of them to floor in a clatter.

“SILENCE!” The giraffe frowned and stretched her neck to pluck Ginsea from the ceiling, but he dodged in time.

The shadows were gone. But the door at the end of the hallway was ajar, and he remembered it leading to the bedrooms of the princes.

He became a spectator to the oddest moment.

Below him, Wolfar pulled off his white robes. Oh gods and half gods. He was naked! The prince was near to him and naked!

The prince looked tense, as if this was the most naughty thing he’d ever done. His expression changed into a laugh as he strolled through the corridors. He sipped wine from bowls neatly arranged around him, which Ginsea knew was required by regulation 10.4.3, and admired himself in the fluid’s reflection.

You must realize, dear reader, that the wolves still had their fur. This wolf looked exactly like what you’d expect from a wolf, nothing weird or embarrassing. But if you’re supposed to always wear clothes, if that’s all you’ve known your entire life, this feels like naughty behavior. And precisely that feeling was why Wolfar did it.

Wolfar’s gait become more certain and more prideful. And then he walked straight into the bedroom of his little brother Wodrik.

He forced himself onto his brother’s wife, a female wolf with a sweet face, grey fur and broad tail.

Ginsea’s heart stopped. Unthinkable! The rules broken by the prince were too many to count! Just the adultery would be …

He nearly fainted when Wodrik’s wife smiled and accepted it all happily. How long had this been going on? Did Wodrik know—

Footsteps sounded. He pressed himself against the wall.

Wodrik ran into the bedroom, eyes red and back bent. Wolzam hobbled after him, covered in bandages, but upon seeing the situation, he fled and stayed with Ginsea.

“Get away from her!”

Wolfar pulled her closer, licking her forehead and ears. “The barbarians are doing their mission, I’ve spoken to them just now. In a few minutes, I am king. And you don’t talk to your king like that.”

Wodrik’s face colored bright red. He exploded forward. His brother swatted him aside as if the smaller wolf were just an annoying mosquito. Neither of them were steady on their feet after drinking too much wine, almost ending the fight before it even started.

Ginsea’s breath caught. He was a forgotten spectator, just outside the room. He should arrest Wolfar, sound the alarm, do—

“Why should you be king?” Wodrik visited a dark corner of the room and returned with a two-sided spear between his teeth. “You are even worse than father! You are unlawful on purpose!”

“Oh, Wodrik, you know deep down that you don’t deserve your wife and that you’re too stupid too—”

“AAAR!”

Wodrik attacked in a dizzying flurry of spear thrusts.

Surprised by the speed, Wolfar stepped back and reluctantly let go of Wodrik’s wife. He bit back, but Wodrik was still wearing clothes and caught the teeth safely in his garments.

A thrust met Wolfar’s hind leg. He crumbled, in pain. But Wodrik could not finish it.

He kept his distance and yelled. “Everyone knows that I would be the better king.”

“But the law says …” Wolfar said, getting back to his feet.

“Ginsea!” yelled Wodrik. So he had seen the hamster. “You are witness of this betrayal! You are a man of the law! Support me.”

But Ginsea stayed in the shadows, frozen, unsure what to do. A tiny rodent between carnivore giants.

Wodrik’s wife tried to sneak away, but he blocked the exit. “Let’s split the area then. Half the Amorin empire is yours, the other half mine.”

Wolfar grinned. “Why not three parts? Also one for Wolzam, the weakling? Let him rule an entire empire into the ground? Great idea, little brother.”

His brother looked back. To his surprise, their youngest brother had vanished. He was distracted, joining Ginsea in the search for their little brother. As wounded as he was, he could not be—

Wolfar yelled and jumped. His sharp claws scratched deep wounds into the chest of his brother. Wodrik squirmed and dropped his spear; the spear that stuck into his side a heartbeat later.

His wife ran into the hallway, crying. Wolfar’s claws instantly turned the corner to grab Ginsea by the throat.

The hamster had unfrozen, just in time. He fled down the hallway, deeper into the palace.

Ginsea’s heart wanted to jump out of his chest. He’d seen every part of the palace during his flight from Wolfar, until the rapid footfalls behind him finally ceased. No more panting from a hungry wolf.

No, the panting had been replaced by a far lighter sound. A soft bleating.

He slowed down. This stone corridor, up high in the palace, was only lit by four dim candles and had heavy doors on both sides. Sure, the doors had latches on many different heights, to allow all sorts of animals to open and close it. But nobody would enter this corridor unheard, unless …

He took a few steps backward and looked to the side.

Three figures waited in a dark alcove, six glassy eyes looked at him pleadingly.

His clever brains connected the dots. Barbarian mission. Kill the king. And here, in a dark corner, he found three Barbarians.

“Do not fret,” Ginsea said. “I am not exactly a … friend of the royal family.”

“You also don’t look like a spy, hairy hamster,” a sheep said, revealing himself and a rat.

“Wait, you’re the Tattlerat, are you not?”

“No idea what you’re talking about.” He twisted his whiskers. “Unless you have some fun gossip for me …”

A bear also revealed herself. “Quick. What is the fastest route to the king’s bedroom?”

Ginsea pointed in the general direction, ready to explain the path towards it—then dropped his paw and his head.

“I won’t help you,” he spoke sadly. “Assassination? That is not the way. We must be better than that. I’ve been fighting for a week to lawfully throw the king of his throne. This was my speech.”

“And how is that going so far?” bleated Bar-Bar.

“Just walk away,” Tattlerat said. “Pretend you didn’t see us.”

“And what then? The entire Amorin empire sees a bunch of Barbarians who confirm they are criminals and unlawful! They’ll pretend the king was amazing, just so they don’t have to admit they like what you did.”

Footsteps. A vague echo of panting. Wolfar had rediscovered his trail; cold sweat could apparently be smelled from far away.

The hamster walked away; the trio of spies followed. They turned the corner, towards the dungeons. He was going there anyway to visit poor Himnib.

“Those laws of yours are supposed to help,” Bar-Bar said. “When they stop helping, they must change or go away. But you never manage that, do you?”

Ginsea’s voice squeaked, still offended despite his fear and exhaustion. “Without laws and culture we’d all kill each other! Steal each other’s wife! Steal each other’s food! You would never be able to sleep, never be able to trust, never be able to work together and build big palaces or aquaducts! And so it is!”

They were unable to get a lead on Wolfar, so they picked up the pace.

They stood before Himnib’s cell. The bear hadn’t eaten anything since he’d been locked up, and his sheep didn’t fare much better. He responded eagerly to the visitors, even though he was sluggish and his eyes half-closed.

“If you kill the king, then, following law 1.2, Wolfar will become the new king. I have seen tonight … that this might somehow be worse.”

Ginsea grabbed Himnib’s paw through the bars. As a gesture of support, but nothing else, for he had no good news. Himnib was still sentenced to the Flame one of the coming days, and it was his fault.

“Hmm. Sounds like I am in the right place for gossip,” the rat started.

“We do this lawfully,” Ginsea said fiercely. “We do it publicly, all eyes on us, in a courtroom. Otherwise we are just as bad. Otherwise …”

Ginsea stared at the slanted, broken floor tiles. All followed this gaze, but saw nothing but proof that Himnib had not received a single visitor or slice of help. Just for breaking some minuscule rules in a list of ten thousand rules, their reason long forgotten.

“Otherwise our entire civilization is for nothing,” the hamster mumbled.

The three spies looked at each other. Solong almost pushed herself through the bars to touch Himnib and tell him things would be alright, to study his wounds and caress his paws.

“I have summoned the Wise Owl,” Ginsea said.

Himnib managed a faint smile. A smile they all needed. “Ah. Aria will come, surely for her favorite Companion.”

Then Himnib fainted or fell asleep, they couldn’t know.

Heavy paws stormed down the stairs into the dungeons. The Barbarians decided, without a word, to abort the mission and run for the exit on the other side.

Ginsea followed gladly, but didn’t leave Amor. He stayed. He even went to the richest neighborhoods in Amor with a final plan in his head.

The next time Ginsea entered a courtroom, he had twenty personal guards. He wanted fifty, but that didn’t fit inside the room. It was already overflowing with the Amor inhabitants he invited.

The Council found it amusing. Wolfar was about to explode.

The Amori had heard of his court case against the king. They had heard of the events inside the palace from him, but especially from the Tattlerat. Solong had spread the stories about sweet Himnib who was locked up.

Hundreds of animals now crowded the room holding wooden planks filled with angry messages and a call to make Ginsea the new king. He now realized removing the king was only half the fight; putting a better person in his place was the other half.

But he would succeed. Following the law, as one should.

He walked into the room with a smile and confidence, the support of the inhabitants like a warm blanket around his shoulders.

Until he saw who decided to attend this meeting as well: the king himself.

“Objection!” yelled Ginsea. “The accused may not be judge at their own process!”

“Who says so?” Wolfar grunted. “The law clearly states the king may decide to attend the court at any time and deliver his godly justice on any case.”

He doubted this was the king’s own idea. He mumbled nonsense words, spit dripping from his chin. His eyes twisted and twirled, as if he tried to follow a circus act before him. The stench of alcohol hit Ginsea, even at this distance.

“Fine,” said Ginsea. “It won’t make a difference. My pile of evidence is too large to topple with vile tricks. That king won’t sit on a throne for one day more.”

“Nonsense!” the king screamed instantly, as if it had been rehearsed.

Wolfar kept calm. “Many creatures who agree with you is no proof at all.”

Ginsea raised a paw. A timid creature, making herself smaller than she was, walked to the center.

“That is true. Only one creature—the right creature—needs to agree with him.”

The wolf stood tall and looked at Wolfar with blood-shot eyes.

“I am Wenra, late Wodrik’s wife, an adult member of the royal family. So my testimony is proof.”

She swallowed. Wolfar was already coming for her.

“Nonsense!” the king screamed again, before Wenra had even said anything. “This court case is a sham! I condemn you all to the Flame, including the Council!”

Wolfar pushed his father back. “My father, erm, hasn’t slept well.”

“Nonsense!”

“You haven’t even seen the king or spoken to him the past years,” Wolfar said to Wenra. “All you say about him is a lie.”

“Let the witness speak,” yelled Ginsea through the chaos.

“I won’t say anything about the king, indeed,” said Wenra, her face neutral now. “I declare that Wolfar is guilty of the murder of my man, Wodrik.”

Both sides of the isle exploded. The entire Council stood up, ready to storm the center of the room, as the supporters of Ginsea pushed at their back.

“According to rule 3.7.2,” Ginsea yelled, “Wolfar is immediately sentenced to death. This court case requires a new judge, which can’t be the king himself. And if the king is removed from the throne, his only surviving son would be the new king. And so I have spoken!”

Wherever Wolzam may be, as nobody had seen him in a while. Either he returned and they had a better king. Or not, and Ginsea would fill the hole.

“Nonsense!” the king screamed once more, his tongue out of his mouth. “A woman can’t be an accusor!”

“I am the accusor,” said Ginsea. “She is merely witness.”

He smiled. The Council realized it too: they had him. All the domino pieces would fall, away from the king.

Wolfar spit past Ginsea. “I had hoped, my respected enemy, that I wouldn’t have to do this.”

The entire army, which had been gathered around the palace for a week now, marched into the room. The wolves and lions grabbed Ginsea and Wenra. Any Council member who protested was removed too.

“According to rule nobody cares and rule I made it up, I condemn everyone here to the Flame, as quickly as possible. Thus I concluded my judgment.”

He took the hammer into his mouth and banged the gavel against his wooden table, like a war drum that signaled his victory over Ginsea.

What was a little hamster going to do against large claws? Ginsea dropped his head, his mind broken. How had he ever thought he could make a difference, following the law, against stronger creatures?

The last thing he saw as a giant gray owl, through the windows, blotting out the sunlight with every wingbeat.

Surprise traveled through the Grapi tribes when the spies returned … and had done nothing. Had they even arrived at the palace? Yes. Had they had the chance to kill the king? For sure.

It made even less sense for those who stood behind the mission. The other animals nodded with satisfaction, as if they knew the peaceful soul of Asha would win out eventually.

“See-o,” the leader of another tribe said. “In the end-o, you made the right choice-o.”

“Our hearts made the choice, yes,” said Bar-Bar. “But if it was the right one …”

The Tattlerat had stayed in Amor to keep an eye on the situation. Bar-Bar and Solong explained about the hamster, certain he’d win by following rules, and a locked-up Companion.

They sat or lay around a campfire, beneath the open sky. Their handful of tents were mostly made out of practical concern, such as protecting valuable goods against heavy rain. It was a true Wilderness compared to the shiny buildings and thick walls of Amor.

The Amori played a huge role in the demise of the gods, but if there was something they were eager to copy from them, it was the idee of Wilderness. Inside the city walls, each animal was protected, prey or predator. Outside city walls—in the Wilderness—everyone was on their own and predators could still hunt for their own meat.

Regularly, animals from Bar-Bar’s herd were eaten or attacked. It was a never-ending threat, but still the Barbarians kept living in their own way and refused to found cities. Even if they had the numbers and the power to do so.

The Grapi existed before the Amori, dear reader, had always been larger in number, and would keep existing long after Amor had fallen. But almost nobody would now, for they didn’t write anything down and didn’t build anything that lasted.

New strangers came to their warm fire, like most evenings. The poorest creatures from Amor. A few lost souls from different tribes. A sheep who missed an eye, a goat with one horn sawed off—probably by thieves who wanted to sell that material. And even a wolf with a scarred face and a limp, who still looked attractive in the eyes of many and received a lot of physical attention.

They often came dressed in black clothes, as if they were afraid to exist. But Bar-Bar knew one night at the fire would remove their shame, convincing them of the Barbarian ways in no time. Every time it happened, it still felt like magic, stronger than his actual magic that he still refused to use.

Everyone was welcome. The Grapi territory was one large area and it belonged to everyone inside. Each tribe had an eldest member, who was the closest thing to a leader, but otherwise encouraged freedom and invididuality.

In fact, Bar-Bar had the rule that you weren’t allowed to stay on the same plot of land for more than a month. Everyone had to constantly move around, to prevent becoming too comfortable and, oh no, accidentally start a city.

Tonight, however, a very strange stranger arrived. A Hen partially dressed like a soldier. The only real enemy of all animals on this continent.

Everyone immediately scrambled to their feet.

The female chicken raised her wings, still panting from her sprint. “I am a deserter! I don’t belong to the Hens anymore.”

She took off her helmet and wing harness to prove it. “I bring warning. They are coming. The entire tribe, all soldiers, are coming straight for you. And they are close.”

“Where do they get the weapons?” Bar-Bar grunted. “And the money!?”

All their own possessions were gathered in less than a minute. The campfire was extinguished by rabbits bringing buckets of water. They couldn’t win against the Hens, no, their many previous meetings had proven that. Their first meeting, which had forced Bar-Bar to use his awful magic to save thousands of animals and turn them into his slaves, had proven that.

Several animals nudged the scarred wolf, some even kissing him without shame or hesitation, but received no reaction. He didn’t seem interested in them, or anything happening around—

“I know where the Hens get the money,” he mumbled. “The Amori.”

Solong frowned. “Those two are the biggest possible enemies.”

The wolf shook off his robes. They hadn’t recognized him due to the scars. But in the dark, surrounded by fleeing Grapi, stood Wolzam—the youngest prince.

“Ever since the Hens existed, the Amori hire them to do their dirty jobs. The things for which they find themselves too good and noble. Such as slowly exterminating the other annoying Barbarians.”

“Like … us?”

Wolzam looked terrifying in the moonlight. His deepest scar traveled across his face like a lightning bolt.

“The Amori can tell themselves they’re nice and never did anything to you. Most inhabitants of Amor really believe that, too. Oh, how good they are. Oh, how civilized and the others barbaric. But in truth, all deaths because of the Hens … are really deaths because of them.”

They couldn’t talk any longer. The cackling of the Hens hung in the night air. Bar-Bar swore he could already see their tiny silhouettes on the horizon, atop a hill.

Their power was not in large claws or fire-spewing breath. Their power was, just like the Grapi tribes, in their numbers. Their power was measured in how much livestock they had and how many paws they could place on your territory.

And, apparently, bags full of gold from the Mindless Monarch himself.

Everyone started running. But whereto? Amor belonged to the Hens! But it was the closest wall they could hide behind.

And if the Hens were truly on Amor’s payroll … they wouldn’t actually attack Amor, right?

Bar-Bar hoped the element of surprise would allow most of them to enter the city before any alarm was raised. Then they’d have to somehow prevent being arrested or killed on sight due to their idiotic laws.

The flight seemed endless, the seven high hills of Amor a distant goal. The Hens won terrain; chickens were fast.

The slowest and weakest among them were placed on a cart, pulled by increasingly agitated cows. At some point, Wolzam was placed on it, and all the other animals shamelessly pushed into him for his warmth. He stiffened, as if not understanding what happened, mumbling this was not normal and he was already in love with someone else.

When two tired rabbits were also placed on his stomach, he realized this was normal here. His body relaxed and he started to enjoy the simple warmth of animals sleeping against him.

They reached the walls. Tattlerat waited for them.

“I have, erm, good news and bad news. Ginsea has revealed the truth and now all of Amor rebels against the king and Wolfar. The hamster is also inside a cell, waiting for his death. Together with, erm,” the rat tried to count on his thin paws, “more than a hundred other Amori.”

When all the animals jumped out of the cart, Wolzam barked softly and reached for them, his eyes half-closed and wanting to hug for a little longer.

When the news was repeated, he did wake up and jump out of the cart.

Bar-Bar’s face was dark again. Sparks appeared around his paws, changing colors and frightening anyone who stood nearby. “My little wolf prince, how much do you like your father and brother?”

Wolzam looked away. “Not as much as I should, I guess.”

“Good.”

Around midnight, led by a chorus of cackling chickens, four spies crept into the palace. Their first destination was the dungeons. If they freed all the animals, and made them part of the mission, they’d have a much better chance.

They’d hoped to walk in easily like last time, but that was naïve.

All barbarians, and shepherds, had experienced fights before. They were always in danger, from the day they were born, so you learned to defend yourself. Solong knew what she had to do and would not hesitate upon seeing the king.

Still she walked just a little more slowly. She had actually experienced the original Asha tribes, had believed in their idea of peacefulness and freedom, which made it hard to join in killing the six dungeon guards.

“Stop,” she whispered. “Is there no other way?”

“Like what?” Bar-Bar grunted. “Sing a sung? Ask nicely? Create a diversion? We have no time for cute plans.”

She let them storm the dungeons and take care of it. She remained outside.

But how was that better? Then she’d just be like the Amori. Letting others do the dirty jobs, so she could say she had clean paws. Talk about her great wisdom and moral might, which she could only keep because she was surrounded by Barbarians who did the actual work.

It was as Ardex said: No civilization without lack of civilization.

She yelled and joined the attack.

Their clothes were their disadvantage, again. They wore solid metal plates as protection, like a turtle harness, but this also made them move like a turtle. One even refused to fight “naked enemies”, as that was apparently “not honorable”.

Well, their mistake.

The four goat guards were down in an instant. The two wolves were a bigger problem. Apparently it also wasn’t “honorable” to attack two wolves with four spies, which allowed you to attack them at their back while they were busy with someone else.

It was effective, though.

“Where is your honor!?” the final wolf cried.

“As deep under the ground as yours,” Bar-Bar replied. He caught a wolf attack in his gigantic ball of wool. As the wolf was briefly stuck, the Tattlerat knocked him unconscious with the end of his own spear.

They ran to the cells. Bar-Bar used his strength to ram the weapon against the lock, until it bent, turned, groaned, and eventually fell before his paws.

A hundred sheep flooded the hallways. They destroyed all the other locks with coordinated ease and gave the locked-up Council members, and some poor Amori, their freedom.

“Where is Ginsea? Where is Himnib?” Solong asked, panicked.

An old female sheep, who Solong recognized as Barina, hobbled to them. “They were already taken to the Flame!”

The spies ran from the dungeons, over the spiral staircase, and entered an empty hallway where only a single candle burned. Tattlerat tried to remember the palace layout. They were now on the other side of the library … and he was clueless. Go up. That would surely be the right direction.

All freed animals followed them and filled the palace with a cacophony of bleating, cries for help, and bar bar bar bar. This drew the attention of all soldiers nearby.

The spies took the next staircase to a higher floor. Not every animal could walk the stairs, so the walls also contained holes and wooden blocks for the better climbers, as well as a smooth slope for a quicker path downward.

This floor contained more soldiers than the previous, but they hadn’t been spotted yet. The spies pressed themselves against the cold wall, in the shadow of barrels and baskets.

Three wolves ran past.

“The Hens are too good,” one said. “They brought all Barbarians to Amor too soon!”

“But they stick to the agreement and aren’t attacking the city itself. Thank the gods for that.”

“So far, so far.”

Were they going to the king? Or would the king be present at the Flame Ceremony?

Tattlerat pointed the other way, and they trusted him the most. Stomachs dropped to the floor, they crawled through the shadows.

Two more wolves appeared out of nowhere.

They froze where they were. No noise. Eyes closed.

One paw landed right next to Bar-Bar’s ear, but the wolves continued their path unknowingly.

“Ask Regiment C to come,” a low voice said. “Wolfar has demanded all possible protection for the king.”

“Impossible,” said the other. “Regiment C guards the Flame. Barely. All of Amor protests and tries to stop Ginsea and Himnib from getting punished.”

So, king and Flame are not in the same place.

The spies pulled themselves from the floor, as if they were born out of the carpet. They split up: Bar-Bar and Tattlerat after the wolf going to guard the king, Solong and Wolzam after the one going to the Flame.

Solong immediately knew it was a mistake. Wolzam was too injured for this, and she was too hesitant to fight and didn’t trust herself to win one at all costs. Her mother seemed right about a lot of things, basically everything. It was hard to be kind, it was even harder to know when to kill or hurt another being because of self-protection.

And thus she steered them to a deserted hallway. There, watching through a window, they saw the Flame Ceremony. The Flame itself seemed frozen, larger and brighter than any fire she’d seen before. It sent magical waves through the air at the rhythm of a beating heart. They’d even built a nice plaza around it, with nice seats for spectators.

They punished their prisoners in the worst way imaginable. But of course, the Amori should be able to sit on a nice chair and wear nice clothes.

The anger made Solong less uncertain. She found the quickest path to the plaza and explained it to Wolzam.

And maybe this would have been enough to run there, perform some magic, and stop Himnib and Ginsea before they touched the Flame. Maybe this was the moment Solong discovered more of her demigod powers and used them.

They’d never know, for she and Wolzam were ruthlessly taken away by wolf guards that appeared behind them.

They quickly decided to take Wolzam outside and have him touch the flame too. Better to remove him, with all his knowledge of the royal family and their crimes. Wolfar would find, or bend, some law that said this punishment was fair.

Solong wished for Ginsea to appear, as he did before, with a law on his own—something that commanded the guards to let them go immediately. The first time in her life she would have been incredibly happy with laws and rules.

But of course he didn’t come, for he stood on the plaza below. And he had learned that, when it truly mattered, that precious civilization with its laws could crumble as easily as a house of cards.

What were a wounded wolf and a semi-magical bear going to do against these big beasts? No matter how smart animals became, no matter how much civilization they built, you simply couldn’t win against someone physically stronger than you.

Himnib was already pushed against the Flame.

The palace bells rang.

The king’s chambers were easy to find. His insane babbling was audible from far out. Bar-Bar hoped to make sense of it, hear intelligent words that convinced him to abort the mission, but even when he was almost inside the room, it remained nonsense.

Him and Tattlerat flattened themselves again, this time against furniture. A new pack of wolf soldiers passed by.

“It’s chaos on the plaza. All of Amor tries to prevent the Flame Ceremony,” one said to Wolfar. “But if this many animals are against our punishments, oh royal prince, should we not—”

“Animals don’t know what they want!” yelled Wolfar. “Violence. Force. It’s the only way to be sure that animals do what is good for them!”

“And, erm, more bad news,” said the other with downcast eyes. “The Hens have decided to attack the city anyway. A thousand chickens stream towards the palace as we speak.”

“Traitors!” yelled Wolfar. “We pay them coin until it comes out of their ears, and now they turn on us?”

“To be honest, oh fair prince, we have no idea what their goal is.” The wolf looked over his shoulder. The screams from the plaza reached all the way to the upper floor. “But we need all soldiers.”

Wolfar agreed to send more guards. Only one wolf stayed behind to guard the closed bedroom door.

Bar-Bar could not wait any longer. He stepped from the shadows and, with a jerk of his head, threw his spear.

“Well, well, be wise now,” said Tattlerat softly to the guard. “Every noise you make might be your last.”

“Listen, young wolf boy. You know the king is insane and his son ignores the law,” Bar-Bar whispered. “Why do you work for them? Why haven’t soldiers seized power long ago?”

The wolf hit the door with the dull end of his spear. He shrugged. “Because the king pays me and feeds me well.”

“You’re as bad as the tyrant you serve!”

“Says the barbarian trying to conquer our city!”

“You think we want your precious Amor!? We actively try not to get a city or homes! That’s where all the trouble starts!”

The soldier was surprised, just for a moment. The Tattlerat jumped at the opportunity, but was too late. The spear pushed open the doors; the guard yelled about intruders.

Before Bar-Bar could grab him, Wolfar jumped in front of him. The soldier bit into a long rope and hung from it with his entire weight, which sounded the palace bells.

Wolfar licked his lips. “Always nice if food just walks up to you.”

The king was already bored and drank another bucket of wine in a single gulp. Wolfar looked unsteady on his feet, but sharp enough to be dangerous.

His first attack was a fast claw towards Bar-Bar’s left side. The sheep rolled away, over a sofa turned upside-down, and landed close to the soldier hanging from the rope. He gave the guard a headbutt, which sent the soldier flying through the room, as if swinging from a vine in the jungle.

The heavy wolf body bumped the king and the prince against the other wall. They stayed down, dazed.

Bar-Bar grabbed the middle of the spear in his mouth and ran for the king. All he pierced was a wall, merely grazing the king’s snout and front paw.

Wolfar grinned, then laughed. “Barbarians are hopeless.”

Bar-Bar answered confidently: “But alas, that spear was poisoned.”

Wolfar sniffed the point of the spear. Then he pulled his father out of the room, onto the hallway.

“Don’t die yet, you old drunk fool,” he roared. “Do it when we have enough witnesses!”

They ran down the stairs, to the chaos on the plaza below. Bar-Bar and Tattlerat merely looked down through the window.

It was madness. Utter chaos. Amori, soldiers, Hens, all of them ran into each other and attacked each other—most without weapons, and an increasing number of them without clothes. And all of that on a raised platform that now contained four animals pushed towards a Flame. Four animals?

Odin’s revenge! They had captured Wolzam too! And where was Solong?

“How quickly their nice civilization collapses,” the Tattlerat spoke softly. “I don’t even want to write gossip about this. They’d say it was too unbelievable to be true.”

“However much I like to see this,” Bar-Bar said, “this is the wrong time.”

They chased the king, sliding and jumping over stairs, racing through corridors. Beautiful carpets were ripped in two, candles extinguished as they passed, and decorated oak doors suddenly contained a hole in the form of a large sheep and a small rat.

Until they reached the ground floor and ran outside.

The chaotic sounds that sounded dull and soft in the hallways, now reached Bar-Bar’s eyes at full volume and aggression. The noise blew him away. Tattlerat pushed his paws against his ears and used his tail to climb to a higher position.

Wolfar dragged the king with him, straight into the chaos. And halfway … he just dropped his drunk, mumbling dad like a piece of garbage.

“Stop!” Bar-Bar screamed. “We are not enemies!”

“Stop the king! And Wolfar!” Tattlerat tried.

Nobody listened. They fought anyone they met, like ants crawling a messy ant hill. Wolves were suddenly arrested with their own handcuffs. Hens stole white robes, which where stolen again by a giraffe. They didn’t listen to reason, nor threats, nor their crying kids. And the Hens, in their lage numbers, cackled through it all.

In that crowd, he couldn’t even find the king anymore. Had he been taken? Was he still alive? Bar-Bar tried to bump and squeeze his way to the Flame, but he made no progress. How would he ever get to the center?

“Stop fighting!” said a high-pitched voice from up high. “Get everyone away from the Flame!”

Solong stood on the roof of the largest tower. Together with the wolf soldier who had chased her all the way there—and now kicked her off the roof.

Bar-Bar’s breath caught.

He saw only one solution.

He started running, faster than ever, around the plaza. His fur glowed and send out magical waves, similar to those of the Flame, even clashing with those of the Flame in mid-air.

Each time he raised his hind legs, a wooden fence grew from the dirt.

They were slanted, yes. They were broken, sliced, discolored, different every time. But he casted them all into existence as he made his circle, creating a longer and longer chain of fences around the entire plaza.

Himnib and Ginsea touched the Flame. Their eyes opened wide, turning all colors of the rainbow, and their paws lit up as if burning in cold fire.

Bar-Bar bleated in frustration, shrinking his circle. He cut straight through the plaza to reach the raised platform sooner.

At full speed, he bumped the bear and the hamster away from the Flame. The object itself tumbled the other way and disappeared in the pulsating mass of fighting animals.

He looked up. Falling, screaming Solong had almost reached the ground.

In his old bones, he found more power and more speed. The fences behind him left larger and larger gaps. One was so misshapen that it immediately fell down. Would it be enough? He hadn’t used his magic in so long, hadn’t ever tested it this much.

Solong screamed at the incoming stone floor, deafeningly loud, eyes wide.

She landed precisely on Bar-Bar’s thick wool—which bounced her back into the sky.

Bar-Bar couldn’t wait. He continued his run. Just a little more until he’d circled all the way back to the start of his fence. Twenty steps. Ten.

Soldiers chased him, grabbing at his fur. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the king stumble away from the chaos, while Wolfar tried to free himself from angry teeth, tails and wings on the other side.

Bar-Bar’s fur caught something. He felt a bite in his side.

Must. Continue. Close. Circle.

He built the last fence, as his heart skipped frighteningly many beats at once. But the entire plaza had been circled—he had built a fence around everyone.

All the animals fell to the ground. As if the Sand King had covered them all in piles of sleep dust.

Solong was back on her downwards trajectory.

“Catch her! Catch her!”

The animals closest to him, who were trying to kill each other just now, immediately listened. They formed a huge pillow below Solong, with complete disregard for their own safety, and caught her safely.

“And now … help me now,” said Bar-Bar, his voice failing. He sunk through his paws and saw, laying on his back, how all animals stood up and followed his commands.

His magic had worked. All inside the circle were now … his. Some were too surprised to listen immediately. The king was on the ground, snoring. His sons lay against each other a short distance away. But they’d stopped fighting and the Flame was gone.

A bear with a friendly face kneeled next to him. Shepherd Solong healed the wound at his side, as much as she could manage with her powers.

A massive grey owl landed on one of the wooden fence poles.

“Thanks a lot for the help, lazy owl,” Bar-Bar said with a sour face. Stupid. Don’t talk like that to the highest Companion from he Council of Kame.

But Aria smiled. “I can invent very wise laws. But there are moments … when laws can’t make any difference.”

Her beak pointed at the king. He had stopped moving; he’d never move again.

“Now, this plaza contains a hundred animals who will listen to anything you say. You and you alone. There is an empty throne. This is the moment you need my wisdom.”

Himnib rested against a tree and looked over the plaza in a daze. A crowd of animals circled Ginsea, while the Wise Owl had taken her favorite position as judge.

“The laws and regulations are clear,” the hamster said. “The oldest son becomes the new king. So … Wolfar should be the new king.”

“But what a coincidence,” Aria said, as she waved her wings. “The Council of Kame has just passed a new law. One that forbids breaking your own laws, prince or not. I am afraid Wolfar can’t even be a candidate anymore.”

Cheers and applause. Wolfar, chained to a tree, roared and grunted, though he must have seen this coming.

All eyes fell on Wolzam, who’d only be an adult in a few years. “When the Amori promised they were cooperating with the barbarians, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. So the throne falls to you, oh noble king Wolzam.”

Silence fell. Most inhabitants didn’t really know him. Or they only knew him through the gossip from the Tattlerat, from his supposed love for boy wolves which was unthinkable, from how he’d switched sides and joined the barbarians, all of which were … true.

When the crown was placed on his wolf head, however, they cheered for him nonetheless.

Ginsea made haste, fidgeting with his white robes.

“And then there is the matter of the king’s death.”

He told himself he had to do this and that these were the rules. “Poison was discovered. A poison that works quickly, from a plant that only grows in Grapi territory, which was also present on the spear … of Bar-Bar.”

The Barbarians were part of the larger crowd, standing amidst Himnib’s herd of a hundred sheep.

“All evidence points to this sheep as the killer. And murder has the death penalty, even in the Council of Kame. Rule 1.1.4, am I right?”

Aria nodded. Ginsea’s sad eyes looked at the Barbarians.

“But,” said Aria, “maybe that poisonous plant also grows on continents we haven’t discovered yet.”

“Maybe,” Bar-Bar added, “Wolfar had stolen my spear.”

“Maybe laws only work because all animals silently agree to make them important,” said Aria. “In the end, they are made up rules, no matter how much you may agree.”

Ginsea nodded. “It could be, of course, that the king was already dead before he was poisoned, couldn’t it?”

“Oh well,” said Aria, “there is just no way to be certain about this. impossible.”

“Maybe,” Ginsea said, “there is no law without the lawless. No rule without the exceptions. No civilization without secrets. And so I rest my case.”

Lacking a hammer, Aria hit the fences with her wings, which made the wooden structures fall down. Part of the crowd returned to daily life—they still had to eat and sleep—while the other part stayed to congratulate their new king.

Himnib tried to remember what had happened. The past weeks were a blur. He’d been locked up, yes. Hadn’t he received some sort of punishment called the Flame? That hamster was familiar to him. Why was he here? Why were there suddenly rows of slanted fences around this plaza?

The face of a sweet bear appeared before his snout and startled him.

“Himnib!” she said with a twinkle in her eyes. “Oh, oh, you have no idea how happy I am that—”

“Sorry, but who are you?”

“But … but …”

Solong studied his eyes. They lacked even a hint of recognition, as if a part of the old Himnib was gone. Burned up in the flame.

She hugged the startled bear, warmly and too long for a stranger. Then she walked away with tears in her eyes.

“I …” Himnib stood up and grabbed her paw. “Did I do something wrong?”

Solong dried her eyes with her shiny fur. “No. No, sorry, I am Solong. I am also a bear, like, erm, like you. As you see. Happy to … meet you for the first time.”

Himnib smiled at her, but felt an emptiness inside. As if even the sweetest smile from this bear could not make him happy, as if he wanted her to go away.

“Well, yes, sure,” he stammered.

Why were these hundred sheep crowding around him all the time? Wait a minute—wasn’t that sheep there his? Why did he own a single sheep?

Solong saw it too. The demigod cried even more, as she convinced most of the sheep to follow her for the time being. “Be well, Himnib. Maybe … maybe one day you’ll heal and remember.”

Wolzam had immediately opened the gates to the Grapi tribes and other Barbarians. Ginsea had also helped him introduce the Leges: laws against the excessive consumption of alcohol. Of course, many Amori complained. But the Tattlerat spread just the right rumors to slowly turn the consensus around.

Bar-Bar was furious with himself for using his magic again. Now he had a hundred Amori who listened to him, followed his every command. But deep inside, he knew it had to be done, and that it prevented something even worse—such as the death of all those Amori during the chaos. Hesitantly, he tried to spread positive news about the Barbarians through his new … slaves. Until, one day, he might find a way to “release” them from his magic.

The Hens took a hit, losing that many chickens. They pulled back, but a messenger relayed they’d “punish Amor” and “would return”. Wolzam did not worry, for he now had the entire support of the Amori and the Grapi to defend against the flood of the Hens.

Although most Barbarians said no to his offer and just walked away. Something inside him wanted to join them and give the throne to someone else, like Ginsea. But that desired throne had suddenly become a most hateful object.

Ginsea swore he never wanted to lead another court case. Under the guidance of Aria the Wise Owl, he wanted to invent better laws. He even accepted a role as the next Companion of Hamsters, if the current one decided to retire.

But apply the laws? Interpret them the right way? Without ever making huge mistakes or jailing animals unfairly? He only realized now that this was the real work. Work that weighed too heavily on him.

Wolzam allowed all criticism aimed at the king and refused any exceptions or benefits for himself.

This angered the Tattlerat. His entire life was built on the fact that animals secretly provided him gossip, because they’d be locked up if they said those words out loud. And others would pay him handsomely to receive those secret whispers, because again, they’d never hear those naughty stories anywhere else.

Now that you were allowed to say and do nearly anything … well, gossip, secrets and naughty deeds went extinct faster than the dinosaurs.

Or as Ginsea said: “No virtue without vice. And so it is said and done.”

Had he followed the rules as they were intended? Or had he thrown away all he stood for? Perhaps a bit of both.

The truth, Ginsea saw now, was that you could only change things in two ways. Either you broke all current laws to get better laws. Or you gathered the biggest group of supporters who did what you asked without question, as Bar-Bar could achieve with his magic. Everything in between was a muddy path with a muddy end.

When Solong left, therefore, Bar-Bar joined her in hopes of finding something to release animals from his magic. Tattlerat followed, because where else would he go now?

Those not under his control returned to the tribes, dear reader, but they didn’t return to how it had always been. Too many animals joined them, which made them too large. Staying true to their lifestyle, living in small groups with no permanent location, became hard. Even worse, most newcomers wanted to imitate the Amori lifestyle—in their eyes, kings, homes, and aquaducts were the pinnacle of civilization.

Admittedly, it was hard to know the Barbarians and see their version of “civilization” as ideal. For they wrote nothing down and left nothing behind. All we know came from other civilizations that studied them, usually with disgust, or a gossiping rat who might have invented half his stories.

The Barbarians couldn’t care less. They continued walking around naked, rolling through mud, kissing everyone they liked, and calling the Amori insane for drinking wine all day and turning their own brains to mush.

And so it was that life continued …